The Devil's in My Bathroom
Page 52
CHAPTER FIFTY: Jamaica Me Crazy
Nick caught the first flight out of Lafayette Regional Airport to Dallas. He had called Father Thibodeaux before leaving, explaining the events at the park. Father Thibodeaux advised him to just follow his heart. If it were meant to be, then Phil would go to him when the time was right. He got to DFW and found out there was a three-hour layover before he could get a connecting flight to New Lake City. He quickly found one of the bars. He ordered a Crown on the rocks than looked at the bartender’s nametag.
“Thanks, Bart,” Nick told the server.
“You’re welcome, Nick,” he replied with a warm smile.
“Do I know you?” asked Nick. “You look familiar.”
“Sure you do. It’s me - Bart, but I also think you know that gentleman sitting over there,” he said while pointing to a small table.
Nick looked off the side at one of the tables and saw a familiar sight – it was Mr. Levon. He was sitting next to a woman just a few years younger. He was laughing and flirting with the woman. This didn’t look like the behavior of a man who had just been ousted from his own company. Nick made his way to the table, forgetting about the bartender.
“Mr. Levon?” asked Nick.
Mr. Levon looked at Nick and yelled, “Nick, my boy. Good to see you. What the hell are you doing here?” He got up from the table to give Nick a handshake. His extended belly knocked over the drinks onto the lady’s lap. “Oh, I’m sorry, Ursula, my dear. Let me clean that up for you.”
“That’s quite all right, Robert,” said the woman.
“How rude of me,” said Mr. Levon. “Nick, this is Ursula Vanderhousen. Ursula, this is Nick Peltier. He works for me.”
Nick was confused. “Uh, sir, I don’t want to seem uncompassionate, but I used to work for you.”
“What, did you quit?” asked the somewhat inebriated Mr. Levon.
“No, sir. You’re the one who doesn’t work for Apocalypse anymore. Don’t you remember?”
“Oh, that thing,” he laughed. “There’s nothing to worry about there. That was just…”
“Robert,” interrupted Ms. Vanderhousen. “We’re not supposed to talk about that.”
“Oh, that’s right. Sorry about that. Forget I said anything about that, Nick.”
Nick looked at Ms. Vanderhousen. He remembered Andie talking about her. She looked exactly as Andie described her.
“Don’t you work for Wainwright and Grimes?” asked Nick. Vanderhousen got fidgety.
“I think our plane is boarding now, Robert,” she said.
“Gotta go, Nick. We’re off to Jamaica. I’ll see you when we get back.” He shook Nick’s hand, grabbed Vanderhousen’s hand, and they walked toward the gate.
What was that all about? thought Nick. He went back to the bar and ordered another drink.
The festival in Lafayette was winding down as Elderberry searched through the crowd for Fast Phil. He found a little secluded park in the middle of Downtown, sat on a bench, and tried to sort out the situation.
“Let’s see,” he said to himself. “Pel-tire was here, talking to a man whose picture was given to me by a homeless drunk in New Lake City. Pel-tire said the man was his father, who he never saw before this. That old, homeless man was telling me to keep an eye on Pel-tire and he would lead me to the murderer. I need to find out what connection Pel-tire’s father had with Zipper Down. Wait a second. What if the old man was talking about someone else at that table? That Rogers character was at the next table. Why was he in New Orleans with the niece of Carlos Verona? Maybe this whole Pel-tire thing is a decoy to keep me away from the real investigation. Why was Chief Bushman so happy to see me detained in Chicago? It seems as if he closed the investigation rather early. What about the pizza box? I haven’t found out about that yet. Why did that BreastMaster chick threaten me? She knew about that sleazy agent, Gary Bell. Come to think of it, what were Myers, Rogers, and Pel-tire all doing in New Orleans at the same time? I found them all fairly easy – but then again, I am a great detective. They were never in the same place at the same time. Maybe that was to throw me off.”
“Who are you talking to?” asked a voice.
Elderberry looked up and saw Fast Phil.
“Damn it. You startled me.”
“Sorry about that,” said Phil. “I saw you sitting here, talking to yourself. I have something to ask you.”
“Go ahead, Pel-tire.”
“It’s pronounced ‘Pel-tee-ay’ – and how do you know my name?”
“Whatever. What do you want to ask?”
“Why are you following my son?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. Tell me, have you ever been in New Lake City?”
“No, why?”
“Why would an old, homeless man in New Lake City have a picture of you?” Elderberry took out the picture of show Phil.
“Where did you get this picture?”
“I just told you – an old homeless man in New Lake City gave it to me. Who are all these other people?”
Phil studied the picture closely. “That’s me, my wife, I don’t remember that guy’s name, and – that guy in the corner is Carlos Verona.”
“Carlos Verona?”
“Yeah. He was trying to make a name for himself back in Chicago. I ended up marrying the woman who once belonged to him.”
Elderberry started to make a connection. “So, you stole Carlos Verona’s lover away from him?”
“Well, actually, no. I got her after someone else took her away from him.”
“Would you happen to know who that someone was?”
“It was this guy in the picture. Let me think - I believe his name was Bill Wainwright or something like that.”
“Bill? That would be the nickname for William. William Joseph Wainwright. Could this be the same person?”
Phil thought for a second. “You know, I did notice that name in the news. It didn’t ring a bell at the time. Do you have a picture of him?”
“I’m not involved in that at all. I’m just trying to find out who killed Zipper Down.”
Phil looked at a trashcan nearby and saw a newspaper sticking out the top. He walked over and grabbed it. It was the Sunday Advertiser. He found a picture on page two.
“He’s a lot older, but that’s the same guy,” said Phil.
Elderberry studied the picture. He took a pencil from his overcoat and started drawing on the picture. He added a few wrinkles, scrambled the hair, and drew a beard. He took the eraser and smeared the graphite a bit, giving it a grayish appearance.
“That’s the old man,” revealed Elderberry. “That’s the old, homeless man who gave me this picture.”
“Why would he give you this?”
“He said that Pel-tire would lead me to the murderer, then gave me this picture. Would you know anything about this?”
“Wouldn’t that be strange if he was talking about my brother?”
“You have a brother?”
“An older brother, just by one year. I haven’t spoken to him in almost forty years. The last thing I heard, he was in prison. We look almost exactly alike. I lost all contact with anybody related to me. It wouldn’t surprise me if he got involved in any of this. I just found out that I have a son. I knew I had a kid, but didn’t care to know anything about it. My mother died and I didn’t even find out about it until almost eighteen years later. I don’t know what made me come back here, but something did. Now, I find out that my son is involved with Verona and Wainwright in some way. Man, this has been one heck of a visit.”
“I need to get back to New Lake City. There’s something strange going on,” said Elderberry.