“Why so much?”
“Money. She’s haulin’ it in. She shortened the skirt on her uniform a bit, shakes it a little, sells it a lot, and is making three times the tips anybody else does.”
“Ha! Good for her.”
“You bet. Hell, she’s getting six-dollar tips on four-dollar breakfasts. Knockin’ down at least two hundred a day, almost all of it in cash. And, she hustles. Never still. Works her little ass off. Says she wants a nest egg before she slows down and brings her daughter home. I think it’ll be good for her to spend some alone time before all that happens.”
“That’s great.”
“So, you don’t mind if I stay out here about half the time?”
Crockett smiled. “I can stand it if you can,” he said.
Satin punched him lightly on the arm.
“Whataguy,” she said.
Crockett offered to cook dinner, but Satin, laboring on her computer, turned him down and supped on a stimulating repast consisting of half a can of tuna stuffed in a bread pocket, garnished with a liquid that smelled a lot like vinegar. Crockett mixed the rest of the tuna with bow-tie pasta, added sour cream, diced dill, cilantro, grated Romano cheese, a few baby peas, and chopped garlic. To assist in the repast, he added two Croissants and a sliced red pepper sautéed in olive oil and dusted with Parmesan. Satin, taking a break to re-heat her mug of green tea, sauntered into the kitchen and peered at his plate.
“Carbs and fat,” she said. “A man’s meal. How’s your arterial flow, Rocky?”
“Great,” Crockett replied. “For dessert I’m having fries and a chocolate malt smothered in butter.”
Satin put her mug in the microcave, plucked a fork from a drawer, and tried a bite of the pasta. “That’s pretty good,” she said.
“I offered to fix both of us dinner,” Crockett said, “but you had to assert your girlish individuality. If you need something else to munch on, eat your heart out.”
Satin’s reply was delayed by the ringing of Crockett’s cell phone. Cletus again.
“Texican. What’s up?”
“I been diggin’, son. Got some info for ya. Don’t know if it means nothin’ or not, but it might be a place to start. ‘Bout six or eight months before your boy disappeared, a couple a young lovers attempted to pull into their favorite spot from which to watch the submarine races out in the country northwest of Liberty a ways. Blockin’ their customary route of travel to the location in question was a rather large lump in the middle of the tractor path. That lump turned out to be the mortal remainders of one Daryl Hansen, complete with his hands tied behind his back, a very large hole in the rear of his head, and a big ol’ mess where whatever it was come out the front. Mister Hansen had been reported missing by his mother three or four days before. Examination by the county coroner revealed that Hansen was the victim of a gunshot wound from something very large. A twenty-gauge shotgun slug, a fifty caliber Desert Eagle, or somethin’ else that big. The shot was fired from very close range, and the slug was never located. Forensics at the scene revealed that Mister Hansen was killed where he was found. The body appeared to have not been moved. He had, however, been used rather harshly in the hours before his death. Crushed fingers, elbow and knee damage, several non-fatal stab wounds.”
“Christ!”
“Jesus ain’t got nothin’ to do with this’un, son. The case is still open. I’m tryin’ to get as much as I can on the original investigation. I do know that the State Police were called in, that Hansen was just twenty-year- old and still lived at his mother’s place, and that he worked, part-time, at a motorcycle shop in the Liberty area called Leoni’s Cycles. I Googled the motorcycle shop. Started back in the mid-70’s by a guy named Clifford Leoni. When he died his kid, Michael, fresh home from Afghanistan, took it over.”
“Michael was in the service?”
“I doan know yet. All kinds of civilians do support work overseas, ya know. Workin’ on it.”
“A motorcycle shop, huh?”
“Yeah. More of a mechanic set-up, the way I see it. You know, ya got a old bike, ya take it there for cheaper work and used parts. You lookin’ for a old restored Indian or a classic BMW or somethin’, maybe they can find it for ya or restore the piece a shit you already got.”
“No new bikes?”
“Only one brand. I ain’t never heard of it. Moto somethin’ or other.”
The hair on Crockett’s arms stood up. “Moto Guzzi?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Clete replied. “That’s it. Moto Guzzi.”
“That’s a lead, Texican. Our missing trooper was riding a Moto Guzzi when he disappeared.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Son!”
“Yeah. This is worth looking into.”
“Doan git your panties in a twist just yet, Mary,” Clete said. “Lemme poke around a little more. I’ll be in touch.”
“Thanks, Cletus. Keep me advised.”
“Betcher ass.”
“Oh! Ask Stitch to give me a call tomorrow or Monday, willya?”
“Sure. See ya.”
Satin watched Crockett hang up, then space out for a moment as he absently stroked his mustache. When he seemed to return, she spoke up.
“You okay?”
Crockett blinked, then focused on her. “Me? Yeah. Just, uh, getting a little deeper into this thing.”
“What’s going on?”
He told her. When he finished, Satin took a seat beside him. “Sounds like this could be very serious,” she said.
“It sure could be, especially if the whole situation is connected.”
She crossed her arms, cupping her elbows in her hands. “It could be very dangerous, too.”
Crockett smiled at her. “Possibly,” he said. “It’ll sure put you in full protection mode.”
Satin glanced down at her arms, sighed, released herself, and let her hands fall into her lap. Her fingers entwined, her thumbs moving against one another.
“And now,” Crockett went on, “you’ve moved from protection to self-comfort.”
Satin’s hands jerked apart. “Goddammit, Crockett!” she said, “quit it!”
“And I,” he said, “have so little control over the situation that I’ve chosen to push you around just to prove to myself that I still have some power somewhere. Jesus. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“Can I move now?” Satin asked. “Or do I have to sit rock still to keep from being analyzed?”
Again his phone rang.
“Crockett? It’s Cheryl McGill.”
“Hey, Cheryl. What can I do for you?”
“I was just going through some of Paul’s old stuff, and I found the title to his Moto Guzzi.”
“Really?”
“He bought it from a dealer in Columbia. Midwest Ducati.”
“Excellent. Can I get a copy of it from you?”
“You can have the original if you like.”
“Fine. I’ll take it.”
“Why don’t you pick it up tomorrow if you’re not busy. Say around one o’clock? You can have a nice Sunday dinner with us. Fried chicken all right?”
“That’s perfect. What is this, part of your pay-off?”
Cheryl chuckled. “The first installment,” she said. “Is it safe to assume you have a lady friend of some kind?”
Crockett grinned. “I don’t know how safe it is,” he replied, “but I do, of some kind.”
“Why don’t you bring her along?”
“I could do that.”
“Then do that. See the two of you tomorrow around one. Bye.”
Still smiling, Crockett disconnected. Satin looked at him.
“Now what?” she asked.
“A fried chicken Sunday dinner at Cheryl’s place tomorrow.”
“Me, too?”
“You, too.”
Satin crossed her arms and clutched at her elbows. “Oh, God,” she said. “The other woman.”
Satin, fresh out of the shower and
wrapped in a large light blue towel, stepped onto the deck and in front of Crockett where he sat in the swing. The sky was overcast. The wind, damp with the scent of overnight rain, blew briskly from the northwest.
“What should I wear?” she asked.
“The towel might be a little too casual.”
Satin was not amused. She tried again. “What should I wear?”
“Still got your prom dress?”
“Let it go, Shecky. I’m serious.”
Crockett reached out and patted her on the bottom. “We’re not going to the Whitehouse, Dorothy. This is a single mother with two young daughters who leave toys in the living room and who may or may not be in church right now. Be comfortable. It’s no big deal.”
Satin shot him that female look that says, “You poor man. You really are as stupid as I feared.”
“Whazamatter?” he asked.
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“If she’s going to all the trouble to fix you a chicken dinner, it is a big deal, Crockett. If she asked you to bring me along, it is a bigger deal. If it could result in the finish to the ordeal she’s been through the past few years, it is a very big deal. What are you, new?”
Crockett thought a moment while Satin fidgeted. “Okay,” he said. “Your white tenni runners, those wheat jeans you complain are too big, a light blue tank top, and that white shirt you just got with the thin red stripes. Pull your hair back in a loose ponytail and add a little makeup. Light lip gloss. One ring, no earrings, and your good teeth. Try and stay sober, at least until we get there.”
“That’s what you think?”
“That’s what I think.”
“Oh, hell. Pick me up at my place at noon.” She bolted from the deck.
Wisely, Crocket maintained his position until he heard the side door slam, and Satin’s jeep motor away. Sighing, he rose to his foot and crutched his way toward the shower. Christ. What was he going to wear?
Danni let Crockett in Satin’s apartment, gave him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, then wiped his jaw line vigorously with her thumb.
“Sorry,” she said, retreating to the couch. “Cheeto crumbs. Good to see ya.”
Crockett sat and eyeballed her. A t-shirt and baggy shorts behind a coffee table graced with a bag of Cheetos, a bowl of popcorn, some Hershey Kisses, and a large Mountain Dew.
“Don’t you think you might be taking this whole health food thing a little too far?” he asked.
Danni stretched languidly. “It’s my day off, dude! You tryin’ to, like, harsh my mellow?”
Crockett laughed. “And just what generation are you, young lady.”
“Generation BTS,” Danni said. “Beat to shit.”
“Satin said you’re making a lot of money and working a lot of hours.”
Danni grinned. “I am kickin’ ass. Got them good ol’ boys reachin’ for their wallets. I made almost three hundred bucks yesterday. Last night the mayor’s wife got all pissed off at the old fart for leavin’ me a twenty dollar tip on a thirty dollar meal. I may be a hussy, but I’m not standin’ on the bar takin’ my clothes off.”
“Much to the disappointment of a large segment of the clientele, I should think.”
“I ain’t sellin’ the steak, Crockett. I’m just takin’ bids on the sizzle.”
“Good for you, sweetpea. Successful marketing is what makes for a successful business.”
“I told Mom I wanted to pay half the rent and utilities, but she said no. I got no expenses, I’m not goin’ out, and I don’t want nothin’ to do with men or boys. I’m just rakin’ in the cash six days a week and crashin’ on Monday. I told Aunt Velvet I wanted to send her a couple a hundred a week, but she won’t take any money either. Six months or a year a this, and I’m gonna have a hell of a bundle. Then I get Lucy back and start lookin’ for a school or a job at a vet’s office, or both.”
“Why not cut back to part time at the café and go to school?”
“’Cause this is a limited marketplace and there’s nothing I can do to expand the market. When all the guys who come into the café finally figure out that I’m all show and no go, the tips’ll start falling off. When that happens, I’ll be able to make as much at a vet’s office as I can here, in a lot less hours. I can use that time for school and Lucy. In another two years, she’ll be in school, too. That’ll give me more time to do what I wanna do. See?”
“What’s your first priority?”
“To be a mom. That’s why I’m doing this. So I can do that.”
Crockett smiled. “You asked me once if I had a son about your age,” he said. “I wish I did.”
Danni stood up and advanced on him.
“Hug,” she said.
That’s how Satin found them when she walked out of the bedroom.
“Oh, fine. Plain to see I can’t leave the two of you alone together.”
Crockett looked her up and down. She was dressed exactly as he’d suggested.
“Well, don’t you look pretty.”
“Bite me,” Satin said, and headed out the door.
Danni cracked up.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sunday dinner was mostly a success. Satin was a little nervous about meeting Cheryl and the kids. Cheryl also seemed a bit stressed, wanting everything to go well with the girls and the food. Crockett, the common denominator, tried to stay as relaxed as possible. By the time small talk was over and dinner had begun, the quality of the food overshadowed everything else. Not only was there chicken, mashed potatoes, and baby peas, but also handmade noodles and homegrown hot rolls created from scratch. The women got along well, shared some laughs over an exposed Crockett foible or two, and even Sarah chimed in from time to time as she took careful note of Satin’s manner and deportment. Mandy, sitting as close to Crockett as her booster chair would allow, seemed not nearly as fascinated by Satin as her sister was, and spoke very little during the dinner. When the big people decided to postpone desert for a while, Sarah left the table to wash her hands. Mandy patted Crockett on the arm.
“You wanna go feed da fish with me, Clockett?”
“Sure, if your mom doesn’t care.”
“Mom, can me an’ Clockett go feed the fish now?”
“Crockett and I, Honey.”
“No, Mom. Me an’ Clockett. Just us.”
“I see,” Cheryl replied, biting her lower lip. “Just you and Crockett, huh?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What about Miss Satin? Maybe she would like to see the fish.”
“You can show her when we get back.”
Satin’s eyes were shining and she was gazing out the picture window, showing only her profile to Mandy. “That would be fine,” she said, her voice rich with controlled laughter.
Crockett jumped in. “Okay, kid. You get the food. I’ll be right there.”
Mandy squirmed out of her chair and thudded off toward the kitchen. Satin watched her go and chuckled.
“Should I be jealous, Clockett?” she asked.
“Probably,” Crockett said, heading for the rear of the house. “She’s awfully cute, and she doesn’t give me nearly the trouble that you do.”
The women’s quiet laughter followed him through the kitchen.
Mandy fed the fish, and she and Crockett sat beside the pond for a time, watching the multi-colored hues of the Koi slide through the water. The effect was nearly mesmerizing and Crockett fought the tendency to nap after such a wonderful meal. At length, he turned to his small companion.
“Grandma here today?” he asked.
Mandy shook her head. “Nope.”
“Seen her lately?”
“Nope.”
Crockett’s stomach gave a little flip. “Is she still around?”
Mandy nodded and yawned, rubbing her eye with a fist. “Uh-huh.”
“You sleepy?”
“No.”
Crockett grinned. “Tell ya what, Dandy Mandy. Why don’t we go back to the house
and I’ll read to you a little. Would that be okay?”
Her answering smile was devastatingly sweet, and she nodded yes. Crockett grunted to his feet, picked the girl up and swung her over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen door. With the exception of one more yawn, she giggled all the way.
Satin and Cheryl were fussing in the kitchen as he carried Mandy inside.
“Whatcha got there, Clockett?” Satin asked.
“Got a kid badly in need of a story and a nap.”
“Second door on the left, down the hall,” Cheryl said. “Books on the table by the bed.”
It didn’t take very long. When Crockett was less than half way through an exciting volume relating exactly what type of things Baby Mickey would take to bed with him for naptime, he noticed that Mandy had departed the mundane plane. He made his way back to the kitchen to find that Cheryl had just poured herself a cup of coffee.
“She asleep?”
“Deep within the arms of dreams. God, to be able to go out like that. No guilty conscience there. Where is everybody?”
“Sarah went to her room. Satin is out by the pond. Said she wanted to see the Koi. Coffee?”
“Always,” Crockett said, and took a seat at the kitchen table.
From her position on the rear patio, Martha McGill had watched Crockett and her great granddaughter as they sat by the water. It was very good for little Mandy to have some male influence, however fleeting, in her life. It was plain to see that the child liked Crockett. Martha was additionally pleased when he threw the girl over his shoulder and carried her back to the house. The sound of Mandy’s laughter was as sweet as any music could have been.
Martha was still in her position of observation when Satin exited the back door and walked to sit by the pond. Now, here was an intriguing woman. Obviously a Scot or Irish in at least some of her background, there was a thread in her that reminded Martha of her husband, Noble. A potency that came from racial genetics adapted to the North Sea and generations of progenitors that had gained strength as they struggled against nature and odds. There was pain in her too, and love in her, and concern for a daughter and granddaughter of her own. And there was also a deep and intricate attachment to the man who had carried Mandy back to the house. Oh my. Martha would have loved to have been able to touch this woman. To hold her hand for just an instant. To speak with her for only a moment. Cheryl was very fortunate to have these people in her life.
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