4 - Stranger Room: Ike Schwartz Mystery 4 (11 page)

Chapter 20

Henry Sutherlin mingled with the crowd watching the fire trucks and, later, Ike’s arrival. He asked what happened. One of the EMTs stopped loading his equipment long enough to tell him. Poor Miss Martha Marie. He ran his hand over his newly shorn head and chin, and had a brief moment of panic, until he remembered he’d been to Lee Henry’s salon and had his Mohawk removed. The goatee fell to a set of sheep shears he found in Wainwright’s barn.

“Don’t fret none, Honey,” Lee had said. “Hair grows. If you get to missing your little old up-do, you can always grow it back.”

As he watched Ike emerge from the house, he wondered if he would be interested in hearing his take on the murders, not that he had anything new, but with this latest death, maybe…

“Yo, Tattoo Boy. You still playing at being a deputy?”

Henry turned to face George LeBrun. Some believe that a lifetime of saintliness will shape a concomitant expression on a person’s visage. Similarly a lifetime spent in degradation and ugliness will also find its way to your face. George now qualified as an extremely ugly man.

“What?”

“Well, since Ike the Kike turned you down, I figured you were out here playing at being a policeman and trying to impress him.”

Henry frowned. He had no interest in pursuing a conversation with George LeBrun. He remembered him from the old days when the sheriff’s office had become the town’s black eye. And though he’d been a teenager at the time, he recalled the rumors circulating about LeBrun and his cronies. “Hooligans,” his mother described them. His brothers, Billy and Frank, used a few stronger words. George stepped closer. He grinned and Henry recoiled at the smell and sight of LeBrun’s rotting teeth.

“I bet you have one of them police band radios so you can show up at all the crime scenes and look smart. You’re wasting your time, you know. Schwartz ain’t interested in hiring any decent white guys. He’s taking on freaks and niggers.” He drained a soda can, tossed it aside, and lit a cigar. A cheap cigar, as nearly as Henry could tell, and tried to position himself upwind.

“Careful there, George. My brother works for Ike and, in case you didn’t know it, the black guy is FBI on assignment.”

“What about the Amazon woman, the seven foot dyke, with the man’s name that he hired from the college?”

“George, stuff it. You’re off the reservation there. Ryder is okay.”

“Yeah? And you got your priorities all screwed up. Time is coming when the Jew and his friends are gonna be history and the sheriff’s office will be looking for deputies. You play your cards right and you could be one of them.”

“What are you talking about, George? If you’re figuring on running against Ike next year, you ain’t got a prayer, and even if he don’t run, one of Wainwright’s cows has a better chance of getting elected than you. And why do you spend so much time hanging around here, George? You got business or are you just nosey?”

LeBrun’s face turned scarlet. Billy knew LeBrun could be trouble when he was angry and he regretted the remark almost instantly.

“There’s some of us that are looking for friends in this town, weirdo, and we will keep track of who is for us and who ain’t. Oh yeah, and if you see Falco, you tell her she’d better stay straight or else.”

“Essie? You’re kidding. Essie never—”

“Your brother Billy is sweet on her, I know, so you can tell him to keep her in line.”

“You know something, George, you ought never to pick on a family that’s got seven brothers ’cause as much as we may fuss at each other, if you go at one of us, you get us all. And that goes for people that’s close to us as well. See, Essie and Billy, well, they’re, like, good friends.”

“Friends ain’t the way I heard it. I heard he was doing the nasty with her regular like.”

Henry did not usually consider consequences when he acted and hitting LeBrun could only end in trouble, but family is family and before he saw it coming, Henry clipped LeBrun on the ear with a roundhouse punch. George could have easily blocked it but he’d just reached for his cigar and, temporarily distracted, missed seeing it coming. It didn’t have much power and only stunned. The cigar sailed away into the street. LeBrun whirled and kicked Henry, who promptly crumpled to the macadam. LeBrun whipped a buck knife from his jeans pocket and had the blade open so fast Henry thought for a moment it was a switchblade. LeBrun looked angry enough to carve him up on the spot.

“Hold it right there, George, unless you want a weekend in jail.” Ike had slipped up behind them.

LeBrun whirled to face him. “What charges will you be bringing?”

Henry had by this time limped out of knife range. Should he run? Ike would be mad either way. He decided to stay, but keep his distance.

Ike snapped open his holster tab and rested his hand on the butt of his .357 magnum.

“George, do yourself a big favor and let go of that pig-sticker. In the eyes of the law, it qualifies as a deadly weapon and, as you for sure know, that’d justify my jerking out this cannon and dropping you on the spot. I’m not even going to count. Just you drop it now.”

Henry shifted his gaze from one to the other, as if he were watching a tennis match. LeBrun glared at Ike. Ike had the pistol cleared just as LeBrun dropped the knife.

“Kick it over here and get out of my sight.”

LeBrun scuttled away, cursing.

“Ike, you just bought yourself a wagonload of mess. That guy is mean as a snake and he’ll be back.”

“He’s only mean when he thinks he’s got a big edge. I almost wish he had come at me. We’d be done with him by now.”

Ike stooped and retrieved the knife, folded the blade, and dropped it in his pocket.

***

It had taken four of five appointments, but Ike had finally gotten used to the blended aroma of wet hair and shampoo in Lee Henry’s salon. She had a cup of coffee and a half-eaten cheese Danish in each hand when he arrived.

“You’re late, handsome. You been busy keeping law and order in Dodge?”

Ike dropped into her chair and sighed.

“Why do I do it, Lee? It isn’t the money and it sure isn’t the prestige, so why do I keep going out every day and put up with all this…stuff?”

She flipped the plastic sheet over him and tied the neck strings. “Beats me, Ike. I reckon you must like it, somehow. I’ll tell you this much, though, since you took over as sheriff, the rest of us can sleep at night for a change. Now you take that last crew…”

“I had a run in with one of them half an hour ago. Do you remember George LeBrun?”

“Do I remember having my wisdom teeth out? That man is a piece of work. He should have 666 tattooed on his forehead. He was one of them that hurt my baby sister. Sorry, you know all about that. But I’ll tell you this, Ike, if I ever got the chance…I’d kill him as soon as look at him and then you’d be hauling me in for murder.”

“Gotcha.”

Lee switched on her electric shears. “Okay, now on a lighter note, Mr. Sheriff. You been out to the mall lately?”

“Some, not much, been busy.”

“You seen how them young girls is dressing?”

“You mean the belly shirts?”

“No, I mean their pants is falling down. Jeeze Louise, it’s like double cleavage. One up top facing front, one down low facing back. Lordy, they bend over and you can see near everything either way.”

“Old guys out at the mall tell me they consider it a divine gift. Something sent to brighten their day.”

“DOM is what they are. You know what they’re calling that, um…rear slot?”

“It was always a ‘plumber’s crack’ before.”

“Not no more. Now it’s a ‘card swipe.’ Swear to God, Ike, that’s what it’s called. Ain’t that something? Speaking of which, did I tell you about my cousin Derrick?”

“He’s the one with the lazy eye?”

“No, you’re thinking of Erick. Derrick is the one who had a piece of his ear bit off in a fight with his ex.”

“So what happened to Derrick?” Ike braced himself for
the story
. Lee always had one for him. It had become as much a part of his haircut as the clippers and the mousse. Lee Henry’s mission in life, he told his friends, was to provide laughter therapy to folks when they needed it, and the haircut was only a necessary, but coincidental part of the session.

“He showed up here the other day and he’s got himself two black eyes. Two! I said, ‘Derrick, where’d you get them black eyes?’ He says, ‘Well, I was up to the church Wednesday night, just minding my business and the preacher asks us to stand and sing a verse or two of
Come to the River
. Now, there’s a large lady in front of me whose got her dress stuck in her…card swipe’ he said the other word but you know what he meant. ‘So,’ he said, ‘I figured I’d be a good servant of the Lord and help the sister out. I reached over and pulled it loose. That’s when she hit me with her purse right here on my right side.’” Lee applied the clippers to Ike’s neck.

“So then I said, ‘But what about the other black eye?’ and Derrick, he said, ‘Well, since she seemed so upset about what I done with her dress, I figured I’d better put it back. That’s when she got me on the left.’ It’s the truth, Ike, swear to God.”

Ike’s cell phone chirped. He flipped it open and held it to his ear.

“Not that side, Ike, I’m working over there.” Lee tilted his head and applied her clippers to his side burns. He shifted the phone to the other ear.

“Ike, you got two calls. I wouldn’t disturb you but they sounded important.”

“It’s okay, Darcie. Who called?”

“Essie called and said could you come over to her sister’s house on account of something happened that she’s scared of, and Norbert over at the gun store called and said he had your…Webley…I made him spell it…what’s a Webley?”

“It’s a make of pistol. Send Karl over to Norbert’s and you can tell Essie, if she calls again, I’ll be there in maybe thirty minutes.” So Norbert came by a Webley. What were the odds it would be
the
Webley?

“You know what they call the little love handles that pop over the top of them low ridin’ jeans?”

Ike resisted shaking his head. Lee had switched to applying her straight razor to his neck.

“Muffin tops. Ain’t that a hoot?”

Chapter 21

Karl waited across the street from The Lock and Load for five minutes. He didn’t have any compelling reason to do so, it had just become a cautionary habit he’d developed over the years, and one that had once saved him from a major gaffe and career ending mistake. So, he sat in the police cruiser and watched. Only one man entered and left. He exited the car and walked the few yards to the shop. He wanted to brace Norbert Sills about the Webley with as few witnesses as possible. Norbert had a reputation within the Bureau that even Ike didn’t know.

The doorway had been fitted with a warning device and it buzzed as he entered. The shop was not large, a few glass fronted display cases filled with handguns of various calibers and prices, and a one-way mirror behind the cash register. The customer space carried the faint odor of stale tobacco smoke and gun oil. He’d seen the Bureau’s file. Sills’ picture did not do him justice. The Norbert in the file photo looked meaner and tougher. This Norbert, his sickly smile notwithstanding, looked like a wharf rat.

“Sills, you called and said you had a Webley for us. Is that correct?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“The uniform doesn’t suggest anything to you?”

“I want to speak to the sheriff, not one of his boys.”

Karl locked on Sills, his gaze like five miles of polar ice. He slipped out his Bureau credentials and slid them across the counter.

“FBI? Cripes. I didn’t know. I thought you were—”

“One of the sheriff’s
boys
, so you said. I’m both, Sills. I’m on loan to the sheriff. And, in case you didn’t know, the Bureau has a file on you and your store that’s two inches thick. You are just one questionable sale away from an indictment. So, tell me about the Webley?”

Norbert swallowed. “Hey, listen man, I run a legit operation here. You can ask anybody.”

“We have. One more shooting in the District, Pittsburgh, or anywhere else with a pistol traceable to you and you’re serving time. Now, are you going to tell me about the Webley or not?”

Norbert’s eyes did an Irish jig in their sockets and finally stared at the counter surface.

“Okay. See, this kid comes in here this morning with a Webley. ‘I want to sell it,’ he says. I say, ‘Where’d you get it?’ and he looks at me funny, and so I know I ain’t going to get the truth. He tells me it’s his granddad’s old service revolver. I say, ‘What war?’ He hems and haws and says, ‘Korea?’ like it’s a question. What a dope. He wants to know how much it’s worth and I give him a price which he is not happy about. ‘That’s all?’ he wants to know. Well, I know it ain’t his dear old granddad’s piece on account it’s an English service revolver and our guys packed a .45 in those days. But he’s nervous and tries to talk me up, but I don’t go there. I give an extra ten bucks, that’s it.”

“Could we cut to the chase here, Sills? Who was he, and what happened to the pistol?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting to that. This is good. See, I know your boss, the sheriff, wants that piece, maybe, so I say, ‘I’ll need to see some ID.’ And this moron hands me his driver’s license and the picture is right there and I know it’s him. I copy it on the machine and I take the gun and put it away. He wants his dough. I give him a ten spot, but I say, ‘the gun has to clear the police screening process.’ He doesn’t know that that is a bunch of…you know, and when he hears
police
, he grabs the Hamilton and takes off.”

Karl shook his head. He had to hand it to Norbert. He’d learned over the years that people, who traded in the shadowy edges of society, were good at what they did because they learned early on how to lie convincingly.

“Where’s the Webley now?”

Norbert reached into a cabinet behind him and produced the pistol.

“Ta-dah!”

“Break it open and dump the shells in here. Be careful.”

Karl opened an evidence bag. Norbert opened the breach and allowed the shells to fall in, four empty casings and two loads. He dropped the gun in a second bag.

“We have your prints on file. I expect the kid’s will be on the pistol, too. Let’s hope someone else got careless loading it, assuming, of course, this is the piece we’re looking for. I’ll take that Xerox of the driver’s license now.”

Norbert handed him the paper.

“Thanks.”

Norbert stared at Karl’s holster and said, “Say, is that nine millimeter Bureau issue? If not, I’ll take it in trade for a Glock 31. Great little piece. The sheriff is thinking of replacing his old .357 with one.”

“It’s a personal weapon and it suits me just fine. Thanks anyway.”

“Well if you ever change your mind…”

***

“Ike, I’m scared.” Essie Falco huddled on an overstuffed sofa hugging her knees. Ike dropped into a worn recliner with a duct tape patch on one arm. Essie’s sister owned a double-wide on an acre that used to be part of old man Craddock’s farm. A lone cow grazed a few yards from the front door.

“Because?”

“George LeBrun. You know what he did at the Shop N Save?”

“I heard. I had a run in with him myself out at Lydell’s about an hour ago.”

“He’s not fooling, Ike. He means to get you and anyone he thinks will get in his way. He’s…well, it’s like he’s crazy or something. I mean in the old days he was just a dirty cop with a mean streak. Now he’s—”

“A meth-head, I know. He’s brought the worst of the drug culture into town.”

“But—”

“You’ll be safe enough, Essie. When do you go to Disney World?”

“Well, that’s the thing. My sister works for the county and they just changed her work schedule. I might have to stick around for a while.” The cow outside lowed a mournful counterpoint to Essie’s complaint.

“Can you stay here?”

“Yeah, I guess. But he’ll find me if he wants to.”

“Essie, LeBrun is a bully. He picks on people smaller or weaker than he is. Out in the open, with witnesses, he won’t do anything more than threaten, hopped up on crystal meth or not.” Ike hoped he told the truth but meth-heads were hard to predict, sometimes violent, sometimes merely irrational.

Essie rolled up her sleeve and showed Ike the bruise LeBrun had made when he grabbed her arm. Ike closed his eyes and fought the anger that might lead him into doing something rash. For the first time since he became sheriff, he pined for his CIA days. Back then, he could quietly dispense some personal and anonymous justice.

“We’ll take care of it, Essie. I’ll have someone keep an eye out.”

“Ike, that’d be a tip off, wouldn’t it? I mean…”

“You won’t even know they’re there. Try to relax. We’re on it.”

Essie looked doubtful. “Someone will be close by?”

“Absolutely.” Ike made the promise but at the same time realized that keeping it would not be easy. Mostly, he wanted Essie to believe it. Then she would feel better, safer, and believe that LeBrun wouldn’t dare approach her again. Then he touched the Buck Knife in his pocket and knew he couldn’t be sure of anything. LeBrun was like a rabies carrier at the Westminster dog show. The sooner he was put down, the better. He would have offered Essie a gun but that would only lead to difficulties of monumental proportions if she were to use it. Besides, on this side of town, most folks owned a firearm of some sort, and if Essie felt really threatened, she could have one in hand in a heartbeat. He didn’t like that idea any better, but at least the department would not be at risk if anything went wrong.

He heard the roar of an engine and had started to turn toward the door when a rock smashed through the front window. Essie screamed, and balled up on the couch. Ike instinctively ducked and rolled. Splintered glass cascaded across the floor. By the time he managed to stand and run to the door, whatever vehicle had borne the rock thrower had careened around the bend and disappeared. The cow bawled and loped off across the pasture. Ike felt his blood pressure spike. Now he was really angry.

“Essie, do you have a firearm?”

“What?”

“A gun, any kind. Do you have one?”

“Yeah.” She reached into her purse and removed a Dixie Derringer. “I got this from Billy. He showed me how to shoot it.”

Ike whistled. Only in America. So much for caution.

“Okay, Essie, but do me a favor, will you? Keep an empty chamber under the hammer. I’d hate to see you wham someone with that purse and end up shooting a bystander.”

“I don’t swing a purse, Ike.”

“Good. Empty the chamber anyway.”