Dead South (A Bryson Wilde Thriller / Read in Any Order) (7 page)

18

Day Six

August 8, 1952

Thursday Morning

The Mountain View Motel, recommended to the boxer by the honest man, Joe, sat on the Colfax drag next to a tire shop and across from a hotdog joint shaped like a giant hotdog. Wilde didn’t want to be associated with the boxer any more than necessary so Alabama went in alone and got the man’s room number under the pretext she was supposed to meet him an hour ago.

The man had Room 108, on the first floor at the corner. Wilde entered from the back through the one and only window, checked to be sure the door was locked and then found something of interest, namely a suitcase under the bed.

He swung it up and unzipped it.

Under the clothes were three things of interest.

One was a sawed-off shotgun.

One was a six-shooter.

The other was large manila envelope stuffed with bills. Wilde dumped the contents out on the bed. It was all money, a lot of money, except for one other thing, namely a white business card. It was for a lawyer by the name of Lester Trench in El Paso, Texas.

El Paso.

That was a long, long ways away, in fact all the way down to the Rio Grande. Take a short swim when you get there and you’re in Mexico.

Wilde stuffed the card in his wallet, put everything back exactly as he found it—including the money—and then got the hell out of there.

Halfway out the window he came back in.

The money, there was no good to leave it here.

The boxer wouldn’t be back for it.

Wilde’s best guess was that the man had been hired to kill him. The money was some or all of his payment. If that was the case, then Wilde had earned it.

He retrieved the envelope and then got the hell out of there, this time for good.

At the MG Alabama handed him a hotdog and said, “Compliments of Bob.”

“Who’s Bob?”

“The guy from the joint across the street, the manager.”

“He’s feeding me? For free?”

“No, he’s feeding me but I saved it for you.”

“Why’s he feeding you?”

“Apparently he likes my legs. You could learn from him, Wilde.”

He took a bite.

It wasn’t half bad.

Alabama tapped him on the shoulder.

“Guess who drove by while you were inside watching TV,” she said.

Wilde chewed and swallowed.

“Who?”

“Your little buddy, Nicholas Dent.”

Wilde paused in mid-bite.

“Are you sure it was him?”

“It was him all right. He stared right at me. So did his little office girl, whatever her name is. I got to hand it to him. He’s really taking care of his cutie-waitress client, making sure you don’t kill her and all that.”

Wilde wasn’t amused.

He handed her the envelope.

“Don’t let that blow away.”

Then he cranked over the engine and squealed out.

19

Day Six

August 8, 1952

Thursday Morning

Back at the office Wilde paced next to the windows with a smoke in one hand and coffee in the other, keeping one eye on the street and the other on Alabama counting the money. The total was going to be big but he didn’t find himself giving a rat’s ugly end.

What he cared more about was staying alive; and keeping Alabama that way too, for that matter.

The boxer was a hitman and Wilde was the target.

That was clear.

That was a given.

Why was Wilde a target? That was the question. The obvious answer was because he killed Sudden Dance, at least in someone’s mind. Although it fit, it almost fit too well.

“$2,152,” Alabama said. “Keep this up and in a month or two we’ll be able to buy the whole city.”

“I don’t want the whole city.” He blew smoke. “That’s a lot of money just to kill me, especially if it was only half up front. Someone really wants me dead. Who?”

Alabama cocked her head.

“It’s obviously related to Sudden Dance.”

“Is it?”

“Sure, what else could it be?”

“I don’t know, but maybe something.”

“You’re not serious.”

He shrugged.

“It could have something to do with one of my cases.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know.”

Alabama chewed on it.

“It doesn’t fit,” she said. “Have you been messing around with a married woman?”

“You know I don’t do that.”

“Well then, we’re back to Sudden Dance. Someone doesn’t like the fact that you killed her.” She smiled. “At least we’re getting rich in the process.”

“We?”

She nodded.

“I’m cutting you in, honey, don’t worry. You’re starting to be one of my favorite guys.”

Wilde flicked the butt out the window.

“In hindsight I should have taken the money in the boxer’s wallet.”

“How much was there?”

“Enough.”

“Enough to make it worthwhile to go back?”

Wilde wrinkled his forehead and shook his head.

“I don’t want Blondie connected with that area, not even an ounce worth.”

“We can take the boxer’s car; the blue crapper.”

Wilde set a book of matches on fire. The pungent odor of sulfur pierced the air and gray smoke snaked towards the ceiling.

He lit a smoke from the flames.

“The only thing worse than someone spotting Blondie in the area is seeing me driving around the dead man’s car.”

“Let’s just rent something then,” Alabama said. “We’ll stop at the well, I’ll drop you off and then keep driving. Half an hour later I’ll swing back and pick you up.”

Wilde took a deep drag.

The money—maybe a grand or more—was worth the time. It translated to three months pay. The issue wasn’t the time; it was the risk. If they went they’d have to be damn sure Johnnie Fingers wasn’t on their tail; Nicholas Dent too.

“Well?”

“I’m thinking,” Wilde said.

“Come on, Wilde,” she said. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I don’t have that anymore. I replaced it with another kind of sense, the kind called common.”

Alabama smiled.

“The money’s just sitting there waiting for someone brave enough to come and get it. Stop thinking about it and let’s just do it,” she said. “Everything will be fine. We can get Honest Joe to let us use one of his cars for a couple of hours.” She ran a finger down his chest. “If you want, we can even move the body. You said you didn’t like it there anyway.”

That was true.

That was the worst place for it in hindsight; poetic at the time, but now stupid beyond stupid.

He nodded.

“Okay, we’ll do it.”

“Right now?”

“No, tonight.”

“See, you can get to the right answer if someone gives you enough time,” Alabama said. “I know a place to dump the body.”

Out the window Wilde saw something he couldn’t believe. He grabbed the Fedora and ran out the door.

“Where you going?”

“I’ll be back!”

Then he was gone, bounding down the rickety wooden stairs two at a time and busting into eye-blinding sunlight down at street level.

20

Day Six

August 8, 1952

Thursday Morning

Wilde ran to the right towards his target, a woman, an Indian woman, Sudden Dance to be precise, unless his eyes were playing a mean trick on him. She was thirty steps ahead, walking briskly. Long black hair swung in tune with her movement, alive with a demonic beat.

Wilde picked up the pace.

The gap closed.

“Sudden Dance!”

At the last second the woman turned. It was Sudden Dance. She stared at him for a heartbeat, almost as if in a trance, and then swung a knife at his face with all the speed of a lightning attack.

Her aim was off, not by much but enough for Wilde to jerk back as the swish of air passed close enough to taste. The movement was so intense and so absolute that his body lost control and pummeled to the sidewalk. The wind shot out of his lungs.

Sudden Dance’s face contorted.

Then she lunged at him.

Wilde kicked his foot into her stomach, landing solid. When she fell back he wrestled her to her back and pinned her down.

She struggled with every ounce of strength in her body.

Wilde kept her in place until the fight died.

Then he got to his feet and pulled her up.

Several people were stopped, huddled and watching.

“Go on to where you’re going,” Wilde said. “It’s all over here.”

The knife was at his feet.

He kicked it to the side, grabbed the woman by the arm and led her up the street. She resisted, pulling back.

“Where are you taking me?”

He gave her a long, hard look.

Then he released her, lit a cigarette and blew smoke to the side, deciding.

Suddenly he didn’t care.

He didn’t care why she was still alive.

He didn’t care why she tried to kill him.

He didn’t care why nothing in his life ever went right.

“You know what?” he said. “Just get out of here.”

He turned and walked away.

“I’ll be back,” she warned. “It’s not over. It will never be over.”

He stopped and turned.

“Stay out of my life,” he said. “I don’t know what kind of a sick game you’re playing but I’m not interested in it.”

“You killed Sudden Dance,” the woman said. “You’re going to pay for that.”

The words landed with the force of z tire iron to the side of his head.

You killed Sudden Dance.

He focused harder on the woman.

She looked like Sudden Dance, but maybe not a hundred percent. At first he thought it was just because she wasn’t dolled up and was out in the sunlight instead of the smoky dark of the Bokoray. Plus, he wasn’t drunk now; he was a man with the charge of adrenalin in his brain. The more he focused on her, however, the more he wasn’t sure it was her.

“Who are you?”

“I’m the person who’s going to kill you.”

She spit on the ground and walked away.

21

Day Six

August 8, 1952

Thursday Morning

Wilde watched the woman as she left. Her attire was simple, her body was curvy and her stride was strong. She stopped long enough to light a cigarette, tossing a match to the sidewalk, and then kept going, never looking back. Wilde pried his eyes off her and headed in the opposite direction. Ten steps later he stopped, wondering if the thoughts that just wedged into his skull were the best or worst he’d ever had.

He didn’t care.

He ran back, grabbed the knife off the ground and caught up with the woman, tapping her on the shoulder as he got to her.

She turned.

Her eyes were the sexiest things Wilde had ever seen.

He held the knife out and said, “You forgot this.”

She focused on it but didn’t reach.

“I didn’t kill Sudden Dance,” Wilde said.

The woman searched his face, looking for lies or tricks. She must not have found any because she said, “The word is that you did.”

“Well, the word’s wrong. I’m going to go have a drink. You can join me or not, your choice.”

She hesitated, took the knife and searched his eyes.

Wilde said, “I have a theory who might have killed her. We can talk about it.”

They ended up in a dark corner of the Ginn Mill with Wilde’s personal bottle of whiskey out from behind the bar and on the table, joined by two almost-clean glasses, his filled with ice. He poured alcohol into both, tapped his against hers and said, “To the truth.”

He took a hard swallow.

“Given your resemblance to Sudden Dance, I’m going to take a wild guess and say you’re her sister.”

The woman pulled a photo out of her purse and passed it across the table. It was a black-and-white, aged, depicting two Indian kids leaning against a horse fence, holding rifles. They looked identical except that one was slightly shorter.

“That’s me and Sudden Dance,” the woman said. “I’m the one on the right, the taller one. I’m eleven there and she’s ten.”

“So you’re not twins.”

“Not in date of birth,” she said. “We came out the same, though. It’d be more accurate to say we’re copies rather than twins.”

“Interesting.”

“My name’s Jori-Rey, by the way.”

“Is that Indian?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t go by my Indian name anymore. You said you had a theory who killed her.”

Wilde shrugged.

“It’s just a theory,” he said. “I don’t have any proof.”

“Tell me.”

He tapped out two cigarettes, handed one to the woman and stuck a match.

She leaned forward for the fire.

The top two buttons of her blouse were open.

When she came closer a cleavage took shape.

Wilde’s eyes played there as he lit her up.

When he brought them back up she was staring into them, reading his thoughts, his nasty little thoughts.

He didn’t care.

“Like I said, it’s just a theory. I’m not sure I should tell you. I don’t want you running off killing someone who might not have actually done anything.”

She blew smoke.

“Just tell me.”

He leaned back, deciding, and then leaned in, close enough to lower his voice. He told her about the night in question, every stinking detail of it; how he tried to pick up Sudden Dance at the Bokoray, how he came out to find both her and Blondie gone, how Blondie showed up out in the county with a flat, the whole thing.

She asked questions.

He answered them.

He didn’t hold back.

He even told her about finding a body in the well, a body that belonged to a lawyer named Alley London.

Finally he told her about searching Sudden Dance’s room. “She had a suitcase under the mattress with a lot of money in it, over five G’s. I think the money is why she ended up dead. I think she took it from someone and that’s who killed her.”

Jori-Rey narrowed her eyes.

“Rojo,” she said.

“Rojo?”

“Rojo. It was Rojo’s money. He’s not the one who killed her though.”

“Why?”

“Because he loved her.”

Wilde wasn’t impressed.

“If you’re saying they were lovers, and then she ran out on him and took his money in the process, I’d say that’s a pretty good reason for him to kill her.”

“Ordinarily yes. Have you ever heard of Rojo?”

He shook his head.

“No.”

“He’s not exactly what you’d call a nice man.” She splashed more whiskey in her glass and added, “You know where Paso del Norte is, right?”

Wilde frowned.

“I’m starting to feel stupid here—”

“Don’t,” she said. “Paso del Norte is a border town in Mexico, right across the Rio Grande from El Paso. For the most part it’s a great place with really great people leading simple, honest lives. But a lot of it’s built on a darker element.”

“Meaning what?”

“Gambling, whores, bars, drugs, you name it,” she said. “Any of it that’s worth anything, Rojo’s got his hand in it, either directly or through extortion. He’s the devil of darkness.”

Wilde mashed his cigarette in the ashtray.

“And Sudden Dance was mixed up with him?”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s a long story but here’s the part of it that’s important,” she said. “Three years ago, while she was with Rojo, she started taking up with a man on the side. They fell in love, saw each other more and more, and then she got pregnant. Her stomach started to grow. She couldn’t destroy the baby, not in a million years, and told Rojo it was his. Rojo believed her. He was a happy man.”

“Okay.”

“When the baby came out it was half white. Rojo went into a rage the likes of which this earth has never seen. He found out who the man was and killed him with his bare fists right in front of Sudden Dance’s eyes. He didn’t kill Sudden Dance, though. He didn’t let her go, either; he would never let her go, that was the rule from day one. He forced her to stay with him, no doubt at that point hoping she’d fall back in love with him but if she wouldn’t then the hell with it, at least no one else would ever have her. He hated the baby with every fiber of his body. When it was four months old, Sudden Dance came back to the Villa one afternoon to find it gone. Rojo said he’d made arrangements for it to grow up someplace else.”

She took a swallow of the liquor and leaned in.

“Here’s the important part. He made it very, very clear that if she ever left him, he’d have the baby killed; it didn’t matter if it happened in six months or six years. If Sudden Dance ever left him, the child would die.”

Wilde pictured the murder.

“Was it a boy or girl?”

“A girl, Maria. She’s two years old at this point.”

Wilde shifted his frame.

“So what was Sudden Dance doing way up here in Denver?”

“Picking up money.”

“For Rojo?”

“Right.”

“From who?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m surprised he let her leave town.”

“He had to.”

“Why?”

“Because if he kept her reigned in too tight she’d kill herself,” she said. “So he let her work as a mule on occasion. It was her indiscretion and he gave it to her.”

“Wasn’t he afraid she’d cheat on him like before?”

“I’m sure he was,” she said. “In a way I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s why he let her leave. If she had to do it he’d rather not know about it. He’d rather it happen someplace else where he wouldn’t get embarrassed by the rumors and be forced to act. He knew she’d come back. She had to, otherwise Maria would be killed.”

Wilde lit two more smokes and handed one to Jori-Rey.

“Do you really think he’d kill a kid?”

“You’re joking, right? That’s part of how extortion works. You threaten to kill loved ones; and you set examples so there’s no confusion.”