Birdsongs (21 page)

    “I know you must be real busy but can I ask you two and only two questions, I promise, about the case? I’m staying in the room next to yours,” Lola said pointing at her room’s door. “But I promise this will be the only time I will bother you.”

    “Sure,” Rachael answered. “Come on in and let me get out of these heels.”

    They walked into the room and Rachael removed her on-air stilettos. She utilized the kick-style shoe removal method flipping the footwear with a triple-lindy into the wall. Lola was surprised, expecting a high-maintenance bitch.

    “Have a seat,” Rachael offered. “What’s question number one,” Rachael said cutting to the chase, thinking about her nap.

    “OK. I’ll preface the question by telling you that I am in town to study Benny, not particularly the murder case. I’m writing a book about him. The way he interacts with the murder investigation is what I’m interested in. So, my question to you,” Lola paused. She wanted to be tactful. “I’ve been kind of Benny’s invisible paparazzi lately, so I have witnessed you working with him a great deal in the past few days. I know in the spotlight he’s James Dean, cool as ice. But deep down and behind closed doors, what is he like?”

    “The same. He has a gentle tamed ferocity about him. He is one of those people who enters a room and you know they are there. You feel him. A definite presence. He’s a nice guy with an edge. What’s question number two?” Rachael asked kindly. “Dream world calls.”

    “Do you love him?”

    “I think I might.”

Chapter 70

    Lola was peering out the window from the bed, the same way she was the first time Benny visited her. Benny recognized Rachael’s rental car in front of her room next door and surmised she was taking her daily nap. He wished he could climb in next to her for some needed sleep followed by a rousing awakening. He decided there was too much to do for midday shenanigans. Added to that fact there was no way Benny could slip in the bed beside her without knocking on the door and waking her first. Lola met him at her door.

    “Are you here to see your lady?” she teased.

    “No Sherlock Holmes, I’m here to see you. I read a few pages of your blog.”

    “Oh?” she asked. “I can see you are in a serious mood.”

    “You can say that. First of all, let me say that I hate your blog.”

    “Thanks,” Lola said laughing. “I didn’t expect you to ever read it for one. I also knew that if you ever did, you would feel just the way you so eloquently expressed.”

    “Why do you think that?” Benny said walking into the room, taking a seat in the same chair where he sat on his last visit.

    “Well, for one, and tell me if I’m wrong—you don’t have a computer.”

    “How do you know that?”

    “I have tried for years to find an email address for you. I’m pretty computer savvy and I would have found one if one existed. So, I have just assumed that a man without an email address doesn’t have a computer. Fits your bill. You’re more of a newspaper, pen and paper kind of guy. I knew you wouldn’t like it because of the fact you never liked publicity, even when all was well and you were at the top of the world. Yeah, you did the interviews and stuff, but you never craved the camera and the spotlight. You were just doing your job. Am I right?”

    “Pretty dead on although I do own a typewriter. I’m not all pen and paper.”

    “How many inches of dust does it have on it?”

    “One,” Benny joked. He visualized the typewriter in his mind and the last time he saw it, it was covered with a heavy layer of dust. “I’m here for two reasons,” Benny said returning to serious. “I’ve seen you around in the shadows. Do you think you’ve seen, heard, or uncovered anything that I may have overlooked?”

    “I don’t think so. As I told you before, I’m not here to solve a crime. I’m here to write a story about the man solving the crime. I have had the pleasure of interviewing a lot of people who know you. They all say good things. I have yet to find someone who trashes you.”

    “Who have you talked to?”

    “Vernon, Andy Mandolino, Donny, Jerry Lee, and Rachael next door. And I’m going over to see Chief Neighbors later today.”

    “Well, you’ll definitely hear some trash talking there. We aren’t the best of friends.”

    “So I hear. People say he respects you though.”

    “Maybe. Who knows with that man. That leads me to the second reason for my visit. I had a feeling you might try to interview him. Have you heard that he’s a dog?”

    “Yeah—woof.”

    “I’m not kidding with you Lola. Chief Asshole as I call him has had just about every woman in this town in his bed, across his desk, in the back of his squad car, use your imagination and fill in the rest of the blanks. He’s going to use what you want to know to get what he wants. Trust me. I don’t want to read an X-rated update on the blog. Not that I would read it again but I just thought you should be aware.”

    “Thanks,” Lola said with a wink that Benny was not quite sure how to interpret. “I think I heard your lady stirring next door. You better go make sure she’s waking up on the right side of the bed. Woof.”

    “You’re not right,” Benny said heading for the door.

    “Woof-woof.”

Chapter 71

   Before Benny mailed the paternity test back to Peter Banks, he made a record of the address. Benny decided it would be a good idea to pay him a visit. Thanks to some information Rachael’s team had uncovered, he had a pocket full of aces.

    Peter lived in a duplex surrounded by a sea of other units. Benny parked his Jeep behind a car matching the description Red offered. Benny laughed as he purposely slammed the car door shut. He was going to play games with Peter while not playing games. Benny opened the hind end of the Jeep and pulled out his vacuum cleaner. He slammed the trunk shut using at least twice the necessary force causing an echo to rifle and bounce through the complex. He knocked, once again twice as hard as necessary on the front door. The blinds on the window flipped shut and Benny heard footsteps nearing the door. Peter slowly opened the door.

    “Good afternoon sir,” Benny said revealing with his eyes, the slant of his mouth, and the vacuum, sarcasm. “My name is Ronny Goldstone, and it would be my pleasure to demonstrate for you this sleek dirt eating machine.” Benny gave Peter an eat shit and die look and waited for a response.

    “Let me guess,” Peter said. “Benny James?”

    “Yes sir.”

    “Nice touch with the vacuum,” Peter commented.

    “I thought so,” Benny answered.

    “I’m guessing that you are not here to question me about the murder case or to sell me a vacuum?”

    “No, I’m not.”

    “The test was negative Mr. James.”

    “Was it?”

    “Yes,” Peter confirmed. “It was,” he lied.

    “Could we sit down somewhere?” Benny asked.

    Peter led him to the slab of concrete behind his apartment he called the porch. Passing through the building Benny observed copies of the local paper’s sport section scattered about the living area adding confirmation to the information Rachael found.

    “Mind if I smoke?” Peter asked lighting his cigarette.

    As smoke blew by his face Benny answered, “No.”

    “You think the Cowboys have a chance against the Eagles tonight?” Benny asked.

    “I think they’ll win by at least three and a half.”

    “How much you got riding on it?”

    “That’s none of your business Mr. James. Can you please tell me why you’re here? Do you have official business with me or are you fishing?”

    “I know you understand what it feels like to have a hunch. You’re a gambling man. Not a very successful one from what I have gathered but a gambling man nonetheless. I have a hunch and unlike you Mr. Banks, my hunches are usually correct. If you could play my hunches in Vegas, they’d have to turn some of the lights off. My hunch tells me that Red is the Baker baby.”

    “You’re wrong,” Peter answered not giving away even a hint of the truth.

    “Oh, but wait Mr. Banks,” Benny said with a malevolent grin. “I haven’t given you the odds and the payouts yet.” Benny paused for effect and tapped the glass tabletop saying, “If I win the hard way I will make a personal guarantee to you right here and now that you will go down for more than just the cover-up. I will have it leaked on the streets that you gave up your shark to the feds. You think he’s mad when you can’t make a payment—you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

    “If I owed a shark money or anybody for that matter,” Peter said condescendingly, “you would never figure out who that was in a million years.”

    “Does the name Tommy Rodriguez mean anything to you?” Peter’s face told the name did. “Your eyes tell me you two have met. I may not be in the FBI anymore Mr. Banks but I still have friends who are. I made a call this morning to a friend of mine who has worked his way into Rodriguez’s inner circle. Just so happens he is about to go down—sure would be a shame if the word got passed to him in prison that Peter Banks ratted him out. How long do you think you would last?”

    Rachael’s team made the tie between Tommy Rodriguez and Peter Banks; the rest was bullshit. One of Benny’s fabulous creations and he still had one more card up his sleeve.

    “You wouldn’t do that to me. You would basically be signing my death certificate.”

    “Mr. Banks, do you think I made my way to the top of the FBI by being a nice guy? Let me answer that for you—no. I’m a ruthless son of a bitch. So before I ask for your final answer, let me throw one more proverbial card on the table.” Benny made the gesture of dealing a card on the table that separated the two men. “Oh!” Benny said pretending to be surprised. “It’s the Bobby Baker card!” he said seething derision.

    Peter choked on the smoke he was inhaling.

    “So—let me just summarize this little situation for you Mr. Banks. Of course this all hinges on the way in which I uncover the truth. If you lie to me and I find out that Red is indeed the Baker baby, Tommy Rodriguez will have you to blame for his incarceration. You will probably get one of those Italian or should I say in this case, Mexican neckties. You tell me the truth and Bobby Baker might catch a westward wind of slight embarrassment. I’ll do everything in my power to keep your name out of the discovery. But even if he does find out you revealed his secret, you need to decide who you would rather have on your bad side—Tommy Rodriguez or Bobby Baker.”

    “You’re an asshole.”

    “Thank you. It’s not the first time I have heard that.”

    “You’re a real prick.”

    “I’ve heard that too—one of my ex-wife’s favorites. So what’s it gonna be? Tommy or Bobby?”

    “Red is the Baker baby,” Peter reluctantly confessed. “Go screw yourself.”

    “Thank you,” Benny said standing up. “I’m going to need a copy of the test results.”

    “OK, and screw yourself again.”

    “Thank you again.”

Chapter 72

   Jerry Lee felt a need for intimacy—a tingling in the pit of his stomach itched with a void that needed to be filled. He felt like killing too. Michelle was the only girl he knew he could pay to innocently touch him—so she won his affection. With her haircuts, with the shampoo, she gave her customers the most wonderful head and neck massages. Jerry Lee made sure he arrived at the Hair Palace just before closing. He had a fresh pack of smokes and a bottle of booze. He didn’t smoke but he did enjoy getting drunk in private from time to time. His practice was to drive two towns over to buy his liquor where no one knew him. Jerry Lee walked in, shook his head like a movie star, and cracked the seal on the bottle of Knob’s Creek whiskey. He took a good long swig that shocked Michelle. The two had been acquaintances for many years and she, as well as everybody else in town, had never seen him drink any alcohol whatsoever. The way he carried himself and the personality of the man who walked through the door was not the man she knew. He handed her the bottle without a word. Being the lush she was she took a pull from the bottle. Jerry Lee smiled as she took another pull and backing up to the door, he locked it behind his back.

    Before washing his hair they both took another couple of drinks straight from the bottle. Michelle stumbled with a head rush, laughing and commenting on how out of character he was acting. As she massaged his scalp, Jerry Lee closed his eyes enjoying the touch of another human. He felt each finger masterfully dancing through the curly mess atop his head. He breathed in and out through his nose, inhaling the aroma of what he thought of as a feminine shampoo and the masculine smell of whiskey. Finishing what he wished would go on forever, she wrapped a towel around his head and asked if he minded if she had a quick smoke. He agreed as she sat in one of the barber chairs with the mirror at her back.

    Jerry Lee got up from the chair in front of the sink and disappeared into the tiny closet where she kept her boom box. He inserted a tape cued to a particular song and pushed play. He reentered the main room silently as the words “To everything turn, turn, turn,” filled the air.

    Michelle laughed, exhaling smoke, thinking once again what a strange man he was. The last time he came to get his hair cut she remembered he brought a James Brown tape with the small stereo as her tip, which he gave her in advance of the cut.

    Facing opposite the mirror she did not see him approach her from behind. She took another drag from her cigarette and his massive paws clamped down around her throat, trapping the smoke and blocking any further air. Her legs kicked as he compressed his grip tighter, swiveling the chair around so she could watch herself die in the mirror. They locked eyes for a moment in the mirror, hers filled with terror and his filled with madness. She felt a drop from his wet hair hit her forehead and instinctively her eyes looked upward where they remained. Jerry Lee released his clutch as her body fell limp. He stepped on her still burning cigarette, which was now on the floor as he rounded the chair. As if he were picking up a small animal he scooped her up and sat back in the chair with her on his lap. Looking in the mirror he pulled her shirt over her shoulders and released her bra. He massaged her warm breasts with his palms tracing circles around her nipples. He stuck his hand down her pants intending to go all the way. As his fingers crossed her pubic line he came, his body jerking and thrusting as he trembled with pleasure. He shoveled her up again, grabbing her shirt and bra. He pulled his car to the back of the building, which backed up to nothing, and covertly deposited her in the trunk hurriedly to get her home. His pocket was full of scissors.