Blackbird, Farewell

by Robert Greer

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “Told him Pinkie would probably enjoy it.”

  “Did Hawkins say what their dispute was about?”

  “No.”

  “And you didn't ask?”

  “Nope.”

  “Craigy, Craigy, Craigy. Sometimes I wonder about your instincts, if not your wits. Pinkie lands on our doorstep last night peppering us with questions, and now he's jamming Hawkins. Can't you see the red flag? Seems to me that Andrus is into some heavy-duty investigating. The question, Craigy, my boy, is for whom?”

  “That Madrid kid. The one Hawkins told you about. Who else? Think maybe Hawkins got himself into a bad enough bind that Pinkie mighta offed him?”

  “We can only hope so. Mr. Hawkins, it seems, is becoming more and more of a liability, and you know how I detest liabilities, Craigy.” Asalon relaxed back in his chair. “Why don't you keep your ear to the ground and a close watch on Hawkins. If he looks or acts like he's going to crack, you do the cracking first. And if he doesn't, maybe Pinkie will do it for us.”

  Realizing that he was sticky with semen, Asalon smiled and massaged his limp penis. “And Craigy, as soon as Connie's ready, run her home. Sweet ass on that woman. As sweet as morning clover.” His tone was boastful, as if he somehow needed to share his testimonial.

  The aspirin Damion had given Leotis Hawkins hadn't put a dent in Hawkins's throbbing headache. Fifteen minutes into Damion and Pinkie's interrogation, Hawkins was still seeing double, both ears continued to ring, and he had the strange feeling that he was being dunked back and forth underwater. Rubbing his bound hands together, he let out a snort and eyed Pinkie and Damion disdainfully. “You could untie my hands.”

  “Be lucky that you had someone here who insisted we untie your feet,” Pinkie said, glancing across the room toward Niki. “Now, finish answerin’ the question.”

  Hawkins looked across the room to where Niki stood, leaning on the back of a leather wingback chair. Realizing from Niki's expression that his attempt at pity had missed its mark, he said, “Like I was tellin’ you, it was that woman of Blackbird's who got his life all fucked up. She was the one who introduced us.”

  “How'd you meet her?” asked Damion.

  Hawkins remained silent until Pinkie grabbed him by the cheek and pinched a generous knot of flesh between his thumb and forefinger. “Need an answer, Hawkins.”

  Yelping and twisting out of Pinkie's grasp, Hawkins said, “Asalon introduced us after one of the CSU basketball games.”

  “How'd Asalon know Connie?” Damion and Niki asked, almost in unison.

  Hawkins rubbed his cheek, trying to return feeling to it. “I'm not sure, but I think her old man mighta known Asalon. Heard tell he was a gambler.”

  “He was,” Niki said, taking a seat in the wingback. “But Connie told me he gave up gambling years ago, after they nearly lost their house.”

  “Could be she lied,” said Pinkie.

  “Or maybe he fell off the wagon,” Damion said with an insightful nod. “Any way you slice it, it sounds to me like Connie has some explaining to do.” He eyed Hawkins. “Was Shandell making any money off your deal?”

  “Enough to keep that woman of his in fancy clothes and jewelry and the two of ’em eatin’ at them fancy Cherry Creek restaurants. He told me so himself.”

  “Seems strange, Connie using Shandell like that,” said Niki. “She's never struck me as being that way.”

  “Could be you never looked hard enough,” Hawkins said with a smirk. “And maybe you should've looked harder at what made your boy Blackbird tick.”

  “Maybe. Then again, Asalon may have been offering both Connie and Shandell something they couldn't refuse,” said Damion.

  “So, when do we talk to Connie?” asked Niki.

  “Soon. But not without some help from Flora Jean this time around.” Damion eyed Hawkins, then glanced down at his injured arm. “Think I'll look before I leap.”

  “I can help,” said Niki.

  Recalling the three shotgun blasts that had sent Leotis Hawkins ducking for cover, Damion eyed the fatigue-wearing beauty, who he knew would someday be his wife, and smiled. “Okay. Tell me how.”

  Niki glanced at Hawkins. “With him sitting here?”

  “Oh, he won't be doin’ any talkin’,” said Pinkie. “To Asalon or Connie or anyone else.”

  Looking terrified, Hawkins said, “Keep him off me, Madrid.”

  Pinkie flashed Hawkins a smile. “Don't worry, Leotis. All I plan to do is send you packin’.”

  Raising a hand and cutting off the discussion, Damion said to Niki, “So what do you plan to do?”

  “Talk to Connie, that's all.”

  “Things could get real sticky.”

  “No stickier than they are right now.”

  “Okay, talk to her. But be careful.” He turned to Pinkie. “What do you think about giving Asalon a second tumble? If he knows you've had a chat with Leotis, he might be more cooperative than when you dropped in on him last night.”

  “Do whatever you want to,” Hawkins said before Pinkie could respond. “Just don't have Asalon or that slow-thinkin’ pit bull of his, Craigy Theisman, lookin’ to take a bite outta my hide. I've told you all I know about Blackbird.”

  Damion stared Hawkins squarely in the eye, uncertain whether he was lying. “Was Shandell using any of the drugs you were supplying him with?”

  “How the hell would I know?” Hawkins said defiantly.

  “Maybe you wouldn't have, but my guess is that he wasn't. And that's got me confused,” Damion said, eyeing Niki and then Pinkie. “If he wasn't using them and all he was doing was acting as a go-between for Hawkins, it was a dumbass decision, and Shandell was smarter than that. And if he was shaving points and money wasn't his siren call, we still don't know a reason why. Maybe Connie or Asalon had him over a barrel for some other reason.”

  “Don't matter, Madrid. Your boy Shandell wasn't nothin’ but a money-grubbin’ golden boy pimpin’ drugs. That's the why.”

  Watching Damion seethe, Pinkie said, “Your mouth's about to get you in trouble again, Hawkins.”

  “No, Pinkie, let him talk,” Damion said, looking suddenly reflective. “You know, Leotis, you could be onto something. But you've got it backward. I'm thinking there were lots of people pimping Shan-dell. The question is which pimp killed him?” Grabbing Hawkins by the shirt collar and choking the collar down until Hawkins could barely breathe, Damion said, “Just now, when I asked you if Shandell was using performance-enhancers, you got so defensive I thought you might swallow your tongue. It's as if I struck a nerve.” Damion flashed Pinkie a look that said, I'm going to need your help here, Andrus. “What do you think, Pinkie? Think Leotis here can stand another concussion?” Damion tightened his grip on the collar. “When I was playing ball, the coaches used to tell me that for an elite athlete, three serious concussions pretty much end a career. After that your brain's just way too scrambled. Wonder what three concussions in the span of forty-eight hours would do for you?” Damion watched Pinkie slip his 9-mm out of his jacket pocket.

  “We can sure find out,” said Pinkie.

  Niki rose from her seat as, cocking his arm, Pinkie prepared to slam the butt of the gun into Hawkins's temple. His downswing was swift, causing Hawkins and Niki to scream as the butt of the gun brushed Hawkins's right ear and slammed into a nearby coffee table. Eyeing the gouge in the table, Pinkie said apologetically, “Tell your uncle I'll buy him a new one.” He turned to Hawkins. “The next divot comes outta your skull, friend.”

  “Three's the magic number,” said the stern-faced Damion.

  “Damion, no!” Niki raced across the room toward Hawkins, pleading, “Tell them, tell them, tell them.”

  With his head still so foggy that he couldn't think straight, Hawkins decided he'd rather chance Asalon or Craigy Theisman coming after him than suffer a possible life-ending concussion. He said, “Okay, okay. Blackbird was holdin’ back a little of the stuff
he was supplyin’ me with for somebody up at CSU. Never knew whether it was for a teammate, some trainer, a coach, the water boy, or some cheerleader he mighta been screwin’. But he was holdin’ back a stash for somebody, I know that. Asalon even let it slip out once. It was like he was braggin’.”

  “Oh, I'll find out who,” said Damion. “Count on it.”

  Pinkie eyed the gouge in the table and smiled, aware that more often than not, the threat of violence trumps the actual act. “So, looks like we got ourselves a game plan,” he said to Damion. “You get to track down whoever it was up at CSU that Shandell was supplyin’ with drugs. Niki talks to Connie, and I handle Asalon.”

  “Works for me,” said Damion. “But that still leaves us with that off-the-wall reporter that Flora Jean claims has his nose stuck into this.”

  “Yeah, I forgot about him.”

  “Have you ever heard of a guy named Wordell Epps?” Damion asked Hawkins.

  “Nope.”

  “What about Leon Bird? Did you know him?”

  “Nope. But I know he's dead. Read about it in the papers,” Hawkins said with a grin.

  “Sure hope that's how you know,” said Pinkie. “I'd hate to think you were dumb enough to kill three people.”

  Glassy-eyed, slurring his words, and suddenly sounding courageous, Hawkins said, “Untie me and you'll find out how dumb I am, hit man.” Hawkins balled his still bound fists and threw a two fisted handcuffed haymaker into empty air.

  Looking worried, Niki said, “I think he needs to see a doctor, and quick.”

  Nodding in agreement, Damion said, “Think you can drive him back to Denver in that plastic pig of his we found stashed in the woods, Pinkie? I'll drive your truck, and Niki can drive the Jeep.”

  Pinkie shook his head. “Bad idea, Damion. Real bad. Nursemaidin’ somebody who's tried to kill you is never smart.”

  “We can't leave him here,” Niki said, looking helpless.

  “Okay. I'll meet you both halfway. I'll take Hawkins back to Denver, hogtied, of course, and drop him wherever he says. His house, Denver General, Shotgun Willie's, or the First Baptist Church—but that's it. He wants a doctor, he's on his own.”

  “Screw you all,” Hawkins mumbled.

  Grabbing Hawkins by a hank of hair and ignoring his pained yelp, Pinkie said, “Listen, dumbass, if I didn't think killin’ you would come back to bite these two young people here, you'd already be dead. So here's some advice. The next go-round you and me have, Damion and Niki ain't gonna be around to save your bacon. So on our way off this mountain, if I hear so much as a whimper, I'll send you on to your reward. You got enough brain cells still swimmin’ around inside your head to understand what I'm sayin’?”

  Hawkins nodded without answering.

  “Great. That's exactly what I wanta hear all the way back to Denver. Silence.” Flashing Damion an authoritative look, Pinkie said, “Go check on the fire, make sure it's out, then hose down the porch and the steps some more. Fire's an ugly, sneaky beast, you don't kill it. You got any rope around this place?” he asked Niki. “I'm sure there's some in the emergency cabinet.” “How about gettin’ it for me so I can strap Leotis here down for the count.” Pinkie turned to offer Hawkins one final comment. “For the next hour and a half, I want you to think of yourself as a prisoner of war and me as your prison-camp commandant. Stay on your best behavior and you get out of prison. Do anything else and—well, you get the picture.” Pinkie eyed Damion. “Now, what about gettin’ busy with that water hose, Blood?”

  Fifteen minutes later, a Corvette and two other vehicles rolled down the remote cabin's long driveway and onto the winding gravel road that led back to the highway ten miles south. Leotis Hawkins, his knees roped to his neck and his torso strapped to the front seat of the Corvette, listened to Pinkie drum his fingers impatiently on the car's steering wheel as, barely conscious, Leotis tried not to slobber on himself. Damion sat attentive but uneasy behind the wheel of Pinkie's pickup, thinking that when he got home, he'd stay up for as long as it took to do the final thing he'd planned to do at the cabin before Hawkins's arrival on the scene. He'd read A Morning at the Office and see if the oddly out-of-place little volume about Caribbean office workers might not shed some light on who Shandell's murderer might be.

  Trailing the Corvette in Damion's Jeep, Niki found herself wondering whether the queasiness in the pit of her stomach was the same undulating upset that Mavis Sundee had felt all the years that CJ Floyd had worked the streets of Denver as a bounty hunter and bail bondsman. More importantly, she found herself asking whether Pinkie really would have killed Hawkins if she and Damion hadn't been there.

  Leotis Hawkins thought for certain he was in the first stages of dying. His head was pulsating, and a steady stream of mucus continued to flow from both nostrils. It had been two hours since Pinkie Niedemeyer had left him standing in his driveway in the equivalent of a drunken stupor with a whispered warning: “Call Asalon and warn him that you gave up Connie Eastland, or that you told us anything about any point-shaving scam, and you get to answer to me.”

  Fearful of who was more likely to kill him, Niedemeyer or Asalon, he'd worked himself up to the point of cold, transient shivers. Concerned that he'd be picked up by the cops on any number of outstanding warrants if he marched into some hospital emergency room seeking medical treatment, he'd decided that his best option would be to stay put at home, call Asalon, twist the truth a bit concerning his encounter in Nederland, and pass along some helpful hints that might get Asalon dogging Pinkie and Damion instead of him.

  He knew Asalon wouldn't answer his phone at that hour, but he suspected Theisman would. With both hands shaking, he dialed the number he had for Asalon in case of emergencies. When Craigy Theisman answered, his voice groggy with sleep, Hawkins said, trying his best not to sound flustered, “This is Leotis. I need to talk to Asalon.”

  “What the shit do you want this time of night?”

  “I need to pass on some info to your boss about that Pinkie Niedemeyer problem I was havin’.”

  “Save it for tomorrow.”

  “Can't wait.”

  “Damn it. This better be good, boy.”

  Leotis sucked a rope of mucus back up into his nose. “It's good.”

  “Hang on. I'll get him on the line, and like I said, your shit best be golden.”

  Moments later Asalon came on the line. His tone was calm. “What have you got for me that can't wait until morning, Leotis?”

  “Information about Pinkie Niedemeyer and that Madrid kid who played ball with Blackbird.”

  “Which is?”

  “They know Connie Eastland and you are connected.”

  “I don't suppose you're the one who gave them that information, are you, Leotis?”

  “No. I called Craigy earlier to clue you in, but he said you were busy. It's had me worried, so I figured I better try and get in touch with you again.”

  Asalon took a deep, thoughtful breath as he tried to determine whether Hawkins was lying. “So how'd they find out about Connie and me?”

  Deciding the time was ripe to play his ace, Hawkins said, “Madrid's girlfriend sniffed out the connection. Turns out the girlfriend and Connie are good friends.”

  “I see. And what exactly do they know about my and Connie's little arrangement?”

  “I'm not sure they know anything specific. All I know is that Niedemeyer slapped me around real good tryin’ to get me to cave in and give him what I knew, but I didn't. All he knows is that I had Bird mule for me and that you and Connie are connected, nothin’ else. I think he's workin’ for Madrid.”

  “You mean Madrid wasn't there when Pinkie roughed you up?”

  Hoping that so far nothing in his voice had telegraphed the fact that he was lying, Hawkins said, “No.”

  “I hope you're telling me the truth, Leotis.”

  “I am. Just wanted to give you a heads-up in case Madrid or Niedemeyer came snoopin’.”

  “I appreciate that. No
w, why don't you go get some sleep. Sounds to me like you're catching a cold. I'll handle things from here.”

  “Okay.”

  “And Leotis, I appreciate the loyalty.” Dressed in blaze-orange silk pajamas, one of a dozen pair he'd had handmade in Hong Kong, Asalon slipped off the edge of his bed, left his bedroom, and walked down the hallway to where Craigy Theisman had been listening in on a second phone. Eyeing Theisman, he asked, “Think he was telling the truth?”

  “No chance.”

  “That's my assessment too.”

  “So whatta we do?”

  “We address the issue in the morning, after I've talked to Connie and cooler heads have prevailed. I'm thinking you're likely to be busy tomorrow.”

  “Gonna need me to shut her up?”

  “I'm not sure. We'll see how things shake out in the morning.”

  “You're damn-sure calm. I'd’a killed that nigger.”

  “It pays to stay calm, Craigy. Haste makes waste, and lying can be infectious. Too bad Leotis doesn't seem to appreciate that. He should've known better than to lay his reason for giving me up to Pinkie on the doorstep of hearsay from the girlfriend of that Madrid kid. Guess poor Leotis doesn't fully appreciate the parameters of the code adhered to by a settlement agent like Niedemeyer.” Asalon smiled. It was the knowing smile of someone with inside dope. “If Pinkie were the only one he'd passed along his information to, poor Leotis would be dead by now. I'm guessing the Madrid kid was there when he coughed up the information, and maybe Madrid's girlfriend too. Witnesses, Craigy, my boy, two witnesses. Leotis had a couple of guardian angels there protecting him without even knowing it. In the future, he'll need a few more.”

  Chapter 23

  Damion had never done well on less than four hours of sleep. Lack of sleep tended to make him irritable and unfocused, and as it stood right then, the day was shaping up terribly blurred. He hadn't finished reading A Morning at the Office until 5:30 a.m., and he'd spent the next three hours tossing and turning in bed, trying to fall asleep. When Niki finally couldn't stand it any longer, she'd gotten up, made a pot of coffee, poached herself an egg, and quickly read through A Morning at the Office. Fifteen minutes later Damion joined her in the kitchen.