Pawnbroker: A Thriller
Page 5
“Why’d you have the lid off the tank?” he said.
“Routine maintenance.” I walked back out and noticed that the other three guys were just standing there, doing nothing. No surprise, I guess. Anything they did would be pure theatrics anyway.
“We’ll be back,” LeaderMan said as he brushed hard against me on the way out of the bathroom.
“I can’t wait.”
He leaned in close and gritted his teeth. “You’re going down, asshole.”
I was nose to nose with him, his breath sour enough to gag a maggot. “If you’re through, get the hell out of my shop, Barney.”
His eyes flamed.
“What’d you say to me, prick?”
“Go polish your bullet, you redneck wannabe.”
One of his colleagues grabbed him and tugged him away. I gave him a big smile.
When they were gone, Penny said, “You might not want to antagonize them.”
“Yeah, the nice-guy approach has worked so well with them.”
“Don’t be glib.”
Chapter 18
In no mood to deal with the public, I flipped the sign to CLOSED and locked the door. “LungFao, take the day off.”
“You sure?” he said.
“Yeah, get out of here.”
I let him out the side door, then sat down on a stool beside the pawn counter.
“What was the point in that,” I said, shaking my head, “when I’m already charged with murder?”
Penny was pacing, up and down the counter line. “They want you in jail. They obviously didn’t think the judge would grant bail. They figure if they can get you on something else, he’ll keep you there.”
“I’m an honest businessman, Penny. You believe that?”
“I do, but to them, you’re a cop-killer, which puts you somewhere between amoeba and cancer cell.”
“What am I going to do?”
“We are going to find the truth.”
“You sound awfully sure of yourself.”
“This is an ugly-ass world, Gray—and you can call me a sentimental goofball—but I still believe in old-fashioned truth and justice. I think you’re innocent and I intend to help you prove it.”
“You’ve known me less than two hours. Why do you believe in me?”
“I’m a good judge of character.”
“And what else?”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s something you’re not saying.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’ve been a pawnbroker for twenty years. I get lied to all day, every day. I have a really good bullshit detector.”
“Fair enough. I knew Johnny Homestead. He was a dirty, low-life, scum-sucking piece of trash. He was also my ex-partner.”
“So, my lawyer’s investigator used to be partners with the ‘cop’ who pulled a gun on me and subsequently got blown away by yours truly? Is this supposed to be the mother of all coincidences or what?”
“It’s no coincidence. I asked for this case.”
“I see. What else have you failed to tell me, Miss Lane?”
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“What does it matter?”
“It matters a damn lot. This is my head on the chopping block, and if you’re here to settle some kind of old score or whatever the hell you’re doing, then I had a right to know.”
“I’m here to help you because you’re in way over your head and you still don’t realize how deep the water is.”
“Then why don’t you tell me?”
“Johnny and I were partners, narcotics, Memphis P.D. Nice things started turning up around him. Too nice. Tailored suits, expensive jewelry, cars.”
“He was on the take?”
“Worse. He was stealing evidence from drug busts and reselling it.”
“And what did you do?”
“I went to Internal Affairs. Turned him in.”
“And?”
“Found myself without a job. I.A. was in on it too.”
“That’s why you’re working as a private investigator?”
“You got it, although I don’t mind this job. Not near so dangerous and the pay’s a hell of a lot better.”
“So nothing happened to Homestead?”
“Not long after that, he quit. Word was he went to work for D.E.A.”
“Geez, a dirty fed, huh?”
“He wouldn’t be the first. Lots of good guys there, but lots the other way, too. Anyway, that was five years ago and I haven’t heard from him or about him since. Until he turns up dead here in your pawn shop.”
“Then when did he make the switch from D.E.A. to working white-collar crimes in Mississippi? That’s the division he was in, you know.”
“A year ago, but I just found that out yesterday.”
“Wonder why he’d make a change like that. Reckon he went straight?”
Penny laughed. “No way. When Johnny Homestead makes a move, there’s a good reason. He had some kind of racket lined up. Bet on it.”
“How do we find out what that racket was?”
“I’m working on that.”
“I have something else for you.” I filled her in on Robo, how he had tipped me off on the cocaine sting, and also relayed his suggestion to get a copy of Homestead’s autopsy report.
She listened, gathered her things, and said, “Okay, I’ll get on that right now. You go home and chill out.”
I said good-bye and she headed out. Just before she stepped through the door, she turned around. “Sure you don’t have any idea what it is the caller wants?”
“None.”
“That’s really bizarre,” she said, as she turned and left.
Chapter 19
At home that night, Abby was snippy with me again, acting like this whole affair was my fault. “You know, your attitude sure has changed since that first day when you were so relieved I wasn’t hurt, Abby.”
“This thing has turned my life upside down, Gray. Everywhere I go, people are staring at me like I have the plague or something.”
“Your life? In case you haven’t noticed, they want to ship me off to Parchman, and I haven’t done anything!”
“Never mind,” she said, then got up and left the room. I kicked back in my recliner and rubbed my temples, trying to get at the throbbing, failing. She was acting like a purebred bitch and I wanted to unload on her, but I had decided not to confront her over Bobby Knight. Not until I could gather hard evidence. I loved her and losing her would be painful, but I had no intention of going into divorce court without the advantage. I now regretted leaving that voice mail, but even if Bobby had gotten it, even if he had told her about it, if I played dumb on it with Abby, she’d get sloppy and I’d nail them.
Chapter 20
COURTYARD MARRIOTT, SUITE 135
MONTELLO, MISSISSIPPI
Mitchell didn’t like the arrogant sonofabitch. Never had. Always talking about how backward Mississippi was, as if he’d be more than a piss-ant anywhere else. Everything about him rubbed Mitchell raw. But, Ricky Ballard was the boss, and not just of this. He ran this county and everything in it. All Mississippi counties have sheriffs and all the towns have chiefs of police. Montello had one, but he was chief in name only. Sheriff Ricky Ballard came and went as he pleased in not only the Pontocola County Sheriff’s office, but the Montello Police Department, as well. He was the law in his county, as his father had been before him, and it was advisable to remember that. Mitchell was damn sure smart enough not to cross the psychotic bastard.
“They’ve scheduled an autopsy in the morning,” Mitchell said.
“How do you propose to stop it?” Ballard said.
“I got Bobby Knight working on it right now.”
The man’s ever-present flunky, a huge idiot named Docker, snorted. “Boy scout.”
“Bobby will do fine,” Mitchell said.
“It’s your ass if he screws up,” Ballard said.
“He won’t.”
Mitchell looked at it, nodded. He stood, hitched up his pants, and headed for the door. Just as his hand touched the knob, Ballard spoke again.
“You don’t like me, do you?”
Mitchell froze, his hand on the knob. What the hell kind of question was that? And what to say to it? I hate your fucking guts, you smug cocksucker? “Why you say that?” he finally said.
“Don’t worry, Mitchell. It doesn’t matter. But if you ever betray me...well...I’m told I have something of a reputation, so you probably understand the consequences. Now get out.”
* * *
Mitchell splashed cold water on his face, dried it with a paper towel, then rubbed the damp towel over his neck, front and back, trying to kill the sweat. The sick fuck had a reputation, all right. Mitchell knew exactly what had happened to at least one guy who pissed him off. They’d found him in the woods fifty miles from nowhere, hanging upside down from a tree limb, a steel rod through his ankles, skinned and gutted like a field-dressed deer. Sounded like bullshit to Mitchell, but Bobby had checked it out, said it was true. Said when it came to business, the guy had zero mercy, which was why he was called “the Machine.”
“Get a hold of yourself,” Mitchell said into the mirror. “You ain’t gonna cross him, and you’re also gonna watch your back, so fuck him.” He was feeling better now, getting his confidence back. That sonofabitch had just freaked him out for a few minutes, that’s all. Fuck Ballard. Fuck the Machine.
Chapter 21
“Some woman for you,” Abby said, jabbing the phone at me and stomping off. I paused the DVD and shook my head in wonder at her audacity, then answered the phone. “Hello?”
“You realize the coroner here isn’t even a doctor?” Penny said.
“It’s an elected post, about the same requirements as justice of the peace.”
“None?”
“Exactly. What’s up?”
“They’re sending a medical examiner up from Jackson to handle the autopsy. He’ll be in sometime tonight and he’s doing the autopsy first thing in the morning at the hospital.”
“And the report?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. We’re entitled to it, and if we get any resistance, Lucas will be here.”
“Okay, anything else?”
“That covers it. You doing okay?”
“Got my girls in my lap, a movie on the screen, and a big bowl of popcorn.”
“Sounds like the life.”
“You bet. See you in the morning, Penny.”
Chapter 22
Penny had trouble on her face when she walked into the shop the next morning with Lucas Benton in tight tow. He looked pristine, unflappable.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
“I met the M.E. this morning,” Penny said, “hoping he’d give me the gist of his findings so we’d have something to go on while waiting for the report.”
“And?”
“He didn’t do the autopsy.”
“Why not?”
“Johnny’s body went missing last night.”
Lucas was straightening his tie, or more likely just enjoying looking at himself, in the mirror we keep atop the jewelry showcase. “Gray,” he said, “do you have a troubled history with the police department here?”
“Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?”
“Well, yes, I guess I do.”
“Explain.”
“I’ve butted heads a number of times with Tommy Mitchell, the detective in charge of this investigation.”
“Over what?”
“He’s an arrogant bastard who tries to run roughshod over my rights as a pawnbroker. Shows up here, wants to take allegedly stolen merchandise away from me without following due process.”
“I see.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. I like to understand all I can about a case, the dynamics of personality that may be involved, and it’s becoming more evident by the day that the local authorities have a somewhat visceral disdain for you.”
“You do understand,” I said, “that this is very different from Memphis, right?”
“In what way?”
“It’s a small town in rural Mississippi. Things don’t always work like they do in big cities.”
Lucas chuckled. “Every city, from the tiniest village to the most thriving metropolis, has its politics, Gray. I’ve seen it at every level. But it makes it really difficult when someone is personally at odds with the structure of an entity.”
I nodded, not entirely sure what he was trying to say. Structure? I also pondered whether I should tell them about Abby and Knight. After all, the latest raid had taken place the day after I left the “I know” message in his voice mail. I decided against it. There was also a minor history between Ballard and me. It was minor to me, at least, and I sure hoped he didn’t still have it stuck in his craw. I decided to keep that to myself for the moment, as well.
“Where’s your assistant, Ling Foo?”
“LungFao called in sick this morning. I have the shop to myself.” The door chimed and a customer stepped in. “Excuse me for a moment.”
As I left to take care of the customer, Penny tapped Lucas on the shoulder and motioned him toward the back of the store. He followed.
“Could I help you?” I said to the customer.
“I need to pawn a ring.”
“Okay, let me see what you have.” She handed me a gold ring with seven tiny, industrial-grade diamonds, a quality level I call Frozen Spit. “How much you trying to get?”
“I needs a hundred dollars.” I tried not to roll my eyes but it probably happened by reflex. “Ma’am, I retail rings like this for twenty dollars. I can loan you ten, though.”
“Ten dollars?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Shit, you crazy.”
“Have a good day, ma’am.” I handed her ring back and walked away. Damn LungFao and his stomach virus. The customer left in a huff, muttering nasty things about me all the way out.
“What do we do now?” I said toward the back of the store where Lucas and Penny were. I walked that way and when I neared the back I noticed that Penny looked seriously unhappy.
“If you do, I quit,” she said to Lucas.
“Is there something I should know?” I said.
“Lucas is trying to worm his way out of this case. I told him if he does, I quit.”
“Don’t threaten me, Miss Lane. You can be replaced.”
“What are you talking about?” I said to Lucas. “I’ll have the retainer this week, and I’ll pay your bill when this is over. What’s the problem?”
“It’s not an issue of money, Gray.”
“Then just what is the issue, Lucas?” I said.
“The issue,” Penny said, “is that these damn snake lawyers all stick together and sell out their clients when it suits their purposes.”
“Now you jus—”
“Go to hell, Lucas!” she said. “Here’s what’s going on, Gray. Some lawyer friend of Lucas’s here in your town, who’s obviously in bed with the local authorities, has asked him to pull out and leave you hanging. Just one more bit of pressure the local system is bringing to bear on you, and I won’t let him do it.”
Lucas the Unflappable was flapping. His ears were cherry red, his lips drawn into a narrow, angry line. “You, Miss Lane, do not dictate to me what I can and cannot do.”
“Fine. Let me put it this way, Lucas. If you don’t stay on this case and give it your very best effort, then I just might want to have a little talk with Mrs. Lucas Benton about all these out-of-town cases of yours. Girl to girl, you understand.”
“You bitch,” he hissed.
“Get cracking, Lucas. You have a case to prepare for.”
Chapter 23
Lucas seemed to withdraw his
thoughts of withdrawal and asked for a copy of the search warrant from the day before. After he left, traffic picked up in the shop and got hard for me to handle by myself. I called Abby and asked if she could get a sitter for the kids and come. She whined and moaned, so I told her to forget it and hung up the phone.
Penny heard my side of the conversation and volunteered to become a pawnbroker’s assistant for the afternoon. I accepted and she picked the job up quickly, showing merchandise to customers, testing incoming VCRs and televisions, things like that. In between customers, we talked about the case, my background, her background, life in general.
Teddy called, said he’d be out of town all day. We agreed to meet that evening for a beer.
Penny also worked the phone trying to find out what had happened to Johnny Homestead’s body. Oddly enough, one of my more colorful customers who happened to be in the shop, Mr. Milton Blue, provided our first break on that situation. Milton had come in looking for a TV for his grandson to play video games on when he visited. I showed him what we had and he walked the aisles and agonized over the notion of parting with thirty dollars. In a way, he reminded me of Lucas Benton. No matter when you saw Milton, he looked starched and pressed in his undertaker-black suit, white shirt, and silk tie. He had a way of leaning back while he walked, coat pulled open, thumbs hooked in his ever-present red suspenders.
While Milton walked, Penny and I talked about Homestead, specifically about his missing body. On his eight or ninth circuit, Milton stopped right in front of us.
“How old was this fellow?” he said.
“Around forty,” Penny said.
He tilted his head back, stroked his chin. “Hmmm. Odd thing happened last night. Around midnight, my answering service got an emergency call, says they had a John Doe who needed to be embalmed, wanted to know could we help them out.”
“Who was it?” Penny said, an eager look on her face.
“Hold your horses there, little lady. I’m telling the story.” Sto-rey. “Well,” he continued, “the answering service calls me and wants to know what to tell this fellow. I likes to handle my business myself, you know what I’m saying? So I got the number and calls him myself. Told him I’d be glad to help him out so long as somebody was standing good for the bill. I don’t do this stuff for my health, you understands.”