Memorial Day: A Mick Callahan Novel (The Mick Callahan Novels) (15 page)

Bobby Sewell was the theatrical sort. He had taken his shirt off to parade his six-pack and was strutting like a peacock. I looked around. Still not a sign of the citizenry of Dry Wells, as if this had all been neatly arranged. I shaded my eyes and looked south. A large, blue Mercedes was parked at the end of the block with the engine running. A young man with dark hair was inside, enjoying the air conditioning. He sat watching the street through a dust-streaked windshield that barely reflected the noonday sun. The man moved suddenly, and I saw the flash of clean, white teeth and a small puff of smoke.

Will Palmer.

I inclined my head in tacit acknowledgment.
Not a bad play
, I thought.
Let someone else to do your dirty work
. I turned towards Sewell. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman's face suddenly appear next to Palmer's. Her head had been buried in his lap. Palmer pushed it back down again.

I approached Bobby Sewell, my face pleasant. "Good afternoon," I said. "I hear you've got a problem."

"Don't go around asking questions about me and my friends. You got something to say, you say it straight to my face."

"Okay, Bobby," I said. "That's reasonable enough. Here goes. I think you're an asshole and you had something to do with Sandy Palmer's death."

The football players always charge at you, going for the tackle. Sewell screamed out a curse and rushed straight at my waist
.
I used my quickness, stepped to one side. Sewell was good; he caught himself and spun just in time, deflecting the fist headed for his jaw with an upraised elbow. We both backed away to take measure. I saw Donny Boy edging around behind me. "You plan on fighting me fair, Bobby, or you so scared you need to stack the deck?"

"Donny? Back the fuck off."

"Sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Back off."

Donny Boy shrugged. I dodged a right cross, heard a man say: "Sounds like a good idea, Donny." It was Sheriff Bass, walking slowly across the street. Had Will Palmer summoned him? Bobby Sewell seemed confused for a moment, but then Bass said, "This looks to me to be a fair fight. Let's just let them work this out alone."

"You got it, Sheriff," the one called Mex shouted. "Whatever you say."

Annie's voice: "Why, Sheriff! Aren't you going to stop this?"

"Naw, I don't think so, Annie," Bass drawled. "Thing is, I don't care too much for neither one of these boys. Wouldn't break my heart to see it go either way."

Bobby charged again, and a half-second faster. He slammed me into the wall by Annie's front window and started trying to batter my rib cage with his big, work-hewn fists. I tightened my belly and tried not to breathe. I grabbed Bobby Sewell by the hair and yanked, then brought one fist down sharply on the side of his nose. Blood spurted. Sewell shook his head and tried to bore in again, but I was down in the street, looking for room to maneuver.

"How about it, Bobby?" I taunted, although shouting made my ribs hurt. "Did you beat Sandy Palmer because she dumped you? Did you kill her?"

"Fuck you!"

Bobby charged. At the last possible moment, he realized his mistake and pulled back, narrowly avoiding a kick to the face. He circled more warily, panting. He hadn't expected this much of a fight. Frankly, neither had I.

A growling sound: At the end of the block, Will Palmer gunned the engine of the big Mercedes. He was obviously growing impatient. The girl reappeared. She edged closer, sliding her bottom across the leather front seat, but Palmer shoved her away. I saw her head bounce against the door and then the dash. She turned her face, as if crying. Palmer blew another plume of smoke.

Bobby and I danced around in the dirt as Donny Boy cried: "
Oh boy, oh boy
, come
on
! Somebody
do
something!"

What finally nailed me was an educated combination. Sewell bore in, jabs and crosses in a tight pattern, and the sudden shift to formal boxing threw me. One right struck home, and I found myself on one knee, rubbing my aching jaw. Frankly, I half expected Sewell to attack when I was down, but the boy held back.

"That all you got man?' Sewell screamed. His nose was running bloody gruel. "You ain't nothing!"

I got up slowly and moved my chin around. "You hit like a mule."

I charged and knocked Sewell backwards. The sidewalk caught the boy by the heel, and I used my two hundred and twenty pounds to crunch down hard, slamming Sewell against the concrete. I twisted my torso and brought a forearm down into his vulnerable neck, stunning the windpipe. Bobby thrashed like a fish out of water, nose bubbling with pink foam, unable to catch his breath. I remembered when Danny Bell had laid me out in exactly that way and how frightened I'd been. I softened, leaned in and whispered, almost kindly: "You can get some air, kid. It just
feels
like you can't. You won't die."

I let him go and got up, knowing I would be sore as hell in a couple of days. I turned away. In my mind it was over. Then Annie called out something unintelligible. Jerry hollered: "Look out, Mick."

Bobby smashed my skull from behind. For some reason, I thought of the dead man in the alley and his head wound. Time crawled, the way it does when you take one to the head. I heard my breathing grow absurdly loud and oddly slow. The entire world seemed to whistle and moan. My stomach rolled over, and lunch started to come back up. I was staggering, trying to stay on my feet. I looked down the street, towards the blue Mercedes. I managed to focus. Will Palmer was now laughing and pointing. The girl was still crying.

Bobby Sewell hit me from behind, this time in the kidney. The hovering sky went bright white for a moment. Now, I felt sleepy and warm and peaceful. I just wanted to give up and take a nap. Another blow whistled by the back of my head, this one missing by inches, but I didn't care.

Fight him you little bastard
, Danny Bell cried from the depths of my mind.
This isn't a goddamned dress rehearsal. Don't you fucking quit on me, not now, not ever! You fight!

I gathered myself; dropped low and spun around. I grabbed the crotch of Sewell's jeans with both hands and twisted. Bobby Sewell started making little yelping noises and bent over double. I freed one fist, yanked on his right ear. I tightened both grips and used them to run Bobby's blonde head into the outside wall of the diner, then dropped him on the sidewalk. Instinctively, I drew back my right boot to kick.

"Let's get him!"

Mex tackled me on the left side, Donny Boy from the right. They slammed into me at roughly the same time. A rib slid, and I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I slid to my knees, weary arms at my sides. Donny clubbed my jaw, Mex kicked at my chest. The world began to slip away. I dropped and curled up to protect my face and groin.

"Whoops," Bass called. "You'd best back off, boys."

Mex kicked again anyway. Donny drew back his fist, debating where to pop me. I opened my eyes, tracked the concrete. I saw a long trail of dust and sand and followed it to the rear wheels of Palmer's Mercedes. The car was leaving town, turning back out towards the lonely highway. I guess Will was satisfied.

"I said break it up!" Bass shouted. Donny Boy stopped the blow just in time. The sheriff walked over with one hand on his weapon. "We can't have fighting right out here on the city streets, can we?"

"No, sir," Donny Boy snickered.

"Mr. Callahan?"

"Why, of course not, Sheriff," I panted. I got to my feet and stood, swaying and shaking my sore hand. "We're all law abiding citizens, here."

"Truly glad to hear that," Bass said. "Mr. Callahan, I do believe you said you'd be out of Dry Wells shortly. Can I assume that to be no later than the end of this holiday weekend?"

"You can."

He looked at Sewell with contempt. "Can you get up?" Bobby just grunted. Bass eyed me with what might have been a grudging respect. "You going to be okay?"

"Oh, sure," I lied. "They didn't lay a finger on me."

"Once you catch your breath, you come on over to my office. Maybe you can sign those two statements."

"Okay."

Jerry's lower lip had stopped bleeding. It looked like a flattened grape, slightly swollen and bruised. He kept trying to wave to the skinny girl, but she ignored him. I limped towards Annie, bone tired and feeling a bit immature. The ribs and knuckles hurt and my elbows and knees were all scraped and dirty.

Annie was standing near Jerry, wringing her hands. She was trembling. "I thought those bastards were going to kill you."

"They damn near did."

"Jesus, Mick. Did they hurt you bad?"

"I'm okay, Annie. Really. You go on back to work. Maybe I'll stop by and see you later on tonight."

"I'll hold you to that." She gave Bass a wicked look and walked to the diner. In the doorway, she glared at him again. "Sheriff, my ass," Annie said scornfully. She went inside.

Donny Boy, Mex, and the girls were now attending to Bobby Sewell. He was sitting up and croaking like a bullfrog about his broken nose and the pain in his balls. Donny Boy kept muttering
oh boy, oh boy
; the one called Mex was calling me names in Spanish.

"You work pretty hard for five bucks," Jerry said.

I needed some rest. I smiled broadly at the Sewell gang and waved as we limped away. "Well, that ought to stir things up."

Sunday Afternoon, 2:35 PM

"Sorry I woke you up," Doc Langdon said. "But you probably shouldn't have gone to sleep anyway after a hit upside the head, just in case of a concussion."

"I know."

"Listen, you in some kind of contest to piss people off?"

I groaned as my bruised knuckles entered the bucket filled with ice cubes. The plastic container said
Dry Wells Nevada, UFO Country
on the side. It featured some garish slot machines and a little green man wearing a cowboy hat. The alien was strumming an electric guitar.

"Nothing got broke," Doc said. "I'd be careful of those ribs, and there might be some swelling in your hand, but this ought to help. Glad you got a little sleep right away, your body will need it."

"Who sent you over?"

"Why, Glen Bass," Doc said cheerfully. "Told me to fix up Bobby's nose and then get my sagging country butt over here. He thought you might go take
too
long a nap or something, or maybe just plumb forget to drop by his office. You got some statements to sign, and he wants to have a little talk with you."

I moved my throbbing fingers around in the ice. "God, I love this town. I can't get over how friendly you all are."

"It's your warm personality," Doc said. "We're usually not all that impressed with television stars, but we sure do like a boy who can mix it up a little."

"Have the State Police called about picking up the bodies for autopsy?"

Doc shrugged. "There's some hard-core biker gang convention going on out to Ely, and it just may blow up on them, so they can't spare anybody until after Memorial Day. ME said to keep them both on ice. He'll be over early Tuesday morning to pick them up, maybe poke around the park and the alley a bit."

I leaned back with the bucket. "Doc, do you think somebody killed Sandy on purpose, yes or no?"

Doc looked amused. "Hell, who knows? I only work the livestock around here. I'm just your lovable old country vet."

"Yeah, but you're also quite a lot smarter than most of the people who live around here. What is your considered opinion?"

"Confidential like?"

"Off the record."

Doc stood up. "Can't say for sure, but I reckon during or maybe after somebody slapped her around, she slipped and fell. She was already barefoot on the rocks there, had abrasions on her heel. Anyway, she hit her head and passed out. But then I kind of lean towards the idea that the killer held her head under the water to make sure she was gone."

"Because?"

"What, the fall? Because of the way her skull got smashed, and because the wound looked very deep. The rest? Because like I said yesterday, I think the actual cause of death was drowning."

"Can you prove that?"

Doc shrugged. "Not without a forensic specialist right there at the site, and then only if nobody touched anything. Forensics, now that's a strange kind of science. Those guys are real picky people, got to have everything exactly right, all down to the last detail. You can't touch a thing."

I opened and closed my fingers again. The bucket made a rattling sound. I winced at both the cold and the topic. "Then why
did
you move her so fast, Doc? You sound like you know better than to do that."

Doc gave me a look. "We all do what we're told in the end, don't we?"

"I guess so. Can we continue to keep this drowning thing just between you, me, and Bass? Might be I can use it somewhere along the way."

Doc studied me, thinking on it. Finally, he said, "Don't see why not. Now, come on. The sheriff is a'waitin'."

As I was locking the motel room door: "Incidentally, how well did you know Sandy Palmer?"

Doc Langdon was down in the dirt and two steps ahead. He laughed out loud. "That ain't very subtle, coming right out with it like that."

I followed him out into the sunshine. "I wasn't trying to be subtle. And I'm tired of the country bumpkin act, Doc. It was charming at first, but now it's starting to wear thin."

"Guess I'll have to work on my Elvis impression," Doc said, as he waited for me to catch up. "That's the only other good one I have."

I shifted attitudes. "Sorry, Doc, but I can't seem to stay out of this. It feels like something I have to do."

"Be better off you did stay out, boy."

"Maybe."

We walked for a while. I touched a rib and winced. After a moment of dead air, as we turned onto the street, Doc said, "Okay, then. Sandy Palmer. Truth is, I didn't know her very well, Callahan. I'll be straight with you though, it was not for lack of trying. The girl got around, if you know what I mean."