Vengeance is Mine - A Benjamin Tucker Mystery

by Harry James Krebs

  Netter illuminated a pen light and walked down a slight grade. “I checked out the area earlier, and I think down here would be a good spot. It’s about two hundred feet from Knudsen’s grave. I don’t like being downhill … even just a little … but that pond would be right behind us, so there’s no way anyone could surprise us from the back. Plus, the entrance to the cemetery is on the opposite side.”

  He rolled out a small blanket on the ground. “I’m sitting my ass right here … by John Simpson,” he said. “The Simpson monuments are tall enough to lean against and also provide cover, if we need it.”

  I had my penlight in my mouth, pointing down. “I’ll roost here on Mable … must have been his wife.” I finished rolling out my blanket, and I set my things on the side.

  “If Plum shows up, I hope he does it soon,” Netter said. “This damp air is killing my joints.” Netter took a drag on his cigar. “But I’m tellin’ ya, if I see that son of a bitch with Knudsen’s head in a bag, I’m going to drop that motherfucker where he stands. I’ll worry about justifying it later.”

  “So how do you wanna play this?” I asked.

  He handed me a large flashlight with a handle on it. “When the time comes, you’re gonna hit him with that light … and I’m gonna drop him.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “That’s it? That’s your plan?”

  “Do you have anything better?”

  “No.”

  “Trust me; the simplest plans are always the best. I’ve got my radio just in case, but I have it turned off. Did you bring anything to eat?” Netter asked.

  “Yeah. I brought a couple of burritos from King Burrito.”

  “Christ, I don’t know how you can eat those things,” he said. “Everything they sell irritates my colon.”

  I turned to him. “Look, if you’re going to start talking about your colon, I’m leaving.”

  My eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, and I pointed to a black canopy to the right. “What’s that?” I asked.

  Netter looked over. “It’s one of those small tents they use when the weather’s bad. We may be forced to move over there if it begins raining.”

  Netter extinguished the stub from his cigar but stuck it back in his mouth. “That was my last one tonight—can’t take a chance that Plum will smell the smoke.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “I suspect we’ve got a while to wait,” he said. “Maybe we can catch a brief snooze.”

  I rubbed my chin. “I was just thinking,” I said. “When Huffman was finished with his postmortem examination of Clancy’s head, he must have released it to her family.”

  “I suppose so.”

  I turned to Netter. “Well … what did they do with it?”

  Netter yanked the cigar stub out of his mouth and looked at me. “Now how the fuck am I supposed to know? Christ, only you’d come up with a stupid ass question like that! I tell ya what … why don’t you call ‘em up and ask ‘em? Jesus!”

  “Well, it’ll have to wait. Right now I have to take a piss.” I turned over, got on my knees, and slowly stood. “Damn I’m stiff.” I started to walk away.

  “Don’t go too far,” Netter said.

  “Why … do ya wanna hold it?” I asked. “Anyway, I’m just going over here by—” I bent over and looked at the stone. “Warren T. Christopher.”

  As I released the pressure from my bladder, I mumbled. “Sorry, Warren.” After I’d finished, I returned to Mable Simpson and sat. Several minutes passed with neither of us saying anything. The two of us just sat there peering over the headstones towards Karla Knudsen’s resting spot.

  “I suppose they could’ve buried it in a separate box,” Netter said.

  “Buried what?” I asked.

  Netter looked at me with an exasperated look. “Two bushels of horseshit! Now what the fuck were we just talking about? The head! The fucking head!” I nodded. “Try and keep up with me here, will ya, Tucker?”

  Netter looked up at the sky and then turned his head all around. “Christ,” he said. “It’s darker than a well-digger’s ass out here. When’s the moon supposed to come up?”

  “According to the internet, it should rise shortly after midnight—if there are no clouds. But even then it’s only a waxing crescent—like a thumbnail.” Netter looked at his watch. It was a few minutes before ten o’clock. He grunted.

  Faint flashes of lightning could now be seen in the west.

  I leaned back against Mable’s headstone. “God, I hate these places that have all those life sized statues.”

  Netter was still peering in the direction toward Knudsen’s grave. “Yeah,” he said. “There must be twenty of ‘em out there.”

  “Well, they give me the creeps.”

  Netter sat down and turned to me. “Ya know what gives me the creeps? Fuckin’ ventriloquists. Ya gotta be one sick motherfucker to talk to a wooden doll with your hand up his ass.”

  “I think their hand is in the back of the doll,” I said. Netter turned and looked at me. “But I guess that doesn’t make much difference, does it?” I asked.

  The flashes of lightning were now getting closer and brighter, and faint rumbles of thunder were now evident.

  I looked over the monument just as a flash illuminated the area. “Damn those statues,” I said. “They kind of look like the zombies in those Living Dead movies.”

  “Yeah,” Netter said. “The lightning will play tricks with your eyesight. And comin’ from different directions like that makes those statues look like they’re movin’.”

  I turned and looked at him. “Well, thank you one hell of a lot for adding that. As if I wasn’t creeped out enough before.” I looked at my watch—11:15.

  I glanced toward Knudsen’s grave, and a bright flash lit up the area. I dropped to my knees and fell back against the headstone.

  Netter looked at my facial expression. “Christ, Tucker. You really are scared.”

  I slowly turned and looked at him. “There’s somebody out there,” I whispered.

  “It’s the lightning,” Netter scoffed. “Like I said, it plays tricks on you.”

  I reached over, grabbed his jacket lapel, and pulled him over to me. I gritted my teeth as I spoke. “I’m telling you that Jack Plum’s out there … dark hoodie!”

  Netter’s eyes got big as he leaned back and patted my chest with his palm. “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.”

  He handed me the large flashlight, and told me his plan … in more detail this time. “When I give you the signal, you slowly count to ten. I’m going to work my way up the left here. Now, when you hit ten, you shine that light over toward Knudsen’s grave. If I see him, I’ll take him out. And one more thing, if you fire that gun of yours, you better make damn well sure that you don’t shoot me. Understand?”

  I nodded. Netter gave me the signal and started off to the left.

  One—two—three—four—

  I put the flashlight in my left hand and pulled Pure Reason out of the holster with my right and cocked it.

  Five—six—seven—eight—

  I turned on my hands and knees and faced back toward Knudsen’s grave.

  Nine—ten.

  I jumped up, turned on the light, and aimed it at Knudsen’s grave—nothing. I quickly moved it to the left—still nothing. I jerked the light to the right just in time to see a black-hooded figure with a weapon aimed at me.

  He shot twice, and I dropped to the ground, the bullets whizzing over my head. But as I fell, I struck my left elbow on Mable’s headstone, knocking the flashlight from my hand. It landed about six feet away with the light shining on me.

  Netter fired his weapon twice, and I also turned and fired Pure Reason. The explosion from the .44 was deafening, and my ears began to ring. I took off running to my right toward the canopy tent and fired another round when the ground gave way beneath me.

  It had been so dark out that I hadn’t noticed the empty grave under the canopy. It was covered with plywood, but it di
dn’t support my weight. For a split second, I was free-falling through the air before landing on my back at the bottom of the grave. The breath had been knocked from me, but I still groped around to find the .44. I knew it was there because it hit my leg on the way down.

  The sounds of gunfire exchange continued between Netter and Plum—and then silence. I found Pure Reason, turned, and pointed it up toward the opening of the hole. But there was nothing to see—only the opening at the top with each flash of lightning.

  Finally, I stood. But I couldn’t see out the hole. I was trapped. All I could do was wait with my weapon pointed toward the opening above. Someone would eventually come—but would it be Netter—or Plum?

  The wait seemed forever, and my arms became weary from holding the large frame revolver.

  “Tucker! Tucker! Where are you?” It was Netter.

  I lowered my weapon. “Over here!” I yelled. “Under the canopy!”

  I heard Netter getting closer. “Don’t shoot, Tucker! It’s me!” He poked his head over the edge of the grave opening. “What the fuck are you doin’ down there?”

  “Don’t ask,” I said. “I’m lucky I didn’t break my damn neck. Did you get him?”

  “Nah, the son of a bitch got away. I thought for sure I had him in my sights.” He crouched down. “Give me your hand.”

  I did, and he pulled for a few seconds and then let go. “Can’t do it,” he said. “I’d have to lie down in that mud.”

  I looked at him and raised my eyebrows. “Well? So? Lie down in the mud, dammit. Just get me outta here.”

  “I can’t get the inside of Laura’s car dirty,” he said. “Don’t worry, backup’s on its way … be here in just a few minutes.” He walked away.

  I looked at the empty opening above me. “Hey! Where the hell did you go? Don’t you leave me down here!” There was no response. “Netter? Netter! Come back here dammit! You fuckin’ Judas!”

  After a few minutes, I heard voices coming toward me. “He’s right over there … in that hole. Get him out.”

  Finally, Netter and two officers peered over the edge of the hole. “Christ, Tucker! They could hear ya screamin’ all the way in Holly Springs! Be a little considerate. People are tryin’ to get some sleep.”

  Moments later, the two officers had pulled me from the open grave. Immediately, I lashed out at Netter. “You son of a bitch! You left me!”

  Netter pulled a cigar and stuck it in his mouth. “Ah, quit your bitchin’. You’re out, aren’t ya?”

  He began walking toward the Knudsen gravesite with his flashlight aimed in front of his feet. He stopped, bent over, and picked something up. It was white and looked like a stone.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Christ, ya know what this looks like?” He turned his flashlight toward a statue of an angel to his right. His hands dropped to his side. He bent over and laughed hysterically until he started coughing.

  “What’s so damn funny?”

  He shined his flashlight back on the statue. “You shot her tit off!” he roared. “That’s bad karma, Tucker. And you wonder why you have problems with women.” He stuck his hand out toward me. “Here. It’s your tit now.”

  “I don’t want that damn thing.”

  One of the officers by the Knudsen gravesite yelled. “Hey, Lieutenant, we have blood here.”

  Netter dropped the tit, and walked over to investigate. He leaned over and looked. “I don’t see anything.”

  The officer pointed to the ground about ten feet to the north of Knudsen’s grave. “Right here,” he said.

  “Christ, how did you see that little drop? Next time I threaten to fire you remind me that you have good eyes.” Netter stood and looked at me. “Well, I’ll be damned. He didn’t leave the head, but I winged him after all.”

  “Maybe I winged him,” I said.

  Netter laughed. “Yeah, right. I’ve seen you shoot, Tucker, and you couldn’t hit your ass with a hand grenade.”

  I glared at him but said nothing.

  “And there’re three … no, four shell casings over here,” the officer said.

  “Don’t touch anything. The Apex Police and the CSI guys will be here shortly,” Netter said. “Hopefully, the rain will hold off just a little longer.” He turned to Officer Judd on his right. “Take Tucker back to the department, get his statement, and then drive him home.”

  “Yes sir. This way, Mr. Tucker.” The two of us walked over to the cruiser parked on the main drive, and got in.

  Judd turned to me. “So you’re a friend of the Lieutenant. I didn’t know he had any friends.”

  “He doesn’t,” I said bluntly.

  CHAPTER 29

  It was raining heavily by the time Officer Judd dropped me off at the estate. As I walked by, I waved to Officer Mallory who was still parked in the drive. He nodded.

  My entire body was covered with red dirt, so I headed straight to the guesthouse and showered and changed before entering the main house. I leaned down and kissed Maggie on the cheek and parked my weary body in the armchair. It wasn’t long before I was sound asleep.

  Six forty-five seemed to arrive only minutes later. I wanted to stay curled up with the blanket over me, but I couldn’t, so I dragged myself into the master bath and began brushing my teeth.

  Maggie came up from behind, put her arms around me, and kissed me on the cheek. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” she said.

  I spit. “Yeah, some birthday—attending a memorial service for my murdered ex-wife.”

  Maggie turned on the shower. “Well,” she said, “Patty probably has no idea today’s your birthday. If she had, she would have made arrangements for another day.”

  “Oh, she knows, all right. She did this, so I’ll remember it every birthday for the rest of my life.”

  Maggie got in the shower but kept talking to me. “What is it between the two of you, anyway?”

  I lied. “She blames me for Jennifer’s death.”

  “No,” Maggie said, “there’s been something else going on since I’ve known you.” I was saved from answering when Maggie began to wash her hair.

  The tension between the two of us was now gone, mostly due to an attitude adjustment on my part. Funny how bullets whizzing over your head can jolt your focus back to what’s really important in life.

  My flashback to the previous night’s activities was interrupted by noise from outside. The Brackus people were out in full force, getting ready to pour concrete footings for the fence columns.

  When I’d showered, dressed, and finally reached the breakfast table, I was surprised to see Julie dressed for the somber occasion in a black dress with a white lace collar.

  I said to her, “You don’t need to go to this, sweet pea. It’s probably going to be pretty bad.”

  “No,” she said. “I want to be there for Amanda. She’s my sister.” Maggie beamed proudly at her daughter who suddenly seemed like an adult.

  Oscar waddled over to me and sat patiently waiting for a treat. I looked down at him and frowned. “What on earth is wrong with your claws?”

  Julie speared a piece of sausage. “I painted his nails to match mine. See?” She held out her left hand. “But I could only do the front ones. He growled when I touched his back feet.”

  I looked down at his ridiculous light blue front claws. “Gee, I can’t imagine why.”

  We finished breakfast quietly, the mood darkened by the task we had to perform that day. I went back to the master bedroom where Maggie was finishing the final touches to her ensemble. She was radiant in a simple black suit and matching shoes. She wore just a hint of makeup and no jewelry except for her wedding ring. I took her in as I watched her select a black and charcoal grey striped tie for me to wear. She kissed me lightly and told me how nice I looked as she tied it for me. I wore the obligatory plain black suit and black wingtip shoes. When we finished the primping and admiring, I opened my chest of drawers and extracted Pure Reason and his shoulder holster.

 
“You’re not wearing that to the memorial, are you?” Maggie asked.

  “I’m not taking any chances,” I said. “Plum was at the Knudsen burial, and he might show up again today.” If she only knew what happened last night.

  Maggie and Julie got their black raincoats and umbrellas, and the three of us left in the Escalade. Nora and Roberta stayed back at the main house with Oscar, where the three of them would be glued to the TV all day. There was a Dog the Bounty Hunter marathon on today. Their favorite show. Go figure.

  Heavy rain had ended earlier, and we arrived at Patty and Bruce’s place at about nine fifteen. Amanda Jane was ready and waiting for us. She wore a simple black skirt and gray sweater and carried a long black coat. Her black leather ballet flats had tiny bows on the toes. She looked small and lost, and my heart ached as I watched her climb into the back seat with Julie. The girls hugged before Amanda Jane fastened her seatbelt.

  “How are you doing, sweetie?” Maggie asked as she reached back and squeezed Amanda Jane’s hand.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m really glad I’m going with you and Julie and Daddy.”

  “I winked at her in the rearview mirror and said, “Let’s do this.” She gave me a small smile back.

  The First Baptist Church was only six blocks away. We got there in just a few minutes, and I parked close to the building. As we walked toward the church, Maggie looked at my leg. “Are you limping?” she asked.

  “Yeah, a little. I stepped in a hole last night and turned my ankle. It was a really big hole.” I left it at that.

  When we reached the entrance, I noticed three men I recognized as Cary police officers. They were dressed in dark suits to blend in with those attending the service.

  I left my family and walked up to one of them and shook his hand. “Thank you for coming,” I said. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

  “Sergeant Ron Shelby,” he replied. “The lieutenant is holding his task force meeting early this morning. He should be here shortly.” He looked at me sympathetically and added, “Mr. Tucker, I’m really sorry about everything that’s going on.”