Pawnbroker: A Thriller (6 page)

Chapter 19

At home that night, Abby was snippy with me again, acting like this whole affair was my fault. “You know, your attitude sure has changed since that first day when you were so relieved I wasn’t hurt, Abby.”

“This thing has turned my life upside down, Gray. Everywhere I go, people are staring at me like I have the plague or something.”

“Your life? In case you haven’t noticed, they want to ship me off to Parchman, and I haven’t done anything!”

“Never mind,” she said, then got up and left the room. I kicked back in my recliner and rubbed my temples, trying to get at the throbbing, failing. She was acting like a purebred bitch and I wanted to unload on her, but I had decided not to confront her over Bobby Knight. Not until I could gather hard evidence. I loved her and losing her would be painful, but I had no intention of going into divorce court without the advantage. I now regretted leaving that voice mail, but even if Bobby had gotten it, even if he had told her about it, if I played dumb on it with Abby, she’d get sloppy and I’d nail them.

Chapter 20

COURTYARD MARRIOTT, SUITE 135

MONTELLO, MISSISSIPPI

Mitchell didn’t like the arrogant sonofabitch. Never had. Always talking about how backward Mississippi was, as if he’d be more than a piss-ant anywhere else. Everything about him rubbed Mitchell raw. But, Ricky Ballard was the boss, and not just of this. He ran this county and everything in it. All Mississippi counties have sheriffs and all the towns have chiefs of police. Montello had one, but he was chief in name only. Sheriff Ricky Ballard came and went as he pleased in not only the Pontocola County Sheriff’s office, but the Montello Police Department, as well. He was the law in his county, as his father had been before him, and it was advisable to remember that. Mitchell was damn sure smart enough not to cross the psychotic bastard.

“They’ve scheduled an autopsy in the morning,” Mitchell said.

“How do you propose to stop it?” Ballard said.

“I got Bobby Knight working on it right now.”

The man’s ever-present flunky, a huge idiot named Docker, snorted. “Boy scout.”

“Bobby will do fine,” Mitchell said.

“It’s your ass if he screws up,” Ballard said.

“He won’t.”

Ballard pulled a pen from his pocket and wrote something on a hotel notepad, tore it off and handed it to Mitchell. “Call me immediately when this matter is resolved.”

Mitchell looked at it, nodded. He stood, hitched up his pants, and headed for the door. Just as his hand touched the knob, Ballard spoke again.

“You don’t like me, do you?”

Mitchell froze, his hand on the knob. What the hell kind of question was that? And what to say to it? I hate your fucking guts, you smug cocksucker? “Why you say that?” he finally said.

“Don’t worry, Mitchell. It doesn’t matter. But if you ever betray me...well...I’m told I have something of a reputation, so you probably understand the consequences. Now get out.”

*          *          *

Mitchell splashed cold water on his face, dried it with a paper towel, then rubbed the damp towel over his neck, front and back, trying to kill the sweat. The sick fuck had a reputation, all right. Mitchell knew exactly what had happened to at least one guy who pissed him off. They’d found him in the woods fifty miles from nowhere, hanging upside down from a tree limb, a steel rod through his ankles, skinned and gutted like a field-dressed deer. Sounded like bullshit to Mitchell, but Bobby had checked it out, said it was true. Said when it came to business, the guy had zero mercy, which was why he was called “the Machine.”

“Get a hold of yourself,” Mitchell said into the mirror. “You ain’t gonna cross him, and you’re also gonna watch your back, so fuck him.” He was feeling better now, getting his confidence back. That sonofabitch had just freaked him out for a few minutes, that’s all. Fuck Ballard. Fuck the Machine.

Chapter 21

“Some woman for you,” Abby said, jabbing the phone at me and stomping off. I paused the DVD and shook my head in wonder at her audacity, then answered the phone. “Hello?”

“You realize the coroner here isn’t even a doctor?” Penny said.

“It’s an elected post, about the same requirements as justice of the peace.”

“None?”

“Exactly. What’s up?”

“They’re sending a medical examiner up from Jackson to handle the autopsy. He’ll be in sometime tonight and he’s doing the autopsy first thing in the morning at the hospital.”

“And the report?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. We’re entitled to it, and if we get any resistance, Lucas will be here.”

“Okay, anything else?”

“That covers it. You doing okay?”

“Got my girls in my lap, a movie on the screen, and a big bowl of popcorn.”

“Sounds like the life.”

“You bet. See you in the morning, Penny.”

Chapter 22

Penny had trouble on her face when she walked into the shop the next morning with Lucas Benton in tight tow. He looked pristine, unflappable.

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“I met the M.E. this morning,” Penny said, “hoping he’d give me the gist of his findings so we’d have something to go on while waiting for the report.”

“And?”

“He didn’t do the autopsy.”

“Why not?”

“Johnny’s body went missing last night.”

Lucas was straightening his tie, or more likely just enjoying looking at himself, in the mirror we keep atop the jewelry showcase. “Gray,” he said, “do you have a troubled history with the police department here?”

“Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?”

“Well, yes, I guess I do.”

“Explain.”

“I’ve butted heads a number of times with Tommy Mitchell, the detective in charge of this investigation.”

“Over what?”

“He’s an arrogant bastard who tries to run roughshod over my rights as a pawnbroker. Shows up here, wants to take allegedly stolen merchandise away from me without following due process.”

“I see.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. I like to understand all I can about a case, the dynamics of personality that may be involved, and it’s becoming more evident by the day that the local authorities have a somewhat visceral disdain for you.”

“You do understand,” I said, “that this is very different from Memphis, right?”

“In what way?”

“It’s a small town in rural Mississippi. Things don’t always work like they do in big cities.”

Lucas chuckled. “Every city, from the tiniest village to the most thriving metropolis, has its politics, Gray. I’ve seen it at every level. But it makes it really difficult when someone is personally at odds with the structure of an entity.”

I nodded, not entirely sure what he was trying to say. Structure? I also pondered whether I should tell them about Abby and Knight. After all, the latest raid had taken place the day after I left the “I know” message in his voice mail. I decided against it. There was also a minor history between Ballard and me. It was minor to me, at least, and I sure hoped he didn’t still have it stuck in his craw. I decided to keep that to myself for the moment, as well.

“Where’s your assistant, Ling Foo?”

“LungFao called in sick this morning. I have the shop to myself.” The door chimed and a customer stepped in. “Excuse me for a moment.”

As I left to take care of the customer, Penny tapped Lucas on the shoulder and motioned him toward the back of the store. He followed.

“Could I help you?” I said to the customer.

“I need to pawn a ring.”

“Okay, let me see what you have.” She handed me a gold ring with seven tiny, industrial-grade diamonds, a quality level I call Frozen Spit. “How much you trying to get?”

“I needs a hundred dollars.” I tried not to roll my eyes but it probably happened by reflex. “Ma’am, I retail rings like this for twenty dollars. I can loan you ten, though.”

“Ten dollars?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Shit, you crazy.”

“Have a good day, ma’am.” I handed her ring back and walked away. Damn LungFao and his stomach virus. The customer left in a huff, muttering nasty things about me all the way out.

“What do we do now?” I said toward the back of the store where Lucas and Penny were. I walked that way and when I neared the back I noticed that Penny looked seriously unhappy.

“If you do, I quit,” she said to Lucas.

“Is there something I should know?” I said.

“Lucas is trying to worm his way out of this case. I told him if he does, I quit.”

“Don’t threaten me, Miss Lane. You can be replaced.”

“What are you talking about?” I said to Lucas. “I’ll have the retainer this week, and I’ll pay your bill when this is over. What’s the problem?”

“It’s not an issue of money, Gray.”

“Then just what is the issue, Lucas?” I said.

“The issue,” Penny said, “is that these damn snake lawyers all stick together and sell out their clients when it suits their purposes.”

“Now you jus—”

“Go to hell, Lucas!” she said. “Here’s what’s going on, Gray. Some lawyer friend of Lucas’s here in your town, who’s obviously in bed with the local authorities, has asked him to pull out and leave you hanging. Just one more bit of pressure the local system is bringing to bear on you, and I won’t let him do it.”

Lucas the Unflappable was flapping. His ears were cherry red, his lips drawn into a narrow, angry line. “You, Miss Lane, do not dictate to me what I can and cannot do.”

“Fine. Let me put it this way, Lucas. If you don’t stay on this case and give it your very best effort, then I just might want to have a little talk with Mrs. Lucas Benton about all these out-of-town cases of yours. Girl to girl, you understand.”

“You bitch,” he hissed.

“Get cracking, Lucas. You have a case to prepare for.”

Chapter 23

Lucas seemed to withdraw his thoughts of withdrawal and asked for a copy of the search warrant from the day before. After he left, traffic picked up in the shop and got hard for me to handle by myself. I called Abby and asked if she could get a sitter for the kids and come. She whined and moaned, so I told her to forget it and hung up the phone.

Penny heard my side of the conversation and volunteered to become a pawnbroker’s assistant for the afternoon. I accepted and she picked the job up quickly, showing merchandise to customers, testing incoming VCRs and televisions, things like that. In between customers, we talked about the case, my background, her background, life in general.

Teddy called, said he’d be out of town all day. We agreed to meet that evening for a beer.

Penny also worked the phone trying to find out what had happened to Johnny Homestead’s body. Oddly enough, one of my more colorful customers who happened to be in the shop, Mr. Milton Blue, provided our first break on that situation. Milton had come in looking for a TV for his grandson to play video games on when he visited. I showed him what we had and he walked the aisles and agonized over the notion of parting with thirty dollars. In a way, he reminded me of Lucas Benton. No matter when you saw Milton, he looked starched and pressed in his undertaker-black suit, white shirt, and silk tie. He had a way of leaning back while he walked, coat pulled open, thumbs hooked in his ever-present red suspenders.

While Milton walked, Penny and I talked about Homestead, specifically about his missing body. On his eight or ninth circuit, Milton stopped right in front of us.

“How old was this fellow?” he said.

“Around forty,” Penny said.

He tilted his head back, stroked his chin. “Hmmm. Odd thing happened last night. Around midnight, my answering service got an emergency call, says they had a John Doe who needed to be embalmed, wanted to know could we help them out.”

“Who was it?” Penny said, an eager look on her face.

“Hold your horses there, little lady. I’m telling the story.”
Sto-rey. “Well,” he continued, “the answering service calls me and wants to know what to tell this fellow. I likes to handle my business myself, you know what I’m saying? So I got the number and calls him myself. Told him I’d be glad to help him out so long as somebody was standing good for the bill. I don’t do this stuff for my health, you understands.”

“And?” Penny was motioning for him to hurry up, which was a futile effort. Milton is a storyteller from way back and he does it at his own molassian gait.

“He tells me the city has a fund to take care of John Does. Says this guy was found shot somewhere a couple of days ago and nobody’s claimed him, that the hospital is fussing and wants him out of there. I tell him what I can do it for and he’s like, ‘Fine, fine, just hurry up and get him.’ So I woke up one of my drivers and sent him on over there and got him.”

“And he’s at your place now, Milton?” I said.

“Mmmm-hmmm. Black man, look to be about forty, got a hole in his temple. And you know, as soon as I seen him, I thought to myself, he sound more like the guy tried to rob you the other day than he does a John Doe.”

“That’s bound to be him!” I said. “Have you embalmed him yet?”

Milton tilted his head back, face pointing straight up. “Oh Lord Jesus,” he said with high drama, “grants your humble servant Milton Jedediah Blue patience with people who won’t lets a poor old man tell a story.”

“Sorry, Milton,” I said with a smile. “Go ahead.”

“You sure?” he said.

I nodded.

“I mean, I wouldn’t wants to interrupt you.”

“I got it, Milton.”

“Well, before I starts to work on him, I calls down to the City Hall and be sure somebody’s planning on paying me. I needed a purchase order, ’cause when you a’dealing with the government, and you ain’t got a piece of paper, you ain’t got nothing. You understands what I’m saying?”

“You bet.”

“And you know what? I can’t find one soul who knows the first thing about a John Doe. So I ain’t done nothing but stick him in the cooler. And that’s where he’s at right now.”

“He’s in your cooler?” Penny said.

“What’d I just say, little girl?”