Waltz of Shadows (16 page)

“Simply put, this asshole is dangerous. Primarily because he’s gotten away with some horrendous shit and has never had to pay any consequences. Let me move up to more recent times. Things I can pretty well verify. He got out of the policing business, went freelance in the seventies. Way that works is he had enough law enforcement background he decided he’d come to Imperial City and help out the law here. Guess he didn’t like any restrictions. Freelance like that, he didn’t really have anyone to answer to. Back then he took on a motorcycle biker look. Don’t know about you, but I don’t like the idea of trying to imagine Oscar in black leather straddling a hog.

“He helped make a record number of busts, and law enforcement agencies throughout East Texas put him on the payroll and he got quite a rep. Been at it ever since, even branched out from drugs into other areas of undercover work. But there’s been some problems here and there.

“He never wore wires during his surveillance and there were no videotapes of his busts. It was his word against the people he was busting. And because he generally busted folks the cops knew were assholes, they let Oscar get away with it. And it stood up in court. Which, considering most of the scum he brought in, didn’t make any difference. They didn’t do what he accused them of, they did something else. ’Course, if I were defending them, guilty or not, I’d like to see them get off. Makes me look good.

“But, that’s Oscar’s technique. He hammers down tight a few righteous cases, nails a few crooks for something they didn’t do, but would do, then starts making a few cases that aren’t righteous. Puts more feathers in his cap, and his kind of work gives him a chance to settle petty scores, and make a little dough on the side. Ain’t nothing that guy wouldn’t do. He’s wrecked the lives and careers of people in this town you wouldn’t imagine could be wrecked. And the law believes him. Or feels obligated to believe him. New Chief is worse than any of them. You see all this good shit about him in the papers, on TV, what a slick motherfucker he is. He’s not so clean. He’s had some problems. He was on the force over in LaBorde for years. Had a little scandal here and there, and some shitballs were thrown at him. All of them hit, but none of them stuck. In his own way, he’s got some of Oscar’s talent, and Oscar works for him. Price admits Oscar’s crooked on a couple of cases, they got to throw all their cases out, cause he can’t be trusted. How’s that gonna look? How’s it gonna make this ambitious Chief Price look? It won’t matter Oscar was there before Price, it’ll matter Price is Chief when it all comes down. I think Price is the kind of guy would let his own son hang rather than let it be known he fucked up or someone worked for him fucked up. And with Oscar working for him, you can bet there’s some fuckups.”

“What about the one Bill calls Cobra Man?”

Virgil shook his head. “No bells or whistles on that.”

“What’s my next step?”

“Give me the videos and the album. They don’t necessarily prove anything by themselves, but they’re a start. It’s pretty damn obvious that the law doesn’t know Oscar did the Doc’s wife in, or those kids, but you can bet they know Oscar’s part of the story. The Satanism shit. The drug nuts. That sounds like Oscar. Cops and locals love that shit. If they don’t think it’s true, they want to think it’s true. Man, I nail Oscar on this, think of the publicity I could get.”

“That’s nice Virgil, but I got my nephew’s life at stake here.”

“Sorry. The lawyer came out in me. As of now, I’m officially your attorney. Give me some money.”

I didn’t have but a few bucks on me, and he took those as down payment and wrote me out a receipt on the back of a catsup stained hamburger bag.

“That’ll do until we can make it more official. We’ll get Bill on the client list next. I think the both of you are gonna need a lawyer. Now, let me think on this a bit and I’ll get back to you. Meanwhile, go ahead and move Bill you want, but you get caught, you got harboring a fugitive hanging over your head, and remember I didn’t give you the advice to move him. I like you, but I’m not getting fucked for you.”

“All right,” I said, and got up to leave. As I was going out the door I turned back to Virgil. “That stuff about the two dollars, telling your partner to get him a good piece of ass. That really happen?”

“No. I didn’t have anything but a five. But I thought telling you two made her sound cheaper.”

I left Virgil, uncertain if I felt better or not. I folded up the hamburger bag receipt and put it in the glove box of my truck and drove home.

   I got home, the house was empty. Bev was out doing something or other, and since it was late enough for kindergarten to have turned out, I assumed JoAnn was with her.

I glanced at the morning paper on the table. Beverly had opened it and folded it back to show me Bill’s picture. I didn’t recognize the photograph, but Bill looked a few years younger than he was now. His face was thinner and his hair was combed differently.

It was time to move him, for sure. Hell, it was past time. Someone at the motel saw that picture, put two and two together, he’d be bagged.

Beside the newspaper was a note from Beverly.

Looks bad. Your Mom called. Saw the news about Bill. I didn’t know what to tell her. Not really. I took JoAnn to the store to buy her some shoes. Hers are worn out at the toes. I need to talk to you about her. About dead things.
Love,
Bev

Dead things?

If it wasn’t one thing, it was two million.

I fixed myself a cup of coffee, got a couple of oatmeal cookies, took cookies and coffee and the portable phone out on the deck. The day was chilly, but the coat I was wearing and the coffee made it more than tolerable.

I called Bill at the motel and told him the score with Virgil and informed him he was moving, and soon. He was more than anxious to go.

I called Arnold and told him what was going on.

“Moving him’s good,” he said. “But not to your place. Bill’s wanted, and I don’t want your family pulled into this. I think you ought to bring him over here. Better yet, I’ll go get him.”

“All right,” I said, “because of the kids, I won’t argue. But you’re doing it again, Arnold. You’re protecting me.”

“I’m making the best decision for all of us. I’ll plead stupid if they come and get me. Say I didn’t know he was wanted for anything, and he didn’t tell me. Besides, out here is a good spot to get lost. Someone comes here to buy some junk, I’ll keep Billy stashed. Might even take a few days off and move him over to the lake cabin. Either way, it’s less likely he’ll be seen with me. You got neighbors.”

“You know my place?”

“Hell, Bubba, you’re not the only one used to drive out to places and look around and not go in.”

“I’ll be damned.”

“I figure we all are. Take it easy. I’ll go get him.”

“Take a cap or hat with you. Something to help hide his face. Newspapers have got his picture all over. Only good thing is the picture they have isn’t good or recent.”

“I’m gone to get him, Bubba, a cap in my hand. Hey, that’s pretty good. Gone to get him, a cap in my hand. I think I’ll put it to music.”

He rang off and I put the phone on the deck railing and shook out the paper and read the article on Bill. There wasn’t anything new other than the picture. The police said they would appreciate any tips from anyone knowing of his whereabouts. I hoped Bill was staying low. I hoped his face hadn’t made an impression on the motel workers. I hoped Arnold would soon be over there and Bill would be gone. I hoped the last third of my coffee was still hot.

I sipped it.

Nope.

The cookies were okay, though.

About an hour later I was upstairs lying in the bed reading an Andrew Vachss novel when Beverly came in. It sounded like the Battle of the Bulge down there. JoAnn was arguing with her. That wasn’t old news. JoAnn was a Philadelphia lawyer at heart.

“She won’t mind,” I heard JoAnn say.

“JoAnn,” I heard Beverly say quite loudly. “I don’t want to hear anymore about it, and that’s final. Now shut up, or I’m going to paddle your little butt.”

JoAnn let out a scream, and I heard her retreat to her room and slam the door.

I sighed. I slipped my marker into the Vachss book, placed it on the nightstand and went downstairs.

Beverly looked on the verge of an explosion.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi,” Beverly said. “I tell you, these kids are driving me crazy. JoAnn wants to take a dead rat to school. A mouse. I don’t know. One of those little rodents.”

“A dead rat?”

Bev waved me into the kitchen. I followed and watched Beverly get a glass out of the cabinet and take a pitcher of tea out of the refrigerator and pour herself a glass. She drank about half of it, poured the glass full again.

“Let’s go on the deck,” she said.

We went. Bev took a deck chair and sat down and sipped her tea. I leaned against the railing. Bev said, “First off, I see you saw Bill is in the paper.”

“Yeah.”

“Your mother is beside herself.”

“Bless her heart,” I said. “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing,” Bev said. “I tried to reassure her best I could. Said we didn’t think he had done what the paper said. You know? BS… Hank, honey, I hate to sound like a weak sister, but I’m not so sure we should get involved. I don’t know how innocent Billy really is. Since money and women were involved, anything could have happened.”

“A woman killed and raped in her bed? Four others tortured and murdered in his home. You think he’s capable of that?”

“No. Not really. Did you see the lawyer?”

“Yes,” and I told her what Virgil told me.

She listened intently, said, “I’m sorry if I seem cowardly and short tempered. But I’m cowardly and short tempered. And I’m tired. JoAnn has nagged me to death. Take her to the store, she’s got to have everything in there. Gimme this. Gimme that. And this dead rat business, it’s driving me over the edge.”

“What’s the dead rat business?” I asked, hoping for a domestic crisis I could involve myself with.

“She found a dead rat… mouse, whatever the damn thing is, out by the drive. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Beverly got up and I followed. There was a dead critter lying in the grass next to the garage. I bent down and looked at it. It was covered with ants. It wasn’t a rat or a mouse. It was a mole.

“It’s a mole,” I said.

“Yeah,” Beverly said. “Well, that doesn’t change things. She’s determined to take it to school tomorrow for show and tell.”

“A dead mole?”

“That’s what she says. She says she’s got to take it, and I told her no, of course, and she’s nagged me all afternoon.”

“I sort of like the idea,” I said. “Yo, Ms. Nichols, look what I got for show and tell. A stinking, ant-covered, dead mole.”

“I’m not laughing, Hank. I thought it was funny when I first heard it, but I’ve been hearing about it now for a couple of hours. She won’t take no for an answer. Her whining is turning my brain to mush. I’m ready to beat her with the dead rat.”

“Mole.”

“Another thing. She wanted me to stop beside the road and look at a dead armadillo, and a skunk. I’m worried about her.”

“That’s normal curiosity. She’s finding out about death. It’s not even scaring her. It’s fascinating her. Kids take death in doses, to inoculate themselves against the reality of it. We all do.”

“I don’t remember wanting to look at dead things.”

“You didn’t grow up in rural areas either. You didn’t see a lot of dead things. She’ll get past it.”

Beverly looked at her watch. “Oh, hell. Time to go get Sammy.”

“I’ll do it.”

“No,” Bev said. “Actually, a little time on the highway, hoping an innocent pedestrian will cross my path, might be just what I need to cheer me up.”

   After Beverly left, I went in the house and knocked on JoAnn’s bedroom door and called her name. She invited me in with reluctance. She was lying on her bed with her thumb in her mouth holding her teddy bear Fred. Fred was so much a part of JoAnn, he had, in our minds, developed a personality. We treated him like family.

I gave JoAnn a pat on the head, then gave Fred one.

“Ohhh, thank you,” JoAnn said in a wee-bear voice.

“What’s this about a dead rat?”

JoAnn held up Fred and moved him from side to side. She had Fred say, “JoAnn wants to take it to school.”

“I don’t want to talk to Fred,” I said. “This isn’t for bears, this is for girls to talk about. Come on, JoAnn. Tell me about the dead rat. It’s actually a mole, by the way. I looked at it.”

“I want to take it to school for show and tell,” she said.

“It has ants on it and it stinks.”

“I want to show the ants for show and tell, too.”

“What about the stink?”

“I guess.”

“Look,” I said. “Let me make you a deal. You talk to your teacher and tell her what you want to do, and see what she says. She says you can bring a dead rat—mole—to school, then it’s okay with me. All right?”

She thought that over.

“Can I take my rock collection?”

I guess my idea about her asking the teacher was a good one. She knew in her heart of hearts Ms. Nichols wasn’t going to allow a dead mole in her classroom. I realized then that JoAnn had mostly been in a battle of wills with her mother. The kids did that to us all the time. It wasn’t always that they wanted a certain thing, they just didn’t want to be told they couldn’t have things their way. It was a small way of controlling their universe, which they were gradually beginning to realize was bigger than they were.

At that moment, I understood that attitude perfectly.

The rock collection became JoAnn’s focus. She got out of bed and got the cigar box she kept it in and we looked at rocks. They weren’t unique rocks, but they meant something to her. She had gotten them at places that reminded her of fun and friends.

We finished looking at the rocks and I fixed her a snack of cereal and a glass of milk. When she finished we went upstairs to the TV room and I put on cartoons. She settled in to watch
She-ra, Princess of Power,
and I went back to the bedroom to read my book, but, good as it was, I couldn’t keep my mind on it. The phone rang.