by Ryan Bright
“His boy heard shots fired up on the ridge and thought that was what scared the bull. I found some specialty gun shells up there and traced them back to a dealer in town, coincidentally.”
He coughed again and spit across the porch rails. “You talked to him yet?”
“No, I figured I’d surprise him early in the morning.”
Gramps nodded his head. “Always keep the upper hand. Keep them off balanced.”
While I didn’t look for his advice on my love life, this bit I would take. Gramps and his father had put anybody who thought about stretching the laws of Canton County behind bars. In his time prisoners enjoyed beans and cornbread and spent their days doing road work for the county. He knew how to find the wayward souls and how to deal with them.
Chapter 3
I left Ceton Hollar and headed back into to town with an empty stomach. There was no place I would rather eat than the restaurant at Sheldon’s Inn, but it was closed for the night because of a death in the family. Second choices don’t always turn out well, but steak-n-gravy was the special at Mike’s Diner, and my favorite meal. For better or worse that wasn’t the only thing that turned out well. I stabbed the last bite of beef, swirled it in the remaining gravy and mashed potatoes, and looked up to see Carol walking through the door. My ex-wife looked just as good as she did the day I signed her divorce papers. Carol could still turn plenty of heads. Her pink and white striped top and tan capris weren’t worn too tight, but still revealed her curves. I remember them intimately.
She didn’t come alone. The guy with her was tall and broad shouldered; a good foot taller than her and few inches more than me. His graying wavy hair was trimmed and slicked back in an attempt to make it appear thicker. He had a face like a brick. Flat and dull, but maybe I was biased. I didn’t think so. What stood out was that ugly yellow tie he wore with the white shirt with rolled up sleeves.
I left the waitress money for the bill and tip and walked over to Carol’s table. She smirked as I got closer, sarcasm oozing in her voice, “I should’ve known you wouldn’t pass up steak and gravy.”
“You know me,” I bluntly replied.
“Too well.” She motioned to her man. “Daniel, this is my ex, John Steele. John, this is Daniel Keys.”
I tried to keep the dumbfounded look off my face, but I wasn’t sure how well I was doing. Daniel stood up to shake my hand. “Nice to meet you, Steele. Carol’s,” and he looked back at her and winked, “told me about you.”
The scenario I imagined in my head began with my fist slamming the side of his jaw, and then teeth, blood, and spit shooting out his mouth on impact. Carol might scream. She might say thanks. I wouldn’t say a word and walk out the door. Instead, I took a breath and glanced back at Carol. Her coal black eyes and hair betrayed no trace of knowledge of what I was thinking, but I knew she knew. She always knew. Perhaps she was the real detective in our marriage. Sure I could see the clues and solve the cases, but she had a thing for people. And that’s something I needed to try to accomplish myself. “I’ve heard about you, Keys. Tell me where you’ve been the last couple of days.”
She was pissed and maybe that was why I jumped right in with the question. Might as well get it over with. “What the hell, John?” Carol scowled the scowl I always hated. “Where do you get off asking where he’s been?”
Before I could respond Daniel spoke up. “I’ve been up North trying to get some sales. I sell the most accurate bullets on the market. When I got back I found my place had been robbed.” He stared at me. “You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?” It was half accusing. Hell, it was all accusing.
“Do you mind if I come over tomorrow and have a look around?” I asked ignoring their dumbstruck faces. It wasn’t the approach I originally wanted, but the intent was to keep him off his guard.
Daniel jutted his chin out to the side contemplating, his gaze on me never wavering. His thick fingers on the edge of the table rolling, I imagined, in time with the gears and cogs in his brain. “What the hell. Sure. Have a look.” He looked over at Carol and rolled his eyes casually, and if I cared I’d tell him he was pushing his luck with her. “The cops and your brother didn’t find anything, did they?” Like a hitchhiker trying to catch a ride he stuck his fat thumb in my direction. “Maybe he will.”
“Sure. Fine. Whatever.” Carol always had a way with words. “Don’t you have somewhere to go, John?”
Some invitations you pass up and others you take. I stood and looked down at the no longer exactly happy couple. It wasn’t like I always had this effect on Carol. Pissing her off, that is. Just that, maybe old habits die hard. “Yeah. I’ll be there first thing in the morning, Keys.” The waitress arrived at their table and I took my exit.
###
Keys, the bullets, the bull, the break-in all churned around my brain as I made my way down the barely lit street to my car. The sidewalk needed repairs and I did my best to keep from tripping on the concrete that was like icebergs jutting up from the ocean. I walked alone. The downtown area mostly went to sleep by seven and it was almost eight now.
I jumbled the facts around as I walked trying to make a line from A to B without success. Keys might be a prick, but I seriously doubt he’s involved in anything other than cheating foolish gun fanatics out of their money. Who was shooting on the ridge? Were they shooting at Thompson and the farm? Or is the bull the only one guilty of homicide? Too many questions and not enough evidence. That’s probably why I didn’t notice the shadow or hear the steps behind me.
“Keep walking and don’t make a scene.”
I don’t follow orders very well, but this one was backed up by the sound of a hammer click. “What are we doing, Martin?” At least I recognized the voice.
“Paybacks, Steele. My brother can’t even talk with the broken jaw you gave him.” he growled.
“I couldn’t stop him from falling into the jack handle no matter how many times I tried.” The jack handle would once again be handier if I had it instead of the D.A.
Martin grunted, “Keep walking.”
A block away the lone street lamp illuminated my car which sagged to one side slightly with a small spare still on the back. I wasn’t sure what his plans were, but I knew he didn’t want any attention. I considered trying to see if I could activate the alarm on my car with my keys, and yet I didn’t know if it would work at this distance. Before reaching into my pocket to try I changed my mind and decided on a different approach. The alley between the antique store and hardware was coming up on the right. “Y’know, Jeff said you were the stupid brother, but I don’t know.”
Martin didn’t have time to reply. While he thought of a comeback I spun around and grabbed the gun hand as soon as he pulled it up from his side. I slammed his hand on the bricks of the hardware store once, twice, and he finally dropped it. Before I could strike again he pummeled me in the lower ribs aiming for my kidneys and soft spots. His fat, heavy fists hit like sledgehammers.
He went for the gun and I managed to kick him in the face as he bent down. I did better than I hoped because he stumbled and grunted as he tried to push himself up. I gave him a hard right to the chin before he was on his feet. Martin wasn’t tough like his brother. He took two more punches and I drug his limp body out of the light into the alley. I was lucky. I was damn lucky he was slow. Better lucky than dead, I say.
###
The faded white stripe weaved on the side of the road as the odometer on the crown vic counted the miles.. I double checked my phone to make sure it was turned off. I didn’t want any gps tracking going on. Finally I heard a moaning sound coming from the backseat. “Can you hear me, Martin?”
He groaned again in response.
“Would you like something to eat or drink? It’s been a long night.” I raised up a can of coke. “Oh, I forgot, you’ve got that sock in your mouth. I guess you can’t drink anything.”
Martin thrashed about, but between the duct tape and the seat belt he couldn’t move
much.
I glanced up at his face in the rearview mirror. “Well, I don’t have anything to share with you to eat anyway. See, I got hungry a good ways back. I stopped into a gas station and got a drink and one of those hot nacho chip bags.” I let out a burp and tapped my chest with my free hand. “Never again on those, let me tell you.” I turned back to face him for just a second. His eyes stared back at me and I knew if he only had the chance...
“Do you like experiments? I love ‘em.” I put both hands back on the wheel and to stretch my arms a bit. “I heard this one about how you could light a match inside a chip bag and no one would be able to trace where the fire came from. Not even the fire marshal can trace it. Wild, huh? So, I had my chip bag and thought why not try it out, right?”
Now this was the part I was waiting for. “The problem, there’s always a problem, was where to do it? Now, I know this dump of a place just out of the south end of town. A rundown ranch style place with a chimney. A meth hole. A crapper. You know, the perfect place to try it.”
Martin struggled more violently against his bonds. “Hey, you do know the place? So, I pulled in there and didn’t see anybody. I kicked the door in, because like anyone would care or even notice about that place, and walked on in. There was a couch that had seen better days and all that meth making shit scattered around. God, it was a garbage heap and stunk like cats pissed on everything. Anyways, I lit the match in the bag on the couch and got out.”
I swerved the car slightly to miss a dead limb in the road. “I stayed a bit, watching from the car. You were there,” I added. “You were still out of it. Smoke started rolling out the windows and I didn’t even hear a fire alarm go off. Of course, they probably didn’t have one anyway. Funny about that, the house was outside the city limits where you have to pay for that fire insurance, or fire protection as I call it. You don’t pay and the firemen don’t put it out; money and the budget cuts and all. I drove off when I heard stuff start popping and blowing up on the inside. Flames were really lighting it up!”
I pulled over on the side of the road slowly. “Here’s your stop, Martin.” I stepped out of the car. After opening up the rear passenger door I unbuckled him and dragged his sorry butt onto the ground. I stood one foot on his chest with only the light of the half moon to see by. “I explained to your brother that it was time for him to leave and he didn’t listen.” My heel pressed harder against him. “Now, I’m telling you. You have nothing to come back to. You don’t live in this town anymore. When you get up, walk on. Don’t come back.”
I pulled a small cheap pocket knife out of my pocket and stuck it in his jeans pocket. “You can help yourself.” I explained. “Because I care.” His eyes looked back at me like a caged animal’s would. Not so gently I kicked him in the side, rolling him down the hill into the darkness.
Chapter 4
There are many good things about being a detective in a rural area. Not having good well water would not be one of them. Town folk take for granted how nice city water really is. My well has minerals in it that darn near ruin all my fixtures. The limestone deposits in the water must’ve killed my instant hot water heater making the cold shower this morning a faster way to wake up than my cup of joe. After getting in late last night maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing.
Daniel Keys owned a house on the outside of town on the old Barnard farm. The Barnard place was originally divided up by a developer to be sold as upscale living in the country. All the amenities you could want like golf courses, tennis courts, a small lake, and walking trails. When the economy tanked so did he. Keys owned one of the dozen lots of the forty that had been sold. I drove over the shoddily paved road on his cul de sac with an unfinished sidewalk to my left and mounds of dirt and construction debris pushed to the back of the empty lots on my right. Keys had the only house this far into the development. No immediate neighbors and I don’t think anyone would be buying lots here anytime soon. On the positive side, the place did have good cell coverage with three bars, perhaps the best in the county.
I had to admit Keys had money, or at least a generous banker. His house was a white two-story colonial with a garage on the side. Close to three thousand square feet if I had to guess and he’d have a hard time selling something as pricey as that to a local if he ever needed to.. The red extra wide front door opened as I parked on the driveway and Keys stepped out. HIs ugly yellow tie was gone, but he had replaced it with a white polo shirt with a yellow bee emblem over the left breast. I could never be a salesman. At least I could never be a good one if it meant dressing like that.
“Morning.” I wasn’t sure it was a good morning since I didn’t have the hot shower.
“The back of the house is where they busted in,” he replied, all business.
I followed him over the well trimmed grass and past his F-250 pickup that I was sure he only drove for looks. A wood deck was attached to the back of the house. It was larger than most at maybe another thousand square feet of some kind of wide grey planks with built in seating and black powder coated lawn furniture. Keys had nailed a piece of plywood over one of the French doors that led from the house.
“I paid two grand for these doors. They’ve got special shades in the panes.” He shook his head, “People don’t respect anything.”
I studied the deck, the door, and a few glass shards still laying there. I walked back down off the deck and looked at the hayfield beyond.
Keys spoke from behind me. “Dale, that is, Sheriff Brookshire, thinks they drove across the field. Said you could see tracks. All I know is I’m getting a security system that bites, if you know what I mean, if anybody tries to break in again.”
A ten feet wide swath of the orchard grass was flattened where a vehicle had driven over it. Whoever made it could have come at night with their lights off and with no neighbors around to see them they could have stayed as long as they needed. I thought about it for a moment and finally said, “Let’s have a look inside.”
He led the way, opening the door with the plywood nailed to it. “They rummaged around the place looking for stuff,” Keys told me and pointed at the big cracked HDTV hanging on the wall on the far end of a great room. “Couldn’t get it down so they busted it.” He walked past the smooth granite kitchen countertops to what I assumed was the door to the basement.
The place looked like one of those home shows on TV where everything was perfectly in its place, perfectly matched or deliberately not matched. A green stripe on a throw pillow was color coordinated with regal curtains and the tile over in the kitchen. Oversized leather furniture tried to downplay the scale of the room. He must have given his interior designer a blank check. It was a little sickening. A house not a home.
Keys motioned for me to follow him down the stairs. The wide steps to the basement opened up to almost one big room. On the left was a workshop area with lots of precision hand tools, vices, and metal cabinets. On the right side of the room was a smashed metal door swung slightly open. I examined the multiple dents with my fingertips and then picked up the handle lying on the ground. The room wasn’t much larger than a walk-in closet with shelves on all sides. With the exception of some empty cardboard boxes strewn on the ground it was bare.
“Best metal door and lock I could afford and look at it. Worthless.” His lips wrinkled up like he had eaten something sour and he let out a long sigh. “I sell these special bullets for a living and keep in them in here. They’re called Bee Bullets. They’re made for speed, accuracy, and extreme stinging damage. I’d give you some to try but they got everything I had.” He popped his knuckles slowly on one hand before moving to the next, ready for the thief, I supposed, if they were to enter stupidly at this very moment.
I pulled out my phone and snapped a few pictures and said, “Hope you don’t mind,” but I really didn’t. I slid my finger across the screen a few times and held up the photo I had made of the bullets on the ridge. “Recognize these?”
“Hell yeah, I do!” He shook his head
and gritted his teeth together. “Do you see how the bee imprint has only one wing? They were supposed to have two. It was a manufacturing defect. All of those,” he motioned toward the now empty closet, “are the ones gone. Sonofabitch.” Keys kicked the door and it crashed against the jam and opened again. He turned to face me looking very pissed. “Where’d you get those pictures?”
“I’m working on a case.” I said it slowly like I was talking to stupidest kid in a kindergarten class. Moron. “You were a lead for me before I even saw you with Carol.” Probably nothing good would come from bringing her up.
Keys began pacing and I could see when the imaginary light bulb went off in his head. “You take me for a fool?” he asked looking up at me. “How do I know you didn’t have something to do with the break-in? You’re smart; you could be planting evidence right now. You’re setting me up, aren’t you?” His brain was on a fast moving train running out of tracks. “Get out,” he stormed at me and slung a fat finger back towards the stairway. “Get out! And don’t think I’m not going to tell the sheriff what you’re up to.”
I always claim it’s my charming personality that gets me into situations like this. There are some people you can’t reason with even when you do show them all the facts and like hell was I gonna try and explain the facts to Keys. I looked him straight in the eyes. “Thanks for the tour. Tell Carol hello for me.”
I took the steps slowly, deliberately, daring him to do something and knowing all the while he wouldn’t. I could write a book on stupid and Keys wouldn’t get more than a footnote in it.
###
There were no police cars at Thompson’s farm today. Mooing and bawling greeted my ears as I stepped out of my car. Between the barns I saw a tractor carrying a large round bale of hay on a frontend loader and a group of cows were not far behind. Work on the farm had not stopped with one death. Cows need milking. Calves need feeding. Twenty-four seven three hundred sixty-five.
I leaned back on the front bumper of the car and watched the tractor leading the cow parade up the hill. When it reached the top the driver gently sat the bale down barely avoiding the hungry bovines. With a simple nudge of the bale spear on the loader the driver sent the bale unrolling down the hill like a prankster with the biggest roll of toilet paper you ever saw. The hay bale warbled a little to the left and then back to the right as it got smaller and smaller until it stopped at the bottom almost completely unrolled. There would be no mess to clean up; the cows would make sure of that.