Authors: Joe R. Lansdale
41
Since Cason had a date with the Kincaid secretary, Lateesha, we thought staying at Constance’s place might be bad form, so we rented a room in the Holiday Inn Express near the airport. It had two beds and a rollaway; we left that death trap for Cason.
Cason didn’t come back that night, so we sat around and watched television and went to bed late, like parents worried about their boy who had passed his curfew. In the morning, we went downstairs and looked at the free breakfast and understood why it was free, so we walked to a restaurant next door.
As we walked, Leonard said, “If Cason doesn’t show soon, he’s going to have to find a ride home. I’m not taking that motherfucker in to raise.”
“I thought you said he was loyal, and—”
“Oh, shut up.”
We were going inside the restaurant when Cason came up. Out in the lot, we saw Lateesha driving away in a red sports car.
“Good to see you,” I said. “But we didn’t come here to serve as a dating service.”
“Oh, I got that date all on my own.”
Cason held up a disc.
“What’s that?” Leonard said.
“A list of all of Kincaid’s clients,” he said. “Lateesha got it for me off her computer. It occurred to me that—and I know this will be hard to believe—Kincaid might be lying.”
“What has the world come to?” I said.
“I’m going to send it to Mercury, have him cross-check it and see if there’s anyone on it that might be someone who would do Kincaid a favor. So to speak.”
“The old organized crime figure on the accountant sheet trick,” I said.
“That’s it,” Cason said.
The greeter came over and guided us to a booth in the back, which is what we asked for. Soon as we were seated a thin waitress who looked as if it would be all right with her if everyone who ever wanted to eat in a restaurant was dead, arrived and took our coffee orders and went away.
“Mercury can do that?” I said. “He has that kind of list available to him?”
“He has a list of lists,” Cason said. “If there are people on this disc that cross-check as criminals, or are associated with criminals … We can check. It might lead to something, and it might lead to nothing. But it seems like this baby”—he held up the disc—“has made the trip worthwhile. It’s more than Kincaid would ever tell us just by asking.”
“Lateesha get anything out of this?” I asked.
“About six inches of dick and a marvelous breakfast,” Cason said.
“Six inches and about ten feet of bullshit is what I figure,” Leonard said.
“I’m not the world’s best person to be around women,” Cason said. “And the worse thing is, if I really get interested in them and they lose interest in me, which seems to happen as I tend to get preoccupied with things—”
“Like more women,” I said.
“That would be one of the preoccupations, yes,” Cason said. “But if they lose interest in me, I become a half-ass stalker if I don’t watch it. It’s hard for me to let go.”
“So you have an inferiority complex,” Leonard said.
“Could be,” Cason said.
“What about Constance?” Leonard said.
“I’m seeing her next weekend,” Cason said.
“What about Lateesha?” I said.
“Constance Saturday, Lateesha Sunday.”
“Do you take vitamins?” I asked.
“Push-ups and clean living,” Cason said.
Driving home, Cason and Leonard talked about this and that. I tuned out and thought about Kincaid. If he had done anything to get rid of those associated with Godzilla, and her crime, I had a hard time figuring out what made him bad and us good. I had his money and resources I might have done the same thing. Hell, without his money I had done that kind of thing in the past, and Leonard was with me and he was proud of it.
So why did his shit stink and ours smelled like perfume?
And Bert had an idea, maybe a guess similar to ours, that Kincaid might have done the daughter in, and since he had lost all that money to the kitties, maybe he thought he could get some out of Kincaid. Only thing was, Kincaid hadn’t bit, and he may not have bit because he may not have been guilty. Or the only card Bert was holding was a guess, and Kincaid knew it. He struck me as a shrewd and intuitive man. And Miss Clinton, she didn’t seem like a slacker either. But the bottom line was, Bert was dead. Why would Kincaid bother to have him killed? Or had he. And if not, who did?
No answers presented themselves.
42
By the time we got back to LaBorde, Leonard and Cason had become buddies. They both had been in the military, in different wars, but they had some similar experiences. When Cason got out of the car at his place, Leonard got out and they hugged.
When Leonard got back in and we were tooling along, I said, “That was some hug.”
“Don’t worry,” Leonard said. “You’re still number one.”
We drove to Marvin’s office. The girl at the bicycle shop was standing in the open doorway. She was dressed warm today. The weather had turned cold and there was a hint of rain on the air. She had on a woolen cap and her hair cascaded out from under that. She wore a leather bomber jacket with a sheep’s wool collar, blue jeans, and some big boots with fur trim. The only thing missing was the sled dogs.
In the office, Marvin had a small heater plugged into the wall and he was sitting by it in his rolling chair.
“Can’t find the money for some real heat?” I said.
“Central air is out,” Marvin said. “And I can’t afford to fix it. We get through with this case, I can. I may even get a new coffeepot and a better water cooler.”
We pulled the client chairs over by the heater. Leonard said, “Are you hinting that we should hurry up?”
“No,” he said, “but a conclusion at some point in time would be nice.”
“We’re starting to believe Kincaid was looking for vengeance for his son,” Leonard said, “and he knew someone whose accounting business he took care of was also someone who, for a fee, could take care of business for him.”
“You think that because Brett thinks that?”
“No,” Leonard said. “Because it’s logical.”
“Another thing,” I said, “Bert tried to blackmail Kincaid. Kincaid admitted that. I think Bert was guessing Kincaid had Mini and Mrs. Christopher’s boy killed. He may not have seemed smart, but when it got right down to it, he could have had things figured out. Kincaid may have had him whacked. He knows the right people, and he makes millions for them on their taxes and accounts. He might be able to have them to do him a favor. Or pay them for one.
“Actually, it’s all guesswork for right now, but it’s all we got. Frankly, I haven’t ruled out June either. She had money too, and she didn’t like Mini, and how much she liked her brother is up for debate. She struck me as a hard ass in a soft-ass body.”
“But you have no proof that anyone did anything?” Marvin said.
“We do have something that might give us some proof by way of our new BFF, Cason.”
We filled Marvin in on all that had gone on. Told him about how Cason got the disc with the names on it.
When we finished, he said, “Cason got two pieces of ass in as many days?”
“Gets two this coming weekend as well,” I said.
“I knew I hated that guy,” Marvin said.
“You’re married, and I might as well be,” I said, “so it’s of no interest to us.”
“Okay, we’re married, but damn, I’m jealous.”
“All right,” I said. “Me too. And Leonard here, I think he was hoping him and Cason might play a little grab-ass.”
“It was merely an affectionate hug between comrades,” Leonard said.
“About the case?” Marvin said.
“Cason is having the disc checked,” I said, “and we’ll get back to you.”
Marvin said, “You know, guys, I don’t want to be paranoid here, but I’m starting to look over my shoulder.”
“You think we’re in danger?” I said.
“I don’t know,” Marvin said. “But if Kincaid is responsible for Bert’s death, it doesn’t take much to piss him off. Why would he bother? It’s just one more death that might tie itself to him. He could have let it go and probably been better off.”
“That may not be his way,” I said. “He strikes me as a man that likes to win at whatever game he’s playing, and from the looks of his office digs, he has the money to make the kind of arrangements he wants for most anything next to a body transplant.”
Marvin got up and poured himself a cup of coffee, came and sat back down.
“So, how do we play it?” he said.
“I’m not one for quitting,” Leonard said.
“Here’s my thought,” I said. “Best thing for us to do is to keep poking our noses in other people’s business and find out if someone will come out and play.”
43
I was lying in bed with Brett, and I had told her about our day and the day before. Leonard was downstairs sleeping on the couch. From where I lay I could see the window and the night sky. It was a velvet-soft night. No rain.
“How are things between Leonard and John?” she asked.
“John’s being taught that his sense of future direction ought to include deep desire for a woman’s vagina.”
“Who’s teaching him?”
“His brother.”
Brett shook her head. “Families can be a mess.”
I reached over and took her hand. “I’m gonna change the subject a little.”
“That sounded ominous.”
“I know you have a child, a grown child,” I said, “but have you ever thought about starting a family with someone else?”
“Someone else?”
“Yes.”
“Who would that someone else be?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Someone off the street. Someone about my height and weight and general disposition.”
“You’re serious?”
“I guess I am.”
Brett lay without speaking for a long time. “I have thought about it, Hap. I’ve told you how much I love you, and how I stand by you. But … if we had a kid, there’s no way you could do what you do.”
“I could quit. Though I’m not sure what I’m quitting, since I don’t know what my job is.”
“You know exactly what I mean, Hap. Don’t act coy.”
“I think I could actually finish college.”
“You tried last year and quit.”
“I wasn’t motivated enough.”
“Now you are?”
“I could try. Unlike just about everyone else, I really had a good family. I know how to be a father. I would be good at it.”
“Your lifestyle isn’t exactly conducive to tricycles and soccer games and PTA meetings. You’d do all right for a while, and then you’d be … you know, back out there with Leonard. I don’t know if I could manage it. I have a grown child that drives me crazy. I don’t even know if I could have another one. I’m probably too old.”
“We could find out,” I said.
She reached out and patted my cheek gently. “I don’t think so, baby. I love you. I do. But, Hap … I don’t think so.”
44
Morning came, and downstairs I found Brett making coffee. I said, “Where’s Leonard?”
“I sent him to his place.”
“Sent him?”
“To get his stuff. His rent plays out in the next couple of days. He doesn’t need to be staying in some rat hole, and besides, I like having him around.”
“I like having him around too … but not that much.”
“It’s temporary. Me and him talked.”
“He has enough money right now to rent or put down dough on a good place, he just hasn’t done it. He’s cheap.”
“He’s not ready for that. Not with the way things are with John.”
“And things may never get better,” I said. “But they might. And if they don’t, he’ll move on. Leonard’s a survivor.”
“He is at that.”
“What we talked about last night,” she said. “I been thinking.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “I was having a sentimental moment.”
She put her arms around me. My hands cupped her buttocks.
“How long before he gets back?” I asked.
“Let me start the coffee, then let’s go upstairs and see if you can make a hole in one before he shows.”
I let go of her. She turned off the coffee. She took my hand. We went upstairs.
Fore!
45
The case didn’t exactly die on us after that, but it went a little south for a while while we waited on Mercury to cross check things. Me and Leonard spent time at the little gym where we had a membership, and it was a cold place to be, as the heating wasn’t enough to warm up a mouse.
We were often the only people there. The owner was a big fat man whose only exercise was sitting in a chair near the door and taking money or, as in our case, checking memberships. The gym wasn’t pretty, but it served our needs. It had a heavy bag, which I hate, and a speed bag, which I love, and it had a good mat we could spar on and throw each other down on. I noticed that when I was thrown it hurt more than it had just a couple years back. Time seemed to have made the ground harder, even if it had a mat over it.
The cold made us train briskly, skipping rope, pounding the heavy bag, punching the speed. After that we sparred a little.
It was good and fun to work out with the weather going wonky, dropping uncharacteristically down to seventeen at night, and in the high twenties during the day. Weather like that, you had to keep moving. Even as we sparred our breath puffed little white clouds. It was odd weather for East Texas, the sort that came once in a blue moon.
We finished up by going over self-defense drills, doing them pretty rough, to make sure we weren’t slacking, then we did our groundwork, so we would be ready if we had to end up there, then we went into the cold shower room with our feet freezing on the tile, took hot showers not only to clean up, but to warm up, got dressed, and drove home.
When we got there, Cason’s car was parked out front with the engine running, the exhaust pumping into the cold air. After we parked, he climbed out, dressed in a bomber jacket and slacks and a shirt and tie. He held up a folder. “Mercury,” he said.
I invited him inside, sat him at the kitchen table with Leonard, and made some hot tea.
“How British,” Cason said, as he took his cup of tea.
“I see that dress code has kicked in,” I said.
“Yeah,” Cason said, “it has.”
“About the file,” Leonard said.
The file lay in the center of the table. Cason tapped it with a finger.
“Mercury cross-checked names, and there are people on the list that are kind of scary, including a nasty guy named Cletus Jimson.”
“Oh yeah,” Leonard said. “He’s a sweetheart.”
“You know him?” Cason said.
“We’ve crossed paths,” I said. “He doesn’t like us.”
“We’re often misunderstood,” Leonard said.
“Do you think Kincaid could have hired him to do it?” Cason asked. “Kill those folks?”
“Cletus doesn’t do that sort of work, he has it done,” I said. “I suppose Kincaid could have contacted him about a little help, though.”
“Jesus Christ,” Leonard said. “I hope it isn’t Vanilla Ride.”
“Who?” Cason said.
“You don’t want to know,” I said. “Those other devil head murders. Ones up in Oregon and so on. When were they?”
Cason told us.
I said, “Those are too long ago for Vanilla. She’d have been in the womb. She’s not that old. And even if I add five or six years to what I think her age is, she’s still too young. I hope.”
“That’s a relief,” Leonard said. “I keep thinking we’ll see her again, and may not like it when we do.”
“I don’t think she and Jimson are on that good of terms,” I said. “Not the way I remember it. So, taking that fact and adding her youth to it, I think we can safely say, no Vanilla Ride.”
“Money and need make strange bedfellows,” Leonard said. “And I don’t think Cletus has forgotten us. He had these others killed for Kincaid … hell, maybe even June, and it all leads to us sticking our noses into his business, he might decide to put us on the list, and considering our past history, perhaps he’d do it with a certain amount of enthusiasm. But that’s private. You don’t need to know any more than that. He doesn’t like us.”
I nodded.
Cason had been watching us in a tennis-match fashion. Head first to one, then the other. “So, I’m sort of out of this part of the conversation,” he said.
“Yep,” I said. “We don’t want to explain that part of our past. But it’s possible Jimson did Kincaid a favor, if he got something big in return.”
“Should we talk to him?” Cason said.
“That could be tricky,” I said. “It’s like stirring up a snake. He’s sleeping all quiet like, hibernating maybe, and we go in there with a stick and twist him around with it, piss him off, and we are in for some shit when he may not have anything to do with this. So, we could get bit for nothing.”
“I got the impression you boys get bit a lot,” Cason said.
“That’s why we don’t want to get bit again,” I said.
Leonard looked at me, then looked away. He said to Cason: “I don’t mind talkin’ to him. We need to, we will. But is he the only one on your list? I think before we stir him up, we got to decide if these murders connect somehow with the murders in Oregon and the like. I think Jimson would kill his mother if he thought he could get a nickel for her bloody Tampax, but I don’t think he’d go out of the South. He’s sort of regional.”
“Yeah,” I said, “his territory is East Texas and western Louisiana mostly. I reckon he could do some business outside of this area, but I don’t know the business he’d do would be that sort of thing. He’s got his niche here. He’s got contacts and has the right people paid off, but up north, not so much would be my guess. What I think Jimson likes is being a big frog in a small pond. It’s his comfort zone.”
“Anyone else on that list suspect?” Leonard asked.
Cason nodded. “Couple others, but the thing is they aren’t that big-time. They’re little operations, and I got a feeling our killer, our Devil Red, is well trained and works for big money. That’s why I thought of Jimson. He’s much bigger time than the other two jokers.”
“Where are they from?” I asked.
“Midwest,” Cason said.
“Kincaid isn’t afraid to do business with bad people,” Leonard said. “Keep their taxes clean and fresh. So that makes it even more likely he would have been willing to make some kind of deal to get even for his son.”
“Maybe he just does their taxes and tells them how to save on weather stripping their homes,” I said.
“Yeah, right,” Leonard said.
“If Kincaid did arrange it, I’m not sure I blame him for wanting to get even,” I said. “Losing first a daughter to drugs, then a son to murder is bound to weigh on and mess up the mind—”
“Wait a minute,” Leonard said. “I just had a flash. Detectives like to call it inspiration.”
“Yeah,” I said. “What do you call it?”
“The drug-dead daughter,” Leonard said. “What do we know about her?”
“I think the whole she’s dead part about covers it,” Cason said. “Let’s look into it,” Leonard said.
“May I ask why?” I said.
“Yes,” Leonard said. “You can ask, but I got nothing to say about it yet. I may be full of shit.”
“All right,” Cason said. “We can check on her. I’ll get Mercury on it.”