Thorns on Roses

by Randy Rawls

  Tom opted to go mute on the subject. Finishing his French fries, he said, “Excellent meal. You should publish a book on what every vamp should know about feeding a man.”

  “Sure,” she said, her words saying the flirting was over. “How’s Lonnie? Have you heard anything about Mary Lou’s funeral?

  “Lonnie’s home and improving. The funeral is tomorrow afternoon at three. Would you like to attend with me?”

  His question seemed to catch her aback. She was quiet for a moment. “Yes, I would. From what I saw of Lonnie and Charlie at the hospital, they are very nice, sincere people. I like and respect them.”

  “How about me?”

  “Makes me doubt my first impression of them.”

  “Okay,” Tom said. “But I suggest you not wear your slut outfit. There’ll probably be a lot of our old SF buddies there. We’d have to protect you with a SWAT team.”

  Abby smiled. “Pick me up at one.” She slid out of the booth and sashayed toward the exit, exaggerating the hip swing. Over her shoulder, she said, “Pay for dinner, and leave a nice tip. Hank earned it.”

  * * * *

  The funeral drew a large solemn crowd—family friends and classmates of Mary Lou. Sniffling and passing of tissues accompanied the eulogy and the graveside ceremony. Charlie kept a protective arm around Lonnie as if attempting to ward off the evil of the world. It did little good except to provide the physical and emotional support she needed to stay on her feet.

  Tom scrutinized the attendees, wondering if the Thorns on Roses gang would show. His emotions were in turmoil. While he’d love to corner one or more of the bastards and throw them into the grave, he didn’t want to create a scene—Charlie, Lonnie, and Mary Lou were more important than that. He sighed in relief when he saw none in the crowd.

  After the interment, Tom and Abby followed Charlie and Lonnie home, where a small group of close friends gathered. Muted conversation told stories about Mary Lou and what a wonderful person she was. More tears punctuated the anecdotes. Gradually, the crowd thinned until only Tom and Abby remained, Abby sitting beside Lonnie, holding her hands. Tom signaled Charlie to accompany him outside.

  They walked onto the patio and settled into deck chairs. The sun slipped behind the neighboring houses, dropping the temperature a few degrees as shade enveloped them.

  “The mosquitoes will be out soon,” Charlie said. “Should I get the Off?”

  “Naw. They remind me of our days together in Special Forces.”

  Charlie smiled, his face relaxing for the first time that day. “There are better memories than being eaten alive in the boonies.”

  Tom chuckled. “Yeah. I suppose so.” He paused. “Have you heard from the police?”

  “Nothing worth hearing. I spoke with Detective Richards yesterday. They haven’t learned much. No leads, but they’re still investigating.” Charlie paused, looking reflective. “You don’t think this will go down as an unsolved case, do you?”

  Tom hesitated, considering his response. He could hear the pain in Charlie’s question. “Yes, I expect it will. But not for the reasons you’re thinking. No matter what happens, the police will be too late. Mary Lou’s killers will get what they have coming to them. I promise you, and I promise Lonnie. I swore it on Mary Lou’s grave today.”

  Charlie stared at him. “You know something, don’t you? You know who did it. Spit it out, Tom. I’ll cut their balls off and strangle them with the sac.”

  “You have Lonnie to take care of. She won’t make it without you. The killers are mine. If something comes up I can’t handle, I’ll call for backup. Otherwise, just make sure you have witnesses and an alibi for every hour of every day.”

  Leaning forward, Charlie said, “Same ol’ go-it-alone-Jeffries. You were that way as a ’cruit and the same all through your career. On the one hand, it made you a successful operator. On the other it made you a loner, an outcast in a band of outcasts. Yeah, all the old SFers will stand behind you, will help you when they can, but I’m the only one of them who likes you. Don’t ask me why because there’s no reason I should. You’ve been a pain in the ass since the first day I met you.”

  Charlie took a deep breath and measured its release. “This is different. This is more than you and your thirst for revenge. This is my family. It’s my fight, not yours. She was my daughter, not yours. I’m married to her mother, not you. Dammit, talk to me. You owe me.”

  Tom grinned. “Chill out, friend. The more you know, the more trouble you’ll get from the law. If you don’t know anything, they can’t touch you. So, relax and let it happen.”

  Charlie stared a moment, then sighed. “The Army couldn’t cure you so I doubt I can. I’ve known you long enough to recognize that face and that tone of voice. It’s your on-a-mission set.”

  Tom rested his head against the back of the chair and smiled. “What’s a guy have to do to get a beer around here?”

  “I don’t buy your bullshit.” Charlie rose and towered over Tom. “I need to know who they are.”

  Tom looked at Charlie, but said nothing.

  “You’re a bastard, Tom Jeffries. A real shoot-from-the-hip bastard.”

  “Been said before. Now, how about a beer?”

  Charlie glared, then walked into the house.

  * * * *

  An hour later, Tom and Abby backed out of Charlie’s driveway. “Thank you,” Tom said. “I’m sure Lonnie appreciated your being there and the support you gave her.”

  “She’s a nice person. I’d like to spend more time with her and Charlie after they get their lives back together. Maybe we—”

  “We? Does this mean you forgive me? You haven’t given me a chance to apologize about last night, but I’ll do it anyway. I’m sorry you thought I called you an ambulance chaser.”

  “And you didn’t?”

  “No…well, not quite. Even in a platoon of second lieutenants, there might be one worth saving. You could be that one.”

  Abby smiled. “Second lieutenants? Haven’t heard that for a while. Hard to tell if you apologized. If so, I accept. If you meant a compliment, it’s not like any I’ve had before. You’re impossible, Tom Jeffries. I never know where you’re coming from. Now, are we—”

  “There you go with that we stuff again. Does that mean I’m back in your good graces?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “You have a ways to go. But Lonnie is such a sweet person, I’m hoping she’s not wrong about you. She must see something you hide from the rest of the world.”

  Tom’s eyes hardened. “Lonnie views the world through a veil of innocence. She sees good in all people. Yet, her reward was the murder of her daughter. Doesn’t seem quite right.”

  Abby’s smile disappeared. “No, it doesn’t. But you need to let the police handle it. You’ll just bring more pain to the family.”

  “Thanks for your opinion. But I happen to believe that a lack of justice will be more painful.” He hesitated and forced a smile. “Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m doing anything.”

  He pulled to the curb in front of Abby’s house and took her hand. “Thanks for coming with me today.”

  Once home, Tom went into his secret cache, took out the pictures of the members of the Thorns on Roses, and spread them on the coffee table. He had several shots of each—face on, profiles, and from the rear. He stared, memorizing every feature. The next time he saw them, the lighting might not be good, and he couldn’t afford a case of mistaken identity.

  After an hour of intense study, he tapped Geda’s image. “Enjoy tonight, for tomorrow you die.”

  * * * *

  The day after the funeral, Abby sat at her desk, attempting to concentrate on the case file in front of her—a patient whose doctor replaced the wrong knee. It was mid-morning, and she’d been reading the same page for an hour. Her mind refused to cooperate. It kept drifting to Tom and what he might be doing. Had he tracked and methodically killed three of his sister’s murderers in Dallas, or was it the coincidence he claimed? Where
were the other two—dead also? If he went after them, was he doing the same with Mary Lou’s assailants? And, if he was, how did she really feel about it? Of course, her legal training told her it was a police matter and should be left to them. But Tom’s experience…She shut her mind to that train of thought.

  Her attraction to him grew every time they were together—and seemed to double when they weren’t. It was silly. She wasn’t a teen who swooned in the presence of the stud with the bad reputation. She smiled, thinking if he rode a Harley, she’d probably have already dragged him to bed. Yet, there was something about Tom she couldn’t resist even though her training and past experience told her he was trouble. She reached for the phone to call him, then withdrew her hand. Maybe, instead of mooning about him, she could do something to help him—or keep him from hurting himself.

  Abby flipped through her Rolodex until she found the correct number, then dialed it.

  “Ms. Bobbington’s office.”

  “Hi. This is Abby Archer. May I speak to Lucy…I mean, Ms. Bobbington?”

  “I’ll check to see if she’s in.”

  A moment later, there was a click on the line. “Abby? Good to hear from you. What’s happening?”

  “Nothing in my world. You’re the one with the exciting position. An Assistant DA making society safe for average citizens like me.”

  Lucy laughed. “Yeah, and eating peanut butter and crackers to prove it. Are you still in the plaintiff business?”

  “Yes. I’m,” Abby paused, a smile growing on her face, “as some say, an ambulance chaser.”

  Lucy chuckled. “Just tell me, and I’ll put in a word for you here. We need someone with your talent.”

  “Sorry, but I’m allergic to peanuts. I can’t afford the pay cut.”

  “Ouch. Pay. Sore subject. So, did you call to invite me to lunch or are you looking for a favor? I gave up fixing parking tickets. Now, if you did something more serious…” She laughed.

  “Aw, darn. Guess it’ll have to be lunch then. How about today? My treat.”

  “You lucked out. You’re my first offer.” Lucy paused. “But, I still suspect there’s a favor involved. What is it?”

  “Mary Lou Smithson. What’s the status of the investigation?”

  “Who—Smithson? Give me a hint.”

  Abby went silent. Was Tom right? Was the system that inept and uncaring? “She’s the seventeen-year-old kid who was found raped and strangled in the trunk of an abandoned car, two…no, three weeks ago.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s familiar. Let me check to see if she’s one of mine.”

  “You don’t know? She—”

  “I hear your disappointment,” Lucy said. “You get to be an expert at reading folks’ words when you work here. You’re wondering how a crime so horrible wouldn’t be right at my fingertips.”

  “Yeah, something like that,” Abby said. “I mean…a young girl with her life—”

  “Abby, you said it happened three weeks ago. Do you have any idea how many other crimes have been committed since? I don’t like it anymore than you, but we’re understaffed and over-cased. Every day, the crimes keep coming. Don’t misread me, Abby. It’s important. Every case in my stack is. But they roll in faster than I can process them, or the police can solve them.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry. I’ll check and, if it’s in the office, I’ll give you an update at lunch.”

  “My bad,” Abby said. “I guess I expect everyone to be perfect.”

  “Yeah. That was one of your problems in law school, too. Of course, you came out top of the class.”

  They continued to banter for the next few minutes, then disconnected after Abby extracted a promise Lucy would check the status of Mary Lou’s case.

  Lucy lived up to her promise. She not only found the file, but took it with her to lunch.

  “Great,” Abby said. “Can I read it?”

  Lucy grinned. “You know better than that. I’m already way over bounds on the rules. If you hadn’t made me feel so bad, it wouldn’t be here.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I know you didn’t mean to. However, I still can’t let you see it. Ask and I’ll answer any questions I can. What do you want to know?”

  Abby thought a moment. “How close are the police to making an arrest?”

  Lucy frowned as she flipped pages. “Nowhere. The last entry is six days ago. It looks like they have two leads—a tattoo the girl wore and a boyfriend who appears to have disappeared.” She read some more. “Uniforms canvassed the tattoo parlors in the area, but didn’t find the artist.”

  “The boyfriend? When did he disappear?”

  Lucy returned to a previous sheet. “A couple of weeks ago—from work. He left just before midnight, walked out the back door, and no one has seen him since. Wait. Someone saw him talking to a guy in the parking lot.” She hesitated, her eyes working down the page. “That’s it. The police want to talk to him, but he’s gone.”

  Oh, shit, thought Abby. With trepidation, she asked, “Where did he work?”

  “Publix.”

  Abby went quiet, remembering the night she followed Tom. He met someone, looked like a male, in the back lot of Publix, then drove out I-75. Was that the boyfriend? If so, where was he now?

  “Abby. You disappeared on me. My lawyer’s intuition tells me you know something about this. Maybe you need to talk to me.”

  Abby stared at her friend. “Thank you. You’ve been a big help. I-I hope the police capture whoever killed Mary Lou. She deserves justice.”

  Lucy stirred the salad on her plate. “I agree. But new cases keep coming in. If there’s not a break soon, they’ll have to mark it unsolved and file it. We need all the help we can get.”

  Abby flinched. When she spoke, it was in an evasive tone. “I don’t know anything about the murder. If I did, I’d tell you.”

  NINETEEN

  Rubin and Bert Bernstein sat at the conference table in the elder’s executive suite, an extravagant lunch spread in front of them. After spending a few minutes discussing a case—giving them reason to bill the client for the meal—Rubin steered the conversation to Tom Jeffries.

  “I’ve been thinking about what Ms. Archer said about his working with the police. The undercover aspects of her story ring hollow. While anything is possible—after all, as we say, this is South Florida—that doesn’t track with me. Would the police use a private eye as an investigator? Maybe, but since the firm is involved, I decided to collect on a couple of IOUs. The chief of police owes me. I’ll find out.”

  “Everybody owes you, Dad,” Bert said through a chuckle. “And those who don’t, will.”

  “True. I’m glad you noticed. A primary secret to success is to make sure more people are obligated to you than those to whom you have an obligation. It goes without saying that you should give as little as possible to ingratiate those people to you. Hold your cards close to your chest. Now, back to the chief. I’ll see him over the weekend, perhaps have him to dinner tomorrow night. I’m sure he’ll tell me if there is any official relationship with our Mr. Jeffries.”

  He paused, his forefinger stroking his lower lip. “If there is not, it may well be that Jeffries is close to bringing a hint of disgrace to the firm. That cannot be allowed.”

  “What can we do?” Bert asked.

  “Simple. If Jeffries is not in league with the police, it may be worth their while to maintain surveillance on him.” Rubin sipped his coffee. “Perhaps even an arrest for obstructing justice. Sweating in jail without bail would prevent him from doing anything that could embarrass us. And, of course, I know a judge willing to cooperate.”

  “I don’t like it, Dad. He saved my daughter. There must be another way.”

  “Go back to what I said about obligations. Your softness—a trait you inherited from your mother—has you feeling loyal to him. Put your loyalty where it belongs—the firm. People like Jeffries come and go. Learn to use them, then move on.”

  * * * *

  To
m watched Geda exit the gate of the lumberyard. It was Friday evening, and Geda’s face made it obvious he looked forward to the weekend.

  Glancing toward the parking lot lights, Tom was thankful the area was well illuminated. Grabbing the wrong person would not be a good move.

  Tom wished he had time to follow Geda for several days, but it couldn’t happen. Time was not his ally. He could only hope he hadn’t waited too long. There might be more crimes than cops, but Tom knew the media would hound the police about the rape and murder of a teenage girl. Also, it was to the department’s advantage to make an arrest, then call a news conference. Budget time was near, and media praise equaled funding.

  Tom fell in behind Geda. From the entrance, Tom kept several people between him and his prey. There was a small parking lot with spaces along the back for the lower ranked employees. Individual names or the word visitors marked the front spaces. As they crossed the asphalt area, the crowd thinned, then dispersed, leaving Tom immediately behind Geda.

  When Geda put his key in the door lock, Tom unsheathed his knife, stepped close to him, and whispered, “Johnny asked me to bring you.”

  “Huh?” Geda said, beginning to turn.

  “No. Don’t look back. I’m a friend of Johnny’s, and he needs your help.”

  “Bullshit,” Geda said, again attempting to turn.

  “Boy,” Tom growled and grabbed his arms from behind, “you don’t cooperate, and Johnny says I can neuter you.” He pressed the tip of his knife against Geda’s back. “Feel what I mean?”

  “What the—”

  “You stupid or something? Johnny gave me permission to cut your balls off and shove ’em down your throat if you don’t do what I say.” Tom leaned close to Geda’s right ear. “Johnny says you’re either his friend or his enemy, and he wants his enemies dead.”

  “He knows I’m his friend,” Geda stuttered, “his best friend. He must have told you that.”

  “Yeah, that’s what he said. But he also said you might have set him up to save your own ass. Now, walk in front of me. See that white van? Johnny’s waiting for us.”