Southern Heat

by David Burnsworth

  “Man’s always got a choice, mm-hmm. It’s the one thing we got, free and clear.”

  I followed him to the receptionist and waited while he asked which room Darcy was in. I didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to deal with the fact she’d almost died yesterday.

  An overweight white lady behind the desk told us Darcy was on the fifth floor but had not been cleared for visitors. Brother Thomas pulled out his clergy I.D.

  She shrugged. “Elevators down the hall on the left.”

  The ceiling lights by the elevators flickered, threatening to burn out, and my eyes adjusted to the weak illumination as we waited.

  I said, “You realize you’re putting yourself in danger being seen with me, don’t you?”

  “If the Lord decides today is my day, I will greet Him with open arms.”

  The doors opened and the bright light inside the elevator radiated around us.

  As we stepped on, I said, “You planned that, didn’t you?”

  Brother Thomas pushed the button to the fifth floor. “Going up.”

  Two uniform policemen stood outside Darcy’s room. They stopped us at the door. Brother Thomas showed them his I.D. They complained about not being informed we were coming, but let us both in the room. The air cylinder at the top of the door hissed as it closed.

  Darcy was stretched out on the hospital bed. Her eyes were closed. A large bandage covering her right shoulder and a sling holding her arm in place protruded out from a sheet covering her. An IV ran from a bag hanging on a post. It was one thing to see fellow soldiers in bad shape, but finding Darcy looking like Jo had on her last day buckled my knees.

  A woman sitting beside the bed turned to look at us. She looked like an older version of Darcy, down to the blond curls and thin figure. Had to be Mrs. Wells. She said, “Yes?”

  Brother Thomas put his hand on my arm to stop me from putting my foot in my mouth. He showed the woman the same identification and said, “Reverend Thomas Brown, ma’am. Call me Brother Thomas.”

  “I didn’t request any clergy,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry to bother you,” he said.

  I blurted out, “I was with her when she got shot.”

  Her eyes became knife slits. “You’re that Pelton character, aren’t you?”

  I nodded.

  She yelled, “Security!”

  The two officers burst in the room and grabbed us.

  Mrs. Wells said, “Get them out of here.”

  Darcy stirred and coughed. Everyone in the room turned to her. She raised her free arm slightly and beckoned us closer.

  Her mother gasped and went to her side. “What is it, dear?”

  Darcy pointed at me.

  I shook the cops off and walked to her.

  “Mmff,” she said.

  I leaned in to hear her better. When I did, Darcy slapped me. Not hard, but enough to get my attention. Her coy grin said it all.

  After Darcy smoothed things over for us with her mother and the cops, she said she needed to rest. Mrs. Wells, Brother Thomas, and I sat at a table in the hospital cafeteria and drank coffee from small Styrofoam cups.

  “My daughter always wanted to be a reporter,” Mrs. Wells said.

  Brother Thomas said, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I told her she didn’t have to,” she continued. “Darcy can do anything she wants, and not because we have money. She really is talented.” She sighed. “But she loved the excitement. By the time she was eight, she was reading the paper and watching the news on television. We grounded her when we caught her trying to sneak into the den to catch the eleven o’clock news. An eight-year-old, for God’s sake.” She shook her head.

  “It’s my fault she’s here,” I said.

  “No, it isn’t,” said Mrs. Wells. “If she weren’t chasing your story, she’d be chasing someone else’s.”

  “Yeah.” I looked at my hands and pictured the blood still on them. “But I got her shot.”

  “She got herself shot,” her mother said. “Though you aren’t helping matters.”

  I glanced at her and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.

  An hour later, I sat once again with Brother Thomas in his donated Volvo.

  “I tried to ask Mutt how I could help him out. You know, like my uncle was doing?”

  Brother Thomas started the car. “What he say?”

  “He told me to go clean myself up.”

  “My guess is he won’t be accepting anything from you.”

  I rubbed my dry eyes, an effect of the lingering hangover. “How’s he going to make it?”

  “We’ll have to work on that, I guess.”

  “You’re going to help me figure out how Mutt can keep his bar open?”

  The big man chuckled. “Stranger things’ve happened. Peter walked on water until his faith gave out. I guess I’m shooting a little higher, mm-hmm.”

  “Yeah, like the ozone layer.”

  He adjusted the temperature settings on the AC. “That Mrs. Wells is one strong woman. Real cool considering what happened to her daughter.”

  I said, “You know, if I’d been offered the same free ride as Darcy, I’d’ve wrapped myself around a live oak with the fastest Porsche I could get my hands on. Or burned out on booze and parties and women.”

  Brother Thomas put the car in gear and drove out of the parking lot. “Sometimes, we are protected from ourselves by the very circumstances we don’t like being in.”

  I thought about what he said the rest of the way to my car.

  Patricia looked up from her desk when I walked in and slumped into one of the chairs facing her. Either there was so much work to warrant her being at the paper on a Saturday or she needed something to keep her mind occupied. With her star reporter in the hospital, I decided on the latter.

  She leaned back, tapped a pen on her lips, and pointed it at me. “You don’t look so hot.”

  “I’ve been getting that a lot, lately.”

  As if reading my mind and my condition, she went to the kitchenette and returned with two cups of coffee, the Palmetto Pulse logo printed on both.

  “Thanks.” I chose a cup and took a sip. It was good, probably Italian.

  She asked, “Been by the hospital?”

  The heavy weight of guilt pushed me deeper into the chair. “Just came from there.”

  “How’s our girl?”

  “She slapped me.”

  Patricia lowered her cup. “Mrs. Wells slapped you?”

  “No. Darcy did. Shot and crippled. IV’s and wires running everywhere. The cops about to haul Brother Thomas and me out the door by our collars. And our poor defenseless blond reporter grunts to get our attention.”

  Patricia listened, her smile growing by the second.

  “Then,” I continued, “she waves me over to her bedside. I lean in and she belts me.”

  “Ha!” Patricia sloshed coffee on her antique mahogany desk and searched for a napkin.

  “The worst part was, Darcy managed to give me that trademark smirk of hers,” I said. “You know. The one she uses when she’s on camera.”

  Patricia wiped the spill with a tissue. “That’s my girl.”

  “Yeah, a chip off her mother’s block.”

  “So you met Mrs. Wells?” Patricia raised her eyebrows when she said it.

  “She was the one having us thrown out.”

  “And Darcy came to your rescue.” She laughed.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Thanks a lot.”

  “So what’s next?”

  I gulped the rest of the coffee and set the empty mug on her desk. “I need a shower and clean clothes.”

  Patricia waved her hand in front of her nose. “Yes, you do.”

  “Would you care to put your shower where your mouth is?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We both agree I need a shower. And I can’t go home or I might end up Darcy’s roommate.”

  She held her hand out, palm up. “So get a hotel.”

  I shook my hea
d. “Galston’s probably got every hotel receptionist in the greater Charleston area on the lookout for a six-foot white guy with a busted lip. Same with the bus station, train station, and the airport. I’m pretty sure it was his two goons who managed to locate my beach hideout yesterday morning. The place wasn’t even in my name.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “As serious as Darcy’s gunshot wound.”

  I met Patricia at her house, an old Victorian six blocks south of Calhoun Street on Montague. It was surrounded by other hundred-and-fifty-year-old homes. Some were rented by College of Charleston students while most had been purchased by young urban professionals. Patricia told me she was one of the first of this new group of yuppies to renovate a home there twenty years ago.

  She offered to buy clothes for me. I was afraid of what she’d return with, but I hadn’t much choice at the moment. The shower washed away the funk from the jail and the projects, and restored part of my sanity. After toweling off, I sat on a couch in Patricia’s living room wearing some sort of silk nightgown with lace she’d loaned me, praying I didn’t keel over and give Rogers and Wilson an opportunity to find me in it. To take my mind off dying, I turned on the TV.

  Darcy’s picture was all over the news. So was mine, but I was in handcuffs being escorted by my favorite detectives into the police station.

  The anchorman was saying, “. . . Channel Nine News Correspondent DarcyWells was involved in a shooting this afternoon at a motel in North Charleston. She’s currently in serious condition. Local businessman, Brack Pelton, was taken into police custody for questioning. He is the nephew of Reggie Sails, who was murdered a week ago in downtown Charleston during what the police are calling an attempted robbery. For more information of this breaking story, log onto our website at . . .”

  He rattled off the address and broke for a commercial.

  I sat in amazement at how the story was spun. Galston had done his homework. Nowhere was he mentioned and the blame landed on me. Well, this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

  I changed the channel. After a few minutes, I found one of the movie channels and got lost in a comedy about a redneck couple stealing a baby named after the State of Arizona. For the first time in a while, I was able to unwind. Sleep came soon after.

  Two hours later, Patricia dropped shopping bags on the floor beside the couch and woke me up.

  “Hope these fit,” she said.

  “Thanks.” I peered into the first bag. “I really appreciate it.”

  I found several nice silk shirts in colors I had no name for, linen shorts, and leather sandals. Even silk boxer shorts. Patricia always did have expensive taste. She walked to a minibar and poured us two Dewar’s on the rocks.

  I said, “You spent a fortune. I can pay for this, just not at the moment.”

  “It’s on the house,” she said into her drink.

  Dusk settled over the city. The sky filled with a pink-orange pillow and the colors reflected off the transom.

  Patricia stared out the window. “I went to see Darcy.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Great.” Her voice cracked when she said it.

  My cell phone rang and I checked the caller I.D. before answering.

  Brother Thomas said, “Brother Brack, I was wondering if you might be interested in helping me out this evening?”

  “Sure. Doing what?”

  “Cassie is turning her restaurant into a soup kitchen tonight and we could use more servers.”

  “Hold on.” To Patricia I said, “How do you feel about joining me in a little volunteer work?”

  Patricia didn’t turn from the window or respond. She seemed deep in thought.

  To Brother Thomas I said, “We’re in.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  While waiting for Patricia to get ready, I drove her car to Chauncey’s, calling him on the way to let him know I was coming. Shelby ran down the driveway to me when I pulled up.

  I knelt and scratched his fur. “How’s my boy?”

  “He’s fine.” Chauncey wore a white oxford shirt with cufflinks and held a cocktail in his hand. At least the bow tie was gone. “Hasn’t eaten since yesterday and won’t leave my wife’s side. Lucky for you, she’s out with girlfriends. You may have a tough time taking him home if she’s around.”

  Home would be nice. To go home and put this behind me. To go back to playing with my dog in the ocean, lighting the useless citronella candles on my front porch, and sitting on my rocker minding my own business. To grieve for my uncle. To stop comparing Darcy to Jo.

  Chauncey said something but I missed it.

  I looked at my lawyer. “Sorry. I was somewhere else.”

  “That’s all right,” he said. “You hanging in there?”

  “No,” I said. “I was wearing a woman’s nightgown this afternoon. The thing was trimmed out in lace.”

  “That could be good, or bad, depending on the situation.”

  “I think you mean perspective.”

  “That too.” He rattled the ice in his tumbler. “You want something to drink?”

  “No thanks.”

  When I asked about his dogs, he told me he had put them upstairs so they wouldn’t bother us. He led us inside and excused himself, leaving me alone with my dog. I fed Shelby and we wrestled on the floor, me not caring what it might do to my new expensive clothes. This was the first time I had been apart from him for more than a day since I got him and I didn’t like it. The guilt of not feeding him since yesterday weighed heavy. I made a mental note to be here to feed him twice a day until this was over, no matter what.

  Brother Thomas stood outside Cassie’s restaurant talking to people in line. Patricia parked her Mercedes, which was not exactly the best vehicle to be driving at the moment. We got out and Brother Thomas greeted Patricia by kissing her hand.

  She blushed. “Why, thank you.”

  Brother Thomas said, “I hope Brother Brack’s informed you what we’re doing, mm-hmm.”

  I said, “She can handle it.”

  Patricia looked around for the first time. “What is it we are doing, Brack?”

  “We’re about to serve the best fried chicken in Charleston,” I said.

  “In the lowcountry,” Brother Thomas added.

  Inside, Cassie stood by the front counter next to the cash register, an orange dress flowing over her full figure. When she saw us, she trotted up and took my arm. “How you been, handsome?”

  Brother Thomas introduced the women.

  Before they could say anything, Mutt yelled across the room. “Opie!” He trotted toward us.

  We tapped fists.

  He honed in on Patricia like a hawk on his prey. “You look too good to be here. What do you say we skip this? I know a nice place we can go and get to know each other.”

  Patricia, no mere field mouse, laughed.

  Cassie grabbed him by the ear and jerked his head sideways. “You listen here, Clarence Alexander.”

  He howled.

  She continued, “You behave yourself or I’ll have your black behind tossed out so fast you won’t know what hit you.” She let go.

  He rubbed his ear, grinned, and blew her a kiss. “I love you too, you sweet thang, you.”

  Cassie rolled her eyes and went into the kitchen.

  Brother Thomas put us to work. When we finished pouring a hundred and twenty iced teas in plastic cups, he let the people come in and sit. Patricia and I were sent to the kitchen to get trays of biscuits and butter. We made rounds, refilling drink cups and carrying trays of chicken, potatoes, and green beans.

  Two hours later, Patricia came to me and shook my arm, causing me to miss the cup I was trying to fill. The scraggly man in a dirty Panthers T-shirt, whose cup it was, got up and left, grumbling.

  Patricia’s complexion paled. “Sorry!” she said to the retreating man.

  I asked her, “Everything okay?”

  She lowered her voice. “There’s a man over there we
aring Reggie’s necklace.”

  It was hard to tell that he was a white man because of the oily grease smudged on his face and arms. He had wild hair and a long beard and was eating a piece of chicken with dirty hands. Around his neck was the shell jewelry my uncle had worn since Jo gave it to him ten years ago. I went and found Brother Thomas.

  “I’ll understand if you want it back,” he said, “under the circumstances.”

  I already had enough reminders of my wife and uncle. Two storage units full, in fact. One in Charlotte and now one in Charleston.

  “No,” I said. “I want to know if he found anything else with it.”

  Brother Thomas nodded and went to the man, stooping to talk to him. I watched to see the man’s expression. When Brother Thomas finished speaking, the man looked directly at me. His flashed a smile, showing a mouth of brown teeth.

  This man was not my uncle’s killer, too wild and ratty, but he might know something about what happened.

  Brother Thomas returned. “His name is Gerald. He’s been on the street for many years.” He scratched his chin.

  I said, “And?”

  “Gerald said he found the necklace fair and square. Says if you want it back, it’ll cost you, mm-hmm.”

  “Didn’t you tell him I don’t want it back?”

  “No, because he said he found a bunch of other stuff and it’s all for sale.”

  “Why do I think I’m about to get scammed?”

  Brother Thomas said, “Because you are. Gerald is about to take you for everything you got on you. He’s got something you want, or you think you want. Either way, you’re gonna pay, mm-hmm.”

  “Where does he want to make the exchange?” I hoped it wouldn’t be a dark alley.

  “I told him the only place I’d agree to was in my church,” he said. “I trust you’re okay with that.”

  “I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” I said.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Patricia said, “I’ll let Cassie know we’ll be back in an hour to help clean up.”

  Before we made it to the church, I checked my wallet. I had about a hundred bucks.

  To Patricia, I said, “How much money you got on you?”