Four
“It’s always the same,” Rags mumbled softly, his head bowed.
“Every time I close my eyes for too long, I see it happening but can’t do anything to stop it. The scene never changes. The rain is falling. It’s cold and damp. My chest hurts, full of guilt, I imagine. The man I see is older than me and heavier. He looks tired, tired of life, tired of living. He’s been running. His face is sweaty and flushed. Guessing from his terrified expression, he’s very surprised to see me. Maybe he surprised me too. I don’t know. But I shut my eyes because of the rain, I think. My eyes flutter open then I shoot twice. The man says something to me, sounds like ‘Why?’ ” Rags glanced up at Vera as if to say he was sorry before his eyes returned to their hiding place. “I wish I could tell him why, Ms. Miles. I wish I knew why. I really wish I knew.”
After hearing Rags’s story for the third straight time in an hour, Vera determined that he had been truthful with her. She couldn’t be sure of more than that but she was certain of his honesty. That much she did know. Rags didn’t deviate from the sequence of events in any of the episodes he recounted as best he could, from the depths of his horrible dreams.
Vera fought off her own uneasiness each time the man cringed at the same place in the story he told. It was difficult to determine which parts to jot down and which to commit to memory, because in all probability, a man’s death was involved and that meant the same for her client or at least his freedom.
Confronting death was often the cost of doing business in Vera’s line of work. Dead men didn’t bother her. There wasn’t anything to fear from a man whose blood had run cold. Vera had seen a number of dead men with their dim-lit eyes frozen wide-open, their pursed lips punctuating silence and their bloated bellies rotting with their last supper but none was as ghastly as her first.
When Vera was a small child, her father caught a slug in the back of his head. The bullet came from his own gun. He’d found his way home one night, stumbling drunk and wearing the smell of another woman’s loving commingled with her cheap perfume and hard liquor. Vera’s mother was barely twenty-one. She’d vowed that her love for him was stronger than life itself. After losing his job at the oil refinery, it didn’t take long before he’d lost his way. Spending the twilight hours on the Louisiana side of the Texas border caused his death. A heartbroken woman who couldn’t swim through her tears was the effect. The day following the murder, they found Vera’s grief-stricken mother swaying in a jail cell with a bed sheet securely fastened around her neck. It was proof that she truly believed in her vow. The sheriff’s deputy wiped away a stream of tears, when explaining regrettably to Vera’s grandparents that their only daughter was gone. Vera couldn’t say she remembered either of her parents. That white man blubbering on her grandpa’s front porch she remembered in the worst way. It was the first time she’d seen a grown man cry and the only time it moved her in a debilitating manner, until peering across her desk at Rags choking back his salty sentiment. Wedged in an awkward position, Vera realized it was her turn to look away.
Before Rags left the office he’d worked hard at remembering as far back as he could, but the details were so sketchy that Vera almost dismissed the chain of events entirely. Fortunately she didn’t dismiss a single thing her client told her. Besides, a PI could never anticipate when or where pertinent clues would fall from the sky. With any luck, it wouldn’t be long before it started to rain them down on Vera.
As Rags told it, his story sounded like a mystery straight out of a true crime book. Over two years had passed since his life, as he knew it, had begun. On a windy February morning, in a small central Texas town, Vera’s client was found, discovered in an abandoned hunting cabin by one of the local farmers. Dehydrated, malnourished and left for dead, Rags’s head had been thoroughly wrapped in hospital bandages, filthy and in such desperate need of changing that they appeared to be tattered strips of cloth. After the farmer rescued him and collected what appeared to be his meager belongings, the name Rags was given to him by this simple-hearted farmer who saved his life. The name stuck, even after Rags had survived his fate in the wilderness and was nursed back to health. Twenty-six months of good country living, hard work and bad dreams held him in check, until he woke up one morning with an itch needing to be scratched. He struck out on his own after losing an internal battle with his conscience.
Vera empathized. When her bills weren’t paid on time, she could hardly sleep a wink either. Now that she had some folding money in her purse and a headstart on handling the next month’s financial obligations, Vera had plans to catch up on the sleep she’d missed over the previous week. She couldn’t have been more wrong if she tried. Vera was on a collision course with the realization that sleep didn’t come easy when it became slick around the edges of life. With no leads, nowhere to begin and a possible death sentence hanging over her newest client, Vera soon began feeling like a bad joke told in reverse, the tail chasing the dog.
Impatient thumps on the front door forced Vera to investigate why her receptionist hadn’t attended to them. As Vera hustled past her desk, she glared at two very tiny, delicately crafted, origami-styled paper dragons sitting on the corner of it. Rags had skillfully folded a couple of one-hundred dollar bills, while knitting together holes in his tattered memory, before Vera convinced him to rent a room nearby and cool his heels, while she did her best to figure out just how she was going to prove herself worthy of the money he’d let her hold and how to go about getting her hands wrapped around more of it.
Glow Raines was skulking on the other side of the self-locking glass office door wearing snuggly fitting slacks and riding boots with a tight knit sweater beneath a brown three-quarter-length jacket. Vera appreciated her friend’s taste in clothing, but the way Glow appeared with the greatest of ease gave her the willies, just showing up out of the blue the way she did. Glow wasn’t the kind of woman to stand around waiting on a formal invitation to mix in. Every time it came down to making things happen, she was always right there on the spot. Even though Glow was quick with a knife and worse with a harsh word, she had to be one of the most interesting creatures God ever allowed to walk His earth.
Although Vera didn’t spend too much time with other people’s faces up in hers, unless it was necessary, Glow’s lifestyle intrigued her to the point of envy. She worked more scams, hustles, and con games than anyone Vera had assisted with their parole. So, she had to decide up front whether she would let Glow’s pick pocketing, card-sharking, slick maneuvers, attractive features, flawless reddish-brown toned skin or small waistline anchored by a perfectly sculpted behind get in the way of them getting along. It was a tough predicament to say the least, but common sense won out over petty jealously. Besides, Vera recognized how much better it was to befriend Glow than to secretly despise her from afar. They were both better off once she did.
“So what did you do to Ms. Minnie?” Glow asked Vera, while she casually unfolded a miniature cash dragon.
“Never mind that, Glow,” Vera scoffed. “I’m going to step out on a limb and guess that you met my new client on your way in?”
“I might have bumped into him, once or twice,” was her lascivious reply. Glow’s sly expression accompanying the second dragon she’d lifted from Rags caused Vera to double back inside her office and purse the paper beasts that belonged to her. She didn’t mind her friend fleecing her clients as long as it didn’t keep any money from landing in her pocket.
The satisfied grin on Glow’s face revealed that she was either up to something or she’d just pulled it off with little to no difficulty. It reminded Vera of the first time she laid eyes on the inexplicable Glow Raines, who was working one of her angles. She was outfitted as an old homeless woman, draped in full costume with a pregnancy-inspired empathy suit beneath a weathered trench coat. Even more impressive, Glow was done up in theatrical makeup and a black stocking cap pulled down over an old fashioned going-to-church-style wig. The miniature shopping cart Glow used as a prop w
as filled with aluminum cans. That overstuffed fanny of hers was two throw pillows.
Vera had watched the woman through the window before and was willing to bet that she panhandled three to four hundred dollars a day. That’s when Vera discovered how hordes of businessmen in a hurry found it in their hearts to pitch in a few bills each to help a supposed senior citizen down on her luck. Up and down the sidewalk Glow trod and waggled, back and forth and back again. Watching her from the window, Vera took notice when it appeared that the homeless woman’s steps quickened as the day wore on, instead of dragging to a slow crawl. With nothing better to do, Vera shadowed her on foot, casual-like, for six blocks. She laughed out loud when Glow stepped into an alleyway, ditched the collection of aluminum cans and swaggered up to a self-parking lot. Vera was still laughing when Glow sped past her in a new BMW hosting the same satisfied smile she had come to know so well. After what she’d witnessed, Vera couldn’t wait to see her again, knowing right off that Glow had a certain degree of competence that came in handy in a pinch and the gall to use it if necessary. The following week, Vera shadowed Glow to the same destination, struck up a conversation, applauded Glow’s craftiness, and then shared a hearty laugh. After a sixty-dollar retainer, as a show of good faith, Glow agreed to pitch in on cases every now and then. More than two years had passed since they’d thrown in together, formed a part-time business association and become the best of friends.
Since bumping into Rags, Glow had introduced herself indirectly and became somewhat fascinated that a stumble bum like him had enough loot to play with some of it. “Why’d you let that man scare off Ms. Minnie, Vera?” Glow asked. Her question was anchored to a soft frown.
“I didn’t let him do nothing,” Vera answered, her eyes staring past Glow’s face. “She’s got some hangups, from her childhood I’d bet. You know times were different then. Ms. Minnie never did learn to trust white people, even though things have changed.”
Glow eyed the cuticles on her right hand then sighed behind the weight of an ensuing thought. “Well, maybe because Ms. Minnie hasn’t seen enough real change to change her mind about things. I mean, the past ain’t so easy to forget. Uh-uh,” Glow contended seriously, with a stiff head nod. “Not for any of us.”
“Glow, please. Girl, you’re making my head hurt. Before I knew what hit me, this strange white man shows up at my doorstep, then you come in with some of his money in your pocket and now you’re trying to hand me baggage that ain’t none of mine.”
After Glow stood up and rubbed the rise of her slacks with an opened palm, she eased her behind down on the corner of Vera’s desk like an alley cat. “Vera, I don’t like mincing words any more than you do, but we’ve got to talk about what brought that cowboy here and what baggage he’s carrying.”
Vera ran down the story Rags had told her. Glow listened attentively. She almost flinched when Vera spit the word murder out like a poisonous pill. “Yeah, Glow,” she reiterated. “The man just walked right in and said he might’ve killed somebody maybe a couple of years ago but he can’t be sure. Ain’t no statute of limitations on murder and I don’t have a single clue why he ended up at my front door now.” Vera witnessed Glow’s hazel eyes narrow with suspicion. “What is it, Glow?”
“Something is wrong about this whole scene. What if he’s fixing to burn somebody down and plans to leave the ashes at your feet? Just think about it. You don’t know him from Adam. He could be planning to do his dirt and leaving you to clean it up.”
Vera considered what her friend said then she tried to shake it off. “I don’t know. I’ve got a bad feeling about the case but it’s got hooks in me already. You’re right about one thing for sure. Something is very wrong about this whole scene, very wrong.”
Five
Vera agreed that the case was shaky at best before saying her goodbyes to Glow, then locking up her office for the day. With money in her clutches and nowhere to begin, Vera hopped in the SUV. She cruised around town for over an hour. Mindless driving calmed her nerves. Eventually she found herself parked outside of a place that made her feel almost as safe as the gun she carried for the same effect. The 3rd Round Bar and Grill was a decent eatery with thirty tables and a dozen televisions. The sports bar specialized in everything fried and all the discussion about boxing that an enthusiast could hope for. Bertram “Bullet” Manning, former light heavyweight champion, owned the place. He would have still been in the ring if his last opponent’s lucky punch hadn’t detached the retina in his left eye. Bullet’s near-perfect physique, chocolate-smooth skin and teeth that sparkled like diamonds in a coal mine made it easy for Vera to love him; telling him that she did was the hard part.
“What you know good, Bullet?” Vera said, as she approached the bar area.
“Hey, Champ,” he replied, behind a warm smile. “Here you go. Just the way you like it,” he added after pouring a tall glass of cranberry juice over ice.
Vera wanted to hop across the bar, tear that tight black T-shirt from his muscular chest then wrap her thighs around his waist. Wrestling his pants down to his ankles occurred to her too, but she chuckled at her midday fantasy instead and let it pass. “Oomph, just the way I like it, tall and dark,” Vera replied scandalously, while leering at him the way he liked.
“Oh, Vera,” the waitress hissed nastily, as if it pained her to speak. Vendetta Lewis was an ex-stripper who had it bad for Bullet and she hated Vera. There was no use in pretending that Vera gave a damn about her either.
“Vendetta,” Vera replied sharply.
“I didn’t know you’d come in,” the younger woman lied right off the bat, having seen Vera enter the building. She had also watched bitterly as Bullet flirted, all the while wishing it were her at the opposite end of his sensual gaze. Spending days on end with the famous boxer she admired presented several challenges for Vendetta. Watching him fall all over himself for a frumpy lady PI had her spitting mad. She’d hoped Bullet would have shared the softer side, and whispers with her that he reserved for Vera. That was merely one of the reasons she couldn’t stand Vera. The other went a lot deeper than extreme envy. Vendetta was determined to despise Vera for saving her from a prison term by persuading the lead detective that Vendetta killed the night club owner, who also happened to be her baby’s father, because his continual battering had taken its toll. Vera knew what it was like to shoulder a man’s brutality, that’s why she helped the waitress rearrange the crime scene before the police arrived. Although the homicide was ruled self-defense and the case dismissed, Vendetta was up to her neck in misplaced hostility every time Vera walked through the restaurant doors.
“ ’Detta, why don’t you cover the bar for a minute?” Bullet suggested, as a way to separate the women and engineer some private time. “Vera’s got something on her mind that needs some massaging.”
The woman sneered at Vera begrudgingly. “I don’t see why—” she started to say before getting cut off at the pass.
“I said, Vera needs my help,” Bullet replied firmly, although smiling in the wake of her blatant insubordination. “There’s no need in arguing about it.”
“Yeah, I need Bullet for a minute, ’Detta,” Vera added, to rub salt in the wound. “I could always use some massaging.”
The women exchanged strained glances but Vera was giggling on the inside. Bullet wasn’t wrapped around her finger like Vendetta assumed, but it made Vera bubble over having her think he was. As they headed toward the manager’s office, Vera couldn’t help herself. She lagged behind just long enough to get in one last dig. “Don’t worry,” she said, feigning genuine concern for the waitress’s well-being. “I’ll let him out once I’m done with him.”
“Cow,” Vendetta spat under her breath.
“Skank,” Vera replied, loud enough to be heard clearly.
“Why do you do that every time you set foot in the 3rd Round?” Bullet asked, as she walked through the door.
“Do what?” Vera asked in a ridiculously coy tone that made Bullet laug
h.
“Don’t try that with me because you ain’t that slick. You antagonize that girl, then bounce. I’m the one who has to spend the better part of her shift calming her down afterwards. She’s still got some self-esteem issues.”
“What about me?” Vera whined seductively. “Who’s gonna calm me down?” She closed the door behind her and turned the lock. “How long do I get you to work on my esteem?” Vera placed her arms around his neck, wishing they were her ankles instead. “If I pout like ’Detta does, would you spend the rest of the shift stroking my ego? That is the only thing you’re stroking of hers?” When Bullet took too long to answer, Vera bit down on his bottom lip.
“Ouch, woman!” he yelled. “You bit me.”
“Uh-huh, and that ain’t the half of what I’ll do if I learn you’ve been massaging anything else on that tramp out there.”
“Ooh, I see what’s going down.” Bullet sucked on his bruise then laughed. “That green eyed monster’s got a hold on you. Vera Miles is jealous.”
“Vendetta ain’t hardly anything to get jealous about. Pole-climbing shake-dancers are a dime a dozen. I just needed to remind you that love hurts sometimes.”
“You saying you love me?” he asked, wearing a come hither grin.
“You’re the one who said it, doctor, but I do agree with your diagnosis.”
Bullet backed away when he felt his jeans stretching out at the zipper. “Whoa, that’s as close as you’ve ever come. You must really be in trouble.”
“Not in as much trouble as I’d put you in, if there was a deadbolt lock on that door,” she teased. “Besides, you get me to acting a fool when you pull that thing out. You’d have to shut this whole place down and send your little girlfriend home with a bad case of get-the-hell-on.”
Bullet chuckled as he ran his hand over his bald head, all the while looking Vera over curiously. “I could tell something was weighing on you the moment you pulled in. Now you’re trying to steam up my office. What’s got you all riled up?”
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