The Ying on Triad (14 page)

"Why?" She glared up at me defiantly.

"Quid pro quo," I said. "Quid pro quo.

She frowned.

I explained. "Tit for tat. You wash my back; I'll wash
yours °"

She blew out through her carefully painted lips and
eyed her manicured nails apprehensively. She arched an
eyebrow. "All right, but you owe me"

In ten minutes, we had cleared the tables, knotted the
bags, and I had helped the bartender deposit them out
back in the alley.

He grinned at me. "Hey, pal, I appreciate the help. You
didn't have to do all that for me. Come back inside, and
I'll treat you to a beer"

"Thanks, I'm on the wagon, but like I said, I need to
find my cousin. You don't have any idea where I could
look, do you?"

He studied me a moment, then shrugged. "Why not?
You did me a favor. See this alley? It runs seven blocks down to the access road to the Interstate. This is where
Eric Lavern's been living for the last five years"

I rolled my eyes. Another John Roney Boudreaux.
"Thanks"

We went out the front and circled the building to the
alley. "Here we are," I announced.

Janice looked around and frowned. "Where?"

"Our pal the bartender said Eric lives in this alley"

Her eyes widened. "You've got to be kidding. There's
nothing here but dumpsters and garbage"

"Maybe so. That means we have seven blocks of dumpsters and garbage to look through" I looked down at her
with a crooked grin. "Well, are you up to it?"

She set her jaw. "If you can do it, so can I"

I could have married her at that moment.

We found Eric in a cardboard box behind a dumpster in
the second block. He lay on his back sleeping, with only
his head sticking out of the box. At first we weren't sure
it was Eric and compared him to the wedding picture. If
that pitiful excuse for a human was Eric Lavern, he had
lost fifty pounds.

Staring down at him, at his gaunt, unshaven face, his
rotting teeth, the drool running from the side of his open
mouth down his cheek, the grime on his forehead, I figured he was down to his last few hundred brain cells. I
doubted if he would be of any help.

Was I ever surprised.

While Janice looked on with obvious distaste, I knelt
by the snoring man and shook him awake.

"Huh? What?" His words were slurred. He tried to slap
my hand away, but missed. "Go away. G'way."

"Wake up" I shook him again.

He grunted.

"You're not going to wake that one," Janice observed.

"No?" I climbed to my feet and peered into the dumpster. I pulled out a plastic bag and tore it open. I poured
the dregs of beer into a single can until it was about a third
full. Then I went back to Eric and shook him again. "Hey,
Eric. Wake up. I got a beer for you"

That's all it took. He tried unsuccessfully to sit up, so I
helped him, then handed him the beer, which he promptly
turned up and drained. He spat and puckered his lips.
"Hey, there was a cigarette butt in that can"

"Sorry, Eric. I'll get you another. In fact, I'll give you
twenty bucks if you'll just answer a few questions"

He blinked several times and tried to focus his bleary
eyes on me. "Twenty bucks? Sure. Whatever. Where is it?
Let me have it" He stuck out his hand.

I glanced up at Janice who was staring at him in shock.
This had been an eye-opening day for her. While those in
her stratum of society knew Eric's level existed, they had
no concept of the odious reality of that existence. "Not
now, not yet, Eric. Answer some questions first"

Hung over and still not fully sober, he became belligerent. "I ain't answering nothing 'til I get the money."

I stood up. "Okay by me. You don't get the money."

He grabbed at my leg with bony fingers. "No, no, I'm
sorry. I'm sorry. Don't go. I'll tell you whatever you
want"

I squatted. "All right. Ten years ago, you worked with
Don Landreth to get Albert Hastings elected governor.
Hastings was murdered. You remember that?"
-- - - -- - - - - - - -- - - -

He knit his brows and slowly shook his head as he
plowed back though a fuzzy memory soaked with alcohol.
"Yeah, yeah, I kinda think so. Now can I have the
money?"

"Not yet. A man named Bobby Packard was convicted
of the murder, but Don Landreth-you remember Don?"

"Yeah. I couldn't forget Don"

"Don Landreth told me he had proof that would clear
Bobby Packard. Do you know what that proof was?"

Eric blinked two or three times. "Is that all you want to
know? What proof Don had?"

His question surprised me. I glanced up at Janice
whose own face also registered disbelief. "Yeah, yeah.
That's all, Eric, that's all."

He closed his eyes and his chin sagged to his chest. I
hoped he hadn't passed out again, but moments later, his
eyes fluttered open. "Don never told me, but ... I heard
him and Hastings talking once" He squeezed his eyes
shut tightly in an effort to concentrate. "Don't remember
exactly where it was I heard them talking, but Hastings
told Don he wanted to get rid of Sam Bradford."

"The lieutenant governor-elect?"

"Yeah, yeah. Bradford was into drug trafficking big
time. Hastings knew if the truth came out, the fallout
could ruin him. So .." he hesitated, licking his lips as he
searched for words. "So, he gave Landreth copies of stuff
that proved Bradford was a big time supplier along with
some Chink"

"Stuff. Do you mean documents of some sort?"

"Yeah"

"Did you ever see those documents?"

He shook his head drunkenly and dropped his chin to
his chest. "No," he looked up sharply, "but that's the truth.
That's what I heard. Now can I have the money?" He held
out his hand.

A piece was missing from his story. "Not yet. Why
would Hastings give Landreth the documents?"

Lavern shrugged. "Backup, I suppose"

"Did you know anything about Bradford's involvement
in dealing?"

Once again, he shook his head. "Go ask Don. He'll tell
you" His words were slurred.

"I can't, Eric. Landreth's dead"

Lavern blinked, then looked up at me in disbelief.

"They say he committed suicide"

The frail man squeezed his eyes shut. A coarse sob
wracked his body and tears dribbled through closed eyes
down his bewhiskered cheeks. He looked up at me
through pain-wracked eyes. His voice cracked in disbelief. "Don?"

"I'm afraid so"

He looked up at me, trying to focus his eyes. His voice
quivering with anguish, he replied, "He wasn't the kind"

I glanced up at Janice. "Kind? What kind?"

"To kill himself."

"Then who do you think did it?"

Moaning softly, he muttered, "Sweet Jesus, sweet
Jesus"

I laid my hand on his shoulder. "Eric, listen to me. Who
killed him?"

He shook his head slowly. "Don't know."

"Think, Eric, think. Who could have wanted Landreth
out of the way?"

Without looking up, he muttered, "It's gotta be
Bradford. He's the only one"

"What do you mean, Eric? Why does it have to be
Bradford?"

He drew a deep breath and released it slowly, his chest
shuddering as he exhaled. "Don warned Hastings that
Bradford would never resign. He said Sam Bradford
would try to kill Hastings first"

"What did Hastings say?"

Lavern shook his head slowly. "He just laughed."

Janice stared at me in shocked disbelief. I knew why
she was so stunned. Not only was Senator Samuel
Jefferson Bradford one of her aunt's guests at the Chalk
Hills reception the next day, but he was also one of her
aunt's closest friends.

"He's doesn't know what he's talking about, Tony. All
that alcohol has eaten his brain up" Janice insisted as we
headed back to the pickup, skirting the puddles of water
in the alley.

"Maybe so, but it's a lead." I hesitated, then added,
"And it does fit neatly into a theory that's been wiggling
around in the back of my head."

The din and commotion of the bustling city covered
the sound of the approaching car until I heard a loud
bump and glanced around to see a maroon car hurtling
toward us.

At the same moment I spotted the car bearing down on us I lunged at Janice, knocking her to the ground by the
side of a dumpster. In that split second as the car swerved
toward us, I tried to catch a glimpse of the driver, and then
I hit the ground.

Janice screamed, and in the next instant the car sideswiped the dumpster. I rolled over and looked around for
a license number just as the car slid around the corner in
a squeal of tires and vanished.

"Are you all right," I said, turning back to Janice, who
had managed to sit up.

Eyes wide in disbelief, she stared up at me. "That car
almost hit us"

Nodding somberly, I replied. "That was what he had in
mind."

"Tony!"

She tried to rise, but I held her down, at the same time
gently running my hands over her arms and shoulders.
"Take it easy. You sure you're all right? Nothing broken?"

She slowly nodded. "I don't think so" I helped her to
her feet, and she gingerly dusted the stains from her
brown business suit. "Probably bruised, but-Tony, are
you sure? How do you know he tried to hit us?"

Taking her arm, I hurried her to the next street where
we took the sidewalk. "You remember the blowout we had
on the way back from Huntsville?"

''Yes.

"I can't prove it, but I think someone took a shot the
tire."

She frowned. I saw the disbelief in her dark eyes. I then
told her about the phone message warning me to stay off
the case. "And yesterday," I added, "out on Mopac
Expressway, a car sideswiped me, knocked me off the
road and down an incline. It was maroon, the same color
as this one"

She stared up at me incredulously. "But, why?"

"The only reason I can come up with is that someone
wants me-" I hesitated, then said, "wants us-to stop
nosing around"

Her eyes grew wide, and her face paled.

On the way to the HEB supermarket near my apartment to pick up the ingredients for the catfish court
bouillon I'd promised Beatrice Morrison, I tried to put
together a profile of the driver of the maroon car. I had
seen him for only a fraction of a second, but I distinctly
remembered the black hair, and his stature. He was
small. The top of his head barely cleared the steering
wheel. I couldn't help remembering the remarks of the
witness to my sideswiping the day before. "Looked like
a couple Asian guys"

One thing was certain if they were Asian. They sure
were the Texan corn-fed variety that Danny O'Banion had
talked about out at the County Line Barbecue.

As Janice and I shopped, I bounced my ideas off her.
Pushing the empty cart toward the produce section, I
began, "First, Lorene Hastings claimed her husband was
not jealous of her affair with Bobby Packard, that he
knew about it, so perhaps she was right when she claimed
Hastings was drunk when he jumped Packard. The bartender supported her allegation. Then Floyd Holloman
tells us Red Tompkins had something of value in the heel
of his boot. Maybe the videotape. He agreed to sell it to
Packard for ten thousand, but when he realized he could
get more, he went to that Chinese funeral home. What
was the name, Kwockwing? He went inside and dropped
out of sight. No one has seen him since"

In the produce section, I picked out choice onions, firm
bell peppers, crisp celery, young green onions, and parsley. "How many guests is your aunt expecting?"

"Not many," she shrugged. "The usual hundred or so"

I whistled. "Five gallons of court bouillon won't go far
with that many." I headed for the canned goods section.
"Next, talked with Sergeant Carpenter who says the slugs
taken from Hastings were the same caliber as Packard's
Glock. Someone-"

Janice interrupted, a frown on her face. "I've been
meaning to ask you. What's a Glock?"

"Huh?" I'd forgotten Janice was a neophyte with
firearms. "Oh, a Glock is an automatic made with
Polymer Two, a nylon variant that-" I stopped when I
saw the frown deepen on her face. "Sorry," I said. "A
Glock is a handgun, an automatic"

"Oh"

I picked up some canned tomatoes and tomato paste.
"As I was saying, the slugs were lost before the rifling
could be tested for a match"

She nodded, but I could tell from the puzzled expression on her face, she wasn't following me. And that was
all right. Just voicing my shaky theory so I could hear it
was helpful. We moved down the aisle toward the beverage and dairy products.

"Next came Natalie Simms, Hastings' secretary at his
real estate office at the time. She heard the shot and
moments later saw Packard getting on the elevator, but
she had also seen an Asian get off the elevator when she
left her desk for the powder room"

We picked up a quart of milk and after some deliberation, a case of Old Milwaukee for my old man.