by Kim Smith
“This is a small town, and this is a big crime. She’s a reporter,” he answered, helping me into the car. Then he muttered, “I’ve heard of ambulance chasers, but this is cray cray.”
We pulled away. I watched as Mr. Fine and Charlie placed their boutonnieres on the casket. My heart twisted, and I promised myself to never look back.
Tucked in a booth at Finnegan’s Pub in the Pinch District of downtown Memphis, I finally relaxed. Attending Rick’s funeral had been the second toughest thing I’d ever done. The mammoth effort I’d given to be brave had worn me out, and all I wanted now was to forget about it.
We were seated at a table near the wide-paned windows in full view of the sunset over the Mississippi River. The setting sun filled the horizon with oranges, reds, and purple. A paddle wheeler crept by, passengers lounging on its different levels, enjoying a late afternoon cruise.
We ordered two beers and Dwayne gave his all to console me. “Drink. Best way to get over an all-day crying fit.” To emphasize his point, he nudged my beer closer.
“How do I forget that Rick was murdered?” I asked, hoping he would have a sensible answer. “How do I get the movie in my head to stop playing?”
“You don’t. You never will. You know, I lost a friend once to AIDS.” His jaw tightened. “It hurts like hell, and it haunts you forever.”
“Death is death no matter the cause, I suppose. So what now? What did you do afterward?”
“Find another lover.”
Yeah right. Like that would happen.
I gave him a grieved look. “No thanks. I think I’m lover-ed out.”
“That’s what we all say, girl. Just be willing to meet new people. Get your life back. You sure as hell ain’t gonna bring Rickie-boy back by mourning him for the rest of your life. I ain’t had no real relationship for so long I wouldn’t know what it’s like anymore, but at least I’m willing.”
“Recently, on the phone, you were meeting a hotter than hotcakes hottie. What about him?”
Dwayne sighed. “Gonna take more than my famous meatballs, you know what I’m saying?”
I nodded, heat warming my cheeks. “It’s tough being single.”
“You ain’t just whistling Dixie.”
The heartache would always be there, I could take it out and examine it anytime I wanted to. I had to quit wanting to.
“To Rick.” I said, lifting my mug in a toast.
Dwayne nodded and we clinked our bottles together.
After a long drink and an even longer pause, I asked, “How can we get an address on Charlie Fine? If I could get into Rick’s computer, I might be able to locate it, but I can’t ask for such a thing right now. It’s bad taste.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “What you want that man’s address for?”
“I just want to make sure he isn’t the killer.” I kept my eyes averted. He wasn’t going to like this.
“One word: Sal.” He took another sip.
“He won’t find out. And if he does, he’ll just think I’m extending condolences to a family in mourning.”
“Ain’t you in mourning too?” he muttered. Then after considering it for a few minutes, he added, “Since I know you so well, I know you ain’t going to quit, so yeah, I got connections. My cousin works down at the DMV. She told me to let her know if I ever needed some info on anybody.”
“Call her, please?”
Shaking his head, he pulled his cell out and tapped the screen. He put it to his ear and listened. In a moment, his eyes rolled upward to the ceiling in exasperation. “Yeah, I can wait.” Then, to me, “I sure as hell don’t want to, but I can. These people have no idea. Hello? Yes, may I speak to Clareta Hill?”
I drummed my nails on the table.
“Clare? Hey, girl. It’s me, Dwayne.” He took the phone away from his ear to glare at it before resuming. “Dwayne Brown? Your cousin, ass. You know who this is, shit, don’t act like that.”
While he caught up on family news, I sipped my beer and looked around. Finnigan’s had the usual pub flavor, a bar with too few stools, postage stamp sized dance floor, and beer signs. Lots of them. In one corner, a pool table stood with patrons lounging around it, vying for the next game.
“Yeah, it’s apartment A. Right. Okay then, call me back as soon as you can, and keep it down low on the info, aight? ‘Bye.” He smiled at me. “Nothin’ but a thang.”
I clinked glasses with him again, and we silently celebrated forward movement. Then I remembered Joe Drury, and my heart fell around the pinkie ring on my little toe.
“Damn,” I moaned. “We forgot about Joe. We have to do something.”
Dwayne frowned. “Naw. Ain’t nothing we can do about that. The cops gonna wrestle with everybody they think might have did it. If he didn’t do it, he’ll be let go.”
“He didn’t do it. He was Rick’s friend. They were tight.”
He shrugged. “You got his number? Call him and see what’s up. Surely he knows something.”
“He was cuffed. Were they arresting him? Will they allow him to use his cell?”
“Formality of transporting a person of interest, especially a very emotional one. Dude was pretty tore up about his buddy. If he ain’t the killer, then they have probably let him go by now with the same warning they gave you.”
I dug through a planner I kept in my purse. “You sound like you are reciting a police manual.” I found Joe’s number and called. When no one picked up, I left a message. “I think we need to go to the police station again. If they still have Joe—well, I have to help.”
“And just what do you think you gonna do about it? They ain’t gonna let you sashay in there like you his Mama or something.”
“I know, but I might be able to talk to Sal and make him see reason. Joe is innocent.”
He scowled at me, but I scrolled around in my phone until I found the one I wanted. “Nancy Griffin on Riverdale Road.”
I copied and pasted it into the notepad app on my phone. Dwayne started wiping the sides of his glass with his finger like he was nervous about something.
“What?”
“That his girlfriend or something?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So what if she don’t know he was taken in? Was she at the funeral?
“I didn’t see her, no.”
“And you’re gonna call her and fuck up someone else’s day?”
I sighed. He was right. As we contemplated how to get the latest news, my cell began ringing.
It was Joe.
“Joe!” I stuck my tongue out at Dwayne.
“Hey, doll. I just got home, and got your message to call.”
“What the hell were the cops taking you in for?”
He sighed heavily. “The murder. They think I did it.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No, I’m serious. That detective guy, Ramirez, grilled me forever. I didn’t think I was coming home, I really didn’t.”
I fell silent for a moment. What evidence could Sal have that would point to Joe?
“Why do they think you did it?” He might not answer, and that was okay. I closed my eyes and prayed.
“I was at Rick’s the night he died.”
I opened my eyes and frowned at Dwayne. “You were at the apartment? For what?”
Shuffling noises. “It’s a long story. The short version of it is that I owed him money. We were meeting to discuss it. I swear, Shannon, when I left his apartment, Rick was alive.”
“Damn Joe, this bites. Please let me know if I can help. You have to promise we won’t lose touch.”
He promised and we disconnected. I didn’t like this. I glanced at Dwayne who was fanning himself with a coaster.
“Now what?” he asked. “They got evidence on the dude or something, right?”
“What could they possibly have? Some circumstantial crap, I’m sure. He was there the night Rick died, so of course, they’re looking at him cross-eyed.”
“Guilty,” Dwayne said in a gam
e show host’s voice.
I ignored him. “I’m talking to Sal. I’ll convince him to tell me why he thinks Joe did it.” I began pushing buttons on my phone until Sal’s number appeared. Dwayne put his hand over the screen.
“I knew you were gonna do that,” he said, gently taking it from me.
“I’m calling him!” My blood pressure edged higher.
“Salivate’s just doin’ his job, Shan.”
I hated when he spoke in that all-knowing soft voice.
“I have to do something. Rick’s killer, probably his own brother, is out there running free, and all the cops can do is play twenty questions with Rick’s best friend. I’m getting frustrated. What if this nut succeeds in getting to me while they’re busy looking the other way?”
He shook his head. “No way, Jose. Ramirez ain’t stupid, contrary to what you may believe, Miss Know-It-All. What you need to do is eat. Plus, I can’t run around chasing leads and bailing you out of jail today. I have to meet with a client in a couple of hours.”
“A client?”
He handed my phone to me. “Yeah, my first real case. I got a referral from a friend. I’m picking up my money, ‘cause I get paid half up front.”
“You don’t have a license.” I plunked my cell into my purse, dejected.
“Sal’s helping me out. There are some little loopholes.”
The wheedling note in his voice said I didn’t need to aggravate Sal about this case and risk losing a chance at getting inside information from him.
Dwayne was right. As usual.
I also had to believe in the system. If Joe was innocent—and I knew he had to be—then they couldn’t just arrest him for no reason. They had to have proof. They did let him go, after all. The cops had let me go, too, and I appeared as slippery as an oil slick.
“What kind of case is it?”
“A husband checking up on his wife who’s supposed to be having an affair. He wants me to keep an eye on her and take some pictures of anything I think is screwy. Or screwing,” he laughed.
The waitress came over, and we placed our orders.
When she left, Dwayne fiddled with his cell phone lying on the table. “You wanna go with me to collect my money?”
“I thought you worked alone.”
“I do.”
“Why are you asking me?”
“I guess I’m hungry for companionship today.”
I squinted at him. He seemed serious. He also seemed sad. Maybe today had touched a place in him that I had never seen before. “Okay. I’ll go. I sort of owe you for all you’ve done for me lately. Do you think we could swing through the Underground’s lot? I want to see if Mr. Big Stick, Charlie Fine, is hanging out there drowning his sorrows.”
He shrugged, an uncomfortable look crossing his face. He didn’t like the Underground, that much was obvious. The waitress brought extra napkins.
“You know what he drives?” Dwayne asked.
“Yeah, a maroon Mercedes.”
“This is starting to sound like a damn Dr. Seuss book.”
I laughed. “What does that mean?”
“Maroon Mercedes, murdered man, big stick, brother Rick-”
“Whoa,” I interrupted, putting my hand out to stop him. “Don’t quit your day job.”
“Can’t. Ain’t got one.”
We had just made a round through the parking lot of the Underground when we spied a car suspiciously like Charlie’s Mercedes preparing to exit onto the old highway behind the Underground. I pointed at it, and Dwayne sped up but got stopped at the intersection. I had glimpsed a woman passenger, and she resembled Charlotte Dillon, the news hound.
“No sense in following him. I’ll have old Charlie’s address in a little while,” Dwayne said.
I nodded, watching the disappearing tail lights. “If it was Charlie, only a worm would align himself with a reporter known for sensationalizing the news.”
“I’m surprised anyone still has her on staff. She can make a parade into a soap opera,” Dwayne said.
Dillon thrived on drama and since she was hanging out with Charlie, he was obviously feeding her plenty. What reporter wouldn’t want to be on the inside of a murder story?
We turned the other way and drove to an older section of southwest Memphis so Dwayne could meet with his new client, Scott Redmon.
The man wore glasses and smelled like mildew. He was the size of a small steamroller and had nothing good to say about his wife.
“This here’s my associate, Miss Wal—ters,” Dwayne fumbled. “Barbara Walters.”
Why had he lied about my name?
Mr. Redmon laughed, great hacking snorts. “Interviewed any celebrities lately, Babs?”
This guy creeped me out. I smiled and moved away a few feet trying to appear interested, yet detached. Dwayne explained the payment arrangements, the surveillance routine, and agreed deliver the goods. Satisfied, the man gave Dwayne his deposit.
“I want to know everything you find out as soon as you find it. I’m not giving the bitch any room to hang me. I’ve been down this road before.”
I’ll just bet you have.
We got back into Dwayne’s Mustang and headed south.
“Barbara Walters?” I asked.
“Would you rather he knew your real name?”
“Does he know yours?”
“Of course. I’m a businessman.”
“My rosy red ass.”
“Right back at ya, girl.”
I glared at him for a second and then relaxed into the seat enjoying the sun on my face. “So tell me about this dude’s deal.”
“Redmon’s wife is part owner in a landscaping business, and her team is working on a big job at an apartment complex. He gave me the address so I could go and stake her out. I can drop you at the trailer, or you can come along,” he said. “I don’t know how you gonna feel about it, though. Redmon’s wife is working at Rick’s apartments.”
I sat up, started and alert. “Rick’s?”
“Yeah. You ain’t gotta go if you don’t want to.”
I considered it. I really didn’t have anything else to do. “It’s okay. I’ll go, I guess. What’re you planning?”
“Um. Finding out where they are, what she looks like, if she takes a break and hangs all over somebody. You know, checking it out.”
“Oh yes,” I laughed. “Sir Vaylance is your code name.”
He nodded and turned the radio up. I opened the window to let the wind in and the music out. My whole body vibrated with the thump of the bass. I pulled out his tattered old CD case. Dwayne had music on his phone like everyone else, but he still had some awesome old music on CD. I wondered if he knew you could go deaf from listening to music this loud. Dwayne was singing, but I couldn’t even hear him.
With no way to talk, I allowed my mind to wander. I made a mental note to call Thomas Fine to get into Rick’s computer. My timing sucked but life wasn’t playing fair.
When we crossed the state line from Memphis into North Mississippi, Dwayne rolled the windows up, turned the music down, and focused on finding his target.
Returning to Rick’s apartment complex gave me cold chills. Especially when I recalled that the voice on the phone said he was coming for me.
We drove through the complex looking for any people running weed wackers, grass blowers, or lawn mowers. We’d had no rain for weeks, and as usual, sprinklers were spraying mists of water everywhere around the leasing office. This gave me an idea.
“How about we go inside and ask someone about the landscaping company. Surely, they can tell us if Redmon’s group has shown up today and if so, where they’re located. You’re wasting gas.”
“Uh huh, and that shit’s expensive, too.”
The woman inside looked young and innocent dressed in her navy sun-dress and white sandals. Her blond hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and when she walked toward us, it swung back and forth.
“Can I help you?” She blew a bubble with her gum.
“My name’s Dwayne Brown,” he announced, handing her a card. “Brown Investigations. I’m trying to locate the landscaping company working in your apartments here.”
She read the card and frowned at us. “The Straw Hat people?”
“Yeah, that’s them. Straw Hat Landscaping.”
“They don’t work here anymore. One of their mowers shot a rock through one of the tenant’s windows, and they got into a fight over it. The lady who owns Straw Hat practically had to drag her employee off the man who lived here. We were worried there might be a lawsuit, so we encouraged them not to come back.”
He glanced at me and shrugged before asking her, “Do you have a forwarding address?”
“Huh?”
“He wants to know where he can find them.” Damn, didn’t she understand Dwayne-speak? I watched as the light bulb went on.
“Oh! Yeah sure, I got the address of their office.”
She strolled back to her desk, a light oak affair, and pulled open the left drawer. After rummaging for a moment, she brought out an envelope and wrote the address down on a bright yellow sticky pad.
“Here ya go.”
We thanked her and started to leave. Just before we got to the door she asked, “Y’all investigating that murder?”
Uh oh. Instantly, I turned around. “Yes, why?”
“Sad, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, real sad.” I half-stepped toward her. “Have you heard anything about it?”
She moved out from behind her desk and leaned against it. “I got my suspicions on who did it. I’d like to lay my bet on the table, if you don’t care.”
I smiled. “Go right ahead.”
Dwayne shifted beside me. “Yeah, I’d like to hear this.”
“The man who got killed was the same one who got his window broken. I think the grass guy was so mad that he came back that night and killed him. He sure looked the type who would.”
Dwayne and I exchanged looks. A new angle for sure. “What does this guy look like?” he asked, pulling out his cell phone to make a note.
She wiped at the desk with a finger, avoiding eye contact with him. “He was African-American.”
My cell chirped, interrupting what I was going to ask. I turned away and answered on the second ring. In the middle of hello, the muffled voice spoke in my ear, slow and soft. “I see you got my flowers.” Click.
