by Terry Shames
“Jesus Christ.” Boone sits down abruptly. Sweat is trickling down from his hairline. “You mean you were bluffing? You have no idea what those guys are like.”
“Maybe not. But I don’t see them here in front of us.”
Ryder gestures toward Eldridge’s hamburger. “You going to eat that?”
Boone shakes his head. “I thought you were going to talk to security?”
Ryder and I smile at each other. I say, “No need to go after security. Trust me, they will have heard about this little incident, and they’ll be here any second.”
Except for Oscar Grant, the owner, Walter Dunn and I are alone in the Two Dog. It’s the only place that passes for a bar in Jarrett Creek. At night people can convince themselves that it looks pretty good, but in the afternoon, like now, it’s just a dive, pure and simple.
Dunn and I have things to discuss, but first we have to listen to Oscar complain that since Rodell Skinner was sent to dry out, his business has fallen off considerably. “I never thought I’d say it, but I miss having him around.”
Eventually he goes off to do something else and Walter and I take the opportunity to move to one of the two tiny tables shoved up against one wall.
“I understand they’ve got the coach on a suicide watch,” Dunn says. “That poor devil.”
“That’s what they’re calling it, but the truth is he’s being held in isolation to keep him from being murdered by the thugs he was in debt to.”
Dunn sips his beer. “That gambling is a terrible sickness.”
“I don’t know what’s worse, the gambling, or the need to save face.”
“I don’t know what you mean exactly.”
I move my leg to ease it. Somehow since I’ve found out I’m going to have the surgery, it’s been bothering me more. “If Eldridge had been willing to admit his gambling habit and get some help, it would have been hard, but not impossible. But he couldn’t stand to lose his place in the community. He knew he’d lose his job and everybody’s respect. So he killed two people on account of it.”
Dunn looks away, scowling. “How’s his family?”
“It’s a mess. Linda can’t stay here. Everybody’s being nice to the family now, but eventually her kids will start being harassed. They’re at an awful age.”
Dunn kind of smiles and hunches forward in his chair. The chairs are so rickety that his squeaks in protest. “I guess you didn’t ask me here to talk about Eldridge, though. Or to tip a few in Jack’s honor.”
“Although we could do that, too.”
He salutes me with his beer and brings it up to his mouth.
“I’m here to satisfy my curiosity,” I say. “You know what about.”
Dunn stretches his neck, as if it’s gotten stiff. “I suppose you’ve earned the right to know the rest, a little reward for finding out who killed Jack.” He smiles. “You better be sure you want to hear it, though. It’s not going to be easy on the ears.”
“I have to hear it.”
“All right, you asked for it.” Still, he hesitates for several seconds as if he’s plunging into cold water. “Back when I knew Jack in Kuwait, he told me he was scared to go into the army and that he had his buddy shoot him in the foot to get out of going. And when that didn’t work, he decided that whatever happened, happened. But I don’t figure he ever thought it could be as bad as it was.”
“Maybe that’s why he was so scared before he went in. Maybe he had some idea of how bad it could be.”
He cocks his head at me. “Were you ever in the service?”
“Air force. But I never had to fight in a war.”
“I went in the army because they said they’d give me an education. I thought I’d like to be a doctor. Couldn’t begin to afford medical school. But I thought maybe I could be an EMT or something like that. Being a medic in the army cured me of all that.”
I’m pretty sure he’ll get around to the point sooner or later. He looks into his beer bottle. “You want another one?”
I’m not going to let him drink alone. I pull out my wallet. “I’ll pay for it, but I’ll let you run up there and get them.” I pat my leg.
“Seems like more than a fair deal.”
He comes back and settles in. “Did you know Jack died on the battlefield?”
“He told me he thought he’d have been better off if he had.”
“I’m the one who saved him. Shocked his heart back. After that, I felt like I owed him my support. Seems like I never could do it right, though. He didn’t want to come back here and be the object of pity and I thought I was doing him a favor finding him that place in California.”
“That wasn’t your fault. It was the fault of that sorry son of a bitch who scammed those guys.”
“Right after I got out there, after Taylor called me, Jack tried to kill himself. Took an overdose of pills he’d managed to squirrel away. Here I came to the rescue again.” His mouth twists in disgust.
“My daddy was a drunk,” I say. I don’t bring it up much, but Dunn has a right to hear it. “He had his reasons, but sometimes I felt like he was trying to drink himself to death. But he used to say, ‘If you’re born to hang, you’re not going to die any other way.’ You know what he meant?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that my whole life, too. But it strikes me that’s a kind of fatalist attitude. How could it be predecided that Jack was going to go through so much and then die in his bed at the hands of a two-bit gambler?”
I don’t know why it strikes us funny, but we both laugh.
“You told me that things back in California didn’t happen the way I thought they did. So you didn’t kill that guy?”
He smiles. “Not exactly. What I did was give Jack the opportunity to kill him.”
So now the real secret comes out. “How did you do it?”
“Well, it wasn’t easy, as you can imagine. Jack was in a wheelchair and blind. But he said if he didn’t kill that guy, the rest of his life would be pure torture. He figured if he could rid the world of that piece of shit, it would give him something to hold onto.” Dunn’s voice goes shaky, and I look away from him.
“So Taylor and I talked about how it could be done. And we came up with a scheme. She had already met the guy—his name was Phil. Next time Phil came around she sweet-talked him, rubbed him up every which way, told him he should come around again and she’d have sex with him.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Girl should have been an actress. But maybe Phil just wanted to believe he was her dream man. Anyway, she told Phil she’d make sure Jack had some pills in him so he wouldn’t know what was going on.” Dunn pauses and squeezes his eyes shut. Then he takes a long drink of his beer. “You know what that son of a bitch said? He said, ‘Oh, it might be fun if Jack got to hear us.’”
“Were you there for this?”
“Hell no, I would have killed the guy right then and there. Taylor said she wanted to do that, too. But she improvised. Told him that was a great idea, that she’d bet Jack would like it too.”
“Dear God.”
“So she and Phil set up a date. I bought Jack a gun and then we practiced so Jack and Taylor could get the timing right. It went down just like it was supposed to.” He shakes his head, smiling a little. “Taylor told me it was easier than she had ever imagined. She thought being in on killing somebody would be the hardest thing she ever did. But she said helping Jack kill that guy didn’t bother her one bit.”
“How the hell did they manage it?”
“The plan was that she’d have the guy on the bed. We practiced, so Jack would know where to aim the gun. When she got him in position, Taylor planned to tell Phil to stay right where he was, that she was going to put on something sexy that would drive him wild. And she told him to talk to her while she changed. So while he was talking, Jack knew exactly where he was. He pulled out that gun and shot him. Shot him three times.”
“Didn’t anybody hear the shots?”
Dunn grimaces. “
If anybody heard shots, they never said a word about it.”
“And you got rid of the body in a dumpster.”
“First I got Taylor out of there. She was all packed up and ready to go as soon as we took care of Phil. After she left, I went in and cleaned up. That night I took the body to a dumpster.”
“You never told anybody else about this?”
He shakes his head. “Couple of the guys knew that something bad happened back in California—I guess Jack hinted around. But as far as I know, it was just hints. Sometimes the boys and my wife got a little impatient that I was devoted to Jack. But I just told them we’d been through things nobody needed to know about. And that pretty much took care of it.”
And he’s right. They went through things nobody should have to go through. We’re quiet for a couple of long minutes. And then I ask how Curtis’s family is faring.
“They’re good, they’re good. I expect Curtis is going to have to make some changes. Those boys of his are ready to bust out of the life he had them in. You ought to see Jack’s mom with them. She’s like a different person. Like she needed a mission, and they’re it.”
I’ll be seeing Taylor this afternoon. She called to tell me she’s headed back to Dallas and wanted to stop by to say goodbye. I’m remembering what Taylor said about Jack being a coward and about him begging her to kill him, and I wonder if Jack really did have the courage to pull the trigger on Phil. Or if in the end it was Taylor who did it. I’m not going to tell her about my conversation with Dunn and I’m not going to ask her if my hunch is right. She’d lie to me anyway, so I’d never know for sure. Some things are better left alone.
My deep thanks to my mother and father, Adelle and Lloyd Klar, who made sure I was surrounded by books and music. They would have loved Samuel Craddock and the Jarrett Creek community.
I hear tales of editors who run roughshod over copy, publicists who underperform, and indifferent cover designers. Seventh Street Books decided not to go that direction. I am truly amazed at the professionalism, enthusiasm, and warmth of everyone on the team—Dan Mayer (editing magician), Meghan Quinn, Melissa Raé Shofner, Jill Maxick, Jade Zora Scibilia, Grace Zilsberger (love my covers), Cate Roberts-Abel, and Ian Birnbaum. These are my main contacts. I know there are others who work hard behind the scenes to make the books look and feel good, and my thanks extends to them as well.
A special salute to the generous, warm-hearted Carolyn Hart, author extraordinaire, whose support for other crime writers is legend. You’re the best!
Terry Shames currently lives in Berkeley, CA, but her imagination is always stirred by the strange mix that makes up the vast landscape and human drama of Texas, where she grew up. Terry is a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime. Visit her website at www.Terrryshames.com.
A Killing at Cotton Hill