The Big Bout Page 9

  She started to say something but I didn’t give her the chance. Having given her a little push toward the car, I was heading back up the drive toward the garage.

  The chauffeur, a short, smallish fortyish-looking man with a dark complexion and short wavy hair, was still wearing the white uniform I had seen him in before.

  The hood of the Packard was up and he was standing on an apple crate and leaning in over the left quarter panel making some sort of adjustment with a wrench.

  It was odd to see a grown man having to stand on a box to reach the engine of a car and it occurred to me that he looked more like a jockey than a chauffeur.

  “Afternoon,” I said as I walked up.

  He nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “Car trouble?” I asked.

  “‘Man born of woman is of few days and full of trouble,’” he said.

  It was obvious that it was something he said often.

  “So not just car trouble, but . . .”

  “Life is trouble,” he said, then glancing over his shoulder back at the house added, “even for the rich.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “I’m a very wealthy man and it hasn’t insulated me from . . . the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.”

  His eyes darted to what remained of my right arm.

  I followed his glance. “I chose to take arms against the sea.”

  “The sea?”

  “Of troubles.”

  He nodded, but I could tell he didn’t get it, and he went back to work with the wrench.

  I had thought, based on his quote from the book of Job, he might appreciate a little Shakespeare. I was wrong.

  “I’m Jimmy,” I said.

  He nodded and grunted something that wasn’t his name.

  “You are?”

  He paused, looked at me, started to extend his hand, but instead held it up to show the grease and grime.

  “Lawrence Vickery,” he said.

  “I know you’re busy, Lawrence,” I said, “so I’ll only trouble you for a minute.”

  He gave no indication he appreciated my use of trouble again, but undeterred I slogged on.

  “Mrs. Bennett has hired me to find out where Rebecca Bennett is,” I said. “Where’s the last place you drove her?”

  “Mrs. Bennett?”

  “The younger.”

  “Huh?”

  “Rebecca. Where’s the last place you drove Rebecca Bennett?”

  He shook his head, glanced nervously over his shoulder toward the house, then said, “I didn’t . . . I mean to say I haven’t driven Miss Rebecca anywhere recently.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “Why?”

  “What about Jeff?”

  “Same,” he said. “Only Mrs. Bennett lately.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, sir. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get this finished.”

  I started to walk away, then turned back. “What’d you do before you became Lady Bird Bennett’s chauffeur?”

  He didn’t respond, just remained intensely focused on his work.

  “Did it involve horses?”

  He jerked around toward me, jumped off the crate, and came at me, the gleaming and grimy wrench held out in front of him.

  “It wasn’t a crack,” I said. “I really wondered.”

  “You need to leave,” he said. “Now. And you need to learn to keep your mouth shut. Better not say anything like that to anyone. And you say it in front of Mrs. Bennett, I’ll kill you.”

  “That’s cute but don’t let the missing arm fool you,” I said. “I don’t kill so easy.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Was it any wonder I loved Lauren the way I did?

  On the same day she learned that she had inherited three and a half million dollars to become the richest woman in town, she spent her evening volunteering at the USO Club, helping those in need, giving to her country, serving soldiers, being true to who she is regardless of her station or financial statement.

  I had arrived early to look around the parking lot, to ensure it was safe before she came out.

  I was tired and frustrated and getting nowhere on either case. All I wanted to do was get in a warm bed with Lauren somewhere safe. And stay there.

  When she walked through the doors, weary but attempting like hell not to show it, I was waiting for her. She threaded her arm around mine and we slowly made our way to the car, which was illegally parked nearby.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “You overdid it, didn’t you?”

  She smiled. “Maybe a little.”

  “Let’s get you . . .”

  I had started to say home but realized we didn’t have one.

  “. . . into a warm bath and then bed,” I said.

  I helped her into the car, then ran around, got behind the wheel, and pulled away.

  As much as I appreciated her desire to do for others, it occurred to me that her work at the USO not only took her away from me more now, but might speed up or even bring about her eventual and ultimate departure, and it made me angry.

  “Given how you’re feeling right now, don’t you think you’re trying to do too much?”

  “I won’t overdo it. I promise. But I have to do something.”

  “I think you already are,” I said.

  “If I overdid it tonight, I won’t make that mistake again.”

  In a very real way she was risking her life to do what she was doing. She hadn’t recovered from her life-threatening illness yet. In fact, she might not ever fully recover. And yet, she insisted on pushing herself to volunteer.

  She was doing all this at such risk, and I was doing next to nothing for the war effort. It had to bother her, had to cause her to think I was . . . I couldn’t imagine what she must think of me.

  “Is it worth your health?” I asked.

  “No, of course not. You’re sweet, but I really am fine.”

  “You’re risking so much to do this,” I said.

  “I was thinking about the money while I was there tonight,” she said.

  I could feel myself knotting up.

  “I was thinking I want to do so much more than I am, more than I am able to, and I thought of . . . Do you have any idea how much good we could do with it?”

  “I know that’s what everybody always says at the beginning,” I said.

  “You really don’t think we could handle it?” she said. “Don’t forget, I’ve had money before. I did okay. I had loads of it when we met––when you fell in love with me.”

  “It’s blood money, Lauren.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I knew its most recent owner,” I said. “But even if I didn’t, most money is––and nearly all fortunes. And if it wasn’t before, it is now. I killed Harry. I’m not gonna profit from that. I’m not gonna––”

  “I’d say you already have.”

  “Sure, but only because it saved your life and us the hassle of dealing with a divorce.”

  She shook her head, frowned, then fell silent.

  We were quiet a while.

  “I disagree with you,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “It’s not a position I’m accustomed to.”

  I nodded.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Figure it out,” I said.

  “And if we can’t?”

  “We can.”

  “God, I love you,” she said.

  “I love you.”

  “But I’m worried. This worries me. I’m not sure I can say why exactly.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “What if we took half?”

  I shook my head.

  “A quarter then?”

  I gave her the same response.

  “How much then?”

  “None.”

  “What if I just take some? Just a fraction . . . and that way you never have to––”

  “What happened
to you and I being a we?”

  “We are. That’s what this is all about.”

  “Then you can’t take any without it being we who takes it. So no.”

  “You’re being unreasonable,” she said. “I can’t talk about this anymore right now.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “Where you?” Clip asked.

  I was standing beside him the next morning in the Bay High School gym watching Freddy train, so I knew his question wasn’t literal.

  “Huh?”

  “Where were you just then?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Got a lot goin’ on.”

  “Seen you with a lot more not half as distracted. It ain’t Freddy or Jeff or no Japs got you like this. Only one thing make you this way.”

  I smiled, grateful to have a friend who knew me so well.

  “Thought Lauren was doin’ better,” he said. “Somethin’ change?”

  I shook my head.

  “Dis ’bout her helpin’ over to the USO club?”

  I shook my head again.

  “Then what?”

  I told him.

  “You da only motherfucker in the world be sad ’bout bein’ rich.”

  “I’m not rich.”

  “She rich, you rich.”

  I shook my head. “Ain’t takin’ any of Harry’s money.”

  “You already have. You forget how we funded finding Lauren?”

  “That was different.”

  “Hell, yeah, it was. Now it her money.”

  “I just got her back,” I said.

  “And?”

  “Nothin’ can fuck up a relationship faster than money.”

  “I can think of a few things,” he said.

  I didn’t respond.

  With no one around but us and Gus, Freddy was going at it hard and looked like an actual contender.

  “What is it you think money gonna change?”

  “Everything?”

  “Didn’t she have all this the first time y’all got together?”

  “Harry did.”

  “And she was married to Harry.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So she had it––or had access to it.”

  I shrugged.

  “You think she won’t need you as much? Have more options . . . so what, she’ll leave you? You think she only been with you ’cause she was broke?”

  “No.”

  He didn’t say anything and we fell quiet again for a moment.

  “Want nothin’ to do with that world,” I said.

  “Even if it Lauren’s?”

  “If she wants that,” I said, “she doesn’t want me.”

  He nodded. “I see. So you wantin’ your world mean you don’t want her?”

  He was right. It didn’t mean that. Not at all.

  Before I could say anything, Saul entered the gym and walked over to us.

  He had a folded piece of paper in his right hand. He held it up when he reached us.

  “Got another one today,” he said.

  Clip nodded toward me. “That his department. I just help people with they love life. And occasionally shoot somebody.”

  He handed me the paper. I carefully unfolded and examined it.

  Using words cut from various newspapers and magazines, it looked more like a ransom note than anything else. “Take your nigger out of the fight or he is not the only one who will die.”

  All the words except for nigger were single cuttings from a variety of newspapers and magazines. But nigger was formed from splicing together letters from three different publications, giving it an eerie exaggerated look the others, bizarre as they were, didn’t have.

  “First time he’s threatened me too,” Saul said.

  “That change anything for you?” Clip asked.

  Saul shrugged.

  “Where was it?”

  “Slipped beneath my hotel room door when I woke up this morning,” he said. “He knows where I live. Could’ve killed me in my sleep last night.”

  “Where have the others been?”

  “Here. Mostly.”

  I looked at the note again.

  “Based on the other notes, I’d say it’s the same person, that he’s fairly educated, and either well read or has access to a lot of different papers and magazines.”

  “You thinkin’ ’bout backin’ out now?” Clip asked Saul.

  “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s just . . .”

  “It okay for Freddy to be in the bulls-eye but not you?”

  “I’m not sayin’ that. It’s not like that. I just––we––just have to weigh everything. Figure out the best plan. Or . . .”

  “Or?” Clip asked, an edge of challenge in his voice.

  “You could catch him before he hurts anyone.”

  “We’re working on it,” I said. “We’ll set up at your hotel and here at night and see if we can’t grab him when he makes his next delivery.”

  Saul nodded.

  “It important that Freddy fight,” Clip said. “That he back up what he said in the paper. It matters.”

  “It does,” Saul said.

  “If it do for him it do for you.”

  “I’m not saying it doesn’t,” Saul said. “Just that we have to figure out exactly how much it matters. Is it worth our lives?”

  “If it ain’t, why y’all doin’ it then?”

  “Good question. That’s the kind of question this kind of situation raises.”

  “Is there any pattern to when he leaves them?” I asked.

  Saul seemed to think about it.

  “Always at night. I find them waiting for me the next morning.”

  “Certain days?”

  He appeared to think about it some more.

  “Different days of the week,” he said.

  Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, something occurred to me.

  “Was Freddy in the paper yesterday?”

  Saul nodded. “Small piece.”

  “Does the guy leave them on nights when Freddy’s been in that day’s paper?”

  His eyes grew wide and his face lit up. “He must. I’ve had the thought when I’ve read them I need to get Freddy to tone it down some. We’d have to check it to make sure, but . . .”

  “What if he’s using Freddy’s words against him?” I said.

  Clip nodded. “Could be, but he ain’t tellin’ him to shut the fuck up. He tellin’ him not to fight.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “Still, if he’s doin’ it when Freddy’s in the paper, it’d narrow down when we have to lose sleep setting up on Saul.”

  “Hell, if it’s true, we can pick the day,” Clip said. “Fast Mouth Freddy never at a loss for words.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “Whatta you think Jimmy?” Folsom asked.

  We were in his office discussing the discrepancies between the two different identifications of the body.

  David Howell and Butch were already seated across from Folsom’s desk when I arrived. I was standing over near the small bookshelf on the right wall.

  I shrugged.

  “Somebody mistaken? Or is somebody lying?” he asked.

  “Don’t see how it could be a mistake,” I said. “Kay Hudson says it couldn’t be.”

  “She says the wealthiest woman in town is lying,” he said.

  “Second.”

  “Huh?”

  “Second wealthiest woman,” I said.

  “Really? Who’s the first?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Yeah, she says she’s lying.”

  “She say why?” he asked.

  “Not really, no. Just that she’s crooked and up to something.”

  “With all due respect,” Butch said, “we need to be talking to them. Not relying on a . . . on an amateur to do it for us.”

  This was Butch on his best behavior. He would only go so far with Folsom around.

  “All due respect, huh?” Folsom said. “How mu
ch is that, do you figure?”

  “Plenty enough for you, sir,” he said. “More than enough.”

  “Jimmy is not an amateur,” Folsom said. “He was one of us. Still would be if he hadn’t gotten his arm blown off in the line of duty. He’s a hell of an investigator, and I trust him more than anyone I know, so—”

  “Fine,” Butch said, “but what about a conflict of interest because one of ’em’s his client?”

  “Which one?” Folsom asked me.

  “Actually, technically, both.”

  “Jesus,” Butch said.

  “Language, Detective,” Folsom said.

  “Sorry, but . . . come on. He’s working for both of ’em and we’re supposed to . . . I was wrong. He doesn’t have a conflict of interest. He’s got several of them.”

  “Who do you believe?” Folsom asked.

  “I’m inclined to believe Kay Hudson,” I said, “but I haven’t talked to Mrs. Bennett yet. Not since she identified the body as her son. She wouldn’t see me last night. I’m going to try again this afternoon.”

  “Why would she lie?” David said. “She’d have to know it’d get out.”

  “The rich are different,” Butch said. “Probably figured she could buy off someone if it came to that later.”

  “For once I agree with Butch,” I said.

  “Then I take it back.”

  “We have to be very careful on this,” Folsom said. “I’m not saying don’t investigate, not saying don’t follow the evidence wherever it leads. But I am saying be sure. We can’t even hint at an accusation against someone like Lady Bird Bennett without being absolutely sure.”

  Butch started to say something, but Folsom continued.

  “And it’s not special treatment because she’s rich,” Folsom said. “It’s prudence. Wisdom. We want to find whoever killed him––whoever he is––and someone like her can make it very difficult for us. She can’t stop us––I won’t let her––but she can make this far harder than it has to be.”

  He paused for a moment and Butch started to say something again.

  “How can I put this?” Folsom said. “This whole thing––particularly dealing with someone like Lady Bird Bennett . . . requires more delicacy than you’re capable of, Butch. I’ll assign you to a different case. David, you take the lead, but from here on out I’ll talk to her. I’ll take care of interviewing her. And I want everything related to the case run by me before it happens. Not afterward. Understand?”