“So Cioni had a drop gun?”
“Yeah. Afterward I wished I hadn’t let him do it, but it was too late. I was under his thumb, perpetually. It’d been an accident, but covering it up made it a lot worse.”
“I see.”
“Do me a favor. Leave it to the police to find Grandma.”
“A favor? Are you nuts? Last night, I knelt over a good man and could do nothing but watch him die. You couldn’t be there because you needed sleep. His death is on you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Bertha raised her voice three decibels. “Toni is dead, my house is burned, and you’re sorry?”
Fred Cook tried to sound convincing. “The police will find your grandma.”
“No. Enough is enough. They’ve left it to me. I will find her.” Cook went silent, but she could hear him breathing. She was ready to hang up when another question occurred to her. “How’s Cioni involved with Billie?”
Fred sighed. “Protection money, as far as I know. Billie collected it for Cioni and kept the records. In other words, Billie provided another layer of laundering. However, I think there was more to it. Her grandson and his friend, the car thief, were selling drugs. Billie may have been turning quite a profit if she was cleaning their money through the bar too. So Toni found out and confiscated everything from Billie, including money Billie owed to Cioni and his friends and what she owed to the drug supplier.”
“The IAD files?”
“Some probably existed. People all the way to the top, including the mayor, were under Cioni’s thumb. Plus, I didn’t put this together until just now, but when the money and records were confiscated, Billie was frantic. She eliminated anyone who got in the way. Last night, when she found the money, she no longer had any use for you. ”
“But last night at the bus station, you heard Billie lie to us, and you helped her.”
“I thought I was doing Cioni’s bidding by helping you find the files. There’s obviously still a lot I don’t understand. How could I know that someone else would end up dead?”
“Because several people were already dead.” She hung up before she shed tears of frustration. She would not cry in front of that coward.
*
When Mel pulled the Explorer to the curb, Pop turned to Bertha. “Mel and I’ll take the front door. You cover the back of the house.”
Bertha shook her head. “I’ll go to the front door, and if it comes to it, I’ll shoot the fucking lock off the door.”
“Calm down, Bertha. Anger causes mistakes. If Addie’s in this house, you don’t want to get her hurt. Put your weapon away and cover the back. Since you’re in no shape to chase Albert if he comes out the back, you have my permission to shoot him.”
Groaning, Bertha pocketed her gun and swung the car door open. The house was in a nice neighborhood. Ironically, or conveniently, it was a few blocks from the mayor’s house. Patches of melting snow covered a lavish, landscaped lawn. Her footprints were the first in the side yard and on around the house. Close to the house, at one point she thought she heard a television going. In the backyard, an in-ground pool waited, covered for the winter. Small trees crossed the end of the lot, their bare limbs reaching for the sky. She found a patio with outside furniture, including a table and chairs, right beyond beautiful French doors. She heard the doorbell ring throughout the house, and then Pop pounded on the front door and called out, “Cioni. Open up.”
Something inside the French doors crashed. The door handle rattled and there was a sound of wood splitting. Bertha drew her gun just as an old man on a red, electric-scooter type wheelchair crashed through the doors, which left one side at an odd angle, one of its hinges broken.
“Stop right there, old man,” Bertha shouted.
The old man raised his hands. “Don’t shoot. I give up.”
Just then a second scooter bumped into the one the old man sat on. His hands in the air, he was thrown to the patio. He was still moving but he’d skinned his forehead.
From the seat of the second scooter, Grandma said, “Bertha, where you been?”
Bertha crossed the patio, pushed aside a splintered door, and embraced her. “Grandma, I’ve been so worried about you.”
“I was right here. Did you ever think these things had this much power? I got to have me one of these.”
The old man on the ground righted himself and sat with his back to his front wheel.
Grandma’s lavender dress was a bit wrinkled and her hair was mussed, but she looked as good as usual. Pop and Mel came around the corner of the house with their weapons in front of them, took in the scene, and put their weapons away.
Grandma said, “You brought the po’lice with you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Whatever for? Oh. Where are my manners? Bertha, this here is Albert Senior.” She cast her eyes downward. “Senior, honey, this here is my granddaughter, Bertha the Judge.”
From his seat on the patio the old man sort of saluted. Pop had his hands on his knees, catching his breath, so it was Mel that asked, “Ma’am, are you all right?”
“I think so. Bumped my knee just now, but I don’t think nothing’s broken.”
Mel bent and helped Senior to his knees. “Can you walk, sir?”
“A few steps. Help me inside. It’s cold as hell out here.”
Mel examined the doors, opened the side that had both hinges intact, and helped the old man into the house.
When he was out of sight, Grandma confided in them. “Senior here ain’t never had no dark meat before.”
“Grandma, did he touch you inappropriately?”
“No, darn it. But I think he was working up to it.”
Mel appeared. “Let’s get her inside and make sure she doesn’t need an ambulance.”
Bertha helped him lift her off the scooter and take her in to the kitchen table, and then Bertha returned to help Pop move the scooters and closed the French doors; however, one side refused to close no matter what.
Pop whispered to Bertha, “What we think we got here, one of those Patty Hearst things?”
Bertha shook her head. “Closer to one of those Ransom of Red Chief things.”
Pop chuckled. “If she’s all right, we need to get her out of here before Junior comes home. Once she’s safe we can find a way to shut him down.”
“Don’t forget Billie Little.”
“I haven’t.”
*
Albert Cioni, Junior arrived shortly after the police did. Bertha and Mel had the two officers at the kitchen table, while Pop with Senior and Grandma watched Ellen Degeneres in the open family room several feet away. Senior had a cold gel-pack on his forehead, and Grandma had one on her knee.
The younger of the two officers said, “You know whose house this is, ma’am?”
Mel repeated sharply, “Do you know whose house this is, Judge Brannon?”
The kid flushed. His partner, not much older, wasn’t the brightest bulb.
Bertha said, “Albert Cioni kidnapped my grandmother yesterday. Since then he has refused to disclose her location. I’ve been deeply concerned for her safety.”
Not the Brightest Bulb said, “She looks fine to me. Is it possible this is a misunderstanding of some kind?”
“No,” Bertha said. “That is not possible.”
Everyone seemed to be looking over her shoulder. Bertha turned, and Albert Cioni, Junior said, “What’s going on? Who broke the door?”
Senior called from across the room. “I told you not to leave me alone with her. The woman ain’t right.”
Junior asked, “What on earth happened to your head?”
Senior said, “She run me through the door. These people were outside holding a gun on me, and she come up and hit me in the behind, and I fell off the damn seat while my hands was up. Off I went.”
Cioni turned toward the kitchen table and hesitated. Was it possible, Bertha wondered, that these two meatheads weren’t under his thumb? After a moment, in which
Grandma and Senior and the two uniforms watched Ellen dance up the aisle, Junior said, “There must be some misunderstanding. Addie was very upset after a ruckus at the funeral home, and she hadn’t had dinner. I invited her over here. We had pizza, movies, and a nice visit.”
Mel stood and said, “Officers, you need to cuff this man.”
Junior softened his voice. “Gentlemen, I assure you Addie Brannon was not harmed. She’s been a guest here. I would have taken her back, but she fell asleep and I didn’t have the heart to wake her.”
Grandma motioned, and Bertha stood, walked toward her, and bent down. Grandma said, “Can I go home now? I’m awful tired.”
“I want the paramedics to look at you.”
“So that’s a no?”
“Yes, it’s no.”
“When will they be here?”
Within seconds, Bertha heard the sirens, and then the medics were at the door. She crossed the room and let them in, explaining the situation. They went directly to Grandma, who showed them the bruise forming on her knee. One of them must have poked at it because she said, “Ow,” then, “Get the hell away from me.”
“Do you have pain anywhere else?”
Grandma said, “I’m ninety-six years old. What the hell do you think?”
While Grandma complained they checked her vitals, then turned to Bertha, and said, “She seems to be all right, but because of her advanced age, I recommend the hospital. There could be things we don’t see.”
Grandma shouted, “I ain’t going to no hospital.”
Bertha said, “I think I’ll take her there myself. It would be less traumatic for her. Plus, I’m not letting her out of my sight again.”
The paramedics helped Bertha get Grandma seat-belted into Mel’s Explorer, though she wasn’t sure how she’d get her to the hospital. She was tired and just wanted to go home and climb into bed. Then she remembered she couldn’t go home. The headache that had been threatening for hours hit her full force. She turned to find Pop Wilson standing behind her and asked, “How’s it going in there?”
“Not great. If they do take him in, they can only hold him for twenty-four hours before they’d have to charge him with something or let him go.”
Bertha sighed. “If he was involved in Toni’s death, then no one’s safe.”
“Somehow I don’t think he was. His concern with all this is the files and money. You had them and he wanted them. I’d say his business is with Billie Little and that blue-headed grandson of hers.”
“What did you say?”
“I said his business is with Billie.”
“The grandson does have blue dye in his hair. I remember from the night I met him. I was in the bar asking Billie some questions. He was across the room on his laptop.”
“So he has blue hair. So what?”
“So, Fred Cook said the night of Toni’s murder, a guy with blue hair took his radio and threatened him.”
“So the grandkid’s involved too?”
Bertha nodded. “So it seems. And that puts Billie close to Toni’s murder.”
Just then the officers walked Albert Junior out of the house and toward the black-and-white. He wasn’t cuffed, but he seemed to be going peaceably. The younger uniform approached Bertha. “We’re taking him in, and you need to come downtown and file charges.”
Bertha said, “I know.”
“Of course, ma’am. Sorry.”
“Right now I have to stay with my grandmother.”
The uniform didn’t even look at her. As he walked away, she heard him remark, “As you say.”
When the black-and-white rolled out of the driveway, Pop asked, “What you gonna do? If they let him go in twenty-four hours, he’ll come out madder than hell.”
“First I’ll take care of Grandma. Then I’ll think about it.”
“Mel and I been talking. We think someone should be with Addie around the clock. Billie knows that to get to you, she can go through Grandma. She has to get to you because you have most of the pieces of the puzzle. Anyway, we thought eight-hour shifts—you, me, and him. We could stay with her, sit in front of her door or in her room.”
Grandma knocked on the car’s window. “Hurry up. It’s fucking cold in here.”
Inside Mel’s SUV, with Pop on the passenger side, Bertha joined Grandma in the back.
Grandma knew Pop from the old days in the neighborhood, and Pop introduced Mel. She turned to Bertha and said, “I am so tired. I’ll just close my eyes for a minute.”
“That’s a good idea.”
Bertha was sure Grandma was asleep when she raised her head and, in a groggy tone, said, “I’m done with men.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m gonna stay a widow. The hunt is just too hard on me. If there’s any good ones left somebody already got ’em.” She closed her eyes again.
At a stoplight Pop turned his head and asked, “Is she sleeping?”
Grandma opened her eyes. “I am not. I won’t sleep until I’m in my own bed. Take me home.”
Bertha wondered which home she meant, the one in the middle of the hood they’d sold to get her into Golden Promise or Golden Promise itself. “Let’s take her home.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Grandma and Bertha slept. A nurse’s aide came in and checked on them at shift change. He kicked the trashcan that Bertha’d left out of place near the door, and she woke alarmed, coming up out of the chair with her gun drawn. The aide flipped on the overhead light and held his hands in the air. Bertha blinked in the sudden light, then relaxed.
“Just doing the count, Judge.”
Bertha lowered the gun and nodded. The light went off, and she and Grandma were alone again. The single bedroom was small, and Grandma’s personal items made it seem smaller. With the vertical blinds opened, the room was dimly lit, and now and then the headlights of a car passing cast moving shadows on the wall. The single light pole in the middle of the parking lot illuminated a snow flurry as fine as wedding lace. She was almost asleep again when Grandma said, “Bertha?”
“I’m here.” Bertha reached for Grandma’s hand; her fingers were cold.
“When do you have to leave?”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here in case you need me.”
“Could you get me one of them scooters? It’s so much easier to get from one place to another and so much fun.”
“Will they let you have it here?”
“Make them let me.” Then Grandma turned on her side, pulled her covers up to her ears, and went back to sleep.
If Grandma wanted a scooter, Bertha would find a way to get one and keep it at Golden Promise. Grandma had been a constant in Bertha’s life. She’d known her from childhood when she’d been orphaned and Grandma took her in. When she was ready to leave for college, Grandma had told her that the most important things in our lives were the things over which we had no control. How long ago had that been? It seemed like last week. Recently she’d learned that she did have some control over how she reacted to the things over which she had no control.
Grandma and Bertha were so old now. Since Toni’s death, Bertha’d been reacting so much that she hadn’t had time to consider what she could make out of her life now. To come up with a plan, to move on, she had to stop being so damn angry. Bertha was much older than she’d been when she and Toni had met, and she wondered if she’d used up her share of love and happiness, assuming those things were somehow finite. Where could she possibly be headed now? She’d finish raising Doree, and after that, the only answer she came up with was old age, a place from which no one returned.
Bertha’s physical health was good, but her appearance was different. How did she look to others? The extra pounds she carried left only a few wrinkles around her eyes, but the gray hair was a giveaway. She still felt like herself inside, but subtle things had changed. Norman Bates made her realize how hard it’d become to get up and down off the floor. Some exercise might help, but she hated exercise as much as she
loved chocolate—add that to the list of future inventions: a marshmallow without sugar, a flesh-colored Band-Aid for dark-skinned people, and a pill to replace exercise.
Bertha hadn’t been aware she was asleep until she woke to the cool steel of the barrel of a gun nudging her forehead. Her eyes opened. A shadow stood over her.
“No sudden moves,” Billie Little said. She held her 9 millimeter in her right hand; the left was taped and gauzed.
Bertha whispered, “That hand where Stumpy got you?”
“My mistake,” Billie said. “I didn’t think he’d shoot a woman.”
“Perhaps we should go out into the hall or further to the parking lot, to talk,” Bertha said. “We don’t need to wake Grandma.”
“No chance. Someone would see me. I purposely waited until the CNAs were on break, and the LPN’s preparing her med cart.” Then, louder, Billie said, “If she wakes up, I’ll have to kill her too.”
While Bertha’s fingers curled around her own gun, she said, “You hurt Grandma and I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
“Then let’s be as quiet as we can—at least until this 9 millimeter fires.”
“What’s going on?” Bertha stalled. “How did it come to this?”
“Things happened,” Billie said. “I haven’t been able to make a living out of that bar for a long time. Seems like people were closer in the old days days—they didn’t have any other place to go.”
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