Dead Man Falls (25 page)

"Yeah, right."

He chuckled. "I think I better take you to dinner first."

* * * *

It was nice to have the old Jerry back, and when we pulled up to a local--and highly authentic--Mexican food place out by the hotel, I didn’t hesitate to say what was on my mind. "Didn’t we just have Mexican food at lunch?"

He turned off the car, unhooked his seatbelt and leaned toward me. "First of all, you hardly ate anything at lunch. Second of all, we’re here for old times’ sake." He grinned then turned to open his door. "Just don’t throw up on my car this time, okay?"

I did not honor his comment with a response, just hopped out and headed into the restaurant. I have never been very good with alcohol and he knows it as well as I do. A little bit and I’m having great fun. A little more and I want to take a nap, any more than that and I automatically combust. The pattern had not improved any in the last twenty-five years either.

As we were being shown to our table, Jerry slipped his arm around my waist and whispered, "It was still one of the best nights of my life."

Mine too. I scooted into the booth and he slid in across from me. I was kind of hurt that he didn’t sit beside me, but that would have pretty much eliminated the possibility of my carrying on any kind of intelligent conversation so it was definitely for the best.

The restaurant looked the same as it had the last time I’d been here--when I was seventeen. The booths were still covered in red vinyl, and when the food arrived, it was still amazingly good. I also had no doubts that I could still find a cockroach carcass under the table if I looked, which I did not.

We didn’t discuss the murders or anything remotely serious, and I eventually had him laughing at some of my better wisecracks. We didn’t linger since we had a watchdog in the parking lot, but even with the Redwater Falls police officer watching, Jerry dragged me into the liquor store next to the restaurant and bought a six-pack of Coronas and a couple of limes. Sounded good to me.

Jerry parked the car in the hotel’s underground lot again and the unmarked police car pulled in across from us. We’d given our guard a nice to-go meal of special red tacos and handmade tamales from the restaurant, so that would help him pass the time for a good fifteen minutes--five to eat, ten to clean up the mess. The rest of the night he was on his own. As were we.

We went in through Jerry’s door and he did the standard check of my room. When he came back he went straight to the brown paper sack. "How about a beer?"

I set my gun case and remaining box of bullets on his bed and kicked off my sandals. "You know my history and yet you ply with me alcohol."

He pulled a Swiss army knife from his pocket, popped the tops on two bottles, sliced up the limes and handed me the first drink. "Ah, but I am older and wiser now. I know when to make you stop."

I took the beer, squeezed the lime and popped it in the bottle. "As I recall, you were the one coaxing me into drinking more than I should have."

He toyed with his lime and nodded. "You could be right about that."

"I am right."

He held up his bottle in toast. "To old friends and new memories."

I chinked mine against his. "To new memories. I’m not old." We each took a swig, and stood there for a minute, then I set my bottle on the dresser and walked toward the window. "Can we see the falls from here?"

"Don’t open the drapes, Jolene."

I stopped and turned back toward him. "Snipers?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t want anybody seeing what I’m going to do to you."

Now, he had my attention, but I didn't show it. I just stood there, real calm and cool, waiting to see if he made good on his comment. Okay, that's probably not true, but it sounds better than admitting that I was shocked at his bold statement and more nervous than a seventeen-year-old virgin, which I had been in a very similar situation, except that we’d been in a car parked next to some oil storage tanks.

He set his bottle on the dresser and pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around my waist. "I’ve waited a lifetime for this, Jolene."

I slid my hands up his chest. "Me too."

And then he kissed me, really kissed me. Time seemed to stand still and I have no idea how long we stood there. I do know that I enjoyed every second of it and somewhere in my daze I swear I could hear something that sounded like applause.

Jerry pulled back and snapped his head toward the door.

I sucked in a breath and automatically turned to the door too, realizing that my mental standing ovation was really the door latch rattling. And now, someone was knocking. Loudly.

My heart leaped into overdrive, but about the time I decided I was terrified, my friend Anger came up and kicked me in the chest. The noise had definitely put a scare into me, but now I was leaning more toward being seriously pissed.

"Dammit, Jerry," I said, my heart still beating somewhere outside my chest. "You just tell whoever it is to go away and leave us alone. I don’t care what the latest news is on the case, it can wait until tomorrow. We’ve got things to do."

Another knock, hurried, jittery.

Jerry pushed me back toward the bed, and motioned me behind the wall, away from the short hallway that led to the door. It was about then that I noticed he’d pulled his pistol from his holster.

Well, damn. If Jerry was worried, I darn well better be too. Okay, I could worry, but that didn’t mean I could do anything else--or even know what to do. I gave myself a quick talking to and decided that this was just the reason Jerry got me the gun and the lessons. I’d look pretty stupid, quivering in the corner with a pistol two feet away.

I reached over to the bed, jerked the blue plastic carrying case toward me and snapped it open. I yanked the gun out, trying like hell to remember if I had bullets in the clip or not. My hands shook as I released the clip. It was full so I shoved it back in place, flipped down the safety and chambered a round.

That distinctive chink-chink got Jerry’s attention and he cut his eyes toward me. He didn’t say anything, just put his finger to his lips for me to be quiet--and presumably careful.

Believe me, I was going to be damned careful. Having the little pistol in my hand was both good and bad. I’d readily admit that it gave me a measure of comfort. It also scared the hell out of me.

I double-checked that the safety was off and wrapped my hands around the gun just like Jerry had his, only mine were shaking. Ditto for the knees. The lungs weren’t doing so well either as I had pretty much lost the ability to breathe.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

Jerry moved toward the door, staying close to the wall. He stepped into the doorway of the bathroom, which was only a couple of feet from the door. "Who is it?"

"It’s me, Jerry," a voice rasped. "Russell. Russell Clements. Let me in, man."

Chapter 17

Y

“

ou’re not going to let him in, are you?" I hissed from behind the wall. "As much as I’ve avoided confronting the issue, there really is somebody trying to kill us. It could very well be that drug addict outside the door."

"Go into your room," he whispered to me. "Look through the peep and see if it’s really Russell, if he’s alone and if he’s armed."

No problem--except that I was too scared to move.

Jerry motioned me toward the adjoining door again, and somehow I got my feet scurrying in that direction. Yes, you can be assured that I took the gun with me.

The view from my little hole in the door wasn’t great, but I could see enough of the guy to tell that it was indeed Russell Clements. I couldn’t see anyone else in the hallway, but that didn’t mean much since fifty people could be on either side of what I could see. I ran back into Jerry’s room and took my same position.

"Yeah, it’s him. He’s wearing a tank top with a short-sleeved shirt hanging loose outside it," I whispered. "He could have a gun under his shirt. I just couldn’t tell. I didn’t see anyone else out there, but they could have been down the hall a little farther or against the wall. Dammit, Jerry, we don’t have to open that door. Let’s just call somebody."

Jerry flattened himself against the wall behind the door where he could open it back on himself. "No offense, Russell, but when you walk into this room there are going to be two pistols aimed at your head."

"Oh, yeah, hey, man, that’s okay," he said, sounding more frantic by the second. "I know you’re not gonna shoot me. But damn, Jer, let me in before somebody sees me."

I held my gun around the edge of the wall--just like I’d been taught--and watched Jerry flip the latches and open the door.

Russell Clements rushed in, took two steps, saw me and my Colt, stopped and held up his hands. "Hey, Jolene. Nice pistol."

Jerry closed the door behind him and nudged him face up to the wall. "How’d you know to come here, Russell?"

"I’ve been following you for days, ever since Calvin got whacked. I gotta talk to you, man."

"We’ll get to that," Jerry said, holding his left hand on Russell’s shoulder, keeping him pressed against the wall. "Jolene is going to pat you down now, Russell, just so we can all relax."

"Me?" Yes, it was kind of a squeaky croak, although I am not proud of the fact. "I...I...okay, fine," I muttered.

I flipped the safety up to the on position and stuck the gun in the pocket of my shorts, hoping like hell it didn’t become possessed and do something stupid like shoot my leg off. I walked over to Russell, who looked about the same as he had at the falls the other day, maybe even wearing the same clothes, I couldn’t remember. He smelled like onions and dirt. And I had to touch him. Lovely.

"Good to see you again, Jolene," Russell said, rather politely. "My apologies for my appearance. I don’t usually look like this, but I’ve kinda been hiding out wherever I could."

I mumbled something like "don’t worry about it," took a deep breath and started at Russell’s shoulders.

"Hey, it’s really cool, you two getting together again."

Fat chance of that, apparently. When I finished my distasteful touchy-feely job and pronounced him weaponless, I stepped back so Jerry could direct him into the main part of the hotel room.

"Have a seat over there, Russell," Jerry said, motioning to the leather wingback. "Want a beer?"

Russell sat down and shook his head. "Thanks, man, but I don’t do that anymore. You got any bottled water? I’m parched."

I got a clean glass from the dresser, plopped in a few ice cubes and filled it with water from the bathroom tap and took it to Russell. "This is as good as it gets."

He reluctantly took it and sucked it down in one swig. "This stuff out of the faucet is really bad for you. Once you get used to having it pure, you can taste the chemicals. Same with veggies. Man, I don’t eat nothing but organic anymore."

I guessed it only made sense that Russell would be as fanatical about his new addiction as he had been about his old. Whenever I see an old Cheech and Chong movie, I always think of Russell. Russell could have been a stand-in for Tommy Chong in both looks and drug expertise.

"Glad to hear you’re taking care of yourself," Jerry said, picking up his beer and taking a drink. He’d holstered his gun but his hand was still resting on the grip. "Now, what is it that you have to tell me that you couldn’t call the police or sheriff’s department about?"

Russell frowned a little at that one. "No, offense, Jer, but I didn’t much want to get hauled in by Leroy again. That guy is nuts."

There was something we could agree on. I sat on the edge of the bed farthest from Russell, my hand in my pocket. "If you’ve been watching Jerry, then you must know there are several police officers here at the hotel as well." And just what were they doing, sleeping? "You could already be under arrest." If they’d noticed.

Russell nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yeah, Jolene, I saw ‘em. Real good idea, having them watching out, but I was real careful."

I looked away before I rolled my eyes. If our lookout in the garage didn’t think a scraggly-looking guy in a wild Hawaiian shirt and sandals was suspicious, we were in big trouble. "Russell, why are you here?"

He looked at me like it was perfectly obvious. "Because of Calvin, of course."

Jerry pulled out the desk chair and sat down. "What about Calvin?"

"Well, you know I worked for him, right?" When Jerry shook his head that he certainly didn’t know, Russell continued. "Not many people knew it I guess, but after I got out of rehab a couple of years ago, Calvin gave me a job when nobody else would. Taught me how to work on appliances." He sighed and shook his head. "Do you know that at least fifty percent of the problems with a dryer can be cured just by cleaning out underneath it? Man, it’s real simple, but hardly anybody ever does it."

Jerry rubbed his hand across his face. "Calvin hired you to work for him, and?"

"Oh, yeah. Don’t really know why he did it. We weren’t ever friends in high school or anything." He grinned. "‘Least I don’t think we were, anyway, that time’s kinda hazy."

Jerry took another sip of beer. "Your father said you worked at the all-night Wal-Mart."

He nodded. "Oh, I do, or did, until a few days ago. I’m gonna get fired for not showing up. And now with Calvin dead and all, I won’t have any job at all."

Jerry set his beer aside. "Are you here because you think somebody wants to kill you?"

Good one, right to the point. Now, if we could only get a to-the-point answer.

"Well, yeah," Russell said, a definite hint of "duh" in his voice. "I’m thinking we got some bad shit going down, and I don’t want to be anywhere around."

Even the ever-patient Jerry was growing weary of the game. "We can’t guess about this all day, Russell. Who do you think wants to kill you? Start talking and make it good."

Russell reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded yellow paper, then handed it to Jerry. "Calvin gave this to me the day before he was killed. Told me to get it to you if anything happened to him. And that’s what I’m doing. That’s why I’m here. It was, like, cosmic, him telling me that and then getting killed. Man, it’s like the universe is telling me something."