by Terry Shames
“Did they say what they wanted?”
“They didn’t have to. When I told them I didn’t know where Boone was, they said I’d better not be lying, that if I was, they’d be back. They sounded so mean.” She puts her head in her hands. “I think I’m beginning to figure out that Boone has done something bad. Probably what you were asking about.”
She describes the two men as looking like the same ones her daughter saw the night Boone was beaten up. I don’t like it one bit. I don’t like strangers coming to town and threatening people. I don’t like that Boone Eldridge has brought this on his family. First Curtis, and now Boone, each in his own way letting weakness drive their actions. And both of them brought low because of it. There’s no doubt now that Boone Eldridge has gotten himself involved in trouble that he’s not likely to be able to weasel out of.
“Well, at least we know they haven’t killed him,” I say. “It may be a matter of money. If Boone can manage to pay them off, he’ll be okay.”
“But if he threw that game . . .”
She doesn’t have to finish. If Boone threw the game, he’ll never coach football again, never hold his head up in this town. His kids will be tormented. It’s a bleak prospect.
Suddenly Linda stands up and looks at her watch. Her expression has gone from fear to fury. “I’m not going to sit around and wait for Boone to show up. I’m going to work this morning. If Boone needs to reach me, he can call me there.”
I get to my feet. “I think that’s a good idea. It will keep you from worrying so much. There still might be a good explanation for what’s happened.”
Tears spring to her eyes and she draws a couple of deep breaths. “I wish I believed that, but meanwhile somebody has to bring some money in for this family.”
When I arrive at the motorcycle shop, Vic is explaining to Curtis’s wide-eyed teenage boys how he plans to repair the engine on a big Harley-Davidson. You couldn’t have taken those boys to Disneyland and entertained them any better.
Vic tells them to keep their hands off the parts lying around, but he gives them a manual and shows them the page that identifies the parts and tells them he’s going to give them a quiz when he gets back. I’m curious why they gave Vic the job of working with these boys, seeing that he’s the only one of them without a family. But he seems to do pretty well with them.
We step outside to enjoy the nippy weather. Vic lights up a cigarette. “Walter told me you were interested in the last time we went to Coushatta with Jack.”
“That’s right.” I tell him what the blackjack dealer overheard. “Walter says you might have seen who Jack was talking to.”
“I did. Jack and I were playing blackjack, and all of a sudden I see this man I know by sight, but don’t know who he is. I tell Jack I think he’s from Jarrett Creek, and Jack wants to go over there and say hello. I wheel him over to the craps table next to this guy and tell him Jack came to say hi. And then things get a little weird. The guy turns around, and his mouth falls open and he looks at me like he’s seen a ghost. He doesn’t say anything for a second and Jack says, ‘Who am I talking to?’ And the guy kind of laughs and says, ‘It’s Boone, Jack. How you doing?’”
“Boone? Are you sure that’s who it was?” My heart drops to my stomach.
“Yeah, the high school coach. I didn’t know him at the time, but I saw him again when I came to a game a couple of weeks ago with Walter.”
“So did Jack and Boone talk to each other?”
“They did, but they both acted a little strange. Jack asked the coach what he was doing there. And the coach got all jolly and made a big fuss about how glad he was to see Jack, and what a coincidence it was. You know, clapped him on the shoulder, good buddy stuff. But he was looking at Jack like he’d seen the devil.”
“What did Jack say to him?”
“Jack said he’d see the man back in Jarrett Creek and that they needed to talk and then Jack told me he wanted to go back and play some more blackjack. After that it happened pretty much the way the dealer told you. Jack was mighty pissed off. He said the coach shouldn’t be gambling—especially with his money. We asked him what he meant, but he said that was between him and Boone. That was the end of it. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. We went off and had some drinks, and that was that.”
On the way back to Jarrett Creek, I try every which way to put the best face on what I’ve heard. But there is no good way to get out of what I know. I thought the worst thing that could have happened was that Boone Eldridge had gotten himself into trouble as a gambler. But now I know he’s done worse than that.
I feel like I need to talk to some regular people and try to figure out what to do next, so I stop by the café. The regulars are there, gathered around Gabe LoPresto. I remember what Louis Cardoza’s dad said yesterday morning about asking LoPresto if he knew anything about where coach was. So I pull up a chair, wondering if I’m dealing with a whole gambling cartel I didn’t even know existed. I listen for a few minutes while the men wrangle over a couple of plays that were called in the game Friday night.
Lurleen brings me coffee and leans down to ask me if I’ve found out anything about Jack’s killer. I tell her I’m working on it and may have something soon.
When the squabble comes to an end, LoPresto says to me, “I hear you were in the thick of that shoot-out yesterday. That family has had more than its share of troubles.”
“Curtis brought trouble on himself,” I say.
“How so?” LoPresto is grinning like a fool.
I tell them about his involvement with the survivalist group in Waco.
One of the men leans in, his eyes narrowed. “Seems to me he was protecting his family. You can’t charge him with anything.”
“I’m in no position to charge him or not charge him. That’s up to the law.”
“By God, if it was me and my family, they’d have a court fight on their hands if they tried to tell me I couldn’t use my lawful firearm to protect my wife and kids. So I don’t see how you can say he brought it on himself, if someone came after him.”
“I’m talking about his decision to throw in his lot with somebody without bothering to find out anything about his past. If he’d done his homework, he would have known this guy Marcus was a criminal and wasn’t anybody he should be involved with.”
“It’s a matter of trust,” the man says.
“You lie down with dogs, you get fleas,” LoPresto crows. He likes a good argument. But his statement brings me to the reason I’m here.
“You all know Coach Eldridge is missing?” I say.
“I heard that, but I didn’t take it seriously,” LoPresto says. “Where would the man go? You think he’s got somebody on the side?”
“You know his wife,” one of the men pokes the man next to him. “He’d be crazy to look elsewhere.”
“Anybody here ever gamble on the football games?”
They look at me uneasily. “Well sure,” LoPresto says. “We have a pool down at the office, and anybody can get in on it. I don’t think the law is too excited about that.”
“I’m talking about big gambling. Like with a bookie.”
“On a high school game?” Dilly Bolton’s dad sneers.
“Hold on,” LoPresto says, sizing me up. “I’ve heard something about that. You know my sister lives in Houston. Her husband likes to bet on college and pro games, and he told me once that somebody asked if he was interested in betting on high school games, too. My brother-in-law said he thought it was crazy, but the guy told him there was serious money to be made on Texas high school football.”
“I’ll be damned,” somebody says. “If I’d known that, I could have been rich by now.”
They all laugh. It’s not serious to them, because it would never occur to them that their coach would be involved in something so sordid.
Only LoPresto realizes there’s more to it. He acts like a buffoon half the time, but I know he’s a shrewd businessman when it comes to his real estat
e business. “Why are you asking?”
“Those guys who beat up Eldridge a few weeks ago? There’s some question that they might have something to do with gambling.”
“What?” Bolton says. “I thought that was just somebody mad about the team losing to Bobtail.”
Again, it’s LoPresto who gets the connection. “You’re not saying Eldridge gambled on the games, are you?”
“Anybody ever hear any rumors of that?” I say.
None of them have. “But if I find out that’s what Eldridge has been up to, and he threw that game, I’m taking a horsewhip to him,” the gun guy says. He’s still riled up about our gun talk and looking for a target. He doesn’t know I’m thinking that Eldridge’s gambling problem took him a long way farther than just throwing a game.
LoPresto’s face has grown fierce. “You’re thinking he threw the game.”
I nod.
“Son of a bitch. So that’s why he’s skipped out of town?”
“Where would he go?” someone says.
“I’d look in Mexico,” the gun guy says. “If he stays around here, he’d be in a hell of a fix.”
“You think those boys who beat him up last time might have gotten hold of him and done worse?” LoPresto asks.
“I know they haven’t gotten to him yet, because they called on Linda this morning.”
“Serves Eldridge right if they find him,” somebody says.
LoPresto shakes his head. “I imagine he’s pretty desperate about now, trying to find some way to get them off his back.”
And just like that, I know where Boone Eldridge has gone.
Five hours later, I find Eldridge in the Coushatta Casino at the roulette table. He’s doing pretty well, with a stack of chips in front of him. I slide in next to him. On a Monday afternoon, it’s not busy, only five people at the table.
He looks to see who’s crowding him, and his mouth goes slack when he sees me. But he puts on a front. “Well look who the cat dragged in.”
“Boone, I thought I’d find you here.”
“You a gambler?”
“Not especially. Why don’t you cash out, now, and let’s go somewhere we can talk.”
Eldridge gestures expansively to the table. “I can’t leave now. I’m on a roll.”
“How much do you owe?”
He goes still, and when he looks at me, his grin is like a death head. “I guess you’d say it’s gotten a little out of hand. I’m going to have to have a nice long streak of luck. And I’ve got a good start on it.”
The croupier asks if Boone is in or out.
“Oh, in. For sure.” He places a stack of twenty-dollar chips on red and another one on even.
We watch the ball hop around and land on twenty-two red. “See what I mean? I’m getting there.”
I’m a patient man. I can wait until his luck changes, which it surely will before he thinks he’s won enough. It takes about an hour. By then Boone has gotten reckless, so when he loses, he loses a big chunk.
He bows his head for a moment, and then shoves another bunch of chips out there, which he also loses. Still, he’s up by more than he had when I got here.
“Maybe you could use a break,” I say. “Looks like things have turned around for the time being.”
I can see the sickness in him; see that it takes all his will to pick up what’s left of his stash. “I’ll be back in a little bit,” he says to the croupier, and tips him three twenty-dollar chips. The croupier gives him a two-finger salute.
We go into the coffee shop. Boone is so restless he can’t keep his eyes still. They dart around the room as if he’s looking for something. I don’t know if he’s watching for the men who are after him, or if he’s still thinking about getting back to the table. But I know that he doesn’t recognize Texas Highway Patrolman John Ryder, sitting patiently at a table with a cup of coffee and a magazine in front of him.
Boone says he’s not hungry, but I order us each a hamburger. I don’t know when he’ll get his next meal.
“Two men came by and threatened your wife this morning.”
His face goes pale, and I see how slack the skin has gone around his jaws. A man losing control of himself. “What two men?”
“You know who.”
He swallows. “I told them to leave her out of it.”
“And you believed they’d listen to you?” I sigh. “Boone, how’d you ever get involved with people like that in the first place?”
Boone massages the back of his neck and moves his head back and forth. “College.”
“You ever throw any games for them back then?”
He bares his teeth in what’s supposed to be a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s a little gambling that got out of hand, that’s all. Nobody’s talking about throwing any games.”
“That night you got beaten up? Your daughter saw you and overheard what you said.”
Eldridge has managed to slough off everything else I’ve said, but the mention of his daughter cuts him. He puts his fist on the table. “Who all knows about this?”
He’s a gambler, through and through, still laying odds that there’s a way to weasel out of what he’s done. And he’s still thinking I don’t know he killed Bob and Jack Harbin.
The waitress plops down the hamburgers. I pick up the top bun and peer at the gray piece of meat. I open the ketchup bottle and douse the meat with it, place the two pickle chips on it, and the single slice of tomato. Boone watches me. He’s ordered a beer and he sips it, letting his hamburger lie there.
“How’d you get Jack Harbin to lend you money?” I say, before I bite into my burger.
He fakes a chuckle. “Did he tell you I lent him money?”
“You paid it back every time except the last time. Is that when you got out of control?”
“It wasn’t a lot of money. Just a stake.”
“Would seem like a lot to some folks. I’m guessing it seemed like a lot to Bob.”
“Like you said, I always paid it back.” He’s desperate for me to believe him.
“And then when you couldn’t pay it back last time, Bob got tough with you. He worked hard so that Jack would have enough money to live on if anything happened to him. So he leaned on you a little. You figured with him out of the way, you’d be able to manipulate Jack better.”
“Hey, manipulate . . . that’s a harsh word. I persuaded Jack to give me a little more time to pay him back.”
I chew a bite of hamburger, taking my time. I’m thinking about the tequila that Boone brought to Jack and Bob as a peace offering the night before Bob’s supposed heart attack. Either the bottle was spiked with Benadryl or Boone slipped it into Bob’s drink.
“But Jack didn’t buy into it, did he? Even with Bob gone, Jack insisted on getting his money back, and you couldn’t get it for him. What did you tell him, that you and your wife had some extra expenses and you just needed a little help?”
Boone picks up a pickle chip, looks at it, puts it back down.
“But when Jack ran into you here at the casino, he knew what you’d been doing with the money. What happened? He tell you he was going to go to the school board and have you fired for gambling?”
Boone looks like he’s going to put up a protest, but suddenly he looks up, and freezes like a rabbit in the sights of a shotgun. I turn my head and see two men walking toward us. I recognize them as the two men I originally took for college football scouts, and I stand up and wipe my mouth with my napkin. Out of the corner of my eye I see Ryder stand up, too.
“Boone, we’ve had trouble finding you.” Up close, I see these are hard-looking men. The one who spoke has a scar across his cheek.
“You boys back off,” I say. “Your business with Boone is done.”
“Oh, really?” scar-face says. “And who are you to tell me when my business is done?”
“My name is Samuel Craddock. I’ve been given the responsibility of investigating the murder of two men in Jarrett Creek, Texas. And
I’m here to bring Mr. Eldridge back on those charges.”
“You and who else?” the other one says. They’re smirking.
“Him and me,” Ryder says. His hand is on his gun and he’s smiling as friendly as if we’d all run into each other in the best of circumstances.
“You two are mighty cocky for a couple of old geezers,” scar-face says.
“Oh, what is that old saying?” I look at the ceiling. “I guess I’m slipping, I can’t remember. Something about old age and treachery.”
Scar-face doesn’t see the humor. He says to Ryder, “You’re not about to pull your gun with all these innocent bystanders here. Eldridge, get up and come with us like a man.”
Boone’s face is pleading, but he gets up. “You don’t mind, do you?” With a shaking hand, he picks up his beer and puts it to his mouth. But then he flicks the glass, throwing beer in scar-face’s eyes.
The other one swings at Eldridge, but I bring my cane up to stop the blow. Meanwhile, Ryder slips his gun out and brings it level with his chest and walks over to join us.
The few people in the restaurant scramble out of their seats. I pick up a napkin and hand it to scar-face. “Clean yourself up. You think we’re fools? That we came here by ourselves? You think this is the movies and we want to be heroes? Think again. You wouldn’t have gotten two steps outside the casino before you were surrounded.”
Ryder grins at me. He knows I’m lying.
“Now get on out of here.” I gesture toward the door with my cane.
“Don’t think Eldridge will live to go to trial,” scar-face says. And the two of them stalk out.
Ryder puts his gun away and sighs. “I better go talk to security and make sure those boys get sent on their way.”
“I don’t understand.” Boone is practically crying. “Couldn’t you have them arrested?”
I pat his shoulder. “Boone, I could have if we actually had anybody waiting outside. As it is, Ryder here is going to have to call us up an escort.”