He Was Her Man

by Sarah Shankman

  And, of course, if some sucker who’d got pissed because he’d just gambled away the farm came waving a pistol, hollering about blasting Jack six ways to Sunday, now that was something else again. But if somebody, even Jack, just picked out a person, said, Kill that mother, he’d have a hard time with it.

  On the other hand, Early’d got to thinking about Lush Life, that sweet filly, pretty little girl who never had an evil thought in her head, and he got to thinking about people getting away with mistreating all kinds of animals, not just horses, and he said, Hell, yeah, I could kill those rotten sons of bitches. Point me at ’em.

  And now Jack’s saying, “Did you think I was going to kill them, Early? I’m not a killer. I’m a businessman.”

  “Yeah, uh-huh,” said Early, not knowing what to think. Which way to look. Trying to cover his butt. “I was just saying that in a manner of speaking, you know. Shoot ’em. Like mess ’em up. Heh heh heh. But I knew all the while what you had in mind was just teaching ’em a lesson, right? Like stealing Doc’s woman? Maybe Speed’s, too, that blonde? I told you, didn’t I, she’s first runner-up to Miss Arkansas?” Early was trying to change the subject, fast.

  And it worked. Or something did, as suddenly the big man relaxed back into the leather seat.

  Jack’s moods reminded Early of when he was living down in New Orleans, a big storm would blow in over Lake Pontchartrain. One minute it wasn’t there, next thing you knew, skies dark as pitch, 100-mile-an-hour wind was throwing water and trash all over you, you figure you’re dead, then it was history. Leaving you wondering, did you have a little nightmare there or what?

  Jack was saying, “Was. Jinx Watson was a beauty queen. A long time ago, Early.” Then Jack rotated his big head, and his neck creaked. “But what the hell, none of us are as young as we used to be.”

  Whew. Early eased back a bit in his seat, too. Jesus Christ, was he confused. What did the mob do if it didn’t kill people? On the other hand, Jack wasn’t the mob. He was Irish, anybody could see that, with a business accommodation with the Italians.

  “I’ve always thought,” said Jack, as if he were reading Early’s mind, “that killing people was crude. There are better ways to teach them a lesson.”

  Awh, shit. Now the man was going to make him do torture. That’s what he meant by body guarding. Wrapping folks in chains. Mashing on their toes. Wrenching their arms out of the sockets. Early didn’t go with that kind of stuff. You going to do somebody, you ought to go in and just do them. Don’t be messing around.

  Jack was saying, “And the more you know about them, the easier it is to find their soft spots.”

  Early wasn’t sure exactly what Jack was talking about now. And wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “That’s why I think it would be a good idea if I had a little chat with Miss Mickey Steele.”

  Just a chat? Whew. “Good idea, Jack. Great.”

  Then Jack floored the Rolls, and they screeched back onto Highway 7, missing a tractor-trailer rig by millimeters. That did it, first thing in the morning, Early was going over there to St. Patrick’s Church. See if he could buy himself some of those beads.

  10

  WHICH IS EXACTLY what Early would have done if he’d been able to get a decent night’s sleep.

  But unh-uh.

  Because what’s the first thing he sees when he gets home to his Lake Hamilton condo a little after midnight—Jack had said to go on home, things were copasetic in the casino, he was going to bed himself—but his second cousin Lateesha sitting on his doorstep. In a thousand years he wouldn’t have thought that’d be the ending to his evening.

  Early said, “What are you doing way out here, girl? Aunt Odessie knows you out in the middle of the night, she’s gonna beat you with a strap.”

  Which Lateesha didn’t think was a very good beginning, so she told him quick an abbreviated version of her stealing the car and its crashing backwards into that stupid old pine tree.

  “Stole!” Early said, the gold star in his teeth flashing in his porch light. “I can’t believe it! Girl on the honor roll like you, soloist at the Rising Star—”

  “Screw the honor roll.”

  That was when Early jumped back like she’d slapped him, that kind of talk.

  “And don’t give me that look. It’s all that Little Miss Too-Good stuff that got me into this mess in the first place. I am sick to death of everybody expecting me to be an angel all the time. Screw that!”

  Early got this mean look and said, “I can’t stand it when women use bad language. I’m going to take you in the house and wash your mouth out with soap.” Lateesha thought that was an awfully wimpy thing for a stone killer to say. But, on the other hand, even stone killers were just folks.

  But when she said something about the car being a Sunliner, Early changed his tune quick. He got all fired up and hollered, “What are you waiting for, girl, let’s go!” They jumped in Early’s old red Caddy, the kind with the big tail fins, and 10, 15 minutes later, it not being all that far between Lake Hamilton and Lake Ouachita, they were out in the woods pulled in behind that Sunliner.

  Early had taken one look, said, “Oooohweee! Cherry baby like this’ll be worth twenty thou down in Miami. South Beach, those movie star, modeling folks got lots more money than sense, love this kind of vintage flash. Retractable hardtop, Lordy mercy, they’ll be falling all over themselves handing me the scratch.”

  Lateesha didn’t know what he was talking about, but she did know she was watching a man who had more than a passing familiarity with the concept of hot-wiring. Early didn’t need any lamp cord with metal clips on it either. In 60 seconds, he’d reached over with one hand and slammed down the sprung trunk without even looking in it, grabbed a funny-looking screwdriver out of the gym bag he’d grabbed out of the Caddy, jumped in, and had that sucker up and running.

  “Just follow me,” he’d hollered at Lateesha, and she did. Fifteen-and-a-half years old, she’d taken the classroom part of drivers’ ed, but not the practicum, though like most kids, she’d been driving since she was old enough to see through the wheel. And this Caddy, it moved like a dream. They cruised back toward town on Albert Pike, then Early signaled right, and she followed the Sunliner’s taillights right into the back driveway of the deserted mansion on Orange the kids called the Ghost House.

  It was a down-at-the-heels Victorian four stories tall, if you counted the cupola on the top, the Tower Room, where all the murders took place, murders the kids made up as they went along. The Ghost House had once belonged to a white railroad magnate; now this part of town was black and a bit down on its luck.

  Lateesha couldn’t imagine what Early was doing, but he pulled the Sunliner right up to a big yawning garage made of sheetmetal in the Ghost House’s backyard. The doors were open, and Lateesha could see it was filled with cars, pieces of cars, and a backhoe.

  “Come on, girl,” said Early, getting out of the Sunliner and waving at her, but Lateesha wasn’t setting foot out of that Caddy. The ghosts were one thing, but the dogs that had set up to yowling were another. Lateesha had already had enough dealings in her young lifetime with great big dogs with hungry slobbering jaws, thank you very much.

  Then Early tooted the horn and out of the house came the tallest man Lateesha had ever seen in real life, forget the basketball players on TV. He must have been at least seven feet, scrunching down through the doorway. If he hadn’t been black, Lateesha knew she’d have screamed for sure, thinking he was Frankenstein. Or Lurch. Definitely one of those creepy critters—and BIG. He yelled, “Shut up, dogs!” And they did.

  “You did good, girl.” That was Early patting her on the head. Now the big man reached for her hand, she was sure he was going to munch it for a midnight snack, but he had the gentlest touch, it was absolutely amazing, and Early said, “Lateesha, you know Fontaine, don’t you, your cousin June’s husband?”

  Well, the truth was, she didn’t even know Early all that well, her growing up in New Orleans, h
is traveling all over the country following the racing before he and Mr. You Know Who moved to town. Now June, she’d met her, she worked in the baths over at the Palace Hotel. But Lateesha was sure she didn’t know Fontaine. It wasn’t like she’d forget him, was it?

  “Glad to meet you, missy,” said Fontaine. He had this deep Roto-Rooter of a voice, just like you’d expect.

  Then Early and Fontaine stepped off to the side and talked together like men do, Fontaine peering down, Early, barely five foot four, looking like he was about to get a crick in his neck.

  Fontaine nodded his head like he did business in the middle of the night all the time, saying, “Nope, parts, they wouldn’t bring you nothing. But, sure, it’s hot, you gone have to paint it, you want to drive it all that way to Florida. I know, it’s a shame, but I’ll do it for you turquoise and white, that’d be jake.” Then a couple more Uh-huhs and You got its. Whatever it takes. Why I’d appreciate it. Nuh-unh, that’s more than fair. The next thing Lateesha knew, they’d left the Sunliner, she and Early were both back in that Caddy headed for Aunt Odessie’s, and Early was saying, “Honey, don’t you worry your pretty little head. Early’s gonna take care of everything.”

  Well, that might be true. But even if she was only 15 and a half years old, Lateesha knew that this thing had suddenly zigzagged off from being her show to being Early’s. Furthermore, somebody was making more than a buck out of it, and it sure as hell wasn’t her. Which—even if Early was a stone killer and even if he had pulled her wagon out of the ditch, so to speak—didn’t sit well with Miss Lateesha Rollins at all.

  11

  ABOUT FIVE HOURS later, shortly after dawn, Sam woke up full of beans and raring to go. Which was rather a shock, since she hadn’t gotten to sleep till after three. But there she was ordering herself some room-service coffee, sitting back and sipping it, thinking about what she might do with this jump on the day. The first thing she wanted to do was go and see about Olive. The last thing was to get embroiled again with Jinx and the kidnapping.

  She’d had enough of that last night. Though she had to admit that the screaming and carrying on in Kitty’s room until the wee hours had had a certain salutary effect. It had certainly kept her mind off Harry. That is until Jinx had chunked a Coke can at her, screaming, “I know why you want me to call the police and get Speed killed! Because you’re jealous that you don’t have a boyfriend of your own! Lost him to a younger woman!” Sam had caught the Coke and hurled it back at Jinx, missing her by millimeters. But her killer look at Kitty, the blabbermouth, hit its target. So did her reply. “Yes, indeedy. Another woman, Jinx, another sleazoid blonde, just like you.”

  It had been a tacky evening, all right. With Kitty chorusing now and again, “Excuse me. Could we get back to the subject? A man has been kidnapped here. Hello? Yoohoo.”

  Finally, without making a phone call to the police or any other authorities, they’d chucked it in, Kitty and Jinx collapsing in Kitty’s room, God bless the child who had her own.

  Now after a couple cups of coffee, Sam felt exactly the same way she had last evening: Whatever Jinx chose to do about her purloined fiancé was her own affair. Sam herself was more concerned with making sure her new friend Olive was all right. Had she ever shown up at the party or not? She looked up Loydell Watson in the phone directory, and was about to give her a jingle when her phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. It’s me, Harry.”

  Sam dropped the receiver into the cradle like it was a snake. Her head was buzzing. The blood in her veins was backing up. She was stunned. She stared off into space for five full minutes. What did he want? Why was he calling? Now that he’d turned her world upside down, why didn’t he leave her to sort through the debris? Did he think she was going to say, Oh, I understand, if I hadn’t been afraid of commitment, you wouldn’t have been screwing around.

  Then she stood. She absolutely was not going to think about Harry. She was going to keep moving in a forward direction. She made herself focus on Loydell’s number, and she picked up the phone.

  Loydell answered on the first ring. “Oh, Sam, I’d hoped you were Olive. It’s about the right time for her to call.” Loydell sighed. “I guess I’ll drive out to her house. I was going to last night, but I don’t see so good in the dark, I’d probably drive off in a ditch, then there’d be two old ladies for the police to look for.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “I did. But I don’t even want to waste my breath talking about them. I’ll tell you, the police ain’t what they used to be. Used to help folks. Don’t get me started.” Then she paused. “I guess you wonder why I’m not asking about Jinx’s fiancé.”

  Sam didn’t know exactly what to say. It wasn’t as if Speed had been number one on her Hit Parade either. Actually, she felt a little ashamed.

  Loydell continued, “I know I ought to call Jinx and see what’s happening with her fiancé being snatched up. But frankly, I have to tell you, compared to Olive, I just don’t care very much. I had a hard time working up any enthusiasm about the little man from the get-go. Not that I have anything against him personally, though I never trusted him any further than I could throw him. Of course, that’s pretty much the way I feel about most people.” She paused. “Including Jinx. I guess that’s a terrible thing to admit, not caring much for your only child, but I swear, we’ve had about as much in common as a Martian and a Venutian from the minute we first spied one another. That child popped out, took one look at me, and set to squalling so loud I wanted to slap her, and it’s been pretty much that way ever since. And, don’t mistake me, it’s a two-way street. We’re just oil and water.”

  “Well, Loydell.” Sam didn’t know what else to say. She’d felt exactly the same way about Jinx, but it was strange, hearing her mother say these things. Especially because Loydell seemed so warm.

  “It’s kind of a tragedy,” said Loydell, “our feeling that way, but you know, you play what you’re dealt in this life. On the other hand, you take Olive.”

  Sam could hear the tears building in Loydell’s voice.

  “We met on the first day of first grade, sixty-six years ago, and we loved one another on sight. Not that we were always best friends, you understand. In fact, there were years that went by that we hardly spoke. It wasn’t that we were mad at one another, just that our lives took off in different directions. Olive’s got real different there for a while when she was working in one of those old cathouses up here behind Central. Just a block down from where I live right now.”

  Sam thought back to Olive telling her about the hot times in old Hot Springs. Olive had had more than a passing familiarity with the naughtiness of those days.

  “There were those,” said Loydell, “who didn’t speak to Olive ever again after that. I, personally, have no use for those people. Hypocrites, with their thin little mouths.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “Well, listen to me rambling on. That’s what happens when you get to be an old lady. But all of that’s to say, I’m desperate to know where Olive’s got off to, but I don’t plan to put one iota of effort into Speed McKay’s search and rescue. And them that don’t like it can go suck eggs.”

  Sam laughed. “Well, I’m happy to help you look for Olive. Why don’t I drive out to her place?” Proceeding, full steam ahead in a forward motion. Not stopping to think about Harry. Not stopping for Go.

  “Oh, good. Sugar, you do that, and I’ll call the hospital, and if Olive’s not there, I’ll zip around to our favorite haunts, see if maybe Olive stopped somewhere, like maybe went for a bite of barbecue at McClard’s and had a stroke out in her car. For all we know, she could be sitting, stove up, out in a parking lot somewhere. Let me get going here, you call me later, and in the meantime, maybe she’ll show up.”

  “I’m sure she will, Loydell.”

  “Sure.” The old lady laughed. Sam could tell it was an effort. “I bet she’s been shacked up with some young man, now she’s too embarrassed to show her face, missi
ng the party. She’s sitting over in the Pancake House trying to make up a good story.”

  “I bet she is,” said Sam. “Or I’ll catch the two of them still in bed back at her house. Now, let me dress and get moving.”

  Which is how Sam came to be walking into the Gas ’N Grub at eight A.M., saying to the young man who was standing there, “Hello. Do you happen to know where the older lady who works here might be?”

  She was thinking, Jesus, was Loydell right or what? Could she have spent the night with this young hunk? Except the kid was young enough to be Olive’s grandson.

  Then, sure enough, the young man in the plain white T-shirt, khakis, and white running shoes reached over and touched Sam’s arm lightly with his fingertips like he wanted to show her that he wasn’t going to hurt her, not now, not ever, and said, “Ma’am, that old lady’s my grandma, I’m Bobby Adair, and she’s who I’m here to visit, and I’m real worried about her. She ought to be here, and I don’t know where she’s got off to. It’s gonna be up to me and Pearl here to find her. That is, the Hot Springs cops don’t lock me up first.”

  That was certainly an interesting train of thought. And obviously Pearl was of the same opinion, for when Bobby said the dog’s name, the redbone hound began to shake her head with its long lovely ears and bawl like a baby.

  “You can see Pearl’s real upset,” said Bobby. “When I got here, just a little while ago, she was carrying on like this. I got the feeling she’s been doing it for some time. I was just about to see if I could start her tracking Mamaw. Are you a friend of hers?” Then he gave Sam a long look, taking in her white linen jacket, navy-and-white striped T-shirt, jeans, loafers. “No, you don’t look like you’re from around here.”