The Killing King of Gratis (14 page)

Knox was suddenly taxed from the whole situation. He put his glass down and looked at the group.
Damn
, he thought,
this is a sorry ass bunch if I’ve ever seen one
.

“Well, go ahead, I’m gonna get a drink and be alone. Get to work and try to do something right.” The men crept out of the room. Viceroy smoke and an old man’s contempt hung from them like choir robes after a hellfire preacher’s sermon.

A
n hour later Delroy was in his office when he heard a knock at the door. Without waiting for him to answer, Tommy walked in and sat down in the client chair in front of his desk. The men stared at each other for at least a minute.

“Well, you’re here for a reason, Tommy.” Delroy broke the ice. He figured the Proclaimer article would get some reaction. He didn’t know if Tommy was there to shoot him, arrest him, or laugh at him. Tommy took a moment and then told him the news.

Newt was no longer the only subject of their investigation. Now they were looking for the person and truck described in Johnnie’s article. Charges against Anna were dropped and he just drove her home, personally. He also posted a deputy in front of her house to keep her safe. No thugs would bother her there, whether they were part of the investigation or not.

Delroy liked the idea of a deputy being at Anna’s house. He worried about her being alone and wasn’t around enough to look after her himself.

“Well, I appreciate you assigning a deputy to Anna’s house. I feel better knowing he’s there.” Delroy was sincere.

“I wanted to somehow make up for her having to stay at the jail, even if it was in my office.” Tommy lied. The deputy wasn’t there to make up for a wrong. Tommy wished Anna was still in his office smiling at him when he came in the door. Being with her, and watching her use her touch to make his office into a home, was the highlight of his last few days. He wouldn’t admit it yet, but Tommy had fallen hard for Anna. He wasn’t about to let anything happen to her or her children.

“Thanks Tommy. Look, I know this whole thing is crazy as hell, and I know you do, too. What can we do to stop this thing?” Delroy was fishing now, trying to pull information out of Tommy.

“Well, Delroy, it’s good to see you being so civic minded.” Tommy knew he was being baited. He was nobody’s catfish. “Tell you what, let’s see what you can do for me. I am damn tired of you being ahead of me on this thing, and sure as hell done with finding out about it in the newspaper.”

“That Johnnie Lee is a mess, ain’t she?” Delroy smiled at Tommy.

“Ain’t she though? I’m suggesting we work together, at least a bit, and unofficially. If you get a lead you can use the full resources of my office to help you out. I have men, data bases, everything you need. I know you want to put this to bed as much as I do, and we both know nothing is ever gonna be over until Millie’s killer is caught or dead.”

This surprised Delroy. He excused himself from his office and went to the bathroom. He needed to sit and consider the offer. He turned on the fan for effect and came back a few minutes later.

“Well Tommy, I might be interested in your offer. We could help each other, definitely.”

“Delroy, I really do hope you’re interested. I would hate to find out, down the road, that you or someone you know was hiding witnesses from us, whether that witness is in your family or not. I would hate for Anna and her children to lose faith in their favorite uncle. I know you’re that. Anna told me so.”

“I would hate that, too.” Delroy smiled. “I tell you what. Let me keep working on this from my angle. I’ve got a few resources of my own, you know. If you want, I’ll deal with a contact person, anyone you want, and keep them up to date. If I get something, they’ll be my first call, and if I need something, I’ll come to them. How does that sound?”

“Not bad, but let me tweak this a little for you. I’m gonna loan out the Judge’s son to you. He’s a bright guy, or at least not as dumb as his daddy, and I think he’ll speed things up a bit. We need some speed on this Delroy, and you know it. That’s how it’s gonna be.”

Delroy didn’t argue with Tommy on this point. He liked the younger Motte just fine, whether or not he thought much of his dad as a judge. He was smart but didn’t seem
too
smart. Delroy was confident he could manage him well enough.

Without waiting for an answer Tommy got up and headed for the door. Before he could reach it Delroy called after him.

“Hey, Sheriff!”

“Yes Delroy.”

“Does this mean I get a badge? My clients would be impressed. I mean seriously, me a special deputy sheriff? Man, the business I’d drum up with that!” Delroy laughed.

Tommy just kept walking. He looked forward to the day he caught that smartass doing something he shouldn’t.
Damn hell, we find ourselves lying down with the worst folks sometimes. Damn hell.

S
kipper spent his day with a couple of other lazy, loaded golfers hacking up the Hampton course on St. Simon’s. He shot in the nineties and, worse than that, lost $500. He beat these two idiots regularly and that made losing all the worse.

After their round he left the course without going into the clubhouse for a drink. His partners laughed about his abrupt departure. He was always ready to wind down with a few cocktails when he won their money.

Skipper cursed himself as he drove down Fredericka Road. This killing business was getting in the way of his normal life and growing into something hard for him to control. He prided himself on self-control. He had no wife or children to answer or make concessions to. He wasn’t involved in any charities or clubs, save a couple of country clubs and the local chapter of the Florida Gator Club. His dad was involved with his finances, but he was able to control that by doing just enough that he wasn’t disowned. He had always been focused enough to balance his hedonism with outward normalcy, but now it was getting difficult.

Skipper pulled into Brogen’s North and went inside. This restaurant, the second Brogen’s on the island, was different than its companion restaurant in the village. It didn’t have that loose drinking vibe that all those damn Georgia alums in the village seemed to love. It was quieter and he could think clearly there, which was becoming an increasingly rare event. Once seated, he ordered the chicken fingers and a cold gin and tonic. So nobody would disturb him, he bought a paper and opened it on the table in front of him.

Skipper thought about how simple things were before he tasted murder. Going to eat shrimp at Village Creek Landing and then going to meet women at Mullet Bay were enough. It was selfish and self-indulgent and he loved it. Waking up in the morning and getting ready to go play golf, or maybe driving down the coast to drink in St. Augustine, kept him preoccupied.

Now that was over. Killing women fascinated him. It was sex and hatred and disdain for others and all about what Skipper wanted. It was his crack and he loved it. Worse, he was starting to need it.

Shit, I may have gone crazy
, he thought as he ate his fries. This didn’t bother him too much. Some of the most prominent people in world history had been little more than crazy, cold blooded killers.
Hell, Stalin had a good life
, he reasoned. Being crazy didn’t scare him at all, but being locked up did.

Skipper knew there was a new witness in Millie’s case. He didn’t know who it was, but figured the person was connected to Althea. Maybe it was her child or some neighborhood crackhead. Skipper was pretty sure the witness couldn’t identify him except for what he drove and wore. He was extremely pissed at himself for driving his old farm truck and wearing his school colors.

That was just dumb
, he chastised himself.
I wasn’t at a damn Gator tailgate
. He ordered another drink.
Damn, that damn Newt skated on this. That son of a bitch and that son of a bitch Delroy for helping him. To hell with them.

The second drink got there as he finished off his meal. The heat of the whole thing was starting to get to him. Skipper knew he needed to create a hell of a stir to knock everything back. He just wasn’t sure what that stir was going to be. He was determined, though, to come up with something before paying his check, and kept ordering drinks as the daylight faded. After a while he noticed his mind going off on tangents as his gin and tonic consumption grew. He switched to Budweiser, and was drinking one, when his playing partners from earlier walked in.

It was a good two hours since the 18th hole and his partners looked as if they spent every bit of it at the 19th hole lounge. They sidled up to Skipper, both of them grinning like jackasses.

“Skip, you left way too soon. We got to talking with that cart girl, and she’s gonna meet us with her friends later at Mullet Bay.”

“Well Ben, Sean, I figured if I was there y’all wouldn’t have been able to get a word in with that girl. Call it my act of kindness for the week.” He smiled at them, actually glad for a little diversion from being inside his own head.

“Shit” said Sean, turning one syllable into five. “You are full of shit, Skippy, full…of…….shi-i-i-i-it. Somebody don’t like to lose.”

The duo sat down without being asked and Ben ordered two Seven and Sevens from the waitress. “Make’em a couple of ass-knockers.”

Sean wouldn’t shut up. “You just didn’t have that smooth stroke today did ya? You kept playing with your clubs, hittin’ clubs I ain’t never seen you hit. Damn, you just flat out sucked today, pussycakes.”

“Yeah, shit Skip, when did you start hitting your five wood on those par fours? You never take that out, and you always par or birdie those.” Skipper winced at Ben’s observation, remembering at least three bogies he made during the round because he wanted to try his new club.

“Oh man, we sure gonna have a great time tonight, brother. That cart girl, Mandy, she is sweet boy, I’m tellin’ you.” Sean was sipping his Seven and Seven, looking at the others with two very bloodshot eyes. Ben noticed his friend’s eyes and decided he needed a somewhat coherent wingman for the night. He started to order food for Sean but stopped, realizing the wait would only give him more drinking time.

Ben drained his glass. “Tell you what Seany, why don’t we go get some Waffle House? Sounds good, don’t it?”

“Ohhhhhhhhh,” Sean groaned, and Ben was afraid his prospective wingman might get sick.

Sean continued, “Damn brother, I want a triple order of hash browns, scattered, smothered and covered, chunked and diced, and maybe some cheese eggs. We’ll put that ‘Waffle House’ song on the jukebox like nine times, just to piss the waitresses off.” Sean drained his drink and stood up.

“Well, Dippo-Skippo, you want to meet us out? Or you gonna go home and paint your toenails?” Sean cackled at his own joke.

“Now Seany, everyone knows that the only toenails I paint are your mother’s. To answer your question, I’m gonna bag it. You know if I went with y’all, little Mandy would wake up staring at the beach, anyway.” Of the three, Skipper was the only one with a house on the shore.

Sean and Ben both laughed. Sean yelled at the waitress to get two more drinks and Ben didn’t put up a fight as she hustled them over. They sat back down and started watching the Braves game playing on the television, yelling when their opponent, the Phillies, came up to bat.

“Strike that son of a bitch out! He’s holding that bat like his sister holds my bat! God almighty, them Philly-ass bastards suck!” The chatter was endless, driven as they were to one up each other.

Usually, Skipper would have been laughing at his friends, if not joining in. Instead he stared intently at his beer. Ben’s comment about his failure with his new club struck somewhere deep in his buzzing brain. He had a drunkard’s epiphany.

That’s my problem,
he thought.
I gotta stay on course with old Newt. Some things even a shady piece of shit lawyer can’t wiggle you out of. Some things even an old lady’s pen can’t change.
As Skipper stared at his beer the solution to his problem came into focus.
Damn
,
that Ben isn’t half as dumb as he looks
. He put his beer down and smiled at his cohorts.

“Tell you what, ladies, I think I might just meet you two out tonight. How many friends did you say our little cart girl was bringing with her?”

“Well, enough for me and Ben. After we figure out who we want, you get whatever’s left.”

“Tell you what, I bet you double or nothing that little Mandy wakes up looking at the ocean outside my bedroom window. Well, who wants to be a man and take my bet, and who wants to paint their toenails instead?” Skipper narrowed his eyes, daring the two to take him up.

Sean cackled as he drained his drink, stood up and headed outside. Ben put down a fifty and caught Sean as he was tripping on the doorjamb going into the parking lot. They leaned on each other as they walked toward the car, flowing back and forth like the marsh grass on a windy day. Finally they left, Ben feeling every drink as he pulled his Lexus onto Fredericka.

Skipper left soon thereafter. He needed to plan exactly how he was going to put the hammer down on Newt. Tonight, however, he had other plans that included cart girls, drunken buddies, and pretending that those things would be enough. As he guided his Jaguar toward East Beach he told himself that this whole killing infatuation would be over, once he cleaned everything up. Sucking on the lime pulp still stuck between his teeth from his last gin and tonic, he almost believed it.

A
few days later Delroy met with Kero and Motte at Daddy Jack’s for lunch. They ordered pulled pork sandwiches, slaw, and butter beans. Kero and Motte had a couple of Budweisers while Delroy drank sweet tea. Kero was more than glad to give Delroy all the tea he could drink. He noticed his friend’s face didn’t look quite so used up lately.

Motte told them that, according to tax records, there were no green Ford trucks over twenty years old with a body style including rounded headlights currently registered in the county. There were nine trucks of other colors, and he was running those down one at a time. He found forty seven Ford pickup trucks, eight green ones, from model years within the last twenty years, but they had squared head lights that didn’t match the witness’s description. Motte still referred to the “witness” because Delroy refused to give up Terrence’s identity. He kept that secret, even with the new détente between him and Tommy.