The Big Ugly (12 page)

"How's it going?" I asked.

He patted the baby's back. "He's got an ear infection."

"Aw. I'm sorry to hear that."

Nate kept watching the birds. "You know," he said, "I actually do need help at the shop."

"I know. I'm sorry. I've been doing this other job for some people."

"A job you don't want to talk about."

"I'm almost done, Nate. I'm almost done. I'll be set up, and I can get out of here, get my own place. I won't be a bother."

Nate watched a squirrel dart out of his yard and into the street. It jerked both ways as a car passed and hopped into the woods. He said, "Stupid thing almost got run over. Should've stayed put."

I waited, but he didn't seem to have anything to add to that. I said, "I promise that things are about to get a lot better."

I called the number Kluge had given me. Vin Colfax answered.

"What kind of news you got for me?"

"I'd like to see your boss," I said.

"My boss … don't know that I'd call him my boss exactly. That would make me his employee, wouldn't it? Like a servant. I look like a servant to you?"

"I want to see the old man. Can I see him or do you want to keep jerking off on the phone?"

He giggled. "Good idea." I heard a zipper and then he started to moan. He moaned and grunted and the phone shook. I waited. Then he moaned, "Mm, guess I did want to jerk off on the phone …"

"Do I get to talk to the old man or not, you fucking psycho?"

"Oo-ee," he said. "Nasty mouth. You probably learned to talk that way in prison. I'll try to forgive it. How about we meet by the Old Mill at three?"

"The old man will be with you?"

"We'll see."

The Old Mill sat at the center of a park in North Osotouy City. A recreation of an old grist mill from the 1880s, it had been built in the thirties sometime. A famous movie had filmed some scenes there back in the thirties, and now the Old Mill was a spot for elderly tourists and weddings. It was pretty, though there wasn't much to look at, really. Just a two-story stone building with a narrow bridge straddling a little pond.

When I got there, I parked on the street, got out and walked down to the water. The sky was bright blue, and the air was on fire. The heat had beaten down most of the flowers, and the greenery seemed to sag beneath the weight of the humidity.

A moment later an Infiniti pulled up to the curb. Vin driving. Kluge in the passenger seat. I walked up the hill to meet them.

Vin motioned to me to get in the car.

I got in behind the driver's seat so I could look at Kluge—and so Vin couldn't look at me.

Kluge turned around to talk to me. He smiled politely. "Good morning."

"Good morning."

"Shall we get right to business?"

I nodded. "Yes. It looks to me like she's gone." I paused, but he simply waited with the same polite expression on his melted old face. I said, "I talked to some ex-boyfriends, and I talked to an ex-inmate, Effervescence Jackson, all of whom told me that she's gone."

Junius Kluge turned to Vin.

Vin snapped, "We're paying you to tell us that she's fucking gone? Everyone knows she's fucking gone. Where'd she go?"

"Texas. On a Greyhound. Last night, it looks like."

"Why do you think she's gone to Texas?" Kluge asked.

"She told Jack—that is, Effervescence Jackson—that she was going there. I guess she's from there originally."

"Why'd she tell this Effervescence Jackson where she was going?"

"She contacted Jack to borrow money. To no avail. Jack's not in the habit of lending cash."

"Anything else?"

I shook my head. "No, sir. I think that's it."

Kluge nodded and settled back in his seat. Turning his face to the mill, he said, "I went to a wedding here once, a long time ago. The justice of the peace was an old feller with Alzheimer's. He married the bride and groom three times before someone finally told him to wrap it up. At the end, he congratulated them on their fiftieth wedding anniversary."

"I like that story," Vin chuckled. "I heard you tell that one before."

Without looking at me, Kluge said, "You can keep the five thousand dollars, Miss Bennett. I trust you understand that the information you've given us here today doesn't merit the second half of the money we discussed."

"The deal was for me to track her down as far as my position as an ex-inmate would take me. I don't know anyone in Texas."

I pressed the case because it was a natural thing to do. He'd expect me to try to get the rest of the cash. Besides, I needed the money.

Vin snapped, "The deal was to find her. You didn't find her. You're lucky we're letting you keep the five grand."

"You want me to go to Texas," I said. "I'll go. It's the size of fucking … Texas, but I'll go. I just don't know what good it'll do you to have me down there, going door to door, asking people if they've seen her."

Kluge was still staring at the mill. "That will be all, Miss Bennett. We'll make some inquires and follow up on this new information. If we require more your services, we'll be in contact."

I made a show of accepting this, said so long, and got out of the car.

They drove away.

Still standing there staring at the water, I called the number Charles Hamill had given me.

"I have some news about Alexis," I told him.

"Could you come in?" he asked.

"There's really no need," I said. "What I have to say I can tell you just as easy over the phone."

"There's someone else I'd like you to meet," he said.

We hung up, and then I drove over to the Milner Building. In the middle of a hot summer Saturday afternoon, most intelligent people were seeking shelter in the air conditioning, so I was able to grab a parking spot right by the front door.

A single guard sat in the lobby and gave me a smile as I walked through. I took the elevator up to the tenth floor. The Faith and Liberty Legal Initiative was devoid of life. No Gennifer at the desk. No sounds of activity down the hall.

I found my way back to Hamill's office and opened the door. No Sister Lips.

The light was on in his office, and Hamill came to the door. He wore some light blue jeans and a black and red Fila polo shirt.

"Hi there," he said. "How are you doing, Ellie?"

"I'm fine," I said.

"If you will, join us in here," he said, motioning me back to the office.

I walked across the darkened reception area and stepped into his office.

A man in a yellow polo shirt sat behind Hamill's desk. He stood up to greet me as I came in. He was tall and portly, with a pink face, and had thinning hair that he combed over.

"Miss Ellie," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Jerry Kingston."

I took his hand and he gave me a vigorous shake.

He beamed a smile at me as Hamill walked behind him and leaned against the floor-length window. "I hope you're keeping cool today," Jerry Kingston said, settling back into his chair.

"I'm managing," I said. "The AC on my car isn't great, though."

"Oh dear," he said. He swiveled the chair a bit to address Hamill. "That's awful on a day like today."

Hamill grinned. "Arkansas in summer ain't no joke."

"No, it is not," Jerry Kingston agreed. "As my grandpa used to say, the Arkansas heat is all we need know of perdition."

His voice had an almost musical quality—a soft cadence that seemed to caress words—and as he tapped his long thick fingers together I got the impression of a skilled piano player. As he smiled at me, I remembered that, in fact, I'd seen him a few times on television. He wasn't a sweating, stomping, fire-and-brimstone preacher. He was smooth and polished. He sang beautifully and played bass guitar. When he preached, he was like a motivational speaker for Christ—part guru, part car salesman.

"I hope you don't mind me joining you and Brother Chuck today," he said. "I was just dropping by to talk to him about the election," he paused to gesture at one of the campaign signs against the wall, as if its presence somehow confirmed his story, "and he told me that you had some word on this young lady. What was her name, Chuck?"

"Alexis," Hamill said.

"That's right, Alexis. I met her a couple of times, I think. Didn't I, Chuck?"

"I think so," Hamill said, a grin on his boyish face.

"That's interesting," I said.

"Why is that interesting?" Jerry Kingston asked pleasantly.

"Because I met a guy—a no account drug dealing piece of trailer trash named Evan Hastings—who told me that you knew her really well. Fact is, he thought the two of you had something going on."

Kingston's smile drained away like blood. "Well, that's a damnable lie," he said.

I nodded. "I'm sure it is."

"A lie right out of the devil's hell."

I nodded again to show him I was paying attention.

Hamill just stood by the window and waited.

Kingston leaned back in the chair and gradually something like a smile returned to his face. He said, "A man like me makes enemies, Miss Ellie. He does. I'm trying to accomplish something here, something real. I'm trying to take Christian values to the Tower of Babel that is the United States Congress. You don't fight that fight without taking some pretty rough hits. And it's not just petty politicians like Governor Colfax who throw those punches. No, scripture tells us that we struggle not against flesh and blood, but against spiritual wickedness in high places. The devil, Miss Ellie. Not very fashionable to talk about him anymore, but he's out there. He's out there. And the devil's greatest weapon is the lie. It's his masterpiece, his greatest invention for waging spiritual warfare against the people of God."

"So you didn't fuck her?"

He glared at me. He leaned forward with his elbows on the desk. "I never touched that girl," he growled. "Let's move on."

"She left the state," I said. "Looks like she went to Texas. She has family down there. Or she did."

"I see," he said. "Is that all?"

I glanced back and forth between the two of them. "Yeah. That's it."

Kingston told Hamill, "Chuck. I believe you said you had something to give Miss Ellie here."

Hamill walked over the desk, opened a side drawer and pulled out an envelope and handed it to me. Another five hundred bucks.

"Thank you," he said. He gestured at the door.

I stood up to leave. I was almost to the door when Kingston asked me, "Do you think she'll be back?"

I turned around. "For everybody's sake," I said, "I hope not."

The house was empty when I got back to Nate's that night. I'd driven around for a long time after meeting with Jerry Kingston, just thinking about Alexis and everyone who wanted to find her. I'd hoped to be home for dinner, but they'd all gone out to eat somewhere. I was about to kick off my shoes when my phone started ringing.

"Hello," I answered.

An oily voice said, "Eleanor Bennett."

"Who's this?"

"Just your friendly neighborhood parole officer, angel."

"Oh. Hi, Belton."

"Need you to come see me."

"What, now?"

"Yep. Right now. My office."

"C'mon, man. Can't this wait? It's Saturday night. I had a long week. It's getting dark outside."

"You got a car with headlights?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then use 'em. Get over here. It's important."

I had the uncomfortable feeling that Belton knew about the stacks of money I'd collected over the last few days and wanted his cut. Cursing him, I got my keys and purse and went back to the car. I backed out and drove toward his office.

A few miles down the road, from the darkness, blue lights splashed over me.

I took a deep breath and slowed down and pulled off the road, gravel crunching under the tires as I came to a stop.

An official voice on a speaker ordered, "Driver, shut off your engine. Roll down your window."

I lowered my window and killed the engine. Blue lights whipped across the blacktop and the darkened tree line beyond it.

Doors opened. Feet moved up the road on either side of my car.

"License and registration, ma'am," a voice said.

I craned my neck to see him. A tall cop in a black uniform, a flashlight in one hand, the other hand on the butt of his gun.

"I have the license in my purse and registration in the glove compartment."

Shining the light on my hands he said, "Get them, please."

The other cop stood by the passenger side door. He just seemed to be waiting to be told what to do.

I dug out the license and registration and handed them over.

"Not your car," the cop said.

"My brother's car."

"Can you step out of the vehicle, please?"

"I … sure. Is there something wrong?"

"Just need you to step out for a moment while we look at your car."

I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door and stepped out.

His partner came around the car and stood behind me. Both of them were young, white, and tall. The guy who'd been doing the talking had a large birth mark on his chin that looked like a soup stain. He asked, "Got your cell phone on you?"

"In my purse in the car."

"Alright. Going to need you to step back to the cruiser and talk to my partner for a moment."

The cop behind me motioned for me to walk ahead of him, so I did.

"Is something wrong?" I asked again, at roughly the same time that I noticed my hands had started to sweat.

"No ma'am," he said with a friendly drawl. "Just gonna need to look at your vehicle." He opened the back door to the cruiser. "Would you mind having a seat, ma'am?"

"What? Why?"

"While my partner takes a look at your vehicle, I'm gonna need to ask you a few questions. Have a seat. You're not in no trouble. You're not under arrest or nothing. I just don't want us to be standing here on the side of the road right by this curve here."

I climbed into his car, and he shut the door behind me. Then he climbed into the driver's seat. A moment later, his partner walked back to us, opened the passenger side door in the front and climbed in.