Side(H)arm

by James E. Abel

  Twenty minutes later it was all done. The wall was painted, and everything was cleaned up and put away. Jordan sat down on the step, looked around the room, and nodded. Then he closed his eyes, expecting to find peace of mind and resolution. But it didn’t work. His brain betrayed him, forcing him back to the night he saw Casey on the steps and to the pictures of Casey and Molly that he found in Sanders’s file.

  Oh, God! Why?

  Jordan stood up, walked down the steps, and pulled out his wallet. He frantically searched through all the business cards he had stuffed in there until he found the one he was looking for. It had a phone number written on the back. He picked up his cell phone and dialed a different number. One he knew by heart.

  “Frank. I need a favor. I want to link a cell phone number back to the person’s street address. Can you do that? Great, here it is.”

  Jordan read Karen Conley’s cell phone number from the card he had in his hand, waited a few minutes, and then wrote down an address.

  Minutes later, Jordan walked out of his house and into a gentle rain. He jumped in his truck, backed out of the driveway, and turned left. When he pulled out, he didn’t take notice of the headlights turning on in the silver Toyota Camry rental car down the street. He was too busy glancing at the directions being displayed on his trucks nav system. Behind him, Cayden James pulled out from the curb and followed Jordan’s truck, keeping a safe distance as Jordan navigated his way to Dr. Conley’s house. Jordan got on the Harry S. Truman Parkway, drove through Thunderbolt, turned left onto Route 204 and twenty-five minutes later, he found himself face to face with the gated entrance to the Landings on Skidaway Island. He pulled over to the side of the road, just as the lady inside his nav system announced, “You are now in a public access restricted community.”

  Shit.

  Behind him, James said the exact same thing. Shit.

  Startled by Jordan’s sudden stop, James had little choice but to drive right past his truck and make a U-turn, a standard option at the entrance of every gated community to allow a graceful exit for uninvited guests. As he drove past Jordan, he looked straight ahead, feeling the stare being thrown his way. Whatever James was up to that night would have to wait.

  Jordan was still sitting by the side of the road contemplating his options, when another car approached from behind. As he watched, the gates opened, and the car proceeded past him and into the Landings. Jordan quickly pulled out and followed his new patron saint through the gates. For several blocks, his nav system kept him on the same route as his benefactor, and he started to wonder if he was following Dr. Conley to her house. Then, the car he was following pulled into the driveway of a beautiful two-story home. Jordan continued past and a few blocks and one left turn later, he heard the lady inside his dashboard announce, “You have arrived. Your destination is on the right.”

  It was almost 1 A.M. when Jordan pulled to the curb, turned off the car’s ignition, and looked through the side window at Dr. Conley’s house—a two-story, brick Georgian colonial. It was much nicer than the house Jordan lived in, but it was one of the more modest homes in this neighborhood. Jordan sat for a minute, and then thought to himself. The lights are on. She must be up.

  Jordan gathered his courage, jumped out of the car, and dodged the raindrops as he ran toward the front door. He rang the bell and waited.

  A minute later, a porch light went on. Dr. Conley peeked through a sidelight, opened the door, and poked her head out.

  “Officer Nichols, what are you doing here at this hour?”

  As Dr. Conley leaned forward, the robe she had thrown on pulled back to reveal the thin lace red bra she was wearing underneath. Jordan glanced past her face, taking in the view, before answering. “You did say anytime day or night.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it, so please go home. You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?”

  Dr. Conley tried to push the door shut, but Jordan pushed back harder, backing her against the wall. “Sorry, I need to talk to you.”

  He walked into the foyer, closed the door behind him, and kept going, right into the living room.

  Jordan glanced around at the wide crown molding framing the ceilings, the chair rail, the ornate furniture, the pictures and mirrors on the wall, and said, “Nice place.”

  Dr. Conley, following behind, said, “You, sir, have had too much to drink. Let me get you some coffee.”

  Jordan helped himself to a chair and said, “I don’t drink coffee. Besides, I came here to talk.”

  Dr. Conley kept her distance and said, “This is highly inappropriate. Just what is bothering you that can’t wait until morning?”

  “Highly inappropriate? Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but like I said, I need to talk to you.”

  Dr. Conley bit her tongue. As mad as she was, she was also afraid.

  Jordan slapped his hand on an adjacent chair and said, “Sit down. Let’s talk.”

  Seeing her hesitate, he waved his arm and said, “Come on. I won’t hurt you.”

  She nervously sat down and said, “Look. Let me drive you home. You can get your truck in the morning. We’ll talk all you want then.”

  “No. I promised Jenna, so here I am!”

  “I am rather certain that Jenna did not have this in mind. Let’s meet at my office, when you are sober. Last chance, let me drive you home.”

  “Last chance or what? You’re a grief counselor, and I need your help…to get Molly back. I don’t think she loves me anymore.”

  Dr. Conley’s resistance weakened. She reached out and gently took hold of his hand, the way a mother would comfort a child, and said, “Jordan, Molly loves you very much. In fact…”

  But as she leaned forward, her robe opened, and Jordan’s eyes once again dropped to take in the view. This time, Dr. Conley didn’t miss it. She yanked her robe shut, stood up, and pointed at the door.

  “That’s it! Give me your keys and get out of here. Now! And walk home for all I care.”

  She marched to the door, pulled it open, and stood there waiting.

  Jordan slowly stood up and asked, “What? What did I do?”

  “You, sir, are drunk. If you don’t leave this instant, I…I’m calling the cops.”

  “What is it with you? Beautiful! Successful! Ahhh, but there’s no man in your life. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

  And then Jordan stumbled forward. “Woah.”

  He caught himself, and as he straightened up, he noticed his reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall. He looked a second time and suddenly realized how drunk he was. Jordan’s demeanor instantly changed. He sheepishly reached into his pocket, fished out his keys, and gently tossed them onto a nearby chair.

  Jordan walked to the door, paused, and said, “I’m sorry. I really am. It seems that disappointing people has become my go to move.”

  He walked out the door. Karen closed it, and then she leaned against it and cried.

  Outside, Jordan called for an Uber and patiently waited in the rain. When the driver finally arrived, he didn’t take Jordan home. The destination Jordan had requested was the cemetery where Casey had been laid to rest. After the driver dropped him off, Jordan walked to her gravesite, kneeled in front of her tombstone, bowed his head, and said, “I’m so sorry, Casey. I’m just no good without you.” The rain provided cover for the tears streaming down his face.

  It was early the next morning when the doorbell rang at Jordan’s house. He stumbled out of bed, threw on the damp jeans sitting on the floor, and navigated his way to the front door. When he opened it, he was greeted by a short, middle-aged bald man in bib overalls handing him a clipboard with an invoice on it. The man said, “Just so you know, it’s double our regular rate for a Sunday delivery.”

  Jordan looked out past the man, saw his truck sitting in the driveway, freshly offloaded from a trailer, and asked, “Do you take credit cards?”

  Chapter 25

  As Jordan was settling up with the towing service, Raymond Wilkins
was leaving his cottage to take his daily walk on the beach. Fifteen minutes later, he saw Molly sitting near the dunes at an easel, lost in thought and focused on her painting. She was a good ways off, about 100 yards, but he knew who it was. It wasn’t just the strawberry blond hair. He remembered her words. I’m an artist too.

  Molly didn’t sense Raymond’s presence as he walked up behind her. When he reached her, he looked over her shoulder to study her work and asked, “You’re the girl I saw painting on the pier last year, aren’t you?”

  Without turning, Molly answered, “Yes. And you’re the man who criticized my painting.”

  Molly continued painting as Raymond responded, “No, I did not. As I recall, I simply made an astute observation.”

  Molly set down her brush, turned, and asked, “Why do you use such big words?”

  Raymond said, “Hmmm. I wasn’t aware that I did. But I’ll take that under consideration in the future.”

  Turning back to her painting, Molly asked, “So…. what do you think?”

  “I prefer what I saw last year.”

  Molly spun around, only to find Raymond walking away.

  She put down her brush and ran after him.

  “Wait a second! What’s your name?”

  Raymond was walking as fast as he could, but he was no match for Molly. Like a fly pestering a horse, she began poking at his arm.

  “I asked: What’s your name?”

  Raymond suddenly stopped and looked down at her.

  “You know, for an intruder, one who I let go if you recall, you are being one very rude young lady!”

  Molly lowered her eyes. She had been raised correctly.

  “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that I really do like your paintings.”

  There was a slight crack in Raymond’s armor. His tone softened.

  “Raymond. You can call me Mr. Raymond if you like.”

  “Okay, Mr. Raymond. What I was wondering was… Do you think you could teach me how to use oil paints? I’d like to learn to paint like you do.”

  Raymond hesitated for a second and then said, “No. Now just leave me alone. Good day, young lady.”

  He turned to leave as Molly called out to him.

  “Molly. Remember, my name is Molly.”

  Raymond waved his right arm in the air without looking back.

  When Molly turned around to walk back to her easel, she saw Blue and her friends walking her way. Blue reached her first and asked, “So, Rembrandt, how about showing us your painting?”

  “No, I don’t want to. It’s not that good.”

  Two of Blue’s friends started to run toward the painting, and Blue yelled, “Hey! Get back here! She said she didn’t want us to see it.”

  They stopped and turned around as Blue said, “If Molly here doesn’t want to show us her painting, then that’s the way it’s gonna be. You guys take off. I want to talk to her alone.”

  Molly nervously watched the other kids leave as Blue asked her, “So Molls, just what is the deal here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’ve seen you out here on the weekends with someone who looks awful young to be your mom. And afterward, you hop into a truck to leave with some dude who I’m guessing has to be your old man. I figure he’s sending you out here to paint while he’s inside doing it with his girlfriend, and then, when he’s finished, you all go back home to Mommy. Am I right?”

  A look of hurt crossed Molly’s face, quickly turning to one of anger as she said, “That woman is my aunt, and my mom is dead. She was murdered! What’s wrong with you, anyway!”

  Blue glared at Molly, and then shoved her as hard as she could.

  Molly fell to the ground. Blue stood over her, the same hateful look still on her face. But when Blue looked down and saw the tears forming in Molly’s eyes, she regretted what she’d done. Her expression softened. She held out her hand and said, “Look, I’m sorry. Come on, get up.”

  Molly hesitated, cautiously eying her.

  Blue smiled and said, “Go ahead, take it. I won’t hurt you.”

  Molly took Blue’s hand, and she pulled Molly to her feet.

  “There ya go, Molls.”

  As Molly brushed the sand off her backside, Blue said, “Anyway, I guess we have something in common after all.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Well, we do. My mom is dead, too.”

  And then Blue ran down the beach to rejoin her friends, leaving Molly all alone.

  Chapter 26

  Jordan didn’t have an appointment, but he checked in at the desk anyway, with a man named Walter. He was outside of Dr. Conley’s office, deep within the bowels of Savannah General. He took a seat in the waiting room and waited—for over two hours. Finally, Dr. Conley’s office door opened. She walked out and made a beeline down the hall toward a nearby elevator.

  Jordan jumped out of his chair, calling her name as he raced to catch up. He had got to within fifteen feet when Dr. Conley turned, held her hand out like a traffic cop, and said, “Officer Nichols, you stay away. I do not want to see you or talk to you. Not unless you have an appointment.”

  Jordan stopped in his tracks and said, “But I wanted to apologize.”

  “Apology accepted. Now leave.” She reached the elevator and hit the button.

  Jordan, keeping his distance, said, “I’ll make an appointment!”

  “Check with Walter. I think we’re booking about three months out.”

  The elevator chimed, the door opened, and Dr. Conley got in. The door had almost closed when a hand reached in, triggered the safety mechanism, and forced it open again.

  Jordan’s head poked around the corner, and he asked, “Three months?”

  “Yes. Now let go of the door!”

  Jordan let go and started to turn away.

  The door clanged back open. Dr. Conley leaned out of the elevator and said, “That is, unless you want to join Molly at her next session.”

  “When’s that?”

  “Tuesday, a week from tomorrow, at 2 P.M.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Very well. Just make sure that you bring Molly along.”

  The elevator door shut. Inside, Dr. Conley was smiling.

  Jordan drove from the hospital parking lot directly to the police headquarters to meet Tommy and to pick up an unmarked car. As they pulled out of the lot, Tommy looked at Jordan and asked, “So where we off to?”

  “A strip club.”

  “Now you’re talking. I love undercover work.”

  “Well, you won’t like this. Remember when I asked you to give me access to all of your old files on Lucien Baxter?”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “If you recall, he likes to frequent strip joints, usually the ones on the north side. So today, we’re gonna stake one of them out and hope to get lucky. Since there are only two of them still in business, which one do you prefer?”

  “Wait a second. Before I answer that, didn’t Sanders tell us to stay away from Baxter? Remember that little thing about the Feds?”

  “I don’t give a shit what Sanders said, and I don’t care about the Feds. I’m in charge of the Swamp Thing investigation, and I’ll make my own damn decisions.”

  “Okay, but we’re talking the Feds here. You screw with them, and there won’t be anyone who can save your ass.”

  “I’ll take my chances. Now tell me about the strip joints.”

  “Okay, Bottoms Up doesn’t open till 4, so we don’t have to worry about that one. On the other hand, Tails from the Crypt has a businessman’s lunch special, so we can head over there.

  Jordan burst out laughing. Tails from the Crypt! What the hell kind of name is that?”

  “Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. The girls wear these really creepy outfits, jump out of a casket, and then walk out on the runway with this red fog all over the place. It’s really cool.”

  “I bet…anything to make a fifty-year-old stripper look a little more
inviting. Anyway, we’re not going inside. We’ll wait for Baxter out front, on the street.”

  As they sat in the car passing time, Jordan pulled up a picture on his cell phone and showed it to Tommy.

  “Take a look at this. What are you seeing?”

  Tommy looked at the picture, handed the phone back, and said, “I don’t know. It’s dark, but it looks like blood to me. Where’d you get it?”

  “From Sanders file. It was taken on my porch, but there was no cross reference to it in the report. Doesn’t make sense.”

  Tommy suddenly pointed at the windshield and said, “Look, we’ve got company!”

  Lucien Baxter had just walked out of the strip club, and he was studying a piece of paper. He shoved it in his shirt pocket and then walked down an alley. Jordan started the car, put it in gear, and said, “Here we go.”

  Tommy grabbed his arm and said, “Wait. Not yet.”

  “What do you mean? We’re gonna lose him!”

  “Trust me.”

  Jordan’s frustration showed as he put the car back in park and waited.

  Two minutes later, Baxter’s black Mercedes pulled onto the street, almost right in front of them. Jordan glanced at Tommy, who smiled and said, “Only one way out.”

  Jordan returned the smile and said, “You do know your strip clubs.”

  They followed Baxter for about fifteen minutes as he worked through the downtown traffic toward the historic district. He parked in front of Cayden James’s Fine Arts and Curios Shop and walked inside. Jordan drove past the shop and pulled to the curb, about fifty feet up the street. Jordan quickly adjusted the mirror on Tommy’s side of the car so he could keep an eye on the store entrance.