He Was Her Man

by Sarah Shankman

  “Mother,” Jinx interrupted. “Mr. Dolittle, I mean Little, doesn’t—”

  But Loydell went right on. “That Fibbie stayed on, became sheriff. He’s retired now. But a Treasury man? Nope. So what’s your business here? I ain’t robbed any banks.” Loydell held her hands up in the air.

  “I know that, ma’am.” Doc gave her his best smile. “But it’s banking, actually, that brought me here.”

  “I’ve banked with First National and Amalgamated Savings my whole life. They never sent anybody out to visit with me before.”

  “No, ma’am, I wouldn’t think they would. But, you see, there’s been this problem recently, people passing phony thousand-dollar bills at racetracks all across the South. I was just down in Shreveport dealing with the same thing.”

  “This is certainly is a coincidence. My daughter, Jinx, here and I were just down at Amalgamated having them check some thousand-dollar bills that came into her possession. But ours were real. You don’t have to worry about us.”

  “Well, ma’am, that’s the problem. See, I had called them over at Amalgamated not two seconds after you left the bank. I’d just flown into town and got myself situated and was starting to contact all the local bankers, when lo and behold, your names came up.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Loydell, “we’ve got the real thousands all right. Or, I do. Now, Mr. Little, would you like a Coke?”

  “No, ma’am. I don’t want to put you to the trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble. I’ll be back in a second. You chat with my daughter, Jinx, here. She’s single.”

  “Moth-er,” Jinx wailed.

  Doc winked at Jinx when Loydell left the room. Then he gave her the high sign, reached over and patted her on the shoulder. “You’re doing swell,” he whispered.

  “Here’s your Coke.” Loydell bustled back into the living room. “So what exactly is it you want us to tell you about our thousand-dollar bills?”

  “Well, ma’am, I’m afraid it’s what I have to tell you. You see, I’m afraid they’re not real.”

  “Not real! Why, of course, they are,” said Jinx. “We just took them into Amalgamated, and my very good friend Bo, who’s the president of the bank, he dealt with us personally, assured us our money was genuine.”

  Doc drew himself up, in a show of authority. “And where did this money come from?”

  “I won it at the track,” said Jinx.

  “Wait a minute,” the old lady interrupted. “What you’re saying is, no matter what Bo said, this money of Jinx’s that she just paid me for my diamond, it’s not worth the paper it’s printed on.”

  “I suspect that’s pretty much the size of it,” said Doc. “See, the thing is, these counterfeits are so good, you’d have to be a real expert to tell the difference. I mean, these are excellent fakes, not done the old-fashioned way with engraving plates, but on a color laser copier. And then the paper’s aged. Here, let me see your bills, I’ll show you.”

  Loydell reached in her white plastic handbag and found the long green envelope with the money Jinx had given her. She handed it to Doc. He fingered it, turned it over, pretended to examine it this way and that, all the while shaking his head. “It’s amazing,” he finally said. “Just amazing the work they can do with those laser printers.”

  “I swear!” said Loydell. Then she turned to Jinx.

  “Well, hon, I guess you’re out ten thousand smackeroos. Which is a real disappointment, but then, on the other hand, I guess you could say money won at the track is a kind of gift, anyway.” She tapped Jinx on the arm. “Now, could you give me back my diamond, please?”

  Jinx made a face, then rooted around in her huge yellow straw tote, pulled out a gray flannel jeweler’s bag tied with golden cord, and handed it to Loydell. “Easy come, easy go,” Jinx said with a sad shrug. “I guess that’s the story of my life.”

  Doc had to give it to her. The woman was a good actor.

  Then Jinx said, “Do you mind if I take another look at that money, Mr. Little? It sure looked like the genuine article.”

  “Sure thing.” Doc handed Jinx the envelope containing his 10,000 in real bills. Then to Loydell, “And do you mind if I see your diamond, Mrs. Watson? If there’s already been something of value exchanged for this counterfeit, it puts an extra twist on things.”

  “Why, I don’t mind at all,” said Loydell. “Hold out your hand.”

  Doc did, and Loydell untied the golden cord, turned the gray flannel bag upside down, and tumbled a breathtaking sparkler into Doc’s palm. It was brilliant. It was gorgeous. And it was huge, much bigger than Jinx had led him to expect. It was, Jesus, thought Doc, it was the spit and image of Little Doc. A matched pair of premium quality diamonds like this, there was no telling what the value might be. It was all he could do to keep the excitement out of his voice as he said, “Gosh, ma’am, this is an awfully pretty stone.”

  “Well, I always thought so,” said Loydell. “I found it myself, you know, over at Crater of Diamonds.”

  “You don’t say,” Doc breathed. He couldn’t even look at Jinx. He was afraid he’d blurt, Hell, woman, you said it was a little thing. But then, she was dumb, barely had enough sense to come in out of the rain. Though, on the other hand, she hadn’t screwed this scam up. Yet. He’d better get moving before she did.

  “Now, ma’am,” he said to Loydell. “What I need to do is this. Because there was something of value exchanged, I’m going to have to take your diamond along with this counterfeit down to the police department and have it photographed. That way, when we catch the counterfeiters, the charges against them will include the theft of your diamond.”

  “Really?” said Loydell. “Even though they didn’t actually take it?” She reached out her hand for the diamond, and Doc handed it to her. She dropped it back in its little flannel bag.

  “Well, they would have, wouldn’t they, by passing this phony money, it would have amounted to the same thing? You would have been out your diamond.”

  “I never thought about it like that,” said Loydell. “So, when will I get it back?”

  “Oh, right away,” said Doc. “Tell you what, I’ll just take Jinx—did I get your name right, ma’am, yes, Jinx—along with me, and we’ll shoot it, and then she’ll bring your diamond right back to you. Of course, we have to keep the counterfeit.”

  “Maybe I ought to come along myself,” said Loydell, rising.

  “No, Mother.” Jinx practically pushed her back in the chair. “I feel like this whole thing’s my fault, and I don’t want you to have to go to any trouble. You just wait right here, and I’ll be back with your diamond before you can say Jack Robinson.” She held out her hand, and Loydell gave her the gray flannel bag. Then Jinx tucked both the bag and the green envelope with the money in her straw tote and stood. “Well, Mr. Little?”

  “Miss Watson.” He nodded. “I guess we’d better go ahead and get this over with. I’m real sorry about your money.”

  “Not nearly as sorry as I am,” Jinx said. “I’ll tell you, this has been one horrible week.” Her bottom lip was starting to tremble.

  “Now, Jinx,” said Loydell. “Don’t burden the nice man with your problems. You just get on down to the police station and hurry back here, and then we’ll go over to Bubbles, I’ll buy you a nice lunch. Maybe that big Gulf shrimp salad they do. Won’t that make you feel better?”

  Bubbles, thought Doc. Bubbles, where he had an appointment with Jack Graham. Plus, now he had a pair of perfect diamonds, Little Doc plus this baby. A million dollars, they had to be worth a million, and that was probably on the conservative side. All of a sudden this whole thing was coming together better than Doc had ever dreamed. He could hardly keep himself from jumping up and down.

  “Come, Miss Watson,” he said offering Jinx his arm. “Shall we?”

  36

  “FROM WHAT I hear, there hasn’t been a real good shootout in the middle of Central Avenue for over a hundred years, not since 1883, Frank Flynn and Major Doran g
ot into it over who was controlling the town’s gambling,” Jack was saying. “Of course, then, quite a few civilians were killed. We’ll try to keep it among us bad guys, Miss Samantha.” Then he nodded at his coffee cup to the waiter. Thank you, yes, he could use a refill.

  “Do you think I’m going to let you walk out in the middle of the street with that six-gun like Wyatt Earp?”

  “Why, Sammy,” he reached over and covered her hand with his. “I didn’t think you cared.”

  “That doesn’t make the least bit of sense, Jack. I’d stop anybody from getting his head blown off.” She paused. “Of course, I’d really rather you, specifically, didn’t.”

  Jack leaned back in the booth and gave her his best grin. “Those are awfully sweet words to my ears. Almost as sweet as I’m crazy about you too, Jack.”

  “I don’t think the lady’s likely to be saying that any time soon. Not if I have anything to do with it.” It was Harry, Sam’s Harry, glowering down at the two of them.

  *

  Doc unlocked the Mercury on the passenger side and said to Jinx, “Now, do you remember what to do?”

  “Of course I do. I slide over, start the engine, and wait until you come back out of Bubbles. Then you’ll take me to Speed. But what I don’t understand is why you want me to keep the engine running. Are you going to rob the restaurant? Stealing my mother’s diamond is one thing, Doc, but I don’t want to be accessory to any robbery.”

  “There’s not going to be any robbery, dimwit. Now get in the car.” He grabbed her elbow and pushed her toward the door.

  Jinx jerked away. “Dimwit? Dimwit! I have absolutely had it with people calling me names. Here, mister, you just take these.” Jinx reached her right hand into her huge yellow tote and started rummaging around, talking all the while. “Dimwit, stupid, dumb blonde. I don’t know where people get off thinking they can talk to me like that just because I was once a beauty queen. I own property. I have a business. I’ve raised a son who may not make straight A’s, but he’s not a juvenile delinquent, either. I am a person in the world, a registered Democrat, a citizen of the United States. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Then she found what she was looking for and threw the green envelope and the little gray flannel bag past Doc through the open car door onto the seat. “Now, go screw yourself!” And then Jinx Watson, person in the world, registered Democrat, mother and property-owner, stomped into the middle of Central Avenue in her brand-new navy blue heels, right out in front of the same pickup truck that Jack Graham had cut off near the Kentucky Fried Chicken a couple of nights earlier, and for the second time that week, the driver of the pickup was real glad he’d let his wife talk him into that brake job.

  “Besides,” Jinx yelled back at Doc, who was standing there open-mouthed, staring at her from the other side of Central, “do you think I’m so stupid I really thought you were going to take me to Speed once you had your grubby hands on Mother’s diamond? Up yours, Doc!” She punctuated her words with a stiffly crooked right forearm. Then Jinx took off running around the side of the Quapaw toward the back door of Bubbles, which was exactly according to Sam and Mickey’s plan.

  *

  Sam could hardly take her eyes off Harry, she simply couldn’t believe that he was standing there, but Jack kept tapping her on the hand. “Look!” he said, pointing out the window. “Jinx’s doing it! Watch, watch, look, hon, there’s the switch. See, just like Mickey told her, she tossed him the envelope with the fake money and the bag with Jethro’s phony diamond, and now she’s crossing the street. Here she comes. She’ll be through the back door in half a minute. God, she must be pumped; she’s gonna be screaming! Yes!” Jack slapped a palm down on the table, and his coffee cup jumped.

  “Sammy,” Harry said. “Sammy, I need to talk with you. Now.”

  “Wait a minute.” Sam still watching Doc, waved one hand behind her. “Just a minute.” Then to Jack, “Oh, God, is he going to look inside? What if he looks inside?”

  “He’s won’t. Trust me. He’s fallen for it hard, just like a rube would, because he wanted to believe it. He doesn’t have a clue that Jethro replaced Little Doc with one of his fabulous fakes back in the shoestore.”

  Sam rubbed her hands together. “I can’t wait to hear Loydell describe the look on his face when she handed him his own diamond and he thought he had twin Little Docs.”

  “Twin fakes.” Jack laughed. “Jinx just passed him another one, now the man’s got two magnificent chunks of cubic zirconia, one in his heel, one right there on his car seat, and we’ve got Little Doc and his ten thousand! God, I love it!”

  Harry said, “I’ve come a long way to talk with you, babe.”

  At that, Jack slowly turned and gave Harry a lengthy look, starting with his worn-out running shoes, up his tattered jeans, took in his faded red-and-white polo shirt, his long curls, about a month past needing a trim, and said, “Son, if you’re calling this woman babe, you wait right here. When I finish with that son of a bitch out there, I’ll come back and attend to you.” With that, Jack stood, picked up the Colt, gave it a gunslinger twirl, stuffed it into his belt, and pushed past Harry.

  *

  What the hell? The woman was stupid. Or was she? Now that Doc thought about it, what she’d done was save herself the bruising she’d have gotten when he shoved her out of the moving Mercury and, well, face it, who knows what else? Whatever it’d take for Doc to make his getaway.

  He leaned into the Mercury and snatched up the envelope and the jeweler’s bag and stuffed them both in his jacket pocket. Killing Jack was going to take only a minute, but there was no point in taking chances. Tourist town like Hot Springs, there were always thieves.

  He relocked the car, straightened up, and stared at Bubbles across the street. He’d waited for this moment for a long time. Too long. He patted the Hardballer .45 stuffed in his belt. He took a deep breath. Then Doc counted, one, two, three, and started his slow march across the street.

  *

  “Jack!” Sam screamed. She was watching Jack, watching Doc, watching Jack. The restaurant had gone deathly quiet. It was like a freeze-frame in the movies. Everyone still. All eyes on her. “Jack, don’t do it! Stop!”

  Jack, who was halfway to the front door, paused next to a service station filled with chrome pitchers of ice water, cream, sugar substitutes, pickled peppers, quart bottles of tabasco sauce. His body stayed in place as his handsome silver head turned. He spoke softly from the side of his mouth, “He killed Olive, Sammy. Choked that sweet old lady dead.”

  “Let the cops deal with it, babe.” She heard a small moan behind her at the babe. Harry. She shook her head. Not now. She couldn’t deal with Harry now.

  “And Speed. You know he killed Speed.”

  “It’s their job, Jack. The cops’ job.”

  “He murdered Lush Life. Remember that sweet filly, Sammy? You saw her. Such a pretty girl. Such a beauty.”

  “Hey, I remember that.” That was Harry. He was right. He’d been there, too, at the New Orleans track, with Sam on his arm.

  “He butchered my dogs, Sammy. He cut their heads off. He strung their guts around my yard like popcorn.”

  “Oh, babe.”

  “Early can tell you. Early saw them.”

  Now there was a thought. “Where is Early, Jack?”

  “Early,” Harry breathed. “Early Trulove, he’s a friend of Lavert’s. So who’s this guy?”

  “He’s locked in my office downstairs. I didn’t want Early to get into this.”

  “Jack, you’ve got to give this up,” Sam pleaded. “It’s nuts.”

  “Sweet pie, it’ll be over before you can blink.” Jack turned and stared out the window at the approaching Doc Miller. Then he stepped toward the door.

  *

  Doc placed his right foot onto the bottom of the Quapaw’s steps. A little breeze ruffled the blue awnings. The sun was behind the building, in his eyes. He couldn’t see into the big windows. But he knew Jack Graham was waiting for him in
there. Jack, who’d humiliated him in front of all those tough guys. They’d laughed and called him names he still didn’t like to think about, they made him feel so small. Made his guts curl. Then they’d turned their backs like he was a cat or a coon or something dead by the side of the road. Squashed and sticky and black and already stinking.

  That’s how he was going to leave Jack.

  He took the next three steps in one swift glide and laid his hand on the brass door handle. Jack Graham was waiting for him, somewhere on the other side of the door’s etched glass panel. Doc pulled the Hardballer from his belt.

  *

  “Jack! Jack! Stop!” Sam screamed.

  But he didn’t stop. He laid his hand on the brass door handle. He stood squarely in front of the etched glass panel. He pulled the Colt from his belt. He pushed his thumb on the big brass tongue of the door’s release. The door opened slowly. One inch. Two.

  And then Harry Zack—the Fastest White Boy in the South, they’d called him, not to mention the only white boy at Grambling State where he’d won a three-year track scholarship—took a running leap and tackled Jack Graham, hitting him right behind the knees. Then the crrrrack of a gunshot filled the silent room, and the big man crumpled backwards atop Harry. They crashed to the floor.

  “No!” Sam wailed. “No, no, no!”

  *

  What the fuck? said Doc. The etched glass panel in the door shattered into a thousand pieces that held together, just like a windshield that’d been hit by gravel. Though that was no rock that made that sound. Doc knew the sound of a gunshot, but he hadn’t fired. Then he looked down and realized that, Shit! He’d been hit—not by any piece of flying glass, either. He’d taken a slug. And he was bleeding bad.

  Doc turned tail and ran toward the Mercury.

  *

  “Are you hurt?” Sam was on her knees.

  “No!” snapped Jack.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “I think my leg’s busted. Could you get this big old guy off of me?”