by Randy Rawls
She winked at me as she turned her attention to the others. “Have you boys met the Hero of Eastland County? Sure hope you can take a licking like men, cause I hate to watch grown men whine and cry and act like little girls. My man cleaned up Eastland all by himself. Yep, he’s some man.”
I gave her a look that I hoped said, Shut up, damn it, before these two guys kill me. I looked at Mr. Belt Buckle’s friends. Fear glowed in their eyes. I owed Wanda again.
Each of them also wore a chambray work shirt with the sleeves cut off and their right biceps wore rattlesnake tattoos like the big guy. But in their present condition, the rattlesnakes looked more like coiled earthworms under attack by robins.
“Gentlemen, you didn’t answer my question,” I said, pushing my advantage. “What is it you want?”
No response, but twin number one bent over the guy on the floor to say something. I couldn’t resist such an inviting target and planted my boot where it would do the most good. He flew across the big guy and hit the floor in a slide through the sawdust. I grimaced as he hit where the floor wore more goop than other areas.
When he quit sliding and the dust settled, I said, “Guys, I’m tired and want to get some sleep. If we’re going to fight, let’s get it on. Otherwise, I’m going to take my lady and walk out.” I wished I felt as brave as my words sounded.
Twin number two looked at his two friends on the floor, then said, “You don’t use that karache stuff, do’s you? I mean, if we fight, you gonna fight fair, ain’t you? I mean, we’s gonna fight Amercun, right?”
I raised up on my toes until I was nose to nose with him. Bad move. His breath smelled like an old ashtray someone had used for a garlic press, but I’d gone too far to back down. “Fair is whatever makes me a winner. Do you have a girlfriend you want to call before we start? If so, better get to it. It might be your last chance.” I reached to the table beside me, picked up a longneck beer bottle and hefted it in my left hand.
I turned to twin number one. “No need in asking you. No woman would come near anybody as ugly as you.” Hell, with Wanda running interference for me with her beer bottle, I’d take on the Dallas Cowboys.
“Ace, get on with it,” Wanda whined. “This is boring. You promised me another dance.”
“Okay guys, what’ll it be?” I asked. “This lady wants to see blood. One at a time, or both together. I want to know the rules before we start.”
“Harv, why wuz it we come over here?” number two asked, staring at number one who picked sawdust and unidentified stuff out of his hair.
“Whut you asking me for? It was Blimpy’s idea.” Harv rolled over and pointed to the big guy on the floor, who hadn’t yet recovered from the blow to his pride and joy. His hands were still in cupping mode, but his eyes appeared fascinated by the broken end of the beer bottle a couple of inches from his face. “Shit, I never seen this cowboy before,” number one added.
Good. Number one, Harv, had lost his desire to fight. I turned to number two and stuck out my hand. “We weren’t introduced. My name’s Edwards, Ace Edwards. I keep a notebook on the guys I hurt bad. What’s your name? It’s important to keep good records. I might write a book someday, and I want to get your name right.”
Number two stared at me, at Harv, at Blimpy, then at me again. He stuck out his hand—an inch at a time. “My name’s Byron, most folks call me By. We jist come over here, to, uh, to wish you luck in finding Peanut’s killer. That’s it, like Blimpy said, he wuz a friend of our’n. Ain’t that why we come over here, Harv?”
It didn’t take a bolt of lightning for Harv to decide that was a good tack to take as he struggled to his feet. “Yeah, By. That’s it. We jist wanted to wish Mr. Edwards luck. Hell, I betcha he proves twarn’t that jackass whut killed Peanut after all. It was some other jackass or, maybe a mule whut kicked the shit outta him. Hell, he mighta got run over by some damn tourist. Yeah, that’s it—”
“Thank you, gentlemen,” I said. He sounded like a guy on a roll that could become repetitive. “That’s nice, but we still have a small score to settle. Last time I was here, somebody stuck an ice pick in my tire. That tire cost me a hundred and twenty dollars. I think you three ought to reimburse me.”
The twins looked at one another, their faces reflecting a growing fright. Number one said, “Blimpy done it. It wuz his idea and his ice pick. He writ the note. All we done wuz watch.”
“Okay, I can believe that,” I replied. “Why don’t you hand me Blimpy’s billfold? Oh, gentlemen, move real slow. I get itchy when folks move too fast.”
Blimpy glanced at me before returning his concentration to the broken beer bottle that appeared closer to his eyes. He tilted his head, and reached into his back pocket.
“Be careful what you pull out, my friend,” Wanda said. “My hand’s getting sweaty on this bottle. It might slip.”
Blimpy removed his billfold and held it up.
I took it, flipping it open. “You must have gotten paid today.” I took out five twenty dollar bills, tossed his wallet onto his chest, then turned to the other two. “If you boys’ll be good enough to give me twenty each, I’ll be repaid for my tire.”
“But you said a hunnerd-twenty,” number one said. “If we each gives you a twenty, that’ll make a hunnerd-forty. That’s too much.”
“Hmmmm. You’re right. We’ll call it shipping and handling. You know, like you pay when you order something from a catalogue.” I turned toward Wanda. “Are you ready to do some cutting?”
They paid up.
I slipped the money into my wallet and nodded toward Wanda. “If Ms. Jamison will allow it, maybe you should help your friend out of here. He might need a six-pack, a cold pack, and a quiet place to think. And it’s been mighty fine doing business with y’all.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Edwards,” By said.
“Yes sir, Mr. Edwards,” Harv echoed.
TWENTY-THREE
Wanda withdrew her broken beer bottle from Blimpy’s face. His buddies each grabbed an arm and helped him to his feet. They half-led and half-dragged him from the bar. I grinned at his unsteady gait, and how weak his legs appeared to be. He tilted forward at the waist, head facing the floor, his hands protecting his pride and joy from some imagined threat.
I called to them, “Don’t let Blimpy near any women for the next few nights. He’ll disappoint them.”
While they worked their way through the crowd, the band struck up another number I couldn’t recognize, and I heard the buzz of conversation begin around us. I realized there had been no sound during our face-off with the three cowboys.
“Wanda, remind me not to make you angry. Where’d you learn a knee lift like that?”
“You’re surprised? I grew up with an older brother who picked on me all the time, plus I had three husbands.” She grinned. “If he hadn’t been so tall, I could have done better.” She paused, then continued in a quieter tone. “Also, I had a wild period.” Her grin returned. “Want to see my tattoos again?”
I believed everything she said except Chip picking on her. She’d have crippled him for life. No matter how hard I thought though, I didn’t remember any tattoos, but I was willing to perform a hands-on examination.
We watched the three aggressors pass through the doorway into the outside world filled with fresh air. I envied them as I drew in another deep breath, laced with second-hand smoke. “Hey, let’s get out of here before more of Peanut’s friends step up.”
“Not until I get my last dance. You wouldn’t want these cowboys to think you ran, would you? Listen, they’re playing our song.”
I listened, but couldn’t identify it. That had been my problem all night. They all sounded the same with this group.
She laid the broken beer bottle on the table next to ours. “Thanks for the use of the bottle. Sorry I can’t return it full, but you’re welcome to a scotch and water.” She pointed to the bottle and pitcher on our table.
I whirled her around the floor in my best imitation of the Texas two-st
ep. When the music ended, I said, “Can we go now? This place doesn’t seem healthy tonight.”
“Okay. A good fight puts me in a loving mood,” she said, giving me a serious overload of testosterone again. “It would be better if you were bruised and battered, though. I know several ways to fix a boo-boo.”
I slapped my hat on my head, took her by the arm, and started for the door.
“Slow down, Ace. There’s half a bottle of Johnny Walker. No way we’re leaving that.” She grabbed the brown bag and re-joined me. “Okay, caveman, let’s do it.”
The let’s do it brought several images to mind.
I hadn’t paid much attention to the rest of the bar patrons while the three cowboys confronted us, but as we made our way through the crowd, it was obvious they’d been attentive. I heard several “Goodnight, Ms. Jamison, Goodnight, Mr. Edwards,” as we moved toward the door. I wondered if I needed to change deodorants because when I stepped forward, a clear path opened. At the doorway, I looked over the crowd, making sure no one was ready to brain us with a beer bottle. The crowd watched. Their eyes turned away from my gaze, however one figure stood out—Candi Maladay. She sat at a table in the corner with a dried up guy half her size. She threw me the finger.
“Damn, Candi’s here,” I said.
Wanda turned and looked, but before she replied, someone interrupted us.
“Ms. Jamison, Mr. Edwards. A moment of your time, please?”
I looked toward the voice and saw that familiar face again, the one Wanda identified as a writer named Randy. I sighed. “Don’t tell me you want to fight? You’re too damned old.”
He chuckled and held up his hands, palms out. “Not a chance. I learned a long time ago winners also get hurt in a fight, and I didn’t win many. Peace, my friend, but you might want to listen.”
His eyes showed sincerity.
“Okay, that takes a load off my mind,” I said. “I was afraid you’d whip my butt. What do you want to tell me?”
He nodded toward the bar. “See the guy in the black drugstore-cowboy shirt leaning on the bar.”
I looked. “The one with his back to us?”
“That’s him. Thought you’d like to know he was watching you all night, and spent a while talking to the three guys that came after you. It looked like he bought them setups and poured from his bottle.”
I looked again, but he still faced away from us. “Thanks. That’s worth knowing.”
Randy tipped his hat. “Ms. Jamison, I still need to talk to you about First Monday. Don’t you go and get yourself hurt.” With that, he walked away.
Wanda stared after Randy, but I concentrated on the guy in the black shirt. Something about him looked familiar. I cursed the dirty mirror behind the bar, so smudged I couldn’t make out his features.
“Let’s move on,” I said to Wanda. “Getting out of here fast is best for us.”
“Huh?” she said as I propelled her out the door.
Once outside, I pulled her to the left of the doorway into a shadowed area. “Go to the car and wait for me. I have some unfinished business here.” She started to respond, but I tapped her on her beautiful tush. “Move, damn it. I can’t afford the effort to worry about you.”
Wanda moved off, and I melted into the shadows. I didn’t have to wait long. The door opened and black shirt came out. He stepped to the right of the door and stopped, staring, his head turning left and right. He must not have seen what he was looking for, perhaps Wanda and me, so he took off at a brisk pace across the parking lot.
As he came by my position, I fell in behind him and laid my hand on his shoulder. “Excuse me, sir. Do you have the time?”
“Huh?” He shrugged as if trying to dislodge my hand and continued his walk.
I withdrew my hand and tapped his shoulder. In fact, you might say I hit it with my fist, enjoying the pleasant feel of his collarbone under my knuckles.
He stumbled forward, grabbed his shoulder and turned. “What the hell—”
He didn’t get to finish because I had a fist full of his black shirt. “Why the hell are you—”
I didn’t finish because I recognized him and interrupted myself. “Richard, why the hell are you setting me up?” I had my right arm cocked ready to give him a sedative. Maybe he’d enjoy a good night’s sleep.
However, before I could land the telling blow, I heard, “You know this guy?”
The voice was Wanda’s. For obvious reasons, I wasn’t surprised. Wanda was not the kind of woman who took orders from any man. In fact, I’ve never met that kind of woman—if such exists.
I let my right arm relax, but kept my left hand entwined in his shirt. “Yeah, I know him. He’s a dear friend of mine from Dallas, aren’t you, Richard?”
“Ace, turn my damn shirt loose. This rag cost me ninety bucks. It’s pure silk. Why the hell are you grabbing me?”
“You set me up in the bar, and I want some answers. Who and why?”
“Bullshit, Ace. I’m here for the music. Great band, ain’t it?”
Even if I had wanted to believe him, his appraisal of the band would have changed my mind.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Wanda said, butting in. “Ace, you better tell me or I’m going to drop you like that guy in the bar.”
I rolled my thigh to protect Mr. Restless, but held onto Richard’s shirt.
“Excuse me for my lack of courtesy, my dear. This man in the beautiful ninety-dollar silk shirt is Richard Johnson. Richard, this is Wanda Jamison, the most beautiful bar-fighter in East Texas.” I hesitated, switching my attention to Wanda. “Richard’s a PI from Dallas. I’ve known him for years. We worked the same case from different sides one time. The same couple hired us without the other knowing it. I represented the husband, he had the wife. It turned out they were both sleeping around. When Richard and I realized what was happening, we sat down over a couple of beers and compared notes.”
“More like a case of beer, and I had to buy—Killian’s, I believe,” Richard said. “You also insisted on making your report first. By the time I made mine, the wife was as pissed off as a bobcat in heat. It took me a year to collect my fees.”
“Yeah, I remember.” I chuckled, then hardened my voice. “But what’re you doing here? Why’d you set me up?”
“There you go again. What makes you say that? You been seeing too many James Bond movies.”
“Yeah, you might be right,” I said, releasing his shirt. “Let me walk you to your car. Which one is it?” I brushed the front of his shirt. “Sorry about the wrinkles.” Right brain had whispered to me. It had to do with a black pickup and the man behind the wheel.
“It’s that—” Richard looked around. “There it is, my Beamer. I forgot where I parked it.” He pointed toward a black BMW sitting about ten feet from us.
“Funny, I never took you for a Beamer type,” I said. “Give me your key, and I’ll unlock it for you. Can’t be too careful.”
He paused and his eyes said his mind swirled. Then at a snail’s pace, he pulled keys from his pocket. “That’s not necessary. I’ll—”
I grabbed them, halting his speech in mid oration. “Strange. This Beamer key has Ford written on it,” I said, staring into Richard’s eyes. “Do you find that odd, Wanda?” I looked around the lot and saw a large black Ford pickup close-by. It was too dark to read the license, but I guessed it was TKZ-Q3Q.
I walked toward it, talking to myself and fumbling in my pants pocket for my small jack knife. “This looks an awful lot like the pickup that’s been following me. If the key fits, I might have to slash some tires. This is a two inch blade so I guess a quick stab will work best. Maybe I’ll add a few scratches in the paint. Yep, this sure looks like the one that’s been on my butt for several days.”
I peered at the front of the truck. “Yep, license number fits. Four flat tires ought to ground it. Might be a good idea to slow things down.”
“Dammit, Ace, don’t you dare.”
Must have talked too loud. Ri
chard heard me.
He continued, “Those tires are two-fifty each and don’t mark my paint.” He didn’t seem happy with my plans.
Wanda stepped in front of him. “Why’ve you been following Ace? We’ve seen you all over the county.”
Richard tried to grin. “Where’d you get this hellcat, Ace? She ain’t gonna knee me like she did that guy in the bar, is she?”
“Don’t know. Wanda’s got a mind of her own. Be better if you answer her question.”
Wanda never missed a beat. “Who the hell are you two talking about? I don’t need anybody to speak for me.” She glared at Richard. “Mister, you best concentrate on me. Right now I’m your worst nightmare.”
“I’m afraid she’s right, Richard,” I said. “You’ve been a pain in the ass, and she wants to know why.”
Richard’s eyes showed trapped. He looked at Wanda then to me, then appeared to summon his courage. “You dumb shit. Someone hired me to tail you and report back on what you did. Now you’ve screwed it up and I’ll have to tell…uh…my employer you burned me. I’ll be cut loose and you’ll have a new guy on your ass.” He paused and grinned. “You might not be so lucky with the next one. He might blend in better than I did. Congratulations and good luck. You’re gonna need it.”
“Who hired you. Who’s so interested in me?”
“You know damn well I’m not gonna tell you, just like you wouldn’t tell me if you were on my ass. Feel satisfied you caught me.” He grabbed his keys and climbed into his truck. “Hasta la vista, mutherfugger. Watch your butt. There’s somebody out there who don’t like you.”
I stepped away as he pulled from his parking space and roared out of the lot, spinning gravel behind him. His tail lights grew dim in the night. I felt confident I wouldn’t see him again on this case.
Wanda ran toward my car then turned when I didn’t follow. “Let’s go. We can run him down.”
“Why?”
“You gonna let him go?”
