Louder Than Words

by Brett Baker

  “No, thank you. I just ate breakfast,” I lied.

  Tyler Jo poured the orange juice into the glass and handed it to me. When I looked at him instead of taking it from him, he smiled, and lifted the glass toward me. “Thank you,” I relented.

  “Nothing beats a Florida morning,” Tyler Jo said. “People always complain about the Florida humidity. It doesn’t bother me, but I do love those few hours in the morning before the humidity really builds. Warm air, a little breeze, some sunshine. What the hell else can we ask for?” He lifted his glass toward mine, said “Cheers!” and took a drink.

  I took a drink to mollify him, and almost spit it out. “This isn’t orange juice!”

  “Of course it’s orange juice. It’s morning in Florida, what the hell else would I serve you? Don’t worry about the vodka in there. You can ignore that. Just taste the juice.” I put the glass down on the table between us. Tyler Jo shook his head. “Suit yourself. You want to have a sub-standard start to your day, I guess that’s your business.”

  “I do appreciate the hospitality,” I said.

  Tyler Jo nodded, as if he’d never been more unimpressed. “So if you didn’t come here to get drunk with me, why are you here? Still looking for that cousin of yours? Martin Coulson.”

  “Wow, I’m impressed. You have a good memory.”

  “I remember names.”

  “Even the name of someone who you don’t know?”

  “A name is a name, whether I know the person or not. Anyway, did you find him?”

  “Not yet. I’m still looking. I’ve just been getting to know the area and trying to talk to people, but no luck yet.”

  “That’s probably because the guy doesn’t exist,” Tyler Jo said. “At least not in these parts. But I don’t want to dissuade you from looking for him. Especially if it means you show up on my porch every few days. Who have you met in town? There are some real sons-of-bitches, so I’ll let you know who you should steer clear of.”

  “I met the young woman at the gas station. She’s the one who told me to come see you. She’s friendly.”

  “Ah, yes. That’s Meredith. I suppose she told you all about how she’s stuck in this town and never getting out?”

  “She did,” I said. “A common refrain from her, I assume?”

  “As common as orange juice on a Florida morning,” Tyler Jo said. “Some people are perpetually unhappy. She’s had a rough go of it, and most of it isn’t her doing, but I keep telling her that if she lived her life rather than letting it happen to her she’d be much better off. Easier to sulk and complain though, I guess. I don’t want to seem uncaring, but her self-pity wears thin. Who else do you know?”

  “The lady that owns the El Hombre seems friendly.”

  “Friendly? Do you know what that word means? She’s not friendly. She’s a con artist.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, perking up in my seat. I hadn’t considered the idea that Ashtray may be responsible for Tootsie and Scooby knowing where to find me. I assumed she’d have no interest in a murder taking place at her hotel, but perhaps I’d misjudged her. “Should I be concerned about her?”

  “Only if you do business with her.”

  “I’m staying at the El Hombre,” I said. “When I told her I wanted to stay for a week, she said she’d give me a discount, but just quoted the regular rate multiplied by seven.”

  Tyler Jo let out a hearty chuckle, and leaned forward in his chair. “That’s the kind of bullshit she does. Rather harmless with the El Hombre, but I bet she tried to talk you into buying that ashtray collection, didn’t she?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “She tries to sell it to everyone. She thinks it’s worth a fortune, but if she’s got a hundred dollars worth of value there I’d be surprised. I shouldn’t be so unfair. She’s not a bad person. She’s just trying to make a buck, and sometimes ethics fall by the wayside as she does so. Stick to motel business with her and you’re just fine.”

  I’d come to see Tyler Jo in the hopes that he could provide some information on Oswalt, but I had no plan how to broach the subject. Tyler Jo’s inquisition about who I’d met provided the perfect the opening.

  “What about Cooper Oswalt?” I asked.

  “Now that’s a person you’ll want to stay away from,” Tyler Jo. “He’s a snot-nosed jerk. Trust him as far as you can throw him.”

  “I thought that might be the case,” I said. “He’s pretty heavy on charm, but seems like he’s been using that to get by his entire life.”

  “That’s right. I bought this land from his dad. He owns hundreds of square miles of forest out here, and has made a pretty penny. He was hesitant to give this up, but I offered him a good price. But you’re exactly right. Cooper’s been getting by on his dad’s money his entire life. The money and the influence. He’s a county commissioner, too, so he knows damn near everyone in the county.”

  “Cooper’s a county commissioner? He seems a bit young for such a position. Especially if he’s such an idiot.”

  “No, Dirk is a county commissioner. Cooper’s dad. Are you kidding me? I can’t think of too many things worse than Cooper Oswalt having a position with any authority. It’s bad enough that his dad’s a commissioner. Cooper would be a nightmare.”

  “Is Cooper a bad guy, or just a screw up?”

  “Hard to say. He’s such a screw up that no one can see past it. He’s got this incredible sense of entitlement that’s maddening to everyone in Cross City. For a while the police were giving him a break because of his dad, but he just became too much. He’s a general nuisance. A menace. He drives like an idiot. He drinks too much. Cross City is a quiet place, but when Cooper Oswalt’s around everything becomes much more obnoxious. He makes everyone’s blood boil. But everyone knows him, and knows what to expect, so we know how to deal with him. He’s like a housefly. A pain in the ass when he’s around, but he’s not going to ruin your life. And if you swat at him every now and then you’ll eventually get rid of him.”

  “What about his dad? Jerk kids come from jerk parents most of the time.”

  “You’d think so,” Tyler Jo said, “but Dirk’s okay. Everyone knows him because he’s been around here for so long, and has so much money. We don’t have a broad tax base, so Dirk Oswalt has given away a lot of money to help this place be better than it otherwise would be. He’s not the best guy in the world, but he’s not the worst.”

  “What’s his business?” I asked.

  “Logging. His father started one of the first logging companies in the area, and Dirk’s been doing it his whole life. His dad died when Dirk wasn’t much older than Cooper is now, but Dirk wasn’t a screwup. He took over the company, bought up more land, and expanded it. And like I said, he sold some of that land to me.”

  “Are you guys friends?”

  “No. We know each other. I appreciate what he’s done for this place, and for selling this land to me, but I couldn’t stand to be around his asshole kid. That little leach still lives at home, you know?”

  “I’m aware. I had to bring his car back to him the other day.”

  “Back from where?”

  “The side of the road. Found it abandoned near the El Hombre. Discovered it belonged to him, so I drove it back to him. I was hoping for a reward, but didn’t even get a thank you before he started hitting on me.”

  “That’s not a surprise. How’d his car end up abandoned?”

  “I don’t know. He said he was drinking with two women, and didn’t remember anything after that.”

  “Of course not. I’m surprised he hasn’t died yet. He’s always doing the stupidest shit. Tried to steal a plane from the airport a few months back, but got to the end of the runway and figured out he didn’t know how to fly. Just crashed in the field at the end of the runway. Never even got off the ground. Good thing, too. Better to crash on the ground than to fall out of the sky and risk injuring a bunch of innocent people.”

  “Bold move, stealing a plane.”
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  “Bold and stupid. Probably just wanted to be like his dad.”

  “His dad flies planes?”

  “I don’t know if he flies them. He’s into them. Spends a lot of time around the airport from what I hear. He may have taken a flying lesson. But keeping a plane is an expensive proposition. Dirk’s got money, but I don’t think he’s got that much money. Maybe a little single-seater or something. A tin can with wings. Not much more than that though.”

  “What happened to Cooper after he crashed the plane?”

  “Not a damn thing,” Tyler Jo said. “His dad knows that he’s a shithead, but he still bails him out of trouble all the time. Bruce Danielson is the man in charge at the airport, and he and Dirk go way back. Childhood friends. Feds came in to investigate the crash, and Bruce helped deflect blame from Cooper. The official report says that someone stole the plane and crashed it on the runway prior to takeoff, and fled on foot before anyone arrived at the scene. But everyone around here knows that Cooper Oswalt crashed that plane.”

  “No one spoke up?”

  “That’s not how things work around here. We keep to ourselves. You worry about you, I’ll worry about me.”

  “Seems like there’s something to be gained for everyone if you don’t have to worry about Cooper Oswalt anymore though.”

  “Maybe. But most of us would rather deal with the Cooper Oswalts of the world than root around in anyone else’s business, or have them root around in ours.”

  Tyler Jo stared at me for a moment as if to reinforce his point. He nodded, and then took a drink of his screwdriver.

  “Then how do you know so much?” I asked. “If everyone around here prefers to keep to themselves, then you shouldn’t know as much as you do. But it seems you know a little bit about everyone, and everyone knows you know. Are you the official repository?”

  Tyler Jo winked at me and said, “You’ve hit upon the mystery of Dixie County, Mia Mathis. It’s a mystery that everyone knows, but no one acknowledges. And rather than acknowledging it, everyone just pretends like I’m the man who knows everything.”

  “What’s the mystery?” I asked, leaning forward in my chair, hoping Tyler Jo was ready to tell me everything I needed to know.

  “If no one knows anything, then how come everyone knows everything?”

  Chapter 19

  I hadn’t seen an airplane during my time in Cross City, but as soon as I left Tyler Jo’s house and turned onto highway 19, I saw a small plane to my left, a few hundred feet off the ground, that appeared to be landing. As I headed back toward Cross City, I kept glancing over my shoulder to keep an eye on the plane, as if I knew Dirk Oswalt was behind the controls. It didn’t take long for the plane to catch up to me, and then pass me, as it traveled along a path not quite parallel to the highway. I watched it disappear behind the tree line as I approached the edge of Cross City.

  After passing through town, a green sign with a large white airplane on it told me that a left turn would lead me to the airport. I took the suggestion, and a hundred yards later reached a fork in the road. Another green sign told me that the road to the right led to the Dixie County Jail and the Cross City Correctional Institution. I pondered the difference between a jail and a correctional institution for just a moment before following the road to the left, which the sign said led to the airport. As I followed the winding road past the health department and baseball fields, I wondered if any overachieving prisoner had made plans to break out of jail and escape by plane. Audacious, no doubt, but breaking out of jail requires audacity.

  Cross City airport could have been called a landing strip if accuracy in naming mattered. Two perpendicular runways sat just beyond a single-story building. Five cars scattered throughout the parking lot, at the front of which stood a sign welcoming me to Dixie Aviation Services, which sounded more like the name of airline food supply company than an airport. Seven small airplanes sat parked behind the building, adjacent to the runway. Two large storage tanks had the names of different types of fuel painted on the side. A long picnic shelter held a number of tables. I tried to imagine a scenario where someone might come to the airport to have a picnic, but couldn’t conjure anything that made sense.

  I parked and walked into the building. The lobby looked like every office kitchen in America. Three tables each had four chairs, a side-by-side refrigerator had a map taped to the door, and single-serve cups of coffee and creamer packets sat on the countertop, along with a microwave. The whole room looked charmless, but clean.

  I’d just started to make my way down a hallway when a door behind me opened. A man with a dark beard, big belly, and booming voice greeted me.

  “You look lost.”

  “It’s that obvious, is it?” I asked.

  “Most people who come in here have been here before. Pilots know the routine, and we don’t get many passengers without pilots accompanying them.”

  “I am lost, but maybe not for long. I’m looking for someone and Tyler Jo Hawkins told me I might find some help here.”

  “You know Tyler Jo?” the man asked.

  “I’ve met him. I’ve talked to him. I don’t know him well.”

  “Of course you’ve talked to him if you’ve met him,” the man said. “I don’t think anyone has ever been within a hundred feet of Tyler Jo and not been roped into having a conversation with him. That man can talk. Good thing he’s heavy on charm and wisdom, otherwise he’d be difficult to tolerate.”

  “I like him,” I said.

  “No surprise that you like him. He’s heavy on charm and wisdom!” The man walked to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee from a Mr. Coffee manufactured during the Reagan administration. “Any chance you’re looking for Bruce Danielson?”

  “That’s a name that Tyler Jo mentioned,” I said. “He’s the man in charge from what I hear.”

  “The man in charge? The only man around. I’m Bruce.” He walked toward me, extended his hand, and smiled. “What can I do for you? You need some hangar space?”

  “Do you have hangar space?” I asked. “I saw all those airplanes lined up along the tarmac.”

  “Well, no, we don’t have hangar space. I was going to tell you that you’re out of luck. But since you mentioned the tarmac, I’m obliged to tell you that the proper term is apron.”

  “Apron? I’ve never heard that used in relation to an airport. I wasn’t even sure tarmac was the right word.”

  “It’s not,” Bruce said, sitting down in one of the non-descript office chairs. “Not that it makes any difference. Most people outside the industry don’t care what the right word is. Goddamn, I’m in the industry and I don’t much care. Anyway, why did Tyler Jo send you?”

  “I’m looking for a man named Martin Coulson. He’s a distant relative of mine, and I’m doing some genealogy work. I can’t find any proof that he existed in these parts, but I think he did.”

  Bruce took a sip of his coffee, slurping it through his lips, then squeezing his lips shut as if it might try to escape. “Go on.”

  “I’m not certain you can help, but since Tyler Jo said you’re the man in charge here, and it’s such a small place, I figured if Coulson passed through you’d remember him. Does the name ring a bell?”

  “Not in the least,” Bruce said. “I don’t know everyone who passes through here though. If he’s a pilot, I probably know him. If he’s a passenger that comes through often, I probably know him. If he’s a good-looking woman like you, then I’d like to know him, but I guess that doesn’t make any sense. So no, I suppose don’t know him.”

  “I didn’t think so, but I’ve tried every other angle, so now I just want to make sure I leave no stone unturned. Before I go, Tyler Jo told me about Cooper Oswalt’s fiasco with the airplane last year.”

  Bruce nodded twice, and said, “Did he? How’d that come up?”

  “I met Cooper. Interesting guy.”

  “He’s not interesting. Not a damn thing about that kid is interesting. He’s a punk. Don’t
get involved with him. I don’t know what you have in mind, but steer clear of him. Nothing but trouble.”

  “That’s how the story of the airplane came up,” I said. “Tyler Jo said everyone covers for him because they’d rather deal with their own than worry about some outsider snooping in their business.”

  “Something like that. But that doesn’t mean he’s not a punk.”

  “What about his dad?”

  “What about him?”

  “What’s wrong with him? Most of the time a jerk kid comes from jerk parents. And Tyler Jo tells me that his dad is sort of a big deal around here. What’s the deal with that guy?”

  “I thought you were looking for a relative,” Bruce said.

  “I am. I’ve been in town for a few days, meeting people, asking questions. No one knows Coulson. But I like good stories, and Cooper seems like a good story. And Tyler Jo mentioned that his dad spends a lot of time out here at the airport. He said you guys are friends so I thought you might know something about him.”

  “What do you want to know? He owns a logging operation. He’s on the county council. He’s been around a long time.”

  “Why does he come out to the airport?”

  “He likes planes so he comes to where the planes are. Why else would he come? Certainly not for my warm personality.”

  “You talk about planes?”

  “Among other things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Why are you asking?” Bruce leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on top of the table. “Are you a police officer or something?”