Ugly As Sin (10 page)

The night was hot, sticky. The wound on Nick’s left shoulder burned where the bullet had grazed him. The EMTs had dressed it for him earlier, and both of the young men had recommended stitches. But Nick assured them that he had lived through much worse. He pulled up his sleeve to check on it now, saw crimson blossoming through the bandage.

“No I.D. on our shooter,” Sheriff Mackey said, as they watched the paramedics slam the double doors at the rear of the ambulance. His uniform was rumpled as if he had slept in it. “We’ll run his prints through AFIS, the national database. We’ve matched every vehicle in the lot against the guest register. I’m assuming an accomplice dropped him off, planned to circle around and pick him up after the deed was done.”

They watched the ambulance depart. No lights, no siren. Neither was necessary, considering where the van’s passenger was headed.

“He had a pin-and-tumbler set in his jacket. Illegal to possess in the state of North Carolina without a locksmith license. We’ll look into that, but I don’t expect anything to come of it. Black market, most likely.”

“He was an amateur,” Nick said. “Carried the right tools, but this wasn’t his thing.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Once he’s inside the room, he has me right where he wants me. He fires off multiple shots at pointblank range, and misses every time?”

“Doesn’t make sense,” the sheriff agreed.

“I think the booze was liquid courage. He hesitated. That’s the only reason I’m standing here talking to you.”

The sheriff looked off toward the crime scene, jingled some change in his pockets.

“From what I’ve heard about Eddie Whiteside’s murder,” said Nick, “it was sloppy too. Only difference is, shotgun makes a big boom. Whoever offed Eddie wasn’t too worried about being heard out in the boonies. It was supposed to be quick, easy. Things didn’t go as planned.”

Nick sighed, ran one hand over the prickly gray hairs atop his skull. He watched a woman in a green business suit and tortoise-shell glasses walk out of his room carrying a clear plastic bag marked EVIDENCE. Even from where he stood, he could see what was inside the bag: the key to Room 118, coated in half-congealed blood.

Overhead, the big Sunrise Motor Lodge sign (CLEAN ROOMs + Hb0 = $34.95/NITE) made a ticking sound, then abruptly went dark. As if the manager had decided he couldn’t handle any more business that might come rolling in tonight. Not after everything he’d been through. Nick glanced over toward the office, saw the old man speaking to a tall black cop; he was waving his hands about, looking distraught, while the deputy scribbled his statement in a notebook.

Nick thought about the bizarre things the hitman had said just before their fight. He debated whether or not he should tell the sheriff. Although he didn’t really know why, he decided he would wait. Sit on it, and try to make sense of it himself before he shared it with anyone.

“Ask you a question, Sheriff?”

“What’s that?”

“Who knows I’m here?”

“At the motel?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Far as I know, there’s just your daughter, myself, and your pal Leon Purdy. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been in Midnight—ten, twelve hours? Already, someone’s tried to take me out of the picture. I’d like to know how this asshole knew where to find me.
Exactly
where to find me.”

Mackey said, “You’re a hard fellow to miss, Mr. Bullman. I knew you were in town ten minutes after you walked into Annie’s Country Diner.”

“Right.”

“I don’t think I appreciate whatever it is you’re insinuating.”

“I’m not insinuating anything, Sheriff. Just thinking out loud.”

Nick yawned. He didn’t know why he had chosen to take the antagonistic route. But he couldn’t help it. Waking up with a gun in your face tends to darken one’s mood.

The sheriff turned, mumbled something into his walkie-talkie. An officer trotted over a minute later with two Styrofoam cups of coffee. He still had on his latex gloves. Sheriff Mackey took a cup. Nick declined, and not just because he saw flakes of dried blood on the guy’s gloves.

The sheriff sipped at his coffee, made a satisfied sound in the back of his throat.

“Do you think this could be tied to organized crime?” Nick asked him.

“Around here?” Mackey seemed to get a kick out of that.

“I’m serious.”

“Thought you were. The closest thing we have to ‘organized crime’ is the rare trailer-park meth lab that I’m proud to say we shut down the second I get wind of it. Solicitation at the truck stops off I-26. But if you’re talking about something out of
The Godfather
? I can assure you that those kind of people do
not
congregate in Midnight, North Carolina.”

“Suppose Eddie Whiteside owed some bad people a lot of money. What if my granddaughter was the collateral that paid off his debt?”

The sheriff sighed. “I will review the information supplied to us by Leon Purdy. After what happened to you tonight, I’d be a fool not to admit that this whole thing is more complex than I first thought. But I wish you would leave the detective work to me, sir.”

“You’ve done a hell of a job so far,” said Nick.

The sheriff chewed at his bottom lip. Looked like he’d love to pull out his Glock, spend the next few hours pistol-whipping Nick with it. He took a long sip at his coffee before he spoke again.

“We’re gonna play it like that? Well then, my turn to ask you a question. You told me that, before yesterday evening, you never knew you had a granddaughter. I took this to mean your relationship with Melissa is estranged. Would that be a fair assessment?”

“It would be.”

“How well do you trust your daughter, Mr. Bullman?”

Nick glared at the sheriff, did not reply.

“Melissa stands to gain a lot of money from Eddie Whiteside’s death. She happens to be the sole beneficiary of an insurance policy Eddie took out on himself a month before he was murdered.”

Nick clenched his teeth. Fought to keep his temper in check. The big man had no nose, but the two wide black holes in the center of his disfigured face flared with anger.

Sheriff Mackey said, “I’m not insinuating anything, by the way. Just thinking out loud.”

Score one for the prick in the khaki uniform.

“Do you need anything else from me?” Nick said. “If not, I should probably start looking for another place to stay.”

“You’re free to go,” the sheriff replied. “But...Mr. Bullman?”

“Huh?”

“A blind man could see we’ve got a clear case of self-defense here. However, pending a meeting with the D.A., I’m sure I’ll need to speak with you again. Make yourself available?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Nick. “I promised Melissa I’d help her. That’s what I aim to do.”

“Try the south end of Brookshire, up past the bowling alley. Couple decent motels out that way, shouldn’t cost you an arm and a leg.”

Mackey gave Nick a final once-over, before walking away.

Nick watched him join his fellow lawmen in Room 118, then climbed into his Bronco, feeling every second of his fifty-four years. He was sore all over. His bicep burned, his bad knee throbbed, and his groin ached as if someone had been standing on it for the last few days, maybe jumped up and down when they got bored.

He didn’t see the motel manager approaching him until the guy rapped on his window with one bony knuckle.

He took his time rolling down the window. “What the hell do
you
want?”

“Thought I’d better tell ya, a’fore you take off...somebody’s gonna have to pay for the damage in there.”

“Beg your pardon?” said Nick.

“Me and the missus, we ain’t exactly got money fallin’ outta our buttholes. It’s all we can do to break even runnin’ this place most days. Somebody’s gonna have to pay for the repairs.”

“A man tried to kill me tonight,” said Nick, “in case you missed it.”

“Wasn’t me. I just own the motel. Now, I know you wasn’t the one doin’ the shootin’. But after what you did to that fella, I don’t see him gettin’ up to pay me what I’m owed.”

Nick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “How did he know what room I was in? Tell me that, old man. Hell, I’m surprised he had to pick the lock, somebody didn’t
hand him a goddamn key
...”

The gruesome double entendre in his own statement—
hand him a key
—was not lost on Nick.

The senior citizen’s gaze dropped to the cracked asphalt. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“How much did he pay you?” said Nick.

“I ain’t got no dog in this fight, buddy. I just own th—”

“You just own the motel. I got that.”

The geezer gave up then. He stalked off, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe how he’d been conned.

Nick started the Bronco. It backfired. He got a wicked thrill out of seeing every cop on the premises flinch.

As he pulled out of the lot, he passed a white van with a satellite dish on its roof, CHANNEL 13 NEWS painted on its side. He said a silent prayer, thanked whoever might be listening that he’d gotten out of there just in time, didn’t have to deal with
that
shit.

As he cruised through Midnight, down lonely back roads and side streets smothered in darkness, he kept an eye on his cracked rearview mirror.

Nick Bullman was tired. So tired. But after tonight he wondered if he would ever sleep again.

†

Eight hours had passed since the attempt on Nick’s life. Early the next morning, he called Melissa to tell her what happened. Their conversation was brief, as she was on her way to work (she had quit her job at the bar a few days after Sophie went missing, and had recently gone back to pulling double shifts at the Waffle House). He assured his daughter that he was okay as she wept into the phone, and he promised her that he would continue to watch his back. Before they said their goodbyes, he asked for her Aunt Patty’s number. She gave it to him, along with a warning that he had never been her aunt’s favorite person. He told her he suspected as much, but after an attempt on his life he could handle just about anything.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve calling this number,” Aunt Patty started berating him as soon as he identified himself. “You are a piece of work, you know that? All that money, all that fame, you’re still nothing. You’re the lowest of the low.”

He allowed her to get it out of her system, didn’t bother reminding her that both the money and the fame had said
adios
a few years ago.

“I guess we can all rest easy now that
you’ve
come rolling back into town. After all these years. Gonna fix everything! Think you’ll solve the mystery, Nick? Gonna find that little girl, so we can all live happily ever after?”

In the background he could hear water running, clinking glassware. Sounded like she was washing dishes.

She sighed. “Look. I already told the police. I haven’t heard from Sophie. I don’t know where she is. I wish to God I did.”

“Pat,” said Nick, “did either Sophie or Melissa ever mention a man called ‘Daddy’?”

“Never. There’s one name that’s always been missing from
both
of their lives.”

He knew he had walked right into that one. It stung.

“Last time I called Melissa, she told me to eat shit and die. After all I’ve done for that girl. She’s in denial. I don’t know if it’s because of some misguided loyalty to that dirtbag, even though he’s dead now, or because she knows if Sophie really was the one who killed him she would have to admit to herself what had been going on in that house right under her nose.”

“You think—”

“Eddie had been molesting that poor girl. And she decided she wasn’t gonna take it anymore.”

For the first time since Patty answered the phone, her tone softened toward the man who should have been her brother-in-law. Not much, but a little.

“Something wasn’t right with him,” she said. “He had an unhealthy interest in Sophie before he ever laid eyes on her.”

“What do you mean?”

“He called asking to speak with her. Late April, early May this would’ve been, when Sophie still lived with me. I handed her the phone. I had met Eddie a couple times at that point, and he seemed decent enough. I didn’t find out about all the stuff he was into till after he was dead. I assumed he was just calling to relay a message from Melissa. But then he called again. Two or three times after that.”

“What did he want?”

“He kept begging Sophie to come to Midnight to live with them. He told her it was the one thing her mother wanted more than anything in the world. Wasn’t too long after that, he got his wish.”

Nick was stunned.

Everything Patty told him matched the sheriff’s original theory. As did Sophie’s call, when she had asked her mother not to come looking for her. But Sophie
didn’t
leave home of her own free will that night. She left because she had been
taken
. By four men in suits, driving a fancy car.

How did those goons fit into all of this, if Sophie had pulled the trigger on Eddie? Why had he seemed so hell-bent on reuniting Melissa with her daughter, if not for the vile purpose the cops initially suspected?

Two plus two kept coming up five. Nick couldn’t make the pieces fit together. Trying made his brain hurt.

Aunt Patty gave another loud sigh into the phone then.

“That’s all I’ve got.” She sounded tired. Defeated. “Now do me a favor, Nick. You never brought anything but heartache to Melissa and her mother. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t call this number again.”

“I’m sorry, Pat,” he said. “For everything. If I could go back—”

“I’m tempted to say you deserve what happened to you, and I’m glad they took your face. But that wouldn’t be very Christian of me. So I won’t.”

She hung up.

†

Later that morning, Nick trudged through the forest behind his daughter’s former home, once again approaching Leon Purdy’s crooked trailer. He wore a scuffed brown leather jacket, an old gray stocking cap. Twigs and dead pinecones crunched beneath his boots.