Bad Chili (4 page)

I waited for Brett to come back, but she didn’t show. A nurse with a face like a callused fist that had been punched through glass came in instead and insisted I have the glucose put back in my arm. I insisted it not go.

She went away in a huff and threatened to tell my doctor. I half expected Sylvan to show up, ready to paddle me.

Couple hours later another nurse came in. She was about Brett’s size, and even reminded me of her a little — without the charm, the foul mouth, and the red hair. She looked like a younger, calmer brunette sister.

I said, “You’re going to try and make me put that thing in my arm, it isn’t going to work.”

She laughed at me. “I came in to tell you Brett likes you.”

“Wow,” I said. “I feel like I’m in high school again. Next thing you know, we’ll be using you to pass notes.”

“She didn’t tell me to tell you, I just wanted you to know. She’s a friend of mine. She told me she was interested in you. She could use someone in her life. Someone that isn’t a crud. You aren’t a crud, are you, Mr. Collins?”

“Gee, I don’t think so. What’s your name?”

“Ella Maine.”

“Thanks, Ella.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Did she tell you what she likes about me?”

“Your sense of humor.”

“Not my eyes? My noble chin? My dazzling smile? My throbbing pectorals?”

“Your sense of humor.”

“That beats nothing,” I said.

“Mr. Collins?”

“Yep.”

“Treat her right.”

“She gives me half the chance, I will.”

“Don’t tell her I spoke to you. It might embarrass her.”

“I don’t think she embarrasses that easy.”

Ella laughed. “Now that you mention it, neither do I.”

A few minutes after Ella departed, Charlie Blank came in. He had an expression on his face like a man who had just been told he was going to have to swallow and pass a bowling ball, then bowl a strike with it. He didn’t ask to look at my ass.

“Leonard?” I asked. “He okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t know. I went by his place this morning. Knocked. He didn’t answer. Seein’ how you been callin’, not gettin’ him, I got a little nervous. I picked the lock and went in, but he wasn’t there. I looked to see anyone had stuffed him in the closets or tried to cut him up in the bathtub. No Leonard. Not even a cut-up one. The bed hadn’t been slept in, though he really ought to wash those sheets. Nothing looked out of place, but where the fuck is he? Tight as you guys are, it’s not like Leonard to go off without at least tellin’ you.”

“You think it’s foul play? That what you’re sayin’?”

“I ain’t sayin’ it’s nothin’. But . . .”

“But what?”

“I’m not finished here. Give me some room. That biker. One with Raul. You got a better description than you gave me?”

“I’ve never seen him. I gave you the description Leonard gave me.”

“That description included him being alive and having a head, didn’t it?”

“Say what?”

“Last night, out on Old Pine Road. Couple of motorists, alias two kids parked by the side of the road doin’ the hole-punch boogie, found a biker. His Harley had slammed into a tree, but that wasn’t what did him in. What set him back was a shotgun blast to the head. They’re gonna be pickin’ up teeth and head fragments for a few days to come. They might even find a jawbone over in Louisiana.”

“Damn.”

“Leonard owns a shotgun.”

“Now wait just a goddamn minute, Charlie. You know Leonard.”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m worried. Listen here, Hap. Leonard, he’s a little hot-tempered. You can’t deny that.”

“He’s not that hot-tempered.”

“Yeah, he is. Especially lately. What about this stuff with Raul and Raul’s boyfriend, who, I might note, is a biker? Am I right?”

“Yeah. But . . .”

“And you know why Leonard lost his job at the Hot Cat Club?”

“He pissed on a guy’s head.”

“That’s excessive even for Leonard.”

“He was making a point.”

“Uh-huh. What you said about Leonard sayin’ he was going to kick that kid’s ass. Remember that?”

“I don’t think he really meant it. Not really.”

“That shows some temper, don’t it? And you haven’t heard a word from him. Any of that seem right to you, partner? And this biker, it was a twelve-gauge made him the headless horseman. And like I said, Leonard owns a twelve-gauge pump.”

“So does every other Texan. Leonard also owns rifles, handguns, a collection of silverware, and a TV set. Hell, so do I. So do you.”

“I haven’t pissed on anyone’s head, nor have I threatened to kick a kid’s ass.”

“Ah-hah! But you sympathized.”

“I was kidding.”

“So was Leonard.”

“You weren’t so sure.”

“You don’t even know it’s the same biker.”

“True. But after I went by Leonard’s, didn’t find him, heard about this biker, I went back and looked in Leonard’s closet. Twelve-gauge wasn’t there. You and I both know that twelve-gauge isn’t one he takes out much. Got it from his uncle, who got it from his father, or some such thing. Uncle gave it to Leonard when he was a kid. You’ve heard him talk about it. It’s an heirloom. It goes so far back it isn’t registered. Guy’s going to do something like kill a lover or a lover’s boyfriend, he might want to do it with a weapon that’s special to him.”

“I thought you were Leonard’s friend.”

“I am, Hap. That’s why I’m worried.”

“I can’t believe you came to me with this bullshit. Leonard didn’t kill anybody. Not like that, anyway. Hell, you know that.”

“There’s more. Last night, biker bar on the outside of town. The Blazing Wheel. Heard of it? Only biker bar we got. Well, some black dude with a bad attitude went in there and whupped the shit out of a biker with a broom handle. It was one serious ass whuppin’. And when the other bikers started to light down on this black dude, he knocked a couple knots on their heads and pulled a pistol. Then, when they followed him out to the car, he jerked a twelve-gauge off his car seat and pointed it at them. Shot the neon out of the Blazing Wheel sign and shot up some bikes. It looked like a fuckin’ demolition derby out there. This biker, one got the dog shit beat out of him — guess what?”

“It’s the dead guy?”

“Guess what else?”

“What?”

“This black guy did the damage, he was driving a Rambler. How many guys you know got the acorns to go in a biker bar like that and start trouble, carry a gun? How many black guys you know drive an old Rambler? How many whites you know drive a Rambler? Who the fuck do you know wants to drive a Rambler? That alone takes balls.”

“I don’t think Leonard likes the Rambler,” I said. “He got it cheap.”

“Yeah. Well, add this shotgun stuff in with the other stuff. The boyfriend business, Leonard not being home. It kinda adds up big-time nasty, don’t it?”

“What about Raul? Any word there?”

“Zip. Which don’t look good neither.”

“Any charges filed against Leonard?”

“Not yet. I’m the only one that’s put any of this together. Incorrectly, I hope.”

I got out of bed and started for the closet.

“What are you doin’?” Charlie said.

“Keep what you think might be to yourself, will you, Charlie?”

“I’m an officer of the law, Hap. I can’t — You’re not goin’ anywhere. It’ll fuck up your insurance if you leave.”

“I got to find Leonard. I got a better chance than anyone else. All you got to do is not tie things together just yet. Give me a little time. This way Leonard isn’t forced into hiding if he didn’t do this business.”

“Didn’t do it, he won’t need to hide.”

“State he’s in, he might think he needs to. But I can tell you now, he didn’t do this. Well, he probably did beat the hell out of that guy and shoot up the bar. And he probably drove that Rambler with a sense of pride. That’s his style. But ambushin’ some guy. Blowin’ off his head like that. That’s not his style.”

“There’s one other thing.”

“What?”

“A Rambler, formerly white, before it was gutted by fire, was found in a pasture off Highway Fifty-nine.”

“Was it Bill Duffin’s pasture?”

“It was. And if I remember right, wasn’t that the pasture where the squirrel jumped you? We’re gettin’ lots of coincidences here. Black guy knockin’ knots on a biker guy’s head, shootin’ a twelve-gauge, drivin’ a Rambler.”

“Then I’ve really got no choice,” I said. “I have to leave.”

I slipped on my pants without underwear, pulled the gown over my head and tossed it on the bed. I put on my T-shirt.

“All I’m asking, Charlie, is you give me some space here. Okay?”

“Hap, I’ve done you guys a lot of favors. But—”

“Do us one more.”

“You see how it looks. He went in there, lost his temper, knotted up a biker’s melon, ran off in the Rambler, bikers chased him down. He shot the guy off the bike from the car. Then the others overtook him, burned the car to slow down identification . . . then . . . well, I don’t think they took Leonard out to dinner.”

I pulled my socks and shoes from the closet. I said, “They didn’t find a body, so I’m going to figure on Leonard being alive. He isn’t indestructible, but he isn’t any pushover either. Did they find a shotgun and a revolver in the car?”

“No, but so what? Bikers could have taken that before they burned it. Why not? Good shotgun and a revolver. They’d want it.”

“Maybe. But I’m thinking he got away, and he’s out there somewhere, needing help.”

“Hap, man, say he is alive . . . I’m crazy about the guy. Leonard, me and him are tight. But we’re talkin’ murder here. I don’t never get that tight with nobody. Hear what I’m sayin’?”

“Sounds like self-defense to me.”

“What? He goes in and beats a guy up and the guy goes after him and Leonard kills him. Biker wasn’t armed, Hap.”

“You say the Rambler was found in Duffin’s pasture. That isn’t near where the biker was killed, is it?”

“So they chased him. He tried to dart into the pasture and hide. They caught him. It stands to reason.”

“He certainly ran them a merry chase from Old Pine Road all the way out to Duffin’s pasture.”

“Yeah. All right. That’s a point. But it could have happened way I said.”

“Bikers say they saw Leonard shoot this guy? Anyone say that?”

“No. They just say they chased him. But a lot of questions haven’t been asked yet. They caught up and killed him, they ain’t gonna admit it right away. For all we know, they’re tannin’ his hide somewhere, gonna make him into a rug.”

“He’s already tanned. I don’t want much time, Charlie. Leonard did this, you can have him. It’s not like he’s going to go on a murder spree. And if he is dead, what’s the rush, huh?”

It was Charlie’s turn to consider. “All right. Twenty-four hours, then I got to let my cat out of the bag. And in the meantime, I got to start seein’ there’s more in the bag than just one cat. Investigation might bring something forward I can’t hold back. Things can develop. A cat can have kittens. Understand?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Fully. And Charlie. Thanks.”

I sat down in the guest chair and put on my socks and shoes. I checked my wallet. Yep. Still had my two dollars and a couple of large uncashed checks from offshore work.

The nurse who had threatened to tell my doctor I was a bad boy came in just as I was starting out.

“Mr. Collins, what do you think you’re doing?” she said.

“Don’t worry, I’m not checking out. I’m going for a morning constitutional. I’ll be back in time for my next shot.”

“You can’t do that,” she said. “That’s five days from now.”

“Hide in the bushes and watch,” I said, and went out.

A moment later I came back in. Charlie was listening to the nurse fuss about my departure. He was nodding and saying nothing. They both turned to look at me.

“Charlie,” I said, “I know this messes up my exit, but you think you could give me a ride? To the house. I forgot I don’t have my truck here.”

Charlie drove me home and let me out. He didn’t have much to say on the way over, but as I started walking toward the house he called out through his open window, “Just a little bit, Hap, then I got to bring Leonard in for questioning.”

“Yeah. I know. What time is it?”

He told me.

I said, “Twenty-four hours. From right now. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “But I mean twenty-four hours. Not twenty-five. And if something new comes up, deal’s off.”

I nodded at him, and he drove away. I got my key and walked up on the porch feeling ill. Partly it was the cold I had, along with a bit of fear about leaving the hospital like that, knowing I still had shots to take, and thinking about the doc’s story about the boy who died tied to a bed, biting at the air.

I tried not to worry too much. I had five days before the next shot, and nearly two weeks after that before the last. But I had to wonder what I had been so all fired excited about.

Now I was out of the hospital and at the house, I didn’t have a clue what I was supposed to do next. I felt as if I had tried to play a scene from
Hamlet
during a grade-school production of
Red Riding Hood
. It had been a dramatic moment, but it was inappropriate. It sure didn’t add up to anything that could help Leonard.

As I went into the house the smell of mildew and dust hit me like a blow. I had been gone for months, and since I had returned to East Texas, I hadn’t even been home. I had gone off with Leonard to shoot cans and talk. Things had gone downhill from there.

I felt a combination of pleasure and dread as I entered. Dread, because my place is essentially a shit hole. Much in need of repair. There’s also the fact that the contents of my house spoke of, if not a miserable existence, certainly a lame one. I still had aluminum-foil-covered rabbit ears for my TV. Not even a roof antenna or a satellite dish.

The happy feeling that wrestled with the dread was due to the fact that I was home, free of the offshore drilling job where I had for months served as a heavy oiler, which is a glorified title for an idiot who pours oil onto machinery. I hated the work and vowed never to do it again. I also vowed, for the umpteenth time, to change my life. To find something better, to finally prepare for the future. Which, considering half my life was over, might not be a bad idea. Perhaps, if I had real plans, I could begin to think of my glass as half full, instead of half empty. Or half empty with a bug in the bottom.