One of his brothers adjusted his sunglasses and did a lousy Arnold Schwarzenegger imitation, “I’ll beee baaaaaack.”
Hyper giggles followed them as the large man led them inside the patio doors. They walked past a group of women discussing the merits of types of birth control. One paused to glare at Guillermo.
“Not again, Gui,” she said. “This is a holiday and a family event. Can’t you leave work at work?”
“I turned off my cell phone, baby,” Guillermo replied penitently. He glanced at Park and Bubba. “It has to be important. Right, muy importante?” His eyes pleaded with them for understanding.
“It’s very important, ma’am,” Park said.
“Urgent,” Bubba added.
“Right,” the woman, who Bubba thought was Guillermo’s wife, said suspiciously.
“Seriously, baby, this is my cousin from my mother’s side,” Guillermo added to the woman. He paused to wrap a hefty arm around Park.
Park winced.
“You know how wild Mama’s side of the family is.”
“Haha,” the woman replied.
Guillermo took them to a small room that was his home office. He had to kick two teenage boys off his computer. “Christo, what am I going to do with you boys? Didn’t I say no more surfing on my computer?”
One boy slithered off before Guillermo could catch him, but the large man caught the other one by the arm before the boy could punch anymore buttons on the keyboard. With his other hand, Guillermo turned the screen toward him. “Anime porn? Are you kidding me? Mondo, we’re going to talk in a few minutes, and you better not disappear. Make sure your brother is there, too.”
Guillermo sort of flung the boy at the door. The teenager fled into the hallway. The big man shrugged at Park and Bubba, saying, “Kids. I need to change my password again.”
He looked them over. “I guess you want to know about one of my parolees, huh? Which one of the shitheads did something?”
“Le Beau,” Park said.
Guillermo’s features crinkled like a Chinese Shar-Pei. “Got time to sit down?”
“No,” Bubba said immediately.
The parole officer shrugged. “I need downtime, too, you know. I can’t babysit all those little bastards all the time. They report to me, and then I make sure they’re doing what they need to be doing. Le Beau’s been working at a construction firm, and his bosses got no complaints about him. He reports in once a week. Everything’s been fine. No arrests. No bitching. He’s been seeing his shrink regularly.”
“I’m going to need his home and work addresses,” Park said. He pulled a little pad from his left front, chest pocket and prepared to write. “It wasn’t listed on his file. And he’s not in the book.”
“Dammit.” Guillermo sat down heavily in the same chair his son had been sitting in and shuddered at what was still on his monitor. “I’m going to have to steam clean my computer and this frigging chair. Those little punks have just gotten on my last nerve.” One hand waved at the computer. “I didn’t even know you could get this. Who animates porn?”
“What does Le Beau say about Willodean Gray?” Bubba said, intensely tired of the subject of teenagers and Internet porn.
“What did I tell you?” Park said to Bubba.
Bubba shrugged unremorsefully.
Guillermo tapped on keys and looked up. “Willodean Gray?” he repeated. “The same thing those animals always say about their victims. They’re sorry. They wish they hadn’t done it. They wish they could turn the clock back. Their mamas beat them when they were kids. It’s pretty much the same for Le Beau.” He scratched his chin. “But I was hoping Le Beau was working past that.”
“Did Le Beau recently threaten Deputy Gray?” Park asked.
“I would have reported that immediately,” Guillermo said tiredly. “I completely respect the officers who take down these pieces of crap, and I would never shrug something like that off.” He paused to take a breath. “That being said, Le Beau’s got issues. But he’s been on the straight and narrow. I’m surprised that’s he’s gone off the rez.” He stopped to consider the statement. “If he has.”
Guillermo gave them the two addresses and a single telephone number he possessed. He walked them out to their car. Several of the children actively petted Precious as she drooled down the side of the Crown Vic.
Park backed the car up when Bubba heard Guillermo Sanchez yelling for his two teenaged sons. “MONDO! JUAN! We’ve got something to talk about, you little turds!”
“I wonder if girls surf for porn,” Park pondered.
Forty-five minutes later, they stood at the home address Guillermo had given them. It was an empty lot enclosed by chain link fence. According to the clerk of the hole-in-the-wall grocery store five hundred feet away, the building had been torn down the week before.
Chapter Ten
Bubba and the Vision of Brownie’s Sterling Moment
Or
Brownie Meets Matt Lauer
Monday, January 2nd
Bubba slept restlessly that night. A mental calendar appeared in his head as if it had neon backlighting it. The days kept getting crossed off by ruby red, neon Xes. First were the 29th of December and the 30th, and the 31st concluded December. The calendar flipped to January and the 1st was immediately Xed out.
Four days. Four damn days. Goddammit.
He sat up in the bed not dissimilar to a slab of granite and wiped the sweat from his brow. The room wasn’t warm, but he was drenched from the horrifying pictures that coursed through his head when his eyes closed. Precious protested the abrupt movement, in a dogly fashion from the foot of the bed, as he got up.
Glancing out the window Bubba thought about his game plan.
Talk to Le Beau’s employers. See if the man is at work. Rip him into pieces until he fesses up with what happened.
Bubba frowned at the window. The little opening of the curtain revealed it was still dark outside although the little digital clock said seven a.m. He wasn’t frowning at the fact that it was still dark. He was frowning because an unwanted, errant thought had come trickling into his head.
What if Howell Le Beau doesn’t come back to work?
Another unwanted thought came to him. It was a resonation of something his mother had said.
Willodean wouldn’t want you to give up. So what if Le Beau doesn’t come back? He immediately answered himself. Find him. He cain’t hide. He can hide but not forever.
After a shower in the smallest bathroom in existence, Bubba went out and waited at the construction company where Le Beau was supposed to be employed. He spent the time throwing a ball for his dog and making sure she had water and some kibble. Three hours later, he checked the door and discovered that a sign announced the company was closed until the 4th of January.
Bubba considered calling Investigator Charles Park but remembered the last thing the man had told him the day before. “Don’t go out looking for Le Beau by yourself. If you do, it will be considered interfering in official Dallas Police business and I will arrest you.”
Wasting another hour calling the phone numbers of the people named Lebeau in the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex, Bubba paused about noon to find something to eat. A pancake house near the county courthouse looked busy, so he stopped there. He ordered coffee and a meal for himself. Precious had to wait in the truck with the windows down. She didn’t mind much. She had a hard time waiting for something to happen, so she sprawled over the bench seat with four paws pointing heavenward, snoring like a freight train.
Bubba sat at the counter and absently ate while he watched a large plasma screen television prominently displayed behind the extensive counter. The sandwich was hot and the coffee didn’t taste horrible and the news seemed benevolently mild, so it was all win-win. At least it was for that moment in time. When he finished, the waitress zipped past and energetically freshened his coffee.
While staring into the black liquid in his cup, it dawned on Bubba that the crowded restaurant had s
uddenly gone very quiet. There was an air of expectation. He looked around and saw that they were all staring at the plasma screen television. Someone said, “Hey, turn that up.”
A waitress used a remote to raise the volume, and Bubba glanced at the television. He blinked and glanced back, taking in what happened on the big screen. The ribbon on the bottom of the scene announced this was a replay of something that had happened earlier in the day. It was just as clear that many of the people in the restaurant had heard about it and wanted to see it for themselves.
“Just wait,” one man said.
“I saw this earlier, and it’s funny as hell,” another one said.
Matt Lauer sat on a perky couch speaking into the camera. His glasses perched on the end of his nose as he checked his notes. “Today,” he said, looking back into the camera’s eye, “we have the young man from Louisiana who bravely fought off a killer.”
There was a quick shot of co-news anchor Ann Curry. She sat nearby at another station, waiting patiently. She looked over to her left and smiled. “And his parents as well. All in the studio today.”
Matt nodded indulgently; he was obviously happy that such an attention-grabbing human interest story was appearing on The Today Show. “Here is Brownie Snoddy and his parents, Fudge,” Matt’s voice cracked a little at pronouncing the names, “and Virtna. Those are certainly interesting names, aren’t they, Ann?” He adjusted his suit lapel while he waited for Ann to respond.
Ann, apparently more on her game and probably had heard the names of the guests before Matt, smiled again. “Interesting names for interesting people.”
The scene turned to Brownie, who sat in-between Virtna and Fudge. Sitting on an adjacent couch, all three were gussied up as if going to Sunday church. Fudge wore an ill-fitting blue suit with a yellow shirt and a dilapidated tie that appeared as though it might strangle him. Virtna sported a peach silk dress that clashed with her red hair. Her hair was scraped back with a peach-colored bow that wouldn’t look out of place on top of a large present. Brownie donned his Boy Scout uniform, every award in its proper place. His pants were neatly ironed, and the creases were visible. Bubba couldn’t help but note that there wasn’t anything left of the arrow-pierced heart on Virtna’s forehead. Furthermore, Fudge’s Sharpie-generated “I fart” had disappeared under pancake makeup.
Brownie held an inconspicuous shoe box in his lap that bounced with the boy’s every movement. He wasn’t just excited to be on national television; he was thrilled to death. In a moment he was going to get up and start doing cartwheels across the set. Then he was probably going to beseech Ann Curry to do some with him.
Bubba, watching with the cup of coffee in his hand, would have been impressed to discover if Ann Curry could do cartwheels in her smart suit.
“Can you tell us what happened?” Matt Lauer asked Brownie.
“That pesky Nancy Musgrave was threatening my folks,” Brownie said loudly.
He determinedly waved his little hands. His face was intent. This was a serious story meant to be told in a grave manner. There could be no absurdity involved.
“My cousin, Bubba, told me the Christmas Killer was inside the house, about to do something wicked-bad-awful to my ma and pa, and I cain’t allow something like that.”
Matt shook his head. “No, of course not. Very brave of you.”
Bubba nodded. He allowed that that had been pretty much how it had been.
Brownie nodded fiercely. “Cousin Bubba went in, and I knew he was trying to distract that terrible woman. You know, she didn’t think much of kids. Wasn’t even polite to me while I was chasing the dog.”
“The dog?” Matt repeated.
“Precious,” Brownie said. “She’s Bubba’s Basset hound. The best hound ever.”
“Okay,” Matt agreed.
Bubba thought that Matt probably owned a poodle, or God forbid, a cat.
“Well, Bubba went in first. I called the po-lice on the po-lice radio. Bubba had done stole Miz Willodean’s ve-hick-el and there it was, just waiting for it to be used.” Brownie paused to glance at his parents. “I dint have a cell phone. Ma says I ain’t old enough yet.” It sounded like an oft-used accusation.
“Your cousin stole the police vehicle?” Matt nodded as he spoke.
I did steal it. Bubba forced a lump down his throat. That was the last time I saw Willodean. But…his thoughts faded into dismal uncertainty as the camera’s angle came back to Brownie.
“And the lady on the other end, well, she was right surprised I was talking to her,” Brownie said. “But I told her, ‘The Christmas Killer is at the Snoddy Mansion, and we needs the po-lice right quickly.’ She told me that they was a-comin’ but I knew it would take too long.”
A close-up shot of Brownie followed. His eyes were coolly resolved. The story was about to come to its exciting climax. The entire restaurant was silently expectant, hanging onto the ten-year-old’s every word.
Brownie went on, “I decided I would sneak into the mansion and try to hear what was going on. There weren’t no gunshots, you know, so I reckoned that the Christmas Killer hadn’t gotten very far with his or her evil plan. At that time, I dint know it was Nancy Musgrave. Bubba had told me that the Christmas Killer was inside. Well, I knew for certain it wasn’t Ma or Pa. It wasn’t Aunt Caressa; she snores like cats was throwing up hairballs, you know. It wasn’t Miz Adelia; you wouldn’t believe what she said she would do to me ifin I came into her kitchen again.”
“I might,” Matt murmured.
“So that left Nancy Musgrave and the three loonies,” Brownie said and then immediately said, “Oww,” when his mother elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “What?”
“Those poor, insane people aren’t to be called ‘loonies’,” Virtna chastised.
“Then what do you call them?” Brownie demanded. “You called them, ‘loonies’.”
Virtna smiled grimly at the camera, noticeably aware of its ever-present scrutiny. “We don’t call them that,” she gritted. Fudge opened his mouth but closed it quick. It occurred to Bubba that Fudge’s face changed to the color of bone and he visibly shook. Evidently, he had stage fright. Possibly, he was hung over. Probably, he was both.
Virtna added, “We call them something respectful. They’re folks after all, just in a bad way.”
Bubba glanced around the restaurant. Everyone who could see, hear, or smell watched in a manner that would indicate they were completely entranced.
“Okay, then,” Brownie snarled. “So it had to be Nancy Musgrave or one of the three…”
“Mentally challenged individuals,” Matt suggested.
“Yeah, that, what he said,” Brownie said with a quick glare at his mother. “And they was all inside, sitting at the dining room table. La de dah.”
“All those people at the dining room table,” Matt said questioningly.
Virtna interjected, “It’s a large table. Probably from the nineteenth century. Could pre-date the Civil War.”
Brownie glared at his mother again. He was supposed to be telling the story. Matt smiled and patted the couch next to him. Brownie crossed over so quickly that his form was a blur. Settling down beside Matt Lauer, he put the shoebox between them. He had a captive audience for his exhaustive tale of murder and the heroic kicking of a bad gal’s tushie. He looked from Matt to the camera. Unmistakably, the ten-year-old was a natural for the camera.
Brownie said, “She was telling them all about how she had done it, and why, too.”
Matt appeared just as entranced as the people inside the restaurant. There was a quick shot of Ann Curry, who held a cup halfway to her mouth. She rested on the edge of her seat, captivated with anticipation of what the child was going to say next. “The Christmas Killer said why she had done it?” Matt asked.
“Oh, yes,” Brownie nodded. “Revenge.” The word was drawn out as if it were a sword. “Reeee-veeeeennnnggeeee.” “Something about her pa and Christmas and green ribbons and something about the his-ter-i-cal board.
”
“Historical board,” Virtna corrected from off camera.
“Right,” Brownie agreed, a little less enthusiastically. From a ten-year-old’s perspective, it was all stuff loosely understood and hardly applicable to the current situation of being on national television. Moreover, it hardly compared to sitting next to Matt Lauer as if they were best buddies.
Don’t take a nap around the little pain in the ass. God forbid he has a Sharpie available.
“Nancy Musgrave sent out letters to everyone,” Brownie added. “Like she was warning them that she was coming to get them. Had everyone real upset-like. Even Miz Demetrice, who’s my great-aunt, was mighty upset, and she could scare a haint up a thorn tree.”
“Brownie!” Virtna snapped.
“It’s what Daddy said.”
“Fudge!” Virtna said.
“I ain’t said it on camera, dammit,” Fudge said. The camera’s view went to them. Fudge was pulling at his ugly tie. Virtna’s face was turning the same color as her hair. Brownie cleared his throat imperiously, wanting the attention back on him.
“Well, this woman, this Nancy Musgrave,” Brownie spoke again and the camera’s angle went back to him as he sat next to Matt, “she decided that she was going to kill every one of them. That’s what the sheriff said. But Bubba and Miz Willodean and I think, Miz Demetrice figured it out before she could get to the next folks. Bubba saved the sheriff’s life, you know.”
Bubba took a drink of coffee and used the cup to salute Brownie’s image on the oversized plasma screen television.
“So Nancy Musgrave came to get Bubba at the mansion,” Brownie said. “She was a-sittin’ at the table, with all my kinfolk, and the loon-, I mean, mentally somethinged people, and pointing a big gun at them.” His hands spread out wide to indicate the size of the weapon.
The camera focused briefly on the width between Brownie’s hands.
“That’s a pretty big gun,” Matt said.
Bubba and the Missing Woman Page 11