“ I heard they come in here.”
“ Many people are certainly coming in here. I cannot be knowing each and every one. Why are you asking?”
“ My name’s Storm, Sam Storm. I’m a private investigator.”
“ That is a very private eye kind of name you are having, Mr. Storm.”
“ Yeah, well I’ve heard that before.”
“ What has this person been doing to cause your looking?”
“ He makes bootleg CDs.”
“ And for this you are coming here? My eleven-year-old son makes them on my computer, is he in trouble too?”
“ I work for the RIAA, the Recording Industry Association of America. They represent the music business and they’re mighty unhappy with Mr. Gordon. They’d like him to find a new line of work. As for your boy, if he’s just making them for himself, we don’t care.”
“ Why would anybody be buying something anybody can be making?”
“ The bootleggers are making collectable CDs now, with original packaging that’s hard to duplicate. The FBI busted someone in New Orleans last year, five agents, ten local cops and me. Quite a collar, but he wasn’t one of the big guys that started up the biz.”
“ Five FBI agents, how impressive. I guess the FBI hasn’t heard about what happened on September 11, 2001 or the war on terror. And ten local cops, that’s impressive too. I guess they don’t have murder, robbery or rape in New Orleans.” Jaspinder Singh snorted. “And now you’re thinking we have a dastardly criminal here in Tampico, pumping out these CDs.” Singh shook his head, what a sad excuse for a man this Sam Storm was.
“ No, I was following up a lead, that’s all. My brother-in-law thought he saw him up here last month. I thought I’d check it out.” That putz Herbie, Storm thought. This was the third time in as many years that he thought he’d sighted Gordon. Maybe he never should have shown him the pictures.
“ I am certainly sorry that I cannot be helping you. I do not know the man you are looking for,” he lied. Jaspinder Singh had heard enough-as far as he was concerned Rick Gordon had done nothing wrong. He would continue on the prudent course that he had set out for himself very early in life and mind his own business.
Sam Storm paid for his cigarettes with a twenty, pocketed his change and walked out the door, pausing for a second to check the magazine rack to see if there were any nudies. There weren’t.
After the sheriff had dismissed them with the warning that he would be coming up the hill later to get full written statements, they stood next to the Jeep, talking around the events that had left a man dead on the beach.
“ Can we stay and see what happens next?” J.P. asked.
“ I think we should go home and let the police do their job,” Judy said.
“ Aw, Mom!”
“ I think your mother is right, the police have enough to do without us getting in the way,” Ann said.
“ Can we get some Ding Dongs then?”
“ J.P. loves frozen Ding Dongs,” Judy explained.
“ So I’ve learned,” Rick said.
“ Rick likes ’em, too,” Ann said.
“ Does Rick like everything you like?” Judy asked.
“ Pretty much,” Rick answered for the boy.
“ Rick doesn’t get on with too many people, but he’s really taken to J.P.,” Ann said.
“ Not fair, I like people.” Rick brushed hair from his eyes.
“ In great moderation. It’s good this isn’t a big city or we’d have been long gone.”
“ So I like small towns.”
“ Is that why you bought the house on the hill?” Judy asked.
“ It’s always been our dream to settle down in an isolated house in the woods. Quiet and private, with nobody around.”
“ But you like to be around me, don’tcha?”
“ J.P., we couldn’t have a better person to share the hill with. We’re glad you moved next door and we like being around you. You can come over anytime you want,” Ann said.
“ I’m glad, because I like doing stuff with Rick. He doesn’t treat me like a kid.” J.P. was squinting, trying to see what the policemen were doing on the beach. He turned away and looked down the street. “Can we get the Ding Dongs now?” He pointed to Singh’s Bait and Convenience Store.
“ I don’t think so, J.P.,” his mother said.
“ But we’re out,” the boy pleaded.
“ We need milk anyway,” Ann said.
Rick thought Ann was making an excuse, so they could stay longer and see what happened next, without feeling like freeway rubberneckers. He decided to help her out by starting off in the direction of the convenience store, leaving the three others to drift along in his wake.
They entered the store to the ringing of three golden bells. Jaspinder Singh looked up and smiled at one of life’s coincidences and wondered if he should tell Rick Gordon about the man that had just left.
Then the warning bells went off again and one of life’s many burdens came through the door for the second time that morning. “Can I be helping you, Mr. Gundry?” Jaspinder Singh asked.
Gundry ignored him, eyes wandering over the store.
“ You are not wanting more wine?”
“ No.”
“ Then for what are you wanting?”
“ Something to eat.” He shuffled toward the breakfast cereal, picked up a box of Wheaties with his left hand and held it in front of his face, like he was reading the back of the box.
“ Can you guys come over for coffee?” Judy Donovan said as the group was approaching the counter.
“ Sure,” Ann Gordon replied, “no way would we leave you two alone after what happened out there.”
“ What happened out where?” Jaspinder Singh asked.
“ A man tried to kill my mom and Rick ran him down.”
“ Big city crime in our little town?” Singh shook his head. “What is this world coming to?”
“ Right on the beach. Killed ’em,” J.P. said.
“ Can we get some wine?” Ann asked from the back of the store.
Gundry tried to replace the Wheaties with a shaking hand and caused an avalanche of cereal boxes. Startled, he jumped back and dropped something on the floor. The clank of metal on cement riveted Singh’s attention. A man at the magazine rack took his face out of Field and Stream. A man with a bag of bait froze. Judy gasped, Ann stared wide-eyed.
“ It’s the knife!” J.P. shouted.
And Jaspinder Singh saw Sam Storm enter the store and take in the situation as Rick Gordon started for Gundry, then he grabbed for the gun he kept on the shelf under the cash register.
Gundry looked confused as he snatched the knife from the floor and charged Rick with his right arm extended, hand holding the blade like a jousting knight. Rick stopped, stood his ground, stepped out of the way of the stumbling Gundry and brought a bottle of red wine down on his head. Gundry folded, all tension leaving his body as he went down.
Singh had his gun trained on the action, felt his arms shaking as he held the automatic in a two handed grip, saw Rick Gordon dive for the floor.
“ It’s okay, Mr. Gordon, I won’t be shooting you.”
“ You’re sure?” Rick Gordon said.
“ Absolutely.” Despite the circumstances, he was tempted to laugh as he lowered the weapon. He wasn’t a coward, but he wasn’t an idiot either, he’d been afraid. However, he didn’t back down. He’d acted like a real American.
“ Big gun,” Rick said as he got up.
