Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (28 page)

I heard the rumble and realized that if we ever got out of this alive, James was going to have to replace the muffler along with the turn signal.

• • •

Linda ushered us into the truck. Four of us jammed into the cab with James driving.

“Pull out of here and take a right. I’ll give you directions as we get closer.”

As James started the truck, the muffler coughing, I realized this was the maiden voyage of the new spymobile. It might be the last voyage, but it was the first as well. Em sat beside me, clutching my arm and not saying a word.

“Just keep driving. Maybe three miles. You turn left on Pine Sap Road.”

“Linda,” I was trying to put it all together, “why were you defending Moe?”

She blinked back tears. “I wasn’t.”

“You killed Kevin Cross. All because he threatened to expose Moe Bradley?”

“No. No. It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?”

James kept driving, the muffler rattling beneath us.

“Winston was distraught.”

I don’t think I’d ever heard anyone use the word distraught, but there it was, on the table.

“He was certain that the zoo was going to be closed down. It’s his life. It’s the only thing that matters to him—except, except maybe for—”

And I knew where she was going. Linda mattered to him, but she was embarrassed to admit it.

“When Kevin called for Winston, Kevin threatened to blackmail him.”

“I thought Kevin was his friend.” I was getting more and more confused.

“Kevin was out to take care of Kevin. Carnies look out for themselves first.” She stared at me with those deep green eyes. “He said he had proof.”

“What kind of proof?”

“The night before the lady, Ellen Bernstein, was killed on the ride, Winston had been the security guard. Moe pays some paltry sum for employees to wander the grounds at night and make sure no one steals anything. Winston was on duty that night.”

“And?” James entered into the conversation.

“And Kevin claims he saw a flashlight down at the Cat’s Pajamas ride.”

“That’s it?”

“He’d talked to Winston about his situation. Winston would tell anyone who wanted to listen that he thought everyone was out to get him. Disney, Moe—” She took a moment and composed herself. “Kevin knew that Winston was scared to death about losing his job. And Kevin claimed there was a light down at the Cat’s Pajamas for at least forty minutes. He figured that Winston was rigging the ride, and was responsible for the lady’s death.”

We were all quiet for a moment. James and Em would have agreed. They thought that Winston Pugh had the best reason of anyone to sabotage the rides.

“You’re lying.” I suppose it’s iffy to tell a person with a weapon that they’re lying. But I did. “Kevin never called Winston, did he?” It took me a while, but I was slowly figuring this out.

“He did. He most certainly did.” She was agitated, her voice rising in volume.

“But he never talked to Winston. Am I right?”

She stared straight ahead, the pistol in her lap.

“Winston can’t even answer a cell phone. He has no idea how a computer works. I’m not sure he can even read that letter from Walt Disney Corporation that he carries in his pocket. You take care of all that for him, don’t you?”

She continued to stare ahead.

“Oh, my God.” Em was having another revelation. “You took the call. And when Kevin threatened to blow the whistle on Winston, you set Kevin up. You told him that Winston would be down to talk to him, but you showed up instead.”

“He was a terrible person.” She sniffed and tears ran down her cheeks.

“But you thought he was right.” James kept his eyes on the road and talked loudly over the roar of the faulty muffler. “Linda, you thought that Winston was trying to destroy the show. You thought he was responsible for the accidents and the death, didn’t you?”

Now she was crying, wracked with sobs, and I considered leaning over Em and grabbing the gun from her lap. Grabbing the pistol from a lady who had shot a man, head-on, as he was sitting on the toilet, relieving himself? I thought twice about it.

“I did. He was obsessed. I knew, at least I thought I knew, that Winston had fixed the ride so there would be a major accident.”

“And you were trying to protect him?” Em got all soft and mushy.

“The man needs protecting. Desperately.”

“So you threatened us.”

James looked at me. “When did she threaten us?”

“She threatened you, then threw you out of the Fun House.”

He looked back at Linda and she nodded, blinking back the tears.

“And now?”

“It wasn’t Winston. I made a terrible mistake. Until today, I thought—”

“It was Moe, right?”

“Moe. And a helper.”

I was pretty sure who the helper was. “Linda, where was
Winston the night someone rigged the ride? Did he ever tell you?”

She nodded, and wiped at her eyes, the pistol still firmly clutched in her hand.

“Moe had given him an early birthday present.”

“Birthday present?”

“A bottle of tequila. Winston took it on his security rounds and was passed out at the Fun House about two hours later.” Linda took a deep, ragged breath. “In the meantime, Moe or his partner was down at the Cat’s Pajamas. I made a terrible, terrible mistake.”

She really had. But I wasn’t that concerned about her prior mistake. What concerned me was that she might be ready to make another mistake. And that was one mistake that none of us could afford.

“Turn left.”

James swung onto Pine Sap Road, and I realized we probably would need shocks. On top of the muffler and turn signal. The truck swayed back and forth like a carnival ride.

“Two miles down this road and you’ll see a stone drive off to your right.” She sniffed and controlled the tears.

And James kept on driving, keeping the speed steady, and two miles passed in a few minutes.

“Right.”

He turned right, and I thought about the movie
Swift Night into Hell
. Ben Salaman, the driver, wrecks the car, killing his kidnapper passenger. I couldn’t remember if James had seen that movie. Obviously not.

We drove for half a mile down a narrow road bordered by brush and pine trees. Finally the landscape opened up and there were several buildings on the left. A large parking lot accommodated several flatbed trucks, and there was a faded, hand-painted sign above the long garage that said Moe Shows. We’d found the headquarters.

I wanted to allay her fears, her frustrations. Not so much because I felt sorry for her, but because I still thought there was a chance she would kill us. She’d already shown herself to be a cold-blooded killer, and I somehow felt responsible for Em’s life. And, I suppose, since I’d put my own life at risk to save him, I felt responsible for James’s life.

Linda motioned us out of the truck, her gun waving in the air. No one said a word. What appeared to be a graveyard of rides and attractions stood off to the right. Broken-down concession booths and trailers leaned at strange angles with stuffing pouring out of their sides. Rusted steel grid works and faded signs and posters were piled on each other and cast shadows on the ground like large chunks of confetti.

The air was eerily silent, and we all stood there, not sure what the next step would be.

“Maybe he’s already been here,” Linda said.

“Moe?”

“Moe.” She walked to the end of the main building and disappeared around the side.

“Now would be a perfect time to make like a tree and leave.” James held the keys in his hand.

“We can’t go now.” Em was talking crazy talk. I disagreed. We not only could go now, we should.

“Guys, this lady is hurting, big time.”

“She’s a killer, Em.” I was sure she’d made that connection.

Linda walked around the other side of the building. “He’s not here. Not yet. But he will be.”

“How do you know?”

“He has a safe here, with a lot of money. He’s going to need every cent of that money after what happened today.”

“So what do we do?” Maybe it was some sort of a female thing, Em wanting to be supportive. The lady had a gun, for God’s sake.

“Move the van. Behind the building.”

James stepped up into the truck, bristling at the spymobile being called a van. I could tell it upset him. He started it up and rattled around the building. I wondered if he’d find a road back there and just keep on going.

A minute later he walked out and joined our group.

“He’ll be here. Soon,” Linda said flatly.

“And?” I was waiting for instructions.

“And we’ll be inside to give him a surprise greeting.”

Fifteen minutes later we heard a car coming up the gravel drive. My guess was a black Cadillac Escalade. The vehicle pulled up out front, and peeking through a crack in the heavy wooden door I saw Moe Bradley step out. Pulling in behind him was a rusted-out Ford something, and Bo got out of that. Moe and Bo. What a team. So maybe Charlie had just been along—for the ride.

“Skip,” Linda motioned to me. “Call 911 and tell them that you’ve got a killer here.”

“Linda,” in a whisper, “those two are going to be inside this building in a second. Why didn’t we call the cops about fifteen—”

“Call them. Now.”

And I did.

Footsteps on the gravel and muffled conversation told us they were almost to the door.

“Shit.”

“Got a problem, Moe?”

“Somebody shot the padlock off the door.”

Linda had blown it to hell.

“Nothin’ worth stealing other than what’s in the safe. They can’t shoot the safe open can they?”

“No.”

Everything was quiet. The four of us stood off to the side,
pressed against the wall behind a beat-up Dragon Tail spare car. I felt perspiration running down my face, the second time I’d put myself in danger today.

Squeaking and squealing, the door slowly opened. Bo stuck his head through the doorway, then walked on in.

“Nobody here.” He turned as Moe moved in. “This safe you’ve got—”

The roar of the gunshot startled me, and I couldn’t catch my breath. Gazing around the curtain I watched Bo pitch to the floor.

As the repercussion faded, three of us looked at Linda. She stood with the pistol by her side, as surprised and stunned as we were.

Striding to the heavy metal safe that sat against the far wall by a cheap wooden desk, Moe kneeled down and started dialing numbers.

Linda held up her hand as if to silence us. She softly walked from behind the curtain and approached the show’s spokesperson.

“Hey, Moe.”

Spinning around in a crouch, he started to stand, putting out his hand and catching himself on the top of the safe.

“What the hell?”

“Where are you going to go?”

He stood there, stunned and puzzled at the same time. The three of us moved out into the room, but I don’t think he was even aware of us. I stepped closer and he never noticed.

“There’s number two.” She waved her hand at the motionless body of Bo. “And you tried to kill Skip and James today, but that didn’t go so well, did it?”

“You’re a crazy lady. You and that psycho midget.”

“Dwarf.” She leveled the gun at his head. “My dwarf.”

“Whatever. What do you want? Money?”

“How much?” Linda was playing with him.

“There’s about five hundred thousand in here. I’ll give you one hundred.”

“Thousand?”

“Why not?”

She turned and looked at the body on the floor, thick red blood pooling on the tile.

“My guess is you asked Bo how much
he
wanted, too. I see where that got him. You’re not the best business partner to have, are you?”

And then he noticed us.

Pointing his finger to a spot behind her he said, “What? Did you bring the entire show?”

And for just a split second she turned. Her head spun around, and I yelled.

“No.”

And as she spun back, he’d already pulled the gun from his belt. The pistol exploded. Not once, not twice, but three times. Linda Reilly crumpled to the floor, blood pouring from her wounds.

Moe stepped back, admiring his work as I hit him. Never having played football in school, I’d like to think that this was one of the cleanest tackles ever. I connected just below the hips and he went down fast, cracking his head on the floor. His gun went skidding across the room, and I saw Em pick it up. James stood there with a look of astonishment on his face.

I felt weak, tired, drained, and I remember lying there on the floor, too exhausted to stand. The entire event was all recorded for evidence and posterity on the video pen in my T-shirt pocket. I prayed to God that I’d turned it on.

And for the second time in twenty-four hours, I heard sirens and realized this hero thing was just a little above my pay grade.

I let Em sit on the stained cloth sofa. The one with the ugly green pillow. It was still the most comfortable seat in the apartment. I perched myself on a folding chair, sitting backward, and James stood by the window, sipping on a Yuengling that he’d actually bought. In fact, he’d bought a case.

“And Angie’s going to continue working for the ghost sisters?” Em couldn’t believe it.

“She didn’t do anything criminal.” James stared out the window as if looking for someone or something. “And, she’s blood.”

“James,” I was with Em, “Angie tried to sabotage us.”

“Dude, she was looking out for her dad. I dig that. I don’t have a father, and you have no idea where yours is. Respect it, amigo.”

“Has anyone talked to Winston?”

“I did.” Em spoke up.

“You talked to him? What did you say—better yet, what did he say?”

Em took a swallow of her beer and smiled. “He’s bonding more and more with his dog, Garcia.”

“The hound from hell.”

“Now, Skip. Winston is devastated. He loved Linda and depended on her for everything. But I think he’ll be all right. He’s really good with the animals, and Virginia and Judy have agreed to keep him on and get him someone to help with the office duties.” Em gave me a soulful look. “Oh, and that perfume you mentioned? When you thought Angie had been at Kevin Cross’s trailer? It turns out Linda and Angie both wear Frangipani from Key West Aloe perfumes.”