“No, but we can ask Shield. I just hope I have one favor left.” Doc thumbed through his Rolodex, then dialed the number.
Detective John Candella answered on the second ring, “Candella.”
“Shield, it’s Doc. How ya doin’?” he casually asked.
“I can’t talk to you anymore, Doc.”
“What? I’m just callin’ to see how the hog’s runnin’.”
“Bullshit, your partner’s in big trouble, and I’ve already given you too much information. If anyone finds out about the reports, I could be suspended or fired. Doc, I’m not a one percenter. I’m a cop. This job is my life.”
“Shield, just tell me what you know. Why do you say Deacon’s in trouble?”
“Aw, come on, Doc, you know, as well as I do, what’s goin’ on. Jensen and McNeil told me they talked to you this afternoon.”
“That’s right. They came in the shop and asked to see Deacon, but they didn’t say what they wanted.”
“Doc, I know you’re fishin’. So, I’m gonna fill in some blanks for you, then I’m out of it. If anyone asks me about this, I’ll deny it all. Here’s the deal. Deacon is a suspect in the pimp murder downtown and the Thomas murder in Soulard.”
“How’s that possible?’ Doc asked surprised. “What link could the police have found between Deacon and two unrelated murders?”
*****
Deacon listened pensively to Doc’s side of the unsettling conversation. The blood drained from his brain. He touched his cheek; it was cold and clammy. The room began to spin. His elusive consciousness was slipping away.
*****
“They were tipped off by an informant.” Candella answered curtly.
“Tipped off, by whom, a rat on your payroll?”
“No, it wasn’t a CI. It was an anonymous call,” Candella explained, “a woman with a heavy Spanish accent. She had details that were unknown by the press and the public. Deacon is the number one suspect. Doc, they’re going to pick him up.”
“Shield, what can we do? Deacon couldn’t have done this. Someone’s got to be framing him. Can you help me get some answers? All I’m askin’ is to see a copy of the report from the first murder. Please, John, I’m asking you, friend to friend. It’s important, life or death important. You know Deacon, he’s a good guy. Give us a chance to clear his name.”
“Edward, it’s too late. I don’t think anyone can help Deacon. If you want my advice, you’ll get out of this while you still can. I’ve heard the evidence. I’m afraid you’re mistaken about your friend. I like Deacon as well as the next guy, but you have to admit, he’s a little weird. I’ve seen his tattoo. One more thing, we’re finished, no more favors. Don’t call me again.”
Doc turned toward Deacon, whose pallid face and glassy eyes caused him to look like a bad photograph. “Deacon—James David, can you hear me?” Doc shook him. Deacon displayed no a sign of cognition. “Come on, buddy, snap out of it. I need you with me. We’ve got a lot to do. Come on, James, don’t leave me now.”
Doc noticed a quiver; first in his eyes, then his hands as though a wave rolled through his body from top down. His whole body shuddered. He struggled to his feet, ran to the bathroom, and threw up.
“I’m scared, Doc,” Deacon said in a phlegm voice. “I may as well give myself up. They’re going to arrest me anyway.”
“You can’t do that. We need to prove your innocence. I can’t do it without you.”
“Shield must have told you to get out. You’d better take his advice. I’ll take care of this on my own. There’s no place for me in this world. I need to write some letters; put some thoughts on paper. Why don’t you go on home and get some rest. I’m going to leave some things on the desk. Please take care of them for me.”
“What kind of things? What are you planning?”
“Don’t worry, just some letters and personal stuff. It will be self-explanatory.”
“Deacon, if you’re still talkin’ about suicide, it’s out of the question. We agreed…”
Deacon cut him off. “Doc, you’re letting your imagination run away with you. Everything will be fine.”
“I can’t let this go, Deacon. No matter how you say it, the meaning is the same. You’re planning to—to take your own life.”
“If I am, would it be such a bad thing? Look around, Doc, what do I have? I haven’t spoken to my parents in more than ten years. You, Kat, and Star are my only family, and everything that I do is bad for you. I have systematically hurt everyone in my life. There’s nothing left for me. I have no reason to live. People who care about me are suffering. Innocent people are dying. No, my friend, this is for the best. Let me do something right for a change. Let me save all of you. Perhaps, by so doing, God will know I’ve repented, and he’ll forgive me.”
“Deacon, I can’t—I can’t let you hurt yourself. We don’t know the whole story. Just give us some time, a couple more days. Let’s get the facts, and then decide what to do. If we don’t do everything possible, I won’t be able to live with myself.”
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I have to end it one way or the other. Doc, I know I sound like a broken record, but our friendship has been the highpoint of my life. I will do what you ask, for as long as I possibly can, until I can’t bear another moment. I’m beginning to question if I even know right from wrong. My father said, on more than one occasion, that he doubted if I even have a conscience. Maybe he was right.”
“You certainly put a lot of stock in everything your father said. Has it ever occurred to you he was the one with the problem? Hell, maybe the Reverend’s crazy.”
“He and I may not have gotten along very well, but he’s still my father. He was only doing what he thought was right. He tried to raise me to be a good person. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, is one of his favorite quotes. To my recollection, he seldom cast stones at any one. When he did, he punished himself after. Wouldn’t you consider his actions an admission of guilt, or a sign of human frailty? Don’t you think he knew that he was not perfect?”
“Deacon, listen to you. You’re proving my point. Your old man was always pushing, always demanding that you be something even he was incapable of being. He expected you to be perfect, and all the time he knew that it was impossible. No one’s perfect. He set you up to fail. Just how sane is that? What loving, caring father drives his child to fail?
“Let’s consider another possibility with the evidence in the two murders. Their connection to your father’s favorite scriptures is a big part of why you think you could be the killer, right?”
“Well, yeah, what are you saying? Do you think my father has something to do with this? For all I know, my parents may not even be alive.”
“My point exactly, you know nothing about them. After ten years, out of nowhere, your father’s prophecy begins to come true. People die exactly as the scriptures say. He repeated those same scriptures to you so often that you still use them in everyday conversation.”
“Maybe my father was right. My sins have come to haunt me. His prophecy is self-fulfilling. Evil spills from my mouth, and people around me suffer. There are two dead bodies because of me.”
“Deacon, I feel like I’m wasting my fucking breath. What if there’s someone out there intentionally making your father’s prophecy come true? What if you are being framed in such a way, even you believe you’re guilty?”
“Who would possibly do such a thing? I don’t have any enemies. Besides, how could anyone know enough, or care enough, about me to go to all that trouble? What do they accomplish?”
“That’s it, exactly!”
“What, what’s it?”
“Deacon, it could be the Reverend John Jones. He knows all that shit, and he sure has a mean streak. My dad never punished me anything like yours did.”
“Impossible, my father would never hurt me. He loves me, or at least loved me. He just has a different way of showing it.” His voice cracked. “I’m the one—I ran away. I
deserted them.”
“Is making you stand at attention, awaiting some unknown punishment for hours, loving? What your father did to you is not normal. Today, children call the child abuse hot line. Parents end up in jail for that kind of behavior.
“Maybe the Reverend finally drove himself crazy. Maybe he quoted the Bible so many times he’s lost touch with reality. He’s described the angels of the Lord so often he believes he is one. Didn’t King David send Bathsheba’s husband to the front lines to ensure he was killed in battle? Your father could be out there making prophecy, his prophecy, come true. This whole thing is so bizarre. Anything’s possible. Try to see this from another perspective. Be honest, your father could be enacting what he thinks is God’s will.”
“Not possible, Doc, my father wasn’t a perfect parent, but he’s not insane.”
“Why are you so anxious to believe he’s innocent; yet you think you’re not? Let’s not close our eyes to any possibility. When we talk motive and knowledge, I can certainly make a case against the Reverend. He has both.”
“I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”
“That’s something we have to find out.”
“I guess you’re right. Besides, I’ve been thinking about my parents a lot lately. I’d like to know—no, I guess what I mean is I need to know what happened to them. No matter what else happens, I want to ask for their forgiveness for my part in everything that happened.”
“All right then, it’s settled.” Doc said relieved. “Let’s rest here for a few hours. We can ride into Illinois before daylight, and find you a safe place to hide while we investigate the murders and the Joneses. Deacon, no matter what we find, we’ll see this through together.”
“Okay, but I need to get out of here for a little while.”
“Deacon, we’ve settled this, I am not going to let you do something that I’ll regret. I’m going to keep an eye on you until I am sure you’re not in the mood to do something stupid.”
“It’s not like that, I give you my word. I just need to get outside. This may be hard for you to understand, but I need to go somewhere quiet, to be alone in God’s creation. I need to get down on my knees and pray for salvation. I’ll be back soon, I promise. Doc, I have to do this; I have to do this alone.”
*****
“Dear God,” down on his knees, James David Deacon Jones prayed in a loud clear voice to the eerie, black Missouri sky.
FOURTEEN
Doc’s booming voice shattered the predawn silence. “Well, I’ll be damned!” He stood in the office doorway holding a large white envelope.
Deacon rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Where’d you get the envelope?”
“Found it in the showroom. Someone slid it under the door.”
“What’s in it?”
“A police report, the pimp murder, our friend Shield came through after all.”
“What’s it say?”
“I don’t know; haven’t read it yet. Let’s get our shit together and get outta here. It’ll be daylight soon; we don’t want to be seen.”
“I need to make a quick stop at my place and pick up some gear.”
“Deacon, we can’t risk it. The cops might already be there. We’ll buy whatever you need.”
“Doc, I can’t...”
“You can’t, what?”
“I can’t leave, go into hiding, or whatever it is we’re doin’ without saying good-bye to Star. I don’t want her to worry.”
“Deacon, it’s too fuckin’ risky.”
“I know you’re tryin’ to do what’s best for me. I appreciate that, but I have to do this, no matter what the risk. If she were to disappear without telling me, I’d go nuts. I can’t do that to her.”
“Okay, but ten minutes, and we’re out of there.”
“I knew you’d understand, ten minutes.”
Guided by Doc’s concise hand-signals, Deacon carefully backed the loaded motorcycle trailer through the gate. Doc’s form, illuminated only by taillights, glowed red in the moonless predawn. Without a word, the two men loosed the straps and unloaded, first Widowmaker, then the Harley-Davidson Low Rider. The ancient door screeched in protest as Deacon slid it open. Lovingly, he rolled Widowmaker inside, and left the Low Rider and a Heritage Softtail, which Doc had ridden from the shop, parked behind the trailer.
Inside the massive brick structure, which was once a thriving manufacturing concern, Deacon studied the cobwebbed walls. He remembered the day, three years ago, when he and Doc had agreed to buy the building. It had been the home of one of the first manufacturers in downtown St. Louis. We can use it for storage for now! Doc had said adamantly trying to convince Deacon and Kat that the building was a good idea. Later, we can restore it and have our own museum. We can buy and sell antique motorcycles. It will make an excellent second location for our business.
Deacon admired the long rows of motorcycle frames and miscellaneous parts. Even the elevated walkways, which surrounded the cavernous room, were stacked high. Nothing more than a bone yard. The macabre thought was unwelcome. Nothing more than a place to store our dead until we’re ready to bury them. This building is like all my dreams, obsolete. He put his weight behind the door, forced it closed, and locked it. The Low Rider willingly responded to his touch. Already outside the gate in the street, Doc sat on the idling Heritage, waiting.
“Baby, it’s me.” Deacon whispered in Star’s ear. Sound asleep, her breathing came in a measured rhythm. He slipped one hand under the covers. Warmth radiated from her nearly naked body. Her luscious, warm skin caused him to tremble. She filled him with need. His physiology began an involuntary cycle of response.
Star squinted. “Doll, where’ve you been, you all right?” she asked in a sleepy voice. She rolled on her back, pulled him down, and spread her legs. “Give it to me,” she whispered.
“I can’t—I can’t stay. I only have a couple a minutes,” he said urgently. “We need to talk.”
She sat up and drew the sheet to her breasts. “What’s going on, Deacon, what’s the matter?”
“Star, the police are lookin’ for me. They think I had somethin’ to do with the murders. I’m gonna hide out until Doc and I figure out why. I came to say good-bye, and to tell you to be really cautious.”
“There’s no reason for you to hide. Let’s go to the cops. You didn’t do anything wrong. For the times you don’t have an alibi, I’ll say you were with me. Don’t leave. Let’s face this together.”
“I love you for what you are trying to do, but I can’t let you get mixed up in this.”
“Where will you go? When will I see you? I have to see you. Deacon, I love you more than I dreamed possible. Without you, my life has no meaning. Let me go with you. I can help.” She spoke rapidly, pleading. “There must be somethin’ I can do. I need to be with you.”
“I—I love you, too, but, for now, it’s best you stay here. I’m not exactly sure where I’m going. Even if I did, it’s better if you don’t. I don’t want you to lie for me. If the cops come here, tell them the truth. You don’t know where I am.”
“How long will this take? Can I meet you somewhere?”
“I’ll keep in touch. We’ll see each other very soon. I promise. I’m lost without you. There’s one more thing. I want you to be able to protect yourself. It sounds crazy, but it might mean protecting yourself from me.”
“Deacon,” Star twisted her face quizzically. “What do you mean? You’re scarin’ me.”
“I don’t have time to explain. Just promise me. If I try to hurt you, you’ll protect yourself.”
“You’re talkin’ crazy. You could never hurt me.”
“I’ll tell you the whole story as soon as I can. When I do, you’ll understand. Right now, there’s no time. Promise me, please?”
“I don’t understand, but I promise.”
“That’s my girl.” From a special leather-lined pocket inside his jacket, he pulled a black handgun. “I want you to take this.”
She pulle
d away. “I don’t know anything about guns. They frighten me.”
Without hesitation, he popped the loaded magazine out of the handle, checked it, and snapped it back in place. “I know you don’t like this. Take it for me. Make this one of the things you do because you love me.”
“That’s unfair; you’re using my love against me.”
“Not so. I’m using your love to cause you to protect yourself. I’m outta time. Please, just do as I ask.” He moved closer and held the pistol in front of her. “This is a forty caliber Glock. It’s completely legal, registered to me. It’s a powerful semiautomatic weapon. The same gun the state cops carry. The safety is built-in. It’s here in the trigger.
“I’ll put a round in the chamber. When I pull this slide back,” the mechanism made a metallic click, “it’s ready to shoot. Don’t point it at anyone unless you intend to shoot. When you’re ready, just squeeze the trigger; the safety will release as you squeeze. After every shot, it’ll reload and cock itself. Be sure you hold it with both hands, like this, and line your target up in the sights. Baby, I’m sorry I have to go. If the time comes, you’ll know what to do. You always seem to know.”
*****
“I love you more than life it…” The bark of the Harley’s engine severed his last word.
Star waved from the open doorway. Dried leaves swirled and danced in the street behind the speeding motorcycles. Two brake lights, a meter apart, flashed once simultaneously; they disappeared around the corner. Fading stars were rapidly melting into the light of day.
Star smiled. She undid her sash. The short robe fell open. With legs spread, she massaged the back of her neck using both hands, and then fondled her breasts with a languorous, circular motion. She stretched her arms around her back, as far as she could reach, closed her eyes, sighed deeply, and traced the imprinted image that lurked beneath her skin.
The resounding blast from a single gunshot echoed though Deacon’s house.
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