by Tom Wallace
“Russ is unquestionably the most-influential man in this county. No one gets elected to any important office unless he or she has Russ’s endorsement. They all owe him, and every one of them is in his pocket. He also has plenty of pull with certain bigshots in Frankfort. If you are his enemy, never turn your back on him, because he always has a sharp knife ready to use.”
“What about you, Mike? Are you included among those in his pocket?”
“No, Russ and I are political rivals. We’ve clashed too many times in the past to ever be on the same side of the fence. In fact, the word making the rounds is that he is sharpening his knife to use against me. Rumor has it that when my term is up, he’s going to run for this office. If that happens, he’ll win.”
“That’s not a very positive outlook, Mike.”
“But a realistic one.” Mike paused, then continued, “Nick, the real reason I called is because Karen would like you and Samantha to join us for supper tonight. What do you say? You’d be crazy to turn down the invitation. Karen is a terrific cook.”
Before I could answer, Angel opened the door to my room and came in. She was holding a big Walmart bag in one hand. As she was removing her raincoat, I pressed the phone against my leg and mouthed “Where have you been?” She responded by giving me the classic how-dumb-are-you-look, and then held up the wet Walmart bag.
“I’ll get back in touch with you later today, Mike, and let you know about tonight. It’ll depend on how long my talk with McElwain takes. Also, I’ll need to check with Samantha, see what she says.”
“Looking forward to seeing the two of you tonight, Nick.”
Angel was staring hard at me when I ended the call. Shaking her head, she said, “What? The Tuckers want us to pay them a visit tonight?”
“Yes, to have supper with them.”
“How do you define awkward, Dad? Wouldn’t you agree that having dinner with your best friend and his wife who you recently had sex with is the perfect definition of awkward? I doubt Mr. Webster could improve on that. Please tell me you will decline their invitation.”
“Is that what you want me to do?”
“Duh.”
“He is my best friend, Angel.”
“Whose wife you slept with.”
“Which he doesn’t know, nor should he ever find out that it happened.” I’d had it with being grilled by my daughter. It was time to go on the offensive. “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving? I’ve been worried sick ever since I found out you were missing.”
“I wasn’t missing, Dad. I went to Walmart, which does not rank as a dangerous place, except on Black Friday. Then all bets are off.”
“You could have been courteous enough to answer my calls or respond to my text messages.”
“I left my phone in the car when I went inside Walmart,” she pointed out. “And I was on my way home when I noticed the missed calls and text messages. There was no reason to call when I knew I’d see you in ten minutes.”
“Well, it would’ve been nice to know you were okay,” I said, my bark now meeker than a kitten’s meow.
Angel grinned, said, “Being a full-time parent is not an easy gig, is it, Dad? Here’s a news flash for you… teenage daughters are complex creatures. Only a fool wants to deal with them.”
“I’m learning that lesson the hard way.”
“Now you’ve had a brief taste of what Mom had to put up with all those years.”
“You turned out great, Angel. Your mom deserves an A-plus for how she raised you.”
“Agreed.” Angel dug into her Walmart bag and came out with a can of Pringles barbeque potato chips. “In the mood for one of these?”
“Have you eaten yet?”
“Nope,” she said, biting into a chip.
“Put those away,” I ordered. “We’ll go grab lunch and talk about the rest of today’s agenda.”
“That agenda better not include dinner with the Tuckers.”
“Will you give it a rest, Angel?” I pointed toward the door. “You first.”
~ * ~
We debated where to eat lunch before finally settling on a barbecue place in downtown Central City. We arrived at a little past noon. Several customers were there, none that I recognized, and the food turned out to be better than I expected. We stayed for almost an hour, then took a stroll down Broad Street, which, as I’ve already stated, is much different than the Broad Street I remember from my youth. For some unknown reason, Angel was keenly interested in seeing the place where Billy Hughes and I had our scuffle. Not wanting to disappoint my daughter, I led her up the alley to a narrow area that was being lorded over by two large Dumpsters. This was directly in the rear of the movie theater that was destroyed by fire.
“It was right about here that the fight took place,” I said. “I remember there were five or six guys watching us. They were in a circle while we went at it. I’d say they got their money’s worth.”
“Did you shed any blood?” Angel asked.
“Not as much as Billy did.”
“Was it a decisive win?”
“Yeah. When I walked away, he was bleeding on the ground.”
“God, I wish I’d been there to see you in action.”
“Why? Do you have a thing for violence?” I said.
“Not really. But seeing you fight, that would’ve been cool.”
“Have you seen enough?”
“Yes, Rocky, I have,” Angel said. “I have now visited the sacred site of your greatest pugilistic triumph. What more could a girl want from her father?”
~ * ~
The rest of the afternoon was spent back at the motel playing chess. One of Angel’s Walmart purchases was a cheap checkers/chess board that couldn’t have cost more than a couple of bucks. Cheap or not, we put the small board to good use, doing battle and matching wits for nearly four hours. When Angel was very young, I taught her the basic chess moves. I was surprised she remembered them. However, the bigger surprise was how good she was at the game. She was a smart, fierce opponent.
For me, chess is the greatest competitive game ever invented, bar none. It is an easy game to learn and an impossible game to master. I’ve played hundreds of games of chess against opponents whose skill level ranged from very high to below average. I’ve won my share, lost even more, but I have never ceased to marvel at the intricacy and the beauty that goes with moving those small pieces around the board. The invention of chess ranks as one of history’s great miracles.
At five, after having won every match (much to Angel’s growing frustration), I suggested that we freshen up, then go to the Convention Center and seek out Dorsey McElwain. Angel pleaded for one more game… “I know I can beat you,”… but I declined. Beating my daughter was one thing, humbling her bordered on cruelty. And I wasn’t about to do that.
~ * ~
Dorsey McElwain was on a stationary bike pumping the pedals at a furious pace when Angel and I walked in. Judging by the amount of perspiration dripping from his face, I would estimate that he had been on the bike for quite some time. The buds in his ears indicated he was listening to music. He did not look pleased when he saw us approaching.
Removing the buds from his ears, he said, “You two again. I hope you aren’t here to talk, because I don’t have the time. As you can see, I’m otherwise occupied.”
“Just a couple of quick questions and we’ll be on our way,” I said.
“Come to the sheriff’s office. If I find the time, perhaps I can work you into my schedule.”
“You’ve learned well from Perry Jackson.”
“You want to talk, we do it in the office.”
“It’s better if we talk here, now.”
McElwain stopped pedaling, wiped his face with a towel, and turned his attention to Angel. “Now, if this beautiful creature wanted to ask me a few questions, I just might agree to answer them,” he said, his grin just shy of a leer. “But she’s just your sidekick, and we all know sidekicks aren’t allowed to say much. That’s
a shame.”
Angel stepped in front of me, and asked, “Are you a regular at the American Legion?”
MeElwain was clearly stunned, and I couldn’t decide if it was because of the question, or who had posed it.
“I’ve been inside the Legion maybe three times in my life,” he managed to say. “So, no, I’m not a regular.”
“But you were in the Legion when Todd Brown was there, weren’t you? That’s also the night Luke Felton was murdered.”
“No, I wasn’t there. Who the hell is spreading that lie?”
“A very credible witness puts you there that night. And if we ask around, I’m betting we’ll find others who will corroborate what our witness saw. You may as well acknowledge you were in the Legion that night. Not being truthful might come back to bite you on the ass.”
“What credible witness?” McElwain said. “Tell me. I have a right to know who that person is.”
Angel pressed on. “You were there, Dorsey. And we believe that when Todd went to the rest room you put something in his drink. Whatever it was, when mixed with alcohol, it caused his memory to shut down.”
“That’s bullshit. I never put nothin’ in his drink. And there is no way you can prove I did.”
I said, “Did you drop Rabbit off at the Speedway station earlier that afternoon?”
McElwain’s eyes widened, his face tensed. I had struck a nerve with that question.
“I’m done answering your stupid questions,” he snapped. “The next time we talk I’ll have my lawyer with me. Now, get the hell out of here and leave me in peace.”
“Your lawyer? Why not call Russ Barker instead? He’s the big dog around here, isn’t he? Maybe he can save your ass.” I tapped McElwain on the arm without waiting for his reply. “You have a good workout, Dorsey.”
As Angel and I turned and walked away, McElwain muttered, “You’d better leave Russ Barker out of this.”
“We’ll be seeing you around, Dorsey,” Angel said.
Once we were outside, I said, “Damn, Angel, you were just like Pepper Anderson in there.”
“Who is Pepper Anderson?”
“Angie Dickinson’s character on the TV show Police Woman.”
“Never heard of Angie Dickinson or that TV show.”
“You’re kidding?”
“When was it on?”
“Sometime in the seventies.”
“Duh, Dad, I’m nineteen, remember?”
“What is it with your generation? Don’t you kids have any appreciation for history?”
“Yes, but not ancient history, which is what the seventies are.”
“Okay, I’ll cut you a break this one time. But only because that ‘bite you on the ass’ line was beyond perfect. Anyway, the point I was trying to make is that you were really terrific in there with McElwain. I can’t tell you how proud I am of you.”
“Just doing my job, boss.”
Twenty
The bullet smashed into the tree two seconds before the crack of rifle fire carried the distance. Angel and I were standing in the parking area trying to decide which of us would drive when we reacted to the sound. We darted to a space between our two cars and ducked down behind hers. Staying low, we waited for more shots to be fired, although I was fairly certain the shooting had ended. I felt we were out of harm’s way. At least for the time being.
I peeked over the car and saw a man coming around the corner of the building, a puzzled look on his bearded face. My initial impression of the man was that he probably worked for the motel in some capacity. Not in a managerial position, but more like a maintenance worker.
“Was that gunfire I just heard, or did a car backfire?” he asked, when he saw me.
“Gunfire,” I answered. Having fought in Iraq, I definitely know the difference between the two.
“Oh, my goodness. Was anybody hurt?”
“No. But you should call nine-one-one, get the police here.”
He reached into a hip pocket, took out his cell phone, and began dialing the three digits. Not willing to take a chance that the shooting had ceased, he stepped inside the back door to deliver his message. Can’t blame the guy for being cautious.
“Stay down, Dad,” Angel pleaded, still squatting behind her car. “The next shot might not miss.”
“There won’t be another shot,” I said. “This one wasn’t meant to kill…it was intended to scare us.”
“Well, it worked.”
Angel stood and nervously looked around. By this time word had spread and the motel’s manager made an obligatory, albeit reluctant, appearance. He was absolutely mortified by what had just happened. And he had good reason to be. Having guests shot at isn’t exactly good advertisement for future business. It would require a miracle of messaging to entice travelers to lodge in your motel if there’s a chance they might get gunned down in the parking lot. But to the man’s credit and to his professionalism, he did say the right things.
“Praise God everyone is all right,” he said, walking in our direction. “Do you think it was intentional, or did someone accidentally fire the shot?”
Not wanting to go into great detail, I said, “Could be either one. We’ll leave it to leave it to law enforcement to make that determination.”
“Yes, yes, by all means.”
After the manager left us, Angel commented, “There can be no doubt who did this, Dad. It had to be Dorsey McElwain.”
“Maybe.”
“Why do you say maybe? Who else could it be? We interviewed McElwain just last night, practically accused him of spiking Todd’s drink on the night Luke Felton was murdered, and the next morning someone takes a shot at us? Come on, Dad. Common sense says McElwain was the shooter.”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong, Angel. But let’s withhold judgment until we have more facts.”
“Withhold judgment? Are you kidding me? You know I’m right.”
~ * ~
The city police car, lights flashing, pulled into the parking lot with a loud nerve-shattering screech. It reminded me of a scene from that old Starsky and Hutch TV show, the one where those two guys drove like maniacs. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Jimmy Martin was behind the wheel, and back in the day he was a notorious drag racer. He got out of the car, while a second officer, whom I had never seen, emerged from the passenger’s side.
“Didn’t I warn you about rattling cages?” Jimmy asked. “You should have heeded my advice and left well enough alone.”
I pointed to my right. “The bullet is in that tree,” I said, adding, “purposefully would be my guess.”
Jimmy wandered over to the tree, trailed by his partner, who was about a foot shorter than his superior. He located the place where the bullet entered the tree, took out his pocket knife, opened it, and removed the damaged slug. He held it in his palm and inspected it.
“Not gonna learn much from this sucker,” Jimmy said. “It’s too badly damaged to accurately determine the make or the caliber.”
“I’m not particularly concerned about those details, Jimmy.”
Jimmy turned, looked behind him, and said, “I’d say the shot came from that clearing across the highway.”
“I’d say that’s about right.”
“Do you have any idea who might’ve done this, Nick?”
“I don’t know, Jimmy. You tell me. Do you have any idea who did this?”
“It certainly wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re hinting at. I don’t waste good ammunition shooting at trees. If I pull the trigger, it will be for the sole purpose of killing my target. So you can scratch me off your list of suspects.”
“Not accusing you of anything, Jimmy. Just asking if you might point me toward the person who did fire that shot.”
“Sorry, Nick, can’t help you,” Jimmy said, shaking his head. “You and your daughter need to come by my office and make a statement. Anytime today is okay.”
“Making a statement isn’t really necessary,” I countered.
“Ye
s, it is. If there is no official record, I have no incentive to investigate. That’s like saying it never happened. Also, this incident should be on record in case, God forbid, something bad happens to either you or your daughter.”
“You’re here, Jimmy. You are my witness. If something bad happens to Samantha or me, you can be the official record.”
“Have it your way, Nick. But I’ll be in my office until five in case you change your mind.”
~ * ~
I returned to my room badly in need of some serious alone time. Fortunately for me, Angel went to her room rather than coming to mine, which had lately become standard procedure. I needed solitude, because the moment had arrived when I had to have a come-to-Jesus conversation with myself. A bullet being fired in our direction changed the dynamics. That bullet missed…intentionally I’m sure…but what about the next one? Maybe it wouldn’t miss. I had put my daughter’s life in danger. I didn’t bring her here to get killed, or to witness her father being gunned down in front of her. And all for what? This insane mission I was on to somehow exonerate Todd Brown? What arrogance on my part! The smart thing for me to do would be to put Angel on a plane back to Los Angeles, then get in my car and return to the safety of Siesta Key. No one was likely to take a shot at me in the Old Salty Dog.
Angel rapped on my door, opened it, and came into my room before I had time to respond. She moved quickly to my bed and sat across from me. It was easy to see she was seriously charged up about something.
“We’ve been making a huge mistake, Dad,” she said. “We’re not looking in the right direction. We need to chart a different path.”
“Okay, I’m listening. What’s the mistake, and what direction should we be looking in?”
“We have totally focused all our attention on Todd Brown, on proving his innocence, and on who might be responsible for setting him up. But what about Luke Felton? We have completely overlooked him. We’d be smart to shift our focus and take a deeper look at him. If we do, and if we catch a lucky break, maybe we can answer the key question… why he was in the car with Todd that night?”
Out of the mouths of babes. There is no way I can adequately describe what a “Perry Mason moment” feels like, but this had to be close. Mixed in with that feeling was the realization that I had been a blind fool, and that my daughter was more intelligent than her old man. Not that much of a stretch, I’ll admit.