Two for Flinching

by Todd Morgan

  “Complicated.” He sadly shook his head. “Have you got time to talk? I don’t want your supper to get cold.”

  “I haven’t heated it yet.”

  “I am sorry I haven’t been by earlier to visit, before…all this.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been to church twice in the last five years.”

  “I understand you are something of a martial arts expert.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “No? I thought you held black belts in several different styles.”

  “Good at many, expert at none.”

  “Really?”

  “I guess it depends on your perspective. You have a master’s in theology?”

  “Doctorate,” he said without arrogance.

  “You have studied the Bible extensively?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you consider yourself an expert?”

  “Not even close,” he said. “I see your point. How did you get into that?”

  “I used to like to fight.”

  He cocked an eye at my face. “Used to?”

  My turn to laugh. Even though I had applied ice for most of the afternoon, there was still swelling on my cheek, courtesy of Starling. “Hazards of the job.”

  “You have days where you have to fight?”

  “Only the good days.”

  Another grin, accompanied by the headshake. “I was also told you are a highly decorated veteran. Thank you for your service.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “I can believe that.” Ignatius went serious, his voice dropping. “How is your little girl?”

  I shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know. She never knew her mother and I think she is too young to understand death.”

  “That’s probably a blessing.”

  “Probably.”

  He examined me closely, searching me. Must be something they teach at Divinity School. “Where do you think your wife is now?”

  “Now? I imagine she is at the medical examiner’s.”

  “No. Her soul. Where do you think her soul is?”

  I took a deep breath, trying to hide my sudden discomfort. “I hate to think about it.”

  Ignatius seemed surprised. “People almost always tell me their loved ones are in heaven, that they were good people.”

  “I can’t say that about Stella.”

  “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. Times like these—when a loved one dies—is no doubt a tragedy. It can also be a time for us to look at our own spiritual destination. Can I ask you a personal question, Mr. Camp?”

  “And if I said no?”

  “I would offer a prayer and be on my way.”

  “Go ahead with your question.”

  “In your personal opinion, what does it take for a person to get into heaven?”

  A softball question after growing up in church—even if I had strayed. “Only the blood of Jesus.”

  He nodded. “So you’re a believer?”

  “There are no atheists in a foxhole.”

  “I don’t imagine there are. Have you asked Jesus into your heart?”

  “A long time ago. When I was a kid.”

  “Were you sincere?”

  The room felt warm, stifling. I hadn’t felt this uncomfortable since that rocket had gone off. “I was at the time.”

  Ignatius pursed his lips. “I sense doubt, Mr. Camp.”

  “I’ve done some very bad things in my life.”

  “War is a terrible thing.”

  “Besides that. In addition to.”

  “We all have.”

  “Not like me. I’ve done more than covet my neighbor’s wife—“

  He held up a hand to stop me. “I’m not a priest. I don’t need to hear your confession, though, I would be happy to talk about it with you if you wish. One sin is all it takes to separate us from the love of God.”

  “I’ve got way more than that.”

  “We all do. Christians are not perfect, only forgiven. I know it makes a good bumper sticker, but it’s also true.”

  I was silent, sweat breaking out on my forehead.

  “You’ve heard of King David?”

  “Sure.”

  “He was a man much like you.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Ignatius nodded. “A soldier, a warrior, with much blood on his hands. He committed adultery with the wife of one of his trusted friends, one of his mighty men. And you know what God did?”

  “What?”

  “He forgave him.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  I walked into the lobby, much earlier than normal. I could hear the sound of a basketball dribbling, dribbling, then a pause before the shot went up. After the visit from the preacher, I had chased away all thoughts of introspection, planning on nothing more taxing than drinking myself into a semi-stupor. Dad, however, showed up, helping himself to the array in my fridge, then Erin and her beau came back. Dad, unable (and unwilling) to help himself, put the poor boy on the rack for inspection and to no surprise, he fell short.

  That had taken most of the evening and after I had given Sarah her bath, washed and dried her hair, and put her to bed, I was wore out. The fight with Starling most likely had something to do with it. I turned in early and was surprised to have my best night’s sleep in some time.

  I pushed open the door to the gym to a single man shooting alone. He paid me no attention. I went under the basket, waiting. He bounced the ball twice, shot and I caught it after it passed through the net. In gyms around the world, I had discovered one universal rule: if you hit, you get to keep shooting. I passed him his “change.”

  Randy caught it, dribbled the ball between his legs, around his back. “What happened to you?”

  “I walked into a door.”

  “Must have been a helluva door.” A jump shot, perfect form, clinical follow thru. Barely a whisper through the net. “How’s the door doing? He still in the hospital?”

  A chest pass back to him. “I imagine so.”

  “Anything I need to worry about?”

  “Maybe.”

  He stopped dribbling, holding the ball on his hip. He was in baggy blue shorts and a t-shirt from the adult basketball league. His high tops were older than mine. “What happened?”

  “A trade.”

  Randy frowned, resumed dribbling.

  “I tell you what happened, you tell me why you’re so certain Steven Noble couldn’t have killed his wife.”

  “The lieutenant would kill me.” Not a no.

  “Then we won’t tell him.”

  He shot and I caught the ball, threw back his change. More dribbling.

  “What time did you see Steven that night?”

  “One, one-thirty. Somewhere around there.”

  “He was in the emergency room between midnight and one.”

  “So?”

  “Amber’s watch stopped when she went into the water.”

  He stroked another shot and I caught the ball, dribbling it myself. Not nearly as graceful as Randy. “He could’ve changed the time, given himself an alibi.”

  “He could have.” Randy motioned for the ball I tossed it to him. “He was drunk that night.”

  “Looked to be.”

  Randy shook his head. “Was. The security guard at the hotel said he could barely stand up. The nurse noted it on his chart. Heavily intoxicated. You see anybody that drunk thinking about an alibi?”

  “It’s possible.” Not very, but still possible.

  “There was no sign of a struggle, no marks on her wrist as if somebody had taken her watch by force and put it back on. She drowned, water in her lungs. She was alive when she went into the lake.”

  “Huh.”

  He shot, missed for the first time. Probably distracted. I dribbled out to the three point line.

  “What happened?”

  I shot, not even close, and Randy and I switched places. “The day after Steven asked me to find Amber, two hoods
showed up at my office. Before, actually. The first time, they looked like they wanted to hurt me, but left when they saw Sarah on the couch. They followed me later that night, but took off again when they noticed she was still with me.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I’m getting to it. The second day, they told me to find Amber and threatened me with great bodily harm if I didn’t. Yesterday, they showed up and told me to drop it, not figure out what happened.”

  “Let me guess,” Randy said, “it turned physical.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Both of them in the hospital?”

  “No. Only the tough guy. The other one stayed out of it.”

  “Smart.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I still don’t follow.”

  “Steven told me to look and they show up and tell me to look. Steven tells me to stop looking and they show up and tell me to stop looking.”

  “You think they’re his accomplices?”

  “Connected for sure.”

  “Why would they want you to find her?”

  “I haven’t figured that out. I thought it might have been related to something that went down at the hospital. I’m pretty sure now it has something to do with Steven.”

  “You got names?”

  “Clarence Starling and Derik Fletcher.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Andy says Starling is from Louisiana, part of the Dixie Mafia. Fletcher is a mobbed up shooter from Providence.”

  “Andy would know.” He shot, made it, and I passed the ball back out. “I’ll look into it.”

  “What?”

  “The lieutenant thinks you’re good for this. For all three. He’s coming after you.”

  “Aw, he’s just holding a grudge.”

  Randy stopped dribbling, amazement on his face. “What do you expect, Beason? You threw him out of a window.”

  “Come on, Randy, you make it sound like a big deal,” I said. “It was a ground floor window.”

  ***

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, Beason. What’s up?”

  “Just calling to check on you.”

  “Uggh.”

  “How’s your mom?”

  “She’s a train wreck. I just left her place. She had the blinds closed, lights off, sitting in the dark. Dad is even worse. He came home from work and sat on the porch until after midnight. Just sitting in the swing. Amber was his girl. I bet he hasn’t said a dozen words.”

  “I can’t imagine what that would be like. How are you?”

  “Fucked up? Is that a psychological term?”

  “Sure.”

  “She was my only sister. We grew up together, shared boyfriends, fought like only sisters can. I spent more time with her than I did anybody else in this world. We talked almost every day of our lives. I don’t know what to do without her. How are you?”

  “Fucked up?”

  “Over Amber or your wife?”

  “Both, I guess. Probably more Stella.”

  “Stella?”

  “The wife. Don’t get me wrong, I cared about Amber, but I spent many years with Stella. We had a child together. We all thought she ran off with my partner and then this. It’s a shock.”

  “I can believe that.”

  “Let me know if I can do anything to help.”

  “Beason?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you going to find out who did this?”

  “Yes.”

  ***

  I poured the coffee into a mug advertising car insurance and carried it to my desk. Erin had taken Sarah to preschool before going to class. I figured I had a few days before Sarah’s teacher mentioned tuition. Of course, she was a good Christian lady and might never bring it up again, allowing Sarah to attend free of charge. I didn’t feel right about not paying a debt to church—banks sure—but not a church. Eric’s check had cleared and there was enough in my account to cover it. I didn’t know how much my legal fees might run. A big difference between a consultation and a full blown trial. I had known Eric for years and if need be, he would let me work it off. If I wasn’t in prison.

  I sat in my chair and flung my high tops on the desk. My regular sneakers were in a dumpster behind Piggly Wiggly. I needed to make a list. I had learned long ago not to write anything down you didn’t want anyone else to read. I interlaced my hands behind my head, closed my eyes and started it.

  Steven wanted Amber found. Why would he want her found if he killed her? I knew firsthand that if a woman disappeared how easily it was to assume she had simply walked away from her life.

  Starling wanted Amber found. Why would the Dixie Mafia care about a missing nurse?

  Steven didn’t want me to investigate the murder. His wife is dead and he doesn’t want me to find the killer? That bit about getting in the way of the police was thin. Very thin.

  Starling didn’t want me to investigate the murder. That made more sense to me, keep a PI out of Dixie Mafia business. But what exactly did Amber have to do with Dixie Mafia business?

  Steven and Starling were related. Somehow. I thought. A restaurateur and organized crime. How?

  They both wanted me to find her, but were scared of me investigating. That’s what didn’t make sense to me at all, find the where, yet not the who or the why.

  My coffee had grown cold. I rose from the desk, poured the coffee down the drain and poured a fresh cup. I had more questions than I did answers. Stella’s trail had long ago grown cold. Aside from the journal, I didn’t see a string I could pull. Amber’s was fresher, it should be easier to track. Was I possible that Randy was correct? That Stella’s and Amber’s murders were connected?

  I had been involved with both women. I was probably the only person on earth who was certain I had nothing do with either’s killing.

  They were both dead. Both in the trunk of their cars.

  I had found them.

  Was there another way they were connected?

  I reached for my cell phone.

  ***

  “Hello.”

  “Hey.”

  “Long time, no talk.”

  “Yeah. What’s it been? Twenty minutes?”

  “More like thirty, but who’s counting?”

  “I’ve got a quick question for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Do you know if your sister had a life insurance policy?”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  A slight creaking of the metal stairs. So slight it might have been caused by the wind. The stairs were old, poorly maintained. It wouldn’t take much.

  When Fletcher pushed into my office, he was staring straight at the .45. I was still at my desk, ready to let loose a volley and flip the desk. Fletcher held up his empty hands.

  “I’m not here for trouble.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can I have a cup of coffee?”

  “No.”

  He was in his parka and toboggan. A hint of a smile. “How about a seat? Can I sit down?”

  “Help yourself.”

  He took one of the client chairs. It groaned even beneath his little weight. I laid the Colt on the desktop, still pointed at him. When Fletcher moved, it was slow and deliberate, his hands always in view. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent.

  “I tried to tell him that wasn’t the way to go.”

  “He should’ve listened.”

  “A decorated Army Ranger? I asked him how he would respond if someone tried to scare him away from something. I told him it would only make you more determined. He didn’t care. He was going to show you.”

  “He sure did.”

  “I thought we should pay you off. Give you a little taste and we all win. You drop it with your pride intact and Bird gets what he wants. Would that have worked?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. It was the best we had. What would it take? For you to leave it alone?”

  “You tell me why and I’ll consider it.”

&nbs
p; “I would,” he said, “if I knew.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Fletcher shrugged his thin shoulders. “The money.”

  “Is it a lot?”

  “No. Like they say, I’m not in a strong negotiating position.”

  “Worth your life?”

  Another hint of a smile. “We’ll have to see.”

  We were silent for a few minutes, two men who might have to try to kill the other. Despite myself, I kind of liked Fletcher. He might have been a mob killer, but he seemed like a stand-up guy. For a mob killer.

  Fletcher said, “I wish you hadn’t done that to Bird.”

  “His choice. He still in the hospital?”

  “Yeah. I just left. They’re going to keep him another night.”

  “Internal bleeding?”

  “Beats me. I didn’t stick around for the medical mumbo jumbo.”

  “He had it coming.”

  “In spades,” he agreed. “Only now you’ve got Little Bird coming after you.”

  “Is their other brother going to make an appearance, too?”

  “Other brother?”

  “I heard there were three Starling brothers.”

  “News to me. He must have gone legit. Or to the can.”

  “Or to the grave.”

  “Or that. I have to tell you, though, Little Bird has always been enough.”

  “So you came by to tell me to watch my back.”

  “No,” Fletcher said. “You need to watch your front. Little Bird isn’t known for his subtlety.”

  ***

  A definite creaking of the metal stairs, somebody coming up. Nero came into the office not looking into my .45. Nero could move as silently as a gnat—a really quiet gnat. I say that with some pride since I had taught him how to do that. I had also taught him not to sneak up on an armed man unless he planned him harm.

  Nero was in jeans and a t-shirt under his long black coat. I knew he favored the long coat because it was easier to conceal things. Dangerous things. He went to the coffee maker and poured a cup.