Pernicious

by Henderson, James

  “Little bitch could have caused me trouble,” Perry mumbled to herself as she watched the boys halt their game to allow a car to pass.

  Big trouble!

  Keshana had insisted on going to Tyrone’s funeral. Not asked but insisted.

  “For what?” Perry had said. “To see a damn dead man?”

  “I would like to go,” Keshana had replied. “To say goodbye.”

  “Believe me, he won’t hear you. Won’t even know you’re there.”

  “I just want to go.”

  “Go! Go talk to a damn dead man! Ask him for the PIN number on his debit card. He give it to you, call me and I’m coming. Otherwise, you’ll have to find your own way there and your own way back. I’m not going.”

  Perry had quickly dismissed the matter.

  Then, the day of Tyrone’s funeral, two elderly women dressed in black knocked on the door and announced they were there to pick up Keshana.

  “What the hell for?” Perry said.

  “A funeral!” one replied. “Tyrone Banks’ funeral. Your so-called husband!”

  “Get away from my door before I kicked your so-called--”

  Keshana interrupted: “Mommie, you said if I found a way to go on my own, I could go.” Before Perry could protest: “I’ll be back in a little while.”

  Boldly, Keshana accompanied the two women down the stairs to a gray Fifth Avenue.

  A few minutes later Perry snapped.

  The life-size portrait of her and Keshana snatched off the wall and ripped to shreds, a glass swan slammed on the floor, her collection of porcelain frogs smashed to pieces.

  If Miss Keshana could summon two biddies at the drop of a hat without leaving the apartment, Perry thought as she seized the large mirror above the fireplace, no telling what else she might…

  Perry, with the mirror held overhead, checked herself. The mirror was an antique and her most prized and beloved possession.

  Keshana would have to go; it’s that simple.

  Now!

  She put the mirror down and snatched up a phone.

  “Momma, I can’t handle her anymore! She’s too fast. Down there she can’t get into any trouble. Up here in the big city there’s just too much devilment to tempt a hot-ass girl.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” her mother said. “It’s rough here too. Burt’s not working…We cannot afford another mouth to feed.”

  “Yes, you can!” Perry snapped. “You kept Nell’s three kids a whole year. Don’t start that shit with me! Besides, I’ll send you money.”

  “Isn’t today Tyrone’s funeral?”

  “Yes, it is.” Voice lowered: “Keep this hush-hush. Tyrone and Keshana were fooling around. The day he died I came home and found him on the floor…butt naked!…having a heart attack. I went looking for Keshana and found her in the hallway… pulling up her pants.”

  “My goodness! Lord, no! Say it ain’t so!”

  “I wish I could. Why I didn’t go to the funeral. It hurts too much. I get to thinking about it and I start getting all dizzy and nauseous.”

  “Where’s Keshana now?”

  “At the funeral. I asked her to stay here and help me, you know, just in case I passed out or got sick. Guess what Miss Keshana told me?”

  “What?”

  “Go suck a donkey’s dick.”

  Her mother moaned. “Lord, have mercy! Lord, have mercy! I-I can’t put up with that kind of mess down here. I’m too old.”

  “Yes, you can. She’ll be better off down there. You’ll put something on her ass and she’ll love you for it. Look how I turned out, because you taught me right from wrong.”

  Her mother sighed. “When is she coming down?”

  “On the next bus headed that way.”

  When Keshana returned from Tyrone’s funeral and found the apartment in total disarray and her clothes packed in suitcases near the front door, she asked, “Are we going somewhere, Mommie?”

  Perry smiled. “Not we, you!”

  The ride to the Greyhound bus depot, neither mother or daughter said a solitary word. After Perry purchased the ticket, Keshana started crying.

  “Don’t start that mess!” Perry scolded her. “We’re in public. You’ll enjoy living with Momma. There’s so much more you can do in the country. Ain’t you tired of being stuck in a dingy, old apartment all the time?”

  Keshana continued crying.

  Perry grabbed Keshana’s arm and sunk her fingernails deep in her flesh. “Stop it!” she whispered. “Stop it! Stop it now! You’ll have everybody here staring at me. You hear me…stop it!”

  Keshana, though trying to stifle her sobs, made more noise.

  Perry dug deeper and shook her. “Dammit, didn’t I say stop it!”

  “I love you, Mommie,” Keshana whimpered.

  Perry released her. “Well, that’s nice. Kids should love their mothers. I have done a lot for you, you know. Anyway, I got to go. There’s no need for both of us waiting. Here’s your ticket, listen for your bus number. If somebody bothers you, tell that security guard over there.”

  She turned to leave when Keshana wrapped her arms around her waist and bawled on her breast.

  “You’re embarrassing me. I hope you realize that. You are really embarrassing me!”

  “I love you, Mommie!”

  Perry let her go on for a few seconds more before pushing her away. “Bye,” she said, and walked away without looking back.

  Perry noticed the boys had stopped tossing their ball around. They were staring up at her. They looked like four statues, just standing there in the middle of the street staring up at her.

  “Keshana could have caused me a lot of trouble,” Perry said to herself as she raised the window, to give the boys a better view.

  Chapter 6

  Driving home, Tasha kept looking in the rearview mirror. She knew the overfilled glass of gin had put her close to the limit; perhaps above it. She worried a uniform fresh out of the Academy with a gung ho attitude would stop her.

  “Officer, I only had one drink!”

  How many times had she heard that? She sighed in relief when she stopped the car in front of her apartment. Stepping inside, a wave of melancholy hit her.

  Nothing sobers me up more than an empty apartment.

  She dropped onto the couch and propped her feet on the coffee table.

  If she hadn’t been so concerned about the drive home she would have stayed there and had some fun for a change. Yes, but then she would have been too intoxicated to even walk to the car, much less drive.

  Craps! Listen to me. I’m so hard-up for friendship, I’m ready to jeopardize my job. The job I love, the job I’ve invested eleven years of my life, the job I’ve put first before family and friends.

  She laughed mirthlessly, to stave off crying.

  What else can I do? Work in a warehouse? Drive a truck? I’m stuck, stuck, stuck. I make the world a better place to live, don’t I? Yes, I do. Someone has to spend hours on end away from the family chasing bad guys.

  She lifted her legs and brought them down hard on the table.

  It’s just so lonely, so terribly lonely. Yeah, I’m a cop, and I’m human, too. Let’s be friends, okay? I’ll call you sometimes and we’ll trade stories about our children, cooking, our relationships, about anything but our jobs. We’ll go to lunch, cry on each other’s shoulder, do all the things that friends do. Is that too much to ask? A simple, uncomplicated friendship.

  I could call Angie. How long since we talked? Five years? ‘Hey, girl, what have you been up to? I was just thinking about you, you know. I decided to give my favorite girlfriend a call. How’s Vic? He’s still in the joint? I’m sorry to hear that.

  ‘Neal? He’s doing fine. Same old Neal. You know we’re divorced now. He practically lives here, though. He watches Derrick when I’m at work. Girl, those two are tighter than two ticks on a puppy’s tail. You oughta see Derrick, he looks just like Neal, just like him. My sex life? PG-thirteen. Boring and uneventful! Once
a month I let Neal make ugly face, you know, just to keep his mouth shut.

  ‘Angie, you know we’ve been friends since we were in junior high…best friends. Remember when everyone called us the dynamic duo? We kicked some butts back then, didn’t we? Yes, you’re right, that’s in the past.

  ‘Speaking of the past, I’d like to apologize. I promised you I would go to court with Vic and vouch for his character. I gave you my word, and I didn’t go. I’m sure that’s why we no longer call or visit each other. It’s not like you’re in another state, you know.

  ‘I drive by your house on my way to work every day, and I’ve tried to call you and your son says you’re too busy to come to the phone. Let me explain why I didn’t go to court that day. Vic was dirty, Angie.

  ‘They had him dead to rights. He sold to an undercover officer during a stakeout. When I told you I’d go to court with him I didn’t know all the facts. I work with these people every day and it’s impossible for me to believe they would frame Vic.

  ‘Remember we promised we wouldn’t let a man come between us? Let’s be friends again, okay? Because I sure miss you, and girl, you wouldn’t believe how lonely it gets around here.’

  She couldn’t pretend any longer; she covered her face with both hands and started crying. She slipped onto the floor and a few minutes later she was sound asleep.

  * * * * *

  The phone rang.

  Tasha woke up…Somehow the white stucco ceiling had been replaced with wood with a poorly varnished finish. Rays of sunlight beamed through the Venetian blinds onto the carpet.

  She then realized she’d fallen asleep on the living room floor, under the coffee table. The phone continued ringing. When she sat up, her head throbbed and stomach churned. She lay back down.

  Whoever was calling wasn’t giving up. She groaned and crawled to the phone on an end table.

  “Hello.” She could smell her breath; it didn’t smell good.

  “Tash,” Bob said. “I’m glad you picked up. Were you asleep?”

  “No, Bob. I was just sitting here waiting on your call. What’s up?”

  “I went down to Morrilton yesterday to check out the scene where Lester Perkins took a dive. To reach the spot where he allegedly fell I had to climb a chain-link fence. Beyond that is a guardrail, clearly marked, telling anyone who can read not to trespass. Then there’s this huge rock sticking out. It’s about six-foot long, not wide at all. It’s easy to see how someone could fall off.”

  “So you think Lester’s death was an accident?”

  “Nope. The rock has graffiti on it; Lester wasn’t the first to venture out on it. The thing that strikes me odd: Lester was on it at night. The park closes at seven, no security to speak of. I was scared shitless standing on it in broad daylight. Either Lester was suicidal or he was pushed.”

  “In other words, we’ll have difficulty proving she murdered Lester Perkins.”

  “You got it, sister.”

  “We do have more than one pole in the water. Keshana Green is Perry’s daughter. What does that tell you?”

  “She used her daughter to thwart the insurance company.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Where’s the daughter?”

  “In Dawson. Have you ever been there?”

  “Nope. Never heard of it.”

  “Eventually we’ll have to go down there and talk to Keshana. She’s living with the grandmother--we might be able to glean something evidentiary out of one of em.”

  “What time today are you going down there?”

  “Bob, today is Sunday.”

  “I know what day it is. Right now I’m getting ready for church.”

  “Bob Kelvis, a man who keeps pornographic material in his desk, goes to church? I find that hard to believe.”

  “Believe it. I’m a bachelor, remember. The church is an excellent place to meet women. I met my second wife at a revival. How you know what’s in my desk?”

  “Figured you had to put em somewhere. Everyone knows when you’re reading the monthly statistic folder you’re covering Playboy, Hustler, High Society, Penthouse--”

  “Enough! You’re in such a charming mood this morning, why not mosey down the dirt road and see what you can dig up from the locals. After church I’ll check with Arkansas Game and Fish and see if we can get someone to take us out to where Willie Davis took the plunge.”

  “Okay, why not? I’m not doing anything here. Maybe we can start connecting the dots on this one. I had a dream of Perry the other night. We need to stick a fork in this one.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. Like I said, I’ve got a bad feeling about this one. When I get a premonition, Lord knows, anything can happen.”

  “A strange mix, Bob. ESP and Christianity. ”

  “Trust me, babe, we’ve got to keep our eyes and ears open on this one.”

  Tasha took a hot shower and put on her western wear. Black slacks, black snake-skinned boots, a red-and-black sequin shirt and a black cowboy hat. She looked in the mirror, felt utterly ridiculous, and changed into blue jeans and a plain white shirt, but kept the snake-skinned boots. She was thankful for the excursion, not wanting to sit around all day staring at four walls.

  Also thankful that Bob wasn’t riding along. Every road trip he would insist on stopping at every rib joint, catfish house, and chicken hut en route. What he couldn’t eat in one sitting, he’d wrap up and bring to the car. Not five minutes away, he would unwrap what he had and devour it as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

  Today she traveled alone, enjoying the sunshine and light traffic. Driving relaxed her mind. She could reminisce about the good old days.

  Neal was much thinner then, and so was she. They used to sit for hours on his parent’s porch, just swinging away. She doubted if that swing could hold both of them now. Neal acting silly, cracking corny jokes.

  “Tasha, what you have when you got nuts on your corn?” Corn nuts? “What about nuts on your wall?” Walnuts? “Okay, how ‘bout nuts on your chin?” Chin nuts? “Noooo!” She never quite understood that one, but he’d laugh himself sick every time.

  Neal and she would take walks, hand-in-hand, admiring the trees, the clouds, the flowers, everything; so happy just being together. He was fascinated with her job, thought her being a policewoman was incredible. Naturally she wanted to impress him.

  “Tasha, you beat up five guys single-handedly? Jesus! And you didn’t get a scratch? You’re something else!”

  Neal’s brother told him she was exaggerating. No, she was flat out lying. Yet she would have said anything just to see that big smile spread across Neal’s face.

  When she told him she’d signed him up for a ride-along, he went wild, jumping up and down like a five-year-old in line at the circus.

  “Do I get to carry a gun?” No!

  Didn’t much happen, crime-wise. “Tasha, when does the drama start?”

  She didn’t have the heart to tell him that the majority of time she sat around waiting for something to happen. Neal had expected drama. So she drove to the quarry out by Sweet Home, miles outside of her jurisdiction, and parked between two dump trucks.

  “You want drama, Neal?”

  “There’s nothing here but gravel.”

  She kissed him. “TLC drama, Neal.”

  How long were they there? An hour? Two? Their first time, though she hadn’t planned to go that far, in the backseat of a cruiser. He took his time, kissing, talking, caressing; none of that tap-zap-nap crap he fell into a habit of doing after they were married.

  What went wrong? How could two people madly in love, just head over heels with each other, go so miserably wrong? Was it simply because he wouldn’t work? Maybe, maybe not.

  Was it me?

  A little bit, she guessed. If she hadn’t believed all the things he’d promised; if she hadn’t expected so much from him. Neal wasn’t working when they first met, a clue to his future work habits.

  Neal sincerely believed he would one day wake up rich.
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  “I’ll be a millionaire soon, Tasha. You’ll never have to work again.”

  “I don’t mind working.”

  “You’ll have a choice. Work or don’t, it’ll be up to you.”

  Some choice. If she hadn’t worked they would have starved.

  I still love him. I can’t deny that. The man has his faults, but I still love him.

  What if she tried marriage again, one more go at it? After all, the man practically lived with her. The only difference between now and then, she could tell him to leave. Tasha well knew that the current situation was not fair to Neal…and Derrick. And what would Derrick think when he grows up? You can divorce anytime and still live together.

  So why did she divorce him?

  Because he got on my nerves! And if I remarry him, he’ll probably get on my nerves again, and a few months down the road I’ll be mad at the world, wondering why I remarried Neal Montgomery. Yes, but I’m mad at the world now. I’m just not sure who to blame it on.

  A song playing on the radio caught her attention. She turned the volume up. Tina Turner’s melodic alto voice vibrated the dash.

  I wish it was true, Tina. Love has everything to with it. Everything.

  She read a road sign: Dawson, Arkansas. Pop. 5,756. A smaller sign, several feet beyond, read: Home of Alan Druckinmiller. Who’s he? She’d never heard of him.

  She stopped at a mom-and-pop grocery store, bought a Coke, went to a pay phone and called the Dawson County Police. The phone rang and rang.

  Finally a voice said, “Hello, Dawson County Police.”

  “Yes, I’m Detective Tasha Montgomery, Little Rock Police. With whom am I speaking?”

  “Sheriff Ennis Bledsoe at your service. What can I do for you, Detective Montgomery?”

  “Yes, I’m here in Dawson to--”

  “You’re in Dawson right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which way did you come in?”

  Does it matter? “Sheriff Bledsoe, I’m--”

  “You can call me Sheriff, Detective. That’s what most people call me.”

  “Okay. Sheriff, I’m here to speak to a Doreen Robinson. I’m letting you--”