Lefty.
Carl liked to chew tobacco and spit. Also he liked to talk his head off. He would just as soon talk to himself if no one else was around, but if someone, or anyone, for that matter, happened to be handy, they were sure to get an earful. Carl-an aging Aggie from College Station-liked to try to tell stories of the old days with himself and a young Archie Carpin and the boys, but he usually managed to tell them wrong and Lefty had to correct him “just to keep the record straight,” as he would say.
One story that Julie heard again and again was how, in 1979, one of Archie Carpin’s best quarter horses foundered while at the stables in Shreveport on Friday evening before the Saturday race. Carpin blamed Ernest Neil for it, even though he had no proof of foul play. The horse, a two-year old stallion by the name of
I gave the woman some credit. She could be resourceful. Also, she understood men all too well. I found it more than a little intimidating.
As she coldly described how she set Carpin up I found myself wondering if I was possibly as gullible myself, or perhaps I was being gullible just by taking her story at face value when I should have ditched her from the get- go. The blood drained slowly from my head and pooled in my gut as I listened.
“So I said, duh! What’s this guy got? He’s got a half-million dollars worth of horses and he’s got a ten million dollar moonshine operation and there are greased palms from Texas all the way to Washington, D.C. He made money from supplying name brand whiskey knock-off for bars from Houston all the way to Chicago. Carl and Lefty talked a little too much. Archie’s payoffs came in installments. Also, because of his appetites-you know, horses and drugs-he was always one step ahead of bankruptcy. With his pay-offs coming in installments, they were vitally important, but vulnerable.”
“So you intercepted one of those installments.” I said.
“Yeah. I did,” she said, waving her hands for emphasis. “Only I didn’t know it was one of the big ones.”
I could tell that she was getting a bit tipsy. It was our third beer each. Regardless, I was enjoying seeing her animated like that.
“It was easy,” she said. “I got hold of Archie’s little black book, the one with all the guys in it from the old days; guys that Carl and Lefty would talk and laugh about. And I found it: Ernest Neil. It had a number next to it. A few days later when I got access to a phone I called the number and got this old guy.”
“Neil?”
“Nah. A jockey. Jolly Mortensson. Worked for Ernie Neil.”
“Yeah?” Hank said, prompting her to continue.
“So Ernie helped me set it up. He handled some of the footwork from his end. But it was up to me to make the switch.”
“Where’s the money?” I asked. It was the first time I’d asked it.
“That’s just a… a little tiny detail… a small part of the problem,” she said.
“Where is it?” Hank and I asked in the same instant.
Afterwards, I wished she hadn’t told us.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Well. I will just be damned,” Hank said.
“Yeah,” I nodded in agreement.
Julie was all done and just sitting there, sipping on her beer.
I could tell by Hank's serious demeanor that he'd arrived at some important thought or decision. A crossroads, as it were.
“You tell her all about me, Bill?”
“Just that you’re handy in a tight spot, that you’re a client of mine, and that you’re alright. That’s about it.”
The toaster oven timer dinged. My stomach was doing little whirly-gigs, and the smell of toast, butter and cheese had become maddening.
We took time out for Hank to fix us up a plate each and a tall glass of iced tea. The tea tasted like it was a couple of days old, but at least it was sweet.
“Okay,” he said when he was back at the table with us. “So who are Jake and Freddie?”
Julie sat back in her chair. She didn’t seem very interested in Hank’s toaster oven cheese sandwiches. Mine, however, didn’t stand a chance.
“They’re Lefty’s and Carl’s sons. They’re about as stupid as a couple of snipe, but they’re like hound dogs. They never give up.”
“When was the last time you saw them?” Hank asked.
Julie turned to look at me. There was a strange look in her eye. Something she didn’t want to say.
“Better tell him,” I said.
She reached out, wrapped her fingers around her bottle of beer on the table and drained the last quarter of it in one long gulp.
“About an hour ago,” she said.
“What?” Hank and I chimed in at the same instant.
“Following us from Hank’s mall.”
Hank and I were on our feet.
My life is not very exciting. I don’t like excitement. I don’t even watch exciting movies. I like things nice and calm. You put in your day of work, you watch the sun fade from the sky and you draw your dollar. But sometimes you just have to move quickly.
Hank and I were moving before we could think.
He jumped up and locked the back door with a flick of his wrist.
I was into the front room and dodging stacks of old, dust-coated thirty-three rpm records and nineteenth- century legal volumes to get to the front door.
“Lock it, Bill,” Hank called out from the kitchen.
“Yeah,” I said.
The living room had two large windows, one of which had the shade pulled four-fifths of the way down. The shade for the other one was missing completely.
I made it to the front door, peeked out of one of the rectangles of glass that was at eye level.
The front yard was empty. Well, not exactly
“Bill, what are we doing?” It was Julie. I turned back toward her voice. She stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room in the center of the house.
“Julie. Get back in the kitchen,” I urged. From the kitchen I heard the sound of a slamming drawer. Hopefully Hank was fishing for a gun somewhere.
I looked back quickly toward the truck. I couldn’t see anyone in the cab for a moment, but then again there was a bit of a blur there.
Something had moved.
Then I saw the barrel of the rifle and recognized it for what it was about an instant before it barked a spark of flame.
Things happened pretty fast.
The glass from the window pane on my right crumpled in on itself in three large shards. I hadn’t fully registered what was occurring yet. My first thought on it was a bit odd:
