2 Heroes & Hooligans in Goose Pimple Junction

by Amy Metz

  “Sounds good.”

  Johnny started the car, both men waved to the Adairs, and Johnny drove off. After a few moments, he said, “Know what my mama used to say?”

  “Hard telling,” Jack said.

  “Tomorrow’s ash cake is better than last Sunday’s pudding.”

  “And her point would be?” Jack asked.

  “Folks always want what they don’t have.”

  “Words to live by.” Jack nodded. “Who’s next on the list?”

  “Nettie and Sonny Luckett, back in town, over on Walker Street.”

  “Hmm. If Goose Pimple Junction had a rough neighborhood, that would be it.”

  “Then this should be fun.”

  When you are standing on the edge of a cliff, a step forward is not progress.

  ~Southern Proverb

  Johnny and Jack wound their way through the crowd of kids playing freeze tag in the Lucketts’ front yard. Jack knocked on the screen door, and Nettie Luckett, a blonde who might have been attractive if she didn’t have such a huge nose, opened the door a few seconds later. She took one look at the chief and her face lost all its color.

  “Oh Lord. Who died?” she said, with her hand over her mouth.

  “Nobody died, Mizz Luckett, we just want to ask you some questions.”

  She took a deep breath and laid her hand over her heart. “For crying out loud, you about scared the living daylights outta me.”

  “Sorry, ma’am, didn’t mean to. This here’s Jackson Wright. May we come in and set a spell?”

  “Oh! Of course, Chief. Where are my manners? Come right on in.”

  As the men came into the house, she looked past them to the kids in the yard and hollered, “Jenny, you leave your brother be.” She let the screen door slap closed, mumbling about dang kids, and led the men to the family room at the back of the house, where Sonny Luckett watched Wheel of Fortune. The room looked lived in, and Sonny fit right in with the décor. Johnny detected a faint smell of marijuana.

  “Cut off the TV, Sonny, we got kumpny.”

  Sonny did as he was told and pulled his La-Z-Boy up to a sitting position. “Somebody die?” He stubbed out a cigarette in the ashtray next to him.

  Jack and Johnny both assured the Lucketts that nobody had died; they just wanted to talk.

  “I hear tell you ain’t the po-leece chief right now,” Sonny said.

  “That’s correct.” Jack and Johnny sat on the sofa next to Sonny’s chair. “Jack and I are conducting an unofficial investigation into the murder of Lenny Applewhite.”

  “Lenny Applewhat?” Nettie spoke a little too loudly.

  “Applewhite,” Johnny said. “We were told y’all might’ve known him.”

  “Well, I don’t know who told you that. We don’t get out much, and I can assure you we never had no Lenny Applewhatsits over to the house.” Nettie laughed a nervous woodpecker kind of laugh, as Sonny pulled the lever on his La-Z-Boy, returning the chair to the reclined position. He took a drink from his can of Coors Light, swiped his hand over his mouth, and wiped it on his dirty shorts.

  “Unless the feller was at one of them Bunco nights you go to all the time,” he said to his wife.

  Even though Sonny had said it jokingly, she visibly pretended to ponder that question, her index finger propped on her cheek. “No. No, can’t say that I knew the man. I wish I could help.”

  Their daughter appeared in the doorway. “Mama, I’m going over to the diner with Julie, ‘kay?”

  “How you getting there?” Nettie blew a puff of smoke from the cigarette she held in one hand, the other hand propped on a hip.

  “Julie’s gonna pump me on her bicycle.”

  “All right, just be home before the street lights cut on.”

  “Aw, Mama, do I have to?”

  “Naw. You can stay home if you’d rather.”

  “All right, all right.” The girl stomped away.

  Johnny looked pointedly at Nettie. “We were told maybe one of y’all met him up at the Mag Bar and thought maybe you could tell us something about him.”

  “Well, honey, it looks like you came to a goat’s house for wool.” She smiled sweetly.

  “Come again?” Jack said.

  She made her eyes big in a transparent attempt to look innocent. “Y’all have come to the wrong house if you think we can tell you anything about that man. We must not have run in the same circles.”

  “Aw, Net, don’t go acting all highfalutin. Fact is, boys, we’s just a couple of homebodies. Nett here only goes out on her Bunco nights. That’s as far as our circle goes.” Nettie shot him a stink eye.

  “I don’t get a chance to meet many folks,” Sonny explained. “I’m a trucker, and I’m either on the road, or I’m home resting up to get back on the road. Nettie doesn’t have time to meet nobody. Between taking care of the kids and her sick mama, and her occasional Bunco night, she don’t get out much, neither.”

  “Do you remember where you were on the night of the Oktoberfest?” Jack asked.

  “I’s on the road, heading for the armpit of America—Peoria. Where were you, Nett?”

  Nettie swiped a hand under her nose. “I would have had to have been home with the kids, of course.”

  “Ma’am, are you sure you never met Mr. Applewhite?” Johnny leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I was under the impression you knew him. He had brown eyes and brown hair, and wore muttonchops, although I hear tell women found him attractive. He was a little thick around the middle, but that didn’t hurt his popularity with the ladies any, or so they say. You sure you don’t know him? Feller I talked to said he thought for sure you knew him.”

  She looked everywhere around the room but at the men. She rearranged some knickknacks, scratched her nose, and puffed her cheeks out like she was thinking hard. They stayed silent, and she cracked in under a minute. “Oh! Oh, that Lenny Applewhite.”

  Jack and Johnny glanced at each other, a silent laugh passing between them. “So you did know him?” Johnny said.

  “Uh, not real well, but now that I think about it, I think I seen him once or twice.”

  “Where?” Sonny demanded. “Where did you see him?”

  “Now, honey, it’s nothing to get all riled up about. I believe I met that man at the Piggly Wiggly.” She brought her hand up to her mouth and tapped her lips with her finger while she looked off into space, apparently trying to remember where she’d met Lenny. “Or maybe it was over to the school. Yeah, that might’ve been it.”

  “I see. You’re out philandering while I’m working my butt off trying to provide for you and the kids—”

  “Aw, hon, it ain’t like that at all—”

  “Okay, folks.” Johnny put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. They shut up. “Is there anything you remember about Mr. Applewhite that might help us find his killer? Maybe he mentioned someone, or something he was doing. Can you think of anything that would point us in a specific direction?”

  “I’m sorry, Chief, I just didn’t know the man that well. We didn’t talk much.”

  Back in the car, Jack and Johnny shared a laugh over Nettie Luckett’s comment.

  “I’ll bet they didn’t talk much,” Jack said, strapping his seat belt on.

  “Oh, she probably just disremembered.” Johnny put the car into drive. “Bunco nights. Something tells me Mr. Applewhatsis was a part of those Bunco nights.”

  “Yeah, but what do you bet if we asked Nettie the rules of Bunco, she wouldn’t be able to tell us?”

  “Bunco night,” Johnny echoed, laughing and shaking his head. Then he rolled through a stop sign to make a right turn toward the last couple’s house.

  You can’t unsay a cruel word.

  ~Southern Proverb

  “It’s getting late. Who’s next?” Jack asked.

  Stopped at a traffic light, Johnny got out his cell phone. As he punched in numbers, he said, “Rita Grayson. Cash indicated she was the woman who bought a car from Lenny. But first I’m�
�”

  “Gonna try Martha Maye again,” Jack said along with Johnny.

  “I know it’s getting kind of late,” Johnny said, holding the phone close to his ear but away from his mouth so he could talk to Jack, “but I want to see all three women on the list tonight.” The light turned green and they continued on their way.

  Jack nodded his head as Johnny disconnected the call.

  “Still nothing?” Jack asked.

  “Nope. You think I should worry?”

  “Want me to get Tess to check on her?” Jack asked.

  “Sure,” Johnny said miserably, as he made a left turn.

  Jack quickly called Tess as they pulled up to Rita Grayson’s house, and Johnny raked his eyes over the scraggly grass, the overgrown bushes, and the house in need of paint. An adolescent girl with a dirty face opened the door when Johnny rang the bell.

  “Is your mama home?” Johnny said through the screen door.

  “How come?” The girl had an attitude. “You gonna arrest her?”

  “Do I have cause to arrest your mama?”

  She shrugged. “I dunno.” Then she called over her shoulder, “Mama! It’s the law.” She turned back to the men, eyeing them suspiciously.

  “The law?” a woman’s voice said. A thirty-something redhead who wore clothes a size too small appeared at the door. “Yeah?” she said, chewing open-mouthed on a piece of gum.

  “Mrs. Grayson?” Johnny asked.

  “Who wants to know?”

  Johnny wore his GPJPD Chief’s hat, although he wasn’t wearing his chief’s badge since he was on leave of absence. Still, Johnny thought she knew who he was; she was just being difficult.

  “I’m Johnny Butterfield, and this is Jackson Wright. We’d like to speak to you and your husband for a bit if you don’t mind.”

  “What if I do mind?” She popped her gum and then blew a big pink bubble.

  “Ma’am?”

  “What if I mind?” She propped a hand on her hip.

  Johnny put on his most endearing smile. “Now why would you object to speaking to two fine gentlemen such as us?”

  “I ain’t done nothing,” she said, shrugging.

  “No, ma’am, we’re not here because any of y’all did something. We just want to ask you some questions about Lenny Applewhite. I hear he sold you a car.”

  “That’s in my behind,” she said, smacking her gum.

  “Yes, ma’am, we realize it’s been a few weeks, but the fact is the man was murdered, and we’d like to see if you can tell us anything that would help us find the killer.”

  Reluctantly, she stepped aside. “I don’t know what I can tell you, but come on in.” She led them to a kitchen where a haze of smoke hung in the air and dirty dishes overflowed from the sink. Flies buzzed around a dish with some uneaten cake. She motioned to the chairs around the table as she brushed crumbs off one of the seats and began gathering up papers, mail, and more dishes from the table.

  “Can I get y’all something to drink?” she asked as they sat down. “I got just about anything. Coffee?” She opened the refrigerator. “Co’Cola? Beer?”

  “No thank you, ma’am.” Johnny said, noticing a sour smell.

  “I’ll pass too, thanks,” Jack said, glancing around the stuffy kitchen.

  “You don’t talk much, do ya?” Rita eyed Jack.

  “Oh, I can talk a blue streak when I want,” Jack said, flashing his lady-killer smile.

  “Ma’am, is your husband at home?” Johnny asked.

  “Harlan!” she bellowed so loudly both men flinched a little.

  A male voice came back impatiently. “What?”

  “Get your butt down here.” A few seconds later, a skinny, ferret-faced man appeared at the doorway, wearing a pair of athletic shorts and a torn T-shirt. His stark-white feet were bare, and he had tan lines where his socks would be.

  “What’s so important I had to quit watching the game for?”

  “Harlan, this here’s Johnny Butterfield, and his friend, Jackson, uh . . .”

  “Wright,” Jack supplied.

  “Right. Jackson Wright.” She giggled at her pun. “They want to ask us a few questions about that salesman over to Big Darryl D’s what got hisself killed. You know the one?” She put a cigarette between her lips and struck a match to light it. He nodded, and she pointed a thumb at her husband and addressed the men. “This here’s Harlan.”

  “How do, sir.” The men exchanged nods.

  “Here, hon, have a cold one.”

  “Just one? Do those come like a dead man? One to a box?”

  Johnny cleared his throat. “Uh, folks,” he said, eager to ask his questions and not be an audience to the Bickersons. “What can you tell us about the deceased?”

  “He’s graveyard dead,” Harlan said.

  “Besides that,” Jack said, not smiling.

  “He sold us an old rattletrap, I can tell you that. Other than selling us the car, we didn’t have any dealings with him, did we sugar puss?”

  “How did you know he was dead?” the woman asked her husband.

  “I can read.” The man was indignant.

  “Did he cheat you on the car?” Johnny asked. Or did your wife do all the cheating?

  “Yes,” Harlan said.

  “No,” Rita said at the same time.

  “Well, which is it?” Jack asked, looking from one to the other.

  “Oh.” She waved her cigarette-holding hand in the air, causing some ash to drop on the floor. “It needed a new distribution cap and a new doohickey—what was that thing called, Har? A Cadillac whatchamacallit?”

  Harlan mouthed the word women to Jack and Johnny and drew a circle in the air with his finger next to his temple. “A catalytic converter,” Harlan said, shaking his head. “And it’s a distributor cap, woman. How many times were you dropped on your head as a child?”

  “Yeah, a catalytic converter, that’s it,” she said, ignoring her husband. “But now that we got all that fixed, it runs real nice.”

  “Humph,” Harlan grunted.

  “Did he do that often? Sell clunkers to folks?”

  “It wadn’t no clunker, I’m telling you!” Rita protested.

  Johnny waited a beat, then said, “Do you know if he sold many cars that had things wrong with them?”

  “How would we know? We just bought the car and never saw the man again,” Harlan said.

  “Did you ever see him again?” Jack asked Rita.

  “No,” she said quickly, before shooing a fly from her husband’s can of beer and putting it to her lips.

  “Have y’all heard about anyone being mad at him? Anyone he might’ve argued with?”

  “I hear you had a right smart argument with him.” Harlan looked pointedly at Johnny.

  “That’s true,” Johnny allowed. “As you know, the man could be real irritating. Half the time I think he was walking on a slant.”

  “You mean drunk, Chief?” Rita asked.

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. What do you think? Was the man an imbiber?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Rita turned toward the sink and moved a few dishes around.

  “Oh yeah? A little bird told me he saw you talking to Lenny Applewhite over at the Mag Bar.”

  Rita turned back toward them. Harlan’s head snapped up, and his beady little eyes bored into his wife’s. “Is that right?” he said very slowly and deliberately.

  “Well, sure hon, I told you that,” she said nervously. “That’s how come we went to Car Country to buy the car. I told you about me meeting him.” Rita talked fast, suddenly intent on getting the dishes washed.

  “Back to the question, Mrs. Grayson.” Johnny stood and leaned against the counter next to her. “Did anything come up during your talks with him? Do you know of any women he might’ve been seeing? Someone who had a beef with him? Anyone he might’ve cheated? Just any little thing you can remember that might seem inconsequential, but might actually be a lead.”

  Rita shook her
head, and when Johnny stopped talking, she said, “Nothing I can think of, but we really didn’t talk all that much.”

  “I’ll bet,” Harlan snorted.

  “Maybe you know of some women he’d been seeing? One theory we’re working is that a jealous husband found out about his wife and Lenny,” Jack said, looking straight at Harlan to see his reaction to the jealous husband theory, “and the husband went after him for revenge.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Harlan said. “No need for me to be jealous.”

  “Why is that, Mr. Grayson?” Jack said.

  “Shoot, Rita was too old for Lenny Applewhite. She’s almost past her expiration date.”

  Rita’s face flushed bright red, and her eyes turned cold as she returned her husband’s gaze. “I thought you didn’t know the man,” she said with measured calm.

  “I didn’t, but I heard a thing or two about him. Saw him at Big Darryl D’s.” Harlan’s smug smile registered his happiness that his comment had gotten to Rita.

  Johnny got to his feet, not entirely sure they should leave the happy couple by themselves, but he’d been watching them and didn’t think they were hiding anything except Rita’s affair.

  “Do you both have an alibi for the night of October twenty-second?”

  “Sure we do. We were up to the Oktoberfest, like everyone else in town. I was a gangster”—he nodded at his wife—”and she was a Playboy bunny.”

  “Y’all call me”—Johnny got a business card out of his wallet, scribbled something on the back, and placed it on the kitchen table—”if you think of anything, all right? The station’s number is on the front and my cell is on the back.”

  “Yeah, we’ll think real hard on it, and if anything comes to mind, my waff’le call you.”

  “Thanks for your time, folks.” Johnny put his hat on as he reached the door.

  Walking to the car, Jack had a perturbed look on his face.

  “What?” Johnny asked.

  “His waffle’s gonna call you?”

  Johnny smiled, opened his car door, and looked over the roof of the car at Jack.

  “Wife. His wife will call.”