Pernicious

by Henderson, James

  Neal stared at his lap. “That’s why he’s coming to live with me.”

  Tasha clenched her fist. “I don’t think so, Neal!”

  “He’s better off with me. I can provide a better life for him. Two parents, a house, a pool, maybe private school. He deserves the finer things in life, don’t you agree?”

  “Is that what she told you?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Let me make myself crystal clear here!” tempering her tone, gesticulating with a finger. “The only way my son lives with you and her is over my dead body! Over my dead body, Neal Montgomery! It’s best you understand that!”

  “What about the courts? The law?”

  “I’m trying to be civil with you, okay? I suggest you change the subject.”

  “I didn’t expect you to be reasonable.”

  “Reasonable!” Tasha shouted. “A psycho has jeopardized my career…my son! And you sit here and tell me I’m not reasonable!”

  Neal clutched the steering wheel. “I think I’d better go now.”

  Tasha grabbed his wrist, just below the Rolex, and held it up. “Is this worth it, Neal? Worth your dignity, self-respect? Your pride as a man? If you say it is I’m gone. You’ll never hear from me again.”

  Neal freed his wrist but said nothing.

  “Tell me if I’m wrong. She’s cold. Materialistic. Possessive. Except when she wants you to do something for her. Neal, deep down in your heart, do you honestly believe she loves you? Do you?”

  Still Neal said nothing.

  Tasha cuffed his chin and turned his face toward hers. “You’re a good man, Neal. I really mean that. Don’t stoop to her level for the lifestyle she’s dangling in your face. You can end this nightmare if you wake up, stop dreaming. Your conscience is bothering you, that’s why the cigarettes.”

  She paused, took a deep breath. “Neal, I want us to be a family again. You, Derrick and me. I won’t needle you like before. If you don’t want to work, fine with me. It’s your call. We’ll make it the best way we can.”

  Neal sat up in his seat.

  Mention not having to work and he’s all ears.

  “All these years!” Neal said. “All these years, you’re finally admitting I was right and you were wrong. All those arguments when I knew what I was talking about and you insisted on raising hell. Like the time with the eggs.”

  He’s pushing it!

  “All you had to do was contribute to a few incubators. Noooo, you couldn’t do that! You whooped and hollered and carried on, I lost the confidence to complete the project. When I set up that rummage sale you ran everybody off. And remember when you--”

  “Hey! Let’s not rehash everything, okay? What’s really important is when are you coming home?”

  Neal stared out the window. “I need time to think about this. I can’t just up and leave the woman.”

  “Yes, you can. We can drive home. Right now. I’ll get my car later.”

  “Let me think about it, okay?”

  “How long will that take?”

  “A couple of days.”

  “A couple of days! Neal, that’s too long.”

  “No, it’s not. When and if I do come back, I’ll be in charge of all the money, including the checkbook. I’ll decide when and how to discipline my son. No one else! Is that right?”

  Now Tasha went silent, wondering had he lost his mind. Again!

  “Is that right, Tasha?”

  She crossed her toes. “Sure, Neal.”

  After Neal drove away, Tasha sat in her car thinking that nothing had been accomplished. Neal, she knew, would not be coming back, not in a couple of days, not in a couple of years. Perry, with all her money and bling, had him hooked. Nothing she had to offer could lure him away from a date with death.

  * * * * *

  Perry put the binoculars back in the glove compartment and started the Cadillac. She would have to hustle to beat Neal back to the house. She floored the accelerator and the gold-rimmed tires squealed with a rage short of her own, waking dual skid marks. Her chest burned. Acid indigestion, a byproduct of her disgust.

  All I’ve done for that big-headed bastard and he goes and stabs me in the back!

  Perry had hopped into the Cadillac seconds after Neal had turned the corner, and followed him at a safe distance. When Neal turned into the park, she drove to a Texaco Station two blocks away and watched from there.

  When Tasha held Neal’s chin in her hand, Perry considered shifting into drive, flying across the street, hopping the curb, zipping across the Bermuda grass and slamming into them. In her mind she could see them, just seconds before impact, their faces stricken with guilt and terror, regretting the moment they decided to fuck with Perry Monette Montgomery.

  As badly as she wanted to--so badly, in fact, she’d had to remove the keys in self-restraint--she knew it couldn’t be done that way. That way was self-incriminating. A surefire way to land in jail. Uh-uh. She had a plan. A damn good plan. Had it since the day she walked home.

  Weasel Dick is fouling up the water, messing up everything. If he goes back to Bumpy Face, who no doubt begged him back, the plan is shot.

  * * * * *

  Neal drove up and parked in front of the garage.

  Perry was on her knees in the yard, trimming flowers with hedge shears.

  “Baby,” Neal said, “it’s hot out here. You oughta take a break. Make sure you’re drinking plenty of fluids.”

  Perry responded with the hedge shears. SNAP!

  “I’m tired,” Neal said, yawning. “I guess I’ll take another nap. Wake me up when dinner ready.”

  SNAP! “Did you find what you were looking for at the store?” SNAP! Her hands gripped the handles so tightly the blades vibrated.

  “Nope. They were out.”

  SNAP! SNAP!

  “What were you looking for?” SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

  “Men shit,” and before stepping inside: “You get a sec, see if you can fix the remote. It’s stuck on TBN.”

  Perry jumped to her feet and stared at the door, bottom lip quivering, teeth grinding, right eye pinched, breathing hard, almost gasping…With all her might and a feral grunt, she hurled the hedge shears.

  Later that evening, Neal would wonder how in the hell did she stick the tool in the brass door.

  Chapter 22

  “Momma,” Derrick said with a mouthful of spaghetti, “may I call my daddy?” Tasha gave him a look. “If you don’t mind?”

  “Honey, don’t you like spending time with me?”

  “Yes, I do. It’s just, you know…boring.”

  Derrick was right, staying cooped up in the house the last five days was boring. He’d spent the time watching television and playing video games, while Tasha had resided in her bedroom, staring at the ceiling, rehashing events.

  Neal, as she expected, did not respond to her proposition.

  She’d tried to call him again and discovered the number changed. In three days she was to appear in Maumelle Circuit Court, where she was certain the judge would grant custody of Derrick to Neal and Perry.

  If that happens, the drama begins.

  “Let’s do something, Momma,” Derrick said.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Anything besides sitting around here all day.”

  Tasha gave his idea some thought, then picked him up and hugged him. “Derrick, how about a trip to the country?”

  “The country?” looking perplexed.

  “Yes, the country. Let’s do something!”

  * * * * *

  Derrick fell asleep ten miles before the Dawson city limits. Tasha was explaining what those large grass-eating animals were when she noticed he’d dozed off. Maybe, she hoped, he would remain asleep long enough for her to settle her business. If not, she would rent a room.

  Derrick thought that this was a diversionary trip to relieve ennui. Tasha had one objective in mind: do whatever necessary to bring felony charges against Perry.

  She dr
ove through downtown Dawson, straight to the Dawson County police station. Sheriff Bledsoe stepped outside just as she pulled up.

  “What a pleasant surprise,” he said. “Come on in. I’ll make a pot of coffee.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I have my son with me. He’s asleep.”

  Sheriff Bledsoe peered inside the car. “He’s a handsome young fellow.”

  “How’s it going with the assault case?”

  “You didn’t drive this far for that, did you?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Aren’t you on administrative leave?”

  “Yes, I am. Who told you?”

  “I read about it in the paper.”

  “That doesn’t change anything between us, does it?”

  “No. I can’t imagine anything coming between our wonderful relationship. What you have on your mind, Detective?”

  “Felonious assault charges--Perry’s, not mine.”

  “You mind if I sit on your car?”

  Tasha nodded. He rested his butt on the hood, the frame squeaking, and the front tire flattened. She wondered if she would need a new set of shocks.

  “Well,” he said, “I ran into problems with the high school photo. Perry finished school in the tenth grade and didn’t take a picture. I found a ninth-grade photo of her. Its grainy.”

  “Craps!”

  “Tell me about it. I showed the photo to Glen, the guy she popped. Not a thing. He couldn’t even remember the incident taking place. Rumor has it he hasn’t been right since Perry whacked him. Hard to tell, he didn’t have much sense to begin with.”

  Tasha stomped her foot. “Craps! Double craps!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What about the other two?”

  “They’ve been on a binge lately. I’ve been waiting for one of em to sober up. They’re both running neck and neck, drunk all day, every day.”

  “A day or two in the drunk tank can be a sobering experience.”

  “Forced sobriety rarely induces a willingness to cooperate.”

  “You mind if I talk to them?”

  “Under whose authority?”

  Tasha smiled at him.

  “Oh, no! We’ll both be out of a job. Look at me. Who you think gonna hire my big butt?”

  “Sheriff, you’re my last chance. If we don’t stop her, no one will. Please!”

  Sheriff Bledsoe rubbed his neck. “If I allow you to do this--I’m not saying I will--you’ll have to promise me you won’t pull any Dirty Harry stuff.”

  Tasha licked her finger and made an imaginary cross on her chest. “Promise.”

  “No rough stuff whatsoever?”

  “Promise.”

  “No threats?”

  “Sheriff, please! I’m five-three, one-hundred-forty pounds. Just how much damage you think I can do?”

  “A lot.”

  “Let’s do it!”

  “Slow your roll. Today is Saturday. The only thing we’ll find out this evening is how atrocious cheap liquor makes one’s breath. We’ll head out in the morning.”

  “Is there a hotel or a motel nearby?”

  “Yes, there is. Just two miles south on Highway Sixty-three. You can’t miss it. A meth-head owns it. It’s nasty, a little smelly. You don’t mind sleeping with cockroaches, do you?”

  “You’re a great salesman. Any other options?”

  “You and your son can stay with me.” Before she could object: “And my mother. She’ll watch him when we leave in the morning.”

  * * * * *

  Sheriff Bledsoe and his mother lived in a two-story, red brick house on the outskirts of Dawson. His mother, Joy Bledsoe, a frail-looking woman with droopy eyes and an infectious smile, met them at the door.

  “Mother,” Sheriff Bledsoe said, “meet Detective Tasha Montgomery and her son Derrick.”

  Tasha shook her hand while Derrick, still sleepy, stumbled inside the house and promptly reclined on a couch. “No, Derrick, no,” Tasha said.

  “He’s all right,” Sheriff Bledsoe said. “Let the boy sleep. He’s tired.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you and Ennis planning to get married?” Mrs. Bledsoe asked.

  Tasha smiled. “No, ma’am.”

  “Shacking, huh?”

  “Mother!” looking embarrassed. “Go to bed or talk about something else.”

  She picked up a rag and a can of Pledge and started wiping a trophy case. “Never mind me. I just think people oughta get married. All this cohabitating and stuff…In my day it was against the law.”

  “Mother, she’s a detective from Little Rock, here on police business.”

  “Just don’t set right with me…and it don’t set right in God’s eyes.” Mumbling: “Oughta marry the girl…ain’t getting no younger…or smaller.”

  “Detective,” Sheriff Bledsoe said, “would you like to sit on the porch?” Tasha nodded and followed him out. “I apologize for my mother.”

  “Don’t mention it. She has your best interest at heart.”

  “Care for some coffee?”

  “Yes, why not. If you don’t mind, would you turn on a light.”

  “I’m sorry.” He went back inside.

  The porch light came on, illuminating the wooden porch swing, three white plastic chairs and the green Astroturf that covered the porch and rolled down the steps to the sidewalk.

  In seconds several bugs, one making a loud flapping noise, hovered around the light bulb.

  Sheriff Bledsoe returned with two coffee cups on a metal tray.

  A mosquito bit Tasha’s wrist and, as she was scratching, another bit her neck. “Is it me or do they just like city folk?”

  Sheriff Bledsoe laughed and sat next to her on the porch swing. “They like everybody.”

  “Why you not scratching?”

  “They know better. You can call it a night if you want to.”

  “In a minute,” waving a mosquito buzzing near her ear. “I wonder why Perry drove down here. If her mother and daughter are gone, what’s her motivation for coming here?”

  “She has a few cousins here and a slew of stepbrothers and stepsisters.”

  “Oh, yeah. I doubt she’d visit Uncle Billy Bob or anyone else if there isn’t a payoff in it for her.”

  “You got that right.”

  “Then what was the purpose of her visit?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever the reason, I bet she was up to no good.”

  Tasha scratched the palm of her hand, the worst place for a mosquito bite. “Exactly what I’m thinking. Everything she does is preplanned, carefully thought out to serve her sick needs. Around the time she met Neal she’s down here pistol-whipping a wino. I think the two events are connected somehow.”

  “You think she planned what happened at her house?”

  “No way she could have known we were coming. I’m sure she would’ve ambushed me with their marriage one way or the other. Now she’s scheming to kill Neal and somehow pin it on me. On top of that, she’s after my son.”

  “Excuse me,” staring into the darkness. “Isn’t that a tad farfetched, even for Perry? Murder an officer’s spouse and frame the officer? She couldn’t possibly think she could get away with all that.”

  “Ha! She knows how to execute the perfect murder, make it look like an accident. All but one of her victims were poor black men. You and I both know that no department in Arkansas is going to investigate an accident as a homicide when the victim is poor, black. That’s just the way it is, and she knows it.”

  A long while the two sat there gently swinging back and forth, saying nothing, Sheriff Bledsoe sipping coffee, Tasha scratching mosquito bites.

  “Well,” Sheriff Bledsoe said, getting to his feet, “I guess we better call it a night. I’ll show you and your son to a room. In the morning we’ll hit the ground running.”

  He led her and Derrick, wide awake now, upstairs to a spare bedroom furnished with bunk beds and a black-and-white television on a small dresser. Derrick went s
traight for the television and turned it on. Tasha hopped up on the top bunk and continued scratching.

  Hours later--it seemed like minutes to Tasha--there was a rap on the door.

  “Detective?” Sheriff Bledsoe said.

  “Do what?” Tasha answered.

  “It’s time to go to work. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  She slid off the bed. Derrick was asleep on the floor. She picked him up and laid him on the bottom bunk. “I love you,” she whispered and kissed his forehead.

  When she stepped downstairs, Sheriff Bledsoe, fully dressed and looking perky, was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. “Want a cup?”

  Tasha shook her head. “Uh-uh. What time is it?”

  “A quarter till four.”

  “In the morning?”

  “The early bird catches the worm. This is the best time to catch people off guard; they’re sleepy and disorientated.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “One other thing, Detective. Uh, you’re not packing, are you?”

  Tasha stared at him, befuddled. “Packing what?”

  “A weapon.”

  “No.”

  “I would’ve slept better if I asked you that earlier. ”

  Fifteen minutes later they were cruising through downtown Dawson. Tasha rested her head on the window and dozed off while Sheriff Bledsoe drove and sang along with Rascal Flatts. The paved road ended and the car yawed and pitched in large craters.

  Sheriff Bledsoe stopped the car. “We’re here.”

  Tasha sat up and looked around. An ebon milieu, save for a bug-infested porch light atop the door of a shotgun shack.

  “Don’t forget your promise,” Sheriff Bledsoe said.

  “Who lives here?”

  “I got to thinking about what you said last night. What was Perry doing down here? And then it hit me.” He unscrewed a thermos and took a sip. “Nothing like fresh coffee in the morning.”

  “Care to share it?” Tasha said. He handed her the thermos. Tasha shook her head. “What hit you last night?”

  “My friend Jake considers himself a entrepreneur. His main source of income is bootleg liquor. The right price he’ll sell anything. Drugs, hot cars, porno flicks, you name it.”