Bishop was thinking as he read the man’s bullshit, the guy must have been an ugly duckling when he was a kid. Grew into a swan, but can’t get the duckling off his back. Still wants to get the better of anybody he feels competitive with. And for some stupid reason, he has me in his sights.
Freddie continued his email diatribe, Bishop’s characterization.
“I can tell that Kathy wants to have sex with me. Hell, why not. I’m young. I’m virile. I’m good looking. Things you are not. I’d be a feather in her cap if she can get me into bed. And frankly, I’m willing. So, I’m telling you man to man, to back off. She wants me, not you. Be smart.”
That was the end of the email.
Bishop thought about it. The son of a bitch is trying to work a game on me. Not bright, Freddie boy. I don’t play that game.
He looked up Meyers phone number and called it. When the man answered, he identified himself and said, “Listen asshole, I’m not playing your game. You’re full of shit. You’ve been pissing Kathy off with your calling and flowers. Putting your hands all over her. She’s damn glad she won’t have to put up with you anymore.”
“You don’t know shit, Bone. She’s practically invited me home. Telling me how sexy I am, rubbing her boobs against me. Get wise, old man. You’re yesterday’s news.”
He’s a real bastard.
“Yesterday’s news is better than not being news at all. I’ll give you some of my fine insight. I figure you were bullied and laughed at when you were a kid, an ugly duckling. And, you haven’t wised up. You don’t even know it, but you still react like you’re an ugly duckling.”
“What? You stupid jerk! You may fool some people, but you don’t fool me. If you were standing in front of me, I’d beat the shit out of you.”
“Yeah, babble on, Freddie. I know you boxed at Ole Miss. I’m not a boxer. I’m a brawler. And I don’t follow the Marquess of Queensberry rules. I headbutt. I gouge. I kick and poke my fingers into people’s eyes. Get it? You might bloody me some, but I know I’ll get in my licks. I’ll break your nose, probably break your jaw, at least knock out some of your teeth, most likely break a knee. So you won’t look so pretty. The ladies won’t be … rubbing their boobs against you, like you say. The jurors will look at you like you’re just another worn out old lawyer. Is that what you want?”
“You dumb shit, I can whip you one handed. I’ve kicked the shit out of … what’d you call yourself, a brawler, before. You don’t scare me one bit.”
“Well, I know where your office is. How about we meet in the parking lot in fifteen minutes. You’ll need both hands.”
Bishop hung up.
*****
Bishop rolled out of his jeep to see Freddie practically bouncing off the asphalt parking surface toward him, his fists tightened and his jaw clenched. Bishop figured he’d just had a snort. He looked revved up.
Freddie began mumbling as he came closer. “I thought I could make you accept the truth, you bastard. I see now that I can’t. I didn’t want to fight you, Bone. You’re … well, kind of a celebrity around Lawson. I don’t want it known that I hurt you. But by God, I’m going to enjoy putting you in your place … a nursing home.” He added a nervous laugh.
Bishop laughed. “No shit. I’d hold up just there, if I were you. I may be packing. And, I have a message for you.”
Freddie looked Bishop up and down. He didn’t see a weapon, but he slowed and then stopped a pace or so away fidgeting nervously.
“Okay, old man, what message? It better be one I want to hear. I don’t see anything in your hand that’d bother me. More bluffing. That’s all you’ve got Bone, a pair of deuces. I know your kind!” He took half a step forward and raised his arms as if ready to fight.
But before he could attack, Bishop said, partially guessing, “Freddie, old buddy, I’ll tell you something else. I saw how you acted before the tennis match. My goodness, you practically flew over the court in that first set. But in the second set, hey, you got tired and you lost. Damn near lost the third as well, double faulting. Hell, Kathy won it for you. Way I see it, I’m betting you took a snort when you got in your car. Most likely took another one before you came charging out here at me … like a crazy man.”
Freddie opened his mouth to protest, but Bishop waved him off and said, “I haven’t finished yet, Freddie old boy. A good snort puts you on a high doesn’t it? Wears off though! Your ass was dragging in that third set. I imagine it’s beginning to wear off now. And you’re stupid enough to act like you want to have it out with me. That makes me want to laugh. I recommend that you re-think that. If you take one swing at me, I’ll report you to Chief Jenkins. He’s a good friend. I bet he’d love to come after you for taking drugs. Wouldn’t look too good in the legal community. How many people would want a druggie representing them?”
Freddie’s mouth dropped open. It was obvious he was considering what Bishop had said. His arms dropped slowly. His hands opened. The anger seemed to fade from his face as he stared at Bishop. Then, his head bobbed, almost imperceptibly and he turned to walk away.
Bishop practically shouted to get his attention. “Wait a minute, asshole! I’m not finished.”
Freddie stopped and looked at him. His face a blank.
“You leave here with this message. If you so much as look at Kathy again, I’ll show up again and beat the shit out of you. You might have beat up a brawler at one time, but you’ve never beat up this one. So stay away from her. Go after that girl you played against, Shelly something. Maybe she’ll buy your bullshit. Kathy doesn’t. Got it?”
Freddie’s face turned red. He frowned like he might want to challenge Bishop, but after a second or two, he kept walking.
That night, Bishop gave Kathy a bleached version of his confrontation.
“I doubt he’ll bother you again, but if he does, let me know.”
She nodded her head and smiled. She didn’t ask for more details, but he’d known Bishop long enough to understand what probably had happened. He and Freddie had had a showdown and Freddie blinked first.
“Thank you,” she said, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re my hero, Bishop.”
“And you’re my sweetheart, Kathy.”
Chapter 7
Bryant dropped by Margo’s trailer to leave money and to pick up more weed to sell. While he was there, they talked about what was happening in the tonks.
“Damned hard making sales these days with the ‘heat’ watching ever damned thang we’re doin’. They’re ever where,” he said. “The bartenders know ‘em. Did anyway. Even tell ‘em hello and offer ‘em a beer when they come in. Well, they were doing that. Now we can’t tell who’s who. They’re wearing work clothes now, we think. So we’ve gone to hiding the shit in the bathroom garbage cans and other places. When nobody’s close enough to hear, the bartender tells the customer where it is and how much money to leave. Somebody in a cleaning outfit goes in to clean up now and then and picks up the bags of money to keep people from takin’ em.
“They have a bunch of hiding places in the bathrooms so the cleaner doesn’t have to go in that many times. Nobody’s caught us since them two cops tried to arrest our buyers.”
“And they got shot,” Margo said. “You did that?”
“I ain’t saying. Ain’t gonna give you something you could sell to the cops for a light sentence if you ever get caught.”
As much as admitted it anyway, she thought. Guess that puts me in the same damned boat. One partner gets it, the other partner is painted with the same brush.
They kicked that around for awhile before getting to a question Bryant had been wanting to ask.
“Who’s your supplier?” He asked Margo during their second cup of coffee. “My guy got killed. So somebody had to take his place. They should’a called me, not you. Didn’t. Got me to thinkin’.”
“Not connected to you or your guy, Bryant. No way. New guy called me out of the blue. Asked if I wanted to sell some of his weed. He’d heard of me
. I told him yes. Is that a problem for you?”
“Hell no. Well, not a big ‘un. I was doing the sellin’ ‘round here though. Kinda hard gittin’ used to being on the hind tit,” he answered.
People raised in the country kind of figured the pig on the hind tit didn’t get as much milk as the pigs sucking on the “fuller” ones at the front. Bryant was saying because she was taking the big cut, he didn’t get as much.
“Well, if you want to move on or get out of the business, just you let me know. I can find me somebody else to sell the stuff,” she said.
“I tole you it wus okay! Didn’t I? It’s okay. I wus jes askin. I ain’t wantin’ out.”
“Well jes you keep yo fuckin’ mouth shut then, Elmer Bryant! I’m runnin’ this show for now!”
“Suits me. I was jes wonder’n. I kind of had a notion that lawyer you put on me, the Thomas asshole, had a hand in it somehow. He wus askin’ me about me sellin’ pot. Got me to thinkin’ after you called that he might have ‘uh client sellin’. I started to call him. But since he wus your lawyer, I figured he’d call you. Wouldn’t do me no good no how if you already had cut a deal, so I didn’t.”
Still might call ‘im. Cut this bitch out of the loop. She’s takin’ a cut outta what should be all mine.
As if she’d heard his thoughts, Margo said, “You start callin’ round, Elmer, it’ll get back to the cops and both of us’ll be in deep shit. And don’t you go callin’ my lawyer. He knows the law people, friends with a deputy even, they tell me. He could say you been callin’. Might git ‘em thinking.”
“Yeah.” I bet he’s the one got her into it. Takin’ my fuckin’ money. I’m the one sticking my neck out for the cops to catch. Ain’t her neck out there.
“You’re full of it, Bryant. Think all you want. You ain’t gittin’ shit outta me. You’d be out there trying to cut my throat if you knew. Makes me think I outta cut you out right now.”
She’d had the same thought Bryant had had about Stan. Was he her supplier? A fleeting thought, but it did pass through her head. It was odd though, him calling her like he did … and the way the stuff got delivered and the money picked up. Nobody she ever saw. But, what the hell. She was glad she didn’t know. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. If the cops caught them and squeezed her, she wouldn’t have anything to tell them and whoever was selling the pot to her knew it, and wouldn’t have reason to get worried … as in “terminally” worried. It’d be a first offense for her, and a light sentence. By then, she’d have squirrelled away enough to quit the business anyway.
“Don’t you fuckin’ try!” Bryant shouted and came out of his chair. “I got the customers! Don’t forgit that! You got the dope, but you don’t know how to sell it. Don’t know the users! They have the bucks!”
Yeah. I bet the mouthy little law bastard got her the dealer. Must‘ve been one of his clients. Son of a bitch. One of these days I’m gonna put it to him. He may be takin’ a cut too. Ever’ body’s got their hand in my pot. He suppressed a chuckle about his double-entendre use of “pot.”
“Fuck you, Bryant. You think that’s a big-assed deal, your customers? All I have to do is let the bartenders around the county know I got stuff to sell. Hell, I’d have a line out yonder waiting with money in hand for some of it. I got what they want.”
Bryant knew she had a point so he just grunted and drank more coffee. “I reckon you right, Margo. I wus jes mouthin’ off. Don’t go gittin’ yer bowels in ‘uh uproar.”
“Do your mouthin’ off someplace else. I don’t want to hear it,” she said. She got up and as she poured herself another cup, she turned and said, “We both makin’ some money. Don’t you go fuckin’ it up.”
“Jes thinkin’ if it was my old bunch … maybe somebody took over from my supplier … we could cut a better deal. Make a few more dollars. We’re the ones the law’s looking for. We git caught, we gonna need all the money we can get.”
“You damn well better not get caught then,” she said. “You bein’ careful?”
“Careful as I can. I’ve heard the cops are all over looking for us,” Bryant said. “We can’t tell anymore. I may ‘ve said. They’ve quit coming in all clean looking. Now, they uh wearin’ work clothes.”
“Son of a bitches!” Margo cursed and sat back down. “Damn weed’s legal in some states. People need it to get going … git relaxed after having to put up with shit all day. Loud mouthed bosses.”
“Ain’t that the God’s truth, Margo. Your supplier have any coke? I get asked for some coke by some.”
“No. I don’t think he deals in coke. I’ll ask next time we talk.”
“Lemme know,” Bryant said.
They finished their coffees and he took the new box of weed and box of rolled joints, told her goodbye, and left to begin his rounds. He had to make sure nobody was following him or watching his buyers. Usually, he made his sales in the parks around the county where he could tell if anybody suspicious was watching. A lot of it, especially sales in the ‘tonks, he left with bartenders who sold it to their customers. And the bartenders were damned careful.
*****
The chief put more and more people on the task force hunting for the supplier of the weed and anybody selling the stuff. He had a man in practically every bar in the county. But the bartenders were worldly wise. They might not recognize them anymore, but they knew the law was watching, and they knew who their customers were. Any new face in the ‘tonk, they figured might be “fuzz” and they worked around him.
The chief became more and more frustrated. The most he had to show for all his work were a few men and women they’d caught with half a joint. And they didn’t talk. They all said they didn’t know the name of who sold them their joints.
He dropped in on Bishop more often than he usually did after talking to the bartenders in the bars and honkytonks around the county. He also knew where they lived and went to their homes to see what he could squeeze out of them. They wouldn’t tell him anything though. Usually, after a fruitless round like that, he’d detour by Bishop’s cabin for a beer before calling it a day.
He’d catch up with Bishop’s news, if he had any, and his frustrations if he had any of those. The beavers were always relaxing to watch. They moved about working easily, like nothing ever bothered them. They sure as hell weren’t smoking pot.
Bishop enjoyed a beer with him and listened as his friend bitched about his failure to get anything done.
“They’re being damned careful these days,” he told Bishop.
“Sounds like it. Maybe they’re a smarter bunch. Maybe new. Must know the ropes,” Bishop said.
“I reckon. I’ve got people all over, watching, and they’re still selling.”
“Well, you just have to keep at it, chief. You know as well as I do that sooner or later somebody’s gonna make a mistake. Human nature. And then somebody will talk and you’ll crack it,” Bishop said.
“I reckon you’re right. I hope to hell you are. I guess I just have to be patient.”
“You and your wife have to come out for dinner again. You’re always welcome,” Bishop said.
“We should, Bishop. We should. Problem is, I’m just not in a frame of mind to enjoy anything as pleasant as a dinner cooked by Kathy. Give me a rain check until I can make some progress on this drug war we’re in.”
“You got it,” Bishop said.
The chief picked up his police hat and left for home. No need to go by the office for anything. If they had a problem, they knew his cell phone number.
He’d have another beer with dinner.
Gotta git more exercise, he thought walking out. Lately the scales he weighed on were weighing higher. Damnit to hell. He knew that was rationalization. I’ll start walking every morning before breakfast. See if that helps. Another voice told him he had to cut down on his beers. He cursed again.
*****
That morning, Stan had a visit from someone he’d heard about when he was at Ole Miss, Don Perlin. He w
as a student but had been expelled after it was discovered that he was dealing drugs.
Leann announced him by the intercom. Though surprised and wondering why he’d come, Stan told her to send him in. Hell, I barely know the guy.
Don Perlin opened the office door and walked in, all smiles with his hand out in front to greet Stan. Stan stood and welcomed him by taking his hand. The man held a box under his other arm.
“Don. Been a long time since I’ve heard anything about you. I thought you might be dead,” Stan said as though he was a long lost friend.
The man laughed.
Stan continued, “I knew you sold drugs on campus. Sometimes drug dealers have short lives.”
He gestured for him to take a seat. He did and put his box on the floor.
Don laughed. “So true. Especially off campus. But I was making so much money up and down the state by then, I just hired a couple of men to watch my back and kept expanding.”
“Well, you’ve survived. Look good.” Stan gave him a hand wave up and down.
“I have people out looking for me with big guns, Stan. Hell, the drug business is competitive. One of my guys who worked Lawton was killed in a shoot-out in Jackson not too long ago. I haven’t set up anybody to replace him but I hear that somebody has moved in to replace him already. I’m waiting to see who it is before I move back in.”
Yeah, that’d be me. Don’t move in anytime soon, Stan thought.
“Word I get is that the cops are all over looking for the dealer. You might want to wait awhile before doing anything,” Stan said.
“Hell, if the bastards get arrested, that’ll open it up for me. I’m in no hurry.”
So, why are you here? Stan wondered.
As if hearing his thoughts, Don said, “I guess you’re wondering why I stopped by?”
Stan nodded.
“Well two reasons. First I wanted to tell you about your brother.”
“Killed in a car wreck. I know.”
Death of the Weed Merchant Page 8
