The Virgil Jones Mystery Thriller Boxed Set

by Thomas Scott

  “Hey, Jonesy, you okay? How about a double Jack with a beer back?”

  Virgil blinked the vision away and looked at the man on the opposite side of the bar. Murton Wheeler stared at him as Virgil took a glass from the shelf under the bar and filled it with tap water and set it on a coaster. “This is on the house. You won’t be drinking here, Murt. Not tonight. Probably not ever. Are we clear on that, soldier?”

  Murton sipped the water, his eyes locked on Virgil’s, then set the glass gently on the bar. “It was a long time ago, Jonesy.”

  “Not long enough, Murt. Heard you were in Westville. Assault or something like that, wasn’t it?”

  Murton ignored the question as the jab it was and instead looked back over his shoulder at the front door. When he spoke again, his voice was soft but his eyes were rimmed in anger. “Look, Loot, I’ve got some information you should have. I give you what I think you ought to know, and I’m outta here.”

  “You’re taking liberties you do not have when you call me Loot. Everyone calls me Jonesy. You can call me Sir, or Detective Jones. Are you getting the picture here, Murt?”

  Murton snapped to attention, saluted and said, “Yes, Sir.”

  Virgil wanted to drop him where he stood, but instead lowered his voice and said, “Knock that shit off. What exactly is it you want, Murton?”

  But before he could answer, the front door opened again and two men walked in together and scanned the bar, obviously looking for someone, but they made a mistake when they looked at the tables and booths before they looked at the bar, and that gave Murton the time he needed. He reached for his glass and lobbed it overhand toward the opposite wall. As a diversion, it was very effective. The glass arched through the air end over end like a poorly punted football and before it landed he placed both hands along the brass railing in front of the bar, swung his legs up and vaulted over the top like a gymnast mounting a pommel horse. When the two men turned toward the sound of the glass shattering against the wall, Murton looked at Virgil, winked and said, “Gotta boogie, Jones-man. These boys are a little upset with me right now. I left your tip under the coaster. Keep your powder dry.” He picked up a cardboard case of empty beer bottles from the floor in front of the freezer and placed it on his shoulder, blocking the view of his face as he walked toward the back of the bar and through the doorway that led to the kitchen.

  The two men gazed at Virgil for a beat before they started toward the back. Virgil moved with them, along the length of the bar, his hideaway .25 caliber semi-auto in his left hand, behind his back and out of sight. It was then that he recognized that they were the same two men who had escorted him back to Samuel Pate’s office earlier in the day. He held up his right hand as a signal for the two men to stop and said, “Sorry fellas, employees only past this point.”

  The shorter of the two tried to sidestep him and squeeze past into the kitchen, but Virgil matched his maneuver and kept him in his place. “The band’s really cranking it out tonight, aren’t they?” Virgil said. “I guess you didn’t hear me before. Employees only past this point.”

  The commotion caused by Murton tossing his glass against the far wall as a diversion had subsided, but Virgil noticed Rosencrantz and Donatti watching him and when they saw the two men try to get by him, they separated and approached from different directions. Virgil slipped his gun into his back pocket and crossed his arms in front of his chest. It was now three against two. Rosencrantz stepped up close behind the two men and said, “How’s it going, Jonesy? Think we could get another pitcher over at our table?”

  Virgil looked at him and said, “Right away, Rosie. These guys were just leaving, but they’re having a little trouble distinguishing the front from the back. Help them out, will you?”

  The two men turned and looked at Rosencrantz and Donatti, then back at Virgil, who let them have the last word. “Tell Wheeler to get in touch next time you see him,” the tall one said. “Like I said, we need to talk with him.”

  Rosencrantz and Donatti muscled the two men out the front door and came back inside a few minutes later. Donatti walked behind the bar and ran his knuckles under the tap for a few minutes. Rosencrantz stood there and smiled.

  “What happened?”

  “Not much,” Rosencrantz said. “My guy didn’t want to fight. The other one tried to throw a sucker punch at Ed. He missed. But then his ballsack decided it wanted to launch itself at Ed’s knee, and when that didn’t work he tried throwing his jaw as hard as he could into Ed’s fist. Twice. Sort of an unconventional style if you ask me. I think those guys might have been dropped on their heads as infants.”

  “Where are they?”

  Donatti grabbed a dishtowel and wiped his hands dry. “We helped them to their car and sent them on their way. It was either that or take them downtown. The paperwork’s a drag.”

  “Yeah, we’d be up all night,” Rosencrantz said.

  “Do me a favor, will you?” Virgil said.

  “I think we just did,” Rosencrantz said.

  “Uh huh. Run a sheet for me tomorrow morning on a guy named Murton Wheeler. Let me know what you get.”

  “No problem, Jonesy,” Donatti said.

  Rosencrantz grabbed a handful of peanuts from a dish on top of the bar and tossed them in his mouth. “Hey, I was serious a minute ago. Can we get another pitcher of beer?”

  Virgil had a waitress take another pitcher over to their table and tear up the ticket she had going, then remembered what Murton had said about his tip being under the drink coaster. When he moved the coaster he discovered a safe-deposit box key, the words do not duplicate stamped on one side, and Sunrise Bank on the other.

  He thought, huh.

  An hour later he was home. It was late and he thought about going to bed, but he needed to unwind a little first. He grabbed a beer before going outside where he propped his butt in a chair and his feet on the upper rail of his back deck. The night was clear and calm and when Virgil looked up at the stars it made him think of his mom, gone now an entire year.

  His beer wasn’t even half gone when the doorbell rang. He checked the time again, saw that it was just after midnight then pulled the .25 auto from his pocket for the second time of the evening and went to the door. When he saw who was there Virgil felt his knees get a little weak.

  “I’m not wearing a watch,” Sandy said, “But I’m pretty sure it’s tomorrow.”

  Virgil tried to smile in a cool sort of way, fairly certain he ended up looking like a schoolboy with an aw shucks kind of look on his face, though he did manage to get a grip on himself and invite her inside. When he flipped on a few lights he heard Sandy take in a breath.

  “My god, Jonesy. This is beautiful.”

  Virgil had designed the house himself, going through three different builders in the process before he found one who got it just right. Double doors led from the foyer into the great room with a massive fireplace made entirely of fieldstone he’d collected from the building site. The floors and walls were all wood, a mixture of natural pine, cherry, oak, and maple, blended together in a way that gave the interior a colorful, natural look.

  “Thanks. It was a lot of work at first. Took over two years to build from the time I bought the site. Sometimes it seems like a little more work than I’d like, but then every year when summer rolls around and you can sit out back on the deck at night it all seems worth it. In fact, that’s what I was doing just now, sitting on the deck, finishing my beer. Want one?”

  “Sure.”

  He handed her a beer, then leaned against the counter and watched her wander around the great room for a minute taking it all in. When she circled her way back she tilted her head to the side and just looked at him. Virgil started to think about it, but then just as quick he stopped thinking and pulled her close and pressed his body into her. He felt her press back. As he started to move his lips toward hers, Sandy pulled back and said, “Jonesy, is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me.”

  He laugh
ed. “Yes to both.” Virgil took the gun from his pocket and set it on the counter and when he did, Sandy started to laugh too.

  “What?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Sandy said. “It’s so…little. I guess I imagined it would be bigger.”

  “Hey….”

  Sandy: “Listen, do you mind if I freshen up a little. I love your bar and everything, but I sort of smell like barbecue sauce or something.”

  “Don’t let Robert hear you say that. It’s called jerk sauce, and it’s his specialty.”

  Sandy cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’ve got the hottest woman in the county standing in your house after midnight and you’re worried about what your cook thinks?”

  Virgil felt himself redden. “No, no. I’m just saying…”

  Before he could go on, Sandy stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  After he walked her to the master bathroom and showed her where the towels were, she gave him a little girly wave then closed the door. Virgil heard the lock click and thought, hmm. He decided that it was some kind of signal so he left the bedroom and went back out to the deck.

  She had a little tease in her, he thought. He wondered if she wanted him to tease back. He thought about trying it out, even played some scenarios around in his head, but he got lost in the thought long enough that he didn’t hear her when she came up from behind and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “I thought you’d be waiting for me in the bedroom.”

  She was wearing one of Virgil’s white dress shirts. Her hair was still wet, slicked back from her forehead. Little drops of water had dripped from her hair and they left dark spots on the shoulders of the shirt. She had the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and only one button half-way down holding it closed. “I thought maybe…I mean, I wasn’t sure…”

  “You think too much, Jonesy.” She reached up and unbuttoned the shirt, slinked her shoulders back and let the shirt slide to the floor. She took a half step back and said, “Are you sure now?”

  Virgil discovered he was sure.

  Quite sure.

  Sidney Wells, Jr. sat on her front porch, a cigarette at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes moved back and forth between the little pile of ash at her feet and the street corner a half block away. She saw the headlights sweep through the turn, then extinguish as the car pulled up and stopped in front of the house. Amanda Pate climbed out, tugged a bit at her skirt, then walked up and sat down next to Junior. “The hell you been?” Junior said. “You’re over an hour late.”

  Amanda picked up the pack of cigarettes next to Junior, shook one out and lit up. “Samuel was up late. I had to wait until he took his sleeping pills. I told you it might be a while.” She took a long drag and held her smoke for a few seconds before blowing it out the corner of her mouth. “So, anyway, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

  “Yeah, you are,” Junior said. “And I still think it’s a bad idea. We agreed we were going to lay low until this was over. That was the plan, anyway. So what’s so important that you had to come slumming down here after midnight?”

  Amanda lifted her ass off the porch a little and tugged at her skirt some more. “I’m just nervous,” she said. “It threw me a little when the cops came to my house today. And it wasn’t just any cop. It was Virgil Jones. I know him, Sid. Or knew him, anyway. I went to high school with him.”

  Junior snorted. “Uh huh. What was that, twenty years ago?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “So what is?”

  “The point is what I just said. I know him, or knew him anyway. We had a thing. It was a one-time thing, but I never forgot it, or him. I’ve sort of followed him his whole career.”

  “So?”

  “So get on the Internet and look him up. He’s good. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. He does not mess around. He works for the governor for Christ’s sake. And so on day one when he shows up at my front door asking questions, yeah, I’m nervous.”

  “What did you say?”

  Amanda flicked her cigarette into the weeds next to the porch. “I didn’t say anything. He wanted to speak with Samuel and me about Dugan, but Samuel was at the church.”

  “That it?” Junior said.

  “Yeah, except he went to the church and spoke with Samuel.”

  “Tell me about that.”

  “I can’t,” Amanda said. “Samuel didn’t say anything about it.”

  “So don’t worry about it then. We knew going in that they were going to look at Samuel. We want them to, remember? So just relax. It’s all good.”

  “But so soon, Sid? I mean, the first day? And now this cop, I’m telling you baby, he’s bad news.”

  Junior thought about that for a few minutes. “So maybe we move on the cop.”

  “You think?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Junior said. “Might give us a little misdirection. Let me talk to the old man about it.”

  “Oh, god, he’s not here is he?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “He doesn’t like me. Doesn’t like us.”

  “He doesn’t like anyone, Amanda. I can handle him. Don’t get your panties in a wad over it, okay?”

  Amanda spread her legs open far enough that her knee touched Junior’s. “I can’t. I’m not wearing any panties.”

  Junior ran her hand up the inside of Amanda’s thigh, and felt the moisture, and warmth. Amanda tipped her head back and let out a little moan. “Maybe we should go inside.”

  Junior leaned over and kissed her hard, then said, “We’ll have to be quiet this time.”

  “I can do quiet,” Amanda said. “Might be a fun change.”

  When they were finished they stayed in bed for a few minutes, neither of them saying much of anything. Sandy gave him three quick kisses, one on the lips, one on the chest, and one on his pecker. “Don’t go anywhere, handsome. I’ll be right back.”

  Virgil told her he wouldn’t and watched her walk to the bathroom, her ass moving with just the right amount of jiggle. The jiggle factor was important. Too much was never a good thing, and too little meant you didn’t have anything to work with. He had his hands behind his head and listened to the sounds coming from the bathroom…the toilet flush, the water running in the sink, the dowel on the holder creaking just a bit as she hung a towel…and then the familiar stealthy squeak of the mirrored medicine cabinet door.

  And Virgil thought, ah…a snooper.

  She came back out, took a running start and jumped on the bed right next to him. Virgil instinctively covered his crotch in case she missed the landing. “Relax, big guy. I won’t hurt you.”

  “Mmm, we’ll see,” he said. “What were you doing in there?”

  “Girl stuff. Don’t you worry about it. Maybe a little poking around, too.”

  He rolled onto his side to face her. She was on her back and moonlight spilled in from the bedroom window and bled across the swell of her breasts. “Find anything incriminating?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I did,” she said as she sat back up. She swung her legs to the opposite side of the bed, away from him. “It’s good and bad.”

  He propped himself up on one arm, reached over and placed his hand on her back. “What is it?”

  “Well, the bad news is I found a prescription bottle of unidentifiable pills, with no label on the bottle.”

  “Yeah? That’s easily explainable. What’s the good news?”

  Sandy reached down to the floor and pulled something out of her purse, then turned back toward him, an evil grin on her face. “The good news is, I have handcuffs,” she said, as she twirled the cuffs around her index finger. “And I know how to use them.”

  An hour later they were exhausted, but wide-awake, so they moved from the bedroom out to the sofa in front of the fireplace. Virgil pressed a button on a remote and the gas logs in the fireplace lit up automatically, the glow of the flames dancing across the room. He watched Sandy stare at the fire, then she
looked toward his office, squeezed Virgil’s hand and said, “Tell me about the turn-out helmet.”

  Virgil blinked in surprise, then let go of her hand and walked over to his office. A fireman’s helmet sat on the credenza behind the desk. It was still stained with soot, the eye shield cracked diagonally across its entire length. He picked up the helmet and carried it to the sofa and handed it to her. “Hell of a story from a long time ago.”

  “Would you tell me about it?”

  Virgil nodded. “I will, but I’d like to ask you something first.”

  Sandy held the helmet in her lap and traced the outline of the crest above the visor. Her fingers trembled like they were charged with an electrical current. “Okay.”

  “You called it a turn-out helmet. That’s a term firemen use.”

  “My father was a fireman,” Sandy said, staring at the flames. Her movements were almost imperceptible, but she was rocking back and forth on the sofa, the helmet in her arms. “Tell me your story, Jonesy.”

  Virgil thought that he must have held that helmet a thousand times over the years, and would probably hold it a thousand more before he died. It was part of who he was, part of why he was still alive today. “One of the worst days of my life,” he said.

  Sandy nodded, still looking at the fire, but she didn’t speak, so Virgil told her the story. Told her about the time when he was just a boy, only five years old, and what happened that fateful day on his birthday.

  His mother had wanted carpet in the kitchen. It seemed like such an extravagant thing at the time, but his parents could afford it and everyone agreed just how nice it would be to have wall-to-wall carpeting in the kitchen of all places. At first, Mason had tried to talk Virgil’s mom into maybe just an area rug or two, but her mind was set. The day the carpet was installed, the trucks pulled into the driveway and the men all got out wearing identical green cover-all’s, as if their matching uniforms could somehow make up for their inadequacies of procedural forethought.