Time and Chance (43 page)

“It's public record,
check it out, and look at these.” Berry showed him a picture of a white Jaguar
and motorcycle parked in front of a small white house. Another picture, through
a window, showed Jack and Joyce embracing. Berry smiled, “They have their own
little love nest in the country.”

Angelo wandered by and
leaning over the table, quickly scanned the pictures over Snakebite's shoulder,
said, “Whan's going on?”

Snakebite said, “Go
back to work.”

Angelo left.

 
Snakebite studied the copies and said again,
“Them is phony, fixed up.”

“That class photo is
right out of a high school yearbook, check it out, the website on that copy.”

Snakebite put his
sunglasses back on. “Where you get this?”

Berry smiled, “None of
your fucking business, shithead.”

“Hissss.”

Berry nodded toward
Gillian, “Before you do anything … give me an hour, send her over my office,
then she's all yours.”

“Hissss.”

Berry placed five
crisp hundred dollar bills on the table. “Give her these … tell her a tip is
waiting.”

* * *

Accepting the out call
date, Gillian reasoned, the bust of scumbag Snakebite Walker coming down, she
didn’t want to mess it up. Besides, she had seen this bozo Frazer in action,
she could handle him. She changed clothes and left Felix The Cat on her bike
for TV12.

* * *

 
11:02 P.M., TV12's Broadcast House deserted
except for a technician in the control room, Berry waiting at the front door.
Seeing Gillian arrive he smiled, held the door open, and escorting her to his
office, said, “Glad you could make it sweat pea.”

They entered his
office, he closed, locked the door, and taking off his suit coat, said, “Hows
'bout a Manhattan South?”

“No thanks.” Changed
from her Kitten outfit, Gillian wore a white T-shirt, jeans, and black slouch
boots. Her brown leather purse dangled from a strap over her left shoulder, she
placed it on the floor next to the coffee table.

Sweaty hands, Berry
grabbed her and tore at her T-shirt.

“Hey, back off.”

“Didn’t Snakebite tell
you, I like kinky stuff.”

“Adios amigo, I’m not
your girl.”

He held his hands up,
“Okay, okay … have it your way … how’s bout a drink.”

She paused.

“Come on, just one.”

“Just one, no kinky
stuff.”

Berry chucked, walked
to the bar and fumbled with a silver tumbler. “Take a look at that view at
night.” He nodded to his window overlooking Nashville. “Go ahead, take a look.”

He waited until she
was looking out the window, then opened a drawer and retrieved a small white
envelope containing 3 milligrams of Rohypnol. He emptied the contents into a
long stemmed cocktail glass and poured in the Manhattan South mix, dropped in
two cherries then tiptoed up behind Joyce and blew a “gotcha” in her ear.

She turned
reflexively.

Smiling, he handed her
the drink and said. “Here we go, toddy for the body.”

She took the drink.

“Drink up.”

She sipped.

“You get the five
hundred?” Berry went back to the bar.

“Yes.”

He chuckled and poured
himself a drink.

She turned back to
look at the view.

“You know Snakebite
long.” Berry called.

“Not to … you?”

He walked to her, held
his glass up, tapped hers and, as he studied her eyes said, “Cheers.”

She sipped.

He nudged her with his
hip. “To Nashville.” He tapped her glass again and winked.

She sipped.

 
Berry looked out his window. A full moon hung
low over the city. He waited, watched out of the corner of his eyes, smiled,
“Beautiful ain’t it.”

“Yes.”

He turned to her and
said, “You like porno pictures?”

She tensed.

Berry chuckled,
“Relax, how'd you like that station picnic?” He put his arm around her
shoulders. “You're a great little swimmer.” He squeezed her arm then walked to
his desk, took his time, “You been in the business long?”

“Long enough.” She
turned to face him

“Uh huh, understand
you know our Jack Carr.”

“Seen him in the Cat.”

“Uh huh….” he walked
to her, tapped her glass, sipped, winked.

She sipped.

“You know ol’ Jack is
fucking every female we got in this station, ruined our weather girl, Peggy
Moore, reason we had to let her go.”

“Oh, what that’s to
me?”

Feeling wobbly, she
set her drink on the sill. Realizing she had stupidly slipped up, he had
drugged her, she started to the door, wobbled and leaned against one of Berry's
easy chairs.

Berry chuckled.

She glanced at the
floor. Blinked her eyes.

Sweat rings under his
arms, Berry went to her, sniffed her hair, then pushed her into the chair. “Sit
down!”

As she fell back, he
tore at her T-shirt.

She flailed her arms
sluggishly and reached for her purse.

Berry grabbed her,
stared into her eyes, ripped her T-shirt off and sucked her breasts.

Dazed, she bit at his
hands, tried to pull free, bit, tried again to reach for her purse.

He punched her face,
dropped his trousers, and shoved his snakelike white penis in her face.

* * *

Gillian came too,
looked to one side, still groggy she saw that she was surround by thick maroon
carpet, her torn clothes lay scatted next to her purse.

She realized where she
was, what had happened. She heard water coming from the bathroom, she felt
sticky stuff on her face, her hair … she heard Berry whistling then, through
half open eyes she saw him walking from the bathroom.

Nude, he kicked her
then kneeled, spread her legs, probed her and began bashing her face.

She reached for her
purse, retrieved her straight razor.

CHAPTER 8

Jack’s
Time

Tuesday gone wherever dead days go, Wednesday new and upstart, Gillian
on my mind; I had not heard from her since her admonition, when I left her at
the farm Monday morning, to say nothing about us to anybody. Eternal optimist
that I am, wondering if this was another of her ‘later’ deals, I had stayed for
the 10:00 P.M. news, piddled around afterward ended up at The Green Onion,
ordered an iced tea that brought the house down. Not too many patrons, Pete
invited me to sit in with band so I did.

Having played a couple sets, into a mellow version of Alabama's “The
Closer You Get”, I noticed Sago come in. He looked chalky white. He sat at the
bar. I nodded to Pete and went to sit next to Sago.

Sago's moist chocolate brown eyes more moist than usual, he said, “Guess
what Kemosabe?”

“Tony Longtoe ate your bacon cheese.”

“Big S-Stuff raid is coming down in the pretty quick.”

“Where'd you get that?”

“Detective Little.”

“And guess what else is under the flow?”

“I'm afraid to ask.”

“Remember you asked me to check out Gillian back when the crows flew
east.”

“That was a hundred
years ago.”

 
Sago put his hand on my arm, “Her father was
with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, he and his wife were murdered.” He
looked at me in depth, “Gillian is Ancel's stepdaughter.”

It's like that Champ's
right to the stomach followed by a kick in the plexus.

He squeezed my arm,
“Her name is Joyce Kensington, she's T.B.I., special agent … she’s been
undercover … she's going to be leading the S-Stuff raid.”

When you hear things
like this it's like the time you wake and can remember only bits of a bad
dream.

From The Green Onion
to Felix The Cat normally a forty-five minute drive, one eye in the rear view
mirror, I made it in thirty, double parked and hiked down the outside steps.

Inside, under garlic
smelling smoke, George Jones wailed “I Am What I Am” from Wurlitzer.

There were two
customers at the bar, a few in booths.

Angelo stood at the
service bar talking to two new Kittens that I didn't recognize. He gawked at
me.

As I walked to the
bar, I cased the corners for goons. None.

Angelo waddled over,
charcoal crepe paper face, and said, “What you doin’ in here, you know
Snakebite….”

“Where is she?”

Dark look: “I doan
know nutin.”

“Where is she?”

Angelo must have seen
kill in my eyes because he said, “Wonn a drink?”

“NO. Talk to me
Angelo, talk to me.”

He whispered, “Frazer
was in, talked with Snakebite, had some pictures….”

“Of what?”

“Of you and Gillian,
some house in the sticks, said she was a fucking agent.”

Things bounced around
in my mind. Some were weak, some strong. Kill was high on the list.

“Where is she?”

“Left, couple hours
ago….”

“Where?”

“I doan know.”

“Where, Angelo?”

“She had an
appointment.”

“WHERE?”

“Berry.”

I felt a chill turn to
loathing, hate, rage.

Angelo said, “Watch
yourself, everything's a mess, Snakebite said….” He looked toward The Haute
Cuisine stairs. “Oh shit.”

I looked too.

Snakebite, dressed in
a black suit, briefcase in hand, ambled down and walked up to me, “What you
doing in here prick?”

I snatched his
sunglasses off with my left hand.

He grabbed his hat and
said, “You're dead.”

 
I threw his sunglasses to the floor and
stepped on them. He shot me a soft left to the chin and I gave him a right to
the jaw.

 
Tumbling back, his hat still on, he crashed
over a booth.

Kittens screaming,
Angelo jumping over the bar, I went for the outside exit.

* * *

Going up the concrete
steps, I sensed her. Up the last step, I saw her, unsteady, coming down the
sidewalk. The sight of her slew me. I wanted to cry but there was no cry left.
I ran to her, said, “We need to get out of here.”

Sluggishly, she pushed
me away, “I have some unfinished business with Snakebite.”

I could see she wasn’t
right, something, “No you don't.” I took her by the arm and double-timed it to
Winston.

Seated in Winston, I
looked at her—blood was at the corner of her mouth and covered her hands and
arms. Her T-shirt torn, she stared straight ahead.

I said, “What
happened?”

“Fuck you.”

I started Winston, pulled
away and words weren't coming. I reached and touched her.

She said, “Your scum
sucking boss drugged me.”

“Berry….”

“No, Jack the fucking
Ripper.”

I closed my eyes,
opened my eyes, shifted to third, not wanting to know, not wanting to hear, not
believing, believing. “How, I mean….”

“HOW?”

“I didn't mean … where?”

“On the Queen Mary, the captain's quarters, you dumb dickhead … his
office … he drugged me.” She sobbed for the first time. “Dirty bastard.”

I was going to ask ‘why did you go there’ but, with everything else
floating around, what did I know. Then I was going to ask about what Sago had
told me about her and the T.B.I. but just said, “I know.”

“You know,” she said flatly. “Put the top down.”

I pulled over, put the top down, got back in and, getting it along, the
coolness of the air swirled around the stark evening.

I said, “Should we call the … report this to….”

“Shut up.”

“Why did you go to his office … I mean….”

“I do out calls, remember.”

“I, I….”

“Shut up.”

I tried to shake the cobwebs from back before I knew this death was the
reward of life, not wanting to know what Berry had done, not wanting to hear,
not believing, believing.

She wiped her eyes. “I want to go home.”

“Where's your bike?”

“Fuck my bike, take me home.”