by Tom Hansen
Elmer was waiting in the back by the restroom with Toby. Toby had a notebook open and was taking notes.
“What happened?” Willy asked as he looked down at the corpse of a huge man lying face up whose head appeared to have been split in half. Barely noticeable, a grayish bulge protruded from the base of the man’s skull and was covered in blood. Deciding not to bother with rubber gloves, Willy reached under the man’s neck and rolled his head to one side. The bulge was the man’s herniated brain. Toby dropped his notebook into the pool of blood and vomited all over the evidence.
Elmer grabbed Toby by the arm and dragged him to a stool just outside the bathroom. Elmer then decided that he may as well join the party and he too launched his breakfast onto the floor. Willy stepped back out of the bathroom and gave Elmer and Toby an evil glance.
When Elmer regained his composure, he shot a confusing look at the dead man, then at Willy. “How could that guy fall so hard that his head gets broken in half? I ain’t got much liability insurance, Willy. Dang, is this the end of me and my store?”
“I don’t think this fella is gonna be suing anybody, Elmer. Can’t say if he’s got a family, though. But something’s funny: I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before, but I just can’t place it.”
“He ain’t never been in my store before. Strange happenings today, Willy. Calvin blowing up in that car, then this.”
“Stranger than you even know, Elmer. Stay here, Toby. I’m going back to the station. Don’t touch anything. I’ll send our detective squad and the coroner over right away.”
As Willy limped to the front of the store he saw something sparkle on the tile floor. He knelt down and picked up a jagged piece of broken glass about the size of a dime. Willy instinctively put the glass to his nose and took a whiff. He thought it smelled like wine, but he couldn’t be sure. Willy turned and yelled back to Elmer who was helping Toby back to the stool after another bout with sour stomach, “Hey Elmer. You sell liquor in this here hardware store?”
“Now I ain’t no moonshiner, if that’s what you’re asking Willy.”
“When was the last time you swept your floors, Elmer?”
“Matter of fact I was sweeping when I heard the car crash outside. Only a couple of customers was in here and we all ran out to see what happened.”
“You remember sweeping up any broken glass?”
“Naw. Wasn’t no broken glass in here, Willy. I would have seen it.”
Willy took out his hanky and carefully wrapped the glass into it, then stuck it back in his pocket.
* * * * *
Sheriff Bonty’s hands were perched on his hips and if looks could kill, Willy was a dead man. “Get your butt into my office, Banks.” The sheriff turned and marched toward his office in the back of the station.
Willy stopped momentarily at the front desk and pulled the hanky from his pocket. He opened the hanky and laid it carefully in front of Johnny Murphree.
“Johnny,” whispered Willy, “send this down to the lab and let me know what they find. Don’t tell anyone but me, you got it?” As Willy headed down the hall toward the sheriff’s office, he looked back at Johnny and said, “And Toby needs the detectives and coroner sent over to Elmer’s right away.”
After hearing Willy’s request for the detectives and coroner, Sheriff Bonty paused outside the door to his office and turned toward Willy. “Hell, Willy! You know dang well half of our detectives are at Agnes’ and the other half are investigating that old man at BoldMart. Lord knows where the coroner is!”
“Then call down to Fort Pierce, man. We got to get some guys who can assist us now! This town is a law-breaking mess, if you haven’t noticed!”
Willy wasn’t sure exactly what Sheriff Bonty was pissed about now, it could be a number of things. But he had a sneaking suspicion that he probably deserved the tongue lashing that was about to happen.
“Sit down, Willy.” The look in the sheriff’s eyes told Willy that arguing with him some more might just start World War Three. “What the hell were you thinking about at BoldMart? Smashing a citizen’s car window is one thing, bad enough you know, but then reaching in and dragging him out of the car by his neck, no less!”
“Thought some proactive self-defense might help me live longer than thirty bullets in my chest, Al,” Willy replied sarcastically.
“Yanking a man through the window of his car was self-defense?”
“He was my shield. Jackson’s hit man in the back seat was going for his gun.”
“And what makes you think it was Jackson’s man?”
“All of them was at his ranch kicking the shit out of me the other night, Sheriff. I think we had this conversation earlier.”
“What had the men in that car done to cause you to approach their vehicle?”
“They’d been following me all morning.”
“Was that a crime, Willy?”
“You tell me, Sheriff. Was a crime about to happen, like them thugs ramming my car into a palm tree or something?”
“Well, the way you handled the situation caused that old man’s death. I’ve contacted the Florida Department of Public Safety, Internal Affairs Division, as I’m required to do, Willy. They’re sending someone over soon. In the meantime, you’re assigned to traffic duty. And if you even think about giving Roy Jackson a ticket for speeding or even spitting on the highway, you’re history.”
“And why is Roy so damned special, Sheriff?”
“He ain’t. But for your own sake, I’m keeping you away from him. That’s an order. Any tickets or harassing Roy Jackson and I’ll take your badge. Permanently! Got it, Willy? Now get the hell out of here!”
CHAPTER 20
Friday, February 12, 1982
8:00 a.m.
W illy snored Thursday away in la-la land and awoke on Friday morning after a thirty-hour sleep. Not sure how he slept so long considering the vivid dreams that swirled around inside his brain the entire time during his deep slumber. The worst hallucination surrounded a nightmarish vision of an alligator beer party with him being deep-fried in a huge pot of bacon grease while the wild singing reptiles licked their chops and high-fived (or high-foured, depending on how many dang fingers them creatures got!) each other as they danced in circles on their hind legs! Fortunately, the telephone rang and stirred him from the depths of hell. Willy could barely mutter a “hello.”
“Mad Dog Twenty,” Johnny reported to Willy over the phone.
“Who is this?” Willy stammered, trying to get his thoughts back into reality.
“It’s me, Johnny Murphree, and I got your A-Number One analysis back for you. But I don’t think it’s going to be much help, Willy. It’s Mad Dog Twenty, you know, MD20, the numero uno pick of winos everywhere!”
“What’s MD20, Johnny, I mean, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Your shiny little piece of glass you found over at Elmer’s. You got a bit of amnesia, or what, Willy?”
“Are you saying the glass is a broken piece off a MD20 bottle?”
“Yes, sir! Sure you wasn’t boozing it a little with the gators on the Kissimmee, Willy?”
“Hey, after my dream last night I’m not too sure! Anyway, did you happen to pick up any prints with it?”
“Just yours, Willy. Didn’t think to pick up evidence with a glove like they teach you in the whiz-bang detective course, did you?”
“No, that wasn’t exactly out of the book, was it, Johnny?”
“No, sir, not exactly. Hey, by the way, there was a tiny speck of fiber that was stuck to the broken glass. It matched the fiber from the shirt worn by the dead man with the bad headache. He didn’t appear to be a cheap wine type of guy, did he, Willy?”
“Have you identified the man yet?”
“No such luck. He was carrying over a thousand dollars on a money clip, but no wallet. No one has called to report a missing person, either.”
“Strange, isn’t it Johnny? You got a dead rich man with no honey to claim the big inherit
ance. Doubtful a man with that kind of dough would be drinking MD20.”
“So where did the broken glass come from?”
“That’s what I’m going to try and find out.”
“Now dang it, Willy. First, you need to heal that ugly scar on your behind, and then you got to remember you’re a traffic-only cop for the time being.”
“Yeah, right. Thanks for the info, Johnny.”
CHAPTER 21
Friday, February 12, 1982
7:00 p.m.
T he Warrior basketball team was sixteen and one with a shot at revenge for their only loss. Martin Park was in town and they had destroyed Seminole Bend High the second game of the season at Martin Park. Not much love lost in this one. Martin Park held the Florida high school record for most consecutive wins, had won the state championship two years running and hadn’t lost to the Warriors since the sixties! Good thing for fans down in these parts that Seminole Bend’s football team made up for what the basketball team couldn’t seem to do on the court. So the arch rivalry was now cooking up some steam, thanks to Seminole Bend’s newfound mastery on the hardcourt, and Martin Park was setting their sights on win number seventy-three in a row! Even the Miami Sentinel’s sport’s columnist, Bard Smith, found his way northward to the central Florida swamplands for this one.
Kenny Gormon played only three minutes at the end of the first game in Martin Park back in December and had entered that game when the Warriors were down, ninety-eight to sixty-four. It was simply another game where Martin Park sat their starters the entire fourth quarter. Meanwhile, Jimmy Jackson played the other twenty-nine minutes. Papa Roy Jackson watched that game sitting two rows behind Coach Brett Berry, while the University of Florida hoop scouts took notes and stats from the top row of the bleachers. During a time-out in the third quarter, Berry was going to give Jimmy a breather on the bench and called for Kenny to check in. That was until the coach looked up and detected smoke and flames coming out of Roy’s ears and nose. Jimmy sucked it up, and Kenny put his warm-up top back on and sat down again. Jimmy scored fourteen points in the three and a half quarters he played. Kenny scored ten points in his only action on the court, the last three minutes of the game.
Although Coach Brett Berry enjoyed the luxurious fixings for his house that Roy provided, he was an athlete at heart and he also coveted winning. As the season progressed, it was obvious Kenny was more skilled than Jimmy and if given the opportunity, Kenny could play major college basketball. Jimmy, on the other hand, would have to have his daddy “purchase” that honor. But tonight, Coach believed his Warriors could be the first team to beat Martin Park in three years and he needed his shooting sensation, Kenny Gormon, in the game to make that happen.
When the starting five was announced, both Kenny and Jimmy trotted out to center court high-fiving each other. Kenny replaced Willis Mann in the starting lineup at guard, even though Willis was the team leader in assists. Willis asked Coach Berry why he was being benched, and Coach said he needed Kenny’s shooting ability to win the game. Willis agreed with that, but he wanted to know, as did most of the Warrior fans, why Jimmy Jackson wasn’t the guy picking splinters from his butt. Coach said he had a “gut feeling” about that move.
Roy was ticked off! Not only were the Gators scouting this game, so were the Florida State Seminoles, Miami Hurricanes and Georgia Bulldogs. Roy could care less about FSU, Miami and Georgia, it was the University of Florida that he wanted his son to attend, and by God, that was going to happen. Roy certainly didn’t want Kenny Gormon stealing any thunder from his boy Jimmy.
Roy hopped down to the floor and barked in the coach’s face, “What the hell are you doing, Berry? You need Willis and Jimmy in this game if you’re going to beat Martin Park.”
“Just trying some things, Roy. Jimmy will do fine!”
Roy strutted up and down the sideline before the buzzer sounded to start the game. His daughter, Jenny Jackson, was at the end of the gym by the padded wall mats with the rest of the cheerleaders. She tried to motion with her arms to get her daddy to sit down because he was embarrassing her and Jimmy. Hands staked firmly on his waist, Roy shook his head in disgust and parked himself on the front row of the bleachers, so close to the Warrior team that if he had a uniform and lost several layers of blubber around his waist, he might be mistaken for a player!
Willy’s nephew and Warrior center, Tyrone Banks, tipped the opening jump ball over to Marcelus Cleaver, who threw a nifty bounce pass to Jimmy Jackson for a reverse layup and the Warriors were up two to nothing. Seminole Bend immediately set up in a one-two-one-one full court press, and Jimmy stole the Martin Park in-bounds pass. He could have easily gone in for another layup, but he saw Kenny Gormon open at the top of the key and he passed it over to him quickly. Kenny’s shot was more than pretty as it arched delicately over the top of the rim and barely skimmed the net on the way through. Four zip, Seminole Bend. Roy’s eyes caught his son’s eyes and the look of anger was powerful.
“Damn it, Jimmy. What’s up with passing? Take the easy layup!” Roy shouted as Jimmy took his position at the front court wing of the zone press. Jimmy ignored his father and that irked Roy even more.
Midway through the second quarter, Martin Park began to light it up. They finished fourteen for fifteen on short range jump shots following dynamic picks and sensational passes, and then tossed in another five points on free throws. The thirty-three second quarter points put them up fifty-one to forty-two at half. But Kenny Gormon one-upped the entire Martin Park team in the first half, hitting fifteen for fifteen on everything from a driving layup to a baby hook and even a left-handed fall away shot from the baseline. Needless to say, the scouts were impressed. Needless to say, Roy Jackson was fit to be tied!
Kenny’s thirty half-time points were a school record. He needed only fifteen more to break the single game scoring record, and twenty-two in the second half would break the conference record. Roy was going to make sure that didn’t happen. As the Warrior’s broke from the locker room, Coach Berry was bringing up the caboose. Roy met him in the hallway and told the assistant coaches to keep on moving out to the gym.
“Kenny needs a rest, Coach,” Roy uttered in a stern tone of voice.
“Dang it, Roy. We can win this game. Kenny is hotter than all get out!”
“Kenny needs a rest, damn it! I’ll let you know if you need him anytime soon!”
“I can’t Roy. Everyone in the gym, including Martin Park, would know something’s up. How the hell can I justify taking out a guy who just scored thirty points in a half without missing? Smith from the Sentinel would have a field day with that!”
“You and your pregnant wife came in two separate cars, right Coach? They say a big rain storm is brewing outside. You wouldn’t want her vehicle slipping and sliding going home alone on Highway 441, now would you?” Roy stuck his crooked finger into Coach Berry’s chest. “Gormon sits, got it?” Roy turned abruptly and headed back to the gym leaving the flabbergasted coach standing alone in the hallway.
Coach Berry was numb, perplexed and unfocused as he shuffled back to the bench with only fifty seconds to go before the start of the second half. Instead of conjuring up one last motivational oration in the huddle, he jotted and folded a Post-It note for his wife and had his manager send it up to her. Sheryl Berry was sitting on the top row of the bleachers, mainly so she could prop her back up against the concrete wall. Her first child was seven months in the making and practicing karate in her stomach. The note was scribbled quickly and said, “Don’t go home after the game! Stay in gym!” Sheryl glanced a strange look at her husband who was shouting second half instructions to his team just as they were about to break the huddle. He looked up at her briefly and nodded seriously.
“Kenny,” said Coach Berry as he grabbed Gormon’s jersey and pulled him back. “Willis is going to start the second half.”
The entire Warrior team, starters and subs, looked up at the coach and their mouths dropped open in unison.
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sp; “Coach, Kenny’s got to play. He ain’t missed a shot. I’ll sit right here on the bench and cheer for him like I did in the first half,” Willis pleaded.
“You don’t want to play? What the hell kind of attitude is that, Mann? Now get your butt in the game and make a difference, you hear me?!”
Willis hopped up and joined the other four starters as they made their way onto the floor, all of them shaking their heads in confusion and muttering under their breaths. As soon as the Warrior fans saw that Kenny was on the bench, angry shouts and a few cuss words were bellowed towards the beleaguered coach. Sheryl Berry knew something was wrong. So did Willy Banks, who was standing in the doorway.
The Warriors had no answer for the Martin Park starting five in the third quarter and Jimmy Jackson shot one for eleven. Sophomore, Tyrone Banks knew it was up to him to step it up or they would be blown right off their own home court. He ripped down rebounds from the few Martin Park missed shots, and added three thunderous dunks. Marcelus hit a few key shots, but at the end of the third quarter, Martin Park’s lead had grown to twenty-four points, eighty-three to fifty-nine. All that was left was the fat lady hooking up her karaoke machine.
When Jimmy’s first shot of the fourth quarter missed everything except the back wall, Coach Berry called for a time out. He then pulled Jimmy and put Kenny back into the game. By then, the scouts were long gone, as they departed at the end of the third quarter. Roy got up and took a new seat, directly behind the coach.
“Are your windows up, Coach? I think it’s raining outside.” Roy’s threatening sarcasm rang through Berry’s ears, but he didn’t flinch.