Killerfind (20 page)

oody
made the trip
home
in silence until they had crossed the Emerson Bridge and were once again on
Missouri soil. A deputy had deposited them in the Pink Peacock parking lot next
to Rhetta’s unlocked SUV. She was amazed Streak was still there. The dark
parking lot was empty except for her car. The Viper was gone. Either someone
had made a choice between stealing a Viper or a Trailblazer, and the
Trailblazer lost, or the Viper belonged to Mylene, and she had driven it home.
Evidently the raid had been bad for business. The bar was closed.

Woody glanced at his watch, sighed and leaned his
head against the headrest. “Jenn was mad at me because we got arrested. Like it
was my fault. I tried to explain that it wasn’t my fault. It was your fault.”

Rhetta shot him a look, which he probably couldn’t
tell much about in the dark. She chose not to answer him. No point in arguing.
Instead, she felt along the top of the console for her cell phone, and glanced
down long enough to speed dial Randolph. “Yes, we’re fine. I’m dropping Woody off
at the office, then I’ll be right home.” She disconnected, then returned the
iPhone to the console. She couldn’t just let his remark slide past. “What do
you mean it was my fault? I’m not the one who had drugs stashed. Anyway, if
it’s any consolation, I think Randolph is mad at me, too. I don’t think I’ve
ever heard him strangle on words like he did when he asked me to repeat where I
was.”

“He ought to be plenty mad. I know I am.” When
Rhetta started to protest, Woody held up his hand in a stop gesture, and didn’t
let her speak.

“We
had no business being at the Pink Peacock, no matter what time of the day. That
is Sin City, and today, we were the sinners.”

“Woody, how can you say that? We didn’t do anything
wrong. I’m sure this will all be cleared up.” She fiddled with the radio,
turning it on, then off. “Besides, we needed to find Mylene Allard. We had
nothing to do with her operation, and this will all be straightened out.” She
dared hope her bravado rang true. Of all the places to be caught in a drug bust,
Alexander County, Illinois had to be the worst place on earth. She had heard
nothing good about any of the officials or cops there. In fact, what she always
heard was how crooked they all were.

“Sure it will. I heard the deputies say they found a
huge stash of drugs, and there you were, sitting and enjoying a drink with the
woman they’d come after. There’s going to be plenty to have to clear up. I
don’t think we looked too innocent, even to me.” He sighed and rubbed his head
three times. “I should’ve known better than to go with you on a hunt for that
woman.”

Rhetta turned into the now dark office parking lot
and stopped alongside Woody’s Jeep. “I’ll wait to make sure your car starts
before I leave.” She didn’t like that the parking lot didn’t have any night
lighting.

He cut her a look, started to say something, then
apparently thought the better of it. He just shook his head and climbed out of
the car.

Within a minute, the Jeep pulled out on to
Kingshighway. Rhetta followed, turned the opposite way and aimed Streak for
home. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly 9:00 PM.

Although Randolph remained calm when she’d finally
got hold of her purse and phone and was able to call him to tell him what had
happened, she heard the edge to his voice. It reminded her of her mother’s tone
whenever Rhetta called home after staying out past curfew. Her mother always
reprimanded her when she got home. Rhetta braced for a scolding from Randolph,
too.

She turned up the Oldies. It would take much more
than the DJ, Cousin Brucie, playing Andy Kim, the Beach Boys or the Righteous
Brothers to cheer her up. She had to be back in court in Alexander County in
one week to face arraignment. She turned the radio off and swerved into a
convenience store parking lot, and stopped near the trashcans. Opening the
console, she rooted around under her tissues and sunglasses and pulled out her
secret stash. Leaning against the front fender, she slipped on her plastic
gloves, fired up a cigarette and inhaled a deep, lung-filling jolt of nicotine.
She stood and smoked the cigarette down to the smallest nub she’d ever managed
to smoke a butt down to. When there wasn’t enough left for a single drag, she
ground out the stub, peeled off the gloves and tossed them and what was left of
the pack of smokes into the trashcan. Disgusted with herself, she climbed back
in the SUV and headed home.

*
* *

The
motion sensor light over the garage door clicked on, spilling daylight quality
floodlighting into the driveway when she pulled up. That reminded her to ask
the landlord about installing lights in their parking lot at work.

The door took forever to fold upward. It probably
didn’t, really, but her dread of going in made the door appear to move slowly.
After she parked Streak, she slipped into the kitchen from the garage. The
house was dark and silent. She listened intently and couldn’t hear any sounds from
the television. Switching on the overhead recessed lighting, she called out
cheerfully, “Sweets, I’m home,” hoping to make light of the situation. Her
heart, however, wasn’t so light.

From the deck, Randolph slid open the glass door,
and padded into the kitchen. He was wearing his slippers and the blue robe
she’d bought for his birthday. Her heart melted. He carried in an empty
iced-tea glass, and set it gently into the sink. Guiltily, Rhetta thought about
smoking the cigarette. Randolph could’ve easily used the occasion as a reason
to justify mixing himself a drink, but chose iced tea instead. Hearing that
your wife was arrested in a neighboring state for possession with the intent to
distribute drugs would have driven anyone to drink. He had really quit
drinking. She vowed she’d never buy another pack of cigarettes.

He rinsed the glass, opened the dishwasher and set
it carefully inside. Then he turned around to Rhetta and opened his arms. “Come
here.” She melted into his embrace. They stood silently, Rhetta soaking up the
love she felt from her husband.

He led her to the kitchen table and sat her down.
“Do you want some coffee?” She shook her head. “Are you hungry?”

When she nodded, Randolph went to the refrigerator
and brought out ham, condiments and a fresh loaf of wheat bread. She watched
him as he unwrapped the ham, her mouth watering at the sweet smoky fragrance of
the meat. He placed the food on the table, then sat across from her, taking her
hands in his. “Want to tell me how this happened?”

She told him everything. Except the part about
smoking.

 can’t
understand why
Mylene Allard posted bond for us, but I’m sure grateful she did.” Rhetta guided
a knife through the boneless ham. She arranged the slices on a small platter
along with wheat bread, and retrieved a couple of plates from the cabinet. Now
that she was home, she was ravenous. She and Woody had been incarcerated right
through the supper hour. She returned to the table with the plates and a tin of
chocolate chip cookies. She couldn’t fathom what Alexander County would have
served them. Probably bread and water. Or nothing.

Randolph poured them each a glass of milk while she
prepared their sandwiches. He returned the milk to the refrigerator. “Maybe she
just wants you out of her hair, so she can get back to work. Mylene is probably
selling drugs at the Pink Peacock.” He eyed the cookies.

“Heck if I know about any drugs. I didn’t see any,
even when the deputies were tearing the place apart. She was just about to
elaborate on Malcom Griffith and Jeremy Spears when we were, ah, interrupted.”
Rhetta stuffed a bite of the ham sandwich into her mouth. She swallowed, then
studied what was left. She found a piece of fat still clinging to the ham, so
she carefully peeled it off. “She did tell me that she and Jeremy were
half-brother and -sister. Malcom was their father. She managed to get herself
out of jail almost immediately, while we sat around for a couple of hours.” She
took a long drink of milk and wiped the cat whisker off her upper lip. “I
wonder why she posted bail for us? Maybe she knew the officers wouldn’t let us make
any phone calls. By the way, isn’t that unconstitutional?”

“Apparently not in Illinois. They have their own
ideas. That ought to teach you to stay away from there permanently.” Randolph
finished one sandwich and began preparing a second for himself.

“I hate to hear that about Illinois. I still like
Chicago,” Rhetta said, and took another bite. She dabbed at her lips with a
paper napkin. “Umm, this is delicious. I’m so happy to be home.”

Randolph had to smile. “Then stay out of Alexander
County, will you? I’ll call the State’s Attorney in the morning and see if we
can work something out.” He finished his sandwich, and snatched a paper towel
to dab his chin.

“Her lawyer looked pretty sharp. He wore a dark
green suit that looked like it was silk. And his shoes were those European,
loafer-style, with tassels in a sort of cordovan color. Is cordovan still a
color? Anyhow, he didn’t wear a dress shirt, but had on a pale green T-shirt
and no socks. He looked more like a rapper than a lawyer. Or a member of the Chicago
Bulls. He was the tallest man I’ve ever met.” Rhetta wolfed the rest of her
sandwich and eyed the remaining two pieces of ham on the plate. Randolph
snatched one and left one for her. She scarfed the last piece. Randolph popped
open the tin of cookies and nabbed several. Rhetta reached for a cookie, then
changed her mind.
No cookies.
Still, she eyed the cookies longingly.

While he sat there nibbling, Rhetta gathered their
plates for the dishwasher. “At any rate, Mylene may be my new best friend, especially
if she sent her lawyer to bail us out.” Rhetta veered to her purse sitting on
the island. “I have his card.” After digging around, she waved it triumphantly.
“His name is Matthew Elias.”

Randolph sniffed and held up a cookie for closer
inspection. “Mylene may now be your new worst enemy, especially if she’s a
murderer selling dope.” He plopped the cookie into his mouth.

“I don’t think she killed anybody. And I have a hard
time believing she’s peddling or using dope.”

“Then why does she have the most powerful lawyer in
Illinois representing her?”

“You know Matthew Elias?” Rhetta filled the soap
dispenser in the dishwasher and pushed the start button. The dishwasher began
filling with water.

“You ever heard of Kill-R-Dogg, the rapper?”
Randolph closed the cookie tin and carried it across the kitchen to the pantry.

Rhetta cleaned the sink and gathered up the morning
newspaper that was spread out on the countertop. “No, can’t say that I have.
Sixties on Six doesn’t play much rap.” The dishwasher began sloshing its way
through the cycles.

“He’s the singer-slash-rapper that was accused of
killing that thirteen-year-old girl last year.”

Rhetta turned from the dishwasher, and dried her
hands on a kitchen towel. “I remember that.” Rhetta vividly recalled the horrifying
story of the raised-in-the-hood success-story rapper who’d been accused of
kidnapping and molesting, and finally killing a young girl who’d gone to a
concert. She had been missing for nearly a month when police arrested
Kill-R-Dogg and charged him. He denied any wrongdoing, even after they found
her brutalized body buried on the grounds of his country home outside Evanston,
Illinois.

“Uh-huh. After getting him off, Elias is now the
most sought-after criminal defense attorney in Illinois. Now you tell me he’s
Mylene’s lawyer.”

“Oh, crap.”