Blue Bloods of Bois D’Arc

by Brown,Dick

  “Mrs. Jones, I’ll be leaving now,” he called back to the kitchen. “I found a few items I would like to borrow for a few days. I’ll return them after I’ve made copies. Is that all right with you?”

  She came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a faded blue apron. “That’s fine. I don’t have any idea what’s in those files. He never let me see them. My daughter’s been doing the bills for me since he died. I guess I’ll have to look at them eventually so I can keep the bills paid.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Thank you for your cooperation, and again, I’m very sorry for your loss. I’ll show myself out.”

  Chapter 68

  Solid evidence

  Special Agent Garza arrived at RJ Systems within minutes after his visit with Mrs. Jones and was immediately ushered into Jack’s office.

  “Come in, Manny. Have a seat. Coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “I hope you have good news,” Jack said as he poured coffee.

  “I do. I just had a most interesting visit with Mrs. Homer Jones. I think I found some pieces of evidence we’ve been looking for.” Garza placed the two Ziploc bags on Jack’s desk and blew on his coffee to cool it before taking a sip.

  Jack looked at the receipts. “What are these?”

  “Those are the deposit slips that will hopefully lead us to the perpetrator who was paying Homer Jones and his friends to sabotage your contract. He picked up the evidence bag and handed it to Jack. “Don’t open it, just look at that pen and read the name and phone number.”

  Jack held the bag up and turned the pen so he could read the inscription: Winthrop, Biggs, and Bartholomew and the 437-4992 phone number. “That doesn’t mean anything. They give those things out like candy at a Christmas parade. I probably have a few of them lying around here myself and so do a lot of people in town.”

  “True, but does everyone else in town have a stack of regular monthly bank deposits for two thousand dollars? Look at the phone number on the piece of paper that was found in the folder with these deposit slips and check the pen.” He waited a few seconds for Jack to read the number. “It matches the number on the ballpoint pen. In Homer’s private address book there’s only that number on the last page, no name. I called the number and it was in fact the office number of Winthrop, Biggs, and Bartholomew. Do you know anyone at that law firm who’d have a grudge against your company?”

  Jack straightened up in his chair. “Jesus Christ, I need to get Rod up here.” He grabbed his phone and hurriedly punched in Rod’s remote phone number. “Rod, it’s Jack. You need to get up here right away. Manny has new evidence on the fire investigation that you need to see.”

  “Be right there. Have to get down from this aircraft, just take a couple minutes.”

  “Manny, is Mrs. Jones aware of what her husband was doing?”

  “Not a clue. He pretty much ran things at the house and kept her in the dark about everything. They were an old-fashioned couple. He worked and provided for the family, and she cooked and cleaned the house. She believed him when he said he was working overtime the nights he met with the man who hired him. Another thing I found out was that he, Henshaw, Barnwell, and Gutierrez were best friends. I think his co-conspirators will change their stories when we confront them with this evidence. All we have to do now is find out who in the law firm was paying them in cash.”

  Rod rushed into the office, panting from his run upstairs. He shook Agent Garza’s hand. “Good to see you again. Whew, I’m going to have to start hitting the gym again, I’m so out of shape. Jack says you have some new evidence about the fire.” The three men sat down at the conference table. “What’s the good news? We really need some.”

  Special Agent Garza explained the evidence to Rod and his conclusion that someone in the Winthrop, Biggs, and Bartholomew law firm was behind the accidents and the fatal fire.

  “Do you know of anyone in the firm that might have a grudge against you or Jack and want to hurt your company?”

  Rod’s anger flared instantly and he slammed his fist hard on the conference table. “That son of a bitch Eddie Winthrop. I can’t believe he would stoop this low to get even with me.”

  “Is he the Winthrop in the firm name?”

  “No, he’s the son who never grew up after high school.”

  “Good, I want you to tell me everything you can remember about your relationship with Eddie Winthrop.” Agent Garza pulled out a pocket-sized tape recorder. “Will you do that for me?”

  “Sure, where do you want me to start?”

  “From the beginning, I want to know everything about our new prime suspect.”

  Rod took a moment to collect his thoughts and began. “Our feud started back in high school . . .”

  Chapter 69

  The final act

  It had almost been a week since Eddie and Troy’s last meeting, when he’d told Troy to hide the mahogany box in Rod’s personal locker. He’d avoided contact, allowing Troy time to do the job when the timing was right. The phone call finally came—Troy had placed the box without being seen.

  Phase two of his sick plan was about to begin—disposing of the only witness. Instead of meeting at his office, he had Troy meet him at Roscoe’s Place. He felt safer away from the prying eyes in Bois D’Arc. Eddie realized he was too conspicuous in his all-black fantasy outfit on his last visit to Roscoe’s. A visit to Bois D’Arc Boot and Western Wear outfitted him with jeans, a western-cut shirt, cowboy boots, and a white cowboy hat. Eddie was a suit-and-tie fashion plate at his office, but to blend in better with the regulars at Roscoe’s for the final act in the fantasy role he was performing meant a costume change. In his quest for a new disguise, Eddie didn’t realize his crisp new outfit would stand out among the more seedy regulars at Rosco’s.

  The moon was full that night as Eddie pulled into the gravel parking lot. If he’d been superstitious, that would have been a bad omen, but he was too obsessed with his dark mission to notice. When he stepped out of his Mercedes the front of the weather-beaten bar and grill was washed in an eerie, white glow under the cloudless sky. The brightness appeared as if a celestial spotlight was focused only on that place. Nervous about his evil plot for the evening, Eddie stood erect, sucked in a deep breath, and strode toward the entrance of Roscoe’s Place. It was show time.

  “Evening, neighbor,” Rusty the bartender greeted him, just as he did every new customer. “What’s your pleasure?”

  It wasn’t the inconspicuous entrance he hoped for. “I’ll have a Lone Star. Have the waitress bring it to the booth in the far corner.”

  “Coming right up. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Eddie slid into the wooden booth in the darkest place in the building—the same booth where he’d met Homer Jones almost six months ago. The waitress appeared from the overhanging cloud of cigarette smoke. She was painfully thin with straggly bleached-blonde hair.

  “Hi, I’m Millie. I’ll be your waitress tonight. Here’s your Lone Star. You want any chips or peanuts to go with that? I’ll bring you some if you want.”

  “No thanks, that’ll be all. I’m waiting for someone.”

  “Well, if you change your mind just let me know.” Millie sashayed back to the bar twisting her skinny little ass for all it was worth. Eddie missed the show. He was too preoccupied with his mission.

  The front door slammed with a bang. The shadowy image of Troy Blackmon entered the building. Eddie waved to no avail. Troy couldn’t see him through the blue fog. Rusty pointed him in the direction of Eddie’s booth.

  “Have any trouble finding the place?” Eddie asked.

  “Nah, I been in here before. I’m glad it ain’t Saturday, it gets pretty rowdy.” Apprehensive about the meeting, Troy went straight for the jugular. “What’s so important you had to see me tonight? And why here? I pu
t the box in his locker like I said on the phone.”

  “Not so loud, the waitress is coming.”

  Millie sidled up to the booth, “Whatcha drinkin’ tonight?”

  “I guess I’ll have a Lone Star, too,” Troy said.

  “Hey, we’re celebrating. Order anything you like. It’s on me tonight,” Eddie said.

  “So, what’ll it be?”

  “Okay, if it’s on you.” He nodded toward Eddie. “Make it a boilermaker.”

  “Comin’ up,” Millie said. Her sexy walk back to the bar wasn’t lost on Troy.

  “Hey, relax. I invited you up here so we could celebrate on a job well done. I promised you a bonus if you pulled it off, and I keep my promises.” Eddie handed Troy an envelope containing five one-hundred-dollar bills.

  Troy opened it and his eyes widened. “I ain’t never seen that much money all at once in my whole life. Thank you, Mr. Winthrop.” He was more relaxed now. “I’ll put this down on my own place. I been lookin’ at those apartments on the east side of town. They’re pretty close to my job and I can nurse my old pickup along until I get enough money saved to buy a newer one. I never thought my life could be this good.”

  Millie brought his shot of bourbon and a Lone Star beer. Troy tossed the shot straight down and followed it with a long pull of Lone Star.

  “Man! Look at you. Whatcha’ celebratin’?” Millie asked.

  “He’s celebrating his new job,” Eddie broke in. “Bring him another one and keep them coming. It’s going to be a big night.”

  Troy’s angst about meeting Eddie at Roscoe’s was gone and he was flying high. Eddie was in a good mood, Troy thought, and he was going to get shit-faced. He was over the stress of planting that damned box. He still didn’t know what was in it and why all the secrecy, but right now, he didn’t care.

  The night got blurry for Troy after a steady stream of boilermakers. His shy country demeanor gave way to a more aggressive personality.

  “I gotta pee,” Troy said.

  Eddie helped him to his feet. “It’s up front. Go past the bar and it’s on the right. Can you make it okay?”

  “Yeah, I can hold my booze. I’ll be back in a minute. I don’t want you to be grab-assin’ with Millie. She’s mine tonight.”

  Eddie raised his hands. “You win, she’s all yours, man.”

  Satisfied with that response, Troy staggered off to the men’s room.

  While Troy was gone, Eddie had Millie bring a bourbon with no ice in a tall glass. He didn’t think Troy would notice the difference. She returned with the drink and moved on to the next booth. Eddie carefully checked around the room to make sure no one was watching and dumped almost two grams of cocaine in Troy’s glass and stirred it. He had kept a small amount from his big buy for this occasion. In his pocket were several little pouches of dime bags like they sell on the street. Eddie had nursed a couple of beers all night while Troy threw down boilermakers, a bad combination for a small-time beer drinker.

  “I’m baaack,” Troy said, laughing. “Where’s Millie?”

  “You just missed her. She brought you another drink. Better drink up, I think it’s time for us to go while you’re still able to drive.”

  “Go? It’s still early. Besides, Millie wants me.” Troy drained the glass of bourbon, more determined than ever to get into Millie’s panties.

  “Come on, let’s go, you’re talking crazy,” Eddie said, worried he would make a scene or pass out before he could get him into his truck. “We both have to go to work tomorrow. I don’t know about you, but I’m bushed.”

  Troy was still arguing with Eddie when Millie walked past them. “You boys leavin’? Looks like you need a driver for him.” She pointed to Troy.

  “Yeah, why don’t you drive me, we can go to your place and party the rest of the night.” Troy’s tongue was so thick he was hard to understand. But Millie had heard the line before.

  “In your dreams, cowboy,” Millie said harshly.

  Troy lunged at Millie and tried to kiss her. “Let go of me, you drunk bastard. Lenny, get this jerk off me.”

  Lenny was playing pool only a few feet away. He saw what was happening and grabbed Troy in a chokehold. His arms were strong from lifting several crates of Pepsi at a time from his truck every day. He tightened his grip until Troy let go of Millie.

  “Mister,” Lenny said to Eddie, “you better get your boy outta here before he gets hurt.” Then he shoved Troy into Eddie’s arms.

  Eddie wrapped Troy’s left arm around his shoulder and wrapped his right arm around Troy’s waist. “Come on, Troy, we need to leave.” Troy was too drunk to resist. Eddie dragged him out of the bar and sat him behind the wheel of his pickup.

  “Roll down your windows so you can get some fresh air and sober up a little. I need you to be able to drive.”

  “I don’t know, man. I feel like I’m going to be sick. My head’s spinnin’ like a helicopter takin’ off. I can’t hardly breathe.”

  “I’ve started your engine and the AC is blowing full blast in your face, that should help. I’ll follow right behind you. If you think you’re going to be sick, pull over and I’ll drive you home. You got that?”

  “Yeah, I got it, no problem. I been drunker’n this before.”

  “Okay, take the wheel. Go slow and take your time, but we need to get out of here before they call the cops.” Eddie quickly got in his Mercedes and followed Troy as they crept out of the parking lot and onto Route 69.

  It was past midnight and there was no traffic. The two cars crept along at thirty-five miles an hour toward Bois D’Arc. Troy managed to keep his truck on the highway. He started weaving from one side of the road to the other. He slowed down, gradually pulled over on the shoulder of the road, and rolled to a stop about thirty feet from the Sabine River Bridge. The river was usually dry except during spring rains.

  Eddie pulled in right behind him and left his headlights shining on Troy’s truck. He ran up to the driver’s side and looked inside. Troy was slumped over the steering wheel.

  “Troy, are you all right?” He opened the door, sat him back upright, propped him up by his elbows against the steering wheel, and wrapped his fingers tightly around the wheel. He was unconscious. Eddie checked for a pulse, but found none. “He’s dead. The only witness to my perfect crime is dead.” He laughed out loud. “Okay, Troy,” Eddie continued, talking to himself, “you’re going to run off the road and down into the dry riverbed so you can be found and classified as a fatal overdose. I’m putting these little dime bags in your pocket for insurance when Sheriff Daniels is called to the scene tomorrow. You swallowed enough cocaine to take down a horse. I just wanted to be sure you don’t wake up. Sweet dreams, my stupid friend. Oh, I almost forgot, I’ll take your bonus money back. You won’t need it where you’re going.”

  Eddie gave the steering wheel a hard right turn toward the dry riverbed and closed the door. Through the open window, he shifted the truck into drive and punched the accelerator with the long dowel he’d brought just for that purpose. Eddie watched the old truck lunge down the roadside embankment. It tipped over and tumbled into the dry riverbed, landing upside down.

  “Congratulations on a job well done, Eddie Winthrop,” he said and drove away in his Mercedes.

  Chapter 70

  Bois D’Arc Hospital

  Flashing red lights of the EMT ambulance bounced off the walls of the emergency bay of the Bois D’Arc Memorial Hospital at two in the morning. Two EMTs hustled to get the patient’s stretcher from the vehicle through the Emergency entrance. They were met at the door by two nurses and the emergency room doctor, who took over the transport of the victim into the trauma bay. The senior EMT trotted alongside the gurney, telling the attending physician about the patient’s condition. Texas Highway Patrolman Garman Yates was talking with Deputy Sh
eriff Dylan Walker, who was a first responder to the 911 call.

  “According to the EMTs the driver OD’d on cocaine. We found several dime bags in his pocket,” Patrolman Yates said. “It was a lucky break for him the crash didn’t knock his headlights out or I wouldn’t have seen him. I was just cruising along on patrol after picking up my regular cup of coffee at Roscoe’s, and there he was hanging upside-down in the riverbed. I thought he was dead when I called it in, but the EMT guys worked on him and got a weak pulse. It’s all yours now, deputy. I faxed a copy of my report to Sheriff Daniels.”

  “Thanks, we’ll take it from here and get a wrecker out there to bring the vehicle in to the impound lot.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll see you next time. Hope you have a peaceful rest of the night.” The patrolman touched his finger to the brim of his hat as he left the ER.

  Deputy Walker returned to his patrol car. His emergency lights were still flashing. He slid into his seat, picked up his radio and pressed the talk button. “County Sheriff Unit 12, I have a wrecked vehicle out on Route 69, need wrecker response, over.” His radio receiver crackled back. “This is Randy’s Wrecker Service. I’m on my way. Out.”

  He dropped his radio on the front seat and returned to his position outside the trauma bay. After forty-five minutes, the ER physician emerged from the trauma room. “How’s it look, doc? Is the guy going to make it?”

  “He ingested a large amount of cocaine; we have done everything we can for him. Right now he can go either way. He seems to have an incredible will to survive. If he does wake up, he could have severe brain damage. I don’t understand these young people. They know cocaine eventually destroys every organ in their body, yet they still use it. I’ll be back to check on him before I leave at seven.” The doctor walked away, shaking his head.