Side(H)arm

by James E. Abel

  “What do you think, Tommy? Does Baxter strike you as the type to be interested in fine arts and curios?”

  “I doubt it, but you never know.”

  About five minutes later, Baxter walked out the door, followed by Cayden James.

  Jordan asked, “Any idea who that is?”

  “Nope. Never saw him before.”

  Tommy grabbed his phone and started taking pictures until Baxter left James behind and started walking up the street, directly toward them. Jordan slowly pulled out his Glock, keeping it low and holding it in his lap.

  Baxter, pulling out his cell phone, walked right past their car and stood directly in front of them, out in the street. Jordan tensed up, tightening his grip on the trigger of his gun. Five seconds later, a white panel van turned the corner and came down the street. Baxter motioned toward it, pointing at the alley next to the store. And then he walked back to the curb, past their car, and rejoined James. The pair walked back into the shop together.

  Jordan took a deep breath, holstered his gun, and said, “I think we just found out where Baxter’s moving his drugs.”

  “So now what?”

  “Not sure. We don’t have a search warrant, and I don’t want to take this back to Sanders—not just yet anyway. Let’s sit here awhile, see where Baxter goes next.”

  Twenty minutes later, Baxter walked out of the shop, got in his car, and pulled out. Jordan waited a few seconds, and then followed. Baxter stayed off the interstate, passing through several residential neighborhoods until he was just outside of town. And then he slowed down. Tommy, watching him, turned to Jordan and said, “I think he’s looking at the addresses on the mailboxes.”

  “You’re right. He’s looking for someone.”

  There were very few cars on the street so Jordan had to drop back further than he would have liked. Baxter pulled his Mercedes to the curb in front of a brick, mid-sixties style ranch house and got out. It was one of the few well-kept homes in a neighborhood of run-down houses and weed-infested lawns. Jordan quickly ducked in behind a white, windowed van that was parked about 200 feet away and grabbed a pair of binoculars. He watched as Baxter paused at the mailbox, pulled out the piece of paper he had in his shirt pocket, crumpled it up, and threw it aside. Then he walked to the front door.

  Tommy asked, “What’s he’s up to?”

  “He just walked up to a house and rang the doorbell. Now he’s knocking on the door. Nobody home! Now he’s headed back to his car.”

  Jordan put the binoculars aside and watched as Baxter got back in his Mercedes and drove off.

  Tommy, watching it all unfold, asked, “Aren’t you gonna follow him?”

  “Nope. I wanna see who lives there.”

  Jordan pulled out from behind the van, drove up the road, and parked where Baxter had just been parked moments earlier.

  Jordan looked at Tommy and said, “You wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  “No. I want in on this, too.”

  They both got out of the car and approached the house. Tommy watched as Jordan rang the bell. When there was no answer, Jordan said, “You wait here, I’m checking out back.”

  A few minutes later, Tommy called out to him, “Come on. Let’s go. Nothing’s happening here.”

  But just as Jordan appeared from around the side of the house, a pristine 2005 Chevy Malibu came down the street and pulled into the driveway.

  Jordan walked toward the car and watched as the white-haired little old lady inside locked her doors and started to frantically search through her purse. By the time Jordan tapped on the window and flashed his badge, she had already pulled out an old flip phone and was trying to make a call. Jordan said, “Good afternoon, ma’am, I’m Officer Nichols. How are you doing today?”

  She put her cell phone back in her purse and slowly pushed the car door open as she said, “Well. I was just fine until I saw you and your friend snooping around my house. This is private property, you know!” She struggled to her feet and closed the door as Jordan said,

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry if we alarmed you. Like I said, I’m Officer Nichols, and the man over there is Officer Reynolds.”

  Florence Phillips turned to look at Tommy, and her face lit up. She walked over to him as fast as she could manage and gave him a hard pinch on his cheek.

  “Tommy Reynolds. Is that you? Oh my God. It’s been what, three years now? Last time I saw you was, oh, sorry.”

  “That’s okay, Mrs. Phillips. It’s good to see you again.”

  Jordan, following behind said, “Well, I see you two know each other. Mind if we step inside and talk for a few minutes?”

  Tommy looked uncomfortable, but Florence beamed and said, “Of course. Let’s all go inside and have a cup of tea. It’s so good to see you, Tommy.”

  The inside of the house was spotless—more like a museum than a house. A bronze statue of Jesus, his arms outstretched, hung above the door and welcomed all visitors. White lace doilies were perfectly placed under the lamps that adorned the end tables. When Florence disappeared into the kitchen, Jordan turned to Tommy and asked, “What’s going on here?”

  “Her grandson, Kevin, was Billy’s best friend. They played ball together. But I didn’t know this was where she lived.”

  “How does Lucien Baxter fit into all of this?”

  “How would I know? But please, tread lightly. She’s an old lady.”

  Florence hustled out of the kitchen, carrying a silver tray holding three cups of steaming hot tea, a creamer full of milk, and a sugar bowl. She said, “I know. You were thinking I was bringing you some nice cold sweet tea. But a long time ago, I spent three years in England. Ever since then, I’ve found their way to be much more enjoyable.”

  Jordan and Tommy obliged by taking a cup and thanking her as she stopped in front of each of them.

  When Florence sat down, she said, “So tell me. What brings you gentlemen out this way?”

  Jordan and Tommy exchanged glances before Jordan spoke up.

  “Well, we found ourselves in the neighborhood, and Tommy mentioned that he had an old friend out this way, so we thought we’d stop by and say hello.”

  Florence set the tray down on the dining room table, took her own cup off it, and gave Jordan a stern look.

  “Officer Nichols, that’s right isn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s Jordan Nichols.”

  “Well, I may be old, but I’m not stupid, so stop trying to pull the wool over my eyes. Now, would you like to try again?”

  Jordan smiled and said, “No, I mean yes, ma’am. The reason we’re here is because we followed a man, let’s say a man we don’t think too highly of, and found him snooping around your house. Do you have any idea why someone of his type might be out here?”

  Florence set her tea down, her hand shaking a bit.

  “And just what type is that? You have to give me a little more information if you expect me to be able to help you.”

  Jordan nodded.

  “You’re right, ma’am. He’s in his mid-forties, dark greasy hair, wears horned-rimmed glasses. Rather odd looking, with a very weak chin.”

  Florence pulled her head back like a peacock and said, “Well that sounds just like Reverend Clarkson!”

  Jordan choked back a laugh and said, “Actually, his name is Lucien Baxter, and he’s suspected of being involved with the sale and distribution of illegal drugs.”

  “Oh my!”

  Jordan continued. “Do you mind if I ask, does anyone else live here with you?”

  “No. My grandson, Kevin, used to live here, but he moved out some time ago. I raised him from the time he was eleven years old. That’s when my daughter and her husband were killed out on I-95. A man driving a tractor-trailer fell asleep and plowed right into them. Maybe you remember; it happened back in June of 2005.”

  “I think I do, and I’m very sorry for your loss. Could you tell me exactly when Kevin moved out?”

  “A few weeks before Christmas, last ye
ar. He said he was going out of state to visit some friends, and he hasn’t been back. But he is an adult now, after all.”

  “I’m sorry to have to ask you this, ma’am, but do you think he could be involved with drugs in any way?”

  Florence bristled at the thought and said, “Absolutely not. Not Kevin.” She looked at Tommy and continued, “And he’ll tell you the same thing. Isn’t that right, Tommy?”

  “Yes, Florence. Don’t you worry, I’ll explain everything to Officer Nichols on our drive back to the station.”

  Jordan asked, “Since Kevin moved out, have you heard from him at all?”

  Florence looked down, suddenly looking frail.

  “I wish I could say different, but only once, early on from Norwood, Massachusetts. It’s near Boston, I think. He told me not to worry and that he loved me, but that was it. You know these young kids nowadays. It’s so hard to keep up with them.”

  “Sure. I understand.”

  Jordan pointed to a picture on a nearby table.

  “Is that him?”

  “Yes, with Billy, Tommy’s son. Those two could really play ball, couldn’t they, Tommy?”

  “They sure could.”

  Jordan asked, “Mind if I take a look at it?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  Jordan set down his tea, walked over to the picture, and picked it up. Kevin and Billy were standing arm in arm in their high school baseball uniforms with big grins on their faces. Kevin’s long blond hair flowed out from under his baseball cap.

  “Good looking kids!”

  Jordan pulled out his cell phone and snapped a picture before setting it back down on the table. And then he was ready to leave.

  “Well, thank you for your hospitality, but we need to be on the move. Please, keep your doors locked and call us immediately if you see or hear anything unusual. Let’s go, Tommy.”

  Tommy threw a nervous glance at Florence and set down his teacup.

  “Sure. Oh. And so nice to see you again, Florence.”

  “Nice to see you, too, Tommy. And don’t be a stranger. I’m a great cook, you know.”

  “Yes. I know. And I’ll keep in touch. I promise.”

  By the time Tommy stood up, Jordan was already out the door.

  He caught up to Jordan at the car and jumped in. After they pulled out, Jordan asked,

  “So, what just happened in there? Are you gonna try and tell me that you didn’t recognize the house where Billy’s best friend used to live?”

  “I swear to God: I didn’t know. Wait until Molly’s in high school, you’ll understand. You won’t even know where she is half the time. And besides, Kevin always hung out at our house.”

  “You think Kevin’s into drugs?”

  “I guess anything’s possible, but Kevin’s a religious kid, and he was always clean. In fact, he was the kid who helped me get Billy straightened out. Without his help… Well, it helped for a while at least.”

  “And what about Billy? Who was his pusher?”

  Tommy turned white. “Oh my God, you think that’s the connection?”

  “Well, for whatever reason, it looks like Lucien Baxter’s trying to track down Kevin Phillips.”

  “Roger that.”

  “And there’s one other thing. Kevin disappeared right around the time that Casey was murdered.”

  “What! You think Kevin was involved? No. No way. He’s a good kid. I’d vouch for him in a second.”

  “Whatever. But Kevin Phillips had better watch his back, wherever he is. In the meantime, I want to compare the prints they found at my house against Kevin’s—and without Sanders finding out. Can you help me with that?”

  “I’ll do what I can. But where am I gonna find a set of Kevin’s prints if he’s never been in the system. By the way, where are you going? You just missed the turn!”

  “Back to the curio shop. Time to find out a little more about the man we saw with Lucien Baxter.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they pulled in across the street from the store and parked. Jordan turned to Tommy.

  “Look, this time you will stay put. No option. If we both walk in there, whoever this guy is will make us out as cops in about two seconds.”

  “I agree. So why don’t you let me go and you stay here?”

  “And why should I?”

  “Because I’m older and look more like the kind of guy who could afford the crap they’re selling in there.”

  “No. You’re sloppier and fatter, and you have no culture at all. You don’t look anything like someone who would be looking for art works or upscale curios. You look more like someone who’d be looking for a fast food joint, so stay put! I’ll be right back.”

  Jordan opened his door and started to slide out from behind the steering wheel.

  Tommy suddenly grabbed Jordan by the collar and yanked him back into the car.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Look!”

  Across the street, walking into the store was Detective Sanders.

  Jordan and Tommy both slid down in their seats as Tommy said, “Holy shit! What the hell is he doing here?”

  Jordan softly pulled the car door shut, looked at Tommy, and said, “Looks like we just found out why we came up dry on the drug bust. We may have a mole after all.”

  “So, what do we do now? Go to Internal Affairs?”

  “No. Not yet. If we’re wrong, we can kiss our jobs goodbye.”

  “Okay, so then what is the plan?”

  “Let’s start by finding out everything we possibly can about that man over there. I’ll check out the certificate of occupancy, and you see if the store has a website. Then, maybe I’ll ask Jenna to wander in there and look around as a customer and ask for his business card. But as far as the Savannah PD is concerned, today never happened. We talk to absolutely no one. We trust absolutely no one. Agreed?”

  “Yes, agreed.”

  Jordan shook his head and asked, “How did we manage to step into this pile of shit?”

  Chapter 27

  I never thought Blue and I would become friends, but that’s exactly what happened. I think she saw a little bit of herself in me, and maybe I felt the same way about her. I know I liked her. She would listen to what I had to say, and she seemed to care.

  The wind whipped across the white caps. Molly’s hair and face were soaked with salt water. She was sitting under the Tybee Pier, as close as she dare go to the water’s edge, watching the waves rise and then crash down onto to the beach and against the cement pilings surrounding her. Molly had walked the half-mile up the beach from Jenna’s house and had been sitting there for almost an hour now, trying to work up the courage to walk up top, onto the pier. She was about to give up and go home when she saw caught a glimpse of someone standing alone by the water’s edge. It was a girl wearing a pink baseball cap, and she looked familiar. When Molly saw the blue hair poking out from underneath, she knew who it was. She walked toward her and called out, “Blue?”

  The girl didn’t turn around.

  Molly tried again, “Blue, is that you?”

  “Go away! Leave me alone!”

  Molly hesitated, and then walked up and tapped her on her shoulder.

  “Blue, are you alright?”

  Blue turned toward Molly and yelled, “I told you to go away!”

  And that’s when Molly saw the tears flowing down Blue’s face—and the bright red, ugly bruise on her cheek.

  “Oh, my gosh. What happened?”

  Molly reached out and touched Blue’s cheek.

  Blue pulled away. “Ouch! It’s none of your business. Just go away.”

  “But you’re hurt. Did you fall?”

  “Yeah. I fell off the freakin’ pier. Now go away.”

  Molly turned and looked up at the underside of the pier.

  “Really? Wow, that must have hurt! I’ll go get some help.”

  Blue laughed through her tears, shaking her head from side to side.

  “You really are naïve, little
girl.”

  “Why, what do you…Oh, you didn’t fall, did you?”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  Molly stood next to Blue and said, “Well, I’m not leaving until you feel better, so you’re stuck with me.”

  Blue smiled and nodded her head.

  “You know something, you’re a good kid, no matter what my friends say.”’

  “What do they say? Oh. You’re kidding again. Cut that out! Now tell me what really happened.”

  “You can’t tell a soul, or I’ll kill you, you understand?”

  “Yes. I understand.”

  “Okay then. It was my old man. Every once in a while, he gets really drunk. When he gets like that, you don’t want to be around him.”

  “You mean he hit you?”

  “Well, I sure didn’t fall off the pier.”

  “You need to tell someone. I’ve got a really good counselor. Would you like to talk to her?”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? Nobody, and I mean nobody, can know this. They’ll put me in a foster home.”

  “Would they really do that?”

  “Yeah, they would. It already happened once, and it was horrible. But forget about that. Can you hang with me for a while? We’ll walk into town and go to the IGA for some munchies.”

  “Okay, but can we go out on the pier first?”

  “Sure, whatever you say.”

  Molly and Blue stood up and walked back to the pier steps and up onto the pier.

  When they got there, Molly looked at Blue and said, “This is where my mom first taught me how to paint. I’ve wanted to come back here before, but I haven’t been able to—up until now.”

  “What happened to your mom anyway? You said she was murdered?”

  “Yeah, just before Christmas. A man broke into our house and shot her. It wasn’t the house here. That’s my Aunt Jenna’s. It was at our house in Savannah.”

  “Did you see it happen?”

  “No. The sound woke me up, and, you know, everything just happened.”

  “What did your dad do?”

  “He wasn’t home. The cops called him, but he’s a cop, too. But now it’s your turn. How did your mom die?”

  “Cancer. She got it when I was about three years old. The doctors thought they got it all, but it came back. She finally died when I was ten. After that, my dad and I moved out here.”