“A fifty caliber pistol,” Fudge said knowingly. The camera snapped to him as he held his hands apart in the same distance as Brownie had. Then they began to spread. After a few seconds, the alleged weapon was as large as a cannon. No one protested at the evident fabrication. As Brownie began to speak again, the camera’s view went back to him.
“Well, I snuck up,” Brownie said cunningly. “I had the stun gun I made in Boy Scouts,” he added. “I knew if I could get up to her, I could use it on her.”
“Stun gun,” Matt repeated. The tone of his voice hinted at laughter tinged with a morsel of disbelief.
Brownie’s eyebrows shot together as he registered the amused tone of Matt Lauer’s voice. “You bet. I spent the better part of a month making that sucker and I tested it on…” his voice trailed off as his head turned toward his parents. “Well, I tested it on a dummy at the karate school.”
Right, Bubba thought. And the dummy wasn’t made up of stuffing and leather.
There was another brief camera shot of Virtna and Fudge. Virtna’s face was no longer the color of her hair. Instead it was the shade of a ripe beefeater tomato. She knew what Brownie had done.
The camera went back to Brownie as he considered whether he should run or not. The publicity and attention to the situation won out. He went on, “Nancy Musgrave talked about Christmas flowers and something about using them on the folks she done killed and such.
“Cousin Bubba tried to get closer to her so he could jump her, but she was watching them all too closely. I swear to Jesus above that she was ‘bout to shoot them all, starting with Bubba, but them loonies-” there was an abrupt noise from Virtna.
“Um, special folks, I mean, they done gave me away.”
Matt leaned toward Brownie. “And that’s when you- ”
Brownie interrupted. It was his story and even Matt Lauer wasn’t going to take it away.
“She was turning around, swinging that big, bad boy gun in my direction.” He took a moment to mimic Nancy Musgrave’s actions using his hand with index finger pointed out as the large weapon in question. “That’s when I reached out and zapped her with my stun gun.”
A moment of anticlimactic silence in the studio was replicated in the restaurant. No silverware clinked. No liquids slurped. Bubba was pretty sure that no one was even breathing. In a few moments someone was going to keel over because they didn’t have any oxygen.
Matt suddenly chuckled. “Really, it really shocked her enough to knock her down?”
It was clear to everyone listening that Matt was dubious about something a Boy Scout had made from scratch.
Bubba thought, You don’t know that kid very well, now do you?
Brownie glowered. He reached for the shoebox. “Got it right here,” he announced.
Matt blinked. He laughed again. The laugh had that same hint of disbelief. He glanced at the audience as if silently asking them, “Do you believe this kid?” He looked at Ann Curry. “Well, I would sure like to see that, wouldn’t you, Ann?”
Bubba sighed. Oh, Matt Lauer shouldn’t have said that.
On the screen, Brownie flicked the lid off the box and yanked out the stun gun. As it had before, the little black device appeared fairly innocuous. Bubba shook his head derisively.
Why did the police return that to him?
Brownie, still the stun gun connoisseur of smoothness and precision, flipped the little switch with one finger and efficiently pressed the little leads to Matt’s hand. Matt still looked at Ann Curry and his expression was, at that moment, tolerant and tickled. The next moment, all of his features began to twitch spasmodically. His glasses fell off his face and disappeared from view. Making a noise that sounded like a combination of a grunt, a burp, and a fart, he abruptly fell onto the floor in between the couch and the coffee table.
Shocked silence ensued. Someone in the restaurant spit coffee out through their nose. Someone else said, “Wait for it.”
Understandably, the camera crew didn’t know exactly what to do. A shocked gasp erupted that Bubba knew came from Virtna. One of the cameras focused on Matt Lauer’s convulsing foot sticking out from behind the coffee table. Abruptly, the camera’s view briefly focused on Brownie, who was spinning the stun gun in his hand like an outlaw with a 19th century revolver. The smug look on the boy’s face said everything. The camera went to Ann Curry, who was perceptibly tongue-tied.
She leaned forward a little and looked over the coffee table at Matt Lauer, and then her face tilted toward Brownie, who still twirled the stun gun in his hand. Her lovely mouth opened, and for a moment there was nothing. Then as Brownie looked at her expectantly, she said, “Don’t tase me, bro?”
The entire restaurant roared with laughter.
Bubba sighed again.
Chapter Eleven
Bubba Gets Busted
Monday, January 2nd
Bubba pretty much ran out of ideas. Eventually, his thoughts came barreling back to Howell Le Beau’s parole officer, Guillermo Sanchez. Guillermo was supposed to be on top of Le Beau and all over keeping the man in line. Bubba had an inkling that parole officers were overburdened, but in this case, his interest was paramount. Whatever Guillermo knew might help find Willodean.
After paying for his lunch and listening to the restaurant’s customers natter about Brownie and Matt Lauer, Bubba found his way back to the regional Dallas Parole Office. He spoke to three clerks and one receptionist before someone deigned to call Guillermo’s office phone. Guillermo strolled down to the lobby a few minutes later.
The large Hispanic man dressed in business casual – Dallas style. He wore a black Guayabera shirt with four pockets embroidered with little lines of flowers. Black pants and black Crocs completed his ensemble. Grasping a tall travel mug of a steaming substance, he also appeared hung over. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like he was ready for a nap or some Pepto-Bismol, either one.
“Ah, Christo,” he said when he saw Bubba. “You again.” He cast a sharp look at the receptionist. “Can’t you tell me who it is when someone comes to see me? Then I can pretend that I’m not here or have an emergency somewhere else?”
“Wasn’t one of your parolees,” the receptionist said with a shrug and went back to painting her nails purple.
“Come on,” Guillermo said. “We’ll talk in my office. I don’t have long. I have to do two home inspections and one work follow-up. One of the homes is a guy who likes to eat road kill. He seriously goes around looking for road kill and brings it home so he can use it. He puts it in his freezer and uses a ton of Febreze. It’s totally gross, but he’s cut way down on his spending.” He paused to think about it. “But he probably blows it on air fresheners.” He steadily drank from the travel cup until every drop had been consumed.
Bubba followed Guillermo to a small office. One framed diploma and several pictures of a very large family decorated the walls.
“Aie,” Guillermo murmured, staring sadly at his empty cup. “I need some more caffeine. You wouldn’t believe how much alcohol we drank this weekend.” He looked at Bubba. “Well, maybe you would. You were there for a little while. My family, they get together once or twice a year. This year, obviously, in Dallas for Christmas.
“We ate tamales until they came out of our ears. We had turkey enchiladas. We had pumpkin empanadas that melted in your mouth. And beer and rum, and Aunt Maria made this Christmas punch that lit your insides on fire. I think the back bathroom is probably broken forever.”
He sat down forcefully in his chair and waved at a straight-back chair next to his desk. “But you don’t want to hear about that.”
Bubba sat down and thought about what he wanted. The most important thought was that Guillermo was under the impression Bubba was someone Guillermo thought he was supposed to talk with. What was going to happen when Charles Park found out what Bubba was doing?
The answer came fast and cynical. Who cares what Park thinks if this leads to Willodean?
“This woman is missing,�
�� Bubba said slowly. “Her name is Willodean Gray. She’s a fine person.”
Guillermo nodded. He pulled a file folder out of the leaning tower of other file folders. He opened it and started running a finger down the first sheet. Bubba could see there was a Polaroid photograph stapled to the side. The man pictured was in his late twenties with a buzz cut and a tired expression. Bubba looked hard. He wanted to remember that man, especially if he got a chance to set his eyes directly upon him.
“I’ve never met her, but I’ve talked with her on the telephone. When Le Beau got out of the joint, I got in touch with the deputy and tried to keep her abreast of what I could.” Guillermo rubbed his face tiredly as he spoke. “I’m not sure how much I should share with you.”
“Finding her quickly is the most important thing right now,” Bubba said with urgency.
“It’s just that Le Beau isn’t my average bob. Sometimes we call the parolees ‘bobs.’ They come and go and bob their heads to just about everything we say. ‘Yes, sir, I’ve got a job,’ they say. ‘Yes, sir, I haven’t been drinking,’ they say. ‘Yes, sir, I’ve been doing my program,’ they say. All the time nodding their heads up and down. Like a bobble head doll. Most of the time they should be shaking their heads instead.”
Bubba wanted to say a nasty word but he gritted his teeth and waited for Guillermo to finish saying what he needed to say. It had always been Bubba’s observation that people would keep talking and talking if a fella encouraged them to go on. Unfortunately, it was also Bubba’s observation that he wasn’t a patient fella when it came to imperative situations.
“Yeah, Le Beau was infatuated with the deputy, only then she was a patrol officer,” Guillermo went on. “He knew her patrol area. Knew her phone numbers. Had her address. Followed her around like a dog.
“They dated, what, one time, and I guess she was smart enough to realize that Le Beau was a burrito short of a combination platter. Only saw him the one time. But Le Beau has a history of fixating on pretty, young women. So he started writing letters to her.”
Bubba pulled the copy of the letter and envelope out of his pocket. He unfolded it and handed it to Guillermo. Guillermo examined it with a sour expression. He noticed the date on the post mark on the envelope. “Shit and shinola,” he commented. “The day before.”
Guillermo pushed the letter away and then abruptly dragged it back. “ ‘I’m watching out for you,’ ” he read. “ ‘I hope for forgiveness.’ ”
Bubba didn’t need to hear it again. “Same type of letters?”
“Yes, the same.” Guillermo’s lips flattened into white lines. “Le Beau had to know that he was going to get nicked for this.” He tapped the letter. “But it’s not really a threat.”
“Not a threat?” Bubba was incredulous. “He’s sending her letters saying he’s watching her. Sounds like a proper threat to me.”
The other man looked up. His head tilted as he considered Bubba’s vehement tone. “You sound a little too concerned, compadre. What’s your interest in all this?”
“Getting Willodean back safe and sound,” Bubba snapped. “Making sure she isn’t lying somewhere in a ditch needing help.”
“And no one is happy about the fact that Le Beau wrote more letters to the deputy and that his address of residence is no longer in existence,” Guillermo stated. “If it makes a difference, I checked his home residence two weeks ago. That same residence. There was some construction work going on then, but the residents hadn’t moved out. I asked Le Beau about it, and he said they were doing renovations to the place and that he was looking for a new place to live.”
“He didn’t want to tell you he’d been evicted,” Bubba guessed. He tried very hard to keep the embittered tone out of his voice. He wanted information from Guillermo Sanchez, not to antagonize him.
“One of the stipulations of being paroled is to have a stable environment to live in,” Guillermo said as if from rote.
“What about his family?”
“His mother is in a retirement home and he’s got a brother who doesn’t want to have anything to do with him.” Guillermo pushed the letter and envelope back to Bubba. “Le Beau’s got involved in his church. He volunteers at a soup kitchen. He’s making regular retributory payments.
“And let’s get this straight. Le Beau was convicted on stalking charges. He agreed not to have any further contact with Willodean Gray. He was sentenced to the max on a third degree felony, ten years. He served six months and was released on conditional parole. Most importantly, he’s been a model parolee.”
Bubba was muddled. What about the assault and the week Willodean spent in the hospital? “That’s it? Just the stalking charges?”
A furrow stitched Guillermo’s black eyebrows together. “There was initially some question about the assault on Willodean Gray, but that was completely cleared up.” He tapped the desk. “The Penal Code is very clear about stalking perquisites in relation to what constitutes a crime.”
Confusion made Bubba a little sluggish. “What do you mean, the assault was cleared up?”
Guillermo’s face fell. “I don’t believe I got your name,” he stated. His glower intensified. “Park didn’t say anything about you when he called first thing this morning. He was asking the same things as you. Where is Le Beau’s family? Where else might Le Beau be located? But you, you didn’t show me a badge. You didn’t even say what your name is.”
“Bubba Snoddy,” Bubba said promptly. He realized he wasn’t going to get any more information from Guillermo Sanchez. Probably the parole officer wouldn’t speak to him again, ever.
“Snoddy. Snoddy. Snoddy? That sounds awfully familiar. Isn’t that the name of the kid who did that thing to that host of the talk show this morning?” Guillermo paused and then asked, “And you work with Park?” It was a question that wasn’t exactly a question. It was sort of like an accusation. Do you? Do you really?
To lie or not to lie. Oh, dear. Ma would be flicking the back of my head with her thumb and index finger right now, even while she figured out how to get the parole officer to talk.
“Park allowed me to tag along,” Bubba said carefully.
That’s the truth. Go with it.
“Uh-huh,” Guillermo said.
“So how about those addresses and Le Beau’s church, too,” Bubba announced quickly.
Before Guillermo figures out that I ain’t any kind of po-lice man.
But as Bubba stared at the other man, he knew it was too late.
“You can get them from Park,” Guillermo said shortly. He snapped shut the folder on his desk. “I’ll walk you out.”
Bubba wisely kept his mouth shut, and Guillermo Sanchez didn’t say anything else. As Bubba followed him out, he thought he could see a little steam being emitted from Guillermo’s ears. The parole officer knew very well he’d been had.
When they got outside, Park was leaning against his unmarked Crown Victoria parked in a no-parking zone. The investigator had his arms across his chest and an intense scowl twisting his face.
Guillermo shook his head. “Dammit, I’m a fool,” he cursed himself. Then he hit Bubba’s arm in rebuke. “You’re not even on the force? Estupido.”
“Did Bubba say that he was a police officer?” Park demanded as he pulled away from the car and walked closer.
The parole officer shrugged and then shook his head. “No, he never said that. He just didn’t know what he should have known.” He glared at Park. “It’s your fault anyway. He was with you at my house. I mean, he was with you. You didn’t say he wasn’t one of you. You didn’t say anything about him.” He waved his hands expressively. “I wouldn’t have told him anything if I’d known he wasn’t with you.” He glanced back at Bubba. “Looks like a bubba, doesn’t he? I should have known. DPD doesn’t have anyone this damned tall.”
Charles Park and his finely featured face turned to look at Bubba. Bubba aimed to pretend he was innocent. It was a little hard.
So Bubba went with confrontational i
nstead. “Did you talk to Le Beau’s boss?”
Park glowered harder. “What did I tell you?”
“Maybe his co-workers?”
Guillermo whistled. “What, is this guy a relative of the deputy’s?”
“Man, that sheriff told me to keep an eye on you,” Park said to himself. Then to Bubba he said, “Are you going to behave?”
“Are you going to talk with Le Beau’s mother and brother?” Bubba shoved, gleefully going with the oh-the-hell-with-it-let’s-piss-everyone-off method.
“And he’s got copies of a letter from Le Beau to the deputy,” Guillermo inserted.
Park stepped closer to Bubba. “Where did you get a copy of a letter from Le Beau?”
“It was in her mailbox,” Bubba said. “Can you understand that the Pegram County Sheriff is searching all over the area where her vehicle was found?”
“And why shouldn’t he?” Park asked.
“That’s what I thought, too,” Bubba snapped. “But these damned letters popped up, and I found out that Willodean fled Dallas to get away from the little piece of dog poop, that one,” he gestured at Guillermo, “seems to think is incapable of doing Willodean any harm.”
“Hey,” Guillermo protested. There was a howl from the parking lot that seemed to indicate Precious had heard something she didn’t like either.
People trickled past giving the three men and their raised voices a wide berth.
“Le Beau is the one we need to find so we can find Willodean,” Bubba gritted, hating to say the obvious. “He’s the one with the strongest reason to have kidnapped Willodean.”
“Who said anything about the deputy being kidnapped?” Guillermo asked. “I thought it was a car wreck, and she might still be in the area. That county’s got all kinds of crap raining down from the skies. There was that girl who was looking for Confederate gold and then the woman who wanted to murder the entire board that had her father convicted of a crime. Then the missing deputy. Sheesh.”
“And the other vehicle just vanished into thin air,” Bubba snarled. “At the very same time that Howell Le Beau just happens to be missing. This is a man who beat the crap out of her, who writes creepy letters to her, and you’re all like, ‘He goes to church and pays his bills on time.’ Have you lost your ever freaking minds?”
Bubba and the Missing Woman Page 12