Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows (25 page)

“That was a lucky break,” Tim said as he patted Sandra's knee.

“Yeah. It turned out Bobby was also staying at the motel."

“Why in the hell was Bobby staying at the motel?"

“He kept a regular schedule every Saturday morning with a prostitute. The prostitute was Adele whom he later married."

“Damn. I didn't know."

“What happened was that Bobby took matters into his own hands. Since he promised me not to kill Baxter, he had Adele proposition him. While Baxter was screwing her, Bobby burst into the room taking pictures. He then beat the crap out of Baxter and told him to get out of town and, of course, Baxter did as he was told."

“This is bad, Sandy. This is really bad.” Tim lit two cigarettes and handed one to his wife. “If Crow is Baxter, Leora and Borders are right. You will be next on his revenge list."

“What must I do, Dude?"

“We don't have any choice, Dudette. We have to tell Borders the truth and, until Borders gets the thing straightened out, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Suddenly Sandra grabbed Tim's hand and squeezed tightly. “Oh, God, Tim. What if all this
is
correct—Crow is Baxter and Greta is involved in Baxter's revenge? Sex with us could have been a setup."

“I don't follow you."

“Greta insisted on taping our trysts. What if she steals the tape and spreads it around town. It would ruin both of us. Or they could use it to blackmail us."

“I don't think Greta would..."

“Hell, Tim. That's exactly how your Uncle Harlow made his fortune. That's how Bobby ran Baxter out of town. We must destroy that tape."

They raced to the bedroom and Tim breathed a sigh of relief when he popped open the camcorder and the tiny cassette popped out. Tim loosened the tape from the cassette and started pulling it out. Sandra helped and when all of the tape was exposed, they cut it into little pieces.

“She won't blackmail us with that tape,” Tim smiled. He piled the bits of tape in a glass ashtray and set it afire.

As Sandra wrinkled her nose against the acrid odor of burning tape she said, “You don't suppose Greta is smart enough to have taken the recorded tape and replaced it with a blank one, do you?"

“You gonna sleep all day?” Eddie asked.

Greta rubbed her eyes and tried to sit up. The pain was excruciating and she cried out and collapsed back onto the bed. Eddie sat down the tray of food he prepared as a peace offering and helped her into a sitting position, propping two pillows behind her. He reached for a glass on the tray and offered it to her. “Another double dose of Alka-Seltzer Plus will help,” he said tenderly.

After consuming the foaming liquid she said, “You've brought me breakfast in bed?"

“Nothing's too good for my Greta,” he said. “Honey, I'm so sorry.” He placed the tray on her lap. He sat beside her and caressed her feet through the sheet and spread. He watched her eat, smiling broadly whenever she looked at him. “Feeling better I hope?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she replied, trying to return his smile. “The Alka-Seltzer Plus is beginning to do its thing and I was very hungry. You know how much I like to have my feet massaged."

He nodded. “Sweetheart,” he cooed. “There are some things we need to talk about."

“Okay."

“Your friend checked on you this morning."

“Maggie?"

He nodded. “When she came to pick you up I told her you would have to be out of work a few days."

“Did you tell her I have a cold?"

“No. I told her the truth. She came in here and opened your pajama tops to check up on you. She chewed me out, but I promised her I would never hurt you again."

“What did she say to that?"

“Nothing much. Baby, you like for me to be happy, don't you?"

“You know I do. I'll do anything to make you happy. I always have."

“I want to fuck your friend, Maggie. For some reason she turns me on."

“Oh, God, Eddie. You didn't rape her this morning did you?"

He shook his head. “I could have, but that's not the way I want it. I want her to participate, like you do. I want her to have multiple orgasms, like you do. That just don't happen when you rape a woman, in spite of what the dirty books may say."

“Eddie, it just ain't gonna happen. She hates you."

He shook his head again. “She pretends to hate me, but in reality I turn her on as much as I turn you on. I told her that you like to share me with your friends. She didn't believe me. I want you to convince her that you want her to screw me. I want you to get her to come here next Monday while you are at work and spend a couple of hours with me. Tell her about your mind-blowing orgasms. Will you do that for me, Baby?"

“I'll ... I'll try."

“Greta, honey. You understand why I have to get even with Sewana, don't you?"

“She hurt you bad. I understand that, Eddie, but there has been enough killing. Isn't there another way?"

“No, Baby. She has to die, just like Bobby Elliott and his whore wife Adele and that snotty bitch, Sandy Dollar. But I can't kill Sewana. Too many people know she crossed me. I'd be the prime suspect."

“That's good, Eddie. Maybe she'll die in a car wreck or something."

He shook his head. “I can't leave it up to chance. While Maggie is over here Monday fucking me blind and providing me with an alibi, I want you to go to Maggie's house and kill Sewana."

“You want me to kill Sewana?"

He nodded.

“Shit, Eddie, what am I supposed to do, just walk in there with your big rifle that I don't even know how to use and blast a hole in her?"

He smiled. “Didn't you tell me that Maggie gave you a key to her house?"

Greta nodded.

“I want you to take a nice sharp carving knife from Sandra Dollar's kitchen, surprise Sewana while she's still asleep if possible, and slice her throat open."

“Eddie, I can't do that."

“Sure you can. Remember the john in Fayetteville? Remember how easy it was to bash his brains out?"

“Eddie, please..."

He held a finger to his lips. “I've changed my mind again about living in Dot. As soon as we get our hands on some of Sandra Dollars’ money we'll put her lights out permanently and head west where you will live like a rich bitch and I'll treat you like a the princess you are."

“Eddie, that sounds wonderful, but what about Maggie?"

“Maggie? Oh, hell, Greta. I just want to screw her a time or two. I don't want to live with her."

“What about the boy?"

“Tim Junior? You like the kid, don't you, Greta?"

“Yeah, I do. Please don't hurt him, Eddie."

“You take care of Sewana for me and I'll leave the boy alone."

“What about the gold?"

“Honey, I know you are enjoying your fantasy about finding a lot of gold, but it just isn't going to happen. I've asked around. There did use to be gold in Dot, but that was a long time ago. What little is left is low grade and not worth the effort to recover it."

“Maggie thinks that is not right."

“Honey, all you found last week was that one little nugget. There's more value in videotapes of you having sex with Sandra and Tim. I was so wiped out yesterday I forgot to ask. Did you have any luck in getting them to tape you an action yesterday?"

Greta thought of the tape in her skirt pocket and made an instant decision. “No, Eddie,” she lied, “and you've messed me up so bad it will be next week before I can try again."

“Well, Eddie,” Borders said as he approached the snack bar counter with his golf bag slung over his shoulder. “When did you start working here?"

“Got the job yesterday and they put me right to work. The pay's the same but the hours are better and the benefit package is super. Hell, I slept late this morning for the first time since we came to Dot."

“Good for you. Fix me a couple of dogs all the way and get me a can of diet Pepsi. Louise keeps some in the refrigerator for me. She knows I don't like the fountain mixtures."

“You play a lot of golf, Mr. Borders?” Eddie asked as he worked on the order.

“Just about every day, Eddie. There's not much else for an old retired cop to do. I am grateful that my health is good enough to allow me to get out and play every day."

“Here you go, Mr. Borders,” Eddie said as he placed on the counter a thick paper plate containing two overflowing hotdogs.

Borders dropped a ten-dollar bill on the counter. “You forgot my Pepsi."

“Your hands are full with the plate and your golf clubs, Mr. Borders. I'll bring the Pepsi and change to your table."

“Thanks, Eddie. I appreciate it.” Borders selected a table behind a large fern where Crow could not see him and smiled as he sat down.

“Mr. Bennett,” Steve Dirkson said, “I just checked in the morning produce delivery. They shorted us our onion order."

“What do we have in inventory, Steve?"

“We're just about out. You want me to call them?"

“No, Steve. They couldn't get a truck out here until after the lunch hour. I'd better drive into Charlotte and pick it up myself."

“I'm sorry I didn't catch the error while the man was still here."

“It wouldn't have made any difference, Steve. If the onions were not on the truck, I would have to go after them anyway. Steve?"

“Yes, sir."

“I appreciate you taking over Eddie Crow's schedule. I know that getting up and coming to work at five in the morning is no picnic."

“Actually, Mr. Bennett, I like this schedule better. It gets me home in time to play with my kids a little before it gets dark, and we no longer have to hire a baby sitter to stay with them when school lets out."

When Bennett's car headed south on the Old Charlotte Road he flipped open his cellular telephone and punched the programmed button for his produce supplier. “Tommy,” he said when he got an answer, “this is George Bennett. You left off my order for onions in this morning's delivery. I'm on my way to pick it up. I'd appreciate it if you would have it ready when I arrive."

“I'm sorry, George. It seems we omitted onion orders for nearly everybody this morning. Dottie Frank is here right now picking up her order. We have a couple of people out sick today, but that's no excuse."

“Tell Dottie I said hello, Tommy. I'll be there in about twenty minutes."

As Bennett approached the city limits he waved at Dottie Frank, headed back to Dot in her beat up old pickup. She pretended not to notice him. “Damn truck is held together with bailing wire and prayer,” Bennett muttered. “She's going to get stranded one day when that thing breaks down."

Bennett was not in a very good humor when he arrived at the warehouse, and his mood darkened when he found that, in spite of his telephone call, his order was not ready. It was nearly seven o'clock when he started back to Dot. His foot grew heavy on the accelerator. He knew the breakfast rush hour at the Korner Kafe was in full swing and he should be there.

Telephone poles whizzed by at an increasingly rapid pace. If Maggie was still working for me, he thought, I would not be in this bind. If Dottie had come to her senses and joined forces with me, I would not be in this bind. Why in the world, he wondered, did I go back into business in my old age. I sure as hell don't need the money, but now I have all my assets tied up in my businesses. I must work now just to put bread on the table and clothes on my back.

He slammed his palms against the steering wheel. The car swerved. He grasped the wheel tightly and corrected his course. He exhaled noisily and his eyes popped wide when he saw the speedometer reach ninety miles an hour. “Slow down, old boy,” he said aloud. “You aren't in that much of a hurry."

He watched the speedometer needle move counterclockwise as he held his foot off the accelerator pedal. When the needle was down to sixty, he eased his foot back on the pedal just long enough to set the cruise control.

His peripheral vision caught something unusual off the right side of the road, but for a couple of minutes, he continued on his way.

“Damn,” he said as he applied the brakes. “I don't have time for this.” Nevertheless, he made a U-turn and retraced his route. Fifty yards off the roadway, wedged upside down between a growth of pine trees, was Dottie Frank's ancient pickup.

He made another U-turn and parked on the shoulder of the road. He grabbed his cell phone, stumbled down one side of the ditch, back up the other, pushed his way through the undergrowth of thorny weeds and saplings, and dropped to his knees beside the driver side window. Dottie Frank, hanging upside down with her hands glued to the steering wheel, was not moving. There was blood on her forehead, and her eyes were closed. He cried out her name and yanked unsuccessfully on the truck door.

He punched 911 into the cell phone and tried to keep his voice calm when the operator answered. “This is George Bennett,” he said breathlessly. “There's been an accident on the Old Charlotte Road about five miles south of Dot. There is one female occupant who is either unconscious or dead. I can't get the door open. Please hurry."

He dropped his telephone on the ground and called her name repeatedly. There was no response. He hurried to the other side of the truck, but the passenger door was wedged against a tree. However, he noticed that the shattered windshield was partially loose on the passenger side.

As quickly as he could manage he stumbled back to his car, opened the trunk, removed the floor covering the spare and pulled out a tire iron. He made his way back to the wreck and checked to see if Dottie was still unconscious. She did not respond to his shouts, but he noticed blood pulsing from the wound on her forehead. “She's alive,” he shouted to the pine trees.

Lying on his back he worked his way under the hood and inserted the tire tool between the loose end of the windshield and its frame. He pried and his effort resulted in a few more inches of separation. He worked rapidly, but carefully, trying to avoid showering Dottie with shards of glass. After a few minutes, the entire windshield popped loose and landed directly on him, scratching his hands and face.

His position was so awkward that he could do no more than slide the windshield away from his upper body. Dottie's bleeding face was within reach. He pried her hands off the steering wheel and pulled a clean handkerchief from his back pocket, which he pressed against the open wound on her forehead.