My Bad Grandad

by A W Hartoin

  “Listen here, Miss Fancy Pants Watts. I run a clean bar. We don’t do prostitution. Our girls are good girls. It’s a controlled environment. Our patrons pay a fee for certain activities and that’s it.”

  I had to admit that The Show Bar, while mildly sleazy, wasn’t really sexual. Nothing could be that well-lit and sexy at the same time. “I didn’t mean to offend you. The Show Bar is just a little, you know, different.”

  “We run a clean place. Now out at Glencoe, you can get anything you want and plenty of stuff you don’t,” said Bob.

  “So you kicked those two out. Were they talking to anyone that stayed? Do you remember who waited on them last night?”

  “Hold on. Hold on. Let me think.” He took a drag and yelled at a waitress passing by to bring him a shot of rye. “I don’t remember who served them last night and we took in a lot. Never find the receipt. As for tonight, there were some women and a couple men they were talking to. Not a lively group. Some dour old biddies. Got the feeling they were looking for someone and didn’t find them.

  “Were they wearing Gold Star Brigade shirts?” I asked.

  “That’s them.”

  I glanced in the door. “Are they still here?”

  “Sorry. No. They took off a couple hours ago. Good thing, too. We don’t make shit on Diet Coke.”

  The waitress brought Bob his shot and she asked what we were talking about. I told her that I was looking for the Steelers guys. She hadn’t served them, but Nanette had. She’d send her out when she saw her.

  Nanette came out after five minutes, looking frazzled and in need of a serious break. “Yeah, I remember them. What a couple of freaking pigs. The old guy tried to feel me up in front of his kid.”

  “They were father and son?”

  “I think so. You’d think a man that age would know how to act.”

  “Did they use any first names?”

  “The dad called his son Travis, I think,” said Nanette.

  “Yesterday, they were wearing Steelers jerseys. What about tonight?”

  She tapped her chin. “Army shirts. POW and MIA. The dad said I should give him a feel because he was a veteran. Dirtbag.”

  “Any idea where they’re staying?” I asked.

  “The son offered to let me sleep in their tent tonight. Naked, of course.”

  “They’re all charm.”

  “No kidding, but you can probably find them if you really want to. They said they were only a couple blocks away.”

  “There’s a campground in town?”

  Bob laughed. “Folks take money anyway they can get it around here. They let people camp in their yards during the rally.”

  My heart sank. Sturgis wasn’t a big town, but I wasn’t about to search tents.

  “They smelled, so I think they were in the Wilsons’ yard. They don’t set up portable showers or anything,” said Nanette.

  Score.

  Nanette gave me directions and Wallace scampered out with a chicken leg in her mouth. Aaron was chasing, or rather he was walking, after her. She hid behind my leg like I was a protective force. Please.

  “You can’t have chicken bones.” I squatted and attempted to pry it out of her slobbery jaws. No luck.

  Aaron held up a cube of something. She dropped the leg and begged. She actually begged. He tossed the cube and she snapped it up. I grabbed the disgusting chicken leg and tossed it in the trash.

  “Is Wallace your dog?” asked Nanette. “I just love her. She’s adorable.”

  “She’s alright.” I just got that out when Wallace walked over and threw up on my boot. Since it was pleather, it slid off in a really disturbing way, leaving a moist streak.

  “I need those boots,” said Nanette. “I get thrown up on almost every night.”

  “If you want them, they’re yours,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “Trade me your Vans.”

  “But they’re old and worn out. Those boots look new.”

  I sat on a crate and unzipped them. “They’re not that new. I’ve got about sixty blisters and they’re probably filled with pus.”

  “What size?”

  “Six.”

  Nanette sat down and we exchanged footwear. She thanked me so much I felt guilty. I got broken-in Vans and she got pure evil in the form of stilettos. She was thrilled. I would’ve given her my pants, but I’d have to cut them off.

  Nanette tottered away in her mostly new, possibly pus-filled boots and I eased my feet into comfort.

  “Now what?” asked Cornell.

  “Flip a coin. Motel or tent?”

  Aaron had the coin and he flipped it. Motel, and it was a good thing, too.

  Chapter Seventeen

  SOMETIMES I GET lucky. That night in Sturgis was one of those times. Steven Edward Dudgeon had a memory problem or he was just an idiot. He’d written his room number on his key card. Room 10 and a little note, “Don’t forget this.”

  Unbelievable. Who does that?

  When I opened the room, I found out who. A guy who’d smoked so much weed there probably wasn’t much sense left in his brain.

  “This can’t all be weed,” said Cornell as he slowly turned in a circle. There were blocks of weed stacked up against the walls. The smell was noxious and kind of oily. I felt like it was seeping into my skin. Wallace started snuffling and sneezing. She sounded adorable, but she looked miserable.

  Aaron pointed at a table between the double beds. Methamphetamine. I knew because they’d written “Meth” on the Ziploc label. This was why my dad always said, “Thank God they’re stupid.” Until that moment, I didn’t know how stupid they could get.

  “So they’re drug dealers,” said Cornell.

  “They have to be,” I said, gazing at an ashtray with the remains of thirty joints in it. “And they like their product.”

  “You’d think they’d be more relaxed.”

  “No kidding.” I snapped on a pair of gloves and started going through their drawers. Lots of clothes and antacids, prescriptions and over-the-counter meds. I guess dealing gives you an upset stomach. I went through the bedroom and found Dilaudid, Fentanyl, and Propofol stashed under the bed, but no Isradipine. That didn’t matter though. Whoever killed Hal used his own meds to do it. I couldn’t get a bead on Steve and Jeanette. Why did they hide the painkillers under the bed when the room was stacked with pot and meth was on the table? The room stank. Even if the maids didn’t clean during their stay, the smell would be in the carpet and linens. Somebody was bound to notice.

  Dad would’ve said this was a good thing. He thought all information was useful. It gave you a picture of people that they didn’t want you to see. That was true. I really didn’t want to see that room. Because now I had to do something about those douchebags. I considered calling Chuck, but he’d just lose his nut about me pulling a B and E. He knew I’d done it before, but we weren’t dating then. I had a feeling that the rules were different now, especially since he wasn’t around.

  I’ll worry about that later. Much later.

  Armed with my procrastination plan, I searched the bathroom. Other than a lot of wrinkle treatment lotions and Rogaine, the bathroom was nearly empty. No pot or anything else of interest. I didn’t find the knife sheath. Of course, they could’ve tossed it. I would’ve, but considering the smell that had to taint the paint and carpet and the lack of a Do Not Disturb sign on the door, Steve and Jeanette weren’t all that sensible.

  I stepped out of the bathroom. “Nothing. Let’s get—”

  Sirens erupted in the distance.

  Cornell went stiff. “You don’t think that’s about us being in here.”

  I said I didn’t, but my luck usually sucked so you never know. I wiped the keycard and left it next to the meth. Steve forgot it. Imagine that.

  We left the room, careful to wipe down the door knobs. The door closed behind me and I leaned over the second-floor railing, looking for the lights. The sirens were nearby, within blocks, but they weren’t getti
ng closer.

  “It’s not us,” I said.

  Bark.

  “Quiet, Wallace.”

  Bark.

  Aaron clamped her jaws shut and Cornell started to say something, but I held my finger to my lips. Someone below us said breathlessly, “Did you hear a dog?”

  “They don’t allow dogs,” said a man.

  “They allowed us.”

  It was Steve and Jeanette. Cornell went pale and jerked to the left and then right, not knowing which way to run. I held up my hand. There were two sets of stairs. We just had to wait a second.

  “What’s wrong with us?” asked Steve.

  “Why don’t you ask Ace, if he survives?” Jeanette laughed harshly. “Hold on. I’m worn out. It’s been a long day.”

  “But a productive one.”

  They laughed before moving off to the left and we went right.

  “Guys like him can always catch a break.”

  She laughed again. “Not this time. They’ve always treated you like shit.”

  “Not Big Mike. He’s a good—”

  I lost the thread of the conversation as we went down the stairs. I stopped on the landing, holding my breath, but I could only make out an argument about the keycard. Jeanette had hers and the door closed with a bang.

  Silently, we went down the stairs and left the motor lodge, passing into the Rally Inn parking lot. Cornell was on his phone, typing away.

  “I hope you’re not letting the world know what we’ve been doing,” I said.

  He shook his head and held up his phone. It showed Google maps with a star on one street in Sturgis. “I think the cops might be at the Wilson property.”

  I stood stock still for a second and then said, “That’s probably not good.” I took off with Cornell and Aaron behind me, heading for the Wilsons’.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” said Cornell.

  “Why not?” I asked. “We’re just curious passersby.”

  “Who just did something highly illegal.”

  I grinned at him. “You know you had fun.”

  He tried not to grin back and failed. “I did, but that doesn’t mean I want to get caught. My wife would kill me if I got arrested in Sturgis, of all places.”

  “We didn’t take anything and left no evidence. We’re good.” I trotted toward the sirens. After a couple of turns, the scene came into view and what a scene. There were a least ten cruisers surrounding a corner lot with a white clapboard house. There was a woman screaming on the porch, clinging to a cop, who was trying to lead her away, but she wouldn’t budge. It was Trevino and he saw me, frowning fiercely as I walked up between cars.

  He pointed at me. “Stop her!”

  Bennett appeared out of nowhere and stepped in front of me. I juked to the right, but he nabbed me, despite having bloodshot eyes and looking droopy all over. “I knew you’d be a part of this.”

  “A part of what? What happened?” I asked.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I stepped back and crossed my arms. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  “Miss Watts, I want to know why you, of all people, happen to show up here.”

  “What happened?’

  One of the cops that I didn’t recognize yelled, “Clear the area.”

  We weren’t the only ones to show up. Bikers and neighbors were gathering, trying to get a glimpse at whatever was behind the wall of cruisers.

  A news van screeched to a halt on the side street and a crew raced over, setting up for a live shot.

  Bennett tried to lead me away. “I thought you were going to The Ornery Elk.”

  “Change of plans.”

  “What’s with the eye makeup?”

  I wrenched my arm out of his grasp as he tried to drag me away. “What happened here?”

  “You tell me,” said Bennett, frustration distorting his features.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You know.”

  “Tell me what happened and I may just tell you some things you’d like to know,” I said, holding out Aaron’s phone behind me.

  The news camera guy said loudly, “And three, two, one.”

  “A shocking development in Sturgis tonight. A shooting erupted at the home of Richard and Meredith Wilson.”

  I grinned at Bennett. “Never mind.”

  “Dammit,” said Bennett.

  Trevino got the woman off the porch and into a cruiser. He slammed the door and gave me the stink eye. An ambulance arrived, but nobody was in any particular hurry.

  “So they’re dead,” I said.

  “No comment,” said Bennett.

  “You don’t have to comment.”

  “No comment.”

  “Okay. See ya.” I did an about-face and walked away. Cornell was off to the left holding up Aaron’s phone, recording the scene. Good man. He had a little detective in him.

  “Get her!” yelled Trevino.

  Bennett chased me down and grabbed my arm. “You’re not leaving.”

  “Am I under arrest?” I asked.

  He drew back in surprise. “Why? Should you be?”

  Yes.

  “No. I’m just a curious bystander.”

  Bennett blew out a breath and seemed to shrink. “I’m so damn tired. This is the worst rally we’ve had in over ten years and you’re here.”

  Trevino marched over. “Or Mercy Watts comes to the rally and we have the worst rally in ten years.”

  Aaron came over and handed me the snoozing Wallace. She was adorable when she was asleep, apart from the gas, that is. “As if this”—I waved my free arm at the house—“is my fault.”

  “It very well could be. Why are you here? It’s one o’clock in the morning. You’re supposed to be in bed.”

  “Like a good little girl?” I asked. “I don’t think so.”

  Trevino got out his notepad and poised his pen over it. “So what is Miss Mercy Watts doing at the scene of a homicide for the second time in thirty-six hours?”

  “Just happened to be walking by.” I yawned dramatically as Cornell finished filming and retreated under a tree. “Maybe I should go to bed like a good little girl.”

  Bennett took my arm and squeezed. “I’ve had enough of this. You know something and I want to know what it is. You weren’t just walking by. You don’t just do anything.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Things happen. I just happen to be there.”

  “Not this time,” said Trevino with a grimace.

  I decided to throw him a bone. Mostly, because if they had any skills to speak of, they’d talk to Bob and know I’d been sent over. “No, not this time. I was informed that someone I wanted to talk to might be here.”

  “Who?” Bennett started to look more lively.

  “Who are your vics?” It was late and I just wanted to bother them. They were sure bothering me.

  “Mercy!” shouted Trevino. The crowd, including the camera crew, looked at us. “Dammit, woman.” He dragged me away from the street light to the shadow of a tree.

  “I’ll tell you the one name I’ve got, if you will confirm they’re a victim. If you don’t, I’m done. See ya,” I said.

  Trevino rubbed his eyes so hard it must’ve hurt. “Fine, but this conversation is off the record.”

  “Travis.”

  “Huh?”

  “That’s the name I have.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  I leaned on the tree and scratched Wallace’s noggin. I looked casual, but the latex pants had cut off the circulation to my feet. I could’ve walked on glass and not felt it. “If I knew his full name, I’d tell you. But I don’t, so I can’t.”

  “Crap.”

  “Believe me, I know. It’s been a long day and I really should be at the hospital bright and early. Do you have a dead Travis?”

  He groaned and said, “Yes. I have a dead Travis Millford.”

  “And his father is named?”

  “Wayne Millford.”
/>   “Also dead?”

  “Very. Shot multiple times in their tent,” said Trevino. “Possibly with their own gun. We found drugs and a small cache of weapons.”

  I asked what kind of weapons and he listed several late-model .22s and a couple Magnums. Nothing from the Vietnam era. We both got quiet. I don’t know what he was thinking, but I was thinking of my guys. Barney and Janet decided to stay at the hospital. That should be easy to confirm. Grandad and Robert were obviously out of the running. Steve and Jeanette were most definitely in. Big Mike was supposed to go back to The Ornery Elk. Maybe someone could confirm that, maybe not.

  “Are you going to tell me what you’ve got or what?” asked Trevino.

  I wanted to say ‘Or what’ so bad, but I didn’t. I liked cops for the most part, except when it came to buying pointless appliances or telling me to go to bed. I yawned and then told him about Bob and Nanette the waitress. I left out our little sightseeing trip through Steve and Jeanette’s smelly room.

  “What’s the connection between the Millfords and your Grandad?” asked Trevino.

  “I have no idea. They wouldn’t admit to knowing them, but they clearly did.”

  He rubbed his eyes again, making them look raw and angry. “I went at them every which way, but they wouldn’t give anything up. You really don’t know what happened to bind these guys together?”

  I told him what Uncle Morty told me. It wasn’t really helpful, but it was all I had.

  “Got to get back,” said Trevino. “Try to stay away from…everything.”

  “Everything’s a lot,” I replied.

  He shook his head. “Worst rally in ten years.”

  I felt a little guilty. I don’t know why, but I blame Aunt Miriam. She tried to make me feel guilty about everything and I guess she was getting through. “One more thing,” I called out.

  “Yeah?” Both Trevino and Bennett, by their cruiser, brightened up.

  “I got the names of the fighters, Steve and Jeanette Dudgeon.”

  Trevino wrote the names down. “Anything else?”

  “Just that they smell pretty interesting.”

  The cops frowned and I walked away, wondering how long it would take for Trevino and Bennett to discover the Dudgeon stash. As it turned out, too long.