A Dime a Dozen (34 page)

How I found myself at the Greenbriar Lanes Bowling Alley a half hour later is another story. Somehow, in my conversation with Harriet, I realized I could do something the cops couldn’t do without a warrant—I could poke around a bit for further proof that Snake was tied in with the vandalism on Luisa.

Consequently, Harriet and I ended up cruising the bowling alley parking lot, looking for Snake’s car. On the one hand, Harriet was not at all happy about being involved with the physical part of my investigation. On the other hand, she was feeling wired up and glad to get out of the house.

She was driving, and we both rolled down our windows, peering through a misty nighttime fog for the vehicle in question.

“You said it’s a light blue Impala?”

“Yeah. You see it?”

We drove slowly up the parking aisle and passed directly behind Snake’s car. There was no question it was his. The bobble-headed Chihuahua peered out at us from the back dash.

“Circle around again,” I said softly, pulling on a pair of gloves.

She did as I instructed, but this time I had her stop before we got to the car. I hopped out and then she slowly drove on past, using her car to provide cover as I walked to the Impala and easily jimmied the trunk. I leaned inside for less than a minute before slamming the trunk and jumping back into Harriet’s car.

“Okay, go, go,” I said, and so she increased her speed just a bit and went around the parking lot one more time.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well,” I said excitedly, pulling off my gloves. “I was right. He has an emergency auto kit in the trunk, and the kit contains flares.”

“And?”

“And it has slots for four flares.”

“And?”

“And one of the flares is missing. My guess is that was the flare that was used to start the fire at Luisa’s trailer.”

We gave each other a high five and then she found a parking spot at the end of the row and pulled to a stop.

“Okay, Callie,” she said, grinning. “I gotta admit, in a way it’s kind of fun doing things just a little bit outside of the law.”

“I’ll make a real detective out of you yet, girlfriend,” I said, giving her another high five.

“So tell me again,” she asked, “why are we going inside?”

“Because I want to know the ‘why’ behind the ‘what,’” I said.

“Okay,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “That explains everything.”

We went into the bowling alley, surprised to see that it was nearly full even at 11:00 on a Wednesday night. Smells of popcorn and musty carpet and dirty feet permeated the air, that odd odor unique to all bowling alleys. Beyond the smells were the sounds, the thunderlike roll of the balls down the lanes, the ping of the pinball machines along the wall, the electronic beeping of the digital scorecards.

“Hey, it looks like ol’ Greenbriar has kept up with the times,” Harriet said, admiring the computerized setup that complemented each lane. We walked over to the front counter and started untying our shoes.

“League play only, until midnight,” the bored girl behind the counter informed us. Harriet and I looked at each other.

“Is the snack bar open?” I asked.

“’Til we close at one,” she said.

We tied our own shoes back on and strolled over to the snack bar, where we purchased two sodas and an order of fries that neither of us wanted.

Fortunately, the eating counter inside the snack bar looked out over the bowling lanes. We sat, ate, and observed the whole place, which was definitely hopping.

Every lane was filled with a team, and each team member was wearing a matching shirt with a company logo on the back. It didn’t take long to find the group we were looking for: Hooper Construction, all in yellow.

They were in the second-to-last lane on the left, and the team members were Butch Hooper, Snake Atkins, and two other men I didn’t recognize. Zeb Hooper was not among them.

From what I could tell, they were all pretty good bowlers except for Snake, whose every third or fourth roll went into the gutter. Still, they all seemed to be having a good time, and it looked as though Snake was a welcome, accepted member of the group despite his lack of proficiency with a bowling ball.

“So how do we do this?” Harriet asked once our fries were gone and we had drained the last of our sodas. “Should we stroll over there and say hello?”

“Give it another minute,” I said. “It looks like they’re about to take a break.”

Sure enough, soon three of the four men began heading toward the snack bar.

“Well, hello, Callie!” Butch said when he saw me. “I’m surprised to see you here tonight.”

“Yep, we were out looking for something to do, and this was the only place that seemed to be jumping.”

“Oh, yeah,” he laughed. “Bowling is big in Greenbriar.”

I introduced Harriet, and then Butch introduced Snake and the other man.

“I thought you needed five to make a team,” I said.

“Yeah, Pete couldn’t make it tonight, so we’re bowling blind.”

“Bowling blind?”

“When you’re short one but you don’t wanna forfeit the game, you put the missing guy’s name down and he gets an automatic hundred and fifteen points.”

“What’s Pete’s usual score?”

“Around two hundred, so his not being here really hurts us.”

“Pete didn’t come because he’s sad about Enrique,” Snake told us. “He said it’s ’cause he wasn’t feeling well, but that’s not true. I know the real reason. He’s just sad.”

The other men looked embarrassed, but I smiled at Snake encouragingly.

“I think everybody’s sad about Enrique,” I said. “So I guess we can’t blame Pete one bit, can we?”

I managed to give Harriet a quick glance, and she knew what I wanted her to do. She needed to distract Butch and the other man so I could speak to Snake by myself.

“So, what’s your shirt say?” Harriet asked Butch, turning on the charm. “Hooper Construction? Is that your company? Because I’m thinking about building a little vacation house…”

“Hey, I think I’ll get more soda,” I said to Snake. “You want some too?”

The two of us went to the counter and I asked for a refill. I pulled out my wallet and flashed my cash so that Snake would see it.

“Can I buy you something to eat?” I asked. “Something to drink?”

“Sure!”

He ordered a chicken basket, a side of onion rings, and an extra large Coke.

“Too bad you can’t bring food out to the lanes,” I said, hoping he and I would able to sit in the snack bar and talk while the rest of his team played their next round.

“They got a little table right behind every lane, so you can eat and bowl at the same time.”

“Oh. Good.”

We made small talk while we waited for his food, though with Snake it was rather like making conversation with a young teenager.

“So tell me more about Enrique,” I said as we stood at the counter. “Your mom told me you were friends.”

“He always gave me Juicy Fruit,” Snake agreed, nodding.

“Are you friends with his whole family?”

Snake grew visibly agitated, playing with the leather strap of beads that hung from his belt.

“I don’t…I don’t really know his wife or his little girl.”

“What about Pepe?”

“Pepe and his friends used to pay me,” Snake said mischievously, looking around and lowering his voice. “To do something they couldn’t do.”

I leaned in close.

“What’s that?” I whispered.

“I bought cigarettes for them. ’C-cause they were minors but I’m not. I’m legal.”

“I bet you buy cigarettes for a lot of the boys in town.”

“No, but sometimes they get me to buy their beer. They say, Snake, old buddy, could you buy us some beer?”

“Do you do it?”

“Nah, ’cause I got caught. I got in big trouble. So now I don’t do that no more.”

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get in trouble for buying cigarettes?”

“No, ’c-cause I smoke too. So everybody just thinks I’m buying them for me.”

I nodded, wondering how to take this conversation where I wanted it to go.

“You know,” I told him softly, leaning toward him, “I know a secret about Pepe’s trailer.”

“What?” he asked, coming in even closer.

“You know the fire they had there the other day? Well, you’re not going to believe it, but somebody set that fire on purpose.”

He jerked up straight, looking as guilty as if I had caught him with the gasoline can in his hands.

“So why do you think someone would do something like that?” I asked.

“Dunno.”

“Starting a fire is a dangerous thing. But whoever set this fire did it very, very carefully.”

“Very carefully so they wouldn’t get burned. Just like they were told.”

“That’s right. My problem is, I just can’t imagine why someone would do something like that. It’s so
mean
.”

“It’s not mean if it’s a prank.”

“Setting a fire isn’t a prank, Snake. It’s serious.”

He stepped away from me, his body nearly vibrating from the tension.

“It’s a prank if they have to do it for their initiation,” he said finally.

“Initiation?” I asked. “Like, a club?”

“Yeah, I guess setting fires and lighting stink bombs and things doesn’t really hurt anybody. And then they can earn their beads. Or…or whatever.”

I looked at him. He was still nervously fiddling with the strap on his belt. I remembered it from before—single strip of leather about six inches long, and at the end hung about eight plastic beads.

Snake’s rattler.

The noises of the bowling alley pinged and rumbled all around us, and from across the kitchen I could see the counter person headed our way with Snake’s food. My mind raced, wondering what to do with these last few seconds of conversation.

“How about if someone gets stabbed?” I said. “That’s not a prank.”

“I don’t know anything about that!” he cried. “Just do your job and shut up. Just do your job and keep quiet.”

“Who told you to keep quiet, Snake?”

He shook his head.

“Who gives out the beads?” I asked, trying again.

“I can’t tell you,” he said. “If I tell, I’ll get stabbed too, just like that guy.”

“Here you go,” the waitress said, sliding the tray to Snake. I paid for the food and told her to keep the change, eager for her to leave.

“This is none of your business, okay?” Snake said, on the verge of tears. “Leave me alone.”

He stomped off like a terrified child, carrying his food to the table near the lane.

I watched him go, wondering what to do next. I didn’t want to push him too far, but there was more to say.

Harriet was already down by the lane, deep in conversation with Butch about her imaginary vacation house. I walked down there myself, watching as the men seemed to wrap up their conversation so they could start their next game.

“I’m gonna bowl an outhouse!” Snake cried, biting into an onion ring, seeming to already have forgotten our conversation. “Gonna bowl an outhouse!”

I looked questioningly at Butch, who smiled.

“A score of one hundred eleven is called an outhouse. It’s Snake’s favorite score.”

Butch picked up his ball from the queue and stepped onto the shiny wood floor of the lane. As he prepared to roll, I leaned down next to Snake and spoke in his ear.

“Why would you want to be in a club,” I whispered, “with someone who threatened to kill you?”

He glanced at me and then shoved his mouth full of onion rings. When he couldn’t shove in any more, he simply started shaking his head. Then he put both hands to his mouth, held it tight, and shook his head back and forth, back and forth as fast as he could.

“Okay, buddy,” I said, one hand on his shoulder, patting him until he calmed down. “That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me right now if you don’t want to.”

Thirty-Eight

I called the police station from the car as Harriet drove us home, and despite the late hour, I insisted that Detective Sweetwater would want to talk to me. She called me back just a few minutes later, sounding as if they had roused her from a deep sleep on my behalf.

“What is it, Callie?” she asked.

“I just had a conversation with Snake Atkins,” I said. “You need to bring him in—both for questioning and for his own safety.”

“Give me a reason,” she said, sounding much more awake. “What have you got?”

I explained to her what I had learned, that someone had created a “club” and told Snake that if he performed certain “pranks” he would be initiated into that club.

“The club symbol,” I said, “is a leather strap he wears on his belt. My best guess is that every time Snake pulls one of these pranks, he gets a bead to put on that strap. Apparently, once he’s earned enough beads, he’ll become a full member of the club.”

“Do you think there is such a club?”

“No. I think someone took advantage of the whole ‘snake’ angle and invented it just for him. I mean, what could be more appealing to that kid than to earn his own ‘rattler’? He’s easily duped, apparently, but I’m afraid he’s in way over his head on this one.”

“Did he stab our John Doe as one of his pranks?” she asked.

“No, but the person who did told him if he said a word about it to anyone, he would be stabbed too. I feel certain he was a material witness to that crime.”