Night Court

by Ashley Fontainne

  Once back out on the porch, he lit a smoke. Twenty years ago, he told everyone he’d quit, which was true most of the time. When under tremendous stress, alone, and drunk, Mitch smoked like his grandfather used to—one right after another.

  He glanced at the ashtray next to him and laughed at the overflowing mound of butts. In less than three hours, he’d already huffed his way through an entire pack. He tried to force his tight muscles to relax. Taking another drag, he stiffened when the scent of musk and cinnamon hit him.

  “Damn you. Even in a haze of whiskey I can still smell you. Oh, wait! Maybe I haven’t drunk enough.” Mitch took another deep pull from the bottle. “Nope, that’s not it either. You still stink. Really should consider wearing cologne that isn’t so obnoxious.”

  The screen door and floorboards creaked when John Hudson walked across the porch. He stopped and leaned against the railing, arms crossed in a pose meant to be menacing. The lone bulb from the ancient ceiling fan cast an odd shadow across John’s face, making him look like a marionette.

  “You’re a real jokester, Sinclair. Ever thought of trying your hand at standup? If not, you should, you know, since your days with the department are numbered.”

  Mitch took another drag and blew the smoke out in John’s direction. “Nope. I prefer all my performances to be horizontal, not vertical. Unless, of course, the gal likes it standing up. Not many do, although Michelle did. Actually, she liked it every way.” Even from across the room and in the dim light, Mitch could see his comment about John’s ex struck a nerve. He graced the prick with a wicked grin.

  “Was that supposed to be a dig? If so, you really need to lay off the sauce before you start trying to inflict verbal damage. You’re a legend, but only in your little mind.”

  “And Michelle’s.”

  “That whore spread her legs for anything with a woody. No skin off my back what she thinks or who she fucked.”

  Mitch snorted. “I’m too drunk to remember it verbatim, but the quote by some famous writer about protesting too much comes to mind.”

  “Though I do enjoy this mental jousting, discussing your sexual conquests, or lack thereof, is not why I’m here.”

  “Really? And here I thought you stopped by for some pointers on pleasing the ladies. Rumor has it you have a new toy who is quite younger than you. I’m sure you need all the help you can get.”

  Ignoring the jab, John remarked, “Report’s finished and turned in. Not only was De’Shawn’s death a homicide, but it’s definitely tied to Ramirez.”

  “Well there’s a newsflash I didn’t see coming. Wow…you’re good, Hudson. Give yourself a pat on the back.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sinclair.” John crossed the porch, snatching up a smoke from the open pack on the table. “I’m well aware that wasn’t going to be a shock to you, and it isn’t the reason I’m here. That I’m also sure is no surprise to you.”

  Mitch tried to keep his voice neutral and not let his frustration out. Considering how much he’d already drank, neutrality was next to impossible. “No shit, Sherlock. I’m acutely aware of why you decided to invade my house with your stench. You do enjoy your petty torments, don’t you? Let me guess. You also enjoyed dismembering small animals as a child too?”

  John flicked the lighter and touched the flame to the smoke. He exhaled a large plume into the humid night air, watching the tendrils swirl above him. “Only a matter of time before we nail the killer. When that happens, you know the press coverage will be brutal. Rogue cop offs not one but two poor souls trying to survive the poverty-ridden world they are stuck in. Ones who risked their lives and livelihood by giving information about bigger dealers to the police, only to have it backfire. Oh, I can just imagine what those notoriety-seeking bastards who call themselves civil rights activists will say. They’ll probably hold a press conference out in front of the PD. Captain will love that.”

  Mitch couldn’t control his seething fury. Though slower than normal, he was still faster than Hudson. Before the bastard had time to blink, Mitch had his hand around his throat and slammed Hudson up against the wall. “One more word and there’ll be another homicide to investigate. If they ever find your body.”

  To Mitch’s surprise, Hudson showed no fear. A twinkle of humor sparkled behind his ugly, dog shit brown eyes. Mitch gave a final squeeze and then let go.

  John readjusted his wrinkled tie and grinned. He walked to the screen door, pausing before he exited. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Sinclair. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again real soon.”

  “Not before I fuck your new girlfriend.”

  “That may be true, but as usual, you’ll just be getting sloppy seconds.” John stepped off the porch and disappeared into the darkness.

  Mitch watched him until the undercover car turned left onto the main road and then threw the bottle against the side of the house. “Son-of-a-bitch! This isn’t happening!”

  Plopping down in the chair, he grabbed another cigarette. The nicotine didn’t do much to calm his nerves. He jumped when his cell phone rang. Glancing down, he winced when he noticed the call was blocked, which meant it was probably one of his informants.

  He was too fucked up to answer so he let it ring. A few seconds later, the phone beeped, notifying him the caller left a voicemail. Clicking the button, he put the phone to his ear and listened. By the time the message finished playing, he was shaking.

  And wishing he still had the whiskey to numb the growing sense of panic burning inside his mind.

  In the dark confines of the screened-in porch, Mitch mumbled, “This day sucked!”

  18

  9:00 p.m. Wednesday night

  “I’ll have dinner hot and ready and the beer iced down by seven Friday night. Looking forward to seeing you again, Derek.”

  “Great. See you then.”

  Derek hung up before Debbie had a chance to say anything else. A twinge of guilt poked inside his stomach. After their night together on Saturday, the sex hot and sensual, he knew it had been a huge mistake bedding Debbie. He saw the look while she stared up at him in bed. The change in her voice would be obvious to a deaf person. Debbie Rutherford had fallen head-over-heels for him.

  Too bad for her. When this is all over, she’s going to hate me.

  Derek stared out the window into the backyard. Memories of trying to teach Merry how to swim made his heart clench with sadness. Shifting his gaze back to the kitchen, Derek stared at the liquor cabinet where his father kept bourbon. When his mother was alive, it housed flour, sugar, and various cooking essentials. After she passed, it was stocked full of whiskey and frequented at least three times a week by his heartbroken father.

  For the next thirty years, until liver cancer sucked the life from his father.

  Other than an occasional beer, Derek rarely drank. Tonight was different. He rose and went to the cabinet, extracting the dusty bottle of Jack and a shot glass. He poured a double and winced at the burning in his throat from the amber liquid. He repeated the motion three times before he sat back down at the kitchen table. What he’d hoped was the image on the computer screen in front of him would be different than before.

  It wasn’t.

  The undeniable proof was right in front of him.

  Two hours before, when he’d logged in to run the VIN number on Joshua’s motorcycle, he’d told himself he was crazy. Merry said she’d sold it months ago, right around the same time she sold Harold’s Jeep. Did his best to convince himself the nagging burn in his stomach was wrong. That a plausible explanation for the bag of dog food he’d found at Merry’s was simply a leftover from the previous owner. Told his brain to believe Merry hadn’t lied to him about how she sustained her injuries.

  He downed another shot. More than anything in the world, Derek wanted to pretend he didn’t know. Pretend his gut instincts weren’t screaming inside him.

  The cop wouldn’t let the brother win.

  All the circumstantial evidence converged togeth
er and formed the identity of Peppy and Mookie’s killer.

  His baby sister.

  Unable to stand looking at the report that still listed Joshua Robert Clarke as owner of the Honda, Derek stared out into the backyard. The pool water shimmered under the silver rays of the bright moon, immediately bringing memories of the day Merry almost drowned. His father’s admonition to always love and protect her made tears well up in his throat.

  How am I supposed to protect her from herself?

  He tried to push the tears away with another drink, but all it ended up doing was making him choke. In a fit of rage, he threw the glass across the kitchen, tears racing down his face at what he was about to do.

  Brain spinning from the booze, it took him another ten minutes to force his hand to pick up the phone and scroll through his contacts until he located the number.

  The familiar, gruff voice answered. “Better be important, Clarke.”

  Derek cleared his throat, forcing the tears back. “This is the most important conversation you and I will ever have, Captain.”

  19

  7:00 p.m. Thursday night

  “Well, what do you think?”

  Merry twirled in a circle while Percy stared at her from his perch on the bathroom floor. His thick tail thumped against the old tile. He let out a garbled whine, his head tilting left and right as though confused by the short blonde wig on her head.

  “I’m going to take your response to mean my outfit passes your inspection. Okay, so like I mentioned earlier, you can’t come with me tonight. Riding shotgun while I’m stalking is one thing but quite another to be there when I kill. You might think less of me when you see what I’m capable of. You stay and guard the house, okay? I’ll be back home soon I promise.”

  Exiting the bathroom, Merry grabbed her pack off the bed. She laughed after noticing all the dog hair on the comforter. Percy slept right next to her every night, occasionally giving her forehead a swipe with his wet tongue.

  “I’m going to have to change from a white to a black comforter if you’re going to continue to saw logs next to me all night. I don’t even want to imagine how bad it would look if you had longer fur.”

  Percy’s long nails clicked on the hardwood while he followed behind her. When she picked up her keys from the kitchen counter, Percy veered right and went to the front door. “You stay and relax, buddy. I think I heard a mouse in the kitchen earlier. Maybe you should entertain yourself searching for the little flea-carrier.”

  Percy tried to nudge his way out the front door, but Merry held out her hand. “Stay. I won’t be long. I’m getting pretty good at dispatching people.”

  Tossing her bag into the passenger seat, Merry fired up the engine. Driving down the long drive, she let a wide grin appear. Her muscles tightened from the excitement of the hunt.

  While she drove toward the city, she thought about the marathon conversation with Debbie on Sunday night. The girl was drunk off happiness. Thankfully, she spared Merry the intimate details of a night of debauchery with Derek but not the emotions associated with it.

  At the time, Merry had been beyond thrilled the two of them finally connected. The excitement dimmed after talking to Derek on Monday night. Though he did acknowledge he’d spent the night with Debbie, he kept changing the subject. Merry sensed he didn’t wish to discuss the matter.

  He’d seemed off, edgy, and distant. Derek had talked about trivial, mundane things like he was having a conversation with a stranger standing in line at the grocery store, rather than his sister. She’d dismissed her worries, thinking he was too embarrassed to talk about something that less than two weeks ago, he swore would never happen.

  Unwilling to broach the subject about Peppy or Mookie, Merry kept the TV in the living room on constantly. Since she no longer used her computer for fears her steps could be retraced, she switched back and forth between all three local news stations. Tonight’s earlier broadcast was what she’d been waiting for—updates about the death of De’Shawn. Sure enough, it had been ruled a homicide.

  Pulling onto the freeway, Merry reminded herself it didn’t matter. Forensics and good old police work figured out Mookie had been murdered, but they would never solve the case.

  All those years of sitting in on trials certainly paid off. Taught me what not to do when committing a crime.

  ***

  Less than forty-five minutes later, Merry arrived at her destination. She parked her car on the back side of the parking lot and cut the engine. No other cars were in sight, which wasn’t much of a shock. At one time, Alsop Park had been full of parents watching their kids play on the swings or monkey bars, and the three baseball diamonds were full of adults who tried to relive their youth by playing softball.

  But that had been years ago. Now the original colors of the playground equipment were faded or completely covered in orange rust. Weeds grew in the numerous cracks of the uncared for parking lot, and the baseball fields sported grass and weeds over two feet high.

  The place was nothing but a blip in the memory of the residents of Little Rock, replaced by bigger, newer, and updated sporting complexes dotted the upscale communities on the other side of town. Of course, the real reason behind the demise of the once tranquil park was drugs.

  Since the complex was off the beaten path and well hidden by groves of trees, all sorts of illicit activities migrated there. Before long, the place became a haven for drug dealers. After “white flight” happened and people began to move out west and into smaller bergs like Benton and Bryant, dealers concentrated their efforts near the clubs in downtown.

  The old park was the perfect place to stash her car and make the two mile run to Tad’s. She had spent two hours earlier studying her exact route and knew she would be flanking the backside of Tad’s neighborhood.

  While rummaging through the pack one final time, a twinge of worry rumbled in her stomach when she felt the knife. It bothered her earlier when she couldn’t find her father’s hunting knife, though she looked everywhere. Figuring it was simply misplaced during the move Merry stopped at a sporting goods store the day before and purchased a new one. She made a mental note to scour the house for the knife after taking out Tad.

  Gear secured in her pack, Merry took off at a brisk pace. The last streaks of red and orange from the setting sun poked through the canopy of pine trees. She veered off into the woods. Knowing she only had about ten minutes of light left, Merry pushed her muscles to their limit.

  By the time she neared the fence surrounding the backyards of Tad’s neighbors, Merry was covered in sweat. The sun was gone, and the only light was from a few, sporadic porch lights from some of the homes. The one home she had her eye on, the empty house right next door to Tad’s, was black, as was Tad’s.

  Perfect! Props to you oh gods of justice.

  Merry bent over and yanked her running shoes off and then cinched up the boots. Gloves and vest in place, she secured the bag on her shoulders and hopped the fence for the second time in so many days. The dry run she’d made last night still hadn’t been detected because Tad hadn’t replaced the bulb she’d shot out with a slingshot. She wouldn’t know if he’d discovered the thick coat of Vaseline slathered over the lens of both the front and backyard cameras until she was closer.

  Though Tad’s backyard was barren, the house next to him was full of a variety of shrubs and crepe myrtles, a good majority of them strategically interspersed along the invisible property line. Crouching, Merry kept her body close to the foliage until she was even with Tad’s back porch. She scanned the area, holding her breath, watching and listening for any sounds of life near her position. Seeing and hearing nothing, she bolted from the trees and in seconds was on Tad’s back porch.

  The sticky goo on the lens was still there.

  Wasting no time, Merry ran to the front of the house. She pulled short at the corner and peeked around. Tad’s vehicle wasn’t in the driveway, and no lights were on inside. Picking her steps carefully, she made her way to the
front stoop and smiled.

  The front camera was still covered, too.

  After one more scan of the area, she cut across the driveway and over to the large gardenia bush next to the garage. She took the bag off, set it against the wall, and then situated herself next to it. All that was left to do now was wait…

  And mentally go over every single detail she planned on doing to Tad Tompkins.

  ***

  Other than the occasional bark from a dog in the distance, Chester Street had been quiet for two hours. A few times, she’d pulled out the binoculars from her bag and used them to scan the neighborhood just to have something to do. A house across the street and three houses down had the curtains open so Merry could see the TV. The last time she looked, the 10 o’clock news was on. When the owner turned off the set and the house went dark, Merry assumed it was after 10:30.

  Stifling a yawn, Merry stretched. If the last four times she’d followed Tad were indicators, he wouldn’t be home for another two or three hours. She was glad this mission was next to a fragrant flower bush rather than a reeking dumpster.

  She saw the lights before she heard the vehicle. The rush of adrenaline made her skin prickle as the SUV neared and passed under the lone streetlight.

  Tad.

  Game time!

  Stuffing the binoculars inside the pack, Merry extracted the long hunting knife from the side pocket. After securing the bag on her back, she rose slowly, keeping her back pressed against the wall. The sound of the garage door opening made her heart skip two beats while she watched the SUV pull into the drive.