Before The Killing Starts (Dixie Killer Blues Book 1)

by James, Harper

  Jackson finished his beer and called the bartender over for another one. Dixie looked in the mirror behind the bar and saw the guy in the M-65 field jacket staring back at him, except the curious look seemed to have morphed into a belligerent stare now. Perhaps he'd sent him to prison at some time in the past. A lot of Vietnam veterans had come home with post-traumatic stress disorder and had ended up in trouble as a result. Despite that, he knew it wouldn't take much for him to get into it with him after the morning he'd had. The catharsis of mindless violence. The guy looked like he'd be up for it despite his age. He opened his mouth and gave a slow beery-nacho-popcorn burp, his eyes never leaving Dixie's. An obvious up-yours insult . . .

  'Hey,' Jackson said, prodding him in the ribs.

  Dixie broke eye contact with the guy (meaning of course that he'd lost, he was the pussy, the one who sucked other men's cocks) and looked at Jackson as he took another long swallow.

  'God, I could do with one of those,' he said, determined not to let the guy get to him. He could feel his stare on the side of his face. 'I feel like I've got three million reasons to start drinking again.'

  'Three million? Wow.' Jackson gave a low whistle.

  Dixie nodded. 'Three million.'

  'And you've no idea where she might have gone with it?'

  'Uh uh. I wouldn't be sitting here watching you enjoy a beer if I did.' His eyes flicked to the mirror. 'Not to mention getting eyeballed by some asshole who's looking to get his ticket punched,' he added in a loud voice, the emphasis firmly on the asshole.

  The guy looked momentarily shocked. Something wasn't right here. The pussy was calling him out. Jackson spun round on his stool to look at the guy, see what was eating Dixie. The guy mumbled something.

  'Did this asshole just call me a Gook?' Dixie said incredulously.

  'I didn't catch it,' Jackson said, trying to suppress a grin.

  There was a shout from the far end of the bar as the bartender came around and trotted up.

  'Hey, that's enough Earl,' he said, putting a hand on his arm and steering him away. 'Time to go.'

  Earl looked back at Dixie like he wanted to make sure he remembered his face. He made a gun with his finger and thumb and pointed it. The bartender slapped it down and Earl walked off.

  'Sorry about that,' the bartender said. 'He's not all there.' He made a twirling motion at his temple with his finger.

  'What's wrong with him?' Jackson said.

  The bartender shrugged. 'He was in Vietnam. Got captured by the Viet Cong. He wasn't released until years after it was all over.' He gave a small hardly-surprising-when-you-think-about-it smile. 'He was one of those guys they forced to write letters bad-mouthing the U.S. and praising the North Vietnamese for how well they treated them. It kind of confused him. He's never been right since, although the owner says he wasn't right before he went. He comes in most mornings and does a bit of cleaning.'

  Dixie and Jackson both nodded sympathetically.

  'He can't talk properly,' the bartender continued. 'I think they might have cut part of his tongue out.'

  'How's he order a beer?' Dixie said flippantly.

  The bartender looked at him as if he’d just told a dirty joke about his mother.

  'He doesn't have to. The owner said just serve him a couple of beers on the house when he comes in and then send him on his way.'

  Dixie raised an eyebrow. 'Every cloud has a silver lining, eh?'

  The bartender turned to go.

  'What was he calling me a Gook for? Does he do that to everybody?'

  The bartender smiled. 'No, as far as I know, you're the first one. Looks like you really pissed him off,' he said as he walked away.

  Just what I need, Dixie thought, some crazy with a hard-on for me.

  'Asshole,' Jackson said under his breath, turning back towards Dixie. 'What's the matter with you?'

  Dixie wasn't sure if the asshole was directed at him, the bartender or Earl. He gave a dismissive shake of his head and the two of them sat in silence for a while thinking about Vietnam, losing half your tongue and what you could do with three million dollars.

  'Why did you do it?' Jackson asked. 'Rip off Chico I mean, not pick on poor ol' Earl.'

  'I was hoping you wouldn't ask me that.'

  Jackson's face was a picture of confusion. 'Why?'

  Dixie cleared his throat and looked down at the bar top. He took hold of his glass and swirled it around in the water that had pooled underneath it.

  'For you. Well, for us.' He cleared his throat again. 'I've had enough of this life too.'

  Jackson had spun on his chair so that he was directly facing his brother. He leaned in a little. 'What do you mean for me?'

  Dixie did a bit more swirling with his glass, staring at the pattern he was making, a big, looping figure-of-eight. 'After what happened last time. I wanted to do something to try to make amends.'

  Jackson's bark of a laugh made him jump.

  'That wasn't your fault.'

  'I know, but I could have made one call and you'd never have gone to prison.' He gave an aggravated sigh. He felt like picking up the glass and throwing it into all the bottles stacked behind the bar.

  Jackson sat back in his chair and shook his head in exasperation. He let out a loud breath through his nose. 'We went through all this at the time.'

  'I know, I know. Doesn't mean I haven't questioned the decision every day for two years,' he said to the bar top.

  'Jesus Christ. If you'd done anything, they'd have known it was you. They're not completely stupid. They might have asked themselves what sort of a person can click his fingers and get his brother out of the shit?' He pretended to think and then looked up like he'd just had an aha moment. 'A cop, that's who, they say to themselves. Where would that have left you?' His eyes drilled into the side of Dixie's head. 'In some alley somewhere with your throat cut, that's where.'

  Dixie knew he was right; they'd been through it all at the time. Jackson had been adamant and his time in jail hadn't changed his view.

  'Anyway,' Dixie said, 'when Ellie came to me with her proposition it just felt right. The timing was right with you coming out and, as I said, I'm sick of it all.'

  'But—'

  Dixie put a hand on Jackson's forearm. 'That's not all—I think Chico's getting suspicious. I'm getting out while I still can.'

  'What's Chico doing about the missing three million?'

  Dixie laughed and eyed Jackson's beer longingly. He wanted to snatch it and pour it down his neck before Jackson could stop him.

  'What?'

  'He sent me after her and the money.'

  Jackson stared at him for a second before roaring with laughter. Dixie couldn't help joining in, despite the mood he was in.

  'That is just beautiful,' Jackson said as soon as he got his breath back. 'Surely that means he doesn't suspect you.'

  Dixie shrugged. 'There've been a few things recently but the last few days clinched it for me.'

  'Why? What happened?'

  'Maybe I'm being paranoid—'

  'Guilty conscience, you mean.'

  '—but Chico insisted I take that moron Crispy along with me. I got the impression he was there to keep an eye on me.'

  Jackson smiled. 'Crispy, I remember that guy. The 'P' stands for prick doesn't it?'

  'Nothing so useful.'

  'It's understandable, sending Crispy with you, I mean. Chico just lost three million. He's probably keeping tabs on his mother too.' Jackson looked around the bar. 'So where is he now? Crispy.'

  Dixie tried to keep a straight face, tried not to grin. 'Still in the trunk of his car as far as I know.'

  For the second time in the space of two minutes Jackson exploded with laughter.

  'One thing's for sure, if he wasn't suspicious before, he will be now. I think I'd have set the car on fire.'

  'I thought about it. Let him live up to his name.'

  They were quiet once again enjoying the easy companionship they'd always known, de
spite the two years separation. Then Jackson turned to Dixie.

  'Did you ever manage to find out who set us up last time?'

  Chapter 38

  Two years previously another deal with Alvarez had gone disastrously wrong. Somebody had tipped off the police and they'd raided Alvarez's warehouse just as the deal was going down. A number of Alvarez's men had been caught along with Jackson. Dixie had got away.

  Dixie thought back to that night. He'd had a bad feeling about it from the beginning and hadn't wanted to go. Or was that just with the benefit of hindsight? It was impossible to say now. Chico had been out of the country and had left Ricardo in charge. What a joke. What everybody should have done was sit patiently on their hands, watch TV and wait for Chico to get back. Unfortunately Ricardo saw it as the perfect opportunity to increase his standing in Chico's eyes. Everybody knew Chico thought he was an idiot and everybody thought the assessment was bang on the money. Ricardo knew it too.

  It was too good an opportunity for him to miss. Everything was arranged; the three of them—Dixie, Jackson and Ricardo—were all set to go. Then Ricardo pulled out at the last minute. Dixie wanted to cancel the whole thing but Jackson said no, let's do it. The police were waiting for them. Dixie was the only one to get away. Was it because he was expecting things to go wrong and was more cautious or was it a monumental cock-up by the police? At the end of the day it didn't really matter, the end result was the same.

  And the fallout? At first they were looking at him; he was the only one to get away after all. He asked them how likely they thought it was that he'd sacrifice his own brother—they'd seen how close they were. Maybe they thought the two of them had flipped a coin and Jackson had lost? Okay, they said, maybe it wasn't you after all. They seemed to be out of ideas after that.

  Dixie still couldn't decide what he thought. At first it looked to him as if it was Ricardo; the barely explained way he dropped out at the last moment. But Ricardo was desperate to impress Chico, completely obsessed. Dixie knew the guy hated him with a passion but would he deliberately make himself look even more of an ass—not to mention sacrificing a substantial amount of Chico's money—in order to get rid of him and Jackson. If his aim had been to get them out of the way so that he could fill the gap in his father's eyes, did he think a colossal cock-up like this was the way to do it? Then again, the guy was an idiot, with all the sense of a barn door . . .

  Dixie realized Jackson had said something.

  'What was that?'

  'I said I went to see Chico.'

  Dixie's head jerked backwards. 'Really?'

  'I had to start somewhere. It seemed as good a place as any.'

  'I suppose. What did he say?'

  Jackson flung his arms wide and sent a stack of dirty glasses sitting on the bar flying. Everybody turned to look at him. He raised an apologetic hand. 'Sorry,' he said as the bartender scuttled up and gave him a look like he was a party guest who'd just shat on the floor. You could see he thought he might have made a mistake throwing Earl out instead of these two. He started to pick up the pieces. Satisfied (and disappointed) a fight wasn't about to break out, people went back to their conversations.

  'He did all that insincere hugging, back-clapping stuff,' Jackson said, opening his arms more cautiously, 'and said if there's anything I need, etc., etc.'

  'That's it?'

  'Pretty much,' Jackson said and leaned forward. 'He assured me'—he put his hand on Dixie's arm and squeezed to demonstrate the depth of sincerity—'it had nothing to do with anyone in his organization. He'd looked into it and he was satisfied it was nobody from our side, blah, blah, blah.'

  Jackson let go of Dixie's arm and sat back in his chair. His expression suggested that he thought Chico couldn't have cared less if he'd spent twenty years rotting in jail instead of two.

  'I remember he was jumping up and down at the time. You went to prison but he lost a lot of money.'

  Jackson snorted. 'He mentioned that.'

  'Did he say who he thought it might be?'

  'He said to talk to a guy called Miguel who works for Alvarez. He didn't want me to talk to Alvarez himself. He wouldn't say why.'

  Dixie laughed. 'I can understand that. I had to go to Alvarez and ask him if he stole Chico's money.'

  Jackson's eyebrows lifted an inch at the thought. 'That must have been an interesting conversation.'

  'Uncomfortable, you could say.'

  'Awkward.'

  'That too. I don't suppose Chico wanted you going in there the following day and saying: by the way, Enrico, while we're on the subject, did you snitch to the police two years ago?'

  Jackson smiled. 'No, I don't suppose so. Do you know this guy Miguel?'

  'Not really. Just that he works for Alvarez. I saw him there the other day.'

  Dixie let out a short laugh.

  'What's so funny?'

  'It's just that Alvarez put a GPS tracker in with the money. He showed me how it worked and I'm having to pretend this is all great news to me, thank you very much Enrico for finding our money. Crispy's standing right behind me, remember. And all the time I've got the key to the unit sitting in my pocket.'

  Jackson waved his hand in the air and Dixie caught sight of the tattoo. 'I'm sure you were very convincing,' Jackson said. 'You always were full of BS.'

  Dixie ignored the insult. A frown creased his forehead as he thought back to the meeting.

  'What is it?'

  'It's probably nothing but he was really staring at my hand.'

  'Who was? Alvarez?'

  'No, Miguel. I thought it was strange at the time but I didn't know what to make of it. It's just come to me now, seeing you.'

  'Uh huh. Glad I could help.'

  Dixie held out his hand and spread his fingers, displaying his own tattoo fully.

  'He was staring at the tattoo.'

  Jackson looked at his own, matching tattoo. 'So? Maybe he wants one like it. He has to work out what it means first.' He tapped the side of his nose.

  'It was like he'd just had an aha moment. As if it triggered some memory. Or answered something that had been on his mind.'

  'I still don't see what it matters.'

  'It matters if he knows somebody from when we were in Atlanta. Somebody who knew about the two brothers with the strange tattoo—who also just happened to be cops.'

  Jackson leaned back and crossed his arms, stuck his thumbs under his armpits. He shook his head. 'It's a lifetime ago and on the other side of the country. Besides, I quit more than ten years ago. Don't worry about it.'

  'I'm not worried about me. I'm thinking about what might happen if you go to see Miguel, the guy with the recently awakened memories.'

  Jackson clapped him on the shoulder.

  'As ever, I'm touched by your concern, but you worry too much.'

  'And you don't worry enough.'

  Jackson opened his hands wide. 'What a team. Perfectly complementary worrying skills as those human resources assholes would say.'

  Dixie grinned. 'I think maybe it tipped the balance with Chico. Miguel said something to Alvarez who passed it on.'

  Jackson shook his head emphatically. 'That's not it. What tipped the balance was you locking his man Crispy in the trunk of his car.'

  'Yeah, that too,' Dixie said. The smile slipped off his face and out of his voice. 'Just bear it in mind when you go to talk to him, okay.'

  Jackson nodded. 'Okay. I promise.' He held up three fingers, thumb touching the little finger in a scout's honor gesture.

  They stared into each other's eyes. Jackson swallowed. He was one of those people whose eyes well up a little too quickly, particularly for a man. Some people made the mistake of taking it for a sign of weakness.

  'Yeah, I know,' he said.

  'I still think I see him sometimes,' Dixie said, his voice thick.

  Jackson nodded and looked away. 'It happened to me a couple of times in prison. One time I was sat at the table eating dinner and I felt somebody sit down next to me, pus
hing my leg like I was taking up too much space . . .'

  He looked back at Dixie. 'But there was nobody there, of course.' He didn't want to think about how much worse things must be for Dixie. Remy hadn't tried to call him on the day he died. He didn't know how that made him feel. No wonder Dixie lost it.

  Dixie punched him on the arm to try to break the tension and ordered him another beer.

  'I don't suppose . . .' Dixie started and then stopped.

  'What?'

  'It doesn't matter.' He gave an irritated shake of the head.

  Jackson gave him a long-suffering look and waited. A look that said we might as well get it all out in the open while we're at it.

  'I was going to ask if you've heard from Rachel,' Dixie said.

  Jackson shook his head. 'No. Things were going downhill even before all this happened. I knew I wouldn't hear anything from her in prison. It's not really her style, is it? Visiting her man in prison with all the other trailer trash wives and girlfriends.'

  'I suppose not,' Dixie said and rubbed his nose with the heel of his hand. He took a sip of warm coke to ease the dryness in the back of his throat. What the hell made him bring this up?

  Rachel had been a friend of Ellie's and Dixie had introduced her to Jackson. The four of them had spent some time together—even gone on vacation—during Jackson's roller coaster relationship with her. But Jackson was right; he couldn't imagine her visiting him in prison, even if the relationship had been on one of its highs when he got sent down. She'd moved on by then.

  'Does she still live in the same place?' Jackson asked.

  'As far as I know.'

  'Maybe I'll drop round,' Jackson said with a grin. 'I'm sure she'd be pleased to see me.'

  But Dixie wasn't listening to him. An idea had taken root in his mind and the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. He smiled to himself. Yes.

  Jackson gripped his arm and shook him. 'Hello?'

  'Sorry. I've just had an idea,' Dixie said, his attention snapping back to Jackson's confused face. 'I think she might be staying with her.'

  'What are you talking about? Who's staying with who?'

  Dixie knew he was grinning stupidly. He couldn't help himself. He leaned towards Jackson and grasped his arm. 'I didn't think of her before. Seeing you reminded me. Ellie must be hiding somewhere. She wouldn't want to stay in a hotel because she knows I could get somebody to check.'