Devil Red (14 page)

46

After Cason left, we called Marvin and asked if he could set up a meeting with Jimson. The whole thing about telling Cason we didn’t want to see Jimson really meant we didn’t want Cason in on it. We had a history with Jimson. All bad. We didn’t want to put Cason on Jimson’s doo-doo list.

We sat around for about an hour, then Marvin called us back.

“What’d he say?” I said, pressing my cell phone to my ear while standing at the kitchen window, looking out at the yard, the house beyond. It had turned off clear and the sun was out, but there was ice in little spots where the water ran out of the grass and collected along the concrete walk at that side of the house. If I was married to Brett and had a child, the most I’d have to think about today was maybe going to work and coming in to read the papers and play with the kid. It was a pipe dream, but I liked it.

“He said he didn’t want to see you,” Marvin said.

“That’s not nice.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“I don’t know about you,” I said, “but my iddy-biddy feelers are crushed to the bone.”

“Mine too, but that’s what he said. He also said eat shit and die.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Yeah. Actually, I didn’t talk to him. But the message from his associate, one of his bodyguards, was pretty much in that ballpark.”

I turned to Leonard. “Jimson doesn’t want to see us.”

“Then we should respect his wishes,” Leonard said.

47

Within fifteen minutes we were on our way to the little burg of No Enterprise. It wasn’t much of a place, a four-way stop with a string of buildings here and there, but for some odd reason, Jimson lived over in that area and did a lot of his business in a little service station that also had sodas and liquor and snack goods, had some tables in the back with some chairs, and sold hamburgers. Good burgers, bad fries. The pie was good too.

Jimson spent a lot of time there in the afternoons with his goons. If he wasn’t there, well, we’d have chocolate pie with meringue. If he was there, we’d probably have it anyway. Maybe a hamburger. Me and Leonard, we believed in living large. It’s just how we roll.

It took us a little over half an hour to get there because there were some low spots in the highway and water ran across those, and in this weather they had frozen, making an occasional shiny ribbon of ice across the road. Mostly it took us a while because Leonard had a new country music CD and he wanted to hear all of it before we stopped. He said, “They get rowdy, and I get killed, I like to know I heard all of it.”

“You’re dead, what does it matter?”

“It’s the idea of it,” he said. “I just want to know I consumed it all, at least once.”

“You’ve heard it before.”

“But it’s a different collection of the same songs. I like that they’re in a different order.”

“Jerry Lee Lewis singing country sounds pretty much like Jerry Lee Lewis singing country in any order.”

“Oh yes, and oh so good.”

I had to agree. He told me to shut up and played the CD.

We were both armed. I had my permit pistol, and Leonard had a sawed-off shotgun without a permit fitted inside his long coat. He flared the coat back, he could pull it out of there faster than you could blink.

When we arrived the café part was absent of Jimson and thugs. In fact, it was absent of any patrons. There was a guy at the counter, and when we sat down back there, he said, “You got to come up here to get menus.”

I got up and got us a couple of menus. I noticed there was a large jar of pickled eggs on the counter and a small jar with a kid’s photo on it and a request for money due to burns received in a car wreck. I put a buck in the can and took the menus back to where Leonard had picked seats. There was a door back there that was an emergency door. It didn’t open from the outside. Anyone came in, they had to come in the front door and come along the path between the counter and the tables to reach us. There was a wide row of glass to our left, but we were sitting at a table where I had my back against the wall, and had a bit of wall to protect me. Leonard was point man. Anyone came up, he could see them through the glass, and if need be he could cut down on them with that shotgun, start pumping out loads.

We ordered two hamburgers from the guy when he came over. He was a little nasty-looking for a man who worked as a cook. His fingers were nicotine stained and his teeth were the same. In fact, where the stains were missing, black decay had filled in between his teeth like dirt washed down from a hill.

Leonard said, “Two hamburgers, no fries, hold the hepatitis.”

“What?” the man said.

“I mean wash your hands. I like to think that’s nicotine, but for all I know it could be from you sticking your finger up your ass.”

“You guys leave,” he said.

“We work for the health department, mister,” I said. “I wouldn’t push it.”

He looked at me, said, “Show me your credentials.”

“We don’t carry any. We’re here to surprise people, not let them know we’re coming.”

“Credentials just show who you are,” he said. “I’m already surprised.”

“True,” Leonard said, “but you’ve got on my bad side. Go wash your hands.”

The man studied Leonard for a moment, figured quite correctly we weren’t with the health department, but he wasn’t really sure about throwing us out. Especially Leonard, who had a kind of lazy look that said “I’d love to kill you very much.”

“All right,” he said. “Two hamburgers.”

“After you wash your hands,” Leonard said. “And I even think or consider you might spit in my food or mess with it, I will personally see you get some big demerits. And on top of that, I will hold your face against the stove until it cooks your nose off.”

“No need to get nasty,” the man said.

“Your fingers are nasty enough,” Leonard said.

The man went away.

I said, “Leonard, why do you always try to make friends wherever we go?”

“Our man Jimson comes here all the time, so he’s got to tip Shit Fingers something or another now and then to use the space, and I figure whatever he tips him is big enough to buy some loyalty. I figure Shit Fingers is in the back there now, punching him up on the cell phone. I figure it’s a way to pull Jimson out of the Jacuzzi and get him on the road.”

“You know, you’re not as dumb as you look.”

48

Our hamburgers arrived, and about the same time we saw Jimson and two of his goon balls push through the door, start toward us. Leonard turned so that he was facing that direction. He had his hand inside his coat. Things went south, he’d have the shotgun up and ready. I put my hand in my coat and felt for the automatic, but to tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure I could use it, way I’d been lately. I hoped I could at least talk tough.

Jimson was a fortyish guy who looked as if he was trying to smooth his image with expensive clothes. He was wearing a tan fedora, a very nice brown leather coat over a maroon sweater, and tan slacks so tight you wanted to yell “snake.”

With him were two men that couldn’t look sophisticated if they were wearing tuxes and monocles. One of them was so muscular he looked as if he had been pumped up with air. The other was leaner, and he carried his right hand close to him with his palm folded back, his coat slightly pushed. He’d be the shooter, the big man with the muscles would be the hitter.

As Jimson walked toward us, he turned to Shit Fingers, said, “You’re right, they’re not the health department. More like sewer.”

Jimson sat at the table near us and looked at us like we were wild animal exhibits. Leonard had turned completely around in his chair. He wouldn’t even need to take the shotgun out of his coat. All he had to do was lift and shoot through fabric. A shot from that sawed-off and Jimson would be mixed in with the pickled eggs.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Leonard said.

“Yeah,” Jimson said, “imagine that. Last time I seen you guys I didn’t like it, and now I see you again, I don’t like it some more.”

“Is that line out of the movies?” Leonard said.

“That’s an original,” Jimson said. “I got a feeling you boys didn’t just come over for a hamburger.”

“Well,” I said, “there’s the pie.”

Jimson smiled. “Yeah. There is the pie. So, I get a call from Marvin Hanson, a guy I don’t like much, but knows me all right, and he says can his boys come see me. And you know what I say?”

“No,” Leonard said.

“That’s right. I say no. And then you know what?”

“Pray tell,” Leonard said.

“You show up anyway.”

“Not at your house,” Leonard said.

“At my spot.”

“Here?” Leonard said. “Really? This is your spot?”

“You been hasslin’ my man over there.” He nodded at Shit Fingers. “He kind of keeps me an open office here. I let you hassle my man, what kind of reputation I got with the locals?”

“What do you get out of him letting you have your office here?” I said.

“Pie.”

“All right,” I said. “I can see that.”

Leonard nodded.

“Look, I don’t know what you two assholes want, but I got nothin’ to do with nothin’ you’re dealin’ with.”

“Now, how would you know that, when we haven’t told you what we’re dealing with? We could be selling Girl Scout cookies for all you know.”

“Them’s some good cookies,” said the man with muscles.

Jimson turned and glanced at him. Muscles looked embarrassed, then tried to look as serious as a heart attack.

“I come here ’cause my man there called,” Jimson said, “and I come here to show you guys I’m not afraid of you, that you ain’t got no mojo on me. You dig on that?”

“I think ‘dig’ went out with the beatniks,” Leonard said.

Jimson sighed. “You don’t even try to work with a man when he’s trying to work with you. I wanted, I could rub you guys out. I still owe you a shitstorm that didn’t never come down.”

“Actually,” I said, “you threw a lot of shit our way, but we sort of threw it back.”

“I’m talkin’ about what I could have done.”

“Woulda, coulda, shoulda,” Leonard said. “That was then, and this is now.”

“You fellas don’t want this,” Jimson said. “You don’t want me mad.”

“Do we look nervous?” Leonard said. Leonard didn’t. Me, I wasn’t so sure about. “We made you mad before, and we’re still standing,” Leonard said.

“I thought you made a deal to stay out of my business if I stayed out of yours,” Jimson said.

I nodded. “It’s a deal we like, stayin’ out of each other’s business, but we’re thinkin’, considerin’ what we know lately, maybe your business is in our business again. And if it is, well, we got to come say howdy.”

“And what in the hell business could that be?” Jimson said.

Leonard said, “You know, I’m gonna pause and eat this hamburger. It’s better when it’s warm. Hey, Shit Fingers. Come over here.”

Shit Fingers was behind the counter. He looked at Jimson. Jimson nodded.

Shit Fingers came out from behind the counter, over to Leonard.

“Let me see those hands,” Leonard said.

Shit Fingers showed them to him. They had been washed.

“All right, go on about your business,” Leonard said.

I looked at Jimson. He was starting to fume. That’s the way Leonard wanted him. He liked people he was dealing with mad, especially when he was trying to find something out. Me too. They were more likely to mess up, reveal something they shouldn’t. They were easier to read when they were angry. It’s the way we worked. Either that or kicking their ass. Subtlety was not our long suit.

Muscles said, “You want me to fuck ’em up, boss?”

Jimson shook his head. “I don’t know you can.”

Muscles looked hurt, the way a kid might if you told him his drawing of the sky and a moon looked like a boat on the ocean.

“Here’s the thing,” Leonard said. “We got this client, and our client has a problem. Someone she knows, family, was murdered, and there were other murders, and they’re all connected by a little symbol. A devil’s head. Red. Left at the scene of the murders. You know anything about that?”

“No.”

Leonard said, “Oh, Shit Fingers. I’ll have a slice of pie. Hap?”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “Big slice.”

“I don’t see how this has anything to do with me,” Jimson said. “Got that whole Kincaid-does-your-taxes thing going,” Leonard said.

“Yeah, and I got a grocer, this filling station where I buy my gas and do my business, and I got a mechanic and a plumber, and a girl on Fridays comes over and pulls my dick so I don’t have to.”

“So you got nothin’ for us?” I said.

“If I had, why would I give it to you? You come in here, you insult Shit Fingers … I mean Toad—”

“Toad?” I said.

“We called him that in high school. I’ve known him a long time. Same for these two. We grew up together.”

“I used to beat him up on the playground,” Muscles said.

Jimson turned and looked at him. “You could have saved that.”

“Sorry, Cletus. I just thought it was funny … as a memory. Not that I would do it now—”

“That’s all right,” Jimson said. “Just be quiet.”

Muscles went quiet.

“Here’s what I got to say,” Jimson said. “I’ve got nothing to do with the devil head murders. Nothing. What I can say is this: I’ve heard of a hit person who uses that mark. The only person more deadly than this person, so they say, is this Vanilla Ride, and you’ve had experience with her. They’re both a lot more deadly than you are. Say I wanted somethin’ done, I used to go to Vanilla. She got the job done, but now me and her got this disagreement on account of you two.”

“I call bullshit on that,” I said. “You decided to kill her. That’s the disagreement.”

“Whatever. I wanted someone killed in a bad way, I might go to this devil head killer. I might go through Kincaid. I might know he can arrange it. But me, I don’t want anyone killed, so I’m not doin’ that. I didn’t do it in the past. I got to tell you now, you boys are startin’ to annoy me. You’re not keepin’ your side of the bargain about stayin’ out of my business.”

“As long as it’s out of our business,” I said. “That was the bargain.”

“And I’m tellin’ you, if my accountant is hirin’ someone to knock fuckers off, it ain’t through me. That’s what I’m tellin’ you, and that’s my word.”

Shit Fingers, aka Toad, brought the pie.

“Get me one too,” Jimson said.

“Yeah,” Muscles said. “Pie all around. And some milk. What we got here, five milks?”

Toad looked at Jimson. Jimson sighed. “Why not? More pie. Bring milk. We might as well see if anyone wants coffee.”

“I’ll top it off with coffee,” Muscles said.

Jimson shook his head a little.

Leonard took a big bite of pie, worked it around in his mouth, and swallowed. “Any chance you might hook us up with this Devil Red killer, like maybe we act like we got a job we want that bad boy to do?”

“No.”

“Come on, man,” Leonard said. “Here we are sharin’ pie, and you won’t hook a brother up.”

“I belonged to the Aryan Nations in prison, so I don’t hook brothers up.”

“Unless it’s to fasten ’em to a chain to get dragged by a car,” Muscles said.

This time the tall thin man who hadn’t said a word yet grinned. It was like seeing the Grim Reaper get a chuckle.

“Oh, that’s funny,” Leonard said.

“Look here. I ain’t into all that nigger hatin’ anymore,” Jimson said.

“That’s big of you,” Leonard said.

“Only way you might see this Devil Red dude, as you call him, is if he comes to shoot your black ass, and your white pal too.”

“That’s so sweet,” I said. “Both of us, and in the ass.”

“Look here,” Jimson said. “We’ve had a talk. I’ve bought some pie.”

“We’re not asking you to buy our pie,” Leonard said. “The milk maybe, as your man ordered that.”

Jimson snapped both hands in the air, making a crosscutting motion.

“Forget it. I’ve got the whole goddamn bill. I just want you two to go away and stay away, and let’s go back to where we were before. I’m out of your business, and you’re out of mine. You jackasses are like having seed ticks imbedded in the balls.”

“All right,” Leonard said. “But before we go, and before I say thanks for lunch, let me confirm some things. There is a killer who works for money who uses a red devil head as a symbol to sign his work?”

“That’s what I’m told,” Jimson said.

“And you’re sayin’, and I know you might lie to a brother, you’re sayin’ you’ve got nothin’ to do with these hits?”

“If I did,” Jimson said, “them crossin’ your path would just be a coincidence.”

“So you’re sayin’ you did have somethin’ to do with it?” Leonard said.

“No,” Jimson said. “For Christsakes, no. That was one of those hypotheticals.”

“You learn that word in prison?” I asked.

“I just added an
s
to it, that’s all. I have nothing to do with Devil Red. I have never had anything to do with Devil Red. I might consider havin’ something to do with Devil Red in the future. Maybe the very goddamn near future.”

“That a threat?” I asked.

“Hell yeah,” Jimson said.

“Don’t forget,” Leonard said. “Vanilla Ride is a personal friend of ours.”

“No need to bring that bitch into this.”

“You are such a misogynist,” I said. “If you can’t be sweet, don’t have anything to say at all.”

“Yeah,” Leonard said, tossin’ his napkin on the table. “You’re gonna talk like that, then we’ll just have to leave.”

He got up. I got up. I went to the fire door and pushed it. The alarm went off. I backed slowly out of it, and Leonard backed out after me. We went around by the side glass on our way to the car. Jimson, Muscles, and the Grim Reaper were watching us from the table. Well, Muscles was actually eating pie and drinking milk. Jimson and the Reaper were watching.

Toad wasn’t in sight.

Nobody pulled a gun.