Waltz of Shadows (10 page)

“Just to bar mitzvahs.”

“Nobody’s gonna call you Mr. Fashion. Look at these pants, all covered in paint.”

“I didn’t bring this stuff so you could go on a date. You want, you can keep wearing that towel.”

“This’ll do. Once in a while, I like to have the common man look. Goddamn, these shorts have Santa Clauses on them.”

“Your grandma gave those to me. She thought they were just cute as a bug.”

“I bet they turn Beverly on.”

“The sex and compliments never stop. But, I’ll sacrifice and give them to you.”

I unpacked the rest of the stuff, went and got ice again at the ice machine. The ice didn’t look any better than before, and this time there was a slick, handsome, black guy and an attractive  pale-looking white woman with irritated nostrils standing by it.

They seemed pretty put out that I’d come for ice. The black guy was telling the white gal she wasn’t just another bitch to him. She looked about as interested in all this as the ice machine was. She snuffled all the time he talked.

I went back and gave Bill the ice and he sat on the bed and drank his soft drink and ate the burger. I camped in the chair by the table and opened one of the containers of coffee and sipped it.

I said, “After I talk to a lawyer I know, we go in Monday and turn you in. I think we should do it through him instead of going to the police first. If the cops have you pegged for this, they might get you to talk a way you wouldn’t normally talk. They might find some flaws in your story.”

“It happened just like I told you, Uncle Hank. There aren’t any flaws.”

“Well, there’s one or two.”

“What do you mean?”

“You went to your house after all this took place, and there weren’t any cars in the carport, right?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Where is your car?”

“I told you. Dave’s.”

“All right. And Dave’s car was at the University parking lot?”

“Look, I don’t get what you’re saying…”

“Your car was in the carport when I drove by there earlier. There was another car there too. I don’t know what kind it was. I didn’t look that close. It looked like something foreign. Black and sporty. I guessed it would be Dave’s car.”

“That sounds right,” Bill said. “But how did it get there?”

“That’s what I’m wondering.”

“Maybe you had the wrong place?”

“I know your car, and the house is a crime scene setup. I went in the back way using the lift-and-push system you told me about on the door. The house is as you described it.”

“The bodies?”

“Gone. That would be normal. The cops had them taken to the morgue after they photographed the hell out of the place. Dusted for fingerprints. That kind of stuff.”

“Maybe the cops brought the cars there.”

“That’s what worries me. You saw when the cops came up, and your car and Dave’s weren’t there then. So why would they bring them there later? Maybe yours I can explain. They went over to the apartment complex and found it and just wanted to get it out of the lot. Figured it would be out of the way at your place. That’s stretching it some, since I actually think they’d haul it to the police compound, but it’s possible. But why would they bring Dave’s car there too?”

“I don’t know.”

“Something about that hurts my head,” I said. “I thought at first the killers brought the cars there, so as to make it look like you drove there and Dave followed with the others, and you jumped them.”

“But if that was the plan, they were late,” Bill said.

“Exactly. The fuzz had already been there and done their thing, and this Fat Boy and his partner would know that, since they decided to set you up to get themselves off the hook. They had to be the ones called the cops. They were watching all along, just waiting for you to get there so they could fasten on the frame. Real tidy. So why would they do something stupid like bring the cars around later?”

“Why didn’t they just go ahead and kill me at the house, Uncle Hank?”

“I’ve thought about that too. It’s a nice frame they’ve got you in, all right, but you could tell your story, and fantastic as it is, seems to me it might worry the killers a bit.”

“Yeah,” Bill said. “I been sitting here thinking about that, and I been thinking something else that ought to worry Fat Boy and Cobra Man. How could I handle that whole bunch by myself? Kill Dave in the kitchen, get the other three in the bedroom, tie them up and do what I’m supposed to have done? I guess it’s possible, but it seems unlikely. Strikes me as there’s enough there for the cops to suspicion a frame.”

“Let’s add something else to all this,” I said. “Cops have got a fugitive on the run—meaning you—wouldn’t they post someone at your house for a time, waiting for you to come back?”

“I guess they would.”

“That didn’t occur to me when I went over there. I thought of it driving over here. Had I thought of it before, I wouldn’t have gone in, especially carrying a gun, which I was. I put it in my pocket in case Fat Boy or Cobra Man were there, not that I really expected them to be, but I’m getting scared enough with all this to consider the possibility. But if there had been cops, and they’d caught me with a gun, I’d be in on this frame tight as you.”

Bill dropped his towel and began putting on the clothes I had brought. He slipped into the Santa Claus boxer shorts, pulled on the pants and zipped them up. “I don’t know. More I think about all this, more off center everything is. Could it be the Imperial City police are just stupid?”

“It’s a consideration entertained by many,” I said, “but in this case, I don’t think they’re
that
stupid. And they’ve got a new Chief. Guy’s supposed to be a real go getter, had plenty of experience. He’s solved all kinds of old cases here in the short time he’s been Chief. But a deal like that, taking the cars over after the fact, letting a fugitive know someone has been there, not posting a guard, it doesn’t show much judgment… You sure you’ve told me everything?”

“Swear to God, Uncle Hank, I’m telling this straight as an arrow.”

“All right. I’ll get the number here, call you tomorrow night. Just to check on you. Let’s see, it’s Jack Frame you’re listed under. Right?”

“Yeah. Jack Frame.”

“Monday morning, I’ll call the lawyer, set things up, then I’ll come get you. I think doing it through the lawyer is the safest way.”

Bill buttoned up the shirt and sat down on the bed and looked thoughtful. “Uncle Hank, am I getting this right? Are you saying you don’t trust the police?”

“I’m not sure what I’m saying,” I said.

Time I started home, I felt even more confused than before. I didn’t trust anybody. I began to get the feeling the entire dirty little universe was unraveling; that I’d open the door and step outside just in time to see the gnomes packing away the last of the props: the city, the highway, the motel, and then they’d come for me. Fold me up neatly and press me flat and put me away in a tiny plastic container marked
Hank Small, Asshole.

   When I got home the house was dark and a little cool, Bev having turned the thermostat down before going off to bed. I thought about that itch she’d had, and that she had been the one initiating the scratching. Not something she was loathe to do, but something she didn’t do enough to suit me, and now I was home with my itch still working and it was past midnight. Pumpkin time. I had pissed my loving out the window.

To worsen the situation, I now had a different kind of itch, one that was bone deep and impossible to scratch. An itch so bad it had turned my stomach sour and given me a headache.

I got out of my clothes and laid them on the chair in the dressing room, opened one of the dresser drawers silently, got a couple of antacids and some aspirin and took them. I drank some water from the bathroom tap, went back through the dressing room and to bed, lifting the covers gently and sliding as softly as possible onto the sheet.

“It’s after midnight,” Bev said, surprising me.

“I thought you were asleep,” I said.

“No,” she said, and rolled over and ran her hand over the front of my briefs. My soldier immediately sprang to attention. Bev made with a kind of purring sound, said, “I’ve got an itch, remember?”

“I thought after midnight the itch went away and you turned into a pumpkin?”

“No, I just turn into a pumpkin. I still itch. Ever fuck a vegetable, big boy?”

“You mean a pumpkin-type vegetable?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Let me see. I’m trying to remember. Watermelons. Tomatoes. Stuff like that. I don’t remember any pumpkins.”

“It’s quite an experience.”

Her hand went away from my briefs and she moved in the bed, and then her hand laid her panties over my face. I could smell the sweetness of her. I took them off my face and tossed them on the floor and rolled over and took her in my arms. She wasn’t wearing her nightgown. She slid tight against me and let her hand drift down again.

I moved my hand to her breasts, roamed over them and gently squeezed her nipples with my thumb and finger. I kissed the top of her head and her curly hair foamed around my face. I moved my lips to the side of her face and along her neck where the softness of her skin mixed with the slight bite of her perfume. Finally I kissed her lips.

She took my hand and put it between her legs. She was warm and moist. I probed her with my finger, looking for the man in the boat. She kissed me harder and ran her tongue against mine. Sparks leaped through me; the ole battery nearly overcharged.

“Why don’t you taste the vegetable before you poke it,” she said. “I’ve got it all baked into a juicy pie.”

I was all out of snappy comebacks. It’s hard to talk with your heart in your throat. She rolled onto her back and lifted the covers. I slid under and let my tongue slide wetly between her breasts, on down, and over the slight mound of her belly, into her navel, where I did an artful swirl, then on down to a little trail of soft pubic hair.

Not long after she made a happy noise and made some talk about zucchini and I got a special thrill, then we both got scratched in the way we wanted to be scratched and we both got happy and the rain slammed down and the wind blew hard, and for a little while, I felt safe and happy and warm inside my woman. God bless the Great Pumpkin.

   Next morning, while Bev slept, I got up quietly and dressed and discovered the gun was still in my coat pocket. I hadn’t dreamed it all last night. I really had gone over to Bill’s house and found a murder scene, and I really had been scared enough to carry a gun, and stupid enough to forget to put it back in its place.

I went downstairs and started the coffee and went outside into a cold morning and walked down to the end of our drive and got the local paper.

Imperial City has grown a lot in the last ten years, but it still has a small town mentality, and it still threw its Sunday paper late Saturday night, figuring it would contain news enough for both days.

I walked back to the house and went through the garage and put my revolver back in the pickup under my Dad’s coat, went inside the house and took the paper out of the clear plastic bag, and opened it up, looked to see if there was anything about the Doc’s wife or the bodies over on Red Vine Street or about Bill being a suspect.

If there was, I intended to misplace the newspaper until I could talk to Beverly. That’s when I planned to lay it all out for her. I felt like a swine for holding it back this long, but I just didn’t know how to tell her the nephew she thought was a horse’s ass, was, in fact, a bigger horse’s ass than she thought.

I examined the front page. If it wasn’t there, it most likely wasn’t anywhere else. Something like the murder of the doctor’s wife, the torture and murder over on Red Vine Street, would be big news for Imperial City.

Nothing.

I carefully scanned the rest of the paper, just in case.

Nothing.

I left the paper on the couch and checked the coffee. The glass pot was starting to fill up. I went upstairs and leaned over the bed and kissed Beverly on the neck. She rolled over and the bed clothes came off and her bare breasts poked at me. I was happy to see them. I gave them a smile.

“Uh-uh,” Beverly said. “You had your ration last night. Right now I want breakfast.”

“No more itch?” I asked.

“No more itch.” She smiled. “Unless being hungry is an itch. I don’t eat, I get mean.”

This was true.

We went down and ate breakfast and I got a few dollars for gas and emergencies and made ready to drive over to Tyler to see my mother.

“Give her my best,” Beverly said. “We’d go, but I’d rather the kids slept late today. They’re driving me crazy, and the idea of being trapped in the van with them all the way over there isn’t all that appealing. We’ll go over with you next weekend. Tell Carolyn that, and give her our love.”

“I will,” I said. “Call the main stores, would you? Check and see if there are any problems. If there are, I’ll see if I can fix them when I get back. I’ll check on the out of town stores tomorrow.”

We kissed and I poured a large cup of coffee and started for Tyler.

When I got to my mother’s place a couple hours later, my mind wandered enough that she thought I was sick, the way mothers will do. I assured her I was not, took her out to lunch, had a pleasant visit, drove her home, gave her a little money, and started back.

This time, I didn’t try to fool myself into thinking I was going anywhere but Arnold’s, and I knew too, this time, I was going for the gold.

   As is common for East Texas, the day had gone through numerous weather changes. From a cold, somewhat misty morning, to a warmish midday, and now to a cool, but not uncomfortable afternoon.

The sky was clear and white clouds churned across it. There was a lazy wind and it moved the leaves and made the branches of the trees along the blacktop that led out to Arnold’s quiver.

I passed where I had parked last time, went on around the curve a bit, turned down the somewhat muddy drive, and on up into Arnold’s yard.