The Last Death of Jack Harbin (25 page)

Five hours later, I find Eldridge in the Coushatta Casino at the roulette table. He's doing pretty well, with a stack of chips in front of him. I slide in next to him. On a Monday afternoon, it's not busy, only five people at the table.

He looks to see who's crowding him, and his mouth goes slack when he sees me. But he puts on a front. “Well look who the cat dragged in.”

“Boone, I thought I'd find you here.”

“You a gambler?”

“Not especially. Why don't you cash out, now, and let's go somewhere we can talk.”

Eldridge gestures expansively to the table. “I can't leave now. I'm on a roll.”

“How much do you owe?”

He goes still, and when he looks at me, his grin is like a death head. “I guess you'd say it's gotten a little out of hand. I'm going to have to have a nice long streak of luck. And I've got a good start on it.”

The croupier asks if Boone is in or out.

“Oh, in. For sure.” He places a stack of twenty-dollar chips on red and another one on even.

We watch the ball hop around and land on twenty-two red. “See what I mean? I'm getting there.”

I'm a patient man. I can wait until his luck changes, which it surely will before he thinks he's won enough. It takes about an hour. By then Boone has gotten reckless, so when he loses, he loses a big chunk.

He bows his head for a moment, and then shoves another bunch of chips out there, which he also loses. Still, he's up by more than he had when I got here.

“Maybe you could use a break,” I say. “Looks like things have turned around for the time being.”

I can see the sickness in him; see that it takes all his will to pick up what's left of his stash. “I'll be back in a little bit,” he says to the croupier, and tips him three twenty-dollar chips. The croupier gives him a two-finger salute.

We go into the coffee shop. Boone is so restless he can't keep his eyes still. They dart around the room as if he's looking for something. I don't know if he's watching for the men who are after him, or if he's still thinking about getting back to the table. But I know that he doesn't recognize Texas Highway Patrolman John Ryder, sitting patiently at a table with a cup of coffee and a magazine in front of him.

Boone says he's not hungry, but I order us each a hamburger. I don't know when he'll get his next meal.

“Two men came by and threatened your wife this morning.”

His face goes pale, and I see how slack the skin has gone around his jaws. A man losing control of himself. “What two men?”

“You know who.”

He swallows. “I told them to leave her out of it.”

“And you believed they'd listen to you?” I sigh. “Boone, how'd you ever get involved with people like that in the first place?”

Boone massages the back of his neck and moves his head back and forth. “College.”

“You ever throw any games for them back then?”

He bares his teeth in what's supposed to be a smile. “I don't know what you're talking about. It's a little gambling that got out of hand, that's all. Nobody's talking about throwing any games.”

“That night you got beaten up? Your daughter saw you and overheard what you said.”

Eldridge has managed to slough off everything else I've said, but the mention of his daughter cuts him. He puts his fist on the table. “Who all knows about this?”

He's a gambler, through and through, still laying odds that there's a way to weasel out of what he's done. And he's still thinking I don't know he killed Bob and Jack Harbin.

The waitress plops down the hamburgers. I pick up the top bun and peer at the gray piece of meat. I open the ketchup bottle and douse the meat with it, place the two pickle chips on it, and the single slice of tomato. Boone watches me. He's ordered a beer and he sips it, letting his hamburger lie there.

“How'd you get Jack Harbin to lend you money?” I say, before I bite into my burger.

He fakes a chuckle. “Did he tell you I lent him money?”

“You paid it back every time except the last time. Is that when you got out of control?”

“It wasn't a lot of money. Just a stake.”

“Would seem like a lot to some folks. I'm guessing it seemed like a lot to Bob.”

“Like you said, I always paid it back.” He's desperate for me to believe him.

“And then when you couldn't pay it back last time, Bob got tough with you. He worked hard so that Jack would have enough money to live on if anything happened to him. So he leaned on you a little. You figured with him out of the way, you'd be able to manipulate Jack better.”

“Hey, manipulate . . . that's a harsh word. I persuaded Jack to give me a little more time to pay him back.”

I chew a bite of hamburger, taking my time. I'm thinking about the tequila that Boone brought to Jack and Bob as a peace offering the night before Bob's supposed heart attack. Either the bottle was spiked with Benadryl or Boone slipped it into Bob's drink.

“But Jack didn't buy into it, did he? Even with Bob gone, Jack insisted on getting his money back, and you couldn't get it for him. What did you tell him, that you and your wife had some extra expenses and you just needed a little help?”

Boone picks up a pickle chip, looks at it, puts it back down.

“But when Jack ran into you here at the casino, he knew what you'd been doing with the money. What happened? He tell you he was going to go to the school board and have you fired for gambling?”

Boone looks like he's going to put up a protest, but suddenly he looks up, and freezes like a rabbit in the sights of a shotgun. I turn my head and see two men walking toward us. I recognize them as the two men I originally took for college football scouts, and I stand up and wipe my mouth with my napkin. Out of the corner of my eye I see Ryder stand up, too.

“Boone, we've had trouble finding you.” Up close, I see these are hard-looking men. The one who spoke has a scar across his cheek.

“You boys back off,” I say. “Your business with Boone is done.”

“Oh, really?” scar-face says. “And who are you to tell me when my business is done?”

“My name is Samuel Craddock. I've been given the responsibility of investigating the murder of two men in Jarrett Creek, Texas. And I'm here to bring Mr. Eldridge back on those charges.”

“You and who else?” the other one says. They're smirking.

“Him and me,” Ryder says. His hand is on his gun and he's smiling as friendly as if we'd all run into each other in the best of circumstances.

“You two are mighty cocky for a couple of old geezers,” scar-face says.

“Oh, what is that old saying?” I look at the ceiling. “I guess I'm slipping, I can't remember. Something about old age and treachery.”

Scar-face doesn't see the humor. He says to Ryder, “You're not about to pull your gun with all these innocent bystanders here. Eldridge, get up and come with us like a man.”

Boone's face is pleading, but he gets up. “You don't mind, do you?” With a shaking hand, he picks up his beer and puts it to his mouth. But then he flicks the glass, throwing beer in scar-face's eyes.

The other one swings at Eldridge, but I bring my cane up to stop the blow. Meanwhile, Ryder slips his gun out and brings it level with his chest and walks over to join us.

The few people in the restaurant scramble out of their seats. I pick up a napkin and hand it to scar-face. “Clean yourself up. You think we're fools? That we came here by ourselves? You think this is the movies and we want to be heroes? Think again. You wouldn't have gotten two steps outside the casino before you were surrounded.”

Ryder grins at me. He knows I'm lying.

“Now get on out of here.” I gesture toward the door with my cane.

“Don't think Eldridge will live to go to trial,” scar-face says. And the two of them stalk out.

Ryder puts his gun away and sighs. “I better go talk to security and make sure those boys get sent on their way.”

“I don't understand.” Boone is practically crying. “Couldn't you have them arrested?”

I pat his shoulder. “Boone, I could have if we actually had anybody waiting outside. As it is, Ryder here is going to have to call us up an escort.”

“Jesus Christ.” Boone sits down abruptly. Sweat is trickling down from his hairline. “You mean you were bluffing? You have no idea what those guys are like.”

“Maybe not. But I don't see them here in front of us.”

Ryder gestures toward Eldridge's hamburger. “You going to eat that?”

Boone shakes his head. “I thought you were going to talk to security?”

Ryder and I smile at each other. I say, “No need to go after security. Trust me, they will have heard about this little incident, and they'll be here any second.”

Except for Oscar Grant, the owner, Walter Dunn and I are alone in the Two Dog. It's the only place that passes for a bar in Jarrett Creek. At night people can convince themselves that it looks pretty good, but in the afternoon, like now, it's just a dive, pure and simple.

Dunn and I have things to discuss, but first we have to listen to Oscar complain that since Rodell Skinner was sent to dry out, his business has fallen off considerably. “I never thought I'd say it, but I miss having him around.”

Eventually he goes off to do something else and Walter and I take the opportunity to move to one of the two tiny tables shoved up against one wall.

“I understand they've got the coach on a suicide watch,” Dunn says. “That poor devil.”

“That's what they're calling it, but the truth is he's being held in isolation to keep him from being murdered by the thugs he was in debt to.”

Dunn sips his beer. “That gambling is a terrible sickness.”

“I don't know what's worse, the gambling, or the need to save face.”

“I don't know what you mean exactly.”

I move my leg to ease it. Somehow since I've found out I'm going to have the surgery, it's been bothering me more. “If Eldridge had been willing to admit his gambling habit and get some help, it would have been hard, but not impossible. But he couldn't stand to lose his place in the community. He knew he'd lose his job and everybody's respect. So he killed two people on account of it.”

Dunn looks away, scowling. “How's his family?”

“It's a mess. Linda can't stay here. Everybody's being nice to the family now, but eventually her kids will start being harassed. They're at an awful age.”

Dunn kind of smiles and hunches forward in his chair. The chairs are so rickety that his squeaks in protest. “I guess you didn't ask me here to talk about Eldridge, though. Or to tip a few in Jack's honor.”

“Although we could do that, too.”

He salutes me with his beer and brings it up to his mouth.

“I'm here to satisfy my curiosity,” I say. “You know what about.”

Dunn stretches his neck, as if it's gotten stiff. “I suppose you've earned the right to know the rest, a little reward for finding out who killed Jack.” He smiles. “You better be sure you want to hear it, though. It's not going to be easy on the ears.”

“I have to hear it.”

“All right, you asked for it.” Still, he hesitates for several seconds as if he's plunging into cold water. “Back when I knew Jack in Kuwait, he told me he was scared to go into the army and that he had his buddy shoot him in the foot to get out of going. And when that didn't work, he decided that whatever happened, happened. But I don't figure he ever thought it could be as bad as it was.”

“Maybe that's why he was so scared before he went in. Maybe he had some idea of how bad it could be.”

He cocks his head at me. “Were you ever in the service?”

“Air force. But I never had to fight in a war.”

“I went in the army because they said they'd give me an education. I thought I'd like to be a doctor. Couldn't begin to afford medical school. But I thought maybe I could be an EMT or something like that. Being a medic in the army cured me of all that.”

I'm pretty sure he'll get around to the point sooner or later. He looks into his beer bottle. “You want another one?”

I'm not going to let him drink alone. I pull out my wallet. “I'll pay for it, but I'll let you run up there and get them.” I pat my leg.

“Seems like more than a fair deal.”

He comes back and settles in. “Did you know Jack died on the battlefield?”

“He told me he thought he'd have been better off if he had.”

“I'm the one who saved him. Shocked his heart back. After that, I felt like I owed him my support. Seems like I never could do it right, though. He didn't want to come back here and be the object of pity and I thought I was doing him a favor finding him that place in California.”

“That wasn't your fault. It was the fault of that sorry son of a bitch who scammed those guys.”

“Right after I got out there, after Taylor called me, Jack tried to kill himself. Took an overdose of pills he'd managed to squirrel away. Here I came to the rescue again.” His mouth twists in disgust.

“My daddy was a drunk,” I say. I don't bring it up much, but Dunn has a right to hear it. “He had his reasons, but sometimes I felt like he was trying to drink himself to death. But he used to say, ‘If you're born to hang, you're not going to die any other way.' You know what he meant?”

“Yeah, I've heard that my whole life, too. But it strikes me that's a kind of fatalist attitude. How could it be predecided that Jack was going to go through so much and then die in his bed at the hands of a two-bit gambler?”

I don't know why it strikes us funny, but we both laugh.

“You told me that things back in California didn't happen the way I thought they did. So you didn't kill that guy?”

He smiles. “Not exactly. What I did was give Jack the opportunity to kill him.”

So now the real secret comes out. “How did you do it?”

“Well, it wasn't easy, as you can imagine. Jack was in a wheelchair and blind. But he said if he didn't kill that guy, the rest of his life would be pure torture. He figured if he could rid the world of that piece of shit, it would give him something to hold onto.” Dunn's voice goes shaky, and I look away from him.

“So Taylor and I talked about how it could be done. And we came up with a scheme. She had already met the guy—his name was Phil. Next time Phil came around she sweet-talked him, rubbed him up every which way, told him he should come around again and she'd have sex with him.”

“You're kidding.”

“Girl should have been an actress. But maybe Phil just wanted to believe he was her dream man. Anyway, she told Phil she'd make sure Jack had some pills in him so he wouldn't know what was going on.” Dunn pauses and squeezes his eyes shut. Then he takes a long drink of his beer. “You know what that son of a bitch said? He said, ‘Oh, it might be fun if Jack got to hear us.'”

“Were you there for this?”

“Hell no, I would have killed the guy right then and there. Taylor said she wanted to do that, too. But she improvised. Told him that was a great idea, that she'd bet Jack would like it too.”

“Dear God.”

“So she and Phil set up a date. I bought Jack a gun and then we practiced so Jack and Taylor could get the timing right. It went down just like it was supposed to.” He shakes his head, smiling a little. “Taylor told me it was easier than she had ever imagined. She thought being in on killing somebody would be the hardest thing she ever did. But she said helping Jack kill that guy didn't bother her one bit.”

“How the hell did they manage it?”

“The plan was that she'd have the guy on the bed. We practiced, so Jack would know where to aim the gun. When she got him in position, Taylor planned to tell Phil to stay right where he was, that she was going to put on something sexy that would drive him wild. And she told him to talk to her while she changed. So while he was talking, Jack knew exactly where he was. He pulled out that gun and shot him. Shot him three times.”

“Didn't anybody hear the shots?”

Dunn grimaces. “If anybody heard shots, they never said a word about it.”

“And you got rid of the body in a dumpster.”

“First I got Taylor out of there. She was all packed up and ready to go as soon as we took care of Phil. After she left, I went in and cleaned up. That night I took the body to a dumpster.”

“You never told anybody else about this?”

He shakes his head. “Couple of the guys knew that something bad happened back in California—I guess Jack hinted around. But as far as I know, it was just hints. Sometimes the boys and my wife got a little impatient that I was devoted to Jack. But I just told them we'd been through things nobody needed to know about. And that pretty much took care of it.”

And he's right. They went through things nobody should have to go through. We're quiet for a couple of long minutes. And then I ask how Curtis's family is faring.

“They're good, they're good. I expect Curtis is going to have to make some changes. Those boys of his are ready to bust out of the life he had them in. You ought to see Jack's mom with them. She's like a different person. Like she needed a mission, and they're it.”

I'll be seeing Taylor this afternoon. She called to tell me she's headed back to Dallas and wanted to stop by to say goodbye. I'm remembering what Taylor said about Jack being a coward and about him begging her to kill him, and I wonder if Jack really did have the courage to pull the trigger on Phil. Or if in the end it was Taylor who did it. I'm not going to tell her about my conversation with Dunn and I'm not going to ask her if my hunch is right. She'd lie to me anyway, so I'd never know for sure. Some things are better left alone.