Widow

by Martha Miller

  In some sort of bitter irony, Luther’s car did get stuck in the ruts from the Explorer, and Pop and Stumpy got out to push him. When they were back in the Explorer headed for town, Stumpy leaned over close to Bertha and said, “Isn’t this exciting?”

  “It’s scary for me. My grandma…” But she couldn’t say it. Grandma was supposed to live forever or at least die peacefully.

  “Oh, I don’t mean that. I’m sorry about your grandma, and I’m glad to be part of finding her. All my years on the force, I rode a desk because I couldn’t run like the others. I wasn’t a hundred percent, and I never have been. What I did, I did well, but this was all I wanted. You don’t know how long I’ve waited to kick a door in and go through it with my gun drawn. Only thing that could have made it better was gunfire.”

  Bertha smiled wearily. She liked Stumpy. In fact, the four of them felt like some strange little family. “Well, the night is young.”

  *

  Mel pulled into the bus-station parking lot a little late. The place was full. Only minutes before, a Greyhound had pulled in to unload and reload passengers. The drive was a commotion of cabs, people with luggage, and people waiting for luggage near the cavernous belly of the great gray bus. Thus the small parking lot was full. They circled it and finally found a spot that had just come available.

  Bertha got out and, doing a little quick step to speed herself along, she entered the building. People were everywhere. The cafeteria was hard to miss. A line at the counter stretched out the door. She saw Cook at a small table at the other end of the room. He saw her at the same time and raised a hand to get her attention. “He’s over there,” she said, but no one responded. She looked left and then right, finally turning in a circle. A pinpoint of fear tugged something in her chest. She wasn’t supposed to be alone. That hadn’t been the plan. Then she saw Stumpy limping toward her, with Mel and Pop behind him. She waited.

  Pop was a little out of breath when he caught up to her. “Sweetie. You got to remember we’re a little older than you.”

  “I’m sorry. I just want to find my grandma.”

  “Of course you do. We all want to find her.” He patted her shoulder and the pat turned into a comforting back rub. “Then let’s go talk to the bastard over there.”

  Fred Cook stood and greeted each of them. He pulled up a fifth chair, and they all sat down.

  Pop said, “Now what’s this about a dead hooker?”

  Cook said, “I guess they were afraid she’d talk.”

  Bertha started to ask for details about January Johnson when she noticed the others looking at a spot over her right shoulder. She turned and, to her surprise, saw Billie Little pulling a chair up to join them. They scooted one way and the other to make room for her.

  Settled, the first thing Billie said was, “We have to take care of this tonight. They’re watching our every move. If we don’t give them what they want, we’ll be as dead as that hooker.”

  Bertha was startled by the vibration of her cell phone. All this time with nothing and now everything was happening at once. She answered the phone. “Judge Brannon.”

  Albert Cioni said, “Are you alone?”

  Bertha held her forefinger to her lips and the others went quiet. Then she said, “Yes.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Albert’s tone had that icy sound. “I want the files.”

  “What files?”

  “You know what files. Mautlis stole them.”

  Bertha counted. Toni, Scotty, January Johnson, and the boy who was killed in the explosion. Her heart pounded. She was angry yet didn’t want Grandma’s kidnapper any more upset than he already was. “Tell me more about these files.”

  Albert hesitated. “The IAD files. Just give them to us, and we’ll take Grandma home. You can keep the money. We don’t care. Consider it a good-will gesture.”

  “Money?” Bertha asked, as she thought. “Toni wouldn’t steal anyone’s money.”

  Billie shoved a note scrawled on a napkin to her. It said, We know about files. Set up a meet.

  “Why don’t you bring Grandma along when we meet? You and I can exchange property then.”

  “When?”

  Bertha shrugged, meeting Billie’s eyes. “I need some time to get them—a couple of hours. You treat my grandma well or there won’t be any exchange.” The files were the only thing she had to bargain with, and she didn’t really have those. “I’ve been thinking of taking all this stuff to the media.”

  Albert sighed. “Addie’s fine. She had cheese pizza for dinner, and she’s fallen asleep watching a horror movie she found on Netflix. She thinks she’s on a date.”

  “Keep it that way.” Bertha had no reason to believe him, but she needed to.

  “Say, are you in a bar?”

  “Huh?”

  “Background noise. Are you sure you’re alone?”

  “I can’t be alone in a crowded place?” One of those non-answered answers. The place was noisy. Someone had started the jukebox.

  “Whatever. Come alone. Bring the box and all copies of its contents. When I’m satisfied that you’ve done that, I’ll take Addie back to the home.”

  “No. That’s not how it’s going to happen. Grandma will be with you. When Grandma has been safely seat-belted in my car, I’ll take the files out of my trunk and leave them in the road.” She remembered The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, the road between East and West Berlin. Recently her life had more drama than a black-and-white movie.

  “All right. Meet me on Old Waterworks Road—right there by the dog pound—in two hours.”

  Bertha checked her watch. “One thirty then.” She disconnected before he could respond. For a moment she felt nauseated, but it passed.

  Stumpy put his hand on her shoulder. They were all watching her. Waiting.

  Bertha turned to Billie. “Okay. What’s this about files?”

  “A year ago, last summer, Rita of the Pizzeria across the street called Toni about some police problems. People on my street pay protection to certain officers. Always been that way. The price went up, and we were all sick of it. I was there when Fred came to Rita’s with Toni. Fred wanted to meet with the officers that the business owners were paying and negotiate. Toni argued that they wouldn’t agree to that, plus IAD needed to get involved right away. She encouraged Rita to go in and complain to IAD about these crooks in blue uniforms. Even though that scared the hell out of her, she did it. Rita had the feeling she wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t already know. For her trouble, a couple of her windows got busted out.”

  After a moment, Fred Cook picked up the narrative. “I advised Toni to let it go, but she refused. So, after Toni and Rita both made a second visit to IAD, which included a photo of the busted windows, IAD investigated. They called business owners in that area. After what happened at the pizzeria, most wouldn’t talk—”

  “But enough did,” Billie said. “A couple of low-ranking uniforms were put on suspension without pay for three weeks. They took the fall, and the higher-ups gave them money to live on during the suspensions.”

  “But what about the files?” Bertha asked.

  “Toni was worried the files would be shredded, and she was still working to get the case reopened. Then the files disappeared.”

  “Everyone thought she had them,” Fred Cook said. “Hell, I thought she had them. But I couldn’t get her to say anything about it. So after Toni’s death, when I went back to work, I stopped by the Crones Nest and talked it out with Billie. That’s when I started looking for the files—we both did.”

  How had all of this gone on without her knowledge? Had Toni mentioned police racketeering? Bertha didn’t think so. How could such a big secret exist between them? Of course, because of the nature of their work, she and Toni’d had a policy about this kind of stuff. If one had knowledge of something that would compromise the other’s work, she wouldn’t share it unless some danger came with not knowing. Of course, if the problem was life-threatening, the
y’d tell the other—help each other. Now Bertha regretted that agreement because Toni hadn’t seen this as a life-threatening issue, and that had gotten her killed.

  Whatever this was, it had to be more than the files. Too many people were dead. Had Toni seen or heard something that would have implicated Albert in something much more serious?

  A Greyhound must have pulled out, as the room went quiet. Bertha turned around and saw a lone busboy clearing tables at the other end of the long narrow room.

  “If she had the files,” Bertha asked, “where are they?”

  Fred Cook said, “Don’t know. I do know they’re not in your house.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Fred’s complexion grew scarlet.

  “How do you know?” Bertha said again.

  “I—I looked. More than once.”

  Pop Wilson cut in. “So when you couldn’t find them, you set the house on fire?”

  “That wasn’t me.”

  Billie touched Bertha’s arm. “We need to find the files.”

  Pop said, “We need to find Albert and Grandma while she’s still alive. Don’t you see that Albert and his buddies could never let her live—you either, for that matter.”

  Billie ignored him. “Is there somewhere else you keep things? A lock box or storage?”

  Bertha tried to concentrate; they (or she) didn’t have a lock box or a storage place. She tried to imagine the attic. She’d been up there to get the guns and ammo and then some. To Fred, she said, “Did you search the attic?”

  Fred nodded.

  Pop put a hand in front of Bertha’s face and snapped his fingers twice. “Bertha?”

  “What?”

  “Pay attention. We need to find your grandma. We can’t waste time looking for files. If you want to, we can look for them tomorrow. Right now we need to get back on the road.”

  He was right, of course. But Bertha thought that the way to get Grandma home was through the box of files, and that seemed equally right. She asked herself where Toni would keep something she wanted to hide. She had to lower her head to meet Fred’s eyes. “Do you have an idea where Grandma might be?”

  Fred shook his head.

  Bertha turned to Pop Wilson. “Maybe we should split up.”

  Immediately, Fred said, “I don’t want them to know I talked to you all, plus I’m working a screwed-up shift tomorrow. I have to sleep.”

  Frustrated, Bertha asked, “How about you, Billie?”

  “Suppose we fail and they know I’m involved. That could get me as dead as Toni.”

  “So that’s a ‘no’?”

  “Yeah. I can’t go.”

  Stumpy cut in. “I think it works out best if it’s just the four of us. Fred may be good with a handgun, but he has to work with these assholes. Billie fears for her life, and with good reason.”

  Pop said, “Mel and I’ll start looking for Grandma. You and Stumpy can hunt down those files.”

  Bertha stood and looked across the room. The place would be empty after they left. The bars would be closing, and several regulars would come in for breakfast. As the others waited, Bertha remembered being a waitress. Drunks were usually big tippers. But that wasn’t the problem at hand. Here, she’d finally gotten some valuable news. They were looking for IAD files. But that complicated things even more. She felt like she was standing before a tangled, swinging bridge between unresolved and unreconciled information. She was suspended in midair.

  But then she remembered Grandma’s storage locker.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Bertha turned back to see Pop and the others were standing. “I have a place I’d like check.”

  Pop said, “Where’s that?”

  “Grandma has a storage unit. Some of our things are out there too.”

  Pop slowly turned his head from side to side. “I don’t know…”

  “We could split up,” Bertha said. “You and Mel can continue to look for Grandma.”

  Pop folded his arms across his broad chest. “I don’t like it.”

  “She’s my grandma, isn’t she?”

  Stumpy said, “If she’s set on it, I’ll go with her.”

  Ignoring another objection from Pop, Bertha said, “If we split up, we’ll need two cars. Mine is over at Alvin’s.”

  “My house is closer,” Pop said, conceding. “We can go by and I’ll drive my own car.”

  Billie spoke up. “If we’re only looking for the files, we won’t cross paths with Albert and his friends. I can drive Bertha around.”

  “I don’t want to cause more trouble for you.”

  Billie shoved her arm into her red down-filled jacket. “Don’t worry about it. My truck’s right out front.”

  She and Billie went out the front entrance, where the old truck sat waiting. Bertha got in the passenger side, and Billie walked around the truck to the driver’s side door. Bertha slid toward the center of the bench seat, and Stumpy hoisted himself into the truck. When Billie got in, they were too close.

  “Stumpy,” Billie said, “there’s no room for you.”

  Stumpy insisted. “I’m coming with you.”

  Bertha, who didn’t want to be more trouble than she’d already been, said, “We’ll be all right. Go catch up with Pop and Mel.”

  “No,” Stumpy said. “That ain’t how it’s going to be.”

  A car drove by, and dappled light crossed Billie’s face. Bertha could see she wasn’t happy, but of the two of them, she trusted Stumpy more. “Maybe one of us could sit on the other’s lap.”

  Stumpy laughed, but Billie didn’t seem to see the humor. She sighed and pulled the driver’s side door closed. “Don’t anyone breathe.” Bertha thought she might not be kidding. She and Stumpy looked straight ahead as Billie pulled away from the curb.

  *

  They found the chain-link fence at Northeast Storage padlocked. A sign displayed the opening and closing times. This didn’t seem to upset Billie, who got out of the truck, went to the back, and opened a large tool box. She rummaged around a bit and came up with large bolt cutters. Bertha didn’t care much for breaking in, but this was an emergency and she sure couldn’t call the police. She told Stumpy, “I can see the headlines. Judge arrested for breaking and entering.”

  Stumpy laughed a little. “I’ll say this for her, she came prepared.”

  Within moments, Billie had cut through the shank of the lock and the large gate swung open. A plow had recently run through the place and made narrow tracks between the dark rows of storage units, some as big as garages and others the size of a large and deep closet. Grandma’s was one of the larger places near the back of the lot.

  Bertha said, “Next row, take a right. Go down three rows and turn left almost all the way to the back.”

  Billie nodded, turned the truck, and her back tires slid a little. Bertha grabbed Stumpy’s leg to steady herself. He whispered, “No need to be nervous.”

  “I just remembered I don’t have a flashlight.” Bertha shook her head. “Won’t be able to see much with the penlight on my key chain.”

  Billie said, “I have a camping lantern in my toolbox.”

  Bertha remembered her tent-pole bag in the back of Mel’s SUV. She was unarmed and would be until they crossed paths again. She pointed. “It’s number 512 near this end.”

  Billie slowed to a stop and the three of them got out. In the light of the lantern, Bertha pulled out her Jeep and house keys and flipped through them until she found the one to the padlock. She raised the garage-like door and Billie held the lantern up. “See anything?”

  The box was sitting on Grandma’s Philco radio and record player that’d sat in the living room since Bertha could remember; it always held an aquarium with goldfish and black mollies until Grandma could no longer take care of them. The radio was near the front. The back several rows of boxes were stacked to the ceiling, but Grandma’s valuable furniture was nearer the front. Some was stacked on others and some, like the radio, covered with sheets. It
was a cardboard box—the kind that businesses used to store old files. Bertha picked it up.

  “That it?” Billie asked as she pulled the rusty tailgate down and patted the truck bed. “Bring it over here.”

  Bertha set the box on the end of the truck bed, lifted to top off it, and found several files, about six or eight inches worth on one end, and the rest of the box was full of money stacked in rubber-banded white business envelopes. Each was marked in red ink, $1,000.

  “Step back, Bertha.”

  “What?” Bertha found Billie standing near the truck’s driver’s side door, a 9 millimeter aimed at her.

  “You need to step back,” Billie said. “Get into the storage locker. Both of you.”

  Bertha watched as Stumpy did as he was told, and she followed. She had her cell phone with her. She’d be able to call for help, but if Billie put the padlock on, Bertha would have to tell dispatcher to bring bolt cutters. She considered asking for mercy but decided she was safe enough just following orders. She was strong and, with Stumpy, she felt brave. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stumpy reach under his coat and pull his Beretta from its holster. She said, “No, Stumpy,” but he’d already pulled the trigger.

  Then the night exploded in gunfire, and Bertha dove behind the radio, landing on the concrete with her right knee, and hunkered in the darkness. In the movies, gunfire lasts a long time; it’s loud and lights up the night, bullets are slowed down so viewers can follow their paths, empty cartridges fly through the air, and while actors are wounded, no one dies except the bad guys, but this shootout was over in seconds.

  When the gunfire stopped, Bertha peeked out. She heard the truck pull away and stood and started looking for Stumpy. She found the lighted camping lantern on its side next to the tire tracks of the old truck. The only other light was one on a phone pole at the end of the row. When she reached the lantern and lifted it, she could see blood in the snow, quite a lot of it. One of Stumpy’s bullets had evidently hit its mark. Billie was wounded but still able to drive. Then she heard Stumpy groan and followed the sound.