by John Oakes
Julius shot a frustrated look back his way, then turned his gaze to the road. “That it’d be nice if Beatrice weren’t…” Julius’ head rocked back. “Ohhh.”
“You just stepped in a puddle. I bet we knew it was there deep down,” Winton said. “Beatrice wasn’t just killed because she was a nuisance or because she knew about the drugs. There was probably more to it.”
“If keeping her quiet was so important,” Julius said, “then it makes all them details about Ryan’s suicide more important.”
“The huge amount of grip he dissolved into the tub was a blinking neon signpost,” Winton said. “He wanted to draw attention to the drugs.”
“Maybe because he saw what they were doing to his sister.” Julius drummed on the steering wheel as he thought. “You think he felt guilty for helping get her hooked?”
“Have to chalk that up as a possibility,” Winton said. “I wonder what other details might be important in the context of her murder. He did the job in Bea’s bathtub. That’s something symbolic.”
“That’s where you clean yourself. Maybe he was atoning.”
“Maybe it was the reverse,” Winton said. “Maybe by doing that in her tub, he was pointing a finger at her.”
“Why?”
“Just a possibility. It fits. Maybe he was defiling the place where she cleaned herself. A way of saying there was no atonement for her. Nothing she could easily wash away.”
“Well, I like my theory, anyhow.” Julius leaned his head back, one arm straight out, resting on the wheel. “He felt guilty.”
“We don’t have to own the theories. In fact, we shouldn’t. Keep an open mind.”
“Nah, I’m picking my horse. You not confident enough?”
“Fine.” Winton took the egotistical bait. “I’ll stick to the theory that he was pointing a finger at her. But with the caveat that we both keep an open mind.”
“Whatever. When I win, you have to take me on a getaway.”
“Oh. So, you think you know my buttons? Come on. I’m more complex than that. What do I get when I win?”
“Same.” Julius frowned as if hurt. “Oh, you think just because I don’t wear a suit and run a little people resort with a bunch of Asian government mucky-mucks that I can’t pay for a getaway?”
“Sorry, mister big time real estate mogul. You being a part-time cab driver might have thrown me off the scent of your vast wealth.”
“Hey, you can’t hate on me having a side hustle driving cab. That’s how we met and saved your brother, remember? Even if it might have been better for me if we didn’t.”
Julius last words fell like an anvil, knocking the air out of Winton’s lungs. Their gentle ribbing had crossed a line, where Julius seemed to be expressing something deeper.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Julius said into the breathless silence.
“No, you did,” Winton croaked. “But I can’t say I blame you.” For the first time, the thought occurred to Winton that maybe he and Julius couldn’t be friends after all. They experienced the traumatic events in Louisiana in very different ways. And no one had come out unscathed.
“Julius, if things surrounding me at the moment are too tense, you owe it to yourself to get away. Like I said before, you can go home, and we can try again some other time.”
“Man, don’t read too much into anything that comes out my mouth,” Julius said in an apologetic tone. “Do me that favor.”
“Likewise then.”
“Okay, so part of me wants to go home for the sake of feeling steady,” Julius admitted. “But you know what the worst part of it all has been? I’ve felt more lonely than ever. I’ve never had too many close friends or long term girlfriends. I’ve always done fine with my dysfunctional family and a smattering of drinking buddies. But after everything I went through, it was like, in order to heal, I needed to see that what happened was real. Does that make sense?”
“You mean no one in your life knows.”
“No. So it was like it never happened. Like, no one could just give me a look or a nod and tell me they saw my pain, and it was gonna get better. It got so bad I could barely do it for myself in the mirror.”
“Despite our arguments, I’m closer to my brother than ever,” Winton said. “That’s probably why. Just being able to do that for each other.” Winton patted Julius on the shoulder. “I’m sorry you’ve been so alone with this.”
“I don’t need a fun vacation,” Julius said. “Just being around you lets me feel like all that shit with Remus really happened. And it’s over, and I can move on.”
“Amen,” Winton said. “I never would have understood that three months ago,” Winton said. “Man, I thought life had thrown every possible shitty experience at me.” Winton jerked his head to the side. “Nope. Life comes at you fast.”
“But if you’re around the right people,” Julius said. “You can get where you’re going.”
They arrived back in Galveston where the air was breezy but warm, some current of air driven up from Mexico that’d blown the fog away. The house looked sad as they mounted the deck, the big picture window covered in plastic, looking like the house had a big black eye. Heather had finished sweeping up, and inside you could almost be convinced there hadn’t been a tussle there so recently. The smashed coffee table was gone, along with a lamp and whatever else they’d broken. It left the living room feeling more open. Heather had taken the opportunity, unsurprisingly, to make it a space for exercise. As they entered, she was holding a lunging position on a yoga mat with her toned arms held stock straight at angles.
“She looks like a damn Greek statue,” Julius muttered.
“Looking buff, cousin,” Winton called out.
“Hey guys, still got leftover lasagna for dinner.” Heather stuck her bottom in the air with only her toes and fingertips holding her up, then swooped her shoulders down to the mat and up in a sort of pushup movement, leaving her back arched and chest puffed out.
“Come on, Julius,” Winton said. “Lasagna.”
Julius coughed. “Yeah, man. For sure. For sure. That’s what I was thinking. Lasagna.”
Winton was hungry, so he went straight for the leftovers, while Julius disappeared into the guest room. As Winton was just sitting down to a steaming plate of food, Julius emerged in a pair of sweats and a tight-fitting undershirt with no sleeves.
He pointed to Heather. “That yoga stuff hard to do?”
“Depends. Can be.”
“How would a beginner start?”
She smiled. “Go to a beginner’s class.”
“Well, we got floor space right here. You seem like a great teacher.”
“Lasagna,” Winton said from the table, like a shot over Julius’ bow.
Heather rolled her eyes. “Okay,” she said, without interrupting her own poses. “Hop onto your hands and knees.”
Julius did as asked, positioning his body parallel to hers.
“Now, get into the push-up position.”
Julius did that, arms holding up his torso in a straight line with his legs. After a few seconds, Julius asked, “Now what?”
“Now nothing. Hold that position.”
“Uhh… okay.”
Julius took a couple of deep breaths. When his arms began to tremble, Winton chortled to himself over his food. After a minute, Julius broke out in a sweat.
“Doing okay?” Heather asked.
Julius emitted a stifled, affirmative scream.
“Just hold that position and breathe for a couple more minutes.”
“A couple?” Julius whined.
Heather stood straight. “Yeah. Then we can start your warm-ups.”
“What is this then?”
“That’s just me seeing if you can follow instructions.” Heather blew out a breath and walked to the kitchen, looking worn out from her routine but balanced and calm. Winton was impressed by people who could take care of themselves like that, especially in the most trying of times. Heather got a drink of wat
er and stood over the sink, gulping it down. “I bought my ticket,” she said between breaths. “I’m out of here tomorrow.”
“That’s quick.”
“I’ll need you to hide the keys in our secret spot when you go. I’ll show you.”
“No problem.”
“How long you thinking of staying?” she asked.
“Just a day or two,” he said. “You flying out of Houston? Need a ride?”
“I’m gonna drop my Jeep off at my parents’ place.”
“I hope things go well in Alaska.”
“Too bad we couldn’t have much of a catch-up, but you look great, Winton. I’m happy things are going well for you.” She came over and bent down hug him. They embraced, and she walked over to Julius, who’d flopped down onto his stomach.
“You ready for more?”
“I can’t feel my arms,” Julius said. “Are my arms still there? I can’t feel ‘em, man!”
Heather laughed and sauntered back to her room.
“Winton, you gotta carry me to the table,” Julius said into the floor.
“I thought you were in the army. Didn’t you do a lot of pushups?”
“That was a while back. Ain’t done a pushup in eight years.”
“That’s pretty sad.” Winton took a big bite of lasagna and asked himself how often he’d worked out in his life. “Actually, I’d say it’s about the same for me until I started physical therapy again.”
Julius picked himself up off the floor. “Can you even do a real push up?”
Winton deflected Julius’ bruised ego. “I can do anything through Christ who strengthens me.”
“That’s funny.” Julius wiped his face off and sat by the plate Winton had warmed up for him. “Guess now that you can afford your fancy doctors and physical therapists, ain’t neither of us got a reason to avoid getting in better shape. I always told myself working on houses was exercise, but I guess I overestimated.”
“Fair point. We sew up this situation in Galveston, and I will start walk-jogging and join a gym.”
“Deal.”
They ate in silence for a time, Winton also gnawing on the case in his mind. “Does it feel like we’re detectives to you?”
“You mean us running around trying to find people and get answers?” Julius asked. “Maybe a little.”
“Our last, uhh… situation had us avoiding the cops like the plague, but this time, we’ll be working with them. We’ve set them up for a big catch. Maybe they’ll be grateful.”
“I’m not holding my breath,” Julius said. “Let’s just see how this bust goes down in the morning.”
Despite their promises of improving their physical fitness, both men seemed in a beer drinking mood, Julius citing his sore muscles. They flipped on the TV and surfed the channels until they found a John Wayne movie. They drank their beers in unison, taking turns fetching a new round. When it was Winton’s turn again, he felt the call of nature as he got up, but Julius had the same idea and beat him to the bathroom. Winton kept on, wincing at the fullness of his bladder and ducked into the master bath. He relieved himself, groaning as he did so. When he opened his bleary eyes, they caught something curious in the trash bin. Something oblong and plastic. Winton finished up, grabbed a piece of toilet paper and picked out the object.
“A pregnancy test.”
It was positive.
“Uh, oh.” Winton stuck it deep in the trash, washed his hands got out.
“Yo, Winton,” Julius called from the couch.
Winton shook himself and realized he was standing in the kitchen, spaced out. “Right.” He pulled two beers out of the fridge and walked them over.
Julius took his. “Hey, you think since it’s her last night here, I got a better shot with your cousin, in a way?”
“You know what?” Winton said. “I don’t even care.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Winton asked himself the same question. Heather had said things were “complicated” with a relationship in Alaska. He supposed that, yes, getting knocked up in Galveston ought to complicate any relationship in Alaska.
“Go for it, man. You couldn’t possibly make the situation any worse.”
Julius frowned so hard it looked like his lips and forehead were trying to touch. “You’re vexing me, Winton Chevalier.”
Winton made a motion as if washing his hands. “Don’t be vexed. In fact, I give you my blessing. Please.”
“Well, okay.”
“Go knock on her door and offer your sexual services. Right now! Go!”
“Lemme finish my beer.”
“Julius, so help me God, if you don’t screw my cousin right now, I will tear my clothes from my body. I will wear sackcloth and ashes and mourn your failed sexual conquest like an Old Testament prophet.”
Julius narrowed his eyes, then let his jaw hang slack. “You can be a real asshole.”
Winton sat back. “Oh yeah.”
“It’s ‘cause I’m black, ain’t it.” Julius sipped his beer and settled in to watch the movie.
“Sure. Julius. That’s it. I am nothing if not a dyed in the wool racist.”
Their banter took a softer tone, as the movie played.
“Chevalier, that’s a pretty racist sounding name. Sounds like a slave owner’s name.”
“My friend Kevin can run this old hat better than you.”
Julius ignored that. “I’ve noticed how you won’t drink out of the same drinking fountain as me.”
Winton snorted, which set Julius off, and then they were both laughing.
“God, that’s terrible.” Winton had to calm himself before he could take a sip without sloshing.
They finished their movie and decided to turn in. Winton took the couch, giving Julius the entire guest bed.
He slept fitfully and woke at dawn to Heather trying to slip out the door without making a sound, but failing. She didn’t see him sit up, hair tousled and bleary-eyed, but he watched her anyhow, making her a silent promise that he’d bring Bea’s killer to justice, one way or another.
EIGHTEEN
Julius rolled up next to an abandoned warehouse, hugging a curb as he slowed to a stop. Half a block back on the other side of the street, Detectives Weischel and Plimpton sat in an unmarked van, picking up the video feed from Julius’ pen. Winton had a tablet too, hunkered down in the footwell. The footage he was picking up was traveling all of three feet but was still surprisingly clear for a lens that was only two millimeters wide.
“There they are,” Julius said. “Here goes nothing.”
The young male buyers pulled up in their SUV and stopped in the center of the abandoned lot. Julius got out and walked a good thirty yards to them without setting off any alarms.
The would be drug purchasers, four including Julius, stepped out and waited in a huddle. Two smoked cigarettes, but despite their intake of nicotine, the young men grew restless, looking about for their supplier. Winton wondered to himself who the supplier would be. Could it be a brazen Doctor Jansen or Doctor Kerala dealing in person after Ryan’s death?
Probably not. Whoever the supplier was, they’d gone to great lengths already to keep their identity a secret.
A black coupe rounded the corner of a building across the lot and crept to where the buyers were huddled. The driver’s window rolled down. Winton looked to the tablet for the close up view, but the angle of the light and the bodies of the approaching buyers obscured the face of the driver. Winton picked up a set of small binoculars he’d brought from the beach house and took in everything he could. As he searched for signs of the driver’s identity, the car’s shape set off a growing alert, until finally it fully hit him.
“Mother of Sweet What?” He lowered his binoculars. “That’s the car from the night Bea died!” He wasn’t part of the buy, technically, so no one had bothered to give him a radio. Winton whipped out his phone and texted Weischel, thinking she might be more likely to attend to her phone.
Same car I
saw that sold drugs to Beatrice Spencer.
Winton sent off the text and waited to see what would happen. The police van didn’t move. Winton watched it, seeing it rock gently from side to side, as if big Plimpton were changing seats.
“Come on,” Winton implored, holding up the binoculars. “Go get him. He’s almost done.”
Julius turned from the driver and stuffed a sachet of pills into his breast pocket. He walked back toward Winton and the car, signaling the van with a subtle thumbs up and saying something into his pen recorder.
The van finally lurched forward, then stopped short, tires chirping on the street. In that same moment, the black coupe sped off out of the parking lot and down the street.
“He’s getting away,” Winton cried. “What the shit is going on?”
Julius jogged the rest of the way to the door and slipped in his seat. “I got the drugs,” he said, as if proud of himself. “Why aren’t they going?”
“It’s like they can’t decide,” Winton said. “Something’s wrong.”
The van finally pulled away from the curb and down the street toward the coupe which turned right and disappeared.
“Go, go!”
Julius put the sedan in gear and raced after the van, tires chirping as he gained speed.
“We can move easier than the van. Get in front,” Winton said.
“This guy lost us once before.”
“Don’t let him get away. Cut across the parking lot. He came through those buildings.”
Julius veered right and cut across the lot, then weaved through a couple alleys until they came to a side street.
“So you recognized the car too, eh?”
“He’s a dark brother with a thick southern accent. That’s all I got.”
“So he’s the one who gave Bea the pills?”
“Possibly.”
The black coupe flashed past and Julius whipped into the road behind him. Immediately the coupe sped up, but Julius followed suit. “Oh, no you don’t. It’s broad daylight now.”
“It’s an island, there’s only so far he can run if we stay on his ass,” Winton said. He looked over his shoulder to see the van struggling to keep up.
