Flavor of the Month (93 page)

The pounding took on a new intensity, so she struggled upright, and began to feel her way out of the room toward the front door. “Who is it?” she croaked to it.

“Police.”

Holy Jesus! What were they doing here? “What do you mean, the police? How do I know you’re the police?”

She peered through the peephole and saw the badge being held up in front of it. She looked down at her nakedness and said, “Just a minute till I get some clothes on.” She snapped on the living-room light, and looked around at the empty glasses and bottles on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Flora Lee closed her eyes for a moment, trying to remember, then pushed open the door to the bedroom, the light from the living room coming in over her shoulder.

What she saw in the bed was so frightening, she couldn’t scream, or even move. The pounding at the door was harder now. Flora Lee put her hands to her mouth to keep from shrieking. What had happened? Why was Dobe lying in her bed with her kitchen knife sticking out of his chest? What had she done? Jumping Jesus Christ!

She grabbed her coat and rushed to the door, grateful the police were here. Her hand was on the doorknob when it hit her. They’re going to think
I
did it, she thought. She stifled a sob, but since the pounding continued, there was nothing to do but open the door to let them in.

There was only one cop, and he was in plainclothes. He flipped open his wallet and showed his badge and ID to her. He stepped into the room warily, and looked around. “We have a complaint of a fight, screaming coming from this apartment. Are you all right, ma’am?”

It wasn’t the first time the neighbors had called the cops. Probably Mrs. Ramirez, the bitch. But she couldn’t remember no yelling. Flora Lee slumped down on the sofa. The plainclothes cop looked at her, then moved over and put the coffee table right. “What’s wrong, miss? What happened?” He sat down on the sofa next to her.

He seemed very nice. Flora Lee didn’t know what to do, but she knew she had to tell the policeman about the dead man in her bed. “I been drinking. I didn’t know nothing till I heard you at the door…” Flora Lee began to cry. She wished she were sober enough to think.

“Go ahead, tell me,” the cop said, very gently.

Flora Lee tried to stop sobbing, and pointed her finger toward the bedroom door. The cop stood up quickly and walked into the bedroom, was in there for what seemed like a long while. Maybe he’s not dead, Flora Lee thought. Maybe Dobe’s still alive. As she was about to get up to go in the bedroom, the policeman came back into the room, closing the door behind him. “Lady,” he said, taking a small card from his pocket, “I got to read you your rights. I’m arresting you for murder. ‘You have the right to remain silent…’”

“Wait, wait,” she wailed. “I didn’t murder
nobody
. We were just having drinks, and, the next thing I know, I’m waking up next to him dead and you’re pounding at the door.”

“Let me finish reading you your rights. ‘You have the right to an attorney…’”

“Listen to me,”
she nearly screamed. “I didn’t do it. It must have been a heart attack, or a burglar. It couldn’t have been me.”

“Why not?” the cop asked.

“Because I never hurt nobody in my life. And he was a real nice man, real nice to me. He’s a friend of my kids. A gentleman.” She began to sob. “I don’t know how this could happen. Dear God, on my word as a Christian, I didn’t hurt him.”

“You’re a Christian?” the cop asked. He sighed. He was a nice-looking guy, about fifty-five maybe, tanned, wrinkled face, brown hair. Maybe now he’d be a little more on her side. He sat back down on the sofa next to her. “Is there anyone you can call? Someone who can come to the jail right away? I’m not supposed to do this; I’m supposed to wait for you to make your call from jail, but, seeing’s how you and I are both Christians, well, maybe, just this once…”

Flora Lee looked up; the first glimmer of hope passed over her since she had flipped on the light and looked at her bed—only moments ago, but it seemed like years. Would a blow job help, too? No, she figured, murder was more serious than that. “Oh, yes. I got a son and a daughter. Maybe you know her. Sharleen Smith? I could call her. She’d take care of everything. She’s got lawyers, and money and…”

“Sharleen Smith? You don’t mean that actress on television, do you?
That
Sharleen Smith? She’s
your
daughter?
You’re
Sharleen Smith’s mother?”

Flora Lee nodded, animated. Maybe she could get out of this mess after all. Who would believe that the mother of a famous star would
kill
someone? “Yes,” she said, as she reached for the framed picture on the end table and handed it to the cop. “See? That’s my baby.”

The cop studied the picture for a moment, then handed it back to Flora Lee. “Anyone can have a picture of a star. I have a picture of Sharleen Smith at home myself. A fine woman, and a good Christian.”

“But, see, it says ‘To Momma, Love from your daughter, Sharleen.’ That’s me. Momma.” She waited while he mulled it over. Then he stood up, and began to pace back and forth. Flora Lee watched him, her eyes eager. Finally, he stopped pacing and stood in front of her. “If she’s your daughter, you have her private number, right? Let me have it.”

Flora Lee ran to her pocketbook and took out the card with the number on it. The number she was never supposed to share with
anyone
. “Here it is. I always carry it with me, ’cause I can’t remember numbers.”

The cop took the card and sat in a chair next to the phone. “Okay, lady, I’m going to give you a chance. Because, in this town, television is important and we don’t want to mess up the Industry. But if you’re lying, and this isn’t Sharleen Smith, or she don’t know you, you’re in big trouble. Murder One gets the death sentence in this state. Now, what’s your name?”

“Flora Lee. Smith.” Well, maybe she better not lie. “Flora Lee Deluce.” She began to explain. “See, I wasn’t actually married to Sharleen’s daddy. I’d been married, but Deluce ran off. Me and Dean Smith Sr. had been together, oh, seven, eight years. Dean Smith was her daddy. My husband. Well, let me explain.” Flora Lee talked about those days back in Arkansas, and then the move to Texas, and desperation, and about Dean Sr., and Dean Jr., and all what happened. But then, after a few questions, the cop stopped her.

“Now, is this all the truth?” he asked. “You got birth certificates and all?”

“Well, I don’t no more. But they have ’em at the hospital. See, I had another baby there, too.” She was about to launch into the story.

“And what was your maiden name before Texas, back in Arkansas?” He was busy taking notes, which made her nervous. He stared at her now. “If you’re lying now, Mrs. Deluce, you’re going to fry.”

“I’m not lying,” she whispered.

“Okay, Mrs. Deluce. I want you to go into the bathroom and take yourself a hot bath. Wash off all that blood. And clean out the tub. Real thorough. Don’t come out till I call you. Understand?” He picked up the phone and placed it on his lap.

“Could I…? I mean, I’m awful shook up. Look, I’m trembling. Could I take a drink before I go in? For my nerves?”

“Take the whole bottle in with you, I don’t care. Wash up real good, but don’t try to get away. I already checked the window.”

Flora Lee closed the bathroom door behind her, turned on the taps, then quickly unscrewed the top of the vodka bottle, and took three long pulls on it before coming up for air. Then she took three more. She placed the bottle on the edge of the tub and sat on the commode, waiting for the alcohol to hit.

How in the name of a bad bull’s balls did I get into this? she thought. What happened? Did someone come in and kill Dobe while I was passed out? Maybe he killed hisself. No, the knife was in the middle of his chest. Christ Almighty! Could I have done it? In a blackout? Flora Lee knew all about blackouts. She was used to drinking and then finding herself in dingy rooms with dirty men she didn’t know. But she had never hurt nobody before while she was in a blackout.

But that she couldn’t know for sure. Maybe she did and couldn’t remember. Oh, sweet Jesus, get me out of this. I don’t want to die. I’ll stop drinking if You just help me. For the first time in almost a dozen years, Flora Lee dropped to her knees for something other than a blow job. Oh, please, sweet Lamb of God, please help me, she prayed.

Flora Lee stood up and turned off the water, then took a couple more pulls on the vodka bottle. She stepped into the tub and began to wash her body roughly with a washcloth. She was out of the bath and onto the bottle of vodka again when she heard the policeman call to her. He still held the phone to his ear.

Flora Lee opened the door to the bathroom and cautiously came back into the living room, her robe pulled tight around her. She was feeling a little better, but she still knew she had a problem. Still, he was such a nice man. He seemed to be on hold, only listening. “Would you like a drink, officer?” she asked quietly.

“Mrs. Deluce, I’m on duty. Just sit down.”

She took a seat at the edge of the sofa.

“I just got finished talking to your daughter. You’re who you say you are, all right. Now, let me tell you, I don’t like this situation any better than you, but for Sharleen Smith I’d do anything. The Department and the studios don’t like this kind of thing, either. Bad for everyone. The guy was just a drifter. No one will miss him. And I’m too close to retirement to have this ruin me now.”

Flora Lee felt some of the tension leave her body, but she still remained perched on the edge of her seat. Had God listened to her prayer? “What is she going to do for me?”

“You’re going to get dressed, pack a suitcase, get a cab to the airport, and be on the first flight to New Orleans this morning. In New Orleans, you’re going to call this man,” he handed her a piece of paper with a name and a phone number. “He’ll set you up with a place to stay. Miss Smith was shocked, but she was kind enough to say that she would continue your allowance, but only through this man. He’ll see you get a check each month.”

Flora Lee started to cry. “I knew it. I just knew my baby girl would help me. And thank you, sir.” The sobs started to rack her body again.

“Hold up, lady. There’s more. If I let you go tonight, you’re never to contact Sharleen or Dean again. You’re
never
to mention your relationship with them, tell
anyone
you know about them. Nothing. This means you’ll never see your kids again. But that’s the only way I’m going to let you out of this without at least a life jail sentence, and a short life it might be.”

Flora Lee didn’t take a moment. “Sharleen said she’d keep sending the money?”

The cop nodded his head. “Yeah, but you gotta watch that mouth of yours. You tell anyone, and the FBI gets involved. Then you’re in the chair for sure.”

“Well, she got nothing to worry about from me. I’d never hurt either one of them. It ain’t like I raised them or nothing.” Flora Lee nodded her head. “I’ll go to New Orleans, and you kin tell her, starting tomorrow, I’ll never drink again. I just promised the Lord that in the bathtub.” She dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her robe, then stood up.

“I have to pack my bag…in there.” She pointed to the bedroom where the murdered man still lay.

“Make it fast. I got some more work to do tonight before this whole mess is over. And two other cops are coming. I want you outa here before they get here.”

She didn’t have to be told twice to rush. Flora Lee grabbed a couple of pants suits, some underwear, and as much of her makeup as she could squeeze into the brand-new suitcase Sharleen had given her. She was dressed and back in the living room in less than five minutes, and hadn’t once looked at Dobe in the bed.

The cop had money in his open hand, which he was thrusting toward Flora Lee. “This will be enough to get you to New Orleans. You’ll get more when you arrive and call the number I gave you.” Flora Lee reached for the money with one hand, grasping the handle of the suitcase with the other. “There’s just one more thing you got to do before you go.”

Flora Lee looked up at him with renewed alarm. Was he going to make her sign a confession or something? “You got to write this note in your own handwriting before you leave.” He handed her a piece of paper.

“Dear Sharleen and Dean,”
she copied.
“In case I don’t never see you again, thanks for everything. I feel like a burden to you, nothing I aimed to be. I won’t be coming back, so don’t expect me.”
She signed it,
“Love, Momma.”

Flora Lee jumped up as she heard a horn blast. “That’s your taxi. I called it for you. Here’s your money.”

Flora Lee grabbed it and stuffed it into her pocket-book. “I’m told they’re bringing back death by hanging. It’s a terrible way to die, Mrs. Deluce. Understand?”

Flora Lee nodded her head, grabbed her suitcase and the bottle of vodka and ran out the door.

The cop stood at the window and watched her scuttle away. He sat down and dialed the phone. While he was on the phone, the door to the bedroom opened slowly, and Dobe came through it, the blade of the knife still protruding from his chest. The cop turned to look at him and smiled.

“Goddamn it, Barney, it took you long enough. I’ve had to take a piss for the last hour,” Dobe said, as he opened his shirt and removed the trick half-knife.

“You did an excellent job—for an amateur,” Barney said with a nod of approval.

Dobe moved into the bathroom now, where he made sounds of relief. When he came back out to the living room, he slumped into a chair, and Barney handed him a double vodka from another bottle he’d found in the kitchen. “Well, Barney, that was probably the easiest thousand dollars you ever earned in all your years in acting.” Dobe smiled. “Thanks for making the riff work.”

“No problem. How’d you like it when I told her hanging was coming back?”

“Ad-libs were never your strongest suit, Barney. Now, give me all them notes on the birth certificates, and let’s get out of here.”

“Darling, wonderful lunch, but I simply have
got
to run,” Crystal Plenum told Sy Ortis as she slid out of the booth, then bent to kiss him on both cheeks. “Being on time is my Hercules’ heel.”