by Tom Turner
Ryder sighed, pulled out her cell phone and dialed.
A man answered.
“Billy?”
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“Ryder Farrell. Remember? Met you about a month ago at the Green Turtle.”
Long pause.
Ryder laughed. “Tall, dark hair, fabulous personality, from up in New York.”
“Oh, yeah, now I remember. The hottie,” Deets said. “So how you doin’?”
“Good,” Ryder said. “I was thinkin’ I could use a margarita tonight. Wanna join me?”
“Shit, yeah, where ya thinkin’?”
“Jalapenas.”
“Which one?”
“The one in Sandfly,” Ryder said. “Two-for-one drinks between five and seven.”
“Cool,” Deets said. “Turns out I’m workin’ on Mercer Island, ten minutes from there. I’ll knock off at five and see you there.”
“Perfect,” Ryder said. “See you then. Oh, and Billy—”
“Yes?”
“No grabbin’ my derriere, okay?”
27
Next stop was Eileen Mudge’s house.
Jackie took a right on East 50th Street off of Habersham.
They went around a corner and Mudge’s house came into view. They saw a black Ford Taurus parked in front of it.
Jackie suddenly pointed. “Jesus, that’s the car from the night I got punched.”
Jackie sped up as she saw a man and a woman get into the car.
The woman was Eileen Mudge. Jackie didn’t get a good enough look to ID the man.
“Keep going,” Ryder shouted, pulling out her iPhone.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea—”
“Come on,” Ryder prodded her sister.
Jackie accelerated and was right behind the other car.
“Pull up beside them,” Ryder said.
Jackie was worried the driver might have a gun, but did it anyway. Within seconds she was parallel to the other car. She looked over. “That’s him!”
Ryder snapped off a few shots with her cell phone. “That’s all we need,” she said.
The man who had punched her in the face was reaching into his glove compartment. Jackie took a screeching left turn and veered off down a narrow side street. She looked back to see if the other car was coming after them. It wasn’t.
“Good job. A getaway driver might be in the cards for you,” Ryder said, patting her sister on the arm.
“That was the stupidest thing we’ve ever done,” Jackie said. “Guy was going for a gun.”
Ryder turned to her calmly. “I’ve got a gun too.”
“On you?” Jackie said, pulling over and parking, but leaving the engine running.
“Well, no,” Ryder said.
“That’s good, because if you did, you’d have probably gotten into a shoot-out with him.”
“Nah, I’d just shoot out his tires.”
“That’s in the movies.”
Ryder patted her arm again. “At least we can find out who he is. With the photos I took.”
“If he’s got a record,” Jackie said.
Ryder nodded. “Trust me, he’s got a record. And if not, your friend Harry’ll be able to ID him”—then, she remembered—“assuming that they’re not on the same team.”
Jackie frowned. “Not possible.”
“Well, you’ve got a whole dinner to figure it out.”
“Hey, at least we found out Eileen is hooked up with the bad guys. No great surprise there.”
Ryder nodded. “Come on, let’s see if we can get into her house. Find something useful maybe.”
“Are you crazy? We can’t just break in? That’s illegal.”
“And Eileen’s boyfriend slugging you in the face?” Ryder said. “That wasn’t?”
Jackie sighed but put the car in drive.
Three minutes later, Jackie pulled up to Eileen Mudge’s house. She parked and they walked up onto the porch, where Jackie had handed Mudge the check two days before. Ryder turned the knob of the front door. It was locked.
“There’s a window that’s unlocked,” Jackie whispered.
“You don’t need to whisper,” Ryder said, scanning the houses around them.
Ryder went over, pushed the window up two feet, then ushered Jackie in.
Jackie frowned. “It’s called breaking and entering.”
“I’m aware of that,” Ryder said. “Hey, we’re not going to break anything.”
“Funny. We can lose our licenses, you know.”
“If we get caught,” Ryder said. “Which is not gonna happen.”
“What if the cops come?”
“Then we haul ass out the back.”
“What if Mudge and that guy show up?”
“Ditto.”
Ryder ducked down and slipped through the window sash and the window.
She looked out at Jackie. “Come on, before someone sees us.”
Jackie ducked down and went inside.
“You know,” Jackie said. “You’re way too reckless.”
“Put a lid on it and let’s check this place out.”
The most interesting things they found in Eileen Mudge’s house were in her walk-in closet. There were seven dresses, five skirts and many tops which could best be described as revealing, provocative, slinky, and risqué. Plus, one that was downright tarty: a sequined, silver dress that barely covered the crotch.
“What did you say she does again?” Ryder asked, hands on her hips, just outside the walk-in.
“Dog-walking and taking care of elderly people who drool.”
“Then why do you suppose she decided to hang onto her old working-girl threads… just in case she got sick of dogs and droolers?”
Jackie dropped Ryder off at her apartment then drove to world headquarters. She had just taken a seat at her desk when her cell phone rang.
She looked at the display: Ralston Oldfield.
Uh-oh, she thought, this can’t be good.
“Hello.”
“I just wanted to give you a preview of tonight’s ten o’clock news,” Oldfield said.
“What are you talking about?”
“Something like, THREE DEAD IN DOUBLE MURDER, SUICIDE,” Oldfield said. “I’m here with Kay Lee and her boyfriend.”
“Where exactly are you?”
“At his dump in the slums,” Oldfield said. “I have a gun aimed at his head at the moment, but I haven’t decided which one to shoot first.”
“Ralston, for God’s sake, put the gun down,” Jackie said, bolting upright. “What you’re talking about is completely insane.”
Phone to her ear, Jackie ran down the steps to the parking lot, hopped in her car, started the engine, and headed for Malik Desmond’s house ten minutes away.
“Are you in your car now?” Oldfield asked.
“Yes, I’m coming to where you are.”
“Why? We’ll all be dead by the time you get here.”
She thought about calling Harry, but nixed it. Not enough time. Plus, to Ralston Oldfield, cops were the enemy. The incompetent enemy.
“Look,” she said, “if nothing else, you have to think of your children and grandchildren. Think what a terrible burden this will be for them to live with.”
“They’re all on Kay Lee’s side anyway,” Oldfield said. “Nobody’s on my side.”
Relate to the hostage-taker. She remembered the long, dry article in The Journal of Law Enforcement, which had literally put her to sleep. It was really no more than Psychology 101.
“I am, Ralston,” she said. “I’m on your side because I know how tough on you this all has been.”
“Did you hear that?” Oldfield called out on the other end of the line.
In the background Kay Lee’s voice sounded. “What?”
“She’s on my side. Jackie is,” Oldfield said.
“Ralston,” Jackie said.
“Yes?”
“Please put the gun down.”
A long pause followed.
“How about if you come here? It’ll be two against two. Even Steven.”
Jackie now grasped the fragility of his mental state.
“I told you I am coming there. I’m only five minutes away,” Jackie said. “But, please Ralston, put the gun down. I know you, and I know the last thing you are is a murderer.”
“There’s always a first time for everything.”
“You need to put the gun down,” she said again.
“I’m wondering whether to shoot them in their heads, or their hearts…their evil, evil hearts.”
Ralston Oldfield seemed to be slipping from mere shaky to full-blown delusional.
“Are they okay? Kay Lee and Malik?”
“Oh, yeah, top of the world,” Oldfield said. “For a few more minutes anyway.”
And he roared with unhinged laughter.
“I’m pulling up to the house now,” Jackie said.
“Oh, goodie.”
And, like the last time she was there with Ryder she could see all three of them from outside the house.
Kay Lee and Malik were on a couch and Oldfield, facing them, in a straight-back wooden chair.
Oldfield’s gun was nowhere to be seen, so she figured he had it at waist level. If she didn’t know any better, it just looked like three people having a nice little chat.
“I’m coming in now,” Jackie said getting out of her car.
“Four makes a party,” Oldfield said cheerily. “Can I offer you a drink? Oops, I forgot, all our host has is cheap, rotgut wine.”
On the ride over Jackie again considered calling Harry Bull. To ask him to get a sharpshooter over to Malik’s house, but her gut told her she alone had a better chance of ending it without bloodshed.
She got out of her car, walked up to the porch, and turned the door handle. It was open.
She walked in, then went into the living room.
Ralston Oldfield was wearing a grey suit with a red bow tie. He looked like a college professor. Thoroughly harmless. Until she saw the gun—a pearl-handled Colt .45 that looked old. Like maybe it had belonged to his father or grandfather.
“Welcome, Jackie,” Oldfield said. “Why don’t you sit next to me. Facing the love birds.”
He motioned to a chair next to him with the gun.
Jackie was glad to see that Kay Lee and Malik weren’t holding hands the way they had been when she and Ryder visited. That would have surely set off Oldfield.
Jackie sat down next to him. “Please give me the gun, Ralston.”
“So you can arrest me and take me to the police station.”
“I promise you I will not do that.”
Oldfield turned away from Jackie, and raised the gun. “Look at the two of them,” he said. “They are heathen evil doers.”
“What do you mean?” Jackie said.
“I’m sure, deep down, they know it’s wrong.”
“What is?”
“Their whole…relationship. Look at them. He is a black man twenty years younger than her. Culturally, and otherwise, they have absolutely nothing in common. It is wrong. So wrong. What would God say?” Then, out of nowhere, Oldfield’s whole body language suddenly changed. The air seemed to go out of him, and his head slumped forward.
He turned the pistol around in his hand and handed it to Jackie. “I’m not capable of killing anyone or anything. Not even a rat.”
Then, with a shrug, he said. “It doesn’t even have bullets in it.”
Jackie drove Ralston Oldfield to the Georgia Regional Hospital at the intersection of Eisenhower and the Truman Parkway. The psychiatric facility was open twenty-four hours a day and Jackie knew a friend of a friend who had gotten very good care there.
As she got back in her car, she thought about what Ralston Oldfield had said.
One thing she knew for sure: God would have absolutely no problem with Kay Lee and Malik’s relationship.
28
Ryder and Billy Deets were sitting on two barstools at Jalapenas, a Mexican restaurant in Sandfly, not far from Mercer Island. A pretty Hispanic woman named Carolina was making them two Texas margaritas. Expertly, she reached down and, in one hand, pulled out a bottle of tequila and a bottle of orange liqueur that were side-by-side in a rack. Then she poured a generous four or five ounces over a slushy lemon mix.
“Girl doesn’t hold back on the pour,” Deets said approvingly as Carolina came over with the drinks.
“Which is why I like this place so much,” Ryder said. “Two of ‘em is my limit, though. I had three once and I was babbling. Practically crawled out of the place.”
Billy laughed. “I like chicks who babble.”
Ryder shook her head. “I bet you do.”
Billy gave her a fist bump. “So whatcha been up to anyway?” he asked as they clinked glasses.
“Just workin.’ Nothing too exciting,” Ryder said.
“I know you told me, but what do you do again?”
“Jesus, Billy, you don’t remember me going on for hours about all my spine-tingling cases?”
He snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah, yeah, right. Now I do. Nancy Drew, it’s all coming back to me now.”
Ryder laughed. “Nancy Drew? You’re dating yourself, my friend,” she said. “How would you even know who Nancy Drew is?”
“Because, inside this blue-collar aura lurks a man of letters and vast intellectual curiosity,” Deets said, taking a swig of his margarita. “Plus, I had the hots for that actress who played Nancy Drew in that flick a few years back. Sophia somebody.”
“So, you were one of the fourteen people who saw it?”
“Naw, my sister saw it. Told me all about it. Said it kinda sucked, actually.”
Ryder nodded, grabbed a few tortilla chips. “So, what about you? You said you’re working on Mercer Island?”
Deets chuckled. “Yeah, which is why you called me.”
Ryder looked blank. “What? What do you mean?”
Deets gave her a light punch on her arm. “Think I was born yesterday, girl?”
“What are you talking about?”
Deets grabbed a handful of chips. “So, this hot chick, who I met a few months ago, calls me out of the blue and wants to have a drink with me”—he shrugged—“I asked myself why?”
“All right, all right, I’ll come clean,” Ryder said, as she killed the rest of her drink. She raised her hand to the bartender, then, seeing his glass was half full, said, “Come on, Billy, you gotta catch up, bro.”
He polished off his drink and Carolina took their two empty glasses.
“I was just curious about that house where you’re working on Morning Glory Drive,” Ryder said. “Place is huge. Who’s the owner anyway? Bill Gates?”
“Nah. A guy named John Redmond.”
“Man, he must be a heavy hitter. What do you know about him?”
Carolina put their next round of drinks down in front of them.
“Thanks,” Deets said. “Well, dude grew up around here, but lives in Atlanta most of the time. My boss, who knew him when he was a kid, says his nickname back then was Johnny Redneck. He calls him that, but not to his face. Boss said he was dirt-poor growing up, ended up owning a strip club somewhere downtown. Then he moved to Atlanta and opened this real exclusive bottle club. Like the one you see on The Real Housewives of Atlanta.”
Ryder shrugged. “Never seen the show.”
“Oh, Christ, you haven’t lived.”
“So, what exactly is a bottle club?”
“You know, one of those nightclubs where you buy a bottle of booze for like three hundred bucks. My boss said it caters to celebrities, athletes, and rich people.”
“Since when are there celebrities in Atlanta?”
“You’d be surprised,” Deets said. “Got a few rappers and that guy from Dancing with the Stars lives there. Supposedly Redmond made a small fortune at this place. I think he’s got a couple of ‘em now.”
“So, what about the house at Mercer Island?” Ryder asked. “Looks li
ke a damn palace.”
“You ain’t kiddin’,” Deets said. “It’s the most awesome house I’ve ever seen on Mercer Island. Maybe anywhere. Seven big bedrooms with these beautiful marble bathrooms. All the fixtures and furnishings are as high-end as it gets. Plus, every single amenity known to man.”
“Like what?”
“More like, what doesn’t it have?” Deets said. “Couple tennis courts in back, a putting green, a Gamefisherman Walkaround 42—”
“Whatever that may be?”
“A fishing boat for rich dudes,” Deets said. “Plus, a skeet-shooting range, a helipad, a choice of one of the six golf courses at Mercer Island. I mean—”
“Wait, a helipad?”
“Yeah, s’posedly to take guests from the airport to the house.”
“Guests? What kind of guests?”
Deets shrugged. “You got me. My boss just said people come and go all the time. Redmond’s friends, I guess. Plus, I think he’s got his girlfriend living there.”
Ryder wasn’t hearing any hint that Billy knew anything about prostitution being the primary feature at 128 Morning Glory Road.
“So, what exactly are you doing there? At the house?” Ryder asked.
“We’re putting in an indoor pool. In the basement,” Deets said. “My boss told me Redmond got the idea from the Playboy mansion. It’s kind of this grotto type thing. He’s got over two hundred grand in marble alone.”
Ryder thought for a second. “Bottle clubs, huh?” she said. “Now I know what I want to do when I grow up.”
29
Jackie was on her way to dinner with Harry Bull when Ryder called.
She decided she wasn’t even going to mention the Kay Lee/Ralston Oldfield crisis. That would take a while to explain.
The first thing Ryder said was that it had taken all of her willpower not to have a third Texas margarita to celebrate all the good information she had just gotten out of Billy Deets. She went on to describe the house at 128 Morning Glory Drive and its amenities, along with what Deets had told her about John E. Redmond, aka Johnny Redneck.
“So, you think it’s possible it’s just the guy’s house?” Jackie asked
“No way in hell,” Ryder said. “Billy was telling me that Redmond’s girlfriend lives there, and she always has a bunch of her girlfriends there ‘cause it’s such a quote-unquote, ‘awesome crib’ with a million toys.”
