Waltz of Shadows (22 page)

“It’s all right.” I sat up in the chair and curled the blanket into my lap. “I want to take a shower. Have I been asleep long?”

“Not long. An hour, perhaps. The water’s still cold. But I didn’t mind.”

I put the .38 on the table and got up and kissed Bev’s cheek and went and showered in the cold water for a long time. Longer than I would have been able to at any other time.

Except for my coat, I pulled my clothes into the shower with me and washed them with the cheap soap and hung them over the shower rod in the bathroom.

I dried on a damp yellowed towel Bev had laid out for herself, then found a half-bottle of alcohol in the medicine cabinet and a pair of fingernail clippers. I poured alcohol over the fingernail clippers, and used them to pinch broken glass out of me.

I cat-stepped into the bedroom and used the light from the bathroom to go through the dresser drawers. I found a couple pairs of khaki pants and another flannel shirt and some socks and several pairs of boxer shorts. I picked a pair of shorts decorated with biplanes, slipped them on and put on the pants and shirt. The pants and shirt were too big and long and I had to cuff the pants at the bottom and cinch up tight with my belt. The shirt sleeves I rolled up to my elbow. I carried my coat, socks and shoes with me, tiptoed silently back to the kitchen.

Beverly had made a pallet of blankets and had rolled up a couple of others for pillows. She was under the covers and had her back to me. From her shape beneath the covers, I could tell her knees were drawn up toward her chest. From the way she was breathing, I knew she was asleep.

I put the shoes and socks on a chair by the table and slipped under the covers with my clothes on and put my knees into the back of Bev’s knees. I lay the .38 at the head of my makeshift pallet, closed my eyes. Anxiety drifted me away.

   I woke up mad and sick and wanting breakfast.

I rolled over and my body seemed to be made of baling wire and coat hangers. I sat up and listened to the birds singing and Sammy and JoAnn playing outside.

I collected the .38, got up, looked out the window and saw the kids run by in their night clothes. Down by the lake I could see Bev sitting on the dock, her back to me.

I put on my socks and shoes, washed my face at the kitchen sink, put the .38 in the waistband of my pants, and went out back. The sun was bright and it was warm for October and the smell of last night’s rain was pleasant. The lake was less disturbed. It shimmered in the morning sunlight.

I spoke to the kids and kissed them and they went on playing, happy as if nothing bad had ever happened.

I sat down on the dock by Bev. She was wearing the other pair of Arnold’s old khaki pants. They were rolled up big time. Her shirt was hiked up where the butt of the .32 pushed at it. She looked cute and young, armed and dangerous. She scrutinized me and gave me a game smile, then let it go. We sat and stared at the water and listened to it lap at the pilings beneath us.

“A little better?” I asked.

“A little,” she said. “What’s odd is, I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know if I’m in shock, mad, humiliated, or over it all. It’s like I’m waiting for another bomb to drop.”

“I know,” I said. “I am certain of one thing, though.”

“What?”

“I’m hungry.”

   We all piled in the truck and I drove us back toward town, but not all the way. I stopped outside a little convenience store and Bev and the kids waited in the truck while I used some of my change to call information and get Virgil’s office and home number, then I called him at the office.

His secretary asked who was calling.

“Tell him Fat Boy’s cousin, Henry. Tell him the whole thing or he won’t know who I am. Tell him I need to talk to him about a fire insurance problem.”

“Could I have your last name, sir?”

“Just tell him Fat Boy’s cousin, Henry.”

She didn’t like that much, but she went away, and Virgil came back on the line.

“It’s me, Hank,” I said.

“I hoped so. Goddamn, boy, talk about the doo-doo hitting the fan. Hell, it’s being slung by a tornado. I thought you were fucking dead. Burned up. Or might be.”

“Virgil, I need help.”

“I’ll say. Where the hell are you?”

“A phone booth.”

“Your wife? Kids?”

“They’re okay. We’ve been through it, but we’re all okay.”

“Your brother with you?”

“No.”

“He’s up to his neck, too.”

“If he’s alive.”

“Then you know…”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Fat Boy’s in on this, I reckon?”

“Yes, I had the pleasure of meeting the rotund gentleman and his erstwhile companion, Cobra Man, known to me now more intimately as Snake. I met them just last night. They’re a couple of cut-ups, those two.”

“Man, the news is hopping around here. I got so many questions I don’t know where to start.”

“You can start when you bring us food. Right now I’m just about tapped, but if you could bring food for a few days and some money, I get out of this mess, I’ll pay you back.”

“It’s a big mess, Hank.”

“You saying I won’t pay you back?”

“I don’t give a shit you pay me back or not. I’m saying it’s a big mess. I get the impression you don’t know how big. See the paper?”

“No, and I haven’t had coffee either.”

“I’ll bring both. Where are you?”

“You wouldn’t do anything funny, would you Virgil?”

“Come on, man. You call me ’cause you thought I might?”

“I didn’t know who else to call.”

“That makes me feel good.”

“I’m short on social skills at the moment,” I said. “I seem to get edgy when my wife’s raped and I’m beat and my house is burned down. Not to mention my kids nearly being burned to death and my dog being gutted on the porch.”

“Shit, Hank. I’m sorry. I’m sick sorry.”

“Just bring you and no one else. But bring food and coffee.”

“I’ll bring the papers too. Not that they’ll cheer you.”

“At this point, I’m ready for anything.”

“No you’re not,” he said.

I gave him the location and hung up. I looked at the newspaper racks out front of the store, but I refrained. For the moment, I wanted to delay any more bad news, and I thought sight of me in my ill-fitting clothes might cause suspicion. My picture might be in the newspaper for all I knew. A guy behind the counter inside might see me and recognize me and try and do his civic duty and call the cops.

I went back to the truck and climbed in beside Bev. “Virgil’s coming,” I said. “And so is the food.”

“Hooray!” JoAnn said. “I could eat a bear’s ass.”

“JoAnn!” Bev said.

“Daddy says it,” JoAnn said.

Bev gave me the look.

“Just now and then,” I said.

   By the time Virgil arrived, I was ready to open one of those ancient cans of beans or beets with my teeth. He showed up in a silver Cadillac, got out and waved at me as I came out on the front porch. He was wearing a blue Hawaiian shirt with silver ducks on it, blue jeans and white tennis shoes. The back seat of the Cadillac was full of sacks and boxes stuffed with food, utensils, soft drinks, beer, and a couple large bags of ice that would do until the old refrigerator had time to turn cool.

I shook hands with Virgil and introduced him to Bev, who was obviously embarrassed by being clothed in an oversized shirt and pants and being barefoot. I introduced him to Sammy and JoAnn, who didn’t care they were in their pajamas. They asked him what was in the sacks and boxes.

Virgil said, “Well, little folks, let’s take it on up to the cabin and see.”

Virgil, Bev and I unloaded the car and toted the sacks and boxes into the cabin.

Virgil looked around. “You just pick a cabin at random and break in?”

“My brother Arnold owns it.”

“Good. You got enough problems.”

There were a couple thermoses of coffee and some honey buns and milk, and we started there. The kids ate and then went back outside to play.

Virgil took a couple of newspapers from a paper sack and laid them on the table. One was our local paper, and the other was
The Houston Chronicle.

“Bad news travels fast,” Virgil said.

“Give us the synopsis first,” I said. “Then we’ll read it firsthand.”

“All right,” he said.

We sat down at the table and I poured us coffee in the cups Virgil had brought. Virgil said, “It’s hard to know where to start.”

“Just start,” I said.

“Your house burning down is being reported as possible arson. By you.”

“Me?”

“It looks as if you burned your house down to possibly fake your death so you could escape the pornography charges.”

“Pornography charges?” Bev said.

“This morning, about the time your Main Street Store opened, it was raided by the police, following a hot tip, and guess what they found in the back? Videos of child pornography. Graphic stuff.”

“Raymond Sanchez runs that store,” I said. “He wouldn’t have anything to do with that kind of crap.”

“That’s what he said. He said he didn’t know the cassettes were back there. He says you brought some stock in not long ago and put it back there yourself.”

“I did bring some stock in. But it was just movies. Stuff that I bought second hand from Mark Flendie’s video store when he went out of business. Nothing special. I didn’t even tell Raymond to put them out.”

“That was Raymond’s story too,” Virgil said. “Now think how that sounds.”

“Like I hid the stuff.”

“And were selling to special customers. One customer supposedly heard through word of mouth you were renting and selling child pornography, and says he spoke to you about it.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said.

“Says he made arrangements to rent a video from you for a hundred dollars. Says you came after hours, opened up and rented it to him. This witness, of course, works for the cops.”

“Fat Boy,” I said.

“It gets worse,” Virgil said.

“How could it?” Bev said.

“Seems your nephew left a note that incriminates you.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “He sure did. I have it.”

I removed the creased note from my wallet and told Virgil about my experiences out at Arnold’s trailer. I told him about the purposeful mistake of Bill referring to himself as William.

“Then, after he was dead, he got down and typed a new one,” Virgil said.

“Typed?”

“It’s been matched to the manual typewriter in Arnold’s bedroom. Note was written on the back of wrecking yard stationary. It says you and him and Arnold were into Satanism and child pornography. Said you even used your own children for it. Says he couldn’t take it anymore, so he was doing himself in. Oh, another little tidbit I haven’t mentioned. Arnold’s trailer was chock full of child pornography. Boxes of it. Pictures. Magazines. Video cassettes. According to the newspaper, even a very explicitly blown up photo of a child and a grown up in the act of anal intercourse was tacked on the bathroom door.”

“That sonofabitch, that goddamn sonofabitch,” I said. “It wasn’t there when I was, and that was after Bill was hanged.”

Virgil showed us a photo in the local newspaper of Arnold’s trailer. His truck was visible in the photo. Its tires weren’t flat.

“They went back and cleaned up,” I said. “Put new tires on the truck, probably the wrecker, so it wouldn’t look like an outside job. They saw the note was gone, wrote a new one with the typewriter. What about Arnold? Anything?”

“They might have caught up with him,” Virgil said. “And if they haven’t, they’re painting a pretty tight scenario here. Arnold could sing the truth all day and all night and no one would listen.”

“We’ve got cassettes,” Bev said. “The photo album. The note. Our experiences.”

“Your experiences are just your word against Fat Boy’s,” Virgil said. “He’s their trusted informant. Child pornography is a real problem right now. A hot topic. So’s Satanism. Fat Boy has built a good case. Nothing could have come down on you heavier. What you gr. What ot on your side is a photo album, and that might be your personal collection. You could have done all those murders, or knew about them, taken the photos yourself. Fat Boy can play it anyway he wants. The videocassettes? He could say he suspicioned the Doc had bad intentions and tried to set up a sting, but the Doc hired someone else before he was able to put his own plan into motion. Fact that it was Bill and his friends took the video could even add weight to Fat Boy’s story. He might have to backstory it better than that, find a way to throw the Doc to the wolves without getting anything stinky on himself, but as you see, he’s up to it. The other cassette helps their case. It shows Bill was into weird sex, paints him and his buddies as a bunch of freaks. The note Bill wrote, well, it could have been a note he wrote to you special. To let you know what he was planning. The William stuff, it’s not much. It might not be his legal name, but who’s to say he doesn’t go by it?”

“Virgil,” Bev said. “We had nothing to do with child pornography. Nothing.”

“I know that, lady. Fat Boy probably set that stuff up last night after he thought he took care of you. He was building that case against you no matter what. When it turned out you got away, he just worked that angle into his plans. The picture looks like this: You and Hank have been involved in child pornography. The cassettes confiscated at the Main store back that up. Supposedly Arnold and Bill had a falling out over the smut business, the Satanism stuff, something. They fought. Arnold took off, and Bill, remorseful about the whole undertaking, hanged himself, but not before leaving an incriminating note. Meanwhile, you two saw how things were going with your partners, panicked, burned your place down so you could take a powder.”

“They think we’re so stupid we’d burn the place down, then take off in the truck,” I said. “Wouldn’t that give us away?” .

“Papers imply you were trying to make it look like a burglary and murder. Trying to make the police believe the burglar took what he wanted, killed your family, then stole the truck.”