Birdsongs (12 page)

    “You are correct. The FBI will only get involved in certain criminal activities and those that cross jurisdictional lines. At this point, we feel that our staff is self-sufficient. We know the ins and the outs of the town, the people, and what makes it tick. In addition to our capable staff we have hired a former Federal Bureau of Investigation Officer as a consultant.”

    The interview was a gem. Benny watched from the back of the small group of spectators. As soon as Rachael strategically blew off Chief Neighbors, Benny approached her.

    “You’re even more impressive in person than on television,” he said with a gentle, heart-bending smile.

    “Oh,” Rachael said flattered. “He was easy.” She finished her statement with an unusual loss for words.

    “Did you uncover anything today in addition to what you exposed on the show tonight?” Benny asked with genuine interest.

    “A little,” Rachael responded. “I know it’s late, but have you had dinner?”

    “No, I haven’t had time to stop for that long.”

    “Do you know a place open in town this late where I can buy you dinner and we can talk?” Rachael asked with a business tone and confidence.

    “Actually, I have two steaks marinating in the fridge on the boat. Would you feel comfortable having dinner at my place? I’ll buy
you
dinner,” Benny said with a sly smile.

    “That sounds great,” Rachael responded with a purr.

Chapter 30

   Benny and Rachael walked down the dock silently, each feeling a naughty sexual vibe coursing between their bodies. As they reached the boat, Benny jumped aboard first so he could steady Rachael as she adjusted to her sea legs. She stumbled unintentionally as her heel found the only slippery spot on the entire boat, and when Benny caught her, he had one-half of her buttocks firmly cupped in one hand and his other firmly around her waist. She looked up and Benny did not move either hand besides slightly squeezing her a bit tighter. She didn’t move. Without thinking, Benny pulled her to him and her lips met his hungry mouth. She responded and went limp into Benny. They fumbled blindly through the door and onto the couch, which swallowed them whole. When they surfaced from the depths of the couch to take a breath, Rachael’s shirt was nowhere to be found and one of the windows above the couch was beginning to fog. Benny’s hands found her breasts as he continued to kiss her and hover his member through his pants gently over her panty line making unexpected, yet welcomed brief landings. Both of her hands tugged at his belt and whipped it out flippantly as it fell with an unnoticed thud to the floor. Somehow, they magically pulled each other’s pants off in unison. Her panties and his boxers instantaneously followed. Their tongues continued to do an unknown sacred dance as his penis gently massaged her bare clitoris. Benny disappeared below her waist for a few cosmic moments and caressed his way back up. Upon Rachael’s instructions, Benny inserted himself into her and the two rocked, grinded, and swayed with one another in perfect melodious harmony until each of them separately reached exhaustion.

Chapter 31

    Another gentle morning graced the Sleepy Cove Marina. The steaks were still marinating in Benny’s fridge wrapped in bacon. Rachael was cozy, wrapped in Benny’s arms. The excitement of a new relationship clouded the room. Benny was awake, staring at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts of her and the case when Rachael stirred. Before opening her eyes, her hand traced circles and figure eights down as far as her hand would reach. She found a prize, and they started the morning with a bang. Energized and showered, Benny cooked the steaks, eggs, and his grandmama’s not so secret buttermilk biscuit recipe. The two lovers were famished from the release of pent up passion that had momentarily escaped from their bodies the night and moment before. They were an island unto themselves in conversation and admiration for one another as they enjoyed the well-marinated meat and biscuit recipe that once again would soon slip across family borders.

    As they digested, Rachael addressed the nine hundred pound elephant, which had been standing in the middle of the room all morning. “Benny?” she hesitantly asked. “What was last night?”

    Knowing exactly where this was going, Benny answered, “I believe it was the twentieth of May.” He watched her deadpan and waited for her comeback.

    “Don’t fuck with me Mr. James,” she barked. She adjusted his Peachtree Road Race t-shirt over her knees, stretching it in a way that would never allow it to return to its original state.

    “Ms. Martin,” Benny counteracted. “I’ll lay it out for you real clear. I don’t play games and I live my life one day at a time. Why don’t we live today and tomorrow will take care of itself?" Benny paused and finished saying, “You’re worried about tomorrow, right?”

    “Yes,” she sheepishly answered as her guard sank towards the lake’s bed to commune with the bottom feeding catfish.

    “Come here baby,” Benny said motioning for her to join him on the notorious couch, made famous the night before. She joined him and they spooned. Benny smelled her hair and rested his hand under her shirt against her bare stomach. Rachael relaxed and once again melted, feeling at home in Benny’s arms. “One day at a time,” Benny said as he stroked her hair with one hand while the other pulsed on her abdomen. “OK?”

    “OK,” Rachael responded. “I’m a little type-A,” she inserted.

    “Really!” Benny mocked.

    “I could use this,” Rachael sighed. “It’s likely that I will only be in town for a week or two,” Rachael said as she reached back and found what she was looking for. “Do you mind if I bring my toothbrush over?”

    “As long as your suitcase is attached to it,” Benny answered as he responded to her groping in another manner. They killed another thirty minutes and it was noon before they saw the sun that day.

Chapter 32

   Rachael headed out for the day to continue her research and to get her toothbrush. Benny washed the breakfast dishes and tidied up a bit as the thought of her draped over his pulsating brain. His mind reverberated with thoughts of the murder case and his desire to have Rachael back with him regardless of the fact she had just left. Her presence and perfume lingered like a ghost. Echoing what she said, he needed this. Since Jane left he had only had sex once, but he had not made love until last night. The emotionless screw resulted in the addition of a cardinal rule he promised himself to never break again. The rule was—never get a haircut when you are drunk.

    Benny had been drinking with Vernon one slow afternoon at Rene’s and realized he was in no condition to drive home when Vernon’s wife called and summoned him home. Benny took a final shot, finished his beer and decided to go see Michelle for a haircut. Next thing he knew, the door to the Hair Palace was locked, the closed sign was in the window, and the blinds were drawn. He was naked in the barber’s chair and Michelle was doing the spider with him, her breasts in his mouth. Gawking into the mirror-lined room, Benny felt like he was watching a porno inside of a porno and he was the star. He never did get his haircut that day.

    The night before was different. Aside from the animal nature of the deed, there was also emotion, tenderness, and a longing between the two lovers to continue the chase.

Chapter 33

   Once upon a time, Ray Clint, who people called R.C., simply went by Ray. Nevertheless, that was years ago. His father, who named him, was a stoic man with little or nothing ever to say. World War II did something irreversible to Mr. Boyd’s soul. A year after his return from the war, Ray was born and Mr. Boyd’s soul attempted to heal. His wife was ill prepared to be a mother and before reaching the point of going Andrea Yates, she left with a simple note one early morning saying she was sorry and afraid if she stayed any longer she would harm the baby or herself. They never saw her again and Mr. Boyd’s soul ceased its recovery effort.

    Before the boom their hometown of Las Vegas was the bud on a flower. Soon it became a rose. Mr. Boyd made the perfect blackjack dealer as emotion and words were not his strengths. Ray grew up knowing the ins and outs of the casinos and the power of money. Cards to him were second nature and at a young age he became adept at counting cards and instinctively knowing the probability of what cards remained in the deck and how the cards previously dealt affected the odds. His father, being rather uninvolved in his life never knew he learned some nasty habits. R.C. bet money that he did not have. However, it seemed the contents of his pockets contained a genie in a bottle with unlimited wishes, three rabbit’s feet, a horseshoe he occasionally threw over his shoulder, and a lucky penny. His luck gave the Midas touch a run for its money.

    One afternoon during his eighteenth year he played in a card game with a few men in a seedy motel on the outskirts of the blossoming strip. The men were two, three, and four times his age. R.C. usually took his opponents to the cleaners but his luck ran out. R.C. was on a tear that particular day, raking in the money feeling bullet proof. Hand after hand, Lady Luck dealt the cards. The other men, wanting to get their money back upped the wages. Feeling like he could not possibly lose, R.C. tossed into the final pot the keys to his Trans Am, which was parked outside. The men had commented earlier on what a beauty she was. He lost the hand and when asked for the title to the car, R.C. sheepishly broke the news that he did not possess the title, as he was only a year into the loan payments. The gentleman to whom he owed the money knew nothing of patience. He gave R.C. two weeks to produce the money. He told R.C. if he was unable to pay up on the allotted date, he was a dead man.

    The next day R.C. joined the marines. He begged for an immediate enlistment and his wish was granted. Running from trouble, he found more trouble. There was a lot of downtime in the barracks in Vietnam and R.C. had a few packs of cards. Once again, at the beginning of his run his luck was impeccable. He based his bets once again on collateral that was not in his possession. History repeated itself, as it oftentimes does, his luck ran dry. The jarhead Miles, to whom he owed the money, was already suspected of a friendly fire incident. Most considered it not to be an accident and R.C. feared for his life. Near the peak of his worrying he made a deal with his Miles.

    One morning, R.C. was on watch working a large perimeter around the temporary barracks when a bullet grazed his arm just below his shoulder. His anger, mixed with fear outweighed and trumped the pain. Blood ran down his arm as the wound pounded and burned. He turned around to see Miles smiling, still pointing the gun, this time at the center of his chest.

    “Pretty good shot, wasn’t it?”

    “You could have killed me!”

    “If I wanted to kill you I would have.”

    “Why didn’t you?”

    “Because you owe me money. You shouldn’t make bets with money you don’t have.”

    “I’m sorry,” R.C. said holding a bandana tight against the bleeding.

    “Sorry is not going to cut it. You’re going to help me with a little plan that I’ve been working on. If you don’t, the next time I will kill you. You with me?”

    “Yes,” R.C. said hesitantly. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

    “No, you sure don’t,” Miles laughed. “Now,” he said pausing for effect. “I want to take some of these chink guns home. I had a guy tell me before I left that he’d pay big money for some of their guns and some of ours. Not the kind of thing you can buy at the store on the corner, you know?”

    “How do you propose we get them home?” R.C. asked.

    “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ll take care of that part. All you need to do is collect. Have you seen the half blown up truck behind my barracks?” R.C. nodded. “I want ten of each. Ten from the gooks and ten from our troops. Put them in the back of the truck under the blue tarp.” R.C. nodded again. “Now go clean up your fucking arm.”

    R.C. played buddy, buddy with Miles until he ratted him out to the military police who threw him in the brig. The last R.C. heard about Miles he was awaiting his trial. Little did R.C. know he would see Miles again.

Chapter 34

   Jerry Lee trifled through his desk in search of Rachael’s number. He found it as his sweat splashed upon the information’s surface. It almost rang one complete time when she said, “Hello Jerry Lee.”

    “How in the blue oyster cult did you know it was me?”

    “Did caller ID skip the town of Tilley?” Rachael said, mentally acknowledging the fact this was the second time this situation had arisen since her arrival in town.

    “No, I just didn’t expect you to know my number,” he laughed.

    “I don’t. Since I programmed your number in my database, it said Jerry Lee on the display when it rang.”

    “You big city folks are something else,” Jerry Lee said, feeling a little stupid. “I know you are probably busy but I just wanted to call real quick and thank you for getting my column linked to your network’s website.”

    “No problem Jerry Lee. Your column this morning was brilliant. It was kind of like a journalistic short story. You have a gripping narrative voice.”

    “Wow! That means a lot to me, coming from you. Gee thanks.”

    “Let me ask you Jerry Lee,” Rachael began as she put down the notes she was looking over. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. The
Tilley Bee
is a good paper and they are lucky to have you, but your talent exceeds this little town and you could easily land yourself a job with a bigger paper. More money, more exposure…”

    “I have all the money I need,” Jerry Lee said modestly. “A bigger audience would be nice, but I like it here. Living in Tilley is kind of like living on a remote island. The rest of the world we know is out there but we stay over here and they stay over there.”

    “Sounds tempting,” Rachael answered thoughtfully. “Call me if you hear anything and I’ll do the same.”