by Jason Deas
Benny opened the hind end of the Jeep and pulled out his vacuum cleaner. He slammed the trunk shut using at least twice the necessary force causing an echo to rifle and bounce through the complex. He knocked, once again twice as hard as necessary on the front door. The blinds on the window flipped shut and Benny heard footsteps nearing the door. Peter slowly opened the door.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Benny said revealing with his eyes, the slant of his mouth, and the vacuum, sarcasm. “My name is Ronny Goldstone, and it would be my pleasure to demonstrate for you this sleek dirt eating machine.” Benny gave Peter an eat shit and die look and waited for a response.
“Let me guess,” Peter said. “Benny James?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Nice touch with the vacuum.”
“I thought so.” Benny was not smiling.
“I’m guessing you’re not here to question me about the murder case or to sell me a vacuum?”
“No, I’m not.”
“The test was negative, Mr. James.”
“Was it?”
“Yes,” Peter confirmed. “It was.”
“Could we sit down somewhere?”
Peter led him to the slab of concrete behind his apartment he called the porch. Passing through the building, Benny observed copies of the local paper’s sports section scattered about the living area adding confirmation to the information Rachael found.
“Mind if I smoke?” Peter lit his cigarette without waiting for an answer.
As smoke blew by his face Benny answered, “No.”
“You think the Braves have a chance against the Phillies tonight?” Benny asked.
“I think they’ll win by at least three and a half.”
“How much you got riding on it?”
“That’s none of your business, Mr. James. Can you please tell me why you’re here? Do you have official business with me or are you fishing?”
“I know you understand what it feels like to have a hunch. You’re a gambling man. Not a very successful one from what I have gathered, but a gambling man nonetheless. I have a hunch and unlike you Mr. Banks, my hunches are usually correct. If you could play my hunches in Vegas, they’d have to turn some of the lights off. My hunch tells me that Red is the Baker baby.”
“You’re wrong.” Peter listened without making eye contact.
“Oh, but wait, Mr. Banks,” Benny said with a malevolent grin. “I haven’t given you the odds and the payouts yet.” Benny paused for effect.
He tapped the glass tabletop saying, “If I win the hard way I will make a personal guarantee to you right here and now that you will go down for more than just the cover-up. I will have it leaked on the streets that you gave up your shark to the feds. You think he’s mad when you can’t make a payment—you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
“If I owed a shark money or anybody for that matter,” Peter pursed his lips condescendingly, “you would never figure out who that was in a million years.”
“Does the name Tommy Rodriguez mean anything to you?”
Peter’s shocked look betrayed him.
“Your eyes tell me you two have met. I may not be in the FBI anymore Mr. Banks but I still have friends who are. I made a call this morning to a friend who has worked his way into Rodriguez’s inner circle. Just so happens he is about to go down—sure would be a shame if the word got passed to him in prison that Peter Banks ratted him out. How long do you think you would last?”
Rachael’s team made the tie between Tommy Rodriguez and Peter Banks; the rest was bullshit. One of Benny’s fabulous creations and he still had one more card up his sleeve.
“You wouldn’t do that to me. You would basically be signing my death certificate.”
“Mr. Banks, do you think I made my way to the top of the FBI by being a nice guy? Let me answer that for you—no. I’m a ruthless son of a bitch. So before I ask for your final answer, let me throw one more proverbial card on the table.” Benny made the gesture of dealing a card on the table that separated the two men.
“Oh!” Benny said pretending to be surprised. “It’s the Bobby Baker card! Imagine that.”
Peter choked on the smoke he was inhaling.
“So—let me just summarize this little situation for you, Mr. Banks. Of course, this all hinges on the way in which I uncover the truth. If you lie to me and I find out that Red is indeed the Baker baby, Tommy Rodriguez will have you to blame for his incarceration. You will probably get one of those Italian or should I say in this case, Mexican neckties. You tell me the truth and Bobby Baker might catch a westward wind of slight embarrassment. I’ll do everything in my power to keep your name out of the discovery. But even if he does find out you revealed his secret, you need to decide who you would rather have on your bad side—Tommy Rodriguez or Bobby Baker.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Thank you. It’s not the first time I’ve been called that.”
“You’re a real prick.”
“I’ve heard that too—one of my ex-wife’s favorites. So what’s it gonna be? Tommy or Bobby?”
“Red is the Baker baby,” Peter confessed. “Go screw yourself.”
“Thank you,” Benny said standing up. “I’m going to need a copy of the test results.”
“OK, and screw yourself again.”
“Thank you again.”
Chapter 72
Jerry Lee felt a need for intimacy—a tingling in the pit of his stomach itched with a void that needed to be filled. He felt like killing too. Michelle was the only girl he knew he could pay to innocently touch him—so she won his affection. With her haircuts, with the shampoo, she gave her customers the most wonderful head and neck massages. Jerry Lee made sure he arrived at the Hair Palace just before closing. He had a fresh pack of smokes and a bottle of booze. He didn’t smoke but he did enjoy getting drunk in private from time to time. His practice was to drive two towns over to buy his liquor where no one knew him.
Jerry Lee walked in, shook his head like a movie star, and cracked the seal on the bottle of Knob’s Creek whiskey. He took a good long swig that shocked Michelle. The two had been acquaintances for many years and she, as well as everybody else in town, had never seen him drink any alcohol whatsoever. The way he carried himself and the personality of the man who walked through the door was not the man she knew. He handed her the bottle without a word. Being the lush she was she took a pull from the bottle. Jerry Lee smiled as she took another pull and backing up to the door, he locked it behind his back.
Before washing his hair they both took another couple of drinks straight from the bottle. Michelle stumbled with a head rush, laughing and commenting on how out of character he was acting. As she massaged his scalp, Jerry Lee closed his eyes enjoying the touch of another human. He felt each finger masterfully dancing through the curly mess atop his head. He breathed in and out through his nose, inhaling the aroma of what he thought of as a feminine shampoo and the masculine smell of whiskey.
Finishing what he wished would go on forever, she wrapped a towel around his head and asked if he minded if she had a quick smoke. He agreed as she sat in one of the barber chairs with the mirror at her back.
Jerry Lee got up from the chair in front of the sink and disappeared into the tiny closet where she kept her boom box. He inserted a tape cued to a particular song and pushed play. He reentered the main room silently as the words “To everything turn, turn, turn,” filled the air.
Michelle laughed, exhaling smoke, thinking once again what a strange man he was. The last time he came to get his hair cut she remembered he brought a James Brown tape with the small stereo as her tip, which he gave her in advance of the cut.
Facing opposite the mirror she did not see him approach her from behind. She took another drag from her cigarette and his massive paws clamped down around her throat, trapping the smoke and blocking any further air. Her legs kicked as he compressed his grip tighter, swiveling the chair around so she could watch herself die in the mirror. They locked
eyes for a moment in the mirror, hers filled with terror and his filled with madness.
A drop from his wet hair hit her forehead and instinctively her eyes looked upward, where they remained. Jerry Lee released his clutch as her body fell limp. He stepped on her still burning cigarette, which was now on the floor as he rounded the chair. As if he were picking up a small animal he scooped her up and sat back in the chair with her on his lap. Looking in the mirror he pulled her shirt over her shoulders and released her bra. He massaged her warm breasts with his palms tracing circles around her nipples. He stuck his hand down her pants intending to go all the way. As his fingers crossed her pubic line he came, his body jerking and thrusting as he trembled with pleasure. He shoveled her up again, grabbing her shirt and bra. He pulled his car to the back of the building, which backed up to nothing, and covertly deposited her in the trunk hurriedly to get her home. His pocket was full of scissors.
Chapter 73
Benny found Red asleep in the garden between the plants. At first Benny thought he was dead but he was twitching, with one of those dreams in which the dreamer is falling. Red dreamt he was falling off the back of his father’s truck as he left for town without him. One of Red’s only goals in life was to acquire as many cassettes as he could in town and this was a chronic nightmare for him. The possibility of adding more tapes to his collection seemed to be slipping away after his parents died.
The dream was ironic, as Benny stood over him with a gift bag full of tapes from Ned. His shadow casting over Red stirred him from his slumber and Red opened his eyes, sleepily looking up at Benny.
“Hey Bendy,” Red goggled.
“What the hell are you doing?” Benny asked.
“Plants need friends and get fast big.”
“OK,” Benny said, feeling stoned. “Can we go inside and talk?”
“Sure, Bendy,” Red said rising from the dirt.
As they sat, Jezebel jumped into Red’s lap. Benny shook his head, as it was still odd for him to see his cat, who never let him pet her, act so friendly with Red. Red noticed Benny’s bewilderment and commented, “She not liking you.”
“That’s obvious. Why?”
“She said you not ever come here much.”
“She said that, huh?”
“Bendy,” Red said, seriously. “Plant and animal talk with not words.”
“Oh,” Benny answered. Changing the subject he said, “I found your real parents.”
“Mama and papa dead.”
“I know those parents are but these are your biological parents. The parents who you were born to,” Benny tried.
“Red only has one mama and papa.”
The newspaper article was on the coffee table and Benny picked it up and pointed to the picture of the couple crying in the back of the car leaving the hospital from which he was kidnapped. “I found them. Your mama gave this to you because she wanted you to find them.”
“That lady and man be sad.”
“Yes, they were very sad and they probably still are because they lost you. They deserve to know what happened to you. Your mama gave this newspaper to you because she wanted you to find them.”
“No.”
“What do you mean no?”
“Mama not want me to find them,” Red said pointing at the picture. “Mama want me to find you,” he said pointing at Benny.
Benny was taken aback. “Me?”
“Yeah, Bendy need my help to finding bad man and growing plants. Red help Bendy doing both. Mama happy.”
“Oh,” Benny was taken aback. “Do you want to meet these people?”
“No.”
“What do you want?”
“Red want stay here with plants and you little zebra,” he said looking down at Jezebel and scratching her ears with both hands.
“All right Red. I want you to think about this a few days and decide if that’s what you really want. These are your real parents,” Benny tried one more time.
“Red decide—no, they not.”
Chapter 74
Benny enlisted Rachael’s help to confront Bobby Baker. She pretended to be doing a story on him, the rising Georgia politician, during her downtime during the murder case. Bobby of course knew who she was and was thrilled to invite her into his office, excited with the possibility of national coverage. Rachael introduced Benny as her cameraman and he stood to the side with a camera sans film. In case Bobby had happened to see him on television with Rachael he wore an Aussie bush hat and an Izod with the collar up. When Rachael laughed at Benny’s disguise and questioned him about the current decade, Benny, hiding a smile, informed her that Izod was still very popular in Europe and his hat was of the Jacaru Kangaroo style. Very expensive and sought after by collectors, he assured her.
She began by asking for Bobby’s permission to record the conversation. He agreed and Rachael mashed a button on her digital device. She made up a few questions on the spot and acted as though she listened with interest to his long-winded verbal pats on his own back. Having loosened him up, she attacked.
“I remember,” Rachael began, “when I was in school working towards my journalism degree, we studied the heavy coverage the Baker baby received and how it pulled the country’s interests to media outlets, especially the daily papers. I remember it boosting sales and ad revenues for longer than most big stories.”
“Yes, that was quite a story and a trying time for my poor brother,” Bobby replied stone-faced. He had no idea how his life was about to change with his erroneous answers and threats stemming from Rachael’s next set of questions.
“One of the people I have come in contact with during my investigation of the Tilley murders is a man named Benny James. Are you familiar with that name?”
“Yes,” Bobby answered, although he wanted to lie. He felt that the chances were pretty high she already knew the answer to the question before she asked it.
“Did you happen to see my interview with him the other night?” Rachael asked.
“No, I’m sorry I missed it. I haven’t been able to watch a whole lot of television with the campaign gaining steam. I seem to be busy, pretty much around the clock lately. I have seen your show before. You do nice work. I would hate to be on your bad side.”
Both Benny and Rachael held back the laughter wanting to explode from within each of their bellies. With this said, Benny relaxed and folded the collar of his shirt down where his chin and lower cheek bones were previously hiding.
“After the interview, I had an opportunity to have dinner with Mr. James. “We were talking about some of his other cases…”
“Wait,” Bobby interrupted. He started to sense the onslaught and wanted to derail Rachael before it began. “What does this have to do with my campaign? I thought this interview was about a piece you were doing about my campaign. This line of questioning has nothing to do with that.”
Just for the hell of it, for some reason wanting to torture the flailing Bobby Baker, Benny held the camera to his face and pretended to snap a couple photos of his anger.
“Put that goddamned camera away,” Bobby querulously demanded.
“I assure you,” Rachael interjected, “This has quite a bit to do with your campaign.” Rachael cut her eyes at Benny, signaling her readiness for him to intervene.
“In what way?” Bobby questioned, still fuming.
Benny decided it was time for him to step in. Rachael did her part getting him in the door and now it was time for him to close the deal. “The main issue in many campaigns has to do with character,” Benny said, as he stepped out of the background and in front of Rachael.
“Benny James,” he said, with the beginning of a bow. He didn’t even bother extending his hand to shake, knowing Bobby probably was not in the mood at this point for a gentleman’s greeting.
“This is bullshit,” Bobby rose to his feet, shaking his finger at Benny and Rachael. “I’ll have both of your asses. You tricked me, Ms. Martin,” he shook his fist in Rachael’s face.
/> “And you,” Bobby said turning on Benny, “I don’t know who the hell you think you are or where you think you’re going with this, but I sent you a letter with the test results, if this is what this whole charade is about. And the letter states, if you forgot, the test results were negative. That boy, that freaking retard, or whoever he is, is not my brother’s son. So stop trying to make something out of nothing to save your miserable failed career. And you, Ms. Martin can take your sleazy, muckraking journalistic sham of an investigation and stick it up your…”
“Sit down,” Benny commanded. Benny was furious. When Bobby did not he grabbed his necktie and pulled him across the desk so the two men were face to face. Benny’s grip was choking Bobby and his eyes glazed with fear as Benny guided him forcefully, pulling down on his tie and settling him into his chair.
Bobby started to speak and Benny flinched as though he was coming around the desk for him. “Shut your goddamned mouth and listen.” Benny turned to Rachael. “I think you can turn off the recorder now. I think we have all the sound bites we need.” Bobby’s eyes once again grew with dread as he had forgotten about the recording device.
Rachael switched it off.
“Now,” Benny said calmly. “Ms. Martin and I are going to have a seat and I am going to give you a set of options, just like I gave Peter Banks earlier.” Bobby swallowed hard at the mention of Peter’s name. Benny suddenly remembered promising Peter he would try to keep his name out of the discussion. Oh well, he thought.
“I believe a man should have choices,” Benny said, toying with him. “My client, Red Jasper, or for the sake of today’s argument we can call him William James Baker. His desires give me the ability to offer you two options. I think you are going to like the second of these two scenarios.”
Benny pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket and slowly unfolded it for effect. It was a copy of the paternity test results that Peter Banks had hesitantly given to him. Benny laid the document in front of Bobby. “Choice number one,” Benny said, as he paused long enough for Bobby to scan the paper laid before him. “I turn the original documentation over to Ms. Martin. She, along with the very compelling audio we recorded today, takes the two elements and puts them together to create a riveting piece of, what did you call it? ‘Muckraking journalism?’ Sounds like the perfect recipe for a campaign disaster to me.”