Waltz of Shadows (25 page)

Price put the photo album copy on the Plymouth next to the cassettes. “That’s it? Pictures of dead people? That’s supposed to make me tremble?”

“You know a lot of those people, don’t you?” Virgil said.

“I might have recognized a couple.” a couple Price said.

“Let’s cut the cat-and-mouse crap,” Virgil said, “or we don’t deal directly with you. We go to someone else.”

“So I know a few,” Price said. “I didn’t kill them. But I was a certain kind of guy, you came to me with this shit, talked the way you’re talking, trying to tie me in with this garbage, they’d find you two and that ugly dog out here with holes in your heads.”

“We get a hangnail, the dog comes down with distemper, that stuff goes out. This stuff and some more.”

Price considered that a moment. He managed the hammer of the .38, closed and put it away. “What’s some more?”

“That’s our ace in the hole,” Virgil said.

Price looked at me. “You talk for yourself, or just when he’s got his arm up your butt hole.”

“I talk,” I said. “You want to hear me talk? I’ll talk. You fuck with us, we’ll bury you and your career under six-thousand pounds of horseshit.”

“You’re a pornographer, Small,” Price said. “You got murders tied to you. I don’t know you didn’t murder your own nephew. I understand you’re a fucking Satanist.”

“You don’t believe that,” I said.

“Why would I believe you over my sources?” Price said.

“Fat Boy?” I said. “Snake?”

“Snake?” Price said. “I don’t know Snake.”

“I don’t think his Mama named him that,” Virgil said. “Describe him, Hank.”

“I did.”

“Maybe,” Price said.

“Right,” I said. “There’s lots of guys fit that description. East Texas is stuffed with fuckers fit that description.”

“Let that hold,” Virgil said. “Thing is, we need to get rid of these guys, and we need to pin what’s been done on them, because they’re the ones done it, not Hank.”

“Let’s say I’m with you,” Price said, “and I want to nail Fat Boy, this Snake character. How do I do it? I can’t see a way that fits in with the law.”

“You been forcing square pegs in round holes all along,” I said. “Since when’s it got to fit?”

“It’s got to look like it fits,” Price said.

“Think it over,” Virgil said. “I’ll call you tonight. Have a plan.”

“Might take more time than that,” Price said.

“You have a plan,” Virgil said. “One we like. Something clears my man here and his family. His brother Arnold. His nephew’s name. You got to see Fat Boy and Snake go down and don’t come up. You got to call the law dogs off Hank and his family from here on out.”

“You want a lot,” Price said. “Especially when I don’t have to give you anything.”

“Come on,” Virgil said. “There’s a cloud on Fat Boy and it’s getting darker. Am I right?”

“There’s been problems,” Price admitted.

“You want to phase him out, don’t you?” Virgil said.

“I guess so,” Price said.

“You’ll do what’s necessary to do that?” Virgil said.

“I always do what’s necessary,” Price said. “What is this? Twenty fucking questions?”

“Just wanted to get it recorded for later, you turn on us,” Virgil said. “This way, we go in the toilet, you go with us.”

“You don’t have a wire,” Price said.

“No,” Virgil said. “But the dog does.”

Price looked at Poot, then back to Virgil. He bent forward and grabbed Poot by the fur on his neck. Price pulled a couple of concealed wires out of Poot’s fur, ran his fingers along the wires till he came to where they connected at Poot’s collar.

“Goddamn hairy shit ball,” Price said.

Price jerked Poot up on his hind feet and unfastened the collar and peeled it off, bringing the wires with it and some of Poot’s fur. Poot yipped, bit Price on the hand; a quick snapping bite that broke the skin. Price jerked up and kicked out. Poot took a shoe under the snout, rolled and yelped.

“Hey,” I said. “That’s enough of that.”

Poot got up and skulked over to sit by the Cadillac. He looked betrayed.

“You fucked me,” Price said. He took out the .38 again. Price didn’t bother with the drama of cocking back the hammer this time. He pointed the gun at Virgil.

Virgil said, “My partner, in the trees there, has got everything on tape. You can’t get to him before he’s gone. And like I told you, something happens to us, the news goes out.”

“I don’t believe you got a partner,” Price said. “That wire was bullshit.”

“Yeah?” Virgil said. “Watch this.”

Virgil stepped away from the Plymouth and the plane. He waved his arms toward the distance woods. A moment later there was the sound of a revolver popping in the air.

Price slowly put the .38 away. He said, “You lied to me, Virgil.”

“Whatta you expect?” Virgil said. “I’m a goddamned lawyer.”

   We drove away from the airport in a direction opposite the one we needed to go. When we were a couple miles down the road, Virgil pulled over and got out of the car. Poot jumped out after him and peed on a pine tree.

I pulled my .38 out of the glove box and put it back where it belonged and got out of the car. I was steamed, even though the air was cool.

Virgil’s face was covered in sweat. He spread his feet wide apart and placed both hands high on the pine Poot had pissed on and did a couple of push ups against it. He took a deep breath, turned his back to the tree, and rested against it. He said, “How’d I do?”

“Good,” I said. “I was scared to death. I thought he might call our bluff.”

“Poot would have protected us.”

“Yeah, right,” I said. “You didn’t tell me he was wired.”

“I didn’t know how you’d do,” Virgil said. “I didn’t want you looking nervous, maybe giving us away. I wired him before we left, while you were filling out the papers I brought.”

A man in a brown four wheel drive Dodge pulled over behind the Cadillac. I reached under my shirt and touched the butt of the .38 as he opened the door of the truck and got out.

“It’s all right,” Virgil said. “That’s my partner. Tim Mayday.”

Tim was a dark wiry guy dressed in tweed pants and jacket. He even had on an Irish style tweed hat.

“Goddamn,” Tim said as he came up, bouncy as a kangaroo with a hot foot. “Man, I could hear that bastard’s asshole puckering from where I was. I bet he’s got some stains in his undies. How’s Poot, man? He all right? Say, Hank, I’m Tim Mayday. You guys did all right. Where’s Poot?”

“He’s off in the woods,” Virgil said. “Probably taking a dump. He’s got a little case of nerves.”

“Hey, for a minute there,” Tim said, “I thought he might pop you guys, you know. I was glad I was recording. Popped you, I’d have it on tape. I was scared as hell about Poot. I don’t know I’ll let him go with you anymore, Virg. Oh yeah, Hank, shake.”

Tim stuck his hand at me and I shook. It was a limp shake and he was letting me pump his arm like it was a rag. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at Virgil. “Your wife, she says howdy. She’s at my place.”

“I know,” Virgil said.

“Hey, I just fucked her that one time,” Tim said. “She’s just staying with me. She’s doing some Arab guy runs a convenience store. Over where Fifth meets Main. I don’t let them do it at the house, though. They got to go to his place. Rent a motel. Whatever it is they do. I got some sense of honor.”

“You got the honor of a shitfly,” Virgil said.

Poot came out of the woods, went over to Tim with his tail wagging. Tim bent and gave the dog a pat. “Hey, doggie. Good doggie. Almost got your ass blown off, didn’t you, doggie?”

Virgil said, “Let’s make the next move.”

The next move was we went back to the cabin. The kids were up and playing, dressed in the clothes
Virgil had brought. Arnold had changed too. He wore a green Hawaiian shirt with blue pineapples and blue jeans. Beverly had on her offering, a simple blue blouse and blue jeans. The blue jeans fit her a little tight in the ass.

Introductions were made so everyone knew who Tim was. The kids went off to play with Poot out back. They loved his name and kept calling him that. Virg and I told Bev and Arnold how things had gone. Virgil thought for insurance’s sake we should move. Just in case Fat Boy and Snake figured some things out and came calling. He said he and Tim had made arrangements. They helped us pack the groceries and get out. We drove around to the other side of the lake in a kind of caravan, Tim and Poot leading the way in his truck, me following in my truck with Bev and the kids, Virg bringing up the rear, Arnold riding with him.

We came to a massive three story house with about six zillion rooms and a garage big enough for a family of four to live in. The top of the house was made up like an observatory and was mostly glass. Nearby was a satellite dish about the size of a flying saucer.

We got out of our vehicles and gathered out front of the place and took it all in. The kids went down to the dock with a warning from Bev to be careful. Poot followed after, bouncing like a ball.

“Short trip,” I said.

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “I found out you was on the lake yesterday, I already started thinking about this place.”

“Yours?” Bev asked.

“Naw,” Virgil said. “Not Tim’s either. We make good money, but we don’t make this kind of money. Not even together. God working full-time don’t make this kind of money.”

“Client of mine owns it,” Tim said. “Runs some drugs now and then. Guns. Whatever’s needed. Does it for one of the bean eatin’ nations. I’ve got him off the hook a few times when the local drug boys practically had his balls in their hands.”

“In other words,” Bev said, “he was guilty.”

“As hell,” Tim said. “Technicalities can do wonders though. I can find a technical fuckup in damn near anything. But my boy’s gone for a few months. Working a deal, I figure. He gives me a key when he leaves. I come out here now and then and noodle with the boats. He doesn’t care. He knows he’s going to have more trouble some time or another. He likes to keep me happy.”

I called the kids over and Poot came running after them. Tim cut off the house’s elaborate security system with a key that fit in a lock behind a movable brick outside the garage. We went into the garage through a side door, past a red Corvette and a Mercedes and on into the house. It was massive.

We looked around a bit, then brought the groceries in and put them away. Tim assigned the kids, Arnold, Bev and me bedrooms. The rooms were so far in the back of the house, I thought I ought to drop some bread crumbs so I could find my way back to the front door.

“Use what you want,” Tim said. “He doesn’t care. We finish, I’ll have everything fixed up like it was.”

   That night, about eleven-thirty, Virgil call, Virgil Price at home. Price agreed to meet us. He said he had a plan. Virgil gave him directions to a meeting place. Arnold’s cabin. Virgil decided just me and him should go.

I kissed Bev and the kids goodbye and hugged Arnold. Poot wagged his tail and Tim got a beer out of the refrigerator and turned on the living room television. He was the sentimental sort.

Virgil and I took the big boat over to the other side of the lake, over to Arnold’s cabin. We docked, got off the boat and walked out back of the place and around. The air was cool and sharp and the wind was hooting in the bottle tree.

Price heard our boat motor and came around and met us at the side of the house. He was dressed in a different suit than before, but it was too dark for me to tell much about it.

“Que pasa,” said Virgil.

“You didn’t say you’d be coming by boat,” Price said. “You’re on the other side of the lake, huh?”

“Our network is large and devious,” Virgil said.

“Nice boat,” Price said.

“Can’t see that much of it in the dark,” Virgil said.

“Any boat’s a nice boat when you don’t have one,” Price said.

“Man of your nature,” I said. “I figure you’ll have a boat in time.”

“Same way I figure it,” Price said. “All right, this Snake guy. I got him figured. He’s too strange to be anyone but Tommy Ray Mault, Fat Boy’s cousin.”

“That’s sweet,” Virgil said.

“The whole family’s full of sugar,” Price said. “They’re sweeter than me.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Virgil said. “I get sugar diabetes just looking at you.”

“Tommy Ra… Snake. He’s supposed to be dead. Records say he is, but…”

Price reached inside his coat and came out with a photograph and a penlight. He handed them both to me. I turned on the light and looked at the photo. It was Snake holding an arrest number card. He looked his same special self, except a little younger.

“That’s him,” I said.

“Yeah,” Price said, taking back the photo and the light. “Story goes they let him out of his last Huntsville stretch early on account of his stink. Nobody could stand him. Got some kind of disease makes his sweat smell like something dead. Gets worse as he gets older. He had him any dates, he must have had ’em in grade school.”

“How is it he was thought to be dead?” I asked.

“Third time he was supposed to go up, this time for raping some girl over in Busby, girl’s daddy came to the court house and decided to be the Lone Ranger. He knew they were moving Tommy, and he knew they’d be bringing him out of the courthouse in irons and under guard. He jumped out of hiding and tried to pop Snake with a .22 pistol. Missed the fucker near pointer near blank and put one in a deputy’s ear. Other deputy wiped his partner’s brains out of his eyes and shot a hole in Daddy’s chest, and while he was beading up for another round, Tommy Ray put the smoke on the deputy and got his gun. Shot him dead and put a couple in Daddy. Not that Daddy really needed them. The deputy’s shot had punched out some parts.

“Snake got away wearing leg irons, stole a cop car. They found the car later, abandoned. Month after that some guy was discovered in a stolen car alongside the road. He was burned to a cracker, but his cousin, Fat Boy, identified the body as that of Tommy Ray. Supposed to have been a suicide. Coated himself in gasoline, sat in the car, and put a match to himself.”