In Theodore’s kitchen office, another huge flat-screen monitor hung on the wall. The screen displayed six boxes that showed different views of inside and outside of Five Sisters taken from the video surveillance system. While working on my laptop, I found myself occasionally glancing at the screen, checking on the parking lot, kitchen, dining area, the bar, hostess station, and cash register.
There was no sound. My phone vibrated. Gravy’s number appeared on the screen. I didn’t answer it. A few minutes later, Gravy texted.
“The state attorney has a warrant for your arrest,” he wrote. “Where are you? I can come get you and maybe avoid you being booked if you come clean with them.”
I replied, “I need until the morning. Tell Spencer I will call him later tonight.”
“Too late for negotiations. Frost has the warrant and has men out looking for you. Being inside the city limits won’t deter him.”
Shit.
Gravy wrote, “Only if I can take you to Spencer within the hour do you have any chance.”
I wrote, “I got this but thx.”
I looked up to see two deputies walking into the restaurant. They appeared to be demanding to see Theodore. Their stances were combative and confrontational, which meant they must have found my car hidden behind the restaurant.
Outside, I saw another patrol car pull up, cutting off any chance of slipping out the back door. As I started to pack up my laptop, Maya rushed into the office.
“We need to get you in the tunnel,” she said while pulling back a throw rug on the floor and opening a trapdoor that fit seamlessly into the wood floor. “Here’s a flashlight. This leads to Miss Bonnie’s house across the street. Uncle Theo wanted you to talk with her anyway about your story. She will let you use her car.”
I didn’t have any quips to fire back. All I could manage was a real “thank you” as she slammed the trapdoor behind me and I climbed down the ladder to the tunnel. I heard her moving chairs on top of the rug.
The tunnel was narrow, only about five feet wide. The floor was dirt and the walls cinder block. The flashlight shone just bright enough to see five yards in front of me. I expected a rat to run in front of me any minute. None did.
I had heard stories about how the Prohibition raids of Five Sisters seldom had any arrests of politicians. There were rumors of a tunnel, but I could never get Theo to admit to anything. He would only smile, grab me a beer, and ignore me like he never heard the question. I thought the tale was another Pensacola urban legend.
When I climbed up the ladder at the end of the tunnel and opened the trapdoor, I was in a food pantry. A little boy wearing a Lakers jersey sat at an island in the middle of the kitchen. He looked up from his bowl of tomato soup. Not saying a word, he motioned his head towards the living room.
A little woman sat on the edge of a worn couch. She wore a thin paisley robe over a white nightgown. Her skin was nearly translucent.
“Miss Bonnie, I’m Walker Holmes,” I said awkwardly, as any man would do who had just walked out of a pantry. “Thank you for letting me use your tunnel.”
“I know you.” Waving a bony hand at me. “You’re that crazy white man who owns that little paper that stirs up all that trouble,” said Miss Bonnie. She gasped to catch her breath as she completed the sentence. “Don’t ever smoke. I used my inhaler an hour ago and can’t use it again for another two hours.”
“Can I get you some water or anything?”
“You got a cigarette?” she cackled, coughed, and pointed for me to sit down in a worn armchair. “Nah! I’m just pulling your leg. That’s Theo’s grandson in the kitchen. His job is to make sure I don’t smoke and only drink one glass of sherry before I go to bed. I pay the little hustler a dollar to get a second glass without him telling his grandfather. I think that boy has mo’ money than any of us.”
She sighed as she tried to get comfortable on the couch. “Don’t ever get old, Mr. Holmes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. Out her window, I saw the cruisers down the street. Checking my watch, I had a little less than an hour before I had to meet Pandora Childs.
“I’ll let you use my car,” she said. She’d caught her breath. Her voice steadied. “Theo thinks you’re some kind of hero. Heroes are destroyed in this town. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She spoke her mind. She had earned the right. She shuffled on the sofa, looking around at first for something and then faced me.
“Why did they kill my baby?” she asked. I saw tears had run down her cheeks.
“Ma’am?”
“Why did they kill Sue, my baby?”
“Miss Bonnie, are you talking about Sue Hines?” I asked stunned.
She pulled out a crumpled tissue from the pocket of her robe and nodded her head as she wiped the tears.
“No one killed her, Miss Bonnie,” I said, trying to be comforting.
“Those boys did it. As sure as you and I are sitting here, those boys killed my baby. I raised her from the crib until she married. Those boys might not have done the deed, but they drove her to it.”
The “little hustler” peeked in from the kitchen. He brought her a box of Kleenex and some sherry in a juice glass.
I gave him a dollar as Miss Bonnie wanted me to do. He took it silently, expecting the bribe. I heard him turn on the television, the squeak of shoes and cheers from an NBA game came from the kitchen.
“My baby never forgot her Momma Bonnie. Bought me that TV in the other
