Southern Heat

by David Burnsworth

  When I walked into her room, Darcy was propped up on her bed reading a magazine. Sheets pulled to her waist exposed a light blue pajama top.

  I said, “How’re you doing, kiddo?”

  She looked at my suit and the bouquet of flowers and gold box of candy I was carrying. “What’s this, another date?”

  I felt a little stupid and said, “I didn’t think you’d be up.” Then I felt really stupid and put the flowers in a vase that an aide sat on the table. The box of candy went there too. “Where’s your mother?”

  “She said she’d be here in an hour.”

  I pulled a chair over. “She doesn’t like me.”

  Darcy closed the magazine. “Actually, she does. What she doesn’t like is me being a reporter.”

  “Gotta do what you love. So where’s the fiancé? I was looking forward to meeting him.”

  “He isn’t one for hospitals.” She finished with a tight-lipped smile.

  Deciding not to push it, I just nodded.

  She said, “Is that a box of Godiva?”

  I fetched the chocolates, removed the cellophane, and gave her the box.

  She selected a starfish-shaped piece and nibbled at it. “I looove Godiva.” She held what was left of the piece between two fingers. “So tell me, what do you love?”

  I sat in the chair. “My dog. In fact, I had to hide him at Chauncey’s until this blows over. I just left there from feeding him.”

  She finished off the starfish and chose the cherry cordial. “Anything else?”

  Something about watching her eat the candy relaxed me.

  “The beach. At one time, I loved racing.” I also loved Jo and my uncle, but it hurt too much to say.

  “I read about your career,” she said. “You were some up-and-coming driver on the verge of making it big.”

  “What do you mean you read about it?”

  “I looked you up.”

  “When?”

  “When all this started,” she said. “I always do research. I don’t like surprises.”

  I picked a piece of candy from the box. “Neither do I.”

  She looked at me for a moment and said, “Suzy’s dead.”

  I stopped chewing.

  Darcy continued. “My source said she was found in an apartment in North Charleston. What was left of her, anyway.”

  “What was left of her?”

  “Someone used her for target practice. Mostly nine millimeter bullets, which didn’t leave a lot for identification.”

  “The kids in the back room of the Red Curtain brothel all wore holsters and nines. And they seemed more than capable of shooting a defenseless kid like Suzy.” Then it hit me. “I think those idiots were the ones that tried to kill us. The detectives told me the one I hit was named Johnny.”

  “That’s pretty thin, Brack.”

  “The silver chain.”

  “What silver chain?”

  I leaned forward. “Remember the kid that opened the back door and told us where Suzy was?”

  “Not really.”

  “He had a thick chain around his neck. I think I saw it when he dove for cover.”

  Darcy’s eyes met mine. “But it doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It does if the ones managing the Red Curtain figured out who you are.”

  Darcy bit into a cordial. “So what’s our next move?”

  I blew out a long breath. “Your next move is to lay low and heal up.”

  She said, “Are you kidding me? They made a huge mistake. I’m going to put their pictures all over the news.”

  I propped a foot on the lower rail of her bed. “Your mother said you wouldn’t quit.”

  “It’s what makes me the brains of the operation.”

  “And the looks,” I said.

  She chose another piece of chocolate. “How perfectly chauvinistic of you.”

  “So, why don’t you tell me about the source who set us up?”

  She raised the bed with a remote control. “Not much to tell. It was an anonymous call. A man. My voicemail had only time, place, and that it was for my story on Galston.”

  “We were set up.”

  “Yes. And I’m supposed to be released soon. The guards watching the door are more interested in catching me getting a sponge bath than in my well-being. Any chance you can get me out of here in one piece?”

  “I’m not sure I’m the best one for that. Galston’s crew chased me through downtown last night.”

  She pointed to the flatscreen hanging on the wall. “I saw it on the news. They showed a clip of the cops interviewing you and suggested alcohol might be involved. You know, you’re becoming a celebrity these days.”

  “Let me guess. They never said I was drunk or that someone had run into my car.”

  “Of course not.”

  At the funeral service, Justine’s inner determination to be strong masked the sorrow in her face. I knew this because I’d been at the same point. Maybe I still was. Like David Fisher, Jo died too young. While Jo and I didn’t have children, the Fishers had two and it took a cold-hearted individual to kill a man with a family. The Fisher children, a little boy and girl, sat with their mother and cried.

  During the reception Brother Thomas and I were standing by the fruit tray when Justine approached. She wore the prerequisite black dress and simple gold earrings, bracelet, and her wedding band. I’d worn mine through my tour of Afghanistan underneath my uniform gloves, and wondered how long Justine would wear hers.

  She patted our arms. “It was so nice of you two to come.”

  “I am indeed sorry for your loss,” Brother Thomas said, setting his plate of hors d’oeuvres on a table and taking her hand in his. “If there is anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask, mm-hmm.”

  Justine squeezed his arm. “You’ve been a good friend to talk to, Brother. I was wondering if I could borrow Mr. Pelton.”

  “Of course,” Brother Thomas said. “I need another glass of punch, anyway.”

  He gave me a curt nod and walked away.

  Justine said, “Um . . . I wanted to thank you for your kindness the other day.”

  “It was really generous of you to give Brother Thomas the car and other things,” I said. “How are you holding up?”

  “One of my neighbors purchased the house,” she said, not answering my question.

  “That was quick.”

  “Luck, really. They stopped by to see how I was doing and when they found out I was selling, made an offer. I think they bought it for their daughter. The movers came and packed our things yesterday and I have a room at Charleston Place.”

  “Nice hotel.”

  “I had always dreamed of spending a night there,” she said. “My parents are taking the kids back to Virginia with them tonight. I’m staying behind for the closing.”

  I waited for her to say something else but she didn’t.

  “Justine?”

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Are you all right?”

  She hesitated. “I was wondering if you would have dinner with me tonight.”

  I didn’t answer right away. For the first time in a long time, I felt something other than my own sorrow.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” she said. “I understand.”

  “What do you like to eat?”

  After spending time with Shelby, including making sure he ate dinner, I headed downtown. The Charleston Place hotel had marble floors, expensive shops, and high-dollar rates. Justine had given me her room number and I walked past the reception desk to the elevators.

  At exactly seven, I knocked on her door. When it opened, the faint scent of Chanel Number Five escaped from the room. Jo had worn it often, and the reminder distracted me until I looked at Justine. She had changed from funeral-black into a yellow sundress. It accentuated the light freckles on her face, chest, and arms, and the wedding ring on her finger. The second attractive female I’d been out with this side of a week, and no future potential with eith
er of them. Something told me I set it up that way on purpose.

  We walked to High Cotton on East Bay Street, the restaurant Uncle Reggie wanted to meet me in for my birthday. Justine had made a reservation and we were seated at a table in the back. The waiter brought our drinks.

  I squeezed a lemon into my iced tea. “Thanks for inviting me.”

  “I wasn’t very nice when we first met.”

  “Under the circumstances . . .” I took a drink and didn’t finish what I was about to say.

  An aura of hurt lingered in the lines of her young face. The waiter returned with a basket of cornbread, told us about the specials, and took our order.

  After he left, Justine said, “So how did you cope with losing your wife?”

  “I drank.”

  “You’re not drinking now.”

  I took a piece of cornbread and buttered it. “It didn’t help so I joined the Marines and went to Afghanistan.”

  “Did that help?”

  I set the cornbread on my bread plate and wiped my hands with a napkin.

  Justine said, “I’m sorry. We can talk about something else.”

  “No. It’s all right. The hard thing is realizing I lost more than three years of my life.” I met her eyes and decided to let it all out. “I spent the time trying to kill myself without actually pulling the trigger. The booze was for numbing the pain, but I couldn’t bear it any longer. I wanted to die, but I didn’t want to do it myself. When I got there, I did everything I could to fulfill my death wish—suicide raids, reconnaissance, escort missions, you name it. Guys were getting killed just walking around the base and there I was hunting for a bullet with my name on it and didn’t find it.”

  “How are you doing with it now?”

  I picked up the cornbread. “I’d say I’m better, but then someone murdered my uncle.”

  “Brother Thomas said you’ve been trying to find out who did it. You think it’s connected to David’s death?”

  “Yes. I haven’t found the right link yet. It’s a good thing you’re leaving soon because I think this is a dangerous place right now. The other night, a friend of mine got shot.”

  Justine flushed. “The Channel Nine News girl. I’ve been following you in the news.”

  I said, “You seem to be handling all of this pretty well. Either you’re a good actress, or you’re stronger than I am.”

  “I don’t think it’s sunk in yet. I’ve been cooped up in my house with the TV, my kids, and funeral arrangements. It’s nice to be able to talk to someone I don’t have to sugarcoat things for.”

  I watched her eat a scallop. “How is it?”

  She nodded, her mouth full. Her manners were much better than mine. I grabbed a piece of shrimp out of the grits on my plate and ate it in one bite, pinching the tail to get all the meat. Our conversation drifted to the lighter side of things. We talked about our favorite parts of Charleston. She described her sorority days at the University of Virginia and laughed when I told her she was one of those girls engineering majors like me dreamed about when they weren’t cramming for tests.

  She snatched the check before the waiter could hand it to me. “I asked you, remember?”

  I raised my hands in surrender.

  As we left the restaurant, we encountered a crowd of people meandering along the slab-stone sidewalks of East Bay.

  I offered my arm. “Would you like to walk off dinner?”

  She accepted and we made our way past tourist shops and bars, the sounds of music escaping from open doors, and stopped at the big pavilion overlooking the Cooper River by Waterfront Park. I rested my hands on the railing. Justine cradled herself in her arms and I could sense a mood shift.

  I said, “It feels awkward being out with someone else, doesn’t it?”

  She closed her eyes and tears came again. “What am I going to do?”

  I put my arm around her. “People will tell you to get on with your life. I haven’t, so don’t use me as a role model.”

  She rested her head against my shoulder.

  I said, “After basic training, my team got a three-day pass. The best thing I can say about those days is I don’t remember a lot. The worst thing I can say is I remember enough. Like waking one morning in bed next to a woman I didn’t know and couldn’t recall meeting. Cigarette butts and empty liquor bottles littered the floor. A shirt with the name of the bar I’d been in the night before hung off a vanity mirror. I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up. The sleeping beauty in the bed snored away. I told myself she was a bandage on loneliness. I mean, she meant nothing to me, right? Just someone to use. In my mind, the pain of losing my wife justified everything. And I truly believed it. Until a little boy walked into the room—which turned out to be the master bedroom in the back of a mobile home in some God-awful trailer park. The little boy seemed used to strange men in his mother’s bed.”

  I felt Justine’s breath on my neck and found it distracting.

  “I guess I told you all this to say it might be in your own children’s best interests if you didn’t end up in a trailer park after a three-day bender merely because the world isn’t fair.”

  Our return trek to Charleston Place was quiet, neither of us saying much. We wandered over the broken and cracked sidewalk and avoided crunching palmetto bugs under our feet in front of the U.S. Custom House building. At her hotel, a black Escalade pulled to the curb and stopped. Galston got out. His bald head shone in the streetlights. And I didn’t have a gun.

  I turned to Justine. “You better get inside. I don’t want you to be part of this.”

  She said, “Is it about your uncle?”

  “Yes.” I looked at Galston and felt my insides burn.

  She kissed me on the cheek and was gone.

  Shorty and Goatee flanked Galston.

  I said, “You think three of you are enough? Where’s your Asian backup? You know, the ones who do the dirty work.”

  “Easy, now,” said the tall man with the goatee.

  I took a step toward them. “I’m afraid I’ve got to turn down your offer.”

  Galston wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and fixed his gaze on me. “Just like that?”

  “That’s what the cops asked me when I repeated my uncle’s last words before he bled to death.”

  The bald man said, “I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  “Sure you didn’t. And your boys here didn’t try to run me down the other night, either.”

  Galston jerked his head toward Shorty, looking like he wanted to ask him a question.

  Goatee said, “It doesn’t have to go like this.”

  I shook my head. “You set me and Darcy up at the motel. You’re going to pay for all of it.”

  They were less than ten feet away. I planned my next moves. Shorty would have to go first because he had something to prove and would fight dirty. Goatee was next because he was as cautious as Shorty was eager. Galston would fight like a girl. We stood in front of the five-star hotel staring at each other. Shorty made a move. Goatee was a split-second behind. And a split-second too late.

  I drove my fist hard into Shorty’s gut. He dropped to his knees. Goatee pulled something out of his pocket. I caught him with a right hook to the jaw and he fell backwards. Galston stepped out of the way as Goatee hit the ground. The short Latino driving the Escalade stood on the running board, extending his arms over the roof. I saw the pistol in his hand and ducked around the corner before he could fire. Police sirens echoed off the buildings, getting louder. I kept on running.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  After a restless night at Patricia’s, I drove my rental Camry to the Isle of Palms. The security guards at the gated entrance to Chauncey’s neighborhood stopped me long enough to get clearance. Chauncey must not get many visitors on Monday mornings. I parked in the drive. When I got out of the car I felt something poke my leg.

  “Hey, boy,” I said.

  Shelby barked.

  I sat on the conc
rete and let him lick my face. “I missed you, too, buddy.”

  He smelled like coconut and his coat was trimmed and shiny.

  Chauncey walked out of the garage, hands in his pockets.

  I scratched behind Shelby’s ears. “Thanks, um, for cleaning him up.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m adding it to your bill.”

  Trish stood next to Chauncey. “You aren’t coming to take him away, are you?”

  “No, ma’am,” I said. “I came by to see how he was doing and to feed him.”

  “He keeps me company,” she said. “We have our dogs groomed every month. The groomers were going to be here anyway and his fur was a little matted. I had his claws trimmed too. I hope you don’t mind.”

  At least she didn’t have them painted pink while she was at it. “He looks good and probably feels better, too.”

  “Oh, he’s such a pretty dog,” she said. “You should keep him like this.”

  My dog, my companion, the one I rescued from the shelter, brought home, and fed and took care of for the past six months, left my side and went to Trish.

  Sitting on the driveway by myself, I said, “He’s always been a sucker for the ladies.”

  Trish leaned down, let him lick her face, and walked into the house. Shelby gave me a quick glance and trotted along after her like the dog he was. I watched the four-legged freeloader go inside.

  Chauncey said, “Why didn’t you call me after you had your accident?”

  I stood up. “It wasn’t my fault. They chased me.”

  “That’s not what I saw on the news,” he said.

  “They shot out the rear window of my car,” I said. “I tried to get away and they rammed me into a delivery truck. I’m not sure why the news got the story wrong.”

  He took out a pipe and stuck it in his mouth. “I see.”

  “No, I don’t think you do see, Chauncey. Galston is out of control. He needs to be stopped. He and his goons tried again last night. Four against one.”

  Chauncey put his hands up. “So what can I do to help?”

  I thought about the detectives finding me yesterday through my rental car.

  “For starters, I need another set of wheels,” I said. “Not in my name and the faster the better.”