All Chickens Must Die: A Benjamin Wade Mystery (8 page)

The
police weren’t glad . The one siren I
had heard had grown to two. The lights of their squad cars strobed off the
fronts of the houses along my little street. I bet my neighbors were cursing my
name. Gunshots, police cars. What’s next? Truth be told, I didn’t much like
gunshots in my house either.

Like a good citizen, now that I didn’t wear the badge, I placed
my gun on the kitchen table and held out my hands. I didn’t want some jumpy
rookie mistaking me for a burglar and putting a new hole in me. I stepped out
of my front door and let them all see me.

My house is in the middle of my block. The squad cars stopped,
one in front of my house, the other partially into the driveway. From each
car’s passenger side emerged a patrolman. Each man had his gun drawn.

“You the homeowner?” one of them called to me.

“Yes, sir.” Always good to give deferential treatment to anyone
holding a gun.

“What happened?”

“Burglar. Broke into my house. I discovered him. We fought. We
exchanged gunfire. I got him, in the leg.” I pointed to the door frame. “He’s
pretty badly hurt. I suspect he can’t have gone far.”

Across the street, one of my neighbors turned on a light and peered
out his window. He joined just about every other neighbor that I could see.

“We didn’t see any man walking down your street, sir,” the
patrolman said. 

“Y’all see a car?” I said.

“No, sir.”

I frowned. How had the gunman gotten away so fast? I nodded to
the house. “Might as well come in. Don’t need the neighbors looking at
everything.”

Ten minutes later I was sitting on the couch, ice pack on my
head, when Detective Howard Malone strode in my door. He wore a brown suit,
wrinkled from sitting at his desk too long, with a solid yellow tie, loosened
at the neck. His fedora was dirty and he needed to shave. Some of the men
didn’t think dressing up for the night shift earned them any bonus points.

I knew Malone from back in my days with the department. Ours was
a relationship built on helloes in the hallways and the coffee room. We never
worked a case together but he wished me well. And he never held what happened
against me.

He took off his hat and held it by the brim. “So you got people
shooting at you, Wade. Guess you turned out to be a decent PI after all. If
they ain’t shooting at you, you ain’t doing your job. What was it? Jealous
husband?”

“Ironically, I don’t rightly know.” I gave him a rueful smile.

“Case you’re working?”

“Probably.”

“Does it have a husband?”

“Yes, but not a jealous one. Has lots of chickens, however.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Chickens?”

“Yep.”

He glanced over at the contents on my kitchen table. He tried to
read the stacks of paper and notes I had started making since my last case, the
one about the Nazis here in Houston. “What’s this?”

“Nothing about this shooting.” I wished I had had more time to
put those things away. I didn’t like having to explain my sudden preoccupation
on finding Nazi sympathizers here in Houston.

You see, a few weeks ago, after the Lillian Saxton case, a fellow
by the name of Dietrich proved to be the culprit. What struck me were his words
as he was hauled away in cuffs. “Mr. Wade, you may have arrested me, but I
assure you: there are many, many more who share my passions. You can't stop us
because you don't even know who we are.”

Ever since then, I’d started doing some digging, maybe to find
out if what the Nazi said was true. I hadn’t made much progress, but what I had
made was lying there on my kitchen table.

“Damn Nazis. I look forward to the day we get in this goddamned
war so we can kick Hitler’s ass.”

“You’re sure we’re getting in?”

He looked at me like I was from Mars. “Of course we are. It’s
only a matter of time. The yellow isolationists are doing their damnedest to
keep us out of it because they know everything will be changing after that.
Ain’t no way we can stay out of it, one way or another.”

“FDR said America’s neutral.” I reminded him of the official
policy.

“You think Mr. Roosevelt’s gonna sit idly by and watch Hitler
chew up Europe? Highly unlikely.” He shook his head to clear it. “But that’s a
discussion for a bar, not here in your house.” He took out a pad and pencil.
“Why don’t you tell me the whole story?”

I laid out the gist of the attack, giving him a play-by-play
description complete with my walking around the house, showing him angles and
positions.

“You know, a man in your line of work ought to keep his gun on
him all the time. You never know when a jealous husband might come calling.”

After that night, I gave it serious consideration.

I gave Malone all the pertinent details. The police photographers
got all the pertinent images. Eve a couple of newspapermen arrived and got
their thread. Would be interesting to see how it plays in the papers the next
day. After about an hour, I had my house to myself. The quiet was both ominous
and comforting. The ringing in my ears had faded away, but I kept hearing the
sound of my own gunfire and the bellowing of the guy I hit him. I knew it was
him or me, but I still didn’t like shooting a man.

There was a knock on my door. I flinched, then cursed myself for
flinching. But seriously, why wouldn’t I?

Holding the gun in my grip, I opened the door. Gordon Gardner
stood on my porch.

He gave me a funny look, then looked at me from head to foot.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“Looking for the holes. Glad I don’t see any new ones.”

I invited him in and closed the door behind me. He took one look
at the gun in my hand. “Okay, Wade, you can put that away.”

I gripped it tighter. “I’m fine. I’m just a little jumpy.”

“Understandable.” Gardner took off his hat and tossed it on a
chair. “I know a remedy for that.” He opened his suit and pulled out a flask of
whiskey. He shook it and the brown liquid sloshed around. “Got some glasses?”

“Yeah.” I trundled off to the kitchen, coming back with a pair of
highball glasses and a small bowl of ice. He poured a couple of fingers into
each glass, giving me a bit more than him. We lofted the glasses.

“To life,” Gardner said.

“To life.” I drained half the liquid in one gulp. The whiskey
burned my gullet but felt reassuringly great. I collapsed onto the couch that,
an hour ago, was nearly my death bed.

Gardner moved his hat and took the chair opposite me. “So, what’s
the real story?”

I told him everything. He listened carefully.  Afterward, he
said, “Who the hell would have thought chickens would be worth killing for?”

“It’s not the chickens.” I ran my fingers over the ice cubes.
“It’s this.” I held up one of the ice cubes. Inside, clearly visible in the
cube of frozen water, was the diamond.

“Holy Toledo! Is that real?”

“Absolutely, and definitely worth getting killed for. Or
attacked.” I pointed to my head.

Gardner gulped down the rest of his whiskey. “So how does that
fit in?”

I told him, giving him a chance to refill our glasses.

He whistled under his breath. “I’m not used to agreeing with
Oliver Aldridge because, you know, he’s a lying, cheating son of a bitch, but I
have to agree with you here. It’s his diamond, fair and square. Kruger’s just
going to have to get over it.”

The
next morning was rough. My feet hurt,
my hands hurt, and my head hurt. I had forgotten to brush my teeth so my mouth
felt like cotton and smelled like anything but cotton. The sunlight streaming
in through my blinds woke me. I blinked away the night and sat up. I showered
with very hot water and loosened my muscles enough to feel human. The cold
water rinse helped me wake up. I toweled off and put on fresh clothes. With a
new outlook on life, I considered making my own breakfast, but opted for a
restaurant. I grabbed my keys and the gem and walked out to Max’s Restaurant.

I ordered eggs, bacon, biscuits, and black coffee. As I read the
paper and enjoyed the meal. The more I thought about it, the more excited I
became. With the diamond in hand, I had all I needed to get Teague to call off
the slaughter and save my client’s chickens. I chuckled to myself. When you got
right down to it, I was working for chickens. Wonder how I should represent
that to future clients. Didn’t matter. All they would care about were results.
And I was getting results.

I paid my tab and drove over to the health inspector’s office. I
walked in and noticed Danielle and Clara both at their desks. I sauntered up to
Clara and nodded to Danielle. “Teague in yet?”

“He is. You want me to tell him you’re here?”

“Nah. I like the element of surprise.”

Danielle gave me an unreadable look. “You look like you’re
holding all the cards.”

“I am.” I grinned and tapped my pocket. “And I even have an ace
up my sleeve. The ace that should win my client the lives of his chickens.”

The two of them exchanged glances, but I left them wondering. I
rounded the desk and made my way back to the health inspector’s office. I heard
his voice from behind his closed door and stopped to listen before I knocked.
Most of the words were muffled. I was far from hearing the entire conversation,
but a few words trickled into my ear, a key one being “Kruger.”

Wanting to see his face, I let myself in.

Teague turned to me with an angry look. He went ashen when he saw
me. He stammered into the phone and then hung up.

“What are you doing in here? You’re not allowed, and you’re
certainly not allowed after what you did yesterday.”

“Relax, Teague.” I pulled out and lighted a cigarette. “I’m just
here to talk.”

“You were here to talk yesterday and you wanted me to do
something I simply cannot do.”

I turned one of his chairs around and leaned on the back of it.
“What if I told you the reason you were forced to order the slaughter of those
chickens was now gone?”

“I’d say I don’t know what you’re talking about. We had a
legitimate health concern raised in the proper procedure.”

I reached into my pocket and plucked out the diamond. I held it
up with my index finger and thumb for him to see. The stone caught the light
from the overhead bulb and the sun from the window and dazzled.

“This, Mr. Teague, is why you were told to slaughter the
chickens. Someone you know lost the diamond in Mr. Smith’s chicken pen and
wanted to kill each and every one of them to find it. I found it last night. In
a pile of chicken shit. Not a fun job, but, then again, it’ll save the entire
flock.”

Teague stared at the diamond, mouth slightly agape.

I snapped my fingers.

He blinked and shook his head. “I’ve never seen a diamond
before,” he whispered.

I indicated the ring on his finger. “What, you not spring for one
for the wife?”

He smiled wanly. “It’s a fake. We can’t afford one on a
government salary.”

Something else clicked into place. “How much were you getting to
do this job?”

“Already got two hundred. Was getting three more after the job
was done. Seems a pale thing when you consider the price of the diamond.”

“Indeed.” I pocketed the gem. “Now, about that slaughter order,
you cancel it right now and I’ll go back to my client and report success.”

Teague seemed to shake himself back to reality. “I can’t. I mean,
it’s part of the legal system now.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Explain.”

“Well, you see, once a complaint is raised, it has to jump through
all the hoops. You can’t just stop it. Just about anyone can initiate a
challenge, but only top governmental people can stop an inspection.”

“What do you mean by ‘top’?”

He swallowed. “Well, higher up in the pay grade that I am.”

“So you’re saying you can’t just pick up the phone and make a
call and cancel the inspection and the slaughter?” My heart was sinking into my
stomach.

“No, I can’t.”

I sighed. What was plan B again? “Tell me one thing at least:
what was the name of the man who came to see you the other night?”

“Marlowe.”

“Was he the thief or just the messenger?”

“I think he was the thief.”

“How’d he blackmail you into ordering the slaughter? What’s he
got on you?”

Teague sank into his chair and put his head in his hands. “I
can’t say anything. It’s part of the pact one takes when one joins.”

I leaned forward, knocking ash into his ashtray. “Join what?”

“I can’t say. I won’t say. I’m already in enough trouble. Suffice
it to say, I’m a member of a group. Or, rather, an informal member. It’s a
group that looks out for their own, no matter what.”

I put two and two together. “And this Marlowe guy is part of the
group?”

He nodded.

I frowned. “What kind of group is it?”

He looked up at me, his hands still covering his mouth. “I can’t
say. It’s not allowed. If you’re in, you know. If you’re out, you don’t.”

“So, you’re telling me Marlowe got you to order the slaughter
because you’re both part of some secret group?”

“I can’t say one way or another.”

I sat there, cigarette burning down, thinking about things, what
this case had brought to me. I thought about all the people involved, what they
had said, what they had done. I ran through the time line in my head until
something jarred loose.

“The night Marlowe came here, after hours,” I said, stubbing out
the cigarette, “Clara worked late. She said Marlowe looked at her funny.” I
gave Teague as intense a stare as I could muster. “Is Danielle a member of this
group?”

His silence told me the answer.

I dashed back into the lobby. A few folks were waiting in line. Clara
was helping them, but Danielle was gone.

“Where is she?” I said.

Clara stopped talking with an old woman at her desk. “She said
she had to go to the ladies’ room.”

I sat at Danielle’s desk to wait. I gazed at her accouterments:
desk pad, typewriter, pencil cup, desk calendar. I looked at all the notes on
the calendar, with tasks to do and checkmarks beside most entries. There was
one for today: “1:10 p.m. - Meeting.” I glanced at my watch. A quarter to ten.

“How often do y’all have meetings?”

“Whenever we need one.”

“You having one today?”

“No.”

I stared at the entry, mulling the time over in my mind. I
checked my watch. “How long she been in there?”

Clara frowned. “She should have been back by now.”

I got up and strode toward the rear of the office building where
the restrooms for the employees were situated. I put my ear to the ladies’ room
door and heard nothing. I knocked softly. No response. Still a little
apprehensive, I opened the door. “Hello?”

More silence.

I bent down and looked under the two stalls and saw no legs.
Turning, I trotted back to the front lobby. “Where does she live?”

Clara turned to me. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“She’s gone and I’ve got to find her. Where does she live?”

“In an apartment over on Vine. Number three ten.”

I picked up the phone, then put it down again. I fumbled in my
pockets for my notebook. Rapidly, I flipped pages until I found the one I
needed. Smiling a little, I picked up the phone again and placed a call.

“Hello?” said the voice on the other end.

“This is Wade, the private detective. I’ve got a job to do, if
you’re willing. And you need to bring your gun.”