The Last Death of Jack Harbin (20 page)

For some reason, the traffic in Houston is a lot worse than usual, as if they've let all the beginners out of driver's education early. I dodge SUVs and old, big-finned Cadillacs and little BMWs right and left. I wish we'd taken my pickup, which feels more substantial than Loretta's Chevy Malibu.

“Goddamn traffic,” I snarl.

Usually she jumps on me about cursing, but now she wisely keeps her opinion to herself, although I can feel the disapproval simmering at my side. “You're just nervous about going to the doctor,” she says. Then, as I swerve to avoid a bicycle, “Pay attention.”

By the time we're parked at the orthopedic hospital, my palms are slick with sweat. Although I'm snappish with Loretta, she keeps her calm, and I'm glad she's with me.

Two hours later, we're headed out the east side of Houston, and I'm a new man. I liked Doctor Filbert right off, and he assured me that the surgery would make my knee right. “You'll be surprised,” he said. “We have so many new surgical techniques these days that within a couple of months you'll wonder if your leg was ever injured.” He also told me that like most people my age I've got traces of arthritis in my knees, but nothing to make a fuss over. “I'll clean that up while I'm at it.”

Now that I've been sprung from the doctor, I'm actually looking forward to our excursion to the casino, and the closer we get the chattier Loretta becomes. We're spending the night, so she'll get a good twenty-four hours to indulge what she calls her “little vice.”

It takes a few hours to get to the Coushatta Casino, just over the Louisiana border, and it's six o'clock by the time we check in to our rooms. We agree to meet for dinner in an hour, giving Loretta time to gamble and me time to strategize.

The place is packed, from a gaggle of cocky young men who can't possibly be twenty-one to one old man who walks with two canes and has trouble slipping coins into the slots.

I don't know how I thought I was going to get information from people working the tables. They are all completely absorbed in what they're doing. But then a blind man in a wheelchair is not your everyday gambler. One of the dealers just might remember Jack.

Walter Dunn told me that Jack liked to play craps and blackjack. “Because of the name, you know. Back in the service he had the nickname Blackjack, because he was pretty good at it. And you don't have to see to play either of those games. You just need somebody trustworthy standing by to tell you what comes up.”

There are only a few people at the craps table. I don't really understand the game, but I pick out somebody to copy, and trust that the croupier will pay me when I win. I give up a few dollars and win them back. Just about the time I'm supposed to meet Loretta, somebody relieves the croupier and I figure I'll have a word with him.

He's not too keen on being approached, but I tell him who I am and what I'm after, and he says he'll talk to me, but that he's got to eat his dinner while we talk, as he only has a thirty minute break. He's about forty, tall and rangy, with hair slicked back and a wolfish look about him.

“Yeah, I remember those boys. They come in every now and then. Hard to forget a blind man playing craps.” We're sitting in a cramped employee break room with a few plastic tables, where they can eat, and vending machines. The croupier, Felix, is eating a baloney sandwich. There are a few other people in the room, and he calls to one of them. “Harry, you remember that motorcycle group comes in here with the blind guy every so often?”

An older man with a potbelly hauls himself up from another table and joins us, bringing his can of Pepsi and bag of chips. “They have a good time,” he says to me. “Why are you asking?”

I tell them what happened to Jack.

“That's a damn shame,” Harry says. “What's your interest?”

“Our chief of police is swamped and I've been asked to help out in the investigation. I was chief a while back, and I told him I'd do what I could.” Sort of sliding into the explanation, but it seems to work.

“I don't know what we can do for you,” Felix says, his mouth full.

“Ever see any signs of problems between any of them? Arguments? People can get funny around money.”

“Ha! Don't I know that! We had a couple in here last week came to blows. You hear about that, Harry? She was hitting him as hard as he hit her. Security had to pull them off each other.” He gets up and asks if I want some coffee.

“I wouldn't mind a cup.” It's past time to meet Loretta, but I'm not worried. She'll be glad of the extra time with her slots.

“Any of that kind of trouble with these men?”

Both of them shake their heads. Harry says, “They have a lot of laughs. I'm a vet myself, and I appreciate them looking out for the one in the chair.”

I tell them what hotel room I'm staying in and ask them to mention Jack to their coworkers. “I'd appreciate a call to my room if anybody saw anything out of the ordinary.”

Loretta was so busy at her Texas Tea slot machine that she didn't even realize what time it was. She's tickled because she has managed to win $50. Loretta and I have a reasonably good spaghetti dinner and when we go back to the gambling floor, it's much busier. Loretta goes back to her slots and I play a little blackjack and slip in a few questions to the dealers, but I come up empty. But I do manage to come away with a couple of hundred dollars in my pocket.

The next morning I talk to the manager of the casino, a guy who looks disconcertingly like an actor I can't place, with a smirk on his face and a lord-of-the-manor attitude. He assures me that if there had ever been any trouble with the vets, he would have known it. “Tell the truth, I hope he took away more money than he dropped. I'm all for helping out someone who has sacrificed life and limb for his country.”

In a way, I'm glad there were no problems among the vets who brought Jack here. It would be troublesome to find out they weren't as close-knit as it seems. Loretta and I are all checked out and ready to go after lunch. In the daytime there isn't so much action, and I sit down at a blackjack table I hadn't seen before, the only one in the house that requires a $20 bet. I'm up a couple of hundred dollars, so I figure I can get rid of it faster here.

The dealer, Elsie, is a big, bony woman with frizzy hair and a mouth full of teeth so white they look like they were just polished. I let a couple of hands slide by before I broach the subject of Jack and his friends.

“I remember them. You always remember good tippers. And then there's the wheelchair and all.” Her voice has the silky undertone of someone who grew up speaking with a Cajun accent.

I tell her about Jack's death. For a split second she pauses, then glances up at the pit bosses' surveillance room and picks the pace back up. “I'm so sorry to hear about that.” She deals the cards smartly. “Look at that. You've got twenty-one.” She's got twenty and turns over a three.

“You ever see any problems among the guys?”

“Problems?” She shakes her head. “Not among them. But,” she glances back up. “Listen I can't talk. It's against the rules. I'm off at one o'clock. How about if you meet me here and I'll tell you about something that did happen.” After that she manages to win some of my money back for the house.

When we get back together, she takes me back to the break room I was in before. Elsie has been working here for ten years. “I've supported me and my boy pretty well on what I earn.”

I take the hint. “Well, I'd be glad to pay you for your time, seeing as how I'm butting into your dinner.” I take out a twenty, and when I see the little frown lines between her eyes, another twenty.

She smiles, and slips the money into her pocket. “I don't know if this is a big deal, or if it's what you're after, but it's something I remember. Your friend Jack was gambling with two of his friends. One of the guys glanced over toward the craps table and he says, ‘Well I'll be damned. Jack, you've got a friend over there.' And Jack says, ‘Who is it?' And the guy says, ‘I don't know his name; I've just seen you talking to him at the café.' So Jack says, ‘Let's go say hi.' So they cashed out and left the table.” She's eating fruit salad with yogurt. Doesn't seem like much of a dinner.

“In a few minutes he and his friends came back by my station. They didn't stop to gamble, but I couldn't help overhearing them. Your friend Jack was all heated up and he was talking pretty loud. They had to calm him down because his language was a little ripe. You know, fuck him, screw this, screw that.”

“Jack had a mouth on him.”

Her mouth quirks up in a grin, showing those shiny teeth. “It's not like I haven't heard it before. But it's strange to hear a man in a wheelchair going on like that.” She shrugs.

“I can see that.”

“After they got him calmed down he said something like, ‘He doesn't have any business being here.' And one of his friends said well he was entitled to do what he liked. But here's what was strange. Your friend Jack said, ‘Not on my money, he's not.' Seemed like an odd thing to say, don't you think?”

“You sure that's what he said?”

“Hundred percent sure. They were standing in a little group near my table. Then they headed to another part of the casino. I figured they wanted to keep Jack clear of whoever had him fired up.”

So that's why the money was missing from Jack's account. Somebody borrowed money to gamble, and Jack didn't know that's what the funds were going to be used for. Whoever it was managed to pay Jack back—except for that last time. But who is it? Gabe LoPresto? He and Jack got on pretty well and spent time together most every day at Town Café. I can imagine LoPresto thinking he could get away with owing Jack money, and maybe after Bob died, Jack put the screws to him. But LoPresto has a pretty successful business. Why would he need to borrow money?

Maybe it's one of the football players' parents? Some of them cozied up to Jack in the stands during the games. Not that I'd ever thought of it as anything but kindness. But maybe one of them was using Jack as a banker on the side.

Saturday morning doesn't start out to my liking. Checking on my cows is troublesome. My knee hurts like the devil from all the poking and prodding Thursday and from hustling around the casino. Plus, Loretta and I didn't get home until almost midnight last night.

But one thing is going my way. The motorcycle shop is open on Saturdays and when I call over there, Walter Dunn tells me he'll be working there all day. It's eleven o'clock before I get over to the shop. Dunn is working on one of the biggest cycles I've ever seen. The parts he's taken out are laid out next to him. His hands are on his hips and he's glaring at the cycle as if it's a child that's been misbehaving.

“I need a word,” I say.

He gestures to the parts. “You can see I'm tied up.”

“Sometimes if you walk away from a problem for a while, it's easier to deal with when you get back to it.”

“Promised the guy I'd have it to him by four o'clock.”

“I had a talk with Taylor, and now I need to talk to you.”

He wipes his hands on a rag on his belt and takes his time doing it. “How much did she tell you?”

“Not quite enough.” I put some steel in my voice to let him know I'm not in the mood to be put off any longer. “She said you'd know the rest.”

He confers with a heavily tattooed mechanic, gesturing to the motorcycle he's promised to finish. The man eyes me and nods to Dunn. We walk out the front door. “Let's go down the road to Smoker's Barbecue. I'll bring back some lunch for the boys.”

Smoker's is a wooden shack with picnic tables under a rickety wooden awning out back. It smells so good that I can't resist getting a plate of brisket, even though it's so early. Dunn does the same.

“Taylor tells me when she found Jack in trouble out in California, she called and you came right away.”

His mouth is full and he nods. I wait while he swallows. “I blamed myself for not checking out this guy before I sent Jack to his facility. He sounded so dedicated that I never questioned whether he was telling the truth. You don't think somebody will try to make a buck off people who've gotten injured like those boys. I guess if something sounds too good to be true, it is.”

“You don't want to believe the worst of people.”

“I have to get me a beer. You want one?”

I decline. When he comes back, he's already drunk half the beer, and his face is grim. We sit quiet, and when it comes clear that he's going to wait for me to pull more out of him, I say, “How did you get Jack back here?”

He takes another pull on the beer. “By the time I got to Frisco, Taylor had cleaned up Jack and his apartment—if you can call it that. It was a big room, but just a basement really. Concrete walls and floors, bare bulb hanging from the ceiling for light. Not that Jack needed a light.” He runs a beefy hand along his jaw. “I sent Taylor back home and told her I'd take care of getting Jack back to Texas. But first I knew I had to do something about this asshole who was making money off the misery of those vets.”

“How many vets were in that place?”

“A dozen, give or take. Men who were in the same situation as Jack, except they didn't have somebody like Taylor to help them out. Filthy conditions. I hardly knew what to do. I was broke. We had just bought our shop and I'd put every penny into it. I called my daddy and told him what was going on. He didn't have much, but he got a little money together so I could at least get the place cleaned up. Had a crew come in. And spent the rest of it on food.”

My head is bowed. I wish I'd known about this. I could have helped out with funds. “I was the chief of police, and thought I knew everything that went on in my little kingdom. You all kept this pretty quiet.”

“Jack and I were ashamed for different reasons, and I think Taylor was so shocked . . .” He trails off, eyeing the past. Then he shakes his head to clear it. “Eventually it all got taken care of. All of the vets who were there were like Jack, not wanting to be a burden. Once I'd located their families, the relatives were grateful and pulled together the money to pay my dad what he'd lent me.”

“You're a good man.”

“No, I'm not. I should have checked out the place to begin with.”

“If you had, Jack never would have gone there, and no telling how long those other vets would have suffered. Did you ever locate the son of a bitch who did it?”

“He was slippery. He got wind that somebody found out what he was up to and he laid low. But he wasn't as smart as he thought he was. He had used his own name to rent the place, and I tracked him down through the realtor.” His smile is sardonic. “Had to put the fear of God into the realtor before he'd cough up the information, but once I told him I'd be calling the Veterans Administration about his part in it, he had a change of heart.”

I wipe my mouth. “Anyway, you got those vets out of there, and put the guy out of business.”

“Something like that.” A shadow passes over his face. “I brought Jack home, that's the important part. In a way, I think he had to go through an experience like that so he could accept his family taking care of him. I had a lot of respect for Bob. He didn't get all teary-eyed. He reamed Jack out for not letting him know where he was.”

Something about the way Dunn leaps onto this new subject and suddenly gets all chatty makes me wonder what he's left out. My mind flashes to the article I found in Jack's wallet about the homeless man found in the dumpster, and I bet I know who the man was.

“I expect you're not telling me the whole story.”

He sips his beer, never taking his eyes off me. In effect, he stares me down, and I blink first.

“Makes you wonder how many times this happens,” I say.

“The VA got an earful from me, but I doubt it made a lot of difference. They don't have the personnel to look into every situation. They're overwhelmed.”

“Now I've got something else I need to spring on you.” I tell him about my trip to Coushatta and about what the dealer told me.

“Yeah, that was a coincidence. I wasn't party to what went on. I was playing poker at the time. Vic can tell you about it. He was there.”

Dunn tells me Vic isn't in today. He takes out his cell phone. “I'll see if Vic will come over to the shop and talk to you.” But Vic doesn't answer his phone. “He's the only one of us not married, so it's a little harder to keep tabs on him. But he'll be in Monday.”

Back at the shop, I watch Dunn tinker with the motorcycle he's working on and indulge myself in a fantasy of buying one. But then I remember my knee and figure it's not in my immediate future.

I'm surprised when Dunn follows me out to my car. Just before I get in, he says, “About the guy who scammed Jack. I know what you're thinking, and it probably didn't happen exactly the way you imagine. You find who killed Jackie, and I'll tell you the rest of it.”

The remainder of the afternoon is a wash. I go by to talk to Curtis again, hoping I can drag something more out of him, but the place is locked up tight. He had that back door lock repaired.

I do some errands, and stop by the café about four o'clock for a cup of coffee. I'm surprised to see Lurleen on duty, since she usually has the weekend off. “I asked to work a shift this afternoon. My mamma has the kids, and I'm about to lose my mind being in the house by myself.” She looks terrible. “Have you had any luck finding out what happened to Jack?”

“I haven't sorted it out yet. But I'll get there.”

Gabe LoPresto hollers at me to come over and talk to him and a couple of old boys. Their faces are so animated that I know they are rehashing last night's game, a squeaker of a win that spoiled Needleton's homecoming.

I ask Lurleen to bring me a cup of coffee and she talks me into a piece of fresh berry pie to go with it. LoPresto is happy to have me join them because I didn't go to the game last night. This gives him an opportunity to regale me with a play-by-play account of the drama that led to the win.

“Something has got to be done about Boone Eldridge,” Jess Bolton says.

“He won, didn't he?” I say.

“Yeah, but the son of a bitch almost managed to lose again. Same as last time. He took Louis out for the whole last quarter.”

“Why did he do that?”

“He's got a bug up his ass about something Louis is doing,” LoPresto says. “But this time Collin had a surprise for him.”

Collin is the second-string quarterback, a junior nobody has had much faith in. I ask what happened.

“It was Dilly's doing, so you tell it, Jess.”

Jess Bolton doesn't even try to swallow his pride in his son. “Dilly has been putting in extra hours practicing with Collin, so this time when coach sent Collin in, he was ready. Surprised the hell out of everybody, including Eldridge.” I'm glad for the boy, and a little surprised that Dilly Bolton bothered with Collin. Dilly is known to be pretty pleased with himself—ambitious, and not necessarily a team player. But I expect he realized it's better for his stats if the Panthers win. And if that means drilling Collin in secret, then so be it.

Eventually the game is hashed to death, so we all get up to leave. My knee is so stiff I can hardly walk. LoPresto stops me. “Samuel, when the hell are you going to do something about that knee? You're hobbling around like an old man.”

“As it happens, pretty soon.” Somehow, telling Loretta about my surgery has loosened my tongue, so I tell them about my visit to the doctor Thursday.

As usual, since LoPresto knows someone who had knee surgery once, he knows more about knees than my doctor does. So I have to listen to his advice for a few minutes. But I find it comforting to hear that his friend came through with a knee that works as well as before.

After everyone trickles out of the café, I hang behind to talk to Lurleen. There's only one couple left, so when I tell Lurleen that I need to clear up something, she sits down with me.

“I've been going over Jack's finances and I'd like to know if he ever told you anything about lending somebody a chunk of money.”

She shakes her head. She's brought a grilled cheese sandwich with her, but it's sitting there getting cold. She hasn't made a move to touch it. “We didn't talk about money much.”

“Did he ever lend you money?”

Her expression hardens. “I may not be rich, but I can take care of my kids. I never needed to borrow anything from anybody.”

“I didn't mean to offend you. I'm just trying to clean up some loose ends.” I sit back and sip my coffee, giving her a chance to unruffle her feathers.

“What gave you the idea that I might have borrowed from Jack?”

It's the opportunity I need. “Well, I noticed when I was at your place the day Walter Dunn and I came to tell you about Jack that your son had a nice looking computer. I got the impression his daddy wouldn't spring for something like that.”

She picks up her sandwich, looks at it like it's a dead rat and puts it back down. “All right, Jack did buy the computer for the kids. I didn't like it. He was at my place one day when Will was complaining about homework and said he wished he could have a computer. I told him no possible way, and next thing I know Jack buys them one. He had his daddy go over to Bobtail and buy it. And then Jack paid to have the Internet line put in and everything.” She sighs. “I told Will that if he wants to keep that line now that Jack is gone, he's going to have to figure out a way to pay for it.”

“And Jack never mentioned lending money out to anybody?”

She shakes her head. “I wish I could help you, but he never said a word.”

When I get home, my telephone answering machine has been busy. I have three calls. One is from Jenny, asking me to come over for a glass of wine later, since we missed our usual date last week. The second is from my nephew, Tom, in Austin, wanting to catch up with me. It's unusual that we haven't talked in a couple of weeks. He's my late brother, Horace's, boy, and the best nephew anybody could have. I'll have to tell him about my knee. That will entail fending off his wife, Vicki. She'll want me to come to Austin after I get out of the hospital, so she can keep an eye on me while I get back on my feet. Not that I wouldn't love to take her up on it, but she's got her family and job to take care of. And I don't want to be a nuisance.