Johnnie Finds a Dead Body

by DS Whitaker

  He could sleep in his next life, he thought.

  In a whisper, he said, “I love you, Freddy.”

  She didn’t stir. Panic seized him. Did he just call her that? Cud’s heart pounded. Oh, no. Please, God…

  “How sweet,” said a deep voice.

  Cud bolted up, his chest pounding. A man wearing dark attire stood in the bedroom doorway. Cud positioned himself on the bed, arms wide, to shield Gertie. “You!”

  Groggily, Gertie said, “What is it, dear?”

  The overhead light came on, blinding him. “Smith! Stop!” He fumbled for the bedside lamp as a weapon. The cord wouldn’t come loose.

  Smith came toward him, with a black rope between his hands. In a split-second, Smith was strangling him.

  Cud grasped at the cord pressing into his flesh, losing air. His eyes bulged with panic. He kicked, not landing any blows.

  Gertie—out of view—screamed, “Stop!”

  His mind blanked. He was going to die.

  Gertie threw her cell phone at Smith, missing. She picked up and threw a glass-jar from her dresser, hitting Smith on the forehead; its contents—buttons of different colors and sizes—exploded across the floor. The rope loosened. Air returned to his lungs, but in spasms.

  “Ow.” Smith pulled a gun. “That’s enough. Tie him up. Now, or I blast you both.”

  Gertie wiped her eyes and spit at Smith.

  Cud felt a blow to the head from the butt of Smith’s gun. His skull felt torn open. He fell sideways on the mattress.

  “Stop! Don’t kill him.”

  Cud came to consciousness again, not sure how much time elapsed, duct tape over his mouth, tape being wound around his hands, the stickiness pulling on his thin skin. Gertie was above him, working the tape, her eyes full of concern.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He blinked his response, “I know.”

  After his hands and feet were bound, the last bit of tape covered his eyes. The fingers pressing down were thick. Smith’s.

  Cud listened carefully, hoping whatever he heard would lead to finding her later. He heard feet shuffling out of the bedroom. The slam of the front door. Car doors, engine noise, gravel spraying.

  A realization came. Had he forgotten to lock the front door earlier?

  He had.

  This was his fault.

  Getting the tape off his mouth and eyes was easier than unlocking his wrists and ankles. He wiggled off the bed onto the floor ungracefully, landing on his hip and shoulder. It smarted. He picked at his ankles first, finding an edge. It took a minute, but he could walk again.

  He found Gertie’s phone on the floor. He dialed 9-1-1, his hands shaking, and walked to the kitchen for ice for his forehead. But he hung up when the operator answered. On the front door, a message in black magic marker read,

  “Call the police and she dies. I’ll call her phone with instructions in one hour.”

  He scrolled through Gertie’s contacts and called Robin.

  His next call was to the Bahamas. With his vast resources—if he could pull the right strings—he could end this nonsense once and for all and save the woman he loved.

  And if it cost a billion dollars, so be it.

  Chapter 22

  Gertie blew on the black fabric over her head, puffing it up like a balloon. “Thomas, is this really about money?” Sitting on a metal folding chair, her wrists bound behind her, she tugged against the duct tape.

  He took off her hood. “Lady, I have a job to do. All Johnnie had to do was give me back what he stole. Instead, he hit me with a shovel.” He pointed to the gauze taped to his forehead.

  “You know what they say, money can’t buy happiness.”

  He bent over, his face inches from hers. “It’s not my money. But if my bosses don’t get it back, I don’t get the wages I earned. And what good is capitalism, then?”

  “Johnnie does get headstrong.”

  “I’d love to chat, but I have to get ready for the exchange. Let’s hope, for your sake, the bug-eyed freak comes to his senses. If he has any.” He unwound another strip of duct tape and approached her.

  “Please, I’ll be quiet. No need for that.”

  He gave her a sneer. “Fine.” He put down the tape and began checking the items in his black utility vest.

  Gertie looked around the grand residence. Probably a second home, because there were white canvas coverings on all the furniture. The floors were marble, twenty-foot ceilings with wood beams, mid-century furniture—the real high-end stuff, not imitation—and gorgeous drift wood chandeliers. She wondered if Cud had once owned homes like this. Maybe with servants. It was a home that would be fun to live in for a few days. But it seemed sterile. Also, very wasteful. Thousands of residents lost their homes in Irmaria. Still, years later, homesites were vacant lots. Yet, here was a pristine home with no one living in it. Capitalism was cruel.

  She estimated it took them a half hour to reach their destination. Meaning, they were likely on the west end of the island. She wondered if the tracking device was still on Smith’s car and whether Dottie could locate them.

  Her mind wandered to the upcoming Easter service at church. She and Dottie were on the schedule to set up on Friday, two evenings from now. Would she be free by then? Who would fill in for her? Pastor Lillian had picked some great hymns this year. Gertie began to sing softly How Great Thou Art.

  Thomas was sitting at a desk in the corner of the living room, his back to her. “Stop that.”

  “Does it bother you?”

  Thomas spread out what seemed to be a map. “Yes. Shut up.”

  “Does the television work?” She nodded toward the far wall of the living room.

  “Shut up. No television.” Smith seemed to be marking up the map with a ball-point pen.

  “Sorry. I’ll be quiet.”

  He kept his eyes on the map, “You keep saying that.”

  “I said sorry. I’m just trying to make the best of the situation.”

  “How in Hades am I supposed to concentrate if you don’t shut your trap?”

  “If you need help, I’d be happy to listen and collaborate. Two heads are better than one, they say.”

  Thomas stood, shoving his chair away. “Lady! That does it.” He strode over, raising his hand above her head, aiming to strike her. His phone chirped.

  He answered it, walking back to the desk. “Hello, sir…Yes…What? A hostile what?” A long pause. Smith shook his head. “You’re shitting me, right? Son of a… Goodbye.” He threw his phone against the wall.

  “What happened?”

  He sat back down, holding his head, leaning his elbows on the glass desk. “All that work…” He slammed his fist on the surface so powerfully the impact dislodged a cup of pens onto the floor and knocked over silver frames of the owner’s family pictures.

  “This is BULLSHIT!” he screamed.

  “Anything I can do, dear?”

  “SHUT UUUPPPP!” He stormed out of the room.

  A minute later, he was back, pointing his gun at her. “I should fucking end you…”

  “I wouldn’t.” She looked down at the beautiful white Oriental rug, gesturing with a nod of her head. “Think of the mess.”

  Smith shook his head. “Lady, you crack me up. Shit. It is a nice house, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Very nice.”

  Smith’s phone rang. He retrieved it from where it landed after bouncing off the wall. He squinted at it, like he didn’t recognize the number or maybe the screen was broken. “Yeah? Who’s this?” After a pause, “Johnnie! How the hell did you get this number?” Another pause. “Yes, she’s right here…no, she’s fine.” Another pause. “Hold on.” He hit a button on his phone and asked, “Lady, what song did you sing in the garden yesterday?”

  Gertie’s heart leapt. It meant Cudlow was with Johnnie, because only he would know about the garden yesterday. “First, ask Johnnie if Cudlow is all right.”

  “Your boyfriend? I’m
sure he’s fine. So, what did you sing?”

  “I don’t remember. I hum and sing all the time.”

  “Yeah, no shit. They want to know you’re alive. Give me something.”

  “I could just talk to them.”

  “Right.” He said sarcastically. “Nope. Rule Number 28. Come on. Something only you know.”

  “Well, Cudlow has a tattoo of a ladybug on his right buttock.”

  Thom relayed the information, adding, “But I need that drive…Yeah, I know…I can still kill her…don’t bring the cops…a simple trade…one hour. Got it.” He ended the call.

  Gertie cocked her head. “What happens now?”

  Thom turned off his phone and stuffed it in his pocket. “I get paid and you go back to lover boy.”

  She smiled. “See? I knew it would all work out. God always has a plan.”

  “I don’t believe in God. Now, shut up and let me plan.”

  ***

  Cud drove to Hawksnest in Gertie’s car, arriving fifteen minutes before the midnight exchange. Arturo, Robin, Johnnie and Dottie were in the parking lot, standing around, waiting.

  He parked and walked over to the group, ready to spit. “What is this? Arturo can’t be here! Smith will kill her!”

  Johnnie put his hand on Cud’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I messed up. We’ll get her back.”

  Cud grit his teeth. “I’ll never forgive you…”

  Robin clapped her hands. “Stop. We need to plan this. Listen.” She turned her head, staring at each of them in turn. “Arturo, tell them.”

  Art cleared his throat. “Dottie, Robin and I are tracking Smith’s SUV. We’ll drive half a mile up to the next parking lot at Peace Hill so he doesn’t see our cars. Johnnie is going to exchange the drive for Gertie. For real this time. As soon as Smith leaves and Gertie is safe, I’ll track him down, call for back-up and arrest him. Simple.”

  Cud shook his head. “I need to be here. I’m not leaving.”

  Arturo said, “If Smith sees anyone but Johnnie, he may kill her. Do you want that on your head?”

  “No. But I’ve lived on this beach for ten years. I know how to stay hidden. I’ll use Gertie’s phone to let you know what’s happening. In case things go badly.”

  Robin stomped her foot. “Cudlow, I know you want to be her knight in shining armor, but let the authorities handle this.”

  He yelled. “I’m not leaving!”

  Arturo said, “Alright. Calm down. Mr. Loughton. You see the problem, right? He can’t see your car here. I’m ordering you to follow us. Don’t make me arrest you.”

  Cud scratched his head. “What if he kills Johnnie?”

  Johnnie sighed. “After all my mistakes, I need to make things right. Plus, Arturo gave me his Kevlar.” He lifted his T-shirt, showing the black vest.

  “Are you sure?” Cud said.

  “I’m sure.”

  Robin said, “Now, we all need to take our places.” She hugged Johnnie. “Be safe out there.”

  Dottie said, “He’s on the move. About fifteen minutes out. We need to skedaddle.”

  Cud shook Johnnie’s hand. “See you on the other side, mate.”

  The group dispersed, getting into their vehicles. Cud wasted no time, beating the rest to his car and speeding away, with little concern for keeping the vehicle to the left of the center median. He had little time. Because there was no way he was staying put.

  At the small dirt parking lot at the Peace Hill Trail, Cud stretched his calves, waiting for the next car to arrive. It was Robin. She waved.

  “Robin, I’m going to go take a pisser. I’ll be back.”

  She said, “Sure,” then turned her attention to the next car pulling in: Dottie’s.

  And he was off, ditching his flip flops. He knew the quickest path back to Hawksnest, knowing every rock and tree and curve of the shoreline. The moon came out, making the job easier. Could he cover the serpentine half-mile in ten minutes? He focused on his breathing. In…out…in… out. A branch whipped him in the face but he kept going through the lush vegetation. His legs were sturdy from daily walking. Still, his calves and thighs burned.

  A private residence between the beach and North Shore Road appeared. He was getting closer, now running fully on the sand, close to the water line.

  Then a scramble on an incline behind some rocks. And he finally saw Johnnie in the distance, standing alone on the sand. No sign of Smith yet. He’d made it in time.

  Cud crept through the scraggly shrubs and trees, trying to regain his breath. He stayed off the footpaths and made his way to his nest on the west end. Under his cooler, he found the belt with the knife sheath and donned it. Then made his way back toward the edge of the parking area, crouching to remain unnoticed.

  A minute later, Thom’s black SUV took a slow turn into the lot, it’s headlights off, inching along to a stop near the path to the pavilion. Smith got out and released the back hatch of the vehicle. He pulled Gertie’s arm to exit. She had a bag over her head, and he guided her roughly toward the beach.

  She’s alive! Thank the Heavens!

  Cud prayed under his breath. God, don’t let Johnnie screw this up.

  When they were out of sight, he stabbed the rear tires of Smith’s vehicle. He called Arturo and whispered, “She’s here. They’re heading to the beach.”

  “What? Where are you?”

  “I’m at Hawksnest. They can’t see me.” Cud moved toward the sand to witness the exchange.

  Arturo muttered something angrily, but he didn’t care.

  Smith and Gertie now stood forty-feet from Johnnie.

  Smith said, “Throw it. Now.”

  Johnnie and Smith appeared like two men in western movie gunfight: wide stances, tall posture, daring each other. But now, Smith had something dark in his hand—probably a gun—pressed against Gertie’s side.

  Johnnie countered, “No. You let her go first.”

  Smith sighed audibly. “How about this? Simultaneously, you throw it half-way, and I let her go, and she walks toward you. The standard routine.”

  “Okay.” Johnnie threw something small. Probably the drive. Hopefully the drive.

  Into the phone, Cud whispered, “He did it. Johnnie threw the drive to Smith…”

  Smith still held onto Gertie. “Sucker.” He kept the gun on Gertie and walked toward the drive, pulling her along by her elbow. “I’ll let her go when I’m out of here safely. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Oh, no,” Cud gasped.

  Johnnie yelled, “You can’t do that!”

  Then something very odd happened. Cud screamed.

  Arturo shouted through the phone, “What happened? Tell me!”

  Cud didn’t know what to say. Or how to describe it.

  Because all hell broke loose.

  Chapter 23

  Stumpy heard the nice man’s voice. It had been days. Many days without his favorite crunch-crunch. He gazed down from his high perch in the tree. Was it treat time? Or did he have to wait until day-break?

  The human tossed out a small orange oblong item onto the sand, saying, “Here.”

  Could it be? His heart went pitter-patter. Yes! Yum time!

  He licked his upper lip with his forked-tip tongue and dashed down the tree, running across the sand. A woman tripped in front of him, landing face-down in the sand, but he leapt across her. The cheesy puff was his!

  Scooping it in his mouth, he noticed his foe, Green-tail coming in his direction. He took the prize and ran back to the underbrush.

  He turned, ready to defend. Green-tail was closing in, but a tall strange man was also chasing them, yelling. Yelling something angry. He bit down on the orange noodle, but it didn’t taste right. No pockets of cheesy air. He spat it out. Green-tail could have this stale nasty thing if he wanted. He dashed away from the onslaught.

  On the beach, the bulging-eyed man was helping the woman sit up, taking something off her head. Not his concern.

  But he wouldn’t be denied. He ran back to the go
ody man.

  He needed to get the man’s attention. Inserting himself between the humans, he rested his two front feet on the woman’s knee, bobbing his head at his friend, blinking, insisting he pay heed.

  Stumpy asked again, “Cheesy puff?”

  ***

  Thom watched the arc of the thumb drive as it landed on the sand, twenty feet in front of him. He held the gun on the landlady. The four-eyed butt-munch believed him. What a lobotomite.

  He forced the woman to walk beside him. The pussyboy whistled and shouted something that sounded like ‘Rum time’. Obviously, the mental patient was having a nervous breakdown.

  Only three more feet…

  Something dashed out of the brush toward them. An iguana?

  It stole the thumb drive!

  Did that just happen? Mother…

  Without thinking, Thom released the woman and chased the reptile into the bushes. Finding an iguana in the dark beneath dense bushes was difficult. The moon came out from behind a cloud and he saw some branches rustle. As he got closer, a second iguana stole it. He stepped on its long tail. What kind of whack-o reptile farm was happening here? As he pried the drive out of the hissing animal’s mouth, it snapped its jaws, cutting him in the fleshy bit between his thumb and forefinger. Great. Now he’d need antibiotics.

  He kicked the animal and it ran off.

  The drive was his! He clenched it in his right hand, pumping his left fist in the air.

  He jogged to his vehicle. Soon he’d be done with these amateurs and could leave the island forever.

  Thomas couldn’t believe what he found next. The old man—the wrinkled-skin, bony-ass lover boy—was leaning against the hood of his SUV, holding a cell phone. He didn’t have time for this shit.

  “What do you want? Your girlfriend is fine. I’m leaving.”

  “You have my thirty-million quid.”

  “Yours? Ha!”

  “I purchased the company you were working for.” He gestured air quotes when he said ‘working’.

  This guy was funny. “You? Right. You couldn’t even purchase a decent bath.” He brushed past Cud and got into the driver’s seat.

  The old guy got off the hood. “I properly fired your employer. The ill-conceived bridge project is quite bollocked, to be sure.”