Boogie House: A Rolson McKane Mystery (29 page)

“You should know that your favorite local royal family is making the rounds on this,” he said. “D.L. called me and said
an associate
of the middle age fucker’s called and suggested you be put away for your own well-being.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “D.L. going to bite on it?”

“You’re here and not in jail, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You got to wonder how long he’ll be able to go without caving though, Rol. That man is a saint, but there’s only so much he can do to keep your pecker out of the food processor.”

“Brickmeyer ain’t the law,” I replied coarsely.

“But he and Judge Stanton play a smokey card game every once in awhile, and if you think he don’t have some influence, you’re dumber’n that asshole thinks you are.”

“He stepped over the line,” I said. “He comes any closer, and I’ll put him down myself. He won’t have to worry about a reputation.”

“Listen,” he said. “You and I both know that D.L. is a good man, but he’s a company man. He’s been in the system so long that he’s become the system.”

“He still knows what the right thing is.”

“And that’s why no arrest has been made.” He smiled. “D.L. will do whatever is best for D.L., and though he’s taken a shine to you, it doesn’t mean he’s gonna put up with you poking the beast forever. Brickmeyer may not be doodley-shit on the national scale, but around here, he moves mountains. Don’t you forget that.”

I got out, thinking about the issues Jarrell had brought up. It hurt to think of D.L. as anything but a centered, well-meaning man, but it wasn’t the only spur in my boxer briefs at the moment.

Paying the impound fee was painful, even if Jarrell had lent me some money. This had to clear up quickly or else I was going to have to forget about playing detective. I thought about disclosing my financial situation to Jarrell but thought better of it. Instead, I told him goodbye and watched him leave. He threw one hand out the window as he sped away.

I hopped in the ride and rolled the windows down. The world was full of pollen, and a breeze swept the hairs back on my arm as I passed the city limits headed into the country. The sweet-bitter smell of blossoming flowers and the way the sun glinted off the windshield sparked small brush fires of memory, which I stamped out in hopes of keeping myself in the present. I had found out that no good comes of being so wistful.

I arrived at my destination and pulled to a stop, noticing the squeal of ever-deteriorating brakes. Leland Brickmeyer's pseudo-palatial estate loomed in the distance, and as I peered up at it, every window seemed to hide a differently menacing shadow. It now appeared more like an insane asylum than the home of the local well-to-do.

Off to one side of the house, a van labeled Middle Georgia Pools & Spa was parked. One door was open, and a tube seven or eight inches around snaked around the side of the van and disappeared behind the door to the fence closing off the backyard area.

Unlike before, I didn't have to go up to the door and beat on it until I was sent away. Someone was rushing down the driveway to meet me.

I stepped in front of my parked car and leaned against the hood, crossing my feet at the ankles and my arms at the wrist, staring straight into the diesel's cab. Bodean glared red-faced at me through its dusty windshield.

He didn't result to pleasantries this time. The way he got out of the truck told me he was ready for violence. "Don't you have any fucking better sense than this?"

"Guess not," I said. "I tend not to watch my feet in a pasture. Might get some cow shit on my sneakers, but I always find a way to make it through. Judging by the last few days, I figured I'd be safer here than in a bar."

He brought one hand up to his nose and snorted defensively.

"That ain't entirely true," he said, and then he spat. It landed on the blacktop right at my feet. The smell of tobacco filled my nostrils, dirty and harsh, like rotted mint. I felt a fine spray against my face, but I did not wipe it away. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

I laughed. It felt as though something inside me was unraveling, something that had been coming loose for years. The consequences of my actions seemed far away, like a silhouette in the distance of a fading sun.

"I don't know what in the hell you think happened, but I can tell you for certain I didn't do it."

"So I laced my own Coke? Yeah, that's how I take it. No ice, no bourbon, but a dash of Rohypnol."

He shrugged. "We talked for a minute. You had a conniption on the floor. By the time you came back around, you were ready for a beer. I suggested you have one, and you did. Then you had another. And another. Free and clear, on your own will. I had nothing to do with that."

"You're a liar."

Bodean cut his eyes away from me. He said, "Listen, just get the fuck off the driveway and leave the man alone. He's done everything he's been asked to do. I don't think he's got anything else to prove to the townsfolk, and especially not to you. It's all done."

"What do you think the Laveau family would say to that? That it's all done?"

"I could give a fuck. Boy got himself in something he couldn't get out of. Not my fault. Not
his
either," he said, pointing a long, meaty finger in the direction of the house.

I glanced up, thinking maybe I'd see someone staring guiltily through a parted blind. Wrong move. I should have kept my focus on the behemoth. I felt the impact of the fist before I had a chance to react. He had brought the pointing hand down like a hammer against my jaw.

The ground jumped and caught me. Pain flared up the backside to my neck. Flat on my back, I looked up at him, with the sun glaring down, obscuring his face. But I knew he was smiling.

Heat from the blacktop scalded my back through my shirt. I was dazed, and my jaw felt a couple sizes too big, but I wasn't hurt. Not
hurt
hurt.

Bodean reared back, as if to kick, but I rolled sideways in time for the blow to miss. He looked like a big kid practicing field goals, and with one leg hiked up in the air, the other was left vulnerable. I kicked out, used both feet to try and break his fucking kneecap.

I connected, and he seemed surprised by the force. Something underneath his pants sounded off, a pop that could have just as easily been the cork on a cheap bottle of champagne. Bodean dropped, clawing sideways to pull himself away from me.

"Ah, my knee. Shit!" he screamed. "My fucking knee!"

His leg was askew, though I didn't think I'd kicked hard enough to break anything. He grunted and snarled, spitting into the dirt and blowing up little clouds into his face. I stood and rubbed my face. Blood made a bright smear on the back of my hand.

I glanced up to see three men in white work jumpers holding pool equipment. They stared, wide-eyed, but did nothing to intervene.

Driscoll pushed himself up and lunged forward, away from me, favoring the bad leg. I followed a couple of paces behind, watching him. As soon as he'd gotten some semblance of balance, I charged. He made for a big target. I lowered my shoulder and caught him below the shoulders, sending him sprawling once again into the dirt.

Bodean screamed in unintelligible syllables, raising one hand, presumably in surrender. He was trying to roll over. I knelt and punched him square in the back of the head. His face bounced off the ground and then rested there. He moaned and spat into the dirt.

I knelt so that he could turn his head to see me. Not that he did.

"Come near me again, and I'll kill you," I said. "I don't have much of anything to lose, and bud, I bet I don't care half as much about that as you do. You can tell your boss the same damned thing."

Tenth Chapter

I drove home with my legs shaking so badly I could barely press the gas pedal. Coasting into the driveway, I saw Vanessa’s junker. She’d come back.

I walked in the front door and pretended like nothing was wrong, but Vanessa waw right through that. “Something happened,” I said. “But maybe that’s not what you want to talk about.”

“Don’t,” she said. “Let’s just forget that last thing. It was. Well. I reckon, shit, maybe there’s something wrong with the both of us.”

It wasn’t difficult for me to agree to that. I’d spent my whole life pushing bad memories into the dark corners of my head.

So I told her what happened. When I’d finished, she told me to calm down, but I couldn't.

"The Brickmeyers are bat-shit crazy, and I can't get a single break on them. They might not be conspirators, but then what are they doing? Fucking with me for the fun of it?"

"That's your problem," she said knowingly. "Trying to figure out the Brickmeyers. Those people are no good."

"I'm beginning to see that."

"All they do is hook people in with their bullshit and then they use them until they don't need them anymore. Then they discard them."

"How would you know?"

"I've lived here all my life, too, you know. Well, almost all of it." She pressed her lips together and searched for something to say. "Look at anybody in this fucking town. They've all been strung along, thinking the man in the big house is the savior. You need something. One of them can offer it. Look at what Leland's daddy did to his first girlfriend."

"What are you talking about?"

She took a deep breath. "When Leland's daddy graduated from college and moved back down here, he started dating this girl - whose family has since moved away - and they had a fast courtship. Her religious beliefs were dead-on with the time, and she refused to bed him, despite his advances. They got engaged, but he grew disinterested and distanced himself from her. It came out that she was pregnant, and when she wouldn't leave him, he started dating other women, throwing it in her face. He'd even take them home to their house."

"Jesus, that's awful."

"She showed up uninvited to a party one night, and when he introduced her to the woman he was at the party with - the one he would eventually marry - this poor, pregnant girl went home and hanged herself. She was six months along. They'd set up a joint account together, and the parents tried to access in order to help pay for funeral expense, but they found it only had a penny in it."

"Brickmeyer had drained the entire thing."

Vanessa nodded.

"How did this not follow him around like a bad smell?"

"They smeared that poor girl and her family. It's why they moved. Those people, the Brickmeyers, they won't stop until every single person in this town is under their thumb. That's why they're so frustrated with you. If you don't stop, you'll end up like that discarded fiancee."

"I can't stop now. You know that."

"Guilt cannot be your only motivator."

"Someone else will die."

"You don't know that," she said.

"Yes, I do. But I don't believe I'll be making any more trips out to the Brickmeyer place. My welcome has been officially worn out."

"It's about time."

"That doesn't mean the family's entirely off the radar, though. Leland's put some distance between the murder and himself, but Jeffrey's still a wild card. If only I had some dirt to use against him, I might get him to turn on his father and give me some leverage."

Van smirked. “Well, there’s one thing you can use against him.”

“What?”

Her smile widened. “You honestly don’t know?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why do you think he moved down to Savannah?"

“To be a lawyer?”

She laughed outright. “Maybe that was part of it. But what he actually did was follow a man down there. He got fucked up on drugs and then scrambled back to the Junction.”

My heart did somersaults in my chest. I couldn't believe my ears, but I tried to keep my voice under control. "What?"

"Uh-huh," she said. Her face was the sight of someone having it over on somebody else, but I knew she was telling the truth. "Jeff Brickmeyer is the last of the Brickmeyer name, an only child, and their name ends with him."

I had to take a minute to let it sink in. "How do you know that?"

"One of the joys of drug addiction, my dear. You end up in the company of people who know
everything
about everybody. When I was down in Savannah, everybody I told about my hometown told me about Jeff and his lover."

"That still doesn't answer my question."

"Touchy. My God. Well, some dealers I knew down in Savannah, they told me. The gay scene and drug culture sometimes overlap, so it was only a matter of time before the big Brickmeyer secret reached me. It's not even a coincidence, really."

"How does that fit into the investigation?" I was grasping at straws.

She shrugged. "No idea. Thing about Jeffrey is, his father either doesn't know or lives in denial. Jeffrey'd rather die than give up that information. Maybe Emmitt Laveau wanted to upend Leland's boat. If it got out just as the political campaign was firing up, Leland would have a hell of a lot of explaining to do. Georgia is a conservative state."

"Uh-huh," I said. I mulled it over. I leaned back on the couch. Something that Bodean Driscoll said came back to me. He had called Jeffrey Brickmeyer a
fairy
but it wasn’t just a sidelong slur. He’d meant it literally.

I sank into the couch next to Vanessa, wanting to place my hand on her knee, or else to reach up and slip my fingers through her hair just over the ear, the way I used to.

But I couldn't. Most often, people attribute an inability to forgive on pride, but pride is just a byproduct of emotional scar tissue. No matter how sober, how sweet, and how responsible Vanessa became, the mental image of her fucking another man for drugs would never leave me.

"Vanessa," I said, finally, clasping my hands so they would stay in my lap, "what
is
this?"

"A moment between friends," she replied, her voice the very definition of innocence. "You were right the other night. Don't complicate things. You aren’t doing anything wrong, so far as I can tell. We're just, you know, sitting on the couch."

I stared at her for a while in the quiet pleasure of the afternoon. Strange as it sounded, being with her in those slowly passing moments, like sitting on a rudderless ship, felt more ghostly than any dream.

Then she said, "I don't know why you're questioning this anyway. You finally got what you wanted. You were always afraid of me running away. Now I'm tied to this couch, and I'm afraid what I'll do to myself if I leave."

"I know," I said, looking away. And I left it at that. I couldn’t quite meet her gaze.

*  *  *

"I gotcha all fixed up, Rolson," the voice in my ear said. There was a profane outburst in the background, and then the voice said, "Scuse me.
We
got you covered. We do, me and Red. My bad. Jesus."

"What's the information?" I asked.

On the phone was Lyle Kearns, and he sounded somewhere on the other end of blitzed. It was just after dusk, and Vanessa had gone to spend the night at her father's. They were attempting a fragile reconciliation and had agreed to meet with one another to talk through her situation. It seems as though the closeness of this afternoon had made her somewhat claustrophobic.

Lyle said, "H.W. is staying with some used-up old skank. Part-time hooker. Y'all still call it that? Turns tricks sometimes. She used to have a real bad man for a beau and a pimp, but we didn't see him. It's just her and Bullen."

He talked some more, and I wrote the details on a stray piece of paper. "Laina Donaldson, probably. Fried hair, sort of bleached blonde-looking, with the roots showing. Scar across her cheek?"

"That's her," he said.

"Yeah. Busted her for possession once. Maybe she's trading sex for protection, that sort of thing. She's not got a strong instinct when it comes to men."

"Maybe. Shit, I don't know. She's all dried out. Pot-smoking alcoholic. Does blow and crack sometimes, if she can afford it."

"And how do you know all this?"

“You don’t worry about that. Just know I found him." Some more screaming in the background. "
We
found him. He's got her buying him groceries and drugs, goes out in the evening and brings ‘em home with her. Whatever she can get her hands on. This is all coming from the guy owns the place, Kevin Weeks. Says he has to keep an eye on her so she doesn't burn the fucking place down. Plus, the men she’s let home in the past tend to beat the shit out of her, so he's had to call the police more than once."

"I see."

Lyle cleared his throat. "Both of them spend the day getting lit up on whatever’s lying around. As long as you don't ambush them, you might have a shot at talking to H.W. I got to tell you, though, the man's keeping an especially low profile, not just for the sake of being a homebody. Snakes that crawl into holes generally don't like to be dragged out by the tail."

"I'll be all right."

"I'm just telling you to be careful, that's all. He has a violent past."

I said goodbye and hung up, lying awake in bed most of the night, watching phantasms dancing and lurching on the ceiling. It was the first time I’d felt hopeful in days.

*  *  *

Calling D.L. would do no good. Even if I were on the list of people he would listen to at this point - and I was not - Vanessa curried even less trust from her father. I called Deuce and asked him to meet me at the bar, and even though he acted distant, eventually I convinced him.

“Damn, that’s something I didn’t even know,” he said, when I told him the story. We were sitting at the bar but hadn’t ordered. He was taking his sweet time to digest the story.

Deuce was a thoughtful guy, and he wasn’t quick to siphon off new information so that it was forgotten. Watching the dude take in someone else’s story was like watching a scientist keep up with records. For every detail he was given, he seemed to catalog it and place it in its own file for later use.

“What do you make of it, though, Deuce?” I asked. It was one hellacious revelation, and yet I didn’t quite know what to do with it. Kind of like walking around a playground with lit dynamite.

Louis came over and took our orders - I just got a Coke - and then went away. Deuce continued to slowly shake his head, in time with some internal rhythm that did not match up with the jukebox.

“I don’t know,” he said, at last. “I’ve got mind to believe Van on this one, Rol, but she might have moths up there when it comes to her memory of Savannah.”

“She swears up and down it’s the truth,” I responded. “I believe her. I don’t know. Part of me thinks she might have dreamed up the whole thing, but part of me is like, ‘why the hell not?’ Why not believe her?”

“Either way, doesn’t mean it has any connection to the corpse,” he said. “Not every thread is tied off at both ends.”

I sort of clicked my teeth together while I draped myself in that information. Could be true, I suppose. But he and I knew that wasn’t the truth.

“Of course,” he continued. “Could mean he’d have motivation to have someone shut up.”

“If he went to that party a few years back, maybe he caught Jeff in the bathroom with an illicit party guest. That’s reason enough.”

“Yeah, but years ago? Political scandals, sure, but that piece of information isn’t a ‘dump the body’ kind of discovery, is it? Maybe twenty years ago.”

“Maybe ten.”

“Maybe,” he said. “Listen, but even the event was a couple of years back. Why would he wait that long to get his revenge? Or to shut his file completely?”

“Seems like it would be a case of the cover-up being worse than the crime, yeah,” I said. It made a certain amount of sense, if somehow Laveau had reason to blow up the Brickmeyer political machine. Wait until a crucial moment, and then light the fuse.

“If the Brickmeyers are wound as tight as you say, then perhaps what happened was a sad, violent overreaction.”

I sighed. “Seems like a shame that someone’s life could come down to that.”

The bartender brought Deuce his beer but only gave me a dour look. “I ordered a Coke,” I said, not unkindly.

“Can’t serve you no more,” Louis said, though, and he turned on his heel and went the other way.

“I’m not even drinking,” I said to his back.

“Damn,” Deuce said, “Things is fucked up when a white dude gets refused service right in front of a black man holding a beer.”

“The progress of society,” I replied. Thinking about having a beer still made my stomach do gymnastics, but somehow my misery was stronger than my instincts and my will to do good.