The Killing King of Gratis

by Jay Jackson

  “Listen you complete idiot, listen to me!”

  “What?”

  “Listen, we have to do a thing with some old crackhead who knew the dead girl. She has some information we can use to figure out this thing.”

  “Crackhead? What?”

  Todd had little sympathy for Scott’s new condition. Mama always loved Scott best and the little shit didn’t deserve it. Having to tell him what to do, and how to do it, only increased the number of gnats Todd swallowed every time he opened his mouth.

  “Just come with me and stay out of my way.”

  “What?”

  The day after Delroy met with Althea, Scott and Todd stopped near the pool hall and watched her house. After looking around, Todd decided that they would park about fifty yards away and come through the backyard where Delroy was so sick the day before.

  They moved the Impala, fought their way through the weeds, and finally made it to Althea’s back porch. Todd figured they would storm in through the back door. He found that, usually, inviting himself in was much more effective than knocking.

  He went first, crashing through the back door and immediately falling into a pot of grits spilled over the kitchen floor. Scott was right behind him. He almost fell on top of Todd but managed to keep his balance.

  “Get the crackhead!” Todd screamed.

  Scott had no problem hearing that and charged into the main room. The television was cranked at full volume, and Bob Barker was asking an old lady from Fresno to guess the price of a Tahoe ski package. Scott stopped in front of Althea’s new TV and gaped at what he saw there.

  “Scott, what are you doing?” Todd got no reply so he screamed louder. “Where the hell are you?” Still nothing.

  Todd stood up and wiped the grits, cool and gelatinous, off his new blue and white seersucker pants. Grits, he thought, randomly wishing he was at the Majestic Diner on Ponce eating some right now. He walked into the main room with his gun drawn. He was going to shoot whoever was keeping Scott silent, or pistol whip his brother for not answering.

  Coming into the room he also stopped in his tracks, not two feet from Scott. The smell of bleach was overpowering. As Bob Barker’s crowd screamed “lower, lower,” they met Althea Lacey for the first and last time.

  Sitting up in bed with the covers at her feet, she wore nothing but shorts. Her breasts were bare and stacked one on top of the other. She grinned at them with eyes wide open, her arms laid at her side with a glass pipe inches from her fingers. They barely noticed any of that.

  What caught their eye was the crow bar sticking out of Althea’s chest. It was starting to sag now, but was buried at least six inches into her body. The medical examiner would determine that it transected her aorta, pierced her heart, and came to rest in her left lung. She bled to death internally, blood filling her peritoneal cavity. There was surprisingly little of the sanguine fluid on her torso or the bed.

  “Shit,” was all Todd could utter.

  “What,” said Scott, and then, “do you think she’s dead? She looks dead to me.”

  “Shit yeah she’s dead! Shit! Shit!” Todd shook his head.

  “What do we do now?”

  Todd looked at the smoke stained ceiling.

  “We are going out the way we came in. If you touched anything, wipe it down. We’re gonna get in the car, call Mama, and see what she wants us to do. Hopefully she’ll tell us to drive until we get back inside the perimeter, at which time we’ll go to Alfredo’s, order two plates of lasagna, and get drunk.”

  Todd figured he would be drinking his fourth Peroni in three or four hours.

  Scott didn’t hear everything but understood most of it. He was looking forward to going home. Gratis is too damn hot, he thought, and I need to go to the Cheetah. He had some making up to do and lap dances to buy.

  Todd called Mama and she instructed them to stay away from dead bodies, whether in their creation or otherwise. Getting paid to rough up a suspected killer was one thing, but being around when other dead bodies started popping up was another. Her gut told her it wouldn’t be the last dead body found in this case, and her boys didn’t need that kind of heat so far away from where she had influence. “You babies come on home. Make sure you get sweet Scott something to eat and drink after you’ve been on the road for a while. You know how light headed he gets.”

  “Of course she doesn’t care if I eat or not,” Todd mumbled to himself as he wiped away any traces of the two in Althea’s house.

  “What, what?” Scott replied, not sure if his brother was speaking to him or not.

  “Screw you!” Todd yelled, loud enough for his brother to hear him. He wondered if Mama would believe that Scott ending up in a gator pond could happen by accident. He immediately knew she wouldn’t, and decided to make the best of things.

  “Mama wants you to drive,” he yelled at Scott. No waiting for me before I get drunk. They made their way back to the car and left. Todd made sure they stopped at the first liquor store on their way out of town.

  22.

  A Good Round

  Skipper never played a better round of golf in his life, and shot no worse than par or better on every hole. He finally made it to the tee-box on the par five 18th hole at the Neck Country Club.

  His drive boomed almost three hundred yards. He played a draw and was left looking at the hole about two hundred twenty yards away. It was tucked behind a bunker and immediately in front of a small pond. Usually he would take a six iron and lay up about forty-five yards from the hole. He could hit his pitching wedge to the green from that distance. Today he was feeling adventurous, though, and took his three wood out for the shot.

  His playing partners snickered when he took the wood out of his bag. “Look, dude, you’re having a nice round, but this ain’t your day job,” one said.

  The second one just started singing “you da man, you da man.” He was drunk, having stalked the drink cart that day, and couldn’t think of anything pithy to say. Vodka had that effect.

  The last one, Erik Johnson, quietly asked, “you wanna make a bet?”

  “Sure,” Skipper answered, “what are the particulars?”

  “I bet you $500 that you miss the green and land in the catbox, and you have to give me $1000 if you go in the drink.”

  Skipper looked at his club.

  “I’ll take that,” he said, “and if I land on the green you have to give me $500, and $1000 if I put it in the hole.”

  “Okay, you’re on,” Erik said. The drunk member of the foursome changed the lyrics of his song to “put it in the hole, put it in the hole.” Erik laughed.

  Skipper approached the ball, lined up the shot, and swung away. The ball landed on the green, rolled past the hole, and headed toward the water. When it was two feet from the edge of the green the backspin caught and the ball rolled back the way it came. As the foursome looked on it silently fell into the hole.

  Erik felt sick. He didn’t really have the $1000 to lose, but a bet was a bet.

  Skipper just smiled and said, “you know I don’t take checks.”

  After they settled up, Skipper got into his golf cart and turned it toward his car in the parking lot. He felt great.

  Damn, he thought, golfing after killing someone is amazing.

  He was on a roll. Killing Millie scratched an undeniable itch. Her death was a relief coupled with the discovery of something wonderful inside of him. He started out that kill with some trepidation, if not dread. He fantasized about the act but didn’t know how he would respond once it was done. He responded, to his surprise, with vigor.

  Killing Althea was wholly different. He had to plan quickly once he learned she may have witnessed Millie’s death, or at least her disappearance. This wasn’t a problem. His fear of killing was gone and he was clear-headed, thinking with military precision during his preparation.

  He went to her home around four in the morning, betting she would be high when he got there. She was. He kept an extremely low profile while going
in, only carrying a bottle of bleach to pour over the crime scene. He counted on finding a suitable weapon once he arrived. The crow bar, lying in the back yard next to her porch, beckoned him to use it. He slipped in the unlocked back door and found his target watching her new television in the main room.

  Althea smiled at him at first. She was feeling good, watching an old “Mama’s Family” rerun. Acquaintances often walked in unexpectedly at Althea’s house. It was a hazard of her lifestyle and nothing new to her.

  She started to hand him her pipe and then saw the raised crowbar. Her last thoughts, besides the face of her child, were this ain’t good and that damn Delroy. She was too high to do anything about it.

  Skipper left immediately upon killing her and dousing the scene with bleach. He almost laughed out loud as he left. This killing was easy, and he got a rush of power and euphoria. It was spectacular. As he drove home, however, the euphoria started slipping away. “Too soon,” he whispered to himself. This killing was different.

  He parsed through the differences in the killings as his cart puttered down the golf path. He anticipated Millie’s much longer, where Althea’s had been rushed. He also reasoned that the collateral damage done to Gratis itself was much greater from Millie’s death. Communities don’t weep over the loss of another crackhead, and church pews wouldn’t fill for their funerals. The full circus of death intoxicated Skipper. This last murder wouldn’t create one.

  Well, my man, what are you gonna do next? Soon he smiled to himself. He knew how to hurt Gratis. You had to take one of her children, but not just any child. This child would have to be missed. This child would have to be someone the town was looking forward to meeting as she grew into womanhood. His thoughts turned to Delroy and all the machinations he was conducting to protect his family.

  He wondered what Delroy would do if he knew who Skipper really was. He wondered what Delroy would do if he knew of the new thought starting to crowd his mind. Mostly, though, he wondered where Delroy’s niece was hiding herself these days.

  He lurched onto the pavement off the course and drove the cart to his car. He got out and retrieved a cold bottle of Bombay gin from a cooler in the back seat. He had a lot of thinking to do, and he was going to need some inspiration. After all, it was a long drive home.

  23.

  Anna’s New Room

  Delroy was at his office the next morning when Cozette called him with the news of Althea’s death. As always, Cozette knew before anyone else. He was walking out the door when she called. He spoke to her while driving to Anna’s house.

  A courthouse friend called him earlier and gave him the heads up that Broyles was charging Anna with contributing to the deprivation of a minor. Knox was on Broyles’ ass about finding Meg and Peck. He knew he could hold her in jail for weeks as long as he could find some charge that might fit.

  The charge was bullshit but in this case bullshit would have to do. The D.A. had kids in college and worked as a prosecutor for a government paycheck since getting out of law school. He had no idea how to survive without that paycheck and was not interested in finding out. He needed to sweat out the children’s whereabouts from Anna. Failing that, he had to at least look like he was trying.

  Delroy was already fuming about this as he drove to Anna’s house. The news of Althea’s death hit like a hammer.

  “I heard she had a crow bar sticking out of her chest when they found her. Maybe it had something to do with Millie’s death, maybe not.”

  “Are the children alright?”

  “Yes, they’re staying inside today, although I’m not sure I can keep Peck from roaming the swamp with Matthew. Delroy, did you hear what I said about Althea?”

  “Yep, hell Cozette, I’m at a loss about it. What happened to her son?”

  “Nothing about him. As far as I know there was only one dead body. I don’t even know if the police realize she had a son.”

  “Well, please keep your ears open. I’ll call you later, and thanks again for everything. I really mean it.” At that, Delroy hung up.

  He was worried about Terrence, but the first thing he had to do was get Anna out of town. Delroy was boiling mad at the D.A. He tried cases against Broyles, was always courteous, and this was how he was repaid. Delroy had a mind to run against him the next election. He didn’t want the job, but he did want to see Broyles out in the real world trying to make it.

  Delroy arrived at Anna’s around ten that morning. She was already packed and waiting for him on the porch when he pulled into the driveway. He was taking her to Dalton, up near Chattanooga, to stay with a law school friend who lived in a former carpet magnate’s home. There was plenty of room for Anna there, and he was glad to take her in. Delroy had bent more than a few elbows with him at Neighbors and the Highland Tap after study sessions at the GSU law library. Like Delroy, he was disgusted by the thought of a good mother going to jail for protecting her children.

  Two sheriff’s cars came into Anna’s driveway, blocking Delroy’s just as he put his car into park. Tommy stepped out of one and started toward Delroy. Delroy met him before he could take two steps, immediately getting in his face.

  “Tommy, you try to take Anna, and you’re gonna have to kill me. Keep your damn hands off of her.”

  The deputies from the other car started to draw their guns. Anna shrieked at Delroy to calm down, telling him to keep it together. Tommy waved his deputies off and took a step back from Delroy.

  “Look, nobody needs to get hurt. There’s an arrest warrant for Anna, whether there should be or not. I came because I’ve been knowing her since we were children.”

  “Thanks for nothing, Tommy. You knowing her doesn’t change the fact that you want to put her in jail for something you know she didn’t do. Like you said, you know her.”

  Tommy shook his head. He hated this and decided that Delroy, for all his self-righteousness, was correct.

  “Look, I have to serve the warrants, but I control where I house the prisoners. Anna can stay in my personal office until this gets straightened out. I’ll have to book her in, but she won’t see a day in jail. She just won’t be free to leave the office, that’s all. My secretary knows her. She’ll bring her meals to her, and I have a television in there. She can sleep on the sofa, or we’ll bring a cot, whatever she wants. I’ll treat her like she was my sister, Delroy. You can even ride with us to the sheriff’s office.”

  “Delroy, I can live with that,” Anna assured him.

  Delroy knew when the best offer was on the table. He went to the porch, helped Anna with her bags, and walked her back to Tommy’s patrol car. Tommy opened the back door for her, but Delroy opened the front passenger door and helped her in. He walked back to where Tommy was holding the door and whispered in his ear before getting in the backseat.

  As they drove to the sheriff’s office, the first part of Delroy’s whispered words kept repeating themselves in Tommy’s mind. “The killer drove an old green Ford pickup. Look for it, and you got your man.”

  Tommy knew that finding an old green Ford pickup truck would be easier said than done. Many older trucks didn’t have a tag and were kept out at the farm. They stayed in the fields and only ventured out to the nearest country store or gas station. Hell, he didn’t know too many folks who didn’t have some old truck to peter around in.

  It was a start, however, and something Motte could look into. Looking in the rear view mirror at Delroy, he wondered what else the son of a bitch knew but didn’t tell him.

  Anna hummed softly as they drove into the sheriff’s office parking lot. Tommy looked again in the backseat, tempted to leave Delroy in the car. Maybe he’ll melt in all this heat. That would solve a lot of problems.

  Tommy parked and reluctantly opened the back door. Delroy got out and helped Anna out of the front. As they walked into the sheriff’s office, Tommy pondered the last words Delroy whispered.

  “My family will be safe. Whatever it takes.” Tommy took this as a promise and a threat. All things bei
ng the same, he couldn’t blame Delroy, not one bit.

  24.

  Nowhere to Turn

  After making sure Anna was settled in at the sheriff’s office, Delroy left to see the D.A. The thought of Anna getting fingerprinted burned his soul, searing him like a newly branded calf.

  He walked into Broyle’s office, past the secretary who kept insisting he would need an appointment. Broyles was seated at his desk when Delroy came in and leaned across it.

  “Delroy, you’re about to go to jail. You leave now or I’ll have my investigators drag you out of here.”

  “I’ll leave soon enough, asshole. Just wanted to let you know that I am Anna’s attorney and she’s asserting her Fifth Amendment rights. She’s not talking to anyone but me about her charges or anything else. As soon as I leave here I’m filing a complaint with the bar. You might be immune from me suing you, but you’re gonna have to answer for your actions to somebody. I’ll help them all I can.”

  “I’m also calling my friends with the media in Atlanta. You better go get a haircut because they’re gonna be on you like horseflies on a pile of shit. I’m going to be all over the news, helping them every step of the way, giving personal tours of Gratis and the crime scenes, whatever they want. I’m also giving them everything I know about your personal history. Those lights are pretty damn bright, Broyles, and your secrets are as nasty as anybody else’s.”

  “Get the hell out of my office!”

  “I’m leaving, but remember, once you lose your law license, that this is where it started. You have messed around with the wrong man’s family, and it’s gonna bite you on the ass. Tell the judge I’ll be at the bond hearing for Anna. If he denies bond I’ll go to the Judicial Qualifications Committee. This shit is gonna stop one way or another.”

  Delroy left and nodded at the investigator standing outside of Broyles’ office as he walked by. They knew each other since first grade, and the investigator just nodded back and chuckled. He thought his boss was full of shit, too.