by Dan Dillard
CHAPTER EIGHT
Riviera
Laura Clemmons weighed heavy on her brother’s mind for the first time in almost two decades. He thought about her often, but never with so much grief—not since the funeral. He busted his knuckle no fewer than three times because he was seeing her face, zoning out and not paying attention to what he was doing. He even heard her voice say, “Way to go numb nuts. It’s a wonder you can feed yourself.” It wasn’t really her voice. It was in his head.
Wasn’t it?
It had taken him three hours to get the old radiator loose and put the new one in, mainly due to stubborn bolts. He owed Mr. Shockley a can of penetrating oil and made a mental note to tell him to add it to the bill when he saw him.
As Rusty cleaned up his mess, he heard voices at the back of the auto parts store and looked up over the hood to see Bill Shockley and a police officer exiting the back of the building. He wondered how many minutes it required on the HOLD YOUR HORSES sign.
“Rusty?” Bill said. He was just outside of the garage, casting a shadow across the floor. “It seems the law is here looking for you. I told him I thought the car was hot…and you might be the dumbest criminal I ever met.”
“Thanks, Bill. I can handle it from here,” Greg said.
“Hell you can. This is my place of business. If there’s gonna be a fire fight, I wanna squeeze off a few rounds!”
“It’s nothing like that, Bill,” Greg said as he put a hand on Bill’s shoulder. “But if it escalates, I’ll give you a call.”
Bill chuckled as Rusty cleared the shadow of the garage and stepped out into the sunlight with the other two men. He smiled and wiped his hands on a shop towel. He saw Bill’s face was the gray, sickly color again and the phrase god-damnable high talk about fucking liberal bleeding-out-of- your-man-cunt faggoty queer stuff crossed his mind.
Maybe it’s Tourette’s.
“Are you feelin’ all right there, Mr. Shockley?” Rusty said.
Bill grimaced and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his face. “I suppose. It’s dreadful hot out here. Sweatin’ down to my balls.”
Rusty nodded, amused at the old man’s candor, and then looked at the stranger. Sergeant Stafford extended his hand with a look of understanding on his face.
“Greg,” he said.
“Rusty, this here is Sergeant Stafford. Smithville’s finest, protecting and serving right here on my very own property. Can you wrap your head around that?” Bill said.
“Rusty Clemmons,” Rusty said and shook the offered hand.
“Bill, can I please have a moment?” Greg asked.
Bill looked at each one and nodded. “I’ll be inside, but I do feel safer knowing you’re out here, Sarge.”
Greg smiled and patted the old man’s shoulder. “I’m glad to be of service.”
As Bill walked away, Rusty whispered, his face the dictionary example of anxiety, “Is he…?”
Greg looked back and waited until the door closed behind Shockley’s back. “He’s old. Ornery and old, but harmless. Is this your car? Looks kind of like the old Batmobile.”
“Yeah. Actually we nicknamed her The Bat back in high school.”
“You’ve had this thing since high school?” Greg asked, scratching his head.
The two stood and stared at the rusty old Buick. A pair of young boys rode by on bicycles shouting something about who could go faster. “Nuh uh,” one said. “I’m way better. I’m like twice as fast as you.”
“Then how come I’m…” the other started, but the voice faded into tones instead of words as they disappeared beyond the first house.
“Bill said you needed to speak to me? I can’t imagine what about,” Rusty said.
“Yep,” Greg said shifting his gaze from the car to Rusty’s face and crossing his arms. “I spoke to Robyn Scott over at The Admiral this morning.”
A dozen thoughts crossed Rusty’s mind. Death wasn’t one of them. Was Greg Robyn’s boyfriend, real or imagined? Suddenly visions of fights picked in the high school cafeteria filled his mind. Jealousy and misguided decisions based on rampant hormones.
We’re all adults here. Surely that sort of shit is a distant memory.
Rusty tipped his head to the side and squinted at the sun as it filtered through the trees.
Greg continued. “According to her, you were there last evening. She said you were drinking and playing cards with a pair of gentlemen.”
“Yes. Thomas and Shrimp…I don’t know his real name. To be honest, I wasn’t there with them. I met them all that night and they invited me to play a few hands of Rummy. Is something wrong?”
“Well, Shrimp is dead and Thomas claims to have killed him.”
Dead? I just met them. Well, I just met Thomas again.
Thomas’s easy smile flashed through his mind.
You inspired me to pick up the guitar. I put it right back down again, but you inspired me to pick it up.
Genuine funny. Surely, not a murderer. Then Rusty thought about Bill Shockley and the gray color his skin turned when he was in that mode. He wondered if Thomas or maybe the deceased man called Shrimp also had that gray mode.
Things are just meaner.
“Holy shit,” Rusty whispered. Secretly he was relieved the Sergeant wasn’t a jealous boyfriend.
“Yeah, how’s that for a welcome home?” Greg said.
Home? How does he…
Rusty shifted his stance. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”
“No,” Greg said. “Robyn mentioned you were in town for the reunion. That’s how I found you. She told me you were over here working on your car. Small town, word travels fast. Look, I’m not trying to ruin your stay and I feel sure you had nothing to do with any of this. I just wanted to make sure I cover all my bases. We don’t have a lot of crime—not murder anyway. We don’t have a lot of violent crime at all around here. You understand, right? A lot of lives are about to get ruined or turned upside down because of this.”
“I understand,” Rusty said.
The two of them were silent for a moment. “Did anything strange happen last evening? Was there any drug use that you witnessed? Maybe an argument?” Greg said.
“No. I mean we threw back a lot of beer. Robyn tried to keep them from driving home, but they wouldn’t listen. It was all laughter and joking though. I mean it’s hazy, but I don’t remember anything other than some playful shit being talked.”
“That’s what Robyn said. Was there any talk of money being owed? Cheating at cards?”
“Sure, but joking, you know? At least that’s the feeling I got from all of it. There weren’t any heated words. The loser bought the next round and Robyn poured a couple pitchers on the house. I guess we each dropped maybe twenty bucks.”
“And afterwards, everyone went their separate ways?”
Rusty thought a minute. He’d wanted Robyn to go back to his room. He’d had the feeling she might have if he’d asked, but it might have been the beer doing his thinking for him and he was still unsure of the officer’s motives. Maybe he was stepping on some lover’s toes, but those were silly thoughts. A man has been killed.
Things are just meaner than they used to be. And that smell, in your nose one minute, hidden on the breeze in the next…or is it hidden? Maybe you just get used to it.
Rusty took a deep breath, searching for the odd scent but not finding it. It worried him. His paranoia worried him.
“No,” Rusty said.
“No?” Greg said.
“No. Thomas and Shrimp left together, like I said.” Rusty felt ridiculous calling a dead man Shrimp. “They left in a good mood, singing. Happy drunks. Robyn walked me out, we said goodnight and she went into the lobby to hang out with her daughter.”
“Kelly?”
Does she have more than one kid?
“Yeah, I guess. I don’t remember her name. She was the receptionist who checked me in. A little plump, glasses. Sweet girl.”
“That’s Kelly.”
“And then?” Greg asked.
“Then I went back to my room and passed out. I woke up this morning about ten and then had coffee and some lunch. I guess I got here about eleven.”
Greg listened to all the information with sincere interest, never accusatory. The clouds had cleared and allowed the sun to blaze on unhindered. He stepped into the garage and looked thankful for the shade. Rusty followed him. Greg wiped his face with his forearm, turning the gleaming sweat into a dark patch on his shirt sleeve. “I just don’t understand it. Thomas is a good guy. He works construction out on the island, has a wife and a little boy. It don’t make any sense,” Greg said.
“I wish I could be more help,” Rusty said.
“Me too,” Greg said. He held one hand out to shake and put his sunglasses on with the other. “I apologize for this. You could’ve gone on to that reunion and back to your life wherever and never had this weighing on your mind.”
Rusty shook his hand and said, “Not at all. Like you said, small town news travels at light speed. I’m sure it’ll be a big topic of conversation at the reunion. I’d have heard something eventually.”
“You’re right.” Greg looked at the Riviera again, walked deeper into the garage and peeled his glasses off for a moment. He leaned into the window on the passenger side to inspect the interior. “You know, she could be one sexy machine if you treated her right.” He didn’t dance like Travis the tow truck roadie, but the words were the same.
“I hear that all the time,” Rusty said.