Benefit of the Doubt: A Novel (7 page)

“That’s a real nice attitude for you take, but in this business it’s all about risk and reward. You know what I’m sayin’?”

The man shook his head back and forth. He used his thick tongue to wet his lips; a layer of sweat had formed along the edge of his red do-rag. McKenzie looked on and estimated he might be nineteen or twenty. Too bad.

“You see that car, Eldon?” McKenzie jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s the reward of this life. You, on the other hand, you’re the risk.”

McKenzie had been bent at the waist to speak through the window. He stood up, pulled his weapon, and fired two quick shots dead center into Eldon’s chest. The man was dead before the echoing sound of gunfire even cleared the air.

McKenzie finished his conversation with Tyrone’s now silent partner. “You gotta eliminate the risks, Eldon.”

McKenzie turned and saw Tyrone standing statue still, mouth hanging open, arms stiff at his sides. The bag slipped from his fingers and fell with a soft thud onto the asphalt.

McKenzie laughed. “Shit, Tyrone. You’re damn near white.”

McKenzie’s gun went back to his jacket but with his hand still around it. He wanted Tyrone to know he wasn’t planning to kill him, but it was a possibility.

“That shit is on you,” he said. “Now maybe you’ll be a bit more mindful about the serious nature of our arrangement.”

McKenzie closed in on Tyrone, who still stood like a stone.

“Listen up, homes. From now on your name is ‘Alone-Tyrone,’ you hear me? You don’t need to be reestablishing your old lifestyle. I got enough to worry about without you adding to the mix.” He picked up the bag and jammed it hard into Tyrone’s chest. “Now get your ass down to Beloit and sling that shit. I’ve taken care of the competition. The market is wide-open. You should be able to move it pretty quick.”

Tyrone stared at the dead man in his car. McKenzie reached out and gave the drug dealer an openhanded cuff to the face.

“Answer me, Tyrone. I need to know you hear me on this shit, boy.”

“I … Jesus Christ … it’s cool, McKenzie.” Tyrone looked as if he might pass out on the spot, but he held it together. “Shit … I get it, dog. You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.”

McKenzie sauntered to his car and revved the Trannie’s engine to full strength. His cell phone buzzed, and like before he looked at the blocked number and punched Ignore. With the window lowered, he called out to Tyrone, who was still hugging the bag with both arms as if it were a security blanket, staring at the corpse in his car.

“There’s a rest stop on the Fifty-one just before you get to Beloit. Dump your boy there. I’ll see that state patrol picks him up and that the investigation ain’t all that inquisitive. Now get your ass outta here and stay off the radar. I’ve got another half a kilo ready to go out, so get on it.”

McKenzie punched the accelerator, kicking up rock and sand and fishtailing away without waiting for an answer. He still had three more stops to make, and dealing with Tyrone had put him behind schedule. The voice mail alert went off on his cell. McKenzie didn’t bother to listen.

“Fuck you, Sawyer. You ain’t the only one with a crew to run.”

SIX

The woman took a deep drag from his Pall Mall and passed it back, stained red with caked lipstick. Harlan made no effort to conceal his irritation. Thick smoke floated above the bed and mixed with the stale odors of a room that he figured, like the hooker, was most profitable when rented by the hour. She raised her arms above her head to stretch, and Harlan took in the sight as she arched her back so all that touched the dingy cotton sheets were the bottoms of her tiny feet, the smooth blades of her shoulders, and the cheeks of her round perfection. In terms of her vocation, Harlan believed she had chosen wisely.

“Give me another drag.” She reached out, but Harlan snatched the cigarette away, his elbow striking hard against her bare breast.

“Back off, bitch. For what I’m payin’, you can buy your own damn smokes.”

“Jeez. You got a mean streak.”

She clutched her chest in pain, and Harlan surmised she was unaccustomed to such rough treatment. A genuine and verifiable redhead, she’d earned her wages and then some, although probably not under the cordial relations she preferred. Harlan sensed her intent to wrap things up and be on her way. He had other plans, and he spoke to correct her thinking.

“I’m gonna finish
my
smoke in peace. Then we’ll get back it at. Go clean up some. I want it fresh.”

“This ain’t no all-you-can-eat buffet. You want another helping, it’ll cost you.” Harlan saw her calculating the dollars against what she must know would be another rough ride. He could almost see the price going up.

“Don’t worry about the money. You’ll get what you earn, but right now you carry the stink of used whore. I said, clean up.”

“You’re an asshole,” she mumbled as she strolled naked to the bathroom, massaging her still-aching breast. “Why don’t you watch some TV or something? You need to relax.”

Harlan took her advice and flipped through the channels, stopping when he came to a news broadcaster talking about the arrest of a local businessman. Sitting up in bed, he listened closely as the reporter spoke of a federal investigation that led to the arrest of Henry Lipinski, owner and operator of Big Henry Used Auto Sales. The reporter mentioned that Lipinski was a former law enforcement officer; his arrest was sending shock waves throughout the community of Chippewa Falls. The twenty-two-year-old prostitute stepped out of the bathroom, dripping wet from the shower and wrapped in a towel. She looked on as a disheveled, irate man was roughly shoved into a police car by several uniformed officers.

“Hey, I know him. That’s Big Henry. He’s one of my regulars.” She sat on the edge of the bed, and her towel dropped to her waist.

The reporter continued, “Hundreds of pornographic images have been retrieved from the computers of Lipinski’s auto dealership, and according to authorities, there is ample evidence that Lipinski is associated with a child pornography operation that may have spanned the country and beyond.”

“Aw, Jeez. I just can’t believe that. Wow. He didn’t seem like that kind of a guy to me.” The sympathy in her voice touched a nerve, and Harlan felt his anger start to build.

“Yeah? Well, last last I checked, dick-smokin’ hookers don’t get picked for jury duty. Maybe you could be like a character witness or something.”

She pulled up her towel and spoke with what Harlan figured was her attempt to change the tone. “I guess you just never know about people, huh? He sure fooled me.”

“I guess you don’t.” His attention was drawn away from her and back to the screen. “He don’t look all that smug now, does he? Ask me, he looks scared shitless.”

She slid up close, smelling of soap, and began to work him with her hands. Harlan went on, “Yeah. He’s a son of a bitch, all right. Former sheriff Henry Lipinski of Florence County, Wisconsin. He and few of his associates locked my ass up for life. At least that’s how they had it figured.”

“Wow. Prison, huh? That explains a lot.” There was admiration in her voice. She teased him with her tongue. “It don’t seem to have hurt you any.”

“I did seventeen years in their bullshit joint and I coulda done another seventeen. They ain’t gonna take nothin’ out of me I don’t wanna give ’em.” He gestured to the television. “But this jerk-off? He’s going to the joint as a cop and a kiddie-porn dealer. They’re gonna have fun with him. I give ’im a year tops.”

She looked at the screen, her expression and tone of voice betraying her sympathy for the arrested man. “I don’t know. Times I was with him, he seemed like a real gentleman.”

“He ain’t gonna be nobody’s gentleman now. Give ’im a couple months, and I wager he’ll be downright giddy to suck a cock just to avoid the alternative.”

She scrunched her face at the crude image, then looked up from her kneeling position with doubt in her eyes. “How come you know so much?”

“’Cause I set his ass up. That prick is going down because of me.” He glared. “Sorry if that’s gonna fuck up your weekly earning capability.”

She slowed her work, and Harlan, already regretting his own loose tongue, knew she was considering the exchange. A john who spoke so loose was trouble, especially one careless enough to boast about his misdeeds. She looked at him, and he gave her a hard stare.

“You’ve got a pryin’ nature considerin’ your line of work.” He pushed down hard on the back of her head. “Just shut up and get at it. I gotta get on the road.”

Her hands shook with nervousness, and he knew she sensed danger closing in. She backed off and her voice cracked with fear.

“You can have whatever you want. I won’t charge you. It’s okay. I don’t even know your name.”

Harlan said nothing, knowing he had already run his mouth plenty. He’d fucked up and he knew it. No question what had to be done, but no reason to interrupt the girl’s work. She practically read his thoughts, and tears welled in her eyes before she finished him off with her mouth.

He lay back for a moment, spent, eyes shut. He felt her slide from the bed and knew she was trying for her clothes. She didn’t get three feet before he grabbed her by the hair and threw her onto the bed. Her skull banged sharply on the wooden headboard. Before she could scream, Harlan brought a pillow down hard over her face. A ruthlessness overtook him and the menace in his voice surprised him.

“So he’s a little gentleman friend of yours, huh? What are the odds of that? I pick up a streetwalkin’ whore who’d stoop so low as to fuck that fat piece of shit.”

Her screams were stifled, but it took his full weight to keep her on the bed. For a small gal she demonstrated a good bit of scrap. She flailed at the air for a moment as if to get her bearings, then balled up her fist and delivered a blow flush on his chin.

Harlan laughed, unhurt but impressed by her effort. He put his full weight on the hand holding the pillow and reached for his backpack with the other. She must have heard the rip of the holster’s Velcro, and that brought on a whole new reaction. Her muffled screams grew more intense, and Harlan felt the violence of her kicks that were strong enough to elevate her entire body off the bed. He held firm.

Harlan kept up the smothering weight and then added a tight circle of pressure just about where he figured the bridge of her nose would be. She stopped thrashing and raised her arms. Her muffled screams turned to desperate sobs. Harlan picked up on her attempts to beg but couldn’t take a chance on anything more merciful than a quick end. When he pulled the trigger, Harlan figured at worst she heard the muffled crack, but more than likely she didn’t feel a thing.

SEVEN

It took several seconds for the tension to ease from his arms, and his breath was labored. After a moment’s pause, Harlan pulled back the pillow and looked at the dead woman’s shattered face. The bullet had caved in her forehead around a star-shaped hole big enough to stick his finger in, and he resisted a perverse desire to do just that. The body convulsed more than he thought it would, but he told himself the whore was dead. No one could live through an injury as traumatic as that. Sure enough, her legs and arms went still and her wide-open eyes were fast going dull.

The rashness of his action concerned him. This was an unplanned kill brought on by the woman’s comments about Lipinski and, to a lesser degree, her overall irritating disposition. He gazed up at the mirrored ceiling and spoke to himself in a placid tone. “Keep this shit up and you’ll be locked up by the end of the week.”

Giving no thought to panic, Harlan sat on the bed next to the dead prostitute and planned his exit. The gun had been effectively silenced, muffled by the pillow. He took a fistful of hair and lifted her head. The exit wound in the back of her skull meant the bullet was likely buried somewhere deep in the mattress. It’d take some effort and luck to find it. “Fuck all that diggin’ around.”

She had picked the hotel and was probably a regular. No one would come looking for the room for a few more hours. He hadn’t been seen at check-in. The car in the parking lot was stolen from the next town over but clean of prints. He dug through her purse and smiled. Not only did he recover his own money but three hundred on top of it.

“No surprise there, sister. You were a talent.” He gave her a hard swat on her bare ass and stood.

Harlan spent ten minutes wiping down anything he might have touched, all the while carrying on a one-way conversation with the silent girl in bed, explaining how it was he’d come to be so ill-tempered. He stuck the bottle of Wild Turkey into his backpack and dropped the drinking glass onto the hard floor, shattering it into thousands of unprintable shards. He stopped to consider the body and thought for a moment, hands on his hips.

“Bottle of whiskey is one thing, but I sure can’t be takin’ you along with me.”

An idea came to him, and he carried the nude, lifeless prostitute to the bathroom. She dripped blood heavily along the way, but Harlan was cautious where he stepped. Small, she slid into the damp tub with room to spare. Harlan took hold by the scruff of her neck and pulled down on the jaw, opening her mouth to its full extension. The head lolled back and forth, making him lose his grip.

“Hold still, bitch.” His voice was low and lightly laced with affection.

Harlan turned the tap on full force, shooting water down her throat. Membrane and tissue bubbled out past her lips and cheeks; some pieces got caught in her open eyes and long hair. Harlan canted the head back and forth to clear away the more sizable chunks. Much of the water followed a path to the large exit wound, where it ran out red, then rose, and finally clear. For the mirth value he shot some water through the bullet hole before returning to her mouth and counting off another thirty seconds. He was amused to discover that he actually filled her. Her stomach bloated out and water gushed from the gaping mouth like a sheared-open fire hydrant.

“That oughta rid ya of anything I left swimmin’ around.” He looked the corpse up and down. “Glad I didn’t go pokin’ around the rest of ya unsheathed. That’d been a mite more difficult situation to deal with.”