Dead Man Walking

by Quinn Buckland

  I pick up the blower once again and dial my home number. Dorothy is bound to be waiting for me, and I don’t want to worry her. As expected, she picks up the telephone, and I hear her sweet voice.

  “Hello?”

  “Dorothy, it’s Thomas.”

  “Thomas? It’s late; why aren’t you home?”

  I smile and revel in her concern. Nobody worried about me before she come along.

  “I was filling out my report; things had gone a little late. I’m going to be a little later now too. I just had a break in the case, and I’m needed.”

  “All right,” she says. I imagine her nodding as she says it. “Be careful.”

  “I will,” I say. “I love you. Don’t wait up.”

  “I love you too.”

  I put the horn down and pick it back up to call a cab. I frown as I start to think I should just buy a car. They’re not too expensive, especially if I find something used.

  A cab company has a taxi on the way as I bolt out the door to the street below.

  ***

  The cool night air rushes through the back window as the cabby drives. I tell him to drive to the industrial area and to drive around until he sees cop cars. We find the cars much quicker than anticipated.

  A dozen cars surround the building. To the side, I see two large police vans, each occupied by one of the hulking brothers. I don’t venture close to the vehicles. I have no intention of seeing what they or the cops who rumbled with them look like. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it from Liddell sooner or later.

  The warehouse is smaller than I expected — only big enough to hold a few cars or maybe a large piece of machinery. Liddell stands by the door waiting for me, a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

  “About time you got here, Baxter,” he says, his words pointed.

  “What’d you find?”

  “Take a look.”

  I open the door and step inside. The scent of rot hits me like a truck, and I see them from across the room. A sizeable pile of rotted bodies lie atop a larger pile of skeletons, not a stitch of clothing among them. I have a good inclination the bodies are the people who’ve gone missing in the past few years.

  I approach the bodies, careful of every step. I reach out to the top body, the only fresh one in the bunch. Something about him looks familiar. I turn the body, and the vacant eyes of Barney Liddell stare back at me. I scream and stumble backwards. My heart pounds in my chest. Liddell was just outside with me. How could this be?

  I pick myself up and place my hand on the body. He’s still warm; can’t have been dead more than ten minutes. I don’t understand how that’s possible. There’s only one man who can answer my questions, and I have an idea that I’m not going to get those answers easily.

  I exit the warehouse, and Liddell is nowhere to be seen. “Damn,” I mutter.

  I see Constable Corey as he passes one of the cars, and I rush over to him. “Corey,” I say. “You seen Liddell? He was just by the door there, but when I left, he was gone.”

  Constable Corey shrugs and shakes his head. “Last I saw him, he was there too. I couldn’t tell you.”

  Something in his tone tells me he’s lying, but the look on his face tells a different story.

  “Why do you need to talk to him?” Corey asks.

  “This is clearly a crime scene,” I say. “I need to confirm that he plans to take over the case. If he does, then I should be able to go home.”

  Constable Corey takes another look around before turning back to me. “I don’t see him anywhere, but I would imagine he would want to take over.” He waves to a passing copper, who comes over. “Harold, care to take Detective Baxter home? This was his case, but I believe Captain Liddell is going to take over.”

  The officer nods, and I turn to follow him to his car. At the last moment, I know what I have to do.

  “Constable Corey,” I say. “When I leave, I need you to take a look inside the warehouse. I know it’s an odd request, but it’s imperative.”

  Constable Corey gives me an odd look but says, “Okey, I’ll do that.”

  I don’t know if he will, but it’s my last shot at getting whoever is parading as Liddell on the run.

  The trip is silent, much more so than I’d have liked. But there’s nothing for me to say. There are some difficult questions I have to ask myself, and it’s hard to put them in any order when the image of Liddell’s body continues to enter my mind. The freshness of his body, the horror in his eyes, the warmth remaining behind the skin; all of it was making me uneasy.

  The car pulls up to my home, and I exit. I thank the officer and watch as he pulls away. I can still see lights on in the house; Dorothy is waiting up for me.

  I walk up the stairs and enter our apartment. Dorothy is sprawled on the couch, her eyes closed. At first, my mind goes to a bad place and is only quelled when I see the gentle rise and fall of her chest with every shallow breath.

  “Dorothy?” I say, removing my jacket.

  Her eyes flutter, and she stretches. “What time is it?” she asks.

  “Half-past three.”

  Dorothy sits straight up and turns her head to me. “You’re later than I thought you’d be.”

  I nod. “Me too.”

  I take a seat beside my wife, unsure of how to ask what I need. I gaze into her eyes and lose myself in them. Soon they’ll be wet with tears, and I know full well what I’m about to ask might end us.

  “Are you all right?’ she asks.

  I shake my head. “I saw something tonight I can’t explain, something very similar to what I saw four years ago that really put me down that hole.” I pause as I collect my thoughts. “I have a question I have to ask you, and you’re not going to want to answer me. But I need you to tell me everything you know.”

  Dorothy’s face slackens and worry fills her eyes. “I’ll tell you what I can.”

  I nod and place my hand on her shoulder. “I need you to tell me what you saw that night at Renault’s Gin Joint four years ago. I need to know what you saw that made you leave the city.”

  Dorothy’s eyes widen; whatever she’d expected, that wasn’t it.

  “No,” she whispers. “I can’t relive that. I can’t tell you.”

  “Dollface,” I say, trying to keep my patience. “I need you to tell me. What I do next and where this case goes hinges on what you tell me. I know you don’t want to go through that again; it was bad enough for you to experience it in the first place. But I need you to. Please.”

  I look directly into her eyes, my face as soft as I can make it. Tears fall down her cheeks as I watch her remember.

  “Okey,” she says, her voice soft and reluctant. “I was about to go on stage, but I needed to ask Moses something. I don’t remember what it was, but I had to talk to him. I went into his office, but he wasn’t there; there was some other guy, one I hadn’t seen before. Whoever it was, he didn’t hear me enter because what he did next still sends shivers down my spine.”

  “What happened?”

  “He changed.”

  “Changed what? His clothes?”

  Dorothy shakes her head. “He changed his face. He changed his body. He changed his hair. Everything changed, and in seconds Moses was standing in his office right where the strange man was.” Tears fall faster than before and Dorothy closes her eyes. She takes in a deep breath and exhales. “I screamed, and he saw me. There wasn’t any way I wasn’t getting seen. He grabbed me, threw me onto the chair and asked me what I saw. I didn’t know what to tell him, so I said nothing. He then told me I was to keep saying I saw nothing and leave the city. If I ever came back, he’d kill me.”

  “Then you left,” I say, putting the rest of the pieces together.

  Dorothy nods. “I wanted to tell you right then and there. I wanted to lay it all out, but I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Who would believe a story like that?”

  The worst part is, I know she’s right. There’s no way I’d ever have accepted a story like that four
years ago. But with everything I’ve seen, with all the insanity I’ve experienced with this case, I could never doubt her story.

  “I’ll keep you safe,” I say. “Neither Moses, nor his goons, nor whoever he’s working with will hurt you. I promise.”

  Almost as if to answer my words, a thud is heard at the door. I stand, walk to the front door and open the door a crack. I don’t see anyone in the hall, but in the door is a note with a knife sticking out of it.

  I pull the sticker from the door and open the note.

  Room 3 2236, 57th St.

  11:00 p.m.

  Come alone

  I press my lips together and close the door.

  “Who is it?’ Dorothy asks.

  “Nobody,” I say, hiding the knife and note from her.

  I know it’s a trap, but if I’m about to die, at least I’ll have my answers.

  Chapter 21

  The Preparations

  Dorothy watches as I get myself ready. I make sure my heater is full of ammo and slide it into the holster. I hide knives In three of my pockets and in my shoe. I’m not taking any chances with these people.

  “Thomas, where are you going?” Dorothy asks.

  I turn to my wife and stare into her eyes. I can’t tell her I’m going to meet with the people who have caused me so much pain. I can’t bring myself to tell her I’m going to meet with Moses Renault and whoever he’s in league with. I sigh knowing Dorothy has every right to know what’s happening, especially since there’s a chance I might not return.

  “I have a job to do,” I say. “I’m not going to lie to you, it’s going to be dangerous, and there’s a good chance I’m going to get into trouble. I need you to stay home until Genevieve or I call you.”

  “Is Genevieve going with you?”

  “No,” I say. “But I’m going to make sure you don’t get targeted if things go wrong.”

  Tears well in Dorothy’s eyes she’s shed a lot of water in the past few hours. As tears stream down her face, I curse the name of Ruth Sutton. Had she never come along, I never would have had to search for Howard Sutton, the man who started the whole mess. His infidelity brought me into the mix and his death put me in the fray.

  I wrap my arms around Dorothy and squeeze her into me.

  “If things go wrong,” I continue, “I want you to leave the city. I don’t want them to get to you, and if you’re not a threat to them, they should leave you alone.” I pull back, keeping my hands on her arms. “I’m going to try and bargain for your safety, but —”

  “No,” she shouts. I step back a few paces. “Things are not going to go wrong because you’re not going.”

  “Dorothy, I don’t have a choice.”

  “Yes. You. Do,” she says, her teeth never parting, her eyes narrow and stern.

  I frown and give her an apologetic look. I don’t have time to argue with her. I have a lot to set up, and Dorothy being difficult will not help me get any of it done.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “You walk out that door,” Dorothy begins, chokes back a sob and glares. “You walk out that door, don’t ever come back. I’ll tell our child their father died in Germany, and the man who continues to claim he’s the father is nothing more than a madman.”

  My lips purse, and I sigh. “I have to go,” I say and walk out the door.

  As I walk away, I’m sure I can hear her crying. I feel like a heel, but I can’t have this hanging over my head. I can’t bear putting her or our child in danger. If I ignore the message and refuse to show up, I’d be risking finding her dead someday after coming home from the office. I don’t want to go. I’d rather be doing anything else, but I don’t have any option.

  I close my eyes, a tear running down my face as I walk out into the street. I don’t turn to look in our window. If I look and I see her, I might not go. Walking down the street, a thought hits me, and I damn near hit my knees. I no longer have anything to live for. I swallow the lump rising in my throat and I start to form a plan.

  ***

  There’s nobody at the office as I open the door. I turn the light on and walk to Jenny’s desk. I find a sheet of paper in the top drawer and a fountain pen on top of her desk. I don’t have a blank sheet or a pen on my desk, preferring to type everything out. This time, I need to write my note by hand. Genevieve needs to be sure the letter comes from me.

  Genevieve,

  By the time you get this, I’ll very likely be on my way to finishing what I started four years ago. I’m going to find out everything that happened with Howard Sutton, Moses Renault and Helen O’Reilly. I’m going to find out why they wanted me to impregnate Ruth Sutton. I’m going to learn everything.

  There’s a problem with this, and I’m sure you’ve already put it together. Knowing everything about what’s happening might end with me getting killed. That said, if need be, I’m going to take as many of them down as possible first.

  If things go well, I’ll be all right. But if things don’t go well, I’m going to try and bargain for both your and Dorothy’s lives. I’m hoping they go for it. If not, that’s when I’ll start shooting. If they agree to spare you, I’ll die quietly.

  If I haven’t called you by noon, I want you to close the shop, send Jenny home and leave town with Dorothy. Despite bargaining for your lives, I still don’t trust they won’t betray me and come after you once I’m dead. It doesn’t matter where you go, so long as you’re out of reach of whoever they are.

  I’m really sorry I put you through this. You’re a stand-up gal, and you deserve to be safe from whatever the world chooses to throw at me. It’s not fair you have to run again because of me. This time, don’t come back, not even for my funeral. If I don’t call you by noon, forget the name Thomas Baxter and run.

  I’m sure you’re fussing by now, and you believe you can face whatever is coming your way; but I need you to trust me when I say you can’t. Whoever these people are, they’re powerful and have ties everywhere. The best you can do is not to be a threat to them.

  There’s a chance, albeit a slight chance, they’ll find you. If they do, convince them you’re not a threat and that you won’t look into what happened to me. Which in turn means you have to promise me that you won’t look into my disappearance or death. Let me lie and go your own way.

  Promise me.

  Thomas Baxter

  I fold the letter and place it on her desk. I sign it and put a note on top telling her not to open it until 11:30. By then, I’ll have already been to the rendezvous point. Everything that is going to happen will already be underway.

  I walk to my desk and pull out my bottle of hooch. I remove the top and take a good long drink from the bottle. If I’m about to die, I’m going to enjoy my last drink. I’m going to feel the effects and wait as they slowly subside.

  I take a seat and light a cigarette. I watch the smoke dance in the still air and take pleasure in the taste of tobacco in my mouth. I chuckle; it’s amazing what a man comes to appreciate when he’s accepted that it’s his last day.

  When I finish my cigarette, I put it out in the ashtray and take another drink of hooch. The burning liquid settles in my gut, and warmth overtakes me. I smile to myself and leave the office. As I grab the doorknob, I take one final look at my place of work, knowing I’m going to miss it for the next few hours.

  I turn the knob and leave my office for what I’m certain is for the last time.

  ***

  The sun starts coming up at five-thirty in the morning. By then, I’m Sonny’s Café with a mug of coffee in front of me and a menu I’m only sort of looking at. It’s my last meal, and I’m going to get something good. I’m going to savour every morsel of it.

  Margot approaches my table. “Margot?” I ask. “You’re here earlier than normal.”

  She shrugs. “I got the early shift this time around. No big deal; I’ll just sleep easier tonight.”

  I purse my lips and nod. “I suppose you will.”

  “Have you decided w
hat you’d like?”

  I look down at the menu and nod. “I’ll have the steak and eggs,” I say. “Medium rare. Plus, add some bacon, tomato and hash browns.”

  Margot gives me an odd look as if I’d just asked her to slap a book on the plate and cover it with sauce. After a couple seconds, she nods and writes it all down.

  “Should be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  I thank her and watch as she walks away. She’s an attractive woman, but for whatever reason, she never did anything for me on a biological level. With the last few hours eclipsing, I can’t help but wonder why that is.

  I shake off the thought and open the newspaper. I wonder if anything interesting is going on in the world today, something to make the day stand out. But, as I’d suspected and much to my disappointment, all the paper wants to report on is the oncoming war in Europe.

  In fifteen minutes almost exactly, Margot returns with a full plate of food. She leaves and comes back to fill my cup with hot black coffee. I take a sip of the dark liquid and smile as the heat trickles down my throat and into my stomach.

  I grab the fork to my side and bury it into the eggs. I eat slowly, making every mouthful count. The eggs are soft with runny yolk which I soak up with pieces of buttered toast.

  The steak is cooked to perfection, red enough in the middle to keep it juicy but not undercooked enough to make it bloody. The bacon is crunchy and the tomato fresh.

  Once my plate is clean, Margot collects it and drops off the bill. I don’t bother looking at it. I know the cost I racked up, and it’s nothing to me anymore. I leave twenty dollars on the table, a full day’s work for me. The meal is worth the price and Margot deserves the large tip.

  I walk out before Margot has a chance to see the bills and dispute how much I paid or insist she bring me change. She’s a sweet dame and will make a man happy someday. Hopefully sooner than later.

  The alcohol in my system starts to subside and I’m walking straighter than before. My emotions begin to harden and my resolve steels. I think about what I’m getting myself into and regret every decision that brought me to this point. I’d had a good long life ahead of me, even longer once Dorothy walked into it.