Hot Enough to Kill

by Paula Boyd

  "Partners?"

  "We had several deals going." He sighed and caressed the empty bottle of beer. "It's kind of a long story."

  And complex and convoluted, no doubt. I had seen the canary yellow invoice, which was no doubt just the tip of iceberg. "Okay, we'll get back to your deals in a minute. Why did you try to hang yourself?"

  Dewayne expelled a burp and then another big long sigh, and rubbed his huge hands over his face. Besides the attempted suicide, he looked like he hadn't slept in days--not a healthy combination in anybody's book. "They were gonna frame me."

  I wanted to ask who "they" were again, but if I got pushy, I might get nothing. "Somebody was going to frame you for BigJohn's murder?"

  "And other stuff."

  "The gun dealings?"

  He nodded. "And I knew once they started snooping into things, they'd find out about my partners."

  "Partners? Who besides the dead mayor?"

  "I don't know exactly." He glanced at me, saw my skeptical expression and continued on. "BigJohn dealt with the main man himself. I never met him and never wanted to. All I did was get the shipments in, sell some to my friends when I felt like it, and send the special orders on where I was told."

  "What kind of special orders?"

  "Nothing that bad, really. I fixed up a case of SKSs now and again, but mostly just regular stuff."

  "Fixed up, meaning modified into automatic assault rifles?"

  "It can be done, all legal-like if you want."

  I didn't know whether you could or couldn't, but if having an automatic assault rifle was legal it had to involve reams of paperwork. I took the generic route. "Except you didn't have a license."

  He shrugged. "Kind of hard for an ex-con to get one."

  No kidding.

  Now, as best I could tell, BigJohn and ape-man here were about as sharp as eggs. I just couldn't see how either of them, alone or in tandem, could have set up or managed such an elaborate scheme. "It seems to me that you were sort of the distribution center for this deal."

  He nodded.

  "What did that make BigJohn? He wasn't a saint in anybody's book, but this sounds a little bold for a small-time mayor to try to pull off."

  "Well, maybe, but I think he was more of a go-between. I kinda think he was just doing what he was told, just like me. I think he was afraid not to."

  Another blackmail? Sounded like it, and frankly, it was beginning to put my brain on spin dry. I couldn't tell the blackmailers from the blackmailees, primarily because they took on both roles, depending upon who they were in bed with at the time. "Was Calhoon Fletcher involved in any of this?"

  "Fletcher? Man, I don't have nothing to do with Calhoon Fletcher. I ain't real bright, so folks tell me, but I'm smart enough to know better than to mess with a county commissioner, I'll tell you for sure."

  I had no idea if he was lying or not, but I proceeded onward, in case he said something that sounded semi-pertinent. "What about Gifford?"

  "Me and Giff go way back. I do work for him every now and again. Little jobs mostly."

  "So, exactly who is after you, Dewayne?"

  He scrunched up his face and shook his head. "I don't know for sure. I think it may be BigJohn's partner."

  Why, was my next question, but I didn't think he was telling the truth anyway so I went a different direction. "So what was the deal with the carports? Why was it so important that they had to be turned into garages?"

  His scowled lightened a little and he almost grinned. "That was mostly BigJohn's idea. We was getting worried that we looked too chummy in public. Folks might get suspicious. Besides, them carports are kinda ugly."

  I did not groan, but I did sigh, heavily. The tag-team screw-ups had just made things harder for themselves. "Thing is, Dewayne, that carport-garage fiasco was that very thing that made people suspicious of you after BigJohn was murdered."

  "I know," he said sadly, kind of like a little boy who'd broken a window with his baseball and knew he had to fess up. "But it did seem like a good idea at the time. I never figured it'd just make people think I killed him over stupid carports."

  He was getting a little teary-eyed, and I didn't want him to have a breakdown or clam up, so I tried to keep him talking. "Do you remember anyone coming in the house yesterday, while you were upset, and, well, when you were, um..."

  "Trying to hang myself?"

  I nodded. "Yes."

  He snorted. "I surely do. I hadn't no more than hit the floor when that Miz Bennett and Miz Fossy came storming into the house. I wasn't out or anything, I was just laying there on the floor, thinking about what a screw-up I am. Couldn't even kill myself right."

  Saying, "well, you did your best," seemed inappropriate, so I quizzed him about the odd couple. "So what did the ladies say and do?"

  "Praying and wailing, mostly. I was going to stop them until Miz Fossy started in saying what an awful person I was and how I deserved to die, God's will, and all that. Miz Bennett didn't say much except 'amen' and 'Jesus saves' and such. I was getting a little upset that they didn't even come over to check on me, or notice I was alive. To tell you the truth, I got kinda mad. I was thinking about hopping up and telling them that I'd risen from the dead to see how they'd like that, but Larry Harper came strutting in, so I just laid real still and kept my eyes and mouth closed. Gotta wonder about folks sometimes. He didn't even check on me either."

  I didn't know what to tell Dewayne about the merry little crowd that had come to his almost-hanging. None of them sounded too concerned about a fellow human being, but maybe you had to be there.

  Lucille, who had apparently been silent long enough, lifted the gun from her lap, where I guess she had been holding it pointed at Dewayne, and propped it gently on the glass table. "Why are you really here, Dee-Wayne? And don't give me any fool nonsense about partners and carport crap."

  He looked at Lucille. "I need a place to hide."

  Mother tapped a long plastic nail on the Glock. "Staying with us isn't gonna help you much. I shot at Leroy yesterday."

  Dewayne's big old bushy eyebrows shot up and his black eyes widened. "You shot at Leroy? With that gun?"

  Lucille nodded. "He was chasing us all across the countryside and I'd just plain had enough. He just kept coming and coming, and Jolene was going just as fast as her car would go. They put governors on them now, you know. Mine used to shut right off at a hundred."

  Dewayne frowned. Apparently he didn't know about this shutdown thing either. Either that or he was trying to envision Lucille hanging out the window shooting at Leroy. It did sort of leave one speechless.

  "I got no place to go, Miz Jackson," he said to Lucille. "I came out here, thinking it ought to be safe for a while. I figured nobody even knew about this place except BigJohn, me, my sister, and of course you two. But I didn't even think about you being here. BigJohn's dead so he sure wasn't going to show up, and I figured you two were still being guarded by deputies, and my sister's got her own troubles to keep her busy, so no reason for her to come out here, not that it'd matter about her."

  "So Susan did do some of the remodeling work out here?"

  "Oh, yeah, that Sue, she's real smart. Best electrician and plumber I ever had working for me. Dang good with tile, too. "You know of her?"

  "I met her yesterday. She was worried about you. Wanted me to ask a deputy to check on you since they wouldn't listen to her. They wouldn't listen to me either, so I went over to your place to see if I could help. But I was too late, or so I thought."

  "Sue's always worrying about me for one reason or another. I worry about her, too, even though she don't think so. I think she just don't want nobody nosin' into her affairs."

  He looked at me as if he wanted to say something more. If he was going to try to convince me that it didn't matter about Susan's preference in mates, that she was still a good person, he could save his breath. I'd given that speech so many times in the last few days I knew it by heart. "You don't have to explain a thing to me,
Dewayne. I've met Amy and I know the story. They seem happy about their situation, and I don't see that it's anybody's business but theirs."

  He nodded. "Most folks don't look at it that way. But Sue's got lots of good things going for her. She works on all my houses, doing whatever needs done. Helps me run my business, too. Heck, I wouldn't be in business if it weren't for her. She's got a knack for working things out."

  He was obviously proud of his sister's talents, and rightfully so. "She also works at the new lumberyard, right?"

  "Yes, ma'am, that too. But just part time." He winked. "She works there so we get a discount on supplies."

  Oh, well, wasn't that clever, a discount. Silly me, I was still grappling with the human terms in all this. "You do know that Jerry Don Parker and I are old friends, don't you?"

  He nodded. "Yeah. I think everybody knows that. Sue said Amy sure did. Kind of a funny triangle or maybe a rectangle, everybody wanting who they ain't got. Amy wanting Jerry, Jerry wanting you, and Sue wanting Amy, but Amy wanting Sue too. Kind of just squirrels up your head if you think about it."

  No kidding. And I had been thinking about this stuff way too long. My brain was twisting up in knots directly behind my eyeballs. I turned to Mother. "Do you have any aspirin or something?"

  "In the bathroom cabinet, honey. Help yourself."

  Dewayne got a funny look on his face, so I felt obliged to ask him if he wanted a pain reliever as well. He declined but asked to use the facilities when I'd finished.

  I excused myself, grabbed a glass from the kitchen and went in search of serious headache relief. I opened the mirror-fronted cabinet and hit the jackpot. I had my choice of acetaminophen, ibuprofen and back pills.

  My mother had a long and varied list of ailments that cropped up when necessary, but she did not have a bad back. Out of what can only be a perverse streak, I picked up the bottle to see how many pills were in it. And yes, I couldn't help but wonder if the back pills were a pre or post almost-event medication. I set my ugly thoughts aside and put the bottle back on the shelf, then grabbed the ibuprofen. When I moved the bottle, a rounded edge of shiny chrome caught my eye. I pushed aside the next bottle and saw a lock. A little shiny lock that looked like it might fit just right with the little shiny key on the table.

  On closer inspection of the cabinet, I realized that the thing was not recessed fully into the wall as it should have been. And furthermore, the side nearest the door--and less likely to be noticed--was hinged. It looked like if you put the key in the lock and unlatched it, the whole cabinet would swing out of the way. To reveal what? Money was my first guess. Lots of money was my second. And that, was the first reason for him being here that made any sense at all. Damn.

  I got that sick feeling again, and with it, a really bad shiver of fear. More than likely, Dewayne had put the box in and that was where the bribe or gun or other illegal funds were kept.

  Drugs! Maybe they were all into drugs.

  I discarded the notion quickly. I couldn't imagine that either of these guys would last long with that kind of rough crowd, at least the old Miami Vice version of such things. No, it had to be money. But who had put it there? Or did that matter?

  The main question that kept zipping through my head and sending panic up my spine was very simple. Would Dewayne kill for the money in the box? I turned on the water, tossed the pain killers aside, my headache now a pounding throb of fear that nothing was going to ease. I had to go back out there and pretend that nothing was wrong. I could do it. I had to. I took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped out into the main room. Then, I froze.

  Dewayne Schuman had my mother's gun and was pointing it straight at me, the little red dot defining his aim. "Leroy was right. You're too smart for your own good, Jolene. I know you found the safe."

  I tried to look stupid, and I'm sure I succeeded admirably, but I did not look innocent. I knew, and he knew I knew. "There's nothing in it."

  He narrowed his eyes and stood. "There goddamn sure is," he growled, marching his big old hairy gorilla self toward me. "Get out of the way."

  I did, and with amazing agility and speed, but the table prevented my escape. He squeezed past me anyway and stomped toward the bathroom.

  Not fully in charge of my faculties, but adrenaline pumping stupid thoughts through my head, I grabbed the really expensive vase of flowers off the table. Mother sucked in her breath, but I ignored her, and smashed the vase on top of Dewayne's head.

  The effect was not exactly like in the movies because you see, in the movies, the vase conveniently shatters and the bad guy conveniently falls down, instantly unconscious. The lovely leaded glass did not shatter. It did, however, smack against Dewayne's head with a solid cracking thud that reverberated back up my arm and into my shoulder. And I dropped the vase.

  Lucille shrieked and lunged.

  I figured she was going for the vase, but she didn't. She snatched her beloved Glock right out of the old gorilla's hand. I'd stunned him enough to loosen his grip on the gun, but not enough for him to hit the floor in a heap. Movies ought not confuse people like that. I was kind of intent on seeing him crumple to the floor, the lying conniving bastard.

  "Now, Dee-Wayne," Mother said slowly. "You turn your big old hairy self right around and get on out of here. Right now, you hear? Are you listening to me, Dee-Wayne? You git, or I'm gonna have to shoot you."

  Dewayne shook his head and rubbed a huge hand across the back of his skull where I had whacked him. I left the pretty silk flowers scattered across the carpet and grabbed the vase again. I held it steady in case I had to bop him again. "Give me the key, Mister Schuman. Just toss it on the floor over here."

  Dewayne turned from the bathroom, his eyes a little glazed over. Maybe I'd done more damage than I thought.

  He held out his left hand and unfurled the long thick fingers, then sort of just let the key fall from his fingers.

  I maintained my death grip on the vase and nodded to Mother to grab the key, which she did handily. "What were you looking for in the safe?" I asked Dewayne, keeping his attention on me rather than Mother.

  He swayed from side to side, but seemed to comprehend what I was saying. He took a couple of steps toward Lucille, who pocketed the key and prodded the addlebrained monkey toward the door with the end of her Glock.

  "Just wanted my money," Dewayne muttered. "That's all I wanted. It's my money. I want my money."

  "How much money?"

  Dewayne kept stumbling along. "Supposed to have twenty-two thousand coming when it was all over with. Was gonna move back to I-Way Park. Get myself on the straight and narrow. No more under-the-table dealings for me. This was it."

  Nice try, not likely since I was pretty sure the ATF people could find him in Iowa Park, even if it was a good fifteen miles away. I doubted he'd appreciate my realistic assessment of his situation, so I did some really simple math projections instead. Assuming I was close on the cost of the remodel, the twenty-two thousand could be what BigJohn owed him for the legitimate work. Then again, maybe it was payoff money from the gun sales, some kickback scheme or any number of other idiotic activities.

  I kept getting more tidbits of information but none of them were really giving me any clear answers. And at the moment, all I really needed to know for sure was that Dewayne was going far, far away.

  Lucille waved her gun at him. "You get out of my house, Dee-Wayne Schuman, and don't you ever come near me again. You do, and I'll have your big old fuzzy face on my wall for decoration. Now, git."

  I trotted around and courteously opened the door for him.

  Dewayne blinked, rubbed his chin and lumbered out. "Durn fool women. All I wanted was my money."

  In a few minutes, I heard the roar of an engine and the spew of gravel from his tires. I watched out the door until I saw his white pickup truck go lurching down the road.

  A few seconds later, I saw a white sedan trailing after it. Coincidence? I don't think so. I turned back to mother. "We've got to ge
t out of here. Right now. I don't know where we're going, but we're going somewhere. Canada sounds good to me."

  Mother clucked her tongue as she gathered up her purse and essential firearm accessories. "You're awfully obsessed about running off to some godforsaken place, Jolene. There's no need for that. This will all work out fine. You'll see."

  I did not see. And she might not have seen things so optimistically either if she'd had a peek at the car zooming along behind Dewayne's truck.

  It was Velma Bennett's Lincoln.

  Chapter 18

  Within seconds, we were headed toward the Tahoe. Within a few seconds more, we knew we wouldn't be going anywhere because every single tire on the car was flat. And it had not been just an innocuous air-letting either. The sidewall on each tire had a nice, long, vicious slash in it.

  I rushed Mother back inside the cabin and bolted the door. I made sure the curtains were pulled tight over the windows and I jammed a chair under the doorknob. It wouldn't stop a gunshot or even a kick, but it was all I could think of at the moment. "All right, Mother, now what do we do, just sit here and wait for Dee-Wayne to come back and kill us? And how could he have had time to slice all our tires, anyway?"

  Lucille did not seat herself at the dining table as would be her usual bent. She paced and re-paced a small oval in the kitchen, arms crossed, making mumbling noises. My mother was as scared and clueless as I was. "We have two cell phones, Jolene," she said, her voice a little quivery. "My battery is almost gone. Where's yours?"

  "In the car. Why?"

  "I think you should go get it."

  "Sure, I'll go get it. Just as soon as you find me a bulletproof vest and a baseball bat."

  Lucille rummaged around in her purse. "You go on. I'll get the Little Lady and cover you."

  "A lot of good that would do. I'd be about the only thing you'd have a clear shot at."

  "Well, I'm not going to shoot my own daughter," Lucille said. "I'm not blind, you know."