Switcheroo

by Robert Lewis Clark

  “The singer’s name is Billy, too, I noticed.”

  “His is Billy Joe; and that’s a stage name his real name is Melvin Watkins. You notice things, must be a cop? Nobody wears ties here.” Red gave me a Yosemite Sam smirk.

  “No, I’m an insurance salesman. Hey, do you mind if I call you Red? You look like a Red.”

  “Only if you want your insurance-sellin’ ass kicked,” he growled as he smiled a little, but not enough to make me think he was kidding.

  “Look, Billy, I am looking for a guy named Travis McHenry. He used to work for Jenkins Construction, lives nearby. Do you see him in here tonight?”

  “You sure you’re not a cop?” He still wasn’t convinced. His expression showing he thought he was being scammed.

  “No, a friend of mine owes him some money and I am supposed to give it too him. He lives in Sleepy Acres Mobile Home Park but he is not home,” I smiled through my lies and tried to look mild mannered.

  “Bud, I reckon your friend can just keep his money. Travis is dead, killed two weeks ago.”

  You never expect something like this.

  “That’s terrible. How did it happen?” Right now I decided to clear up my three dollar tab with a ten, telling Red to keep the change. He lightened up and decided to straighten me out. I didn’t care as long as I got the scoop. Maybe McHenry had credit life insurance on his trailer loan.

  “Look pal, I’m no dumb-ass hick, so don’t lie to me that way. I’m not even from here, I’m from Texas, I’m a college graduate and I don’t believe a fuckin’ word you’ve been saying. Start over and tell me what you’re doing here.”

  Okay. Time to level with him. Billy looked small in his blue-jean shirt, an apron hanging from his waist. But, this was his turf and I’m sure he had some friends who weighed more than his one hundred and fifty pounds.

  “Billy, I’m a private detective. No one ever believes me when I tell them that so I made up that insurance shit. I do work on the side for a company called LISA. Lender Inspection Service Associates. Their client, Greenway Mortgage, wanted me to try and collect Billy’s trailer payments or at least make contact with him. I guess only a spiritual medium could help me reach him now.”

  I sipped my Bud listening as Billy Joe, not Billy Joel, annihilated Orbison’s ‘Pretty Woman’. Then I spoke to Red as he slid another frosty Bud forward.

  “I’m sorry I joked, Travis could have been a friend of yours. I was just thinking he might be here since this is the closest pub to his neighborhood.”

  “A logical assumption,” Red showing he learned a big word in school. “Actually, Travis spent so much time here it killed him. He died on Orby’s back porch.”

  “Wow, not of natural causes, I suppose. Did he O.D.?” Thinking of Travis’ beer and bong addictions as evidenced by the state of his home I’d inspected earlier. Red started talking and I started in on my third Budweiser and my cheap but effective cigar.

  “No, he was beaten and stabbed to death by some thugs he was shooting pool with,” he said. I could detect Red’s Texas drawl now. “Travis came in here on a Friday night just like this one. He was doing his usual thing of flirting with all the ladies and getting drunk as hell. Two guys I don’t think I ever saw before came in and were shooting pool.

  “There was three of ‘em riding bikes. I do remember one of the guys in particular. He was wearing round glasses and was smaller than the other two. I remember thinking it was a little odd for a thug to wear Ben Franklin eye glasses. I’m not talking Ray-Bans, but corrective lenses.”

  “Hang on just a second,” Red went to wait on two more customers. Then he set up five drinks for the waitress with the nice midriff. I listened to Billy Joe butcher ‘Maggie Mae’. Red finished filling the waitresses’ orders and came back.

  “Anyway, it was really busy, like tonight. These three bikers were shooting pool and Travis got on the table with ‘em. The little guy must have irritated Travis. Travis was a tall fellow, and he did make some trouble here on occasion. I never seen them fighting or arguing but I guess they went out the back to fight. The back door usually stays locked to keep people from skipping on their checks, but it was unlocked for some reason.

  “It wasn’t until quitting time we found him out back beside the blue dumpster. This was about two a.m., but there is a security lamp out there. I knew as soon as I saw him there was no sense in calling an ambulance. He was laying face down in the gravel with a big wooden stake sticking out of his back. It turned out to be a cue stick broken in half. The police told us he took a blow to the head and was missing a couple teeth too.

  “The weirdest thing is they stole his truck,” Red acted like this was so obviously weird.

  “Why is that odd? A car is stolen every ten seconds in America.”

  This was getting a little more interesting, I puffed some more and drank my Bud.

  “Well, he drove a shitty little Ford pick up. Two wheel drive, and it’d been wrecked. I thought it was a little odd. All those late model Camaros, Mustangs and Big trucks and they steal a McHenry’s old Ford.”

  Red looked at me like ‘you gotta admit that’s a little strange.’ However, criminal stupidity never surprises me.

  “They took the keys off him?” That would not be too weird.

  “I guess, but his wallet was still in his pocket with the cash still in it. Weird, huh?”

  Yep. I just thought of something.

  Red opened four more Buds sliding one to me, three to the waitress with the mid-riff. She thanked Red and she twirled around quickly with the Buds on a worn tray with a cork top. I forgot what I just thought of, she was a hot one.

  “Red…”

  “I told you not to call me that,” Red folded his arms and looked at me crossly.

  “That waitress just called you Red. I thought of it first,” I countered.

  “We’re friends. You and I aren’t yet and not likely to be.” I think Red snarled but his huge mustache obscured all facial expression.

  “How bout twenty bucks?” I offered an olive branch.

  “Okay, you can call me Red,” He conceded, snatching the twenty and stuffing it in the tip jar with a single motion.

  “Red, is that pretty waitress of yours single? I know its pretty low to hit on the help, but she is exceptional.”

  “Buddy, you can pick ‘em can’t you. That’s Travis ex-wife Tammy. Actually, his widow, they were never really divorced. They split up right before he was killed. He drank and caused her trouble at her old job. She got fired from O’Charley’s and I felt sorry for her and offered her a job here. Travis followed her here too, but we have a lot of troublemakers here. He fit right in.”

  “Oh,” The plot thickens, I thought, raising an eyebrow.

  “Hey,” I got his attention once more. “You said that’s the strangest murder you’ve had lately. There have been others?”

  “Oh yeah, the other most recent was actually Orby Schultz’s murder, about two years ago.”

  “Wow, not the Orby?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Man, who killed him?” I had to ask.

  “I did,” Red replied and went on about his business.

  Chapter 3

  After Red left to go make more shitty drinks, I smoked and thought. I considered ordering a mixed drink, switching gears. But, I was a little frightened by the liquor selection, which included a big clear plastic bottle with a white label and the words ‘Russian Vodka’ in black letters on the side. Better to order something bottled outside this place. I had the big ugly guy bring me another Budweiser.

  Most of the calls I had made for LISA (Lender Inspection Service Associates) had been routine. Checking out repossessed homes and putting customers on the phone with LISA’s client, the bank or mortgage company who had financed the house, boat, or car in question. I finally had an interesting one to report. Instead of another abandoned home, I had a murdered customer.

  With a solid beer buzz, the thought of returning to the east part of w
est Knoxville and a quiet night at home staring at the dog no longer appealed to me.

  Though I love their vibe with the Old English bar and tin ceiling, The Bistro was too far to drive now after a few beers. I decided to carry on here a little while before going home. Riding the storm out, talking to the locals. Giving a shout out to my peeps. I looked around. Well, maybe not my peeps, but some peeps, anyway.

  I slurred a ‘how ya’ll doing’ to the girl next to me. Light red hair and a tight black dress; she was kind of pretty. When I said hi, she turned and I noticed two things. She was pregnant and she had an eye patch. I tried to think of something smooth to say but what came out was not. Smooth, that is.

  “Are you sure you should be in here with all this smoke in your condition?” I regretted this as soon as I said it, as I saw her inhale the smoky air for a sassy rebuttal. I braced myself.

  “Look, babies on crack cocaine are born every day in America. If I want to get out of the house for just one night it is not gonna kill this baby, okay?” She looked at me with wide eyes (Uh, just one eye, actually) and red-flushed cheeks.

  “Maybe that came out wrong. I meant to say, what is a pretty girl like you doing here at Orby’s?” I closed my eyes and grinned a dumb looking Jack Nicholson Joker smile.

  “I guess I’m a little too nice. That’s how I ended up this way,” She said and shot a downward glance at her gestating bulge, then rolled her good eye. “I don’t know why I like this place anyway. I guess it’s kinda like returning to the scene of the crime since I’m pretty sure I got knocked up in one of the ladies’ bathroom stalls.”

  Great, now I’ve got that picture is stuck in my head. She gave a weak smile. My new pregnant friend lightened up a little.

  I found out that her name was Kim Robinson. We talked some more and Kim told me that she came to see her friend Tammy here tonight. Also, she was excited because she just traded her truck for a Camaro, which was much easier to get in and out of with her expanding belly. She rubbed her belly lightly as she spoke to me.

  “Where is your husband tonight?” I said hopefully, but knowing she would say she was unmarried. At least she knew who the father was, I found out.

  “I never got married. I used to drink some before I got pregnant. I ended up drunk here one night and screwed Georgie Parker in the ladies’ room. Our first date, not even really a date, and I get pregnant. We were supposed to get married, but after football season Georgie disappeared. I moved back in with Momma in Claiborne Estates. My sister and her son live there too, so I’m hatin’ life. That’s why I’m here, to get out of that God-awful trailer for a couple hours.”

  She looked down and showed me her long auburn lashes. Her hair curled nicely around her thin jaw. I could see what Georgie was thinking.

  “And the eye patch?”

  “That happened the same night I got pregnant. Georgie and I were in last stall in the ladies’ room going at it and well, you know those big hooks you hang your coat from?”

  “Ouch,” I cringed at the thought.

  “No kidding. Anyway, when I got stuck in the eye with the coat hanger, Georgie mistook my screams for pleasure and he went ahead and finished me off. I lost the eye,” she shrugged.

  I remembered Georgie Parker. He had been a local high school football hero. West High School. He got a full scholarship to the University of Tennessee as a line backer. He was a big fellow, but fast too. They put about thirty more pounds on him and he broke the school record for most tackles by a freshman.

  Then Georgie went from hero to zero. He flunked out of school his first semester and was dropped from the team. It was later revealed that his high school SAT scores were fake. He paid a “friend” to take the test for him. Goodbye football hello factory job. According to Kim, factory work didn’t suit Georgie either (due to alcoholism and just plain laziness, per Kim). He soon skipped town.

  “What are you drinking?” I asked offering her a refill.

  “Virgin daiquiri.”

  How ironic.

  “Get the lady another and another Bud for me,” I said to the big bartender, who was starting to remind me of Tex Cobb, only his nose wasn’t as pretty.

  “Where is Georgie now?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding? I haven’t seen Georgie in three months. His folks don’t even know where he’s at.”

  “So once you were disfigured Georgie left you. That’s cruel.”

  “No, the patch never bothered him. I think he thought it was cool. He stayed around a bit, but as soon as I started showing he skipped town. Now, I’m really scared because I can’t work much longer and I can’t find him to get any child support money out of him.”

  She took her daiquiri from the goon and I got another delicious cold one.

  “Why don’t I help you find him?” I offered.

  “What are you a cop? You kind of look like a cop.”

  She looked at my jacket and tie.

  “No, I’m a private investigator, I…”

  “No… I don’t have any money to pay you and you probably can’t find him, so you can forget that,” she said and looked at me sassy again; one hand on her narrow hip.

  “I tell you what. I’ll check with the credit bureau and see if he’s inquired anywhere. It costs me three bucks. I won’t charge you unless I find him and you don’t have to pay me until you get your first child support payment. There is even an attorney in my office building who can file the judgment on Georgie for you. What do you say?”

  Kim thought just a moment as she gently rubbed her belly. I noticed she had chewed her straw up a little.

  “OK, but no money for you until I see some first. Deal?”

  She seemed pleased with her new drunken detective.

  “Here’s my card. Write your name and number here and I’ll call you next week when I find him. Better write down his date of birth too and last known address.”

  I handed her the small pad I keep in my coat pocket, kind of like Barney Fife. She wrote like a cheerleader.

  “You seem sure you can find him. You must be pretty good,” she said; her neatly plucked brows rose slightly.

  “I’m really not that good. Trouble follows a guy like Georgie. Should be easy to find. He’ll turn up.”

  It sounded like I said ‘turnip’. I needed to slow down on the beer. I was starting to feel good about getting a hot chick’s phone number until I remembered she was a pregnant pirate-looking girl.

  “Hey!” She looked at me with sudden realization. “Maybe you could help my friend Tammy. She thinks someone is trying to kill her. I ain’t sure I believe her, but she has been acting so strangely. She…”

  “Tammy McHenry?” I asked, hopefully.

  “Yeah, how’d you know?”

  Now that is intriguing. Tammy; a pretty girl widowed out of her soon-to-be ex-husband and now the killers are after her. I was starting to feel like a regular Sam Spade. The beer was working its magic.

  “Who would want to kill Tammy? I mean look at her,” I said and stole a free look across the room at her elfin features and tiny stomach muscles.

  “The people who killed her husband want her truck…”

  “She drives a real fancy truck?” I wondered.

  “That’s the crazy part; it’s a piece of crap,” Said my new pregnant pal. “It’s actually a Ford Ranger. It ain’t even a four by four. I don’t know why anyone would want it bad enough to kill. It really sounds kind of nutty to me, but Tammy says that truck is special. She has definitely not been acting right since her husband got himself murdered. She lost her job at O’Charley’s. Now she has to work here.”

  Kim rolled her eyes over the general nastiness of Orby’s.

  “You know Travis was a drinker and a sorry excuse for a husband. I don’t know if he beat her or what, but she hasn’t really been the same since she married him. I went to high school at West with her, you know. We had a lot of fun. Now look at us,” she shrugged. True, Kim was sad, slouching and pregnant; not to mention sporting an
eye-patch. I peeked at Tammy as she nervously smoked a cigarette at the bar, noting that make up hid dark circles under her eyes.

  Kim stopped talking to see if I was going to comment. Really, I was even more interested now. Generally the more needy and nutty a woman is, the more I’m attracted to her. I have two divorces to prove it.

  Kim looked up at me while she sipped her third virgin daiquiri. I continued my brilliant line of questioning.

  “Does she have any kids?” I hoped not.

  “Yeah, she has a little two year old girl. Stays with Tammy’s Grandma while Tammy works. Hey! You’re not thinking of trying anything on Tammy? She has enough trouble with out some wanna-be cop trying to put moves on her right now.”

  She was good at this complaining/ lecturing thing. That cop comment was hurtful, though. Now I know why Georgie ran off.

  I pretended to be insulted by her accusation, although she was right.

  “Nothing further from my mind,” I said, straightening my tie in an indignant Rodney Dangerfield fashion. “I was just curious.”

  “What time does she get off work?” I started again.

  “Come on! Her husband was just killed.”

  She still doubted my motives.

  “I just want to talk to her about her case, that’s it. A free consultation.”

  I sounded like the ambulance chasing attorney in my office building, but this would be an improvement over her current impression: Dirty Dog.

  “She gets off at eleven, but no funny stuff,” She smoothed over now. “I’m waiting to take her home, she can’t drive her truck, you know. She has it hidden.”

  I glanced at my watch it was ten thirty-five. I’d wait for Tammy to finish, see if I could have a minute with her. A quiet moment passed between Kim and I, but not too awkward. Billy Joe began to murder Clapton’s ‘You Look Wonderful Tonight’. Couples sweated and swayed against each other under a cheap mirror ball that was way too small for the huge room.