“Oh, Mama,” cried Amanda, “just look at that gorgeous dress! I just love it. Can I try it on, please?”
“Of course, sugar, but don’t take too long. Your mama has to use the little girl’s room.”
Amanda Dennison riffled through the dresses until she found two colors she liked and then carried them off to the fitting rooms. Martha stood and looked about at the displays of trendy clothing. Spotting a skirt and blouse combination she felt would take ten pounds from her figure, she took one in her size—and one a size smaller—and followed the route taken by her daughter. Once in the fitting room she stepped out of her shoes, stripped off her slacks and sweater and tried on the mauve combination. She turned this way and that, checking the result in the full-length mirrors. Somehow, the combination didn’t do the job of slimming she thought it would. After trying on both sizes, she slipped out of the larger and looked around for a hanger.
She hesitated for a moment, frowned and stared off into the middle distance of the mirror. She carefully folded both outfits and placed them in the center of the floor. And then, Martha Dennison, member of the Daughters of the American Revolution, Past President of the Florida Chapter of the Order of the Eastern Star, volunteer at the Trinidad Memorial Hospital, past Girl Scout Leader, mother of three beautiful children and wife of George Dennison, city council member and a respected CAP, did the most extraordinary thing.
She slid her panties down, squatted with her feet apart and urinated quietly onto the neat pile of brand new clothing.
When Amanda came out of the fitting room, Martha was waiting for her next to the aisle.
“It just doesn’t fit right, Mama. It’s too baggy around the waist. Come on, let’s find the little girl’s room.”
“All right, sugar, if you have to.”
“But, Mama, you said you had to.”
Martha frowned and shook her head slowly. “Not me, sugar. You must have misunderstood.” She took a deep breath and smiled brightly. “Let’s go get something to eat. As your father always says, shopping is hungry work.”
Blackbeard’s Cove was between the Heron Key Marina and the Flying Bridge Boatel. It was filled to capacity and there was a one-hour wait for a table. In keeping with the name of the place, the décor was designed to resemble the deck of an ancient privateer. A life-sized statue of Blackbeard, complete with cutlass and eye patch, stood in the corner at the end of the bar and glared down on the drinkers. In the dining room, four tables were pushed together near a window that overlooked the cove. Norbert Hicks sat at the head with his wife on his left. Then came Manning and Naomi Richards, the mayor and first lady respectively; Gerhart Kable, Chief of Police, and his wife, Virginia; Otto and Shirley Klein, owners of the Trinidad Probe; Michael Penton, Mall Manager, and his wife Luella. Hicks had thrown the party as a celebration. Gerhart wondered why he had been invited but had no doubt that, somehow, Virginia had engineered the invitation.
The food was fantastic. Each member of the party had partaken of a different meal and the chef was voted a genius by one and all. The waitress was now clearing away the empty plates and dishes.
“How about dessert, folks?” she asked as she whisked the used dinnerware onto a wheeled cart. “There’s an absolutely fabulous chocolate mousse this evening.”
Everyone groaned and looked around the table at the other guests.
Norbert Hicks raised a hand. “What the hell,” he said, “in for a dime, in for a dollar. I may have to slip most of it into my pocket, but I never could pass up chocolate. How about you, sweetie?” he asked, turning to Sheila.
Everyone, with the exception of Naomi Richards, nodded in agreement. Naomi was as tall lying down as she was standing up and was a new member of Weight Watchers. The waitress thanked them and headed for the kitchen with their final order.
Manning Richards leaned forward, picked up his coffee cup and waved it at the man seated at the head of the table. “I would like to propose a toast to old Norbert, here. Thanks to his judgment and foresight, Trinidad may finally be on the map!”
Everybody raised a glass and drank a toast to a beaming Norbert. Sheila Hicks smiled beatifically at her husband as she slipped off a shoe, stuck a toe under the mayor’s trouser cuff and rubbed a bare foot up and down his leg. Richards almost dropped his glass but, being a professional politician, managed to immediately regain control while casting a furtive glance at his attacker.
The waitress returned with nine orders of chocolate mousse.
It was a little after 3:00 A.M. when the first cramp hit Gerhart. He sat straight up wondering what was wrong. Suddenly he knew. He leaped from the bed and galloped for the bathroom, fearful that he was leaving a trail. As he sat he tried to remember what he had eaten that could have contained so many prunes. He heard the toilet flush in the next bedroom. Ten minutes later, between spasms, he dashed into the hall and stuck his head into Virginia’s bedroom.
“You got it, too?” he asked as she shuffled from the bathroom.
“What do you think I was doing in there, putting in a new faucet?” she hissed. “I feel like my insides are falling out. What the hell did they feed us, anyway? Jesus,” she said. She dropped onto the bed and sat staring balefully at her husband.
Gerhart’s stomach growled and he dashed back to his bathroom.
By eight the next morning Gerhart felt he would probably live, but he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. He wandered weakly into the kitchen and put water on for tea. As he was loading the toaster, Virginia entered and plopped onto a chair.
“You look like you just left your tomb, not your room,” he offered with a wan smile. “Want some toast and tea?”
She nodded and propped her chin up with both palms. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “We both had something different, except for that damn chocolate mousse.” She rubbed the back of her neck then stood and struggled to the phone.
“Naomi? Virginia. Not so good. You didn’t have any of that chocolate mousse last night, did you? I didn’t think so. How’s Manning? Really? Ten times thinner than the Mississippi River, huh? We did, too. I think it was that mousse. Yeah. Give him some dry toast and tea. Okay. Talk to you later. Bye.” She hung up the instrument and crawled back onto her chair. “Did you get all of that?”
“Yeah,” Gerhart grunted as he squeezed a tea bag with a spoon. “I’ll call the restaurant.”
Five minutes later, he hung up the phone and finished his toast and tea. Virginia went to answer what she hoped would be her last call of nature for at least two weeks.
“What’s the story?” she asked when she returned.
Gerhart poured hot water into her cup and dropped in a tea bag. “I’ve never heard anybody apologize before they said hello. The manager told me the phone at the restaurant was ringing when he walked in this morning and hasn’t stopped yet. After he fielded fifteen or twenty calls, he started asking questions to the rest of the help as they came in. Nobody seemed to know anything, but the guy who fixed all the desserts last night didn’t show up for work. The manager opened his locker. Guess what he found?”
“Don’t play Twenty Questions with me, Gerhart, I’m not up to it.”
“Sorry. There was almost half a case of chocolate laxative in there.”
Virginia sat straight up in her chair. “A laxative? We had a laxative for dessert?”
“Along with half the citizens of Trinidad, apparently. There were three or four dishes left in the fridge. I told him to set them out in the alley and see if the rats get the shits.”
“So, what is he going to do about it?”
“What’s to do? The cook flew the coop. It’s hardly the manager’s fault. The dessert chef came with the best of references. I’m going to send somebody around to the guy’s apartment to see if he’s there, but I’m not holding my breath.”
“A laxative,” Virginia said, shaking her head. “It’s enough to make you swear off restaurants for life.”
Gerhart stuffed the last piece of toast into his mout
h and decided to go to work early. It would beat the hell out of sitting around listening to Virginia gripe and moan.
By two in the afternoon, Gerhart felt much better. He felt so good, in fact, that he decided to go somewhere for a hamburger. He was three blocks from the station when the dispatcher came on the air and asked for the nearest car to the mall. Gerhart was only a few blocks away and answered the call. One of the mall security guards was standing on the curb when Gerhart drove up. The guard grinned and stuck out a hand when Gerhart climbed from the car.
“Delbert Rollins, Chief. Nice to meet you. You ain’t gonna believe this one.”
“What’s up?” Gerhart asked as he shook the hand.
Rollins continued to grin and motioned for the Chief to follow him. He set out at a brisk walk through the crowd. “You need to see this for yourself. I don’t want to spoil it. It’s great. This should happen more often.”
Gerhart followed curiously, wondering what to expect. Halfway between the mall entry and Bonmark’s, a crowd filled the passage from wall to wall. Rollins pushed his way through to make a path for Gerhart. When he reached a clearing in the center of the crowd, he turned to face Gerhart, snapped his heels together and waved a hand like the ringmaster in a circus. Gerhart stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at the two people in the center of the circle of onlookers.
A boy in his late teens lay on his back on the floor. Gerhart guessed his weight at 150 and figured him to stand around six feet tall when he was vertical. The boy’s eyes snapped back and forth, and sweat rolled down his face to puddle on the tile floor. The rest of him wasn’t moving a muscle. It was no wonder.
The tip of an aluminum crutch was jammed against his Adam’s apple so tightly that he had to scrunch his head back in order to swallow, which he did almost constantly. The crutch was held by a woman some five feet four inches tall who couldn’t weigh more than 120 pounds with a brick in each pocket. Her legs were splayed slightly apart as she balanced easily on the other crutch. She seemed prepared to stay in that position all week. Gerhart couldn’t help grinning as he stepped up to her.
“Ma’am, I’m Chief Kable. What can I do for you, as if I don’t already know.”
She swiveled her head in his direction, looked him up and down and then pointed her chin at the kid on the floor. “This twit tried to snatch my purse. It sort of pissed me off, so I whacked him on the head and hollered for somebody to call you guys.”
The crowd laughed and clapped loudly while the would-be purse-snatcher continued to sweat. When the noise died down, he rolled his eyes up at the Chief. He looked like a trapped rabbit.
“Please, sir, could I get up now? I have to go to the bathroom.”
The crowd roared with laughter and Gerhart motioned for the victim to let the boy up. The terrified lad stumbled awkwardly to his feet. Gerhart spun him around and cuffed his hands behind his back.
“Okay, buster, you’re mine.” Gerhart turned to the victim. “I assume you want to press charges?”
“Damn right. I didn’t keep this jerk nailed to the floor for ten minutes just to see if he’d evaporate. Should I come down to the station now or later?”
“Whenever you like,” Gerhart said, “but hold on a second.” He turned to the crowd that was beginning to disperse. “Did any of you see this action?”
Five hands shot up.
“How many of you saw it from start to finish?”
All the hands were hesitantly withdrawn except one.
“Come on over here,” Gerhart said to the remaining hand.
The crowd made way for a lady wearing a bright orange tracksuit with black stripes. Her gym shoes were green and her hair was somewhere between gray and blue. The tracksuit was large enough to garage a bass boat and was stretched tighter than a hooker’s jeans. The inhabitant of the suit stepped up to Gerhart and patted the victim on the shoulder.
“This is one tough lady, Your Honor,” she said, beaming up at them. “I was walking right behind her and saw the whole thing. This dummy,” she thumbed in the direction of the criminal, “ran up behind her and tried to grab her purse. But she had a good grip on it. When he yanked on the strap, she just leaned a little bit forward and smacked him upside his head with one of those crutches. Then, while he was staggering around, she whacked him in the leg and knocked him down. When he hit the floor, she whacked him on the ear again, and when he rolled over onto his back she stuck that crutch on his neck and said, ‘Keep still, uhm, A-hole, or I’ll poke a hole in your neck and spit in it.’” She looked around at the crowd that had stopped to hear more. “Right?”
“Right!” they thundered with one voice.
Gerhart burst out laughing. “Okay,” he said when he caught his breath. “Thanks a lot, ma’am.”
Delbert Rollins, the mall guard, grinned at Gerhart. “What did I tell you, Chief? I’ll bet you’re glad you took this call.”
“Matter of fact, I am. Thanks, Delbert.” He shook hands with the guard once more then turned and led the would-be purse-snatcher toward the entry. The victim went with them. Gerhart watched her move as they made their way through the shoppers. She swung along with a supple shuffle, swinging first the crutches forward, then both legs together. It looked awkward, but she moved with surprising grace and speed for one with such an obvious handicap.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Roberta Valentine. What’s yours?”
“Gerhart Kable. Do you live in Trinidad? I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”
“I’ve been here about a year. Moved down from Indiana.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a headhunter. I run my own agency.”
“Chief,” the boy interrupted with a whine, “I’ve really got to pee.”
“Shut up,” Gerhart said. He pushed open the mall door and held it for Roberta. “You know where the Police Station is?”
“Yes. I’ll meet you there, if that’s all right.”
Gerhart nodded. She smiled, flipped a hand in the air and swung across to a remarkably clean ‘59 Plymouth convertible. Gerhart noted with surprise that it wasn’t parked in a handicap space. She opened the door and reached down to do something to the seat. It swung around to face her. She dropped into the bucket seat, lifted her legs into the car, swung the seat back under the steering wheel and pulled the door closed.
“Damn,” the kid said. “She’s sure got nice legs, even if she can’t use ‘em very good.”
“Get in the car, shithead,” Gerhart said. He opened the back door of the Ford and shoved the kid inside. Then he straightened up and watched Roberta Valentine drive off across the lot.
He had to admit the kid was right. And the rest of her looked as good as her legs.
Gerhart let the kid go to the bathroom when they arrived at the station. Then he took the young perp to the interrogation room. Roberta Valentine arrived a few minutes later and they all sat around a long table. Gerhart told the kid to empty his pockets.
He produced a brown leather wallet, a stainless steel pocketknife with a three-inch blade, eighty-seven cents in change, a dirty handkerchief, a ring of keys, a pack of Winston Lights and a disposable lighter.
Gerhart reached across the table, retrieved the wallet and opened it. He flipped clear plastic panels until he found a driver’s license, stared at it for a moment and raised his eyebrows.
“You’re Wesley Richards?” he asked.
The kid rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Yeah.”
“Don’t tell me your father is Manning Richards.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
Gerhart tossed the wallet back into the pile. “Don’t get smart. Is Manning Richards your father?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why does that name ring a bell?” Roberta asked.
“He’s the mayor,” Gerhart said.
It was Roberta’s turn to raise her eyebrows. “The mayor’s kid tried to rip off my purse? Oh, boy. I suppose you’re going to turn him loose.”
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Gerhart looked at her with amazement. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“It’s a small town.” She shrugged. “You work for the mayor.”
“I don’t operate that way,” he said. “If this was hizzonor, himself, sitting here, I’d bust him anyway.”
“Shit,” the kid said. “I ain’t got a chance.”
“No, you don’t,” Gerhart said. “Suppose you tell me what possessed you to grab this lady’s purse in the first place. I know you don’t need the money. You got a habit?”
The kid slumped down in his chair like a whipped puppy. “Honest to God, Chief, I can’t explain it. I was going down to Reno’s Sports to get a pair of shorts. This lady was going along in front of me. All of a sudden, I had this…like…urge, I guess, to grab the purse. It was like somebody was telling me to do it. I felt almost like I was in this fog, or something. So I made a grab for it and the next thing I know, I’m, like, flat on my back and she’s got this crutch stuck in my neck. I thought she was gonna kill me. You know, for a minute I didn’t know why she was doing that to me. But then I remembered grabbing the purse.”
Gerhart leaned back in his chair and looked at Roberta. “This guy should write fiction.”
“I swear, Chief, that’s exactly what happened. It don’t make much sense to me, either, like, but it’s the truth.” The youth took a deep breath and wiped a hand across his face. “Oh, shit. Dad’s gonna kill me.”
“He probably will,” Gerhart said. “And if he does I won’t arrest him. I’ve got to give him a call.” He stood up.
“Please, Chief, don’t tell him. I’ll do anything.”
“Sorry. You’re a minor. That’s how it works.”
As he turned toward the door, Roberta laid a hand on his arm. “Chief, maybe you won’t have to.”
“Sure I…what do you mean?”
Roberta shrugged. “If I don’t press charges, there won’t be a problem, will there?”
“No, but I can’t believe you’re going to let him get away with this, especially after the way you nailed him to the floor.”
Genesis of Evil Page 5