Dead Peasants (5 page)

12

Two months earlier, four men finished their regular Saturday morning golf game at Shady Oaks and made their way to the men’s grill. Dwayne Allison and Beau Quillen were still on reasonably good terms at the time. They were joined by Buddy Johnson, a real estate developer and Ralph Warren, an independent oil operator.

“That was a helluva a chip for a birdie on number seventeen, Beau. Tiger Woods would have been proud of that one.”

“Everyone gets lucky once in a while. Any predictions on how the Cowboys will do this year?”

“Hell, if they finish eight and eight, it would be a miracle,” Buddy snorted. Jerry Jones built that Taj Mahal for a football stadium. Hundred thousand seats and half of them may be empty in December.”

“Hell,” Allison added as he sipped his beer, “The Cowboys may be America’s team, but Houston is about to become Texas’s team. Looks like they may finally have their act together this season.”

After ordering lunch, the talk turned to politics and the recession. “Hell, Ralph,” Buddy said. “You’re about the only one around who’s in a recession proof business. Oil prices may go up and down, but somebody’s still going to buy your product.”

Ralph was distracted, watching the news on the big screen television mounted on the wall. The sound was off, but with closed caption capability, the newscaster’s words were at the bottom of the screen. Suddenly, Ralph burst out laughing. “Can you believe that? Some son of a bitch wanted his wife killed and paid five grand to a hit man, only it was an undercover cop.”

“Reminds me of T. Cullen Davis twenty years ago,” Allison said. “He used to be one of my best customers at the Cadillac store.”

“All right, here’s a question,” Ralph said. “Suppose you wanted to have someone bumped off, how would you find a real hit man?”

“Beats me,” Allison said.

“I wouldn’t have a clue,” Quillen added. “Although there have been a couple of times in my career that I might have considered using one.”

“I know what I would do,” Buddy said. “I’d go see Nico.”

“Nico?” Beau asked, a puzzled look on his face.

“You all know Nico,” Ralph said. “He’s that Italian that has the breakfast and lunch place on Vickery down by the railroad yard.”

“Yeah, everybody knows him,” Dwayne said. “Started that place to cater to the railroad workers, but now everybody in town gets by there once in a while. Best breakfast in town.”

“Well, if you’d been going there for years like I have,” Buddy said, “you’d know that he’s been closed down a couple of times, once for six months and once for about a year. After the second closing, I asked him about it. He just matter of factly said he’d been in the joint for selling heroin. I’ll bet he’d know someone from his prison days, and he’d keep his mouth shut for a couple of grand.”

13

The customer parked in front of Nico’s Diner around three in the afternoon, just about closing time. He noted that the parking lot was deserted. When he entered the empty diner, Nico was at the cash register, counting the day’s receipts.

“Hey, Boss. Good to see you.” Nico called every male customer boss, even the little kids who got a big kick out of it. “We’re about to close. You want some coffee?”

“That would be great, Nico. I know where it is. I’ll help myself. When you get finished, I have something I want to talk with you about.”

Nico nodded as the customer poured black coffee and took a seat at a corner table by the window. When Nico finished, he made his way to the table, stuffing his pants pocket with a roll of money. “Good thing about being the owner is Uncle Sam doesn’t know what goes into my pocket every afternoon, and I damn sure ain’t going to tell him.” Nico took a seat across from his customer. “Now, Boss, what can I do for you?”

The customer hesitated and then plunged ahead. “Nico, what I’m about to say has got to remain between you and me. If you can’t help me, just say so and forget I ever asked.”

“Don’t worry, my friend,” Nico replied. “I’ve got a very convenient memory, and I can forget a lot of stuff.”

“I’m in over my head with a loan shark. He’s threatening me and my family. I’m looking for someone that can get him off my back. I figured you might know someone from your days in Huntsville.”

Nico nodded and thought about the proposition. He also weighed how much his customer would pay for his services. “I think I know just the man. Him and me shared a cell for a while. He’s out now and also living in Fort Worth. My finder’s fee’s gonna be ten grand. That too steep for you?

“I can handle it.”

“Nico pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Here’s my bank account and routing number. You get that to my account first thing in the morning. Once I know it’s there, I’ll call my friend. Plan to meet him at Sly’s Place out on the Jacksboro Highway tomorrow night about nine. Give me your cell number. I’ll call you if there’s a problem.”

The next night, the customer pulled into a gravel parking lot in front of a dimly lit bar. “Sly’s Place” was hand painted on a small sign. When he got out of his pickup, he decided he would tell the man to call him Boss and thanked Nico for the idea. He entered the bar. Three men were playing pool. He walked up to the bartender. “Give me a Bud.”

The bartender put a bottle on the bar and took a five dollar bill in exchange. Boss moved to an empty table at the back and took a seat. He was half an hour early. He ignored the beer and counted the minutes. About ten after nine the door opened, and a man approached his table. The man had hair down to his shoulders, a neatly trimmed beard and wore horn-rimmed glasses. A baseball cap covered his eyes. A gunfighter from a western movie came to mind.

“Name’s Hawk. I hear you’re looking for some help.”

Boss nodded. “Call me Boss. What do you do for a living, Hawk?”

Hawk lowered his voice as he glanced around the bar. “In the daytime I saddle my horse and ride around the stockyards amusement area. Kids like to pose for pictures with me. Otherwise, I take on an occasional job if it strikes me as the right thing to do and the money’s good. I presume you’re not wanting me to pose for pictures.”

“You ever killed anyone, Hawk?”

“That’s really none of your business, Mr. Bossman.” Hawk scratched his beard before he continued. “I can tell you that I’m not opposed to the concept.”

“I want someone eliminated. I should have the information you’ll need on him in another day or so.”

Hawk nodded his head. “What’s in it for me?”

Boss rubbed his hands on his thighs and finally said, “$40,000 on this one, wired to your bank account once I have confirmed the death.”

Hawk raised his eyebrows slightly at the amount. “That’ll be quite satisfactory; only on this job, since I don’t know you, I’ll need $20,000 wired in advance with the balance when the job is done. You said ‘this one.’ Should I be expecting more jobs in the future?”

Boss shook his head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I agree with the split payment. I’ll evaluate your performance at a later date.” Boss reached into his pocket and retrieved a cell phone. “Keep this with you twenty-four hours a day. I’ll contact you on it. Use it only for calls from me. After I call you the first time, you’ll have the cell number I’ll be using.”

Hawk smiled as he took the cell phone and put it in his shirt pocket. “As far as I’m concerned we have a deal. My only other requirement is that we only discuss a meeting place on the phone. The details of the assignment will be worked out in person. I’ll pick the place for the meeting.”

Boss reached over to shake Hawk’s hand

“There’s one more thing,” Hawk said. “I know who you are. At least I know your face. I read the
Star Telegram
every morning and I’ve seen your picture from time to time. Don’t worry, though. I don’t rat out a business partner.”

Boss gulped, but then realized that he had jumped into the deep end and couldn’t crawl out now. He nodded to Hawk, pitched a ten on the table and left the bar. When he got to his car, he drove to the edge of the highway where he stopped and stared at the cars speeding by. He pounded the steering wheel, thinking that he had been a businessman his entire life and expected to drive hard bargains, but this was the first time he had ever stepped all the way over the line.

14

Boss turned into the parking lot in front of the Forest Park duck pond at dusk. Hawk had insisted their meeting would be there. Boss got out of his car and watched a young mother and father with two children feeding the ducks. The boy and girl, who looked about five and six, would retrieve pieces of bread from a sack held by their dad and rush down to the water’s edge to toss the bread as far as they could, usually a few feet. The ducks would converge on the place where the bread landed, and one would emerge victorious, gulping down the bread before the others could take it away. Then, they would turn back to the kids and the game would start again.

Boss envied the carefree family and wished for those bygone days. Life had dealt him straights and flushes for thirty-plus years. Now the good cards were gone, and he was lucky to draw a pair of deuces. He sighed as the father called his brood together and told them that it was getting too dark to stay in the park. The family walked to their car with the kids begging to come back tomorrow. Once the kids were buckled into the back seat, the parents climbed into the front. When they drove away, Boss noticed that the emblem on the trunk was from an Allison Southwest dealership.

It was ten minutes before he heard the creaking of boards on the bridge over the pond and saw the glowing end of a cigarette. Hawk appeared. “I’ve been parked on the other side. I wanted to make sure no one else would interrupt us. Nice family,” Hawk said.

When Hawk got close, Boss asked, “Why this place and why now?”

Hawk smiled as he lit another cigarette. “The duck pond is usually busy up until about sunset. Then in another hour or two it’ll become a lover’s lane. We should have it to ourselves now. You got something for me?”

Boss started to reply, then stopped. He hesitated for long enough that Hawk was becoming suspicious, then erupted with a sneeze. “Sorry, must be something around here I’m allergic to. There’s a man in Breckenridge. Name’s Jim Morris. Used to be an auto mechanic. Now he works in the oil fields. He’s your first target. I want it done in the next two weeks.” Boss handed Hawk a piece of paper. “Here’s what I’ve got on him. Gotta look like an accident. Clear?”

“You got it, Boss,” Hawk replied as he ground his cigarette under his boot. “I assume you’ll wire $20,000 to my bank account tomorrow. I’ll let you know when the job’s done.” Hawk turned. Again Boss heard the creaking of boards on the bridge as Hawk disappeared into the darkness.

15

Once the house was complete, Jack invited Colby over for a housewarming dinner. She did as Jack directed. She punched in the code at the driveway gate and drove around to the back where she found Jack dressed in shorts, flip-flops and a blue T-shirt. When he saw her Lexus appear in the driveway, he hustled to help her out. Colby was wearing her own T-shirt, green shorts and sandals. Her shirt had a slogan emblazed on the front,
Where The Best Begins
. Jack hoped that was prophetic as his gaze took in green eyes accentuated with laugh lines showing through her sun-browned face, sensuous red lips that broke into a smile that revealed near-perfect teeth, a figure that had to see the gym three or four days a week and deeply tanned legs.
Damn
, he thought.
She’s not wearing make-up. Better yet, she doesn’t need any. And that hint of perfume coming from behind her ears reminded him of a vineyard at harvest time. She says she’s got a boyfriend, but, at least, I can give it my best shot.

Her eyes sparkled when she asked, “I presume this is not a formal occasion.”

“Formality is in the eyes of the beholder,” Jack replied. “And my eyes tell me you are perfectly dressed for this occasion. What can I get you to drink?

“My usual, of course,” Colby said as she walked over to check out the barbecue pit. “I don’t think I ever noticed this until now.”

The pit was made of brick to match the house. It had a gas grill for most cooking but had a smoker on one end. Jack had filled the smoker with mesquite earlier in the day and had been carefully tending ribs and reading Steve Berry’s latest novel as the sun moved across the horizon and was now creating a rainbow-hued sunset.

“Oh,” Colby said, as she inhaled the smell of sizzling pork being cooked over mesquite. “Are you cooking ribs? I hope not. I’m a vegetarian.”

Jack stepped back from the outdoor bar where he was mixing two Tito’s martinis on the rocks and turned, about to apologize when he saw her face break into a laugh.

“Just kidding. You’re not allowed to live in Cowtown if you’re a vegetarian. I just hope you cooked enough ribs.”

Jack noticed she wrinkled her nose when she laughed as he handed her a drink and threw open the pit to reveal what appeared to be ribs from half a pig. “That enough?”

“That’s about right for me. What are you having?”

Jack shrugged his shoulders and said, “Suppose I’ll just have to eat your leftovers. Here, come sit in one of these recliners and we can watch the sun finish painting the clouds.” They each took a seat and watched the sun dance from cloud to cloud, each of them content to sip their drinks and watch the Great Artist at work. Jack broke the quietness of the evening.

“I’ve been sitting out here a lot in the past couple of weeks. I look at the old bomber plant off in the distance beyond the Trinity and think back to when I was a kid. Once a year they had a family day, complete with a picnic and games. They’d haul a few planes out from the hangers, and we kids got to climb around on them. I even got to sit in the cockpit of an old B-36, the one with the propellers facing the rear. I know it’s closed, but I still see fighters taking off, particularly on weekends.”

“That’s the Air National Guard,” Colby interrupted. “Ever since the plant and Carswell Air Force Base closed, they fly out of there.”

“Most folks would say I’ve come a long way from Byers Street to here. I certainly accomplished my goal of making money. Now, I suppose I’m looking for a little more happiness,” Jack mused.

“Weren’t you happy in Beaumont?”

“Sure, by almost any way you would measure happiness the answer would be yes. And it’s a little strange to talk about it. My dad and mother probably never even contemplated the word. My dad just worked across the river over there and brought home a weekly paycheck. My mother took care of the house and me. That’s what people did back in those days.”

“Don’t kid yourself. That’s how most people live today, at least once you get out of Rivercrest and Shady Oaks.”

Jack nodded his agreement as the day whispered into evening. Lights on the patio began to glow as the sun faded. Jack checked the ribs once more and went to the house to retrieve potato salad, baked beans and freshly baked bread. He insisted that Colby keep her seat as he prepared the table. When it was ready, he took a giant platter from under the barbecue pit and loaded it with ribs. He invited Colby to the table while he made one last run to the kitchen, returning with a basket of napkins and a bottle of red wine.

“I think we’re ready. There are five napkins for each of us. Hope that’s enough.”

Colby replied by picking up a rib and gnawing the meat from it before she even reached for anything else. “Wow. Absolutely fantastic. You use a special sauce?”

“Yep,” Jack replied. “Family secret, handed down from my granddad to my dad and then to me. I spent most of yesterday making it, and while you’re a friend, you’re not special enough for me to divulge the recipe, not yet anyway.”

“I understand about Texas men and their recipes. I dated a man once that had a chili recipe he wouldn’t reveal to anyone. He even won the chili cook-off at Terlingua one year.”

Jack turned to Colby. “Now, that’s really impressive. People come from all over the world every year for that cook-off. I might be willing to trade him my barbecue recipe for his chili.”

“No chance of that. He’s long gone. Moved to Arizona, I hear. On the other hand, I’ve got my own chili recipe that might be worth a trade.”

They ate and made small talk. Jack wanted to talk about J.D. When they finished, Colby insisted on clearing the table and suggested that Jack take a seat on the next level down by the pool. When she came out, Jack rose from his seat and said, “Let’s try out the hot tub.”

Colby turned to face Jack, their faces no more than a few inches from each other. Jack could smell her perfume again. “Look, Jack. I like you, and I’m really attracted to you. Only, I told you that I’m seeing someone. I won’t have a relationship with anyone else. I’m good for lunch and Starbuck’s and maybe an occasional dinner; but we’re just going to be friends.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Is that okay?”

Jack stepped back and shook his head. “I guess I don’t have any choice; so, yeah, it’s okay, but don’t expect me to give up. What does this guy do, anyway?”

Colby turned away. “Let’s don’t talk about him. I’m going to be one of your best friends. Talking about him won’t accomplish anything.”

Jack nodded his understanding as he concealed his frustration.