The Outsider (James Bishop 4) (52 page)

I pulled out my billfold and extracted three fifties, four twenties, two tens, and handed them over to him. ‘So are there any motels in town?’ I asked.

Cartright stuck the bills in his pocket and then continued lowering the crane. ‘No motels. There’s a boarding house, except it’s usually full up. You want, you can ride into Albany with me later, then get a cab back tomorrow.’

I didn’t like that idea for a number of reasons. ‘Nothing else in town at all?’

Cartright looked at me for a few moments. ‘Well, I got a room above my garage out back that I use as a stockroom. It ain’t much but it’s got its own entrance and there’s an old sofa bed in there as well as a fully working bathroom. You want it?’

‘Depends. How much?’

‘Fif—’ He stopped and smiled. ‘Sixty bucks. And that’s in cash, all up front.’

‘Let me guess. I can take it or leave it, right?’

‘You must be a mind reader.’

‘And you must have been a pirate in your last life.’

‘I ain’t forcing you to stay here, mister. That’s the price. You want it or not?’

I wanted it. Opening my billfold, I pulled out three twenties, leaving me with just forty dollars. I hoped there was an ATM in town. ‘Do I get a key?’

Cartright said, ‘I’ll go see if I can drum one up for you.’

Once Cartright had found me a key, I let him get back to his work. I didn’t bother checking the room. Since my time in the Corps I’ve learned not to be fussy about accommodation. Instead, I walked into the town of Sagamore.

After five minutes, the minor state route I’d been walking along grew sidewalks as it morphed into Main Street, which continued eastwards with more roads branching off on either side. It didn’t look like much of a town at first glance. And at almost three o’clock on a Friday afternoon it was almost completely dead. There was no traffic at all and, other than me, just three other pedestrians. I saw plenty of one- and two-storey retail buildings lining both sides of the street, although a good percentage of them looked closed and shuttered. Possibly forever. Many of these places were interspersed with vacant lots. A few pick-ups and sedans were parked in the angled bays on the right side of the street.

About a half-mile to the west, I saw a modern-looking water tower rising into the sky and a large factory building next to it, but everything else looked old and faded and used up. Sagamore had definitely seen better days, assuming it had ever had them in the first place.

It wasn’t quite a ghost town yet, though. There were still a good few businesses in operation. I passed an open hardware store, a large grocery, a small branch of the Wells Fargo bank, a dry goods store, a Western Union, a payloan store, a large drugs store, an insurance place, a barber, a beauty salon, a clothing store, and a few more besides. At each intersection I made a mental note of the street name. I was looking for one in particular.

It was 15.06 when I found it.

Kelsey Avenue was the northbound street at the third intersection. A diner called Lacy’s Eats stood guard at the north-west corner, while directly opposite was a bar called The
Heavy Lifter. Further on, I could see an old railroad track running across Main Street, and past that a church, a school, and some civic buildings in the distance.

I turned left onto Kelsey and saw it was mostly residential, a ragtag collection of clapboard houses and old brick buildings interspersed with more empty lots. Several houses I passed looked as though they were deserted, and had been for a while. The street was generally litter-free, though, and most of the houses had fairly tidy front yards.

Number forty-seven was located about halfway down the left side of the street. I stopped and looked the place over. It was a single-storey adobe house with a raised front porch and a wooden front door. The window to the right of the door had its drapes drawn. The front yard was gravelled over, while in front of the garage to the right of the house was a fairly new-looking silver Chevy Silverado pick-up.

I glanced briefly at my clothes: black windbreaker over a grey shirt and black pants. I felt I looked presentable without appearing in any way official. Which I wasn’t.

This was personal business.

I stepped onto the drive and was glancing at the pick-up when the front door was yanked open and a young, unshaven, well-built Latino guy in T-shirt and cargo pants appeared in the doorway, gripping a baseball bat. He looked pissed off.

‘No trespassing,
pendejo
,’ he said. ‘Get the hell off my property. Right now.’

‘Hey, I’m not looking for trouble,’ I said, raising both hands. ‘I just wanted to ask you a few questions, that’s all.’

‘Goddamn repo men,’ he said, and jumped off the porch and marched towards me, slapping the bat into his palm. ‘You asswipes never learn. How many heads I gotta break before you people leave me alone?’

‘Look, you got completely the wrong idea about me,’ I said, and started backing off towards the sidewalk. But the guy kept on coming, matching me stride for stride, at which point I knew it wouldn’t make any difference if I reached the property line or not. This guy was looking to wail on me, no matter what. So I stopped backing up and moved towards him instead, already working out the next few moves in my head.

He frowned as I quickly closed the distance between us. I kept my eyes focused on his right arm as he raised the bat to slightly above his right shoulder. Then just as he began to swing it down towards my face I made a fist of my left hand with the knuckle of the middle finger extended. As the bat continued its downward swing I darted to the right of him and ducked down and launched my left arm towards his stomach, aiming my fist at the precise point where the abdominal muscles meet the groin area.

The moment my knuckle connected, the man gave a startled yelp and shouted something in Spanish as he fell to the ground in a heap. The bat clattered to the asphalt, he doubled up into a foetal position and clasped both hands to his lower stomach area.

I kicked the baseball bat away and saw it disappear under the pick-up. Then I crouched down a few feet from the groaning man, who was clearly in some pain. He glared at me through narrowed eyes. ‘
Bastard
,’ he hissed between gritted teeth.

‘I told you you were making a mistake,’ I said, ‘but you wouldn’t listen.’

‘Goddamn repo
malparido
,’ he said, still not listening.

‘Look, I don’t give a damn about your pick-up. That’s not why I’m here. As far as I’m concerned that vehicle’s yours until the next ice age, okay?’

He looked at me then, and for the first time he looked unsure of himself. ‘You mean you really ain’t from the repo company?’

‘That’s what I’ve been saying. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about—’

‘Smile, creep,’ a female voice said from somewhere to my right.

I looked up and saw a large middle-aged white woman in jeans and shorts, with her hair in a towel, standing just behind the pick-up, holding up a cell phone. There was a loud click and she said, ‘Gotcha, you sumbitch. How’d you like that? Hey, you okay over there, Ramon? Want me to call the sheriff?’

With a sigh, I turned to the downed man and said, ‘Is that what you want, Ramon? The cops? Or do you want to just answer a couple of questions and then never see me again?’

Ramon slowly raised himself to a sitting position and waved an arm at the woman. ‘Hey, forget it, Trish. It’s okay. I made a mistake. He’s all right.’

‘Well, he don’t
look
all right,’ the neighbour said. ‘And you’ve looked better too.’

‘It was just a misunderstanding,’ I said and stood up. I offered Ramon a hand and helped him to his feet.

‘Yeah, it’s okay, Trish,’ he said. ‘But thanks, I appreciate it.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’ The woman gave me another dubious look, but she finally began walking slowly back to her house next door, watching us over her shoulder.

‘Damn, that’s some punch you got there, man,’ Ramon said, rubbing his abdomen.

‘You kind of forced my hand in the matter. So are you up to talking now?’

‘Yeah, I guess so. What do you want to know?’

‘Okay, a man named Leonard Williamson lived at this address a while back. Did you know him?’

Ramon frowned and shook his head. ‘I couldn’t tell you
who
the last tenant was, man. This place was empty before I moved in.’

‘When was this?’

‘Six, seven months ago.’

‘In that case have you got your landlord’s contact details? I’ll talk to him instead.’

‘Sure. His name’s Lewis Hawkins. He runs Sagamore Financial, got an office on Main Street. You probably passed it on the way here.’

The insurance place. ‘Yeah, I did. Okay, Ramon, thanks.’

‘You mean that’s all you want from me?’

‘That’s all,’ I said. ‘See how easy life can be sometimes?’

I turned and began walking back towards Main Street again, hoping this Hawkins would be able to give me some of the answers I was looking for.

Because if he didn’t,
some
body would.

SAGAMORE FINANCIAL
, the circular sign on the window said. Inside the circle was a generic symbol of two hands shaking. Underneath the logo were the words:
Auto – Home – Health – Life – Retirement
. Which pretty much covered all the bases right there.

I opened the front door and entered a small, neat, brightly lit office area containing just two people, a middle-aged black man and a younger black woman. The man had his own glass-partitioned office at the rear. The woman was currently on the phone at one of the front desks in the main part of the shop. They each looked up as I entered. The woman then went back to her phone conversation, while Hawkins came out of his office to meet me, one hand outstretched and a smile affixed to his face.

‘Afternoon,’ he said, pumping my hand. He was stocky and well built, and his grip was strong. ‘Lewis Hawkins, at your service. And what can we do for you today?’

‘Maybe we could talk in your office,’ I said.

‘I was just about to suggest that very thing. Right this way.’

He released my hand and led me back to his semi-private partitioned area where he sat behind his large desk and motioned me to one of the two chairs facing him. As I sat, I glanced at the row of framed photos on the wall. Some showed a pretty lady with some very cute kids, others showed Hawkins with some other businessmen, but two photos near the door showed a bunch of men in camo gear. Army ACU gear, in point of fact.

‘I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before,’ Hawkins said. ‘You new in town?’

‘Let’s say I’m just passing through,’ I said, turning back to him.

Hawkins frowned at that. ‘I see. So what kind of insurance can I help you with?’

‘I’m not interested in insurance. I understand you’re also a landlord, and I came to talk to you about one of your old tenants.’

‘I handle more than one property in town. Which one are we talking about?’

‘The house on Kelsey Avenue. I’d like to talk about Leonard Williamson.’

‘Lenny,’ Hawkins said, nodding slowly. ‘I should have known. And what business is this of yours, exactly? Because you sure don’t
look
like a policeman to me.’

I smiled. ‘That’s because I’m not.’

‘So you’re either a private dick or a reporter, then.’

‘I’m neither. I’m just somebody who wants to know what happened to the guy, that’s all. And since this was the last place he was seen, here I am.’

‘You’ve still got to have a reason, though. What’s Lenny to you?’

‘He’s just somebody I knew a long time ago.’

Hawkins raised an eyebrow. ‘And it took you this long to start looking for him? No offence, mister, but I’m not in the habit of giving out information on my old tenants to anybody who just strolls into my office. Unless they got a badge, that is. Which you don’t. So I’m sorry, but unless there’s something else you need …?’

It looked as though this needed an altogether different approach, so I stood up and walked over to the two shots of men in ACU gear. They were all smiling at the camera. I was able to pick out a much younger Hawkins in both shots easily enough. The years hadn’t changed him a great deal. But I was more interested in the mountains in the distant background.

‘Those look like the Alborz Mountains,’ I said.

Hawkins came over. ‘You got a good eye. That’s them, all right. And that’s me and the guys in the Balkh Province in Afghanistan, 2004 and 2005. What a mess
that
was, let me tell you. You serve over there?’

‘Not there, no. And not with the Army.’

‘But you served?’

‘I put in my time.’

‘Who with? Air Force? Navy?’

‘Marine Corps.’

‘Jarhead, huh?’ He studied my face. ‘And something tells me you saw your fair share of action too. Don’t tell me. Special forces?’

‘Nothing so glamorous. Although I was part of the Fleet Antiterrorist Security Team for the last couple of years of my tour, and I have to admit there were a few missions in there that got my blood pumping.’

‘Yeah? And who led those operations? You?’

‘Sometimes. I was one of two sergeants in the unit. We alternated.’

‘Uh huh. So just the one tour of duty for you, was it?’

‘That’s right.’

‘So why’d you leave in the end?’

I smiled with one side of my mouth. ‘Lot of reasons. One of them was that I thought everything would be different on the outside.’

Hawkins sighed and nodded. ‘Yeah, me too. You’d a thought we’d know better.’

We were both quiet for a moment as we looked at the photos. I was busy thinking through my options if this didn’t pan out. Because one thing I knew for a fact: there were
always
other
options. It was just a matter of finding them.

But it seemed I’d passed some sort of test, because Hawkins finally shrugged and said, ‘Okay, so what do you want to know?’