Southern Harm

by Travis Casey

  "How long do you think it'll be before you can bang him up?"

  "Months, probably. I don't want to rush it and overlook something. I need to make sure I get everything right. It sucks when scumbags like him get off on technicalities. I just hope I get him before he kills again—"

  "Kills again?"

  She ignored him.

  He didn't press it but mulled over her words. Months wouldn't be much help to him.

  "Couldn't you bust him sooner? I mean, if he's a menace to society, he should be locked up, right? Don't you have anything you could get him for now?"

  She leaned away, looking perplexed. "Two nights ago, you denied you even knew him. Now you can't see him get put away fast enough." She pointed to her scalp. "Don't let this blonde hair fool you. Why are you in such a hurry to see your friend get busted?" She jumped up, looking down at him with her hands on her hips. "Are you trying to get info out of me to tip him off?" Her eyes went angry. "That's it, isn't it? You bastard." Without warning, the tip of her Reebok connected with his shin.

  "Ow!" He reached down and rubbed the inflicted body part. "That's the same leg you clubbed in Cincinnati. Are you trying to cripple me?"

  "You're using me!"

  "Using you? I didn't even know you were gunning for Louie Gomez until the other night."

  "I told you to disassociate yourself from him."

  "You only mentioned it two nights ago in the restaurant."

  "Okay, maybe I'm wrong, but why are you so interested in seeing Louie Gomez getting sent down all of a sudden?"

  He shrugged. "Just taking an interest in your profession. Come here." He extended his arms inviting her toward him. She stepped forward and he took her hands, pulling her to sit with him. "I like hanging out with you. I didn't come here to talk about Louie Gomez. I came to see you." He paused to let her swim in his blue eyes. "Can we forget about him?"

  "You're not here to get inside information for him?"

  "No, of course not. I'm here to get inside—never mind. Let's talk about us."

  "But you did blow him off, right?"

  He offered a shallow dip of the head and moved in for a kiss.

  A voice shouted from across the room. "Stacey? Are you in here?"

  "Crap," she muttered. In one swift movement, she pushed Oscar away and stood up. "Daddy, what are you doing home?"

  His voice drew closer. "I don't know what you see in California, sweetheart. I just met with a bunch of Californians and they—" He stood in front of the couch. "Oh, hello, Oscar. I didn't see you there."

  Oscar stood up. "Hello, Governor."

  Davenport turned his back on them and walked toward the liquor cabinet. "We finished the business early, so I came back." Glass clattered as the governor poured himself a drink. "What have you two been up to?"

  "Oscar was telling me about a polo ground he's building near Cub Run."

  The governor turned around, an eyebrow cocked. "Oh, yes. The tit-for-tat building permits you needed in a hurry. You got your tit but I'm still waiting for my tat."

  "Dad! Besides that sounding gross, Oscar helped me win a golf tournament for you. You could be a little more grateful."

  The governor took a solid swig of his whiskey. "Of course. Thank … you … Mr. … Novak-Chambers. Your efforts have been duly noted. And I share the same sentiment as my daughter: efforts don't impress me, results do."

  Stacey stood, swaying her hips. "Exactly. And we got the result."

  "Indeed," the governor mumbled.

  Oscar was silent, hoping the Davenports would see him as humble and modest. His mother would've been proud of him.

  "You know what, Dad? We may be able to spin this in your favor. Oscar has a plan to help disadvantaged youngsters, and if the governor helps, well, that's always a vote-getter. Governor Davenport would look pretty darn good to the people of Kentucky."

  Davenport tapped his finger against his glass of whiskey. "Interesting … What did you have in mind, Oscar?"

  "Well, sir, I want to take kids off the streets and give them an interest. In horses mostly. Polo is a fascinating sport among Kentucky's elite, and the horses need looking after. Grooming, feeding, cleaning up after. If I can teach the kids about horses, and how to care for them, they could get jobs in the racing industry or as grooms. And if they can see first-hand how the other half lives, it may inspire them to achieve greater things."

  "I hope you won't be giving any classes on betting. We know where that would go." His words weren't as harsh as his stare.

  With the governor still holding a grudge, Oscar reconsidered his position. Seeing his daughter happy and the promise of more votes wasn't enough to spur him into action. It was as though the governor boosted his own ego by highlighting Oscar's failings as a results manipulator. And how does one handle an egomaniac?

  Oscar shook his head. "No, never mind, it won't work anyway." He directed his focus to Stacey. "You were right. I screwed up. The land I need is part of Harris State Park. It was a silly miscalculation on my part."

  "That seems to be your forte," the governor uttered.

  Oscar cringed at the soft-spoken words. "Yep, I got it wrong."

  "What? I thought this was your passion," Stacey injected. "Are you sure you can't get any of the surrounding land from a private sale?"

  "No, the farmer next door thinks it would lead to teenage thugs running wild near his hog farm. So he won't sell me any of his property. Oh well, rehab programs are probably best left to the state anyway."

  Stacey turned toward her father. "Dad, isn't there anything you can do? It's a great opportunity for you, and for Oscar."

  "Come on, Stacey," Oscar groaned. "I should've known better. I mean, sure, the governor has power, but I think this is a little out of his scope. I can't expect him to rezone a state park for troubled youngsters. He can't do it."

  "What do you mean, I can't do it? I'm the governor." His face hardened with determination. "I can do any damned thing I please."

  "Yes, of course you can, Governor. I didn't mean it like that. I just wouldn't want you to get into trouble."

  "Trouble!" His face went fiery. "Who the hell is going to put me in trouble? Nobody. I decide what's what and that's that. And if I decide it's best for the state, then I'll damn well do it. And then maybe you'll think twice about the tips you give me in future." He slammed his glass on the table and stormed out.

  "Oh, God." Stacey dramatically rolled her eyes. "You just had to push his buttons, didn't you?"

  Oscar smiled. "Sometimes buttons have to be pushed to save lives."

  Chapter 18

  The midday sun shone brightly as Oscar drove into the Portland area on Louisville's west side. He checked to make sure his doors were locked as he arrived in "the hood." Beat-up couches and old recliners sat scattered in front yards, serving as lawn furniture. He rounded the corner onto Front Street, where a ten-foot-high chain-link fence guarded a derelict school building. He didn't like being there and liked it even less in a shiny, new truck.

  He pulled up in front of an abandoned warehouse, checking the number on the building against what he had written on the piece of paper in his hand. They matched. "Shit," he cursed.

  On the few occasions he had met Louie in the past, the settings had been non-threatening and not in areas where guns were a bigger fashion accessory than neckties. But he wasn't in a position to dictate terms—only obey them.

  He stepped out of the truck. The beep-beep of the remote locking system securing his vehicle offered little comfort. He looked beyond the boarded-up windows of the warehouse he was about to enter. A church steeple peaked in the background a block away. He crossed his head and chest with his hand, blessing himself for all he was about to encounter.

  Chinks echoed through the neighborhood as a basketball swished through a metal net in the park down the road. Oscar crossed the street, passing by an old Buick sitting on blocks with four missing wheels.

  As he approached the warehouse, he straightened out hi
s sports jacket with a tug and marched up to the steel door. It was ajar.

  Whether he liked it or not, he was going to have to play a hard-ass. There was the possibility of a lot of muscle around Louie Gomez, packing heat and watching his back. They'd smell fear before he showed any, and it would smell a lot like shit if he wasn't careful.

  He'd taken drama classes in college and had played the lead roles in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. That's why he thought Stacey was probably schizoid—he was familiar with that type of personality. Now it was time to dig into his collegiate past and act once again.

  He gave the door a push. The steel door squeaked open, inviting him into the blackness of the warehouse. A ray of sunshine cast a spotlight of illumination at the back of the warehouse through a broken window.

  His polished shoes clambered up the dusty metal stairs. At the top, he pushed a door open. Louie sat behind a large glass desk in a high-back maroon chair, filing his nails. One of his men stood next to the door with his back against the wall and his hands clasped in front of him.

  Louie faced Oscar head-on. He put the nail file on the desk and opened his arms wide. "Oscar, how wonderful to see you."

  Oscar marched over to his desk and leaned forward, pressing his knuckles onto the desktop. "You son of a bitch. You're lucky my man Johnny No-Thumbs didn't blow your head off when he had you in range. I'm working on the governor to give me the land at Harris State Park like I said I would, but it's going to take at least a week, maybe more. So, back off." He delivered a sharp finger jab to the top of the desk.

  Louie looked at him and held his hands up, making a scared face with big eyes and a rounded mouth. "Am I supposed to shit myself now?" His smile returned briefly before his lips flatlined. "Don't play the heavy with me, Oscar. If I didn't need your candy ass, I'd have Pablo blow you away right now for threatening me." He flicked his thumb toward the well-dressed goon by the door.

  The thug patted his chest. His colossal ring made contact with a hunk of metal under his suit jacket. Oscar didn't need to see it. It didn't much matter if it was a .38 or a .45. It was real, and Pablo looked as though he enjoyed his job. Louie may not have been shitting himself, but Oscar was.

  Louie pulled out a cigar from a sterling-silver box on his side table, popped it in his mouth, and chugged like a choo-choo train getting it lit. "I'm glad you're working your charm on the governor, Oscar. I don't like roughing people up, so this makes my job easier. When can I start digging?"

  "The governor's going to try to get me the land in the next week or two, but it's not as easy as that. I need a cut."

  Louie cupped his hand behind his ear. "I'm sorry, Oscar, I didn't catch that. You sounded like a partner there for a minute, but oddly enough, I don't have a partner. What's more, I don't want one."

  "Not me, Davenport. The governor is asking for a kickback for signing over part of a state treasure. He wants seventy-five grand."

  Louie laughed. Pablo copied his boss like a brain-dead parrot, his laugh echoing in the room.

  "You amuse me, Oscar. Shall I supply him with an all-expenses-paid Rolls Royce while I'm at it?" He snapped his fingers. "Pablo? How would you like to drive the governor of Kentucky around?"

  "Sure thing, Mr. Gomez. Can I wear one of those funny hats?"

  They both laughed.

  Oscar jabbed his finger on the desktop. "Look, Louie, seventy-five grand is peanuts to you, but I gotta show some goodwill here. He's not going to just roll over."

  "What about that jailing jezebel you're hanging around with? What's your interest in her?"

  "Stacey? What about her? It's plutonic—and none of your business." The jezebel crack irritated him and he wanted to smash Louie's face in for saying it.

  "Nothing carnal?"

  Oscar shook his head. "No."

  He smirked. "Johnny No-Thumbs comes around my place playing the heavy, telling me these things take time, and shoves a gun up my nose. Then I see you with the governor's daughter, and voilà." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "You barge in here saying I can have the land in a week."

  "Stacey has nothing to do with this, but does it matter how I get you the land as long as you get what you want?"

  "Probably not." Louie eyed him up, puffing on his cigar. "What's the governor want with a piddly-ass bribe anyway? He could write that off as expenses, easy. My guess is, the governor will never see that money, but you need it to put a chunk of it on a horse in hopes of winning enough to pay me back. Then you'll use the rest to impress your fancy woman by taking her to places like Roxy Rue's. Champagne doesn't come cheap in places like that, does it, Oscar? Am I warm?"

  Warm? He was red hot.

  Louie's brown eyes were so dark they almost looked black.

  Oscar stood straight and expanded his chest. "I know better than to double-cross you, Louie. The governor likes a bet, and seventy-five thousand would fund his gambling habit for a while. Cut me a break, will ya? It's not easy getting him to agree to this deal."

  Gomez rubbed his chin, mulling over the plea. "The deal is, you get me the land, and I'll cancel your debt. And I'm being generous."

  "And you'll leave Johnny alone?"

  "You tell Johnny to leave his toys at home, and he won't have a problem with me."

  Oscar extended his hand to seal the deal.

  Louie grasped his hand.

  "What's with this land, anyway?" Oscar asked.

  Louie still had a hold on Oscar's hand. "Let's just say, this is a golden handshake."

  Oscar wiggled his hand out of Louie's grip. "Whatever. I'll see myself out." He turned and walked toward Pablo, jerking his head to one side and giving him a shift-it sign.

  "Oscar," Louie called out in a soothing voice.

  Oscar turned to face him.

  "Keep your relationship with Miss Davenport strictly sexual. You want her as a tool, nothing more. An emotional attachment may hinder circumstances beyond my control in the future." He popped the cigar in his mouth.

  As Oscar came out of the building and walked to his Escalade, he saw a teenager standing by his truck. The boy noticed Oscar and he shouted something. Two more heads popped up from the other side of the truck, then all three legged it.

  Oscar ran to the truck and discovered scratching around the keyhole. "Damn it." He hit the key fob to unlock it. Instead of unlocking, the alarm went off. "Why didn't the damn thing go off when those little shits were trying to break in?" he cursed.

  He kept pressing the fob, but the door wouldn't unlock, and the alarm wouldn't stop. His frustration and anger grew.

  Another siren drew close until it drowned out the alarm on the Escalade. A police car stopped next to Oscar and the truck. He was surprised that the police bothered to show up at all.

  A policeman stepped out of the car and approached him.

  Oscar pointed down the street in the direction the boys ran off. "Officer, am I glad to see you. It was three youths. They ran off that way. One of them was wearing—" Oscar's heart sank when he saw that the policeman was none other than the guy who arrested him on trumped-up drunk-driving charges. Good ole Emmitt.

  "Driver's license and registration?"

  "Sure." Oscar handed his license to the officer and stared at himself in the reflection of the cop's aviator sunglasses."

  The policeman turned it over. "No tip this time?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Well, Mr. Novak-Chambers, last time we met, you made a contribution to the policeman's ball—or was it an outright bribe?"

  "That was just a little mix-up, Emmitt—"

  "Emmitt? Only my friends call me Emmitt." He jabbed his finger into Oscar's chest. "And you, Mr. Escalade, are no friend of mine." He tapped the nametag on his chest. "It's Officer Dewsbury, and I need to see your registration."

  He pointed to the still-howling Escalade.

  "I can't get in."

  Emmitt pushed his sunglasses up. "Then I reckon I don't rightly know it's your truck. Maybe you're trying to steal it. I think we
best take a ride downtown and sort this out."

  "Oh, for fuck—Pete's sake, Emmitt—Officer Dewsbury. You pretty much just admitted you recognized me and my truck from before. Obviously, a hundred bucks wasn't enough. How much do you want?"

  Emmitt grabbed him by the row of shirt buttons and slammed him against the truck. He moved closer until Oscar could smell the coffee on his breath. "Turn around and spread 'em, boy."

  Oscar did as instructed, and Emmitt patted him down, cuffed him, and read him his rights. As he finished with the formalities, the alarm shut off.

  With the sudden quiet, Oscar hoped he could appeal to Emmitt's logical side. "Look, Officer Dewsbury. I apologize if I spoke out of turn. But if you take me downtown and leave my truck here, those boys will come back and steal it. Think of all the paperwork you'll have to do for a stolen vehicle. If you let me go, we can avoid a lot of aggravation. What do you say?"

  "Holy buckets. I plum forgot, Mr. Escalade. You got a direct line to the governor, don't ya?" He lowered his head and shook it. "What in tarnation was I thinkin'? Why don't I just uncuff ya right now and you call Governor Davenport, and we can clear this whole thing up right now. You got him on speed dial, right?"

  "Yes, I do as it happens."

  Emmitt unlocked the cuffs and Oscar rubbed his wrists, encouraging the return of unrestricted blood flow.

  "Go ahead, Escalade. Make your call."

  Emmitt looked on as Oscar took out his phone and selected Stacey's number from the speed-dial menu. The governor, the governor's daughter—same thing, right?

  ***

  Stacey's phone rang. It was a welcome relief from her in-depth assessment of how LeRoy McGraw's moonshine business avoided liquor taxes, resulting in a lost opportunity for added revenue for the state.

  She looked at the screen on her phone. Oscar's name was displayed. An unplanned wave of excitement hit her.

  "Hi, Oscar, what's up?" She hoped she sounded cool, not over eager.