Hot Enough to Kill (31 page)

"Let's get him in here so we can torture him," I whispered to my mother, figuring that sort of thing would appeal to her. I didn't mean it, but I was catching on to what appealed to my mother.

I figured right because Lucille nodded and said good idea.

I let Dewayne in and closed the door behind him, locking it this time, just in case there was someone else waiting out in the mesquites.

The big old hairy gorilla mother had pointed out to me at BigJohn's funeral wasn't laughing now. In fact, he looked genuinely nervous--scared even. The bruises around his neck--and knowing how they got there--added an eerie touch that sent a shiver up my back. He wasn't the walking dead, and I had to remember that. He was very much alive and well and quite able to overpower both of us. From the hunted look on his face, however, I had to believe his comment about being on the run. But why, and from whom?

Aside from the obvious official types, there were only a few living possibilities, Fletch and Leroy being the most obvious. I guess one way was to just flat-out ask him. But where were my manners? Having made the decision to get him in the house, I figured we ought to make him feel right at home. It might even make him amenable to telling us who was on the loose in the mesquites with a pistol and a bad attitude. That plan assumed, of course, that the lunatic on the loose was someone other than Dewayne. I motioned to the glass table. "Have a seat, Mister Schuman. Can I get you a drink?"

Lucille followed us to the table, keeping her gun pointed at Dewayne, social niceties not being her main concern at the moment. "I thought you said we were going to torture him."

I glanced at Dewayne who was looking even more nervous. "Do you want something to drink?"

He sat down, his big dark eyes darting between Lucille and the little red dot from her gun that danced around the table and his chest. Dewayne apparently had a healthy and professional appreciation for a Glock with a laser sight. He swallowed and looked at me rather pitifully. "I'll take anything you've got."

I ran down the list of beverages, saving the best for last. He looked a little uneasy requesting a beer, but I had one on the table before he actually had to say anything. He unscrewed the top and downed the thing in one long swig. After he finished, he set the bottle on the table and said, "I don't know where to start with all this."

"Well, I do," I said, determined to cut to the chase. "Who's after you, and is it the same person who's trying to kill us?"

Dewayne's big gorilla eyes got bigger and he shook his curly head furiously. "I swear, I don't know who's after you two."

"Now, Dee-Wayne, that's not what you said before we let you in."

"I know, Miz Jackson, but I had to get in here. I just had to."

"Why is that?"

He looked down at the table. "I guess you know I'm on the run from the police."

"Because you faked your suicide?"

He shook his head. "No, I meant to kill myself, but I didn't count on that board breaking. I got my share of troubles, you know."

Yes, and they'd be significantly worse if murder was involved. "Did you kill BigJohn?"

Dewayne frowned and shook his head again. "I ain't a killer. Oh, I get riled up now and again, but I usually just punch something and feel better. I ain't never killed nobody that I know of. Besides, me and BigJohn were partners."

"Partners?"

"We had several deals going." He sighed and caressed the empty bottle of beer. "It's kind of a long story."

And complex and convoluted, no doubt. I had seen the canary yellow invoice, which was no doubt just the tip of iceberg. "Okay, we'll get back to your deals in a minute. Why did you try to hang yourself?"

Dewayne expelled a burp and then another big long sigh, and rubbed his huge hands over his face. Besides the attempted suicide, he looked like he hadn't slept in days--not a healthy combination in anybody's book. "They were gonna frame me."

I wanted to ask who "they" were again, but if I got pushy, I might get nothing. "Somebody was going to frame you for BigJohn's murder?"

"And other stuff."

"The gun dealings?"

He nodded. "And I knew once they started snooping into things, they'd find out about my partners."

"Partners? Who besides the dead mayor?"

"I don't know exactly." He glanced at me, saw my skeptical expression and continued on. "BigJohn dealt with the main man himself. I never met him and never wanted to. All I did was get the shipments in, sell some to my friends when I felt like it, and send the special orders on where I was told."

"What kind of special orders?"

"Nothing that bad, really. I fixed up a case of SKSs now and again, but mostly just regular stuff."

"Fixed up, meaning modified into automatic assault rifles?"

"It can be done, all legal-like if you want."

I didn't know whether you could or couldn't, but if having an automatic assault rifle was legal it had to involve reams of paperwork. I took the generic route. "Except you didn't have a license."

He shrugged. "Kind of hard for an ex-con to get one."

No kidding.

Now, as best I could tell, BigJohn and ape-man here were about as sharp as eggs. I just couldn't see how either of them, alone or in tandem, could have set up or managed such an elaborate scheme. "It seems to me that you were sort of the distribution center for this deal."

He nodded.

"What did that make BigJohn? He wasn't a saint in anybody's book, but this sounds a little bold for a small-time mayor to try to pull off."

"Well, maybe, but I think he was more of a go-between. I kinda think he was just doing what he was told, just like me. I think he was afraid not to."

Another blackmail? Sounded like it, and frankly, it was beginning to put my brain on spin dry. I couldn't tell the blackmailers from the blackmailees, primarily because they took on both roles, depending upon who they were in bed with at the time. "Was Calhoon Fletcher involved in any of this?"

"Fletcher? Man, I don't have nothing to do with Calhoon Fletcher. I ain't real bright, so folks tell me, but I'm smart enough to know better than to mess with a county commissioner, I'll tell you for sure."

I had no idea if he was lying or not, but I proceeded onward, in case he said something that sounded semi-pertinent. "What about Gifford?"

"Me and Giff go way back. I do work for him every now and again. Little jobs mostly."

"So, exactly who
is
after you, Dewayne?"

He scrunched up his face and shook his head. "I don't know for sure. I think it may be BigJohn's partner."

Why, was my next question, but I didn't think he was telling the truth anyway so I went a different direction. "So what was the deal with the carports? Why was it so important that they had to be turned into garages?"

His scowled lightened a little and he almost grinned. "That was mostly BigJohn's idea. We was getting worried that we looked too chummy in public. Folks might get suspicious. Besides, them carports are kinda ugly."

I did not groan, but I did sigh, heavily. The tag-team screw-ups had just made things harder for themselves. "Thing is, Dewayne, that carport-garage fiasco was that very thing that made people suspicious of you after BigJohn was murdered."

"I know," he said sadly, kind of like a little boy who'd broken a window with his baseball and knew he had to fess up. "But it did seem like a good idea at the time. I never figured it'd just make people think I killed him over stupid carports."

He was getting a little teary-eyed, and I didn't want him to have a breakdown or clam up, so I tried to keep him talking. "Do you remember anyone coming in the house yesterday, while you were upset, and, well, when you were, um..."

"Trying to hang myself?"

I nodded. "Yes."

He snorted. "I surely do. I hadn't no more than hit the floor when that Miz Bennett and Miz Fossy came storming into the house. I wasn't out or anything, I was just laying there on the floor, thinking about what a screw-up I am. Couldn't even kill myself right."

Saying, "well, you did your best," seemed inappropriate, so I quizzed him about the odd couple. "So what did the ladies say and do?"

"Praying and wailing, mostly. I was going to stop them until Miz Fossy started in saying what an awful person I was and how I deserved to die, God's will, and all that. Miz Bennett didn't say much except 'amen' and 'Jesus saves' and such. I was getting a little upset that they didn't even come over to check on me, or notice I was alive. To tell you the truth, I got kinda mad. I was thinking about hopping up and telling them that I'd risen from the dead to see how they'd like that, but Larry Harper came strutting in, so I just laid real still and kept my eyes and mouth closed. Gotta wonder about folks sometimes. He didn't even check on me either."

I didn't know what to tell Dewayne about the merry little crowd that had come to his almost-hanging. None of them sounded too concerned about a fellow human being, but maybe you had to be there.

Lucille, who had apparently been silent long enough, lifted the gun from her lap, where I guess she had been holding it pointed at Dewayne, and propped it gently on the glass table. "Why are you really here, Dee-Wayne? And don't give me any fool nonsense about partners and carport crap."

He looked at Lucille. "I need a place to hide."

Mother tapped a long plastic nail on the Glock. "Staying with us isn't gonna help you much. I shot at Leroy yesterday."

Dewayne's big old bushy eyebrows shot up and his black eyes widened. "You shot at Leroy? With that gun?"

Lucille nodded. "He was chasing us all across the countryside and I'd just plain had enough. He just kept coming and coming, and Jolene was going just as fast as her car would go. They put governors on them now, you know. Mine used to shut right off at a hundred."

Dewayne frowned. Apparently he didn't know about this shutdown thing either. Either that or he was trying to envision Lucille hanging out the window shooting at Leroy. It did sort of leave one speechless.

"I got no place to go, Miz Jackson," he said to Lucille. "I came out here, thinking it ought to be safe for a while. I figured nobody even knew about this place except BigJohn, me, my sister, and of course you two. But I didn't even think about you being here. BigJohn's dead so he sure wasn't going to show up, and I figured you two were still being guarded by deputies, and my sister's got her own troubles to keep her busy, so no reason for her to come out here, not that it'd matter about her."

"So Susan did do some of the remodeling work out here?"

"Oh, yeah, that Sue, she's real smart. Best electrician and plumber I ever had working for me. Dang good with tile, too. "You know of her?"

"I met her yesterday. She was worried about you. Wanted me to ask a deputy to check on you since they wouldn't listen to her. They wouldn't listen to me either, so I went over to your place to see if I could help. But I was too late, or so I thought."

"Sue's always worrying about me for one reason or another. I worry about her, too, even though she don't think so. I think she just don't want nobody nosin' into her affairs."

He looked at me as if he wanted to say something more. If he was going to try to convince me that it didn't matter about Susan's preference in mates, that she was still a good person, he could save his breath. I'd given that speech so many times in the last few days I knew it by heart. "You don't have to explain a thing to me, Dewayne. I've met Amy and I know the story. They seem happy about their situation, and I don't see that it's anybody's business but theirs."

He nodded. "Most folks don't look at it that way. But Sue's got lots of good things going for her. She works on all my houses, doing whatever needs done. Helps me run my business, too. Heck, I wouldn't be in business if it weren't for her. She's got a knack for working things out."

He was obviously proud of his sister's talents, and rightfully so. "She also works at the new lumberyard, right?"

"Yes, ma'am, that too. But just part time." He winked. "She works there so we get a discount on supplies."

Oh, well, wasn't that clever, a discount. Silly me, I was still grappling with the human terms in all this. "You do know that Jerry Don Parker and I are old friends, don't you?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I think everybody knows that. Sue said Amy sure did. Kind of a funny triangle or maybe a rectangle, everybody wanting who they ain't got. Amy wanting Jerry, Jerry wanting you, and Sue wanting Amy, but Amy wanting Sue too. Kind of just squirrels up your head if you think about it."

No kidding. And I had been thinking about this stuff way too long. My brain was twisting up in knots directly behind my eyeballs. I turned to Mother. "Do you have any aspirin or something?"

"In the bathroom cabinet, honey. Help yourself."

Dewayne got a funny look on his face, so I felt obliged to ask him if he wanted a pain reliever as well. He declined but asked to use the facilities when I'd finished.

I excused myself, grabbed a glass from the kitchen and went in search of serious headache relief. I opened the mirror-fronted cabinet and hit the jackpot. I had my choice of acetaminophen, ibuprofen and back pills.

My mother had a long and varied list of ailments that cropped up when necessary, but she did not have a bad back. Out of what can only be a perverse streak, I picked up the bottle to see how many pills were in it. And yes, I couldn't help but wonder if the back pills were a pre or post almost-event medication. I set my ugly thoughts aside and put the bottle back on the shelf, then grabbed the ibuprofen. When I moved the bottle, a rounded edge of shiny chrome caught my eye. I pushed aside the next bottle and saw a lock. A little shiny lock that looked like it might fit just right with the little shiny key on the table.

On closer inspection of the cabinet, I realized that the thing was not recessed fully into the wall as it should have been. And furthermore, the side nearest the door--and less likely to be noticed--was hinged. It looked like if you put the key in the lock and unlatched it, the whole cabinet would swing out of the way. To reveal what? Money was my first guess. Lots of money was my second. And that, was the first reason for him being here that made any sense at all. Damn.