The Big Bout Page 12

  “Give your gut its due,” he said. “It’s right. Victim’s name is Cecil Deets.”

  “What’s his story?”

  “Thought we’d go find out.”

  As we descended the stairs, Kay Hudson opened the door and started up them.

  When she saw us, she turned instead, went back outside, and was waiting for us on the sidewalk when we emerged from the boarded-up doorway of the shot-up building.

  “Where are you two off to in such a hurry?”

  I had to suppress a laugh so as not to make David feel self-conscious. There was nothing fast about the way we were moving.

  I told her what we were up to.

  “I told you,” she said. “She’s a conniving, lying . . . Now do you believe me?”

  “About?”

  “Everything.”

  “I believe you about the ID,” I said. “And that goes a long way toward giving credibility to the other things you’ve told me, but you’re not telling me everything.”

  “Who was it?” she asked. “If not Jeff, then who?”

  “We shouldn’t say yet,” David said.

  She looked at me. “Seems the least you could do for me. Besides, if he’s a friend of Jeff’s, I may know him.”

  “Cecil Deets,” I said.

  She looked blankly.

  “Don’t know him?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Don’t think so.”

  “Works at the Bird of Paradise,” I said. “We’re headed over there right now.”

  “It’s possible his death has nothing to do with Jeff,” David said. “Just a misidentification. Sure you don't know of any connection between them?”

  “I don’t,” she said.

  “So you can't think of any reason Jeff would have to want to hurt or kill him?”

  “Absolutely none at all,” she said. “Would never happen. Not in a million years. There’s probably no connection whatsoever to Jeff, but if there is it’s not because Jeff killed him. I’d stake my life on it.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Thanks. I’ll keep you––”

  “I’m going with you,” she said.

  “No you’re not,” David said. “You can’t.”

  “Of course I can and I am. Not only is Mr. Riley in my employ, but I’m a member of the press and we can go anywhere.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  The Bird of Paradise was Panama City’s only queer club.

  It was an old, small fishing shack on the end of a dock out in Massalina Bayou.

  Very, very few people knew about it––which was how it remained in existence. That and the fact that the owner Thomas Queen––his real name––guarded what went on in the joint like it was all he had in the entire world.

  A large, iridescent Ribbon-tailed Astrapia was painted on the front slat-board wall, its huge head and neck shimmering, glittering green and gold and blue, its full body a rainbow of brilliant colors on the tips of shiny black feathers.

  “Think I’ll wait out here,” Howell said.

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  I started to ask why but decided it could wait.

  Kay and I walked the rest of the way down the narrow dock and inside the leaning building.

  We found Tommy Q working behind the bar. It was midafternoon and the small shack was mostly empty.

  An older woman sat at the end of the bar nursing a bottle of beer, and a couple of youngish guys sat at a table in the back corner sipping something colorful from large martini glasses. Otherwise it was just us.

  “As I live and breathe,” Tommy said when he saw me. “Jimmy fuckin’ Riley. It’s been a while, baby.”

  His voice was deep and smoky, but soft and sensual too. Next to his deeply tanned skin, his bright white teeth and silver eyes shone brilliantly––the latter matching his coarse, closely cropped hair.

  “You two know each other?” Kay asked in surprise.

  “Not just each other,” Tommy said. “We know everybody in this tiny town––well, at least all those worth knowing.”

  She looked at me. “Just keep the surprises coming, Soldier. I don’t mind.”

  “Soldier here and I have fought a few wars together,” Tommy said.

  “Don’t believe him,” I said. “Him saving my ass is not the same as us fighting together.”

  “It’s a fine ass,” he said. “Worth saving. But don’t be so damn modest. You saved this ol’ girl’s ass a time or three also.”

  I hadn’t realized until that moment that I had picked up the phrase a time or three from him.

  We each took a seat at the bar.

  “I know what you want,” he said to me. “What would the lady like?”

  She told him and he began pouring and mixing our drinks.

  “Are you . . .” Kay began.

  “Is he what?” Tommy said. “A fruit? Really? Come on. It’s a pity, but you can smell the straight on him.”

  “I misjudged you, Jimmy Riley,” she said.

  “Why should you be any different?” Tommy said. “We all do it to everybody all the time.”

  When he finished the drinks and set them on the bar, there were three. Lifting his, he said, “To peace.”

  “To peace,” we said, and all touched glasses.

  We each enjoyed our drinks in silence for a moment.

  “I’m afraid I’ve got some very bad news,” I said.

  He frowned. “Cecil?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “How’d you know?” Kay asked.

  “He’s been missing for a few days,” he said. “And that was the worst news I could think of.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  Tommy quickly drank the rest of his drink and poured another. “Gonna need a few of these. To Cecil.”

  “To Cecil,” we both said, and clinked glasses again.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” I said, and told him what we knew.

  He took another drink. As he did, his attention drifted over to the two guys at the table in the corner, his eyebrows rising as he did.

  I followed his gaze. The two guys had abandoned their drinks in what looked like an attempt to drink each other.

  “Hey,” he said. “You two need to go get a room somewhere. You passed the point of how far you can go in here a mile or so back. Not gonna get closed down over you two creamin’ your little panties.”

  “Sorry, Tommy Q,” one of the guys said.

  “Just got carried away. We wouldn’t want to get our favorite place shut down.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, then returned his attention to our drinks.

  He filled his up again. Noticed ours were empty, and refilled them too.

  Lifting his glass, he said, “To catching the bastard that killed that sweet boy.”

  We all drank to that.

  “Any ideas who that might be?” I asked.

  “Everybody loved Cecil D,” he said. “Such a sweet kid. Gotta be some queer basher.”

  “Any idea why he would be at a room in the Dixie?” I asked.

  “I’m sure doing what those two want to be doing right now,” he said, nodding toward the two in the corner. “He’d sometimes meet men here and go back to their room with ’em. Could’ve gone with the wrong one or ran into someone there who realized what he was. Just do me a favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You find the fuck, you give me a little time alone with him before you do anything else. He wants to tussle with a queer, this ol’ queen’ll give him a go.”

  I nodded.

  “Pickin’ on poor, sweet Cecil. I’ll show him just how butch some bitches can get.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

  “Thank you, baby.”

  “Do you know of any connection between Cecil and Jeff Bennett?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “The boxer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No. Why
?”

  “Ever seen him in here?”

  “No way. Never. Did he kill Cecil? Was he beaten to death?”

  “No,” Kay said. “No way.”

  “He’s missing and some people misidentified Cecil as Jeff at first. Did Cecil steal?”

  “A bit, yeah. Nothing major, but you had to watch your things when he was around. You think that has something to do with––”

  “I’m asking because I don’t know,” I said. “Don’t know anything yet. Not really.”

  “I know you. It won’t stay that way long,” he said. “Not long at all.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  “How’d it go?” David asked.

  “Didn’t learn a lot,” I said, “but got a little info.”

  “And had some drinks,” he said.

  “A couple,” Kay said. “You missed out.”

  “Why didn’t you go in?” I asked.

  “I’ll be honest, it was partly my . . . discomfort, but mostly . . . I didn’t want to see anything I’d have to arrest anyone for.”

  “You’re all right,” I said. “You’re all right.”

  “Turns out ol’ Jimmy here is good pals with the owner,” Kay said.

  “Hope that doesn’t mean you have to arrest me.”

  “There’s a story there,” Kay said. “I want to hear it.”

  I nodded.

  “Seriously,” she said. “How the hell does a one-armed private detective who’s so straight you can smell it on him become friends with a queer?”

  “Is that what he is?” I asked. “Is that all he is?”

  “Is it just him or all queers?” she said.

  “Is what?”

  “I just can’t get over . . . I’m just very surprised. That’s all. Things I’ve seen all over the world, not much surprises me. You do.”

  “Okay,” David said, “besides having drinks and finding out that Soldier here consorts with known sodomites, anything else y’all care to share? You know, about the case?”

  I told him what Tommy told us about Cecil.

  “You believe him?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Every word.”

  “So we find who he went to the Dixie with and who he encountered there,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Are we thinking most likely scenario is that Jeff Bennett killed him and is on the run?”

  “I’m certainly not,” Kay said. “There’s no way that happened. No possible way.”

  “Is Jeff Bennett a fruit?” David asked her.

  “Be sure to ask him when you find him,” she said. “I saw him knock a guy’s two front teeth out for less. Oh, and be sure to use a word like sodomite.”

  He shook his head. “I’m going to the Dixie to see what I can find out. Check in with you later.”

  I nodded.

  “Want a ride back to your office?” he asked.

  “We’ll walk. Thanks.”

  “What the hell was all that about?” I asked.

  Kay Hudson and I were walking down Beach toward Harrison, Massalina Bayou on our right, St. Andrew Bay on our left.

  “What?”

  “Why go on and on about––”

  “Bothered Howell, didn’t it?” she said.

  “Think that’s smart? He’s the cop trying to help find your friend.”

  “He actually said known sodomite.”

  “I think he was being facetious,” I said.

  “I didn’t get that. Hope he was. Hope I just missed it.”

  We crossed over the bridge and continued down the other side.

  “Queers really don’t bother you?” she said.

  “Bother me?”

  “You know what I’m asking,” she said. “How can you be okay with . . . You’re a straight white man in the South. You’re part of the power, you––”

  “Black man said the same thing to me this morning.”

  “And?”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re not what?”

  “Part of any power anything,” I said.

  “But I’m asking how you’re not, how you’re so . . .”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “It just does.”

  “Do you want to fire me?”

  She stopped.

  “Fire you?” she said, her voice rising. “I want to hug you.”

  And then she did.

  We were standing at the corner of Beach and Harrison, her embracing me enthusiastically.

  “I just hired you because you were the only PI in town,” she said. “I had no way of knowing you were . . . the way you are. I couldn’t be completely honest with you before.”

  “But you can now?”

  “I can.”

  “Let’s have it.”

  “Here? Now?”

  “Right here. Right now.”

  She looked around us. There were cars and pedestrians all about, but no one near enough to hear us.

  “Jeff and Becky,” she said, “have a marriage of convenience. Don’t get me wrong, they care deeply for one another and do great work together. But they don’t have a conventional marriage.”

  I waited.

  She studied my reaction, then continued.

  “They each have other relationships . . . other lovers . . . of the same sex.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “I’m Becky’s.”

  “So she’s who you really want to find?” I asked.

  “I want to find them both, but . . . yeah, she’s my main motivation.”

  I nodded. “I understand why you couldn’t tell me,” I said. “Anything else you’ve been keeping from me?”

  “Just that that bitch Birdie Bennett is behind all this. She knows what her son is but won’t accept it, won’t even admit it. She’s determined to change him by any means. She’s crazy. She’s . . .”

  “Homicidal?”

  “There’s no question she’s behind Cecil’s death,” she said. “None. She’d never do it herself, but make no mistake about it, she had it done. Think about it—who lies about her own son being dead? Actually misidentifies the body? Wherever she has them, whatever she’s doing with them, they’re in real danger.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  I pressed the small barrel of the .38 into the back of Lawrence Vickery’s head.

  He lifted his arms, holding his greasy hands out.

  He had been working on Lady Bird’s car when I came up behind him, and I had wondered if he had a wrench or screwdriver in his hand he might use for a weapon.

  “Come on,” I said. “We’re going for a ride.”

  “Okay, take it easy, pal. Where we going?”

  “You’re gonna take me where you took Jeff and Rebecca,” I said.

  “And if I refuse? What then?”

  “Depends,” I said, “but it’ll be between a bullet to your small brain, having a chat with your employer, or turning you over to Miles Lydecker. Or maybe all three––though I’m not sure what order. I’ll just have to improvise that.”

  “Okay. Okay. Let’s go for a ride, fella, but I’ll tell you this––I doubt I can find the place again. What if I can’t? What happens then?”

  “We’ve already covered that,” I said.

  “He needs help,” Vickery said. “Why don’t y’all just leave him where he is.”

  He was driving. I was in the seat behind him with the gun pressed to the back of his head. Kay Hudson was in the passenger seat with a gun of her own. And having insisted on coming, Lauren was in the seat beside me.

  We were heading west on 98 along the coast toward Fort Walton.

  The night was darkish, the moon shrouded in clouds, our half headlights having difficulty penetrating the fog.

  “Help with what?” Kay asked.

  “His perversion.”

  “Hear that Jimmy?” Kay said. “The gambling chauffeur knows more than he let on.”

  “What perversion?” Lauren asked. “What’s he talking about?”

 
; “He’s a deviant,” Vickery said.

  “You don’t know?” Kay asked Lauren in surprise, turning slightly in the seat to see her.

  “Know what?”

  “Do you two share the same views?” Kay asked.

  Lauren laughed. “On what? We see money a little differently.”

  I smiled.

  “We share the same views on most things,” Lauren said.

  “On everything that matters,” I said.

  “Not that any of it matters,” Lauren said.

  “Surely everything matters,” Kay said.

  “You’re right,” she said. “It does.”

  “And yet it doesn’t,” I said. “Only one thing really matters.”

  Lauren nodded. “Exactly. And that one thing is everything.”

  “And that is?”

  “Lauren,” I said, as she was saying, “Jimmy.”

  Kay smiled. “That’s sweet.”

  “It’s not,” I said. “It’s not sweet or sentimental or–– We’ve been through hell, and what we have has cost us so much.”

  “Cost us everything,” Lauren said.

  “Didn’t mean to diminish it in any way,” Kay said. “Honestly. I get it. I have that same kind of love with . . . my . . .”

  We all fell silent a few beats.

  I wanted so badly to take Lauren’s hand. I never missed having two hands more than in moments like these.

  “What I wanted to ask was . . . Is there any sort of person you wouldn’t want him helping?” Kay asked Lauren.

  “Sure,” she said. “Nazis. Brutes. Anybody who would hurt a child or a woman.”

  “Just come out and ask her what you want to,” I said.

  Kay looked at me. “Do you know where she stands on the subject? Have you two ever spoken about it?”

  I shook my head.

  “Gentleman Jeff Bennett is a queer,” Vickery blurted out. “That’s what she’s trying to tell you. Your husband’s helping a fruit. ’Course maybe he’s a little fruity too. Maybe you already know that.”

  Lauren smiled a little and looked at me.

  “Do you mind?” Kay asked.

  “Of course I mind,” Lauren said.

  We all looked at her a little more intently.

  “See?” Vickery said. “I ain’t the only normal person in this car.”