Clint spread his hands in a ta-da motion and looked down at his new clothes. Now Chuck understood why Clint had insisted they both wear suits and ties. They were now imitation gangsters. “Things is different for me now, Mose. Whitey work for me now. Get it?”
“Uh, you, uh, in business now?”
“I’m doing fine, Mose. I’m looking for my momma. You seen her around?”
“Not in a couple of weeks.”
“Where she gettin’ her shit from now?”
Mose glanced at Chuck; Chuck looked at Clint, ever the attentive employee.
“Mose, I asked you a question.” He pronounced it “axt.”
Clint is back in the ghetto and needs to fit in here, Chuck mused. He looked at Mose now and made a small movement with his right hand.
Mose looked nervous. “Last I heard, she be hanging ’round at the Pipefitters Hall. Ask for Cricket.” He pronounced it “ax” too.
“Mose, you see my momma ’fore I do, you tell her I have me some money now. I wants to help her out, you catch my drift?”
“I do, that I do.”
#
The Pipefitters Hall had been a union hall fifty years before. When the union moved to newer quarters, the building sat empty for decades. The city repurposed it as a community recreation center, complete with an outdoor basketball court on one side and a parking lot on the other. It gleamed with fresh paint and unfulfilled dreams.
Chuck pulled into the freshly paved and striped parking lot. He followed Clint around to the front. He took up station like a good bodyguard with his back against a wall not yet defaced with graffiti.
A half-dozen men of assorted races stood on the wide sidewalk, smoking and drinking from bottles concealed in paper bags. Clint walked up to the biggest man. “I’m looking for Cricket.”
“And who would be looking for him?”
Clint gave him a dead stare. “I tol’ you, I’m looking for him. You Cricket?”
“And just who are you, nigga’?”
Clint moved his chin a half-inch.
Chuck walked over to the guy, knocked his cigarette from his hand, hit him hard in the solar plexus. The man doubled over. Chuck grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him against the concrete block wall. “Mr. Watkins wants to find Cricket. Are you him?” The other men backed up.
“Be cool now, man. Just be cool now. Ever’ting all right. Nobody get excited now. I be Cricket.”
Chuck turned him loose and resumed his position against the wall.
Clint said, “I looking for Oralie Watkins. Where she at?”
Cricket raised both hands. “Don’t get me wrong, man, but, you not cops or nothin’, right?”
“Oralie is my momma. Cricket, you not in any trouble with me long as you straight with me. Now where is she?”
“I ain’t seed her since last night, man. Me and her done a little business and I ain’t seed her since.”
“Once she fixed up, where she like to go to relax and enjoy herself?”
“Usually she go down the next alley over dere.” He pointed. “They’s a little area ’bout halfway down where she like to crash.”
Clint turned without a word and he and Chuck returned to the van.
Chuck drove down the alley. Half a block down the alley branched. To the left, windowless walls with metal doors framed a dead end dumpster alcove. Chuck smelled the place before he got out of the van. It reeked of rotten food and human waste.
Clint’s face looked as cold as a statue. God only knew what was going through his sixteen-year-old mind.
Chuck followed him into the alcove as he looked behind the first dumpster. He grabbed the dumpster and started to roll it away from the wall.
Chuck helped.
A shapeless heap of rags lay sagged against the wall. Two feet stuck out the bottom. One sandal had fallen on the asphalt, the other clung to her foot by one toe.
Clint moved aside the rags. “That’s her. Let’s see if we can wake her.”
Chuck picked Oralie up in his arms. He knew he’d have to dry clean his suit to remove the stench. “Grab her sandals.”
“Hey, do I know you?” she mumbled. “You give me some blow and I show you a good time, baby. You looking for a date, hon?”
Clint walked beside Chuck, expressionless.
“Not right now, Oralie,” Chuck said. He carried her to the van.
Clint opened the door and slid into the middle row first. Chuck handed the semi-conscious woman in and they wrestled her into the bucket seat. Clint reached over and fastened a seat belt around her.
“You want to take her to the emergency room?”
“No. I’ve seen her like this lots of times. She’s past the worst. She’s coming down now. She’ll be all right. Let’s take her to the diner. She needs food and coffee.”
#
Oralie was walking, sort of, by the time they reached the diner parking lot.
Chuck left his smelly jacket in the van.
Veraleesa looked up as the front door dinged. She started to smile and then saw that they were half-carrying Oralie. “Put her over there.” She pointed to a booth.
Chuck shoved Oralie in first and pushed in beside her.
Veraleesa followed them. “How can I help?”
Chuck said, “Bring her black coffee and some food—whatever today’s special is, that would be the quickest, right?”
Clint said, “Make the coffee with cream and three sugars.”
Chuck nodded his okay.
Veraleesa disappeared into the kitchen.
The other diners tried not to stare at them. The two men ignored them.
#
It was a long two hours.
Chuck managed to feed Oralie a little food. He put a straw in the coffee and she sucked up a little.
Gradually, she came back to life. She looked around the diner blearily, head weaving from side to side as she steadied it. Oralie noticed Clint. She raised one finger and opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. She stared at Clint for maybe a minute. She steadied her coffee cup in two hands and raised it toward her lips, watching Clint the whole time.
“I know you,” she said.
Clint looked at her.
“I used to know someone look jus’ like you,” she amended.
“Hello, Momma.”
A series of emotions crossed her face, one after another. She set the coffee cup down and started to reach for Clint with both hands. “My baby. You’re all growed up now. How long you been gone, baby?”
#
The diner crowd thinned and Veraleesa took Oralie to the bathroom. When they came out, Oralie looked a little better.
Chuck patted Veraleesa on the back as she helped Oralie back to her seat. “There’s a special corner of heaven reserved for angels like you.”
She smiled a sad smile. “You’ve got that right for sure. That’s Clint’s mother?” she whispered.
He nodded.
“Oh, that poor, poor boy.”
#
Chuck had Oralie practice signing her name on the notepad he always carried in the van. It took her four tries, but it looked like a real signature of a normal person.
She signed the application papers for Port City Prep. Veraleesa and Chuck witnessed her signature.
As they left the diner Chuck slipped a folded hundred-dollar bill into Veraleesa’s hand.
“You don’t have to do that, Chuck. It’s my Christian duty duty.”
Chuck wrapped her fingers around the bill. “You can give it to your church if you want to, but saying ‘thanks’ just isn’t enough.”
They buckled Oralie into the middle seat of the van.
Chuck started the engine and opened the windows to air it out. “Clint, I know a mission in her neighborhood that will help. The pastor’s a friend of mine. Let’s take her there.”
Clint looked at her with tears in his eyes. “That’s been done and done and done again. Take her back to the Pipefitters Hall.”
“I won’
t leave her on the street. We’ll take her to the mission.”
Clint stared at him for a moment. He shrugged. “Okay, but don’t give her any money. It’ll just go right up her nose.”
Chapter 84
Chuck preferred the direct approach. He hoped he was a good enough actor to pull this off with Dan Murphy.
Chuck called him. “We need to talk.”
“How about that bench on the North Beach Boardwalk, ten o’clock tomorrow.”
“As good a place as any and better than most.”
Murphy laughed.
#
Murphy was already there. His arms draped across the back of the bench, the picture of relaxation. His Panama hat tilted down to the top of his sunglasses. The sun had climbed halfway up in the east. The shade of the palm trees had yet not reached the bench. He wore old jeans and a bulky sports coat to conceal his pistol. His old Glock had been entered into evidence, but Murphy had another one now.
Chuck knew he’d be armed; he was a cop. The search warrant that had been served on his home had not changed that.
Chuck sat on the other end of the bench. “Been scoping out the girls, Dan?”
He nodded and pointed. With his left hand. “Check out that one in the red, white, and blue.”
“Yeah, she’s a keeper.”
They lapsed into silence.
Chuck watched a flock of pelicans make their way in formation up the coast. A few gulls bobbed on the Atlantic out past where the waves broke.
“Is this about that search warrant that Kelly and Bigs served on me at my house?”
“No. I heard about that, of course, but I wanted to talk about something else.”
“What do we need to talk about, Chuck?”
Chuck cleared his throat. “This is painful, Dan. I’m having a rough time getting my mind around it.”
“Around what?”
“You know that Jorge saved my life, right?”
“Oh, yeah. He told me that story a coupla dozen times.”
“So you know I’d take a bullet for Jorge. Hell, he literally took a bullet for me.”
Murphy took his arms off the back of the bench. “I know he did. But what does that have to do with you and me?”
Chuck coughed. “When Jorge came to me about this Franco killing and said he didn’t do it, I believed him. When he says it’s Christmas, I hang my stocking. Y’know?”
“So you’ll believe anything he says. I got that. So what?”
Chuck squirmed in his seat a little. “Dan, the last time you and I sat on this bench, you told me that Jorge was stepping out on Karen. You said he was getting a little strange, maybe because he wasn’t getting enough at home. You remember saying that?”
“Yeah. I said it because it’s true.”
“I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I thought you maybe exaggerated about how much he enjoys girl watching out here. Y’know? But now I wonder.”
Chuck tried to look him straight in the eye. It was hard because of Murphy’s sunglasses. “Is he really cheating on Karen?”
Murphy pushed his hat up so he could see Chuck better. “That’s why you wanted to talk to me? To discuss Jorge’s extramarital exploits? Really?”
Chuck spread his hands. “Really. How do you know he’s stepping out on Karen?”
Murphy hesitated.
“Look, Dan. Jorge’s my best friend.” He raised his voice a little and made what he thought was a sincere gesture. “I need to know if he’s ever lied to me—about anything.”
Murphy stared at him. Behind the sunglasses, Chuck couldn’t see his expression.
Chuck waited.
Murphy’s voice sounded a little rough. “He would lie to you. He did lie to you. He’s stepping out on Karen.” He crossed his arms and stared out to sea. From the side, Chuck saw his eyes behind the sunglasses. They looked wet with unshed tears.
Chuck dropped his shoulders and looked down at his hands. He sighed. He knew that some people do that when they’re unhappy. “Frankly, Dan, I’m beginning to doubt his story about the stakeout the night Franco was shot. There’s too much evidence. If Jorge lied to me about one thing, maybe he lied to me about the Franco killing.”
“That’s why you asked to meet me? To discuss how I knew he was stepping out on Karen?”
Chuck nodded. “How do you know that he is?”
Murphy took off his sunglasses. There were tears in his eyes. “Because he’s doing it with my goddamn wife.” He looked down at the ground.
“Oh, God, Dan. I’m sorry. That’s terrible.” He let a few seconds pass. “How did you find out?”
“Jessica’s cellphone. She calls Jorge’s number several times a week. She goes out to ‘play tennis’ every week. But I know what they’re doing.”
The tears spilled down his cheeks. “She was everything to me, Chuck. Without her, my life is pretty much over.”
Chapter 85
Chuck waited for Jessica and Karen outside Apartment 3117 in the Gladesview complex. He leaned against the railing and waited near the door.
The doorknob turned and Jessica came out.
She jumped when she saw Chuck. Then she saw he was a normal guy and she flashed him a plastic smile and walked past. She turned and waited for Karen.
Karen came out and did a double take. She cut her eyes at Jessica and back at Chuck. Her shoulders slumped. She sighed.
Chuck waited.
“Does Jorge know?”
“Yes. But Dan doesn’t—exactly.”
She gestured to Jessica. “Jessica, this is Chuck McCrary. He’s a friend of Jorge’s. He’s investigating the Franco case for Jorge.”
Jessica blushed. She didn’t say anything.
“Why haven’t you told Dan?”
“Dan is neither my friend, nor my client. Jorge is both.”
“What did you mean when you said Dan doesn’t know ‘exactly’?” asked Jessica.
“Dan knows you’re having an affair. But he thinks it’s with Jorge.”
Jessica put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God.”
Karen turned back to Chuck. “What will you do now?”
“The question is not what will I do now, but what will you do now?”
Karen reached toward Jessica. “Jessica and I are in love. I know it’s a cliché, but it’s not something we planned; it just happened.” She looked down at the floor. “I didn’t even know I was gay until I met Jessica.”
Jessica touched Karen’s outstretched hand. “I didn’t know either—until I met Karen.”
“How long has Jorge known?” Karen asked.
Chuck said, “A few days.”
“He hasn’t let on. Things have been pretty normal. Why is that?”
“I told him that he needed your help and support until we find out who murdered Garrison Franco.”
“And now?”
“I know who murdered Franco.”
“Who?” Karen asked.
Chuck looked at Jessica. “Dan Murphy.”
She dropped the apartment key she had been holding in her other hand. “Oh God.”
“Ladies, we need to talk. Let’s go to my van.”
“No,” Jessica said. “Let’s go back inside. It’s more private.”
#
Jessica Murphy and Karen Castellano sat beside each other on the couch, holding hands.
Jessica blinked. Tears spilled and ran along her jaw line. “Are you sure it was Dan?”
Chuck nodded.
“How can you be so goddamned sure?”
Chuck shook his head. “Long story, lots of evidence. Just accept it; I know it was Dan. And the police know.”
“Why haven’t they arrested him?”
“The case isn’t good enough. I told them I’d get his motive so they could tighten the noose on him.”
Karen said, “You? I don’t get it, Chuck. The last I heard they arrested you for murdering Ted Smoot. Why do the cops any favors?”
“Because it’s the right thing to
do. Look, why not help them? I’m no longer a suspect in the Smoot murder.”
“Since when?” Karen asked.
“Since I proved who murdered Smoot too.”
“Who was it?”
Chuck looked back at Jessica and didn’t say anything.
Jessica bent over and covered her face. “No, no, no. Not Dan.”
Karen put her arm around Jessica’s shoulder.
Chapter 86
Assistant DA Tomás Estacado met Chuck and his legal team at Abe Weisman’s office. Chuck had insisted that Abe invite Darcy Yankton and Jorge also. Mabel the Marauder didn’t find it necessary to attend the meeting. There would be no headlines today.
Diane Toklas passed out info packets to Estacado, Yankton, Jorge, Snoop, and Abe. She turned to her client. “You’ve got the floor, Chuck.”
“The pictures on the first four pages of your exhibits are screen grabs of the video of Dan Murphy.” Chuck flipped a page for each item, “when he signed into the evidence locker, when he entered the locker, left the locker five minutes later, and when he signed out. This is when he switched his gun barrel for Jorge’s.”
Chuck looked around. “Any questions?”
“Any video of Murphy changing the gun barrels?” Estacado asked.
“There are no surveillance cameras inside the evidence locker, only at the entrance.”
Chuck flipped to the fifth page of his packet. “The next page is a ten print of Dan Murphy’s fingerprints like the one at our earlier meeting, with one exception. After our last meeting, I asked Kelly and Bigs to send the CSIs back to my condo to check inside my nightstand drawer for prints. At the bottom of the page are copies of Murphy’s prints that they found in my drawer—the drawer where I kept my Smith & Wesson revolver—the murder weapon.”
“Why didn’t the CSIs find Murphy’s fingerprints in the drawer the first time?”
“When homicide first searched my condo, they looked in the top drawer of my night stand, found it empty, and didn’t bother to check for fingerprints. They saw there were no fingerprints on the handle of the drawer and they assumed the drawer had never been used. That’s because Murphy wiped his prints from the drawer handle after he stole my revolver. But he forgot to wipe inside the drawer. CSI got prints of the middle and ring finger of his left hand, which he used when he picked up the gun.”
Double Fake, Double Murder (A Carlos McCrary, Private Investigator, Mystery Thriller Series Book 2) Page 21