Chapter 31
When I got to Betsy's doublewide, the front door was slightly ajar. It was dark inside except for a dim snake of light that slithered across the carpet from one of the back rooms. Doleful music played softly from somewhere within. I tried to imagine Betsy sprawled on the bed worrying about Leon, or kneeling beside it in prayer. However, the unset latch suggested someone else had called on her before my arrival. And they were in there with her, or waiting for me. I took out the Makarov, slowly pushed the door open, and crept inside.
I listened for a moment but other than music and my own breathing, heard only silence. My right hand flexed on the gun as I eased off the safety. Then I headed toward the music. Odds were, Betsy was okay, just careless in her habits. Odds were, she was still alive. Odds were, Delaney was too weak and scared to leave his hole. In mid-step the pungent scent of Jade East bathed my face. Something flashed at the corner of my eye, sending me headlong to the floor. The odds were never in my favor and seconds later I was back chasing naked gypsies.
I opened my eyes to lamplight and humming. I was sprawled upon the carpet with Delaney seated on the davenport a few feet in front of me, dimly lit by a lamp on the adjacent table. He had one arm in a sling. His hand was thickly bandaged and oozing blood. His shirt was torn just below his ribs and behind the tear were more bloody bandages. The round he had stopped must have passed through his hand and into his side. Despite this he looked rather serene. Above his white head was a halo of smoke from his cigar. And, his long, crossed legs rocked his bulk back and forth in time to his self-made sound.
I sat upright and touched the back of my head. My fingers came away sticky with blood. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting."
"Old Son," Delaney sighed, "you and me are coming to the end of the line." He blew a smoke ring, and then slashed it with the forefinger of his good hand. "The cocaine's gone, gurgling up in that goddamn gravel pit. I don't know whether Enrique killed that son-of-a-bitchin' Dominic before you killed him, but I surely hope so. However, my distress is that everything I have worked for all these years has just been shot to hell."
I glanced about to see make sure we were alone. There were no other eyes watching so I casually let my own drift. The cats were curled up on the back of the couch as far away from Delaney as they could manage. And the Makarov was sitting on the table, next to him. I considered making a dive for it, but as the odds were still running against me so I let that idea pass.
I asked, "Where's Betsy?"
Delaney glanced sideways at his watch, and then waved a hand casually toward the bedrooms. "She's being looked after, Old Son," he replied. "You hear where I'm comin' from, Old Son? I've got about two days to live if those Sicilians follow form, unless I come up with a way out of the country. And you're sitting on all their money which should rightly be mine. Now, that ain't fair."
"Complain to Salvator."
Beatrice, one of Betsy's cats, left the couch and trotted toward me.
"I did," Delaney whined. "Soon's I got clear of that gravel pit. He tells me I stole it and how he's gonna' chop me up into sausage for his pizza shops. Now, we both know I didn't take that money. And we both know he don't have it. Which leaves only you, Old Son. Three million dollars in clean cash and you got it."
The cat gave me a meow greeting and then snuggled against my knee, purring insistently. I picked her up and settled the animal onto my lap. Immediately she coiled over on her back and batted at my chin. Her claws were retracted but I could feel their dagger-like tips tickle my beard stubble.
"What's in it for me?" I asked.
Delaney let go a loud snort. "I don't figure I owe you shit."
"Think again, Delaney. You're short on time and I've got nothing to lose by taking the loot to my grave."
"I sorta' figured you for a sore loser."
"But a very rich one, Delaney. Don't forget that."
"I ain't!" He chewed on the end of his cigar for nearly a minute before asking, "What've you got in mind?"
"Even split."
"Like hell. Twenty percent."
"I can get that much as a recovery fee from Salvator."
He shifted his bad arm, grunting from the pain. "Assuming you're alive. And I got a little to say about that."
"Dead men don't talk, Delaney."
I saw someone creep toward the living room from the shadows cloaking the trailer's bedrooms. It was Woods. He looked sick, his face a pasty white. And in one of his pink hands was an empty syringe.
"Betsy's dead," he said in a whimpering voice. "She went to sleep, just like you said."
Delaney stood up and took out his revolver. As he moved over to Woods, his shadow crawled up the wall behind him, crept across the ceiling and then scampered down the wall opposite.
"You get scarce until I get back," he told the mayor. Then, he grinned over at me. "Let's go, Old Son. I'm gonna' give you that even split, seein's how you and me have been through so much these past few days."
I got to my feet, still holding the cat. "What about Woods? If you plan on cutting him in, it comes out of your share."
Delaney looked over at the trembling man and asked, "You want a piece of it, Mayor? Me and my new friend are going to pick up three million dollars. I'll give you half of my half. How's that for an offer you can't refuse?"
The mayor dropped the syringe and shook his head as if he knew he would never return. "I wish I'd never gotten into this."
"He's a worried man, Delaney," I said. "Worried men talk."
"You got nothing to say, do you Mayor?" Delaney asked, with a snort of laughter.
Woods wagged his head and retreated a step, back into the shadows.
"I didn't think so," Delaney giggled. Then, he waved his gun toward the doublewide's front door, and came toward me. "Time to get the goodies, Old Son."
I feigned dizziness to let him get within arm’s reach. Then, I tossed Beatrice into his face.
His revolver boomed and Delaney shrieked in agony as the cat's claws dug canyons across his eyes as she tried to gain a paw-hold on his flesh. As he tossed the animal, I jumped him, jerking the weapon from his grasp. Then, I clubbed Delaney across his temple with the gun's butt.
I hit him hard. More than once. More than I needed to. But not nearly as much as I wanted. I hit him hard enough to feel the bones crush and see blood spurt out of one ear, and eye. I hit him hard enough to hear his lungs empty for the last time. And then I hit him hard, again. When he dropped to the rug he became quiet: no movement, no words, no breathing.
"You had no choice," Woods whimpered, as he moved from the shadows. "I'll swear to that. Delaney would've killed all of us if you hadn't done what you did."
I turned toward him, cocking Delaney's revolver.
"No," the Mayor shrieked.
"Is that what Betsy said, before you jabbed that syringe into her arm?" I asked.
"I didn't want to. Delaney made me. He was going to kill her anyway. And, if I hadn't done as he said he would have killed me too. You've got to believe me."
"I do believe you."
I did not hear the first shot, or the second, or the third. I did not feel the gun jerk each time it discharged or its hammer click-click on the fired cartridges, as the cylinder rolled round and round. I just kept squeezing the trigger at a dead man until he stopped quivering.
Betsy lay in the master bedroom like a little girl having sweet dreams. There was a small dot at the crook of her left arm. I touched her throat, but as Woods had said, she was dead. No more would the world hear her laughter; no more would she make plans or share dreams. There was nothing more for Betsy except endless sleep. I bent over her and kissed her goodnight.
A car door slammed, and I hurried back to the living room. I squatted and put the gun into Delaney's hand. Then I stood up and headed for the front door.
Before I reached it, Moira rushed in, her eyes wide, her mouth gaping. When she saw the dead cop she stopped, one hand clutc
hing her throat.
"Where's Bascomb?" I asked.
She crept over to Delaney, still staring at him as if a god had died. "Is he…"
"And a delight it was," I replied. Then, I repeated my question.
She turned and stared at me a smile of relief tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Hehe wasn't home," she stammered. Then, she looked up at me. "I left a message. Thank God you got here in time. Where's Betsy?"
"In the bedroom." I pointed to the Woods' corpse and then added, "I'm afraid I was late. The good Mayor pumped her full of cocaine just before Delaney killed him. There wasn't anything I could do. Delaney was holding the gun on me."
Moira groaned and rushed past me, to Betsy's bedroom. I went over to the davenport, sat down and lit a cigarette. A few moments later, she staggered back, her face gaunt and gray.
"You had the foolproof plan, remember?" I said. "All that money was going to be yours. Well, you got it. Leon'll be free to inherit and as his wife that'll give you a claim for half under community property. How does it feel to be a rich woman, Moira? All it cost you was your daughter."
Her shoulders sagged. "You bastard. You goddamn bastard."
"Of course it will be a while before you can spend any of it. That little matter of Eli's murder might keep you occupied somewhere else for a few years. But, right at this moment you're worth millions—less the cost of Betsy's funeral."
She dragged her hands across her face in grief. Then they dropped and she stared at me down the length of her nose. "It should've worked out. I had it all figured. Eli would be dead so he couldn't point any fingers as to who was there when the stuff disappeared. I'd even made a copy of the key to the lab so after Woods had finished with Eli and gone, I could've hauled out everything. Nobody would've known, not even Delaney. It should've worked."
"You just didn't plan on Woods being Delaney's partner in crime."
Her head wagged. "I thought he'd run scared. Instead, the girls cut out before I could stop Betsy and then you and Leon showed up. After that, it became Delaney's play and I was down to hoping for scraps."
"You should've come forward when Bascomb got there. You could've told him what really happened. Leon would've been cleared and you could've shared Eli's estate."
Her eyes blinked with realization and then she grinned. "I still can! I'm still legally married to Leon!"
"Except you told me about the video tape, remember? You told me how you sent it to Woods hoping it would bring him to such a rage he would kill Eli. Well, on that prediction you were right."
Her smiled faded then she smirked, "It's only your word against mine. And what of it? I didn't tell Woods to kill Eli."
"No. But, you saw him come in with a gun. You watched him go upstairs. At that point you could have called the cops. But you didn't. When Woods forced Eli outside, you could have called someone for help. But you didn't. After Eli was dead and Woods was gone, you could have called. But, you didn't. When your husband was charged in his brother's murder, you could have come forward and cleared up the entire mess by pointing at the mayor. But, you didn't. I'd call that conspiracy, minimum. Accessory after the fact a likelihood. You'll be an old woman by the time you get out. And Leon will have long-since divorced you from his wealth."
She crept forward both hands outstretched, pleading. "No."
I stood up, my rage building. "Then there's Betsy's murder. You knew when Delaney left your house that he was going to kill her. I'll give you points for trying to stop him. I'm assuming that's why he worked you over. But, you didn't follow through after he was gone and you were safe. You could've called the cops. You could've called Bascomb. Hell, you could've told the old woman next door. Lydia would've gone after Delaney guns blazing and no questions asked. You knew Betsy was weak and in time she would talk about Woods, Eli and the rest of it. All that money was too much to risk over the life of one young woman, so you sat down and waited for the bad news."
"Delaney said if I called anyone he'd kill me, too. I loved my Betsy."
"Love? When? You offered her up to Eli since she was a kid. He paid for his perversion and you collected. Betsy was just a little girl doing what Mommy wanted, with no choice in anything."
Moira backed away. "You can't prove any of it. Leon loves me, he'll always love me."
I went over to the telephone and picked up the receiver. "I can prove enough to bring in an indictment by a grand jury. As to a conviction, I'll leave that to others."
Dead On Page 31