Extreme Justice (12 page)

Prescott ground his teeth together so hard Ben thought he might pop a filling. He pressed himself back under Earl’s nose. “We’ll be back.” He grunted to his two accomplices, then bolted out the door.

Earl turned toward Ben, his eyes wide with amazement. “But—you mean—how—”

Ben waved Earl back into the living room. “Earl, I think it’s time we had a little talk.”

B
EN SPENT THE
first fifteen minutes of their meeting just establishing the essentials: that he really was a bona fide barrister, and that it hadn’t all been an elaborate con to keep Earl out of jail.

Earl’s face was the picture of mystification. “But if you’re this hotshot lawyer and all, what’re you doin’ here?”

“I decided to give up my practice.”

“You gave up bein’ a lawyer so’s you could tickle ivory in a jazz club?”

Ben tried not to squirm. “Not exactly. The point is, I am a lawyer. If you want me to help, I will. Or I’ll help you find another lawyer, if you prefer. It’s up to you.”

“Looks like I need help bad, huh?”

Ben was inclined to agree. “Why don’t you tell me what this is all about?”

“But you were here when it happened.”

“I don’t mean last night. I mean twenty-two years ago. That charcoaled corpse with the carved-on smile.”

Earl winced. Ben could see these were extremely unpleasant memories he was dredging up, not that that was any great surprise. “It’s been so long ago. I’d hoped I’d finally put all this behind me.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben said. “But I think it’s necessary.”

“All right then.” Earl let himself collapse into the chair behind his desk. “You remember yesterday when I mentioned Professor Hoodoo?”

Ben nodded. “The greatest sax player in the Southwest. Before he died.”

“That’s the one.” His eyes went down toward the carpet. “That was Professor Hoodoo you saw in that black-and-white glossy the cop was wavin’ ’round.”

“That was—” Ben stopped himself. “What happened to him?”

Earl shrugged. “I still dunno. But I did twenty-two years hard time for it.”

Ben’s lips parted. “For murder?”

“Right the first time.”

“But you said—”

“And I meant it. I didn’t kill the man. But they nailed me to the wall for it, jus’ the same. Put me away for first-degree murder.”

“But that picture—”

“Burned from head to toe. In his own apartment. There wasn’t much left.”

“Except—”

“Yeah. Except.” Ben knew what they were both thinking. Except for that hideous smile. The same smile someone carved on Lily Campbell. Small wonder Prescott came after Earl. Who would ever dream that two different murderers could have the same horrible M.O.?

“How long had you known this … Professor Hoodoo?”

Earl almost smiled. “Oh, forever. Jus’ about, anyway. George and me’d grown up on the chitlin’ circuit together.” He shook his head. “You know, I was good, but George was—well, he was Professor Hoodoo. He was the best.”

“He played sax, just like you, right?”

“Right. ’Cept, when the Professor blew, the whole world held its breath and gaped in stupefaction. People loved him.”

“Then why—?”

“Did he get killed? Don’t ask me.”

“Did he have any enemies?”

“In a way. You have to understand about George. He didn’t have what you’d call a winnin’ personality. And there was a reason. He’d had a major-league-tough childhood. His brother was the only friend he ever had. His mom was a prostitute. His dad—one of her johns, originally—was the meanest son of a bitch who ever lived. You can’t imagine what it’s like, having a father who always disapproves, always criticizes, always has something mean to say, acts like he thinks you’re the worst worm who ever crawled out of the sludge.”

Ben didn’t bother to correct him.

“It makes a man insecure. And it makes him afraid. ’Fraid he’s doin’ somethin’ wrong. ’Fraid he’s doin’ somethin’ he shouldn’t. He ends up livin’ his whole life tryin’ to make the fear go away. But it never does.” He paused, and his eyes turned inward, not seeing but remembering. “George tried to work his way into the right circles, meet the right set. And he had some success with it. Became the world-famous Professor Hoodoo. Things really started happenin’ for him. He met some highbrow high-society types. And he met some lowbrow lowlifes, too. They kept the jazz world hoppin’ in those days—gangsters, fixers, pushers. All the wrong sorts of friends for a man like George.”

“Surely he got some satisfaction out of his music. After he became a success.”

Earl shook his head slowly back and forth. “Didn’t matter who George met, who he hung out with. It was never enough. Never, never enough. No matter who he was with, he always ended up alone.”

“That’s a shame,” Ben said quietly. “Everyone should have someone.”

“All George had was his music. He gave it everythin’, and it gave him everythin’ back. Everythin’ it had, anyway. Which wasn’t enough.”

“Why did they accuse you of—”

“Of offin’ the Professor? Wrong place at the wrong time, son. Story of my life.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to need some details.”

Earl took a deep breath. “We were makin’ the rounds, playin’ a gig together. Little club not too far from here. I was havin’ a great run—I was in the zone, as they say, firin’ on all engines. I’d come up with a few new tunes that really worked wonders for me. I was gettin’ applause like I’d never heard before.”

“That sounds great.”

“Great for me, yes. For the Professor, no. He was a genius, son, but like most geniuses, he was selfish and insecure. When I started gettin’ popular, he saw it as a threat. And that led to trouble.”

“What happened?”

“George had been in brawls before, usually for the stupidest reasons. Sometimes I thought he wanted to be hurt, maybe even wanted to die. But he’d never picked one with me before. Not till that night, anyway.”

“He started a fight?”

“You got it. Right onstage. Hell, I didn’t want to squabble with the man. I didn’t like that scenario from the jump. But what could I do?”

“He started a fight—just because you were getting rave reviews?”

“Well … that wasn’t the only thing.”

Ben looked at him sternly. “Earl, if I’m going to represent you, you need to tell me everything.”

Earl’s lips thinned. “I ’spect you’ve guessed already. What else would we fight about? A woman.”

“Lily Campbell?”

“You are a smart fellow, ain’t you, Ben? Why didn’t I notice that before?” He grinned, then returned to his story. “Lily was a hot number on the club circuit. Considered very high-tone. An up-and-comer. George had been tryin’ to date her for years, and to everyone’s surprise, he finally had some success. It was never as serious as he liked to think it was, at least not to her. She was a good-time girl, with a wild streak the size of the Grand Canyon. She liked bein’ seen with the famed Professor Hoodoo, but not so much that she stopped messin’ around with some of the other boys. Includin’ me.”

“And George didn’t like that.”

“No, he didn’t care for that one little bit. ’Specially when he caught the two of us buck naked in the orchestra pit. He kept it pent up for a while, but for some reason, when he and I came out onstage that night, somethin’ happened. I dunno—maybe it was too much better livin’ through chemistry. It was like a trigger went off inside his brain. He just exploded.”

“There was a fight?”

“Like you never saw before. We were like prizefighters up there, trying to smash each other’s brains out. Right up where everyone could see. The other boys in the band tried to break us up, and next thing you knew, they were fightin’, too. Some of the audience joined in and—well, it was a right regular brawl. Cops had to come out to break the mess up. But they did break it up, and everyone cooled off, and we all went home. It was over. Or so I thought, anyway.”

“What happened next?”

“What happened was—the next morning, George Armstrong turned up burned to a crispy critter and dead as vaudeville. And about a thousand witnesses recalled seein’ me onstage punchin his lights out, shoutin’ that if he didn’t leave me alone I—” Earl paused.

“You’d kill him?”

Earl nodded grimly. “Those were my unfortunate words. I didn’t mean it, of course—not like that, anyway. But all those witnesses didn’t know that. All they knew was I threatened George, beat him up—and the next day he was dead.”

“You said he had a self-destructive streak. Maybe he killed himself.”

“The thought occurred. But in such a horrible way? In a fire? No, I jus’ can’t believe it. He may have wanted pain, maybe even needed it. But no one needs it so much they set themselves on fire. It ain’t human. And besides, he couldn’ta carved that smile on his own face. It was murder, no two ways about it.”

“So the police arrested you.”

“Did they ever!”

“And the jury found you guilty. I’m surprised you only got twenty-two years.”

“Well, you see, Ben …” He swallowed. “Truth is, there was no trial.”

“What?”

“There was no trial… ’cause I copped a plea.”

Ben stared at him wordlessly.

“It seemed smart at the time. The lawyer they gave me told me it was the best thing I could do for myself.”

“But you said you were innocent!”

“I was. But everyone on God’s green earth thought I was guilty. And what with that big fight and all—well, it just didn’t look too good. I thought I’d get convicted murder one, and if that happened—”

“You’d get the death penalty.”

“A black man in a white town? You know it. The jury would probably be all white. I’d be a goner.” He pressed his two huge fists together. “As far as I could see, my choice was simple. Either plead innocent and die, or plead guilty, do some time, and have a life.”

“After twenty-two years.”

“Yeah. Twenty-two very long goddamn years. And they wouldn’t let me blow my stick the whole time. Not once in all those years I was in the joint. That’s why I don’t play no more, see. It ain’t that I don’t want to. It’s that I can’t. I lost it. Twenty-two years was way too long to go without makin’ music. Whatever I had, I lost.”

Ben felt a horrible aching in the pit of his stomach. What a loss—an irreplaceable loss.

“When I got out of stir, I pulled together everything I had, called in some markers, and bought this place. Maybe I couldn’t play the music anymore, but at least I could surround myself with it.” He smiled slightly. “You know what they say. Those who can, do. Those who can’t buy a club.”

Ben knew he ought to say something, but the words escaped him. He kept dwelling on the loss, what his life would be like if one day the music was all gone, irretrievably gone. It was beyond measure. He couldn’t really conceive of it. All he could do was wallow in the horror of the thought.

He snapped himself out of it, forcing himself back into his investigator role. “Did you and Lily stay together?”

“Aw, hell, no. Soon as the cops got their grubby fingers on me, she was out of there. I never heard a thing from her till she called me up a couple days ago.”

“What did she say?”

“She was in town for a few days and heard through the grapevine that I had a club. Said she’d like to see it.” He paused. “Said she’d like to see me. I knew it was stupid to get my hopes up, after about a million years and all this weight I put on while I was trapped in my closet-sized cell in McAlester. But of course, I did anyway.”

“You were waiting for her last night.”

“I was expectin’ her to turn up, yeah. But not like she did.” His words became tight and bitter. “Not fallin’ like a sack of potatoes off the goddamn light. Not shriveled and cold and with that sick smile cut onto her face.” His head lifted, and Ben saw that his eyes were glistening. “She had such a beautiful smile when she was alive. Everyone said so. But now, I’ll never be able to remember that, never be able to remember her the way she was. Now when I think of her, all I can remember is that grotesque blood-red desecration. That’s all I—I—” His head fell into his hands.

Ben stared at him helplessly. Twenty-two years. And now, just when a little hope had been held out to him, someone snatched it away, replacing it with an all-new horror.

He had to figure out some way to help this poor man. He just had to.

“Well, that’s probably enough for now.” Ben laid his hand gently on Earl’s shoulder. “If you want me to help, Earl, I’ll help. We’ll fight this. I won’t let them railroad you again.”

“You think those cops’ll be back?”

“Yeah. Given the similarity between this murder and the one you pled guilty to, and given that you were at the scene of last night’s murder, and given that Lieutenant Prescott is arrogant, obnoxious, but extremely tenacious … I think you can count on it.”

“How long do I have? Days?”

Ben shook his head. “Hours.”

Earl’s head bowed. “That’s what I thought. You really think you can help me?”

“I can’t guarantee results, but I can promise that I’ll do everything possible to make sure these charges don’t get you another twenty-two in McAlester.”

“But that ain’t all, Ben. I want to know who did this. I want the sick SOB who’s torturin’ me like this, who cut up my beautiful Lily.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You find him, Ben. You find him. And when you do …” Earl raised his eyes toward the ceiling. “God help the bastard.”

T
YRONE SAT AS
quietly as the proverbial church mouse. He wanted to say something, he really did. But how could he?

He hated watching Earl squirm, hated watching that jerkoff cop play with Earl’s head. Earl meant more to him than anyone. He’d been like a father to him—far more than his own father, who he’d only seen twice. He had no complaints against his mother; she’d worked like nobody’s business her whole life, typing for the city during the day and cleaning houses at night. But with all that work and six kids to tend, there was little time for one-on-one with her next-to-youngest. When he dropped out of school after the eighth grade and got a job, she could hardly say no. Education was great, but they needed the money.

Small wonder he fell in with the North Side Hoover Crips, one of the hottest gangs on the Tulsa strip. Everyone he knew was doing it; it was the place to be. The organization was pretty loose; it was more like a family than the Mafia. But he needed a family. For the first time in his life, he felt a part of something, felt surrounded by people who cared about him. And it brought him some cash on the side every now and again, something else he sorely needed. It was a great deal, at least till that cop died in a shoot-out near Earl’s club.