by Travis Casey
It was Tyler and Darcy's turn to have it at their house. Despite Tyler being the host, Roscoe took control of the barbecue, as usual, and had the hot grill covered with hamburgers, thick sage-stuffed sausages, and chicken leg quarters. The aroma from the cooking meats wafted in the air, whetting everyone's appetite.
The patio showcased the occasion. Darcy had set the table with a linen tablecloth, real silverware, and glass tumblers, accented with red, white, and blue napkins and stars-and-stripes pinwheels spinning in the light breeze. Uncle Sam placemats added a sense of patriotism to the occasion.
The women—Darcy, Miriam, and Oscar's sister, Juliet—sat at the table, dishing about fashion, gossip, and whatever else women talk about when they're drawn together.
Oscar grabbed a beer from the ice-filled cooler and joined his Dad and Granddad by the grill.
"Boy, I'm sure glad I got my hundred grand back," Roscoe said.
Oscar nodded. "Yep, that's good. You got your money, and Louie Gomez is six feet under. All's well that ends well, right?"
"Oscar!" Tyler snapped. "A man's dead. Surely that isn't cause for celebration."
Oscar was surprised by his dad's outburst, but rather than challenging him with eye contact, he looked at the Yorkshire stone patio beneath his feet. "I don't know. Stacey Davenport seemed to think it was a good idea for mobsters to bump each other off and quit clogging up the judicial system."
"A regular Valerie Vigilante," Roscoe bellowed. "I knew I liked that girl."
Tyler laid his hand on his son's shoulder. "Now, Oscar, those thoughts are unkind. I think you should go to confession on Sunday and tell Father O'Donnell you have sinned."
He looked at his Dad in disbelief. "In the first place, I'm not Catholic. Secondly, you're the one who suggested fate might take care of Louie when he returned to the west end of Louisville—you even sounded hopeful."
Tyler laughed. "Gotcha. I agree with Stacey. We need to save court space for crackheads and prostitutes. Let the gangsters take care of themselves."
Oscar smiled, bemused by his father. Never mind kids saying the darnedest things, Tyler Chambers was a goldmine of convoluted logic. Someone should write a book about him.
Roscoe gestured at his grandson using his tumbler. "Hey, now that you're poking the assistant district attorney, you must have the inside skinny. Do the cops got anything on the Gomez murder?"
Oscar rolled his eyes. "I'm not poking her, Granddad."
"What's wrong with you, boy? Your fish not swimming?" Roscoe burst out laughing. Tyler joined in.
Oscar shook his head, a subtle smile crossing his lips before turning serious. "My fish are just fine, thank you. But I haven't heard anything about Gomez, not that I'm privy to any findings before anyone else. Stacey's been keeping a low profile. Very low. She hasn't returned my calls. I don't know what's up with her. I'm giving her space."
"Forget space. You need to give her the Romeo rod." Roscoe smacked Tyler on the chest. "Didn't you teach this boy anything?"
Darcy strolled over, draping herself on Tyler's shoulder. Her smile could light up half of Kentucky. "What are you guys talking about?"
Tyler slipped his arm around his wife's waist. "Oh, Roscoe and I were telling Oscar how he needs to be respectful of women and treat them with care and attention."
Darcy gave her husband a kiss on the cheek. "How sweet. And have you also told him about BS-ing people? That always works well." She shot her son a wink and a grin.
Oscar smiled back.
"Dad, there's a policeman here," Juliet called out.
Emmitt moseyed up. He stood in front of Roscoe. "Mr. Novak, I wonder if you wouldn't mind coming downtown to answer a few questions."
Roscoe scowled. "Yes, I would mind. It's the Fourth of July, and I'm with my family," he said, shaking the hamburger flipper at Emmitt. "I'm in the middle of a barbecue. Why the hell do you want to talk to me anyway?"
Emmitt scanned the faces at the get-together. "I think it would be best if we spoke in private, downtown."
Roscoe poked his chest forward. "Anything you got to say, you can say in front of my kinfolk. They're gonna find out everything soon enough, anyway, and at least this way, I got witnesses while you make yourself look like a fool." He opened his arms. "Go ahead—spill."
The cop drew a breath. "We're making inquiries into the death of Louie Gomez. We understand you had some dealings with his father."
"I've had lots of dealing with lots of fathers. So what? Are you guys so short on leads, you gotta come down here and harass an old man about some two-bit punk buying the farm in downtown Louisville a couple of weeks ago?"
Emmitt pushed his hat up with his fingertip, exposing more forehead. "So you remember the whens and wheres of the event?"
Roscoe shrugged. "It was in the papers."
"And where were you that night?"
"Watching Monday Night Baseball."
"That's a pretty clear recollection of what day of the week it was."
Miriam stepped to her husband's side. "Roscoe has a thing for remembering what day of the week things happen on. Isn't that right, darling?" She rubbed her hand along his chest.
"Yeah. Over fifty-five years ago, we got married on a Monday. Isn't that right, pumpkin?"
"Was it? Oh, yes, of course, it was," Miriam agreed.
Emmitt stared at him. "Forget what day things happen on. Besides you and Louie's daddy not getting along so well, we have Johnny Ragoosa in custody. He has motive. And he told us you posted Gomez's bail. So, of course, we have to ask why."
"And you got proof of that, do ya?"
"Are you saying you didn't?"
"Show me the papers with my name on it."
Oscar stepped forward. "You got No-Thumbs in custody?"
Emmitt cocked his head. "Well, well, well. If it ain't Mr. Escalade. I didn't see you standing there."
"Not very observant, for a cop," Tyler mumbled.
Emmitt stepped back and eyed Oscar. "In actual fact, since Grandpa here asked, it was the kid's name on the bail bond." His hand hovered over the butt of his pistol, resting in its holster. "You know what, why don't I take you all downtown? This sounds like a conspiracy." He motioned his head toward the squad car. "C'mon, let's get moving."
Roscoe handed the spatula to Miriam. "Call Charlie Ford, cupcake. Tell him we're all down at the cop shop." He stepped away, moving toward the car in the driveway. "And don't forget to flip the burgers. I want mine medium. For God's sake don't burn 'em."
Tyler, Roscoe, and Oscar piled into the back of the police car. The women were left behind, but the party spirit left with the police car.
***
Oscar sat in the interrogation room, staring at four chalky-green concrete walls, wondering why he was even there. He should never have told Johnny that Roscoe was involved, but withholding that detail didn't seem important at the time. But why were they connecting Louie's death to anyone involved with his bail?
He had no idea what he was going to tell the cops once they barged in and began their questioning. An earthquake hitting Kentucky in the next five minutes would be a welcome distraction.
The door mechanism clicked. Stacey came in wearing a smart red pantsuit.
"What are you doing here?" he asked. "And looking like you're dressed for work. It is the Fourth of July, you know?"
"My calendar is in perfect working order, thank you very much. I'm curious, but not here. C'mon, let's go."
Oscar pushed the chair out with the back of his legs as he stood up. "Just like that? Are you some kind of genie?"
"No, I'm a consultant to the DA's office with a mission." She motioned toward the door. "There's a coffee shop down the street, where you're going to buy me a skinny chocolate latté."
Stacey nodded to cops as they headed for the exit. No one said a word to them or tried to stop them in any way—just a few greeting grunts, but no challenges or questions. Oscar wasn't sure if it was a cleverly disguised prison break or if she wielded an unspoken
power of political persuasion. Nonetheless, relief hit him as they stepped out into heat of the July sun. The air hung heavy, but it was better sucking in thick, free air than breathing the air-conditioned interrogation room stuff.
As Stacey and Oscar entered the coffee shop, conversations rumbled through the air. Five or six people stood in line waiting to place their order. Stacey nudged Oscar, pointing to a table in the far corner. She left him in line while she cut through the crowded room to secure the table for two.
Once Oscar got the coffee, he made his way over to the table and set the drinks down before nestling himself into the chair opposite his liberator.
Stacey tasted her coffee. "Mmm … best latté in town."
"Yeah, great. So come on, what's up? Why are you here?"
She placed her elbow on the table and leaned in, resting her chin on her balled-up fist. "Did someone go to a lot of trouble to get rid of Louie Gomez, or was it a happy coincidence that he snuffs it the day before his trial?"
"Like my dad says, 'West Louisville is a rough place. Anything can happen.' "
"Yes, which brings me to my next question. Why is the entire Novak-Chambers clan, along with their thumbless sidekick, all downtown being questioned about the Louie Gomez murder? Funny, that, isn't it? And even funnier, every one of you has motive."
Oscar smiled. "And are you submitting that the Davenports are without motive? If anything, you and your dad had more reason to dust Louie than anyone else."
She lowered her voice and hissed at him through gritted teeth. "Are you suggesting we had something to do with this?"
"Are you suggesting we did?"
"I'm a good prosecutor. Sooner or later, I would have busted the son of a bitch. Why would I take justice into my own hands?"
Oscar met her halfway across the table. "It wouldn't be the first time."
Fury crossed Stacey's face, then it turned to hurt. "And this is what you think of me?"
Oscar eased back, holding his hands up. "I'm just sayin' …"
"Yeah, well, I'm just sayin' your thug was seen downtown with Louie the day of the murder. Black Lincoln Continentals are admired in that part of town, and people take notice."
"Aren't you forgetting something? Johnny doesn't have a trigger finger?"
She slapped the table with an open palm. "Yeah, thanks to Louie Freaking Gomez. That's motive right there."
"But he's not the only one prone to violent temper tantrums, like someone else I could mention."
Stacey pulled back, crossing her arms. "Okay, fair enough. So what? You want me to throw you back to the cops and let them have their fun with you?"
He reached across, prying her arm away from her chest and clutching her hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I was just making the point that it could be anybody. In his line of work, I'm sure he had plenty of enemies, not just Novaks, Chambers, and Davenports." But the question Oscar couldn't get past was, Why was she even there helping him in the first place? "I know you're part of the DA's office, et cetera, et cetera, but how did you find out about the suspects and our supposed motives so fast?"
She brushed her hair back. "Emmitt seems to think the way to a woman's, well, 'unmentionables' is through sharing professional knowledge. That's a fallacy, of course, but I'm not going to tell him that. He'll figure it out one day, but until then, I'll let him keep feeding me information."
Oscar bobbed his head. "I see. Okay, based on that theory, will you keep feeding me information? Who knows? Maybe it's not a fallacy after all."
She leaned forward and whispered. "Let's try it. Do you know who killed Louie Gomez?"
"No."
"See? And we're no closer to having sex. It doesn't work, does it?"
Oscar's phone rang, and he glanced at the screen. "I better take this."
"Hi, Grandma, what's up?"
"I'm worried about your grandfather."
"It's okay, Grandma. He'll straighten things out and be out in no time."
"Oscar … we got married on a Saturday."
Chapter 44
The detective sat opposite Roscoe, hunched over. His wrinkled blue suit hung on him like he wore it on an overnight stakeout. "So you see, Mr. Novak, all the pieces fit together."
Roscoe stared at the balding cop. Black hair wrapped the sides of his skull, with nothing on top except shiny skin. His thick, bushy mustache would have made lipreading impossible, but Roscoe heard him loud and clear. "I got ya, Detective. And you pieced this together all on your own, did ya?"
The cop's expression didn't change. "Ragoosa's next door singing like a six-year-old girl in the school choir, and your name cropped up more than once. Besides having dealings with his father in the past, why don't you tell me about your relationship with Louie himself?"
Roscoe held his hands up in a mock surrender. "You got me, Detective. The little shit keyed my Cadillac forty years ago, and I've been waiting for an opportunity all these years to pop the little punk." He folded his arms. "So an old white guy turns up in the west end of Louisville, wandering around on the streets, giving the guys playing basketball every opportunity to identify him, and then he goes into an old warehouse, pumps lead into Louisville's most notorious gangster right between the eyes, then slips out unnoticed while the brothers are still shooting hoops? Yep, I can see how you got your gold badge."
"How did you know there were some guys playing basketball? I didn't mention that. And by 'brothers,' I'm presuming you meant African-Americans."
"Because, sunshine, every movie ever shot in the ghetto always has black guys playing basketball in the background. I made an assumption."
"And I'm making my assumptions. Now I need to tie them to the truth. Your family has history with the Gomezes. You, your grandson, and if I dig a little bit, probably the son-in-law too. So my guess is, either you snuffed Louie, figuring at eighty years old, you have little to lose—a life sentence for you would mean one to five, so why not protect your family—"
Roscoe shifted in his seat.
"—or you had the thumbless guy do it. Johnny doesn't strike me as the brightest bulb on the tree, and it would be easy for a man of your power and influence to get someone like Johnny to do your dirty work. So which is it?"
"I want my lawyer."
"Of course you do. I'm surprised you cooperated as long as you have without an expensive suit by your side." The cop closed his notepad. "I'll go get Charlie Ford for you. He's in the building."
***
Oscar burst through the front doors of the police station with Stacey a few paces behind. He marched up to the raised front desk. The cop ignored him, giving the computer screen his undivided attention instead.
Oscar rested his arms on the desktop. "Where's my granddad, Roscoe Novak?"
The cop didn't raise his head. "Under investigation in room one."
Oscar looked around the lobby. "Where's my dad, Tyler Chambers?"
He sounded bored. "Under investigation, room two."
"Still? You have got to be kidding me."
The policeman removed his glasses. "There's two things we don't joke about around here, kid—investigations and doughnuts."
"Oh, shit."
"Take a seat. I got a feeling you're next."
Stacey took him by the arm and pulled him to a bench. They had a quiet spot amongst the commotion.
Stacey patted his hand. "Let the police ask their questions, then we'll all get out of here and go have a drink. They have to explore all avenues, and since you had dealings with Gomez, they'll want to know where you were at the time of his death. So, where were you?"
"Can't remember." He impatiently looked down the hallway. "What are they talking to him about in there, anyway?"
She tugged his shirt sleeve to get his attention. "They're doing their job. They'll be asking your dad and granddad the same thing they're going to be asking you. Now, where—were—you?"
He let out a heavy breath. "At home."
"Can anyone verify that?"
> "Yeah, Jim Beam."
"Oh, my God. That's your alibi? You got drunk? At home? Alone?"
"Yep, that about sums it up."
"Oh, for pity's sake. You know any good lawyers?"
He gave her his pretty-boy look. "You?"
"Pbbbt … not likely. I wouldn't touch this one even if God himself showed up as your character witness."
He opened his arms in a plea. "What the hell am I supposed to say? Unless you want to say you were at my house having wild sex with me all night, yeah, Jim Beam is all I got."
She spoke without emotion. "Well, if the cops don't buy it, you can always plead insanity. They'll believe that."
"Is that what they taught you in law school? Sarcasm?"
"Who was being—never mind."
Oscar took a visual down the hallway again. "What the hell are they—" He shook his head. "Damn. The bail money. I should never have asked him for it."
Stacey's eyes went wide. "Asked who for what?"
He tried to sound dismissive. "I didn't have liquid assets at the time. Granddad helped me a little."
Stacey's face softened before she slung her arm over his shoulder. "That's not a crime. Don't worry, they'll let him go soon enough."
"Sounds like you know something."
"I know people," she asserted. "He didn't do it."
"Do you know who did?"
Her face wrinkled. "Of course not."
He looked down the hall again. "Okay, they got the bail money on Granddad, but that's all they've got. But what the hell are they talking to Dad about?"
***
"Where were you the night Louie Gomez was murdered, Mr. Chambers?"
Tyler smiled sarcastically. "You say it was around seven o'clock, Monday, June 16?"
One of the cops responded with an eye roll. "You passed the hearing test. Now, where were you?"
Tyler cast his head skyward, his index finger holding up his chin. "Let me see … I believe I was making love to the most beautiful woman in Kentucky. Yep, call my wife." He lowered his head. "If we weren't actually doing it at that time, we were in the foreplay stages."
