by Arno Joubert
“And for all the loyal support I’ve been receiving from you good folks, I’ll be having a party at Prairie Lookout from three o’ clock, just for you!”
The crowd erupted.
The first bars of “Achy Breaky Heart” started playing on large speakers. Fitch shook his head to the rhythm of the song and shimmied a couple of dance steps. He finished with a pirouette on the back of his heel, his jacket waving around him like a black tutu.
“Barbecue and beers are on the house,” he announced and pointed his hand in the air. “Come say hello!”
The throng of people whooped and clapped their hands. An impromptu line-dance ensemble started gyrating, swaying, and skipping to the tune of the song.
Andy Fitch scanned the crowd with a smile, put his Stetson on his head, and bounced off the stage energetically, walking to a metal table surrounded by men in black uniforms. They had placed poles with metal chains between them in front of the table. People arranged themselves in a queue, waiting patiently to meet their hero. Andy Fitch sat down and received the first admirers; they shook his hand, and Fitch stood smiling as their photos were taken.
He scooped up a pamphlet from a stack on the table. On it, Andy Fitch winked, pointing directly at the camera. A message next to his photo read, “Tiger Andy, he’s our man. If he can’t do it, we’re all screwed.” He signed it, winked, and handed it to the couple at his table.
Large trucks had been parked at the edge of the football field. Men started unloading crates of beer, carrying them to temporary gazebos in the center of the field. The crowd dispersed, nodding to the beat of the music.
An hour later, Fitch was attending to the final stragglers in the queue. Neil joined them and waited for the couple in front of him to receive their signed pamphlets. Fitch waved him over with a smile. Neil nodded, walked to the table, and stuck out his hand. Fitch clutched his hand firmly, shaking it up and down.
Fitch’s eyes lingered on Neil’s face for a moment, a stiff smile on his lips. He held onto Neil’s hand for a second, tightening his grip. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Allen.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Fitch,” Neil said, squeezing back. Fitch’s eyes narrowed momentarily, the corner of his lip twitching before he let go of Neil’s hand.
Neil slid his wallet from his back pocket. “Unfortunately, I’m not here to exchange pleasantries. I’m here on official business.” He flashed his Interpol badge at Fitch. “Government business.”
Fitch fixed stone-cold eyes on Neil’s face. He slouched into his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “Is this about the porn movies?”
Neil nodded. “Yep.”
“Look, Mr. Allen, or may I call you Neil?” Fitch asked.
Neil shrugged.
Fitch sprang up and walked around the table. He wrapped his arm around Neil’s shoulder, talking in a hushed tone. “We’ve dealt with this issue internally. Meet me for breakfast tomorrow at the ranch and I’ll explain everything.”
Neil shrugged the arm off his shoulder. “I’ve got time now.”
Fitch gave Neil an icy stare. “Well, I don’t. I need to make sure that my people are happy.” He waved at the crowd on the football field. “We’re having a barbecue at Prairie Lookout.” His lips smiled but his eyes didn’t. “Meet me for breakfast at my ranch at eight.”
Then Fitch’s smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed to two slits. “That your partner?” he asked, nodding his head toward Alexa.
Neil nodded.
He leaned toward Neil. “Leave her at home. Let’s deal with this like men.”
Neil shook his head. “Not possible. She’s leading this case.”
“Leave her at home, or we do this the arduous way, through the judicial system.” Fitch stared at Neil, two pairs of blue eyes locked onto each other. Fitch smiled thinly, turned away, and waved as he left. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Allen.”
Alexa and Neil strolled back to their car behind the diner. A trickle of people made their way to the bar, seeking respite from the glaring sun. Neil glanced sidelong to Alexa, waiting for the inevitable question.
“What was that all about?” Alexa asked, taking Neil’s hand in hers.
Neil smiled. “Fitch playing mind games.”
Alexa looked at him for a moment. He squeezed her hand and smiled.
“Okay.”
Neil unlocked the rental car, surprising a teenage couple making out in a Chevy Trailblazer next to them. The young lady pulled her T-shirt back down over her chest and sat up straight, fixing her hair in the vanity mirror. The guy looked away from them, sucking on a beer.
Neil winked at Alexa and she smiled. They climbed into the car, drove toward the main road, and headed toward the inn, weaving their way through the myriad of slow-moving vehicles.
The parking area at Ocelot Inn was deserted, as usual. They hadn’t seen any other visitors since they had checked in a couple of days ago. They parked beneath the large ash tree. The early morning sun beat down on them, heat waves rising from the walkway to the reception area. Alexa stuck her head inside.
Missy sat behind the reception desk, a copy of Geotimes in her hands. She looked up and smiled at Alexa.
“Is she awake?” Alexa asked.
Missy shook her head. “Nope, she’s still sleeping, poor dear.”
Alexa nodded sweetly to Missy, and she and Neil walked back to their room.
She kicked off her shoes and sat down on the chair, folding her legs beneath her. Neil massaged her shoulders and she squeezed his hand. “Remember those kids in the parking lot?”
“The ones making out?”
She smiled up at him. “Want to do the same?”
He grinned and picked her up from the chair. “Only if I can get to second base.”
She giggled. “As far as I’m concerned, you can go all the way around to home, Mr. Allen.”
Neil folded his hands behind his head. He glanced at Alexa. “Ally, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Alexa was lying on her stomach next to him, tracing the line of his collarbone with a finger. She propped herself up on her elbow, her fingers lingering over his chest. She looked up expectantly.
“Open cards and all that shit, you know?”
Alexa nodded, her cheeks still slightly flushed.
Neil breathed deeply. “I used to be married.”
Alexa smiled and tucked a strand of her long bangs behind her ear. “I know, Neil. I read your file.”
Neil studied Alexa’s face for a moment. A smile lingered on her full lips, and her eyes sparkled playfully. “You haven’t read all of it.”
Alexa raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“Her name was Thamang Anong. I called her Tamara. We met in Thailand.” Neil looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. “I was stationed there for a couple of months.”
“Okay . . .”
Neil sighed. “One thing led to another, she got pregnant, we got married.”
“You loved her?”
Neil nodded. “With my entire being.”
“Go on,” Alexa said, sitting up and crossing her legs.
Neil closed his eyes. “Tamara suffered from severe depression.” He laid his arm over his brow. “Sometimes she wouldn’t leave the house for days.” He opened his eyes and blinked. “She often said she hated me, that I was never there for her and Maddie.”
“Maddie?”
Neil nodded. “My daughter.”
Alexa touched Neil’s shoulder, but he looked away.
“Life became difficult after I was discharged from the army. We worked long hours, hardly ever saw each other, tried to make ends meet.” He chuckled ruefully. “Being poor in paradise is the worst.”
“Tell me about Maddie.”
Neil smiled and cast a quick glance at Alexa. “She was the best. She was an Energizer Bunny, dishing out hugs to everyone willing to receive them.” He sucked in a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. “I couldn’t wait to get home in the evenings, to see he
r smiling face.” He nodded again. “She was the best.”
“Was?”
Neil closed his eyes and pursed his lips. “We worked hard, but we loved each other.” He swallowed. “Tamara loved Maddie even more.”
Alexa didn’t say anything, her eyes riveted to Neil’s face.
He opened his eyes and glanced at Alexa, then blinked. “This is difficult for me.”
She nodded.
“I came home one day and the house was quiet. I heard a tap running in the bathroom.” He breathed a raspy breath.
Alexa touched his arm and Neil shuddered.
“Tamara was in the bath. Her lips were blue.”
“Oh my God,” Alexa said, putting her hand to her mouth.
Neil sat up, pushing the palms of his hands to his eyes. “She was clutching Maddie to her chest. I picked her up. She had froth around her mouth.” Neil’s body jerked as he sobbed.
“Forensics found the poisoned sodas in the kitchen, laced with cyanide. A huge dose.” Neil buried his face in Alexa’s shoulder, his body shaking uncontrollably. “Oh, sweet Jesus, why?”
Alexa shushed him, whispering calming words into his ear, rocking him slowly.
His voice broke and he cried, clutching her arm, releasing all the raw, pent-up emotions. “Sweet Jesus, why?” he repeated over and over. “Why my Maddie?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Patricia McBride stared out of the diner window, her elbow on the table, cupping her chin in her palm. The neon sign on the window flickered on and off. In the street, inebriated revelers lurched from the bar, hanging on to each other, laughing and clinking beer bottles.
A man stumbled to his bike, climbed on, and gunned the throttle. He wobbled his bike to the center of the road and spun the back wheel in a circle, tires screeching and white smoke billowing from the burning rubber. People formed a circle around him, clapping and cheering him on.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Patricia said and shot up from her chair. She trotted to the door and flung it open. “Stop that racket, you damn imbecile,” she shouted at the biker. She looked around, grabbed a plate from the table, and flung it at the biker.
The man looked up as the plate shattered on the road. He lost his balance, and the bike spun out from underneath him, careening into the sidewalk with a grating noise. She slammed the door behind her and strode to Pauline in a huff.
She slid into the booth opposite Pauline and Mary-Lou, gulped her coffee down with one swallow, and said, “I hate it when that old fart comes to town.”
The biker stood up and showed Patricia the finger. “Screw you, bitch.”
Mary-Lou looked up and wiped some chocolate milkshake from her upper lip. “That man said a dirty word.”
Patricia smiled at the little girl. “She has her father’s eyes,” she said softly and touched Pauline’s arm. Pauline snorted, cupping her empty mug between her hands.
“Look, Pauline, there are more important things to worry about than family feuds.”
Pauline glowered at Patricia. “That bastard killed my daughter,” she hissed. Pauline breathed in deeply and leaned toward Patricia. “But I’m here, and I’m listening, so get on with it.”
“You’re wrong, Pauline,” Patricia said and shook her head. “You don’t know my son like I do.” She sighed. “He was set up.”
“I don’t know your boy?”
Patricia shook her head. “No, I don’t think you know him at all.”
Pauline snorted. “Get on with it.”
Patricia stared out of the window, clutching her arms. “I’m afraid, Pauline. You do not know what he is capable of.”
Pauline nodded slowly and shifted her bulky weight in the booth. “I know exactly what he’s capable of, my dear,” she whispered.
Patricia looked around furtively. “Things are getting out of control, Pauline. The water supply is erratic at best, the trucks are coming more often. What is he waiting for?”
Pauline shrugged. “Peak oil, I guess, or $200 a barrel—whichever comes first.”
Patricia nodded slowly. “What if Fitch decided to create a temporary oil shortage?”
Pauline raised her eyebrows. “You don’t think he would . . .?”
Patricia shrugged, clipped open a leather purse, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
Pauline wiped Mary-Lou’s mouth with a paper napkin. “How much does he have stockpiled up at Refatex?”
“About five hundred thousand barrels, give or take.” She tapped the pack of cigarettes on the table and pulled one out. “Another two million underground.”
Pauline raised her eyebrows and sat back with a grunt. “At $200 a barrel, that would give him a cool $5 billion.” She studied Patricia wearily. “A nice retirement package.”
Patricia nodded slowly and made up her mind. “I’m going public with this,” she said and brushed Pauline’s hand with her fingertips. “I’ll need your help, your testimony. He cannot get away with this.”
Pauline locked eyes with her. A couple of seconds later she answered, “I guess it’s the right thing to do.”
Patricia pursed her lips and squeezed Pauline’s hand. “I’ll talk to the Interpol people.” She pulled out a wad of folded papers from her purse and placed it in on the table in front of Pauline. “I need you to take these.” She pushed them toward Pauline.
Pauline’s eyes widened. “Is this what I think it is?”
Patricia nodded and flicked her eyes up from the papers to Missy’s face. “He’s going to come get me, Pauline.” She put the cigarette back in the pack and rubbed her arms. “I feel like a sitting duck.”
Pauline wagged her index finger from side to side. “Ah-ah, no way you’re saddling me with that responsibility.”
Patricia swallowed. Mary-Lou was going through the papers, probably wanting to draw another picture. “Don’t scratch on the papers, baby,” Patricia said and smiled at Mary-Lou.
“I won’t, I’m only looking.”
Pauline glanced at her watch and her eyebrows shot up. “Shit, I’m late.”
“Bingo night?”
Pauline glowered. “Don’t judge, lest you be judged.” She wiggled her solid frame out of the booth and stood up, pulling her white cotton dress straight. “Finish your shake, Mary-Lou, grandma has bingo night.”
The girl slurped the remaining contents of the glass noisily, shuffled the papers on the table together into a neat pile, and bounded out of the booth toward the exit.
The two women studied each other for a second and then exchanged curt nods.
“Good-bye, Pauline.”
“Good luck, Patricia.”
Andy Fitch looked up from the front page of the Texan Daily as he heard a knock on the door to his study. He blew a stream of smoke from his nose and ground the cigar in the ashtray. “Come in.”
Giles entered the room. “Mrs. Coulson is here to see you, sir,” he said and then bowed deeply.
Fitch nodded and waved her in. Pauline shuffled inside, and Fitch motioned for her to have a seat.
She nodded. “Anderson,” she said curtly and heaved her bounteous frame into the chair, her loose cotton dress billowing around her for a second like a collapsing marquee tent.
Fitch glanced at his watch and raised his eyebrows at Pauline. “How's Mary-Lou doing?” he asked, relighting his cigar. He puffed and blew a thick stream of smoke from the side of his mouth.
Pauline pulled her fingers through her hair. “She's just dandy, thank you for asking.”
Andy Fitch leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. He sat watching Pauline for a couple of seconds and then leaned forward, folded his hands, and rested his arms on the desk.
“How are things back at the inn?”
Pauline pursed her lips. “Look, Andy, I'm finished with this stuff.” Her eyes dropped to her lap, and she straightened a pleat in her dress. “I’ve paid my dues, done everything you’ve asked of me.”
Fitch grinned. He ground the cigar into the ashtray, lea
ned back, and put his feet on the desk. “You'll never pay off the debt that you owe me, Pauline.” He tsk-tsked. “Coming to town with that skanky daughter of yours, that despicable Jezebel.” He examined his nails. “Get me some info, or that bastard granddaughter of yours will end up at Mac’s crematorium faster than a bullet through a barn.”
“She’s your granddaughter too, you know,” Pauline whispered urgently, glancing up at Fitch. She quickly lowered her eyes.
Fitch jumped up and slammed his palms down on the desk, rattling the ashtray. “Now, you do not associate me with your gorger offspring,” he shouted. He stood up and straightened his necktie. “You know I do not approve of outsiders.”
Pauline looked up and pursed her lips. She blinked and a tear ran down her cheek.
Anderson Fitch smiled coldly. “Now, now, Pauline, don’t cry.” He ambled around the table, stood behind her, and put his hands on her shoulders. “You just keep the information coming. Everything will be fine as rain.”
Pauline fumbled in her purse and removed a brown envelope. She placed it on the table.
Fitch nodded, strode to the door and opened it. “Good day, Pauline.”
Pauline hefted herself out of the chair and trundled to the door. “Things can’t go on like this, Anderson.” She stopped and locked her eyes on his. “You know that.”
Fitch waved his hand. “Just a while longer, Pauline.”
Pauline nodded a good-bye and Fitch closed the door behind her.
For a while, he didn’t move his hand from the doorknob. Then he patted his pockets and fished out his cell phone. He punched a number on the phone. A few seconds later, a man answered gruffly.
Andy Fitch breathed deeply. “Chris, I need you to take care of Pauline.” He looked at his watch. “I need all loose ends tied up.”
The man sounded hesitant. “You sure, Dad?”
“Dead.”
Fitch disconnected the call and sucked his teeth. He shook his head and snorted. Good-for-nothing little shit, the gorger blood ran thick in his veins. He should have left the little bastard with his mother. He had thought he could make a man out of him, but that was simply a genetic impossibility.