Three Sides of the Tracks Page 11

  “Well that may be, Ms. Gresham, but we’ll just have to deal with that when it happens. Now, I’ll save you some time and tell you that we arrested Danny Tay—”

  The policeman threw up his hand to shade his eyes as Nancy raised the camera to her eye and began snapping pictures. He turned and saw Danny standing in the hall with Martin standing beside him.

  “Get his ass back in lockup right now,” the sergeant screamed.

  Martin pushed Danny back inside the room, closed the door and leaned against it. He pointed his finger at the approaching officers. “I’m still interviewing my client. You can have him when I’m finished.”

  “Lock him up too if he don’t get out of the way,” the sergeant bellowed.

  “That’ll make a good headline,” Nancy said. “ ‘Local civic leader arrested for interviewing client.’ Yeah, I think that’ll sell a lot of papers. How do you spell your last name there, Sergeant? Is that two t’s or one?”

  Sergeant Lovett’s face flushed. He grabbed Nancy’s arm and forcefully pulled her toward the front door.

  Nancy snatched her arm away. “Touch me again, you half-wit, and I’ll file assault charges against you.”

  Bart Phillips rubbed his sleepy eyes as he entered the police station. Then he saw Sergeant Lovett and Nancy Gresham squared off.

  “What in blazes are you two—”

  “I’ll tell you, Bart Phillips. Your lackey here is interfering with freedom of the press, and I’m not going to stand for it. These thugs have already beat that boy half to death; now, I guess he thought he was going to get rough with me too,” Nancy said and glared first at Bart then at Lovett.

  Bart held up his hands in a plea for quiet.

  “You get back to your desk, Sergeant. Nancy, what in the hell are you talking about?”

  “C’mon. I’ll show you.”

  Nancy raised her chin and squared her shoulders as she strode to the interview room. “Go on in there, and you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

  Bart opened the door just as Martin reached it from the other side.

  “Glad you’re here,” Martin said.

  The D.A. looked at Danny and shook his head. “Geez, that’s some beating. Police do that?” he asked Danny.

  Danny nodded.

  “Did you give them good reason?”

  Danny felt the anger rising. “They busted in the house accusing me of robbing some church, then jerked me out of bed, like to broke my wrists with handcuffs, and then . . . yeah, I gave ‘em a reason. Not reason to half kill me though. No, sir.”

  “Church. You part of the bunch that robbed—”

  “Shut up, Bart. Of course he’s not part of that. You think I’d be here if he were? He was home with his mother when all that took place. He’s Belinda’s son.”

  Bart look surprised. “Your Belinda?”

  “One and the same.”

  “That explains you being here. You sure he was home?”

  “Positive. Belinda told me so herself.”

  Bart ran his fingers through his hair and paced. “Belinda is Belinda, but she’s a mother all the same. You know that a mother—”

  “Stop right there, Bart. You’re letting the job get to you.”

  “Uh huh. Don’t preach to me, Martin. If you saw what I see every day, you’d be skeptical too.” He held up a hand as Martin started to speak. “Nevertheless, because he’s, well, because of what it is or where we’re at, I’m gonna let you take him outta here.” His face took on a sour expression. “Also because I damn sure don’t like the looks of any of this,” he said looking at Danny’s face again, “and I don’t want him around here after we leave. You’d for doggone better make sure he doesn’t leave town though, and I mean that, Martin.”

  “You hear that, Danny?” Martin said.

  Danny shrugged as if that were the stupidest thing said all night.

  “All right, then, come on,” Bart said.

  “This young man is released on his own recognizance, Sergeant,” Bart said as he held open the door for Martin and Danny.

  The policemen leaning against the counter straightened up. Sergeant Lovett roused himself from the chair and hitched up his belt. “Can’t do that, Mr. Phillips. Only a judge can do that.”

  Bart walked to the desk. “Uh huh. Did a judge give your boys a warrant when they went to this man’s house, beat him up, and dragged him down here?”

  “No. They didn’t need a warrant. Had sufficient cause by the statements of several eye witnesses that Taylor there was with Slink and his little posse when they took the women off. It was exiginous circumstances too. They didn’t have time to get a warrant.”

  “It was what?”

  “Exiginous circumstances.”

  Bart looked at Martin and tried hard not to smile. “I’ll tell Judge Whitmire it was ‘exiginous’ circumstances and my responsibility that Taylor was released. That’s that,” he said when Lovett opened his mouth.

  13

  Getaway

  The Barracuda fishtailed out of the gravel parking lot and left tire marks for ten yards up the road as Slink pressed the gas pedal. By the time the congregation busted the doors open, the Barracuda was almost out of sight.

  Slink whipped the car onto the dirt road in less than a minute. A plume of red Georgia dirt followed. Small rocks pelleted the undercarriage.

  Brandy and Caroline clung to each other in the back seat, but Brandy’s breathing suddenly sounded like that of a dog with a bone hung in its throat. “Ah hugg ah hugg ah hugg,” she gasped as she sat bolt upright with a mask of terror on her face. She clenched the back of the front seat as her chest heaved up and down.

  “What the hell’s wrong with her, Smurf?” Slink said.

  Smurf looked almost as terrified. “Hell, I don’t know. Some sort of spell, I think. What’s wrong with her?” he said to Caroline.

  “She can’t breathe, you idiot.”

  Smurf smacked Caroline with his open palm. “Watch who you’re talking to, Missy.”

  The sounds grew louder: “Ah hugg ah hugg.” Brandy’s skin became chalky.

  Slink turned and glared at Caroline. “Dump that money in the floorboard and hold that bag up to her mouth. I’ve seen ‘em do that when somebody’s havin’ trouble breathin’. Maybe it’ll work.”

  Caroline kept her dubious thoughts to herself as she dumped the money then rolled the bag up till it was small enough to expand and contract as Brandy breathed.

  Brandy panicked and thrashed.

  “Hold her still,” Caroline told Smurf.

  Enormous hands engulfed Brandy’s shoulders and pinned her arms to her sides.

  “Breathe into this,” Caroline urged her friend.

  Brandy rolled her eyes but didn’t resist when Caroline held the bag to her mouth.

  The raspy guttural sounds continued as Brandy’s chest heaved.

  “Shit, she’s driving me crazy,” Slink yelled as he slammed on the brakes. The car skidded for twenty yards before it stopped.

  “Take that bag down,” he shouted.

  Caroline lowered the bag and just as she did, Slink hit Brandy’s jaw with lightning speed. Her head snapped back and she flopped against Caroline. Her breathing seemed to stop altogether.

  “What have you done? You killed her. You killed her,” Caroline screamed. She looked at Slink in disbelief.

  A crooked smile came to Slink’s face. “She ain’t dead, Sweet Cheeks. Just knocked out. You don’t hear her wheezin’ no more, do you?’

  “No, you idiot. She’s not wheezing because she’s dead.”

  Slink grabbed Caroline’s hand and put it on Brandy’s chest. “Feel that?”

  Caroline felt Brandy’s chest rise a little then snatched her hand away. She turned her face toward the window. “My name’s Caroline, not Sweet Cheeks.”

  Slink chuckled and hit the gas.

  A few minutes later, he turned his head toward Caroline. “Put that money back in the bag, but count it first.”

&
nbsp; Caroline sat still. She didn’t want to touch the money. The man Slink shot had probably died, and this money came from a church. A church.

  “Ain’t gonna tell you again.”

  The menace apparent, Caroline found the bag on the floorboard and began picking up the money and putting it in her lap.

  “Here, let me help you. Come on over here with big daddy,” Smurf said and reached over Brandy’s shoulders and pulled her off Caroline.

  He poked Caroline’s arm. “You think we make a cute couple?” His broad grin exposed teeth a toothbrush wouldn’t recognize.

  Caroline gave him a disgusted look. “You won’t be grinning so much when my daddy hears about this.”

  Smurf poked her again. “And just who is yore daddy?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  “What makes you think you’ll be alive long enough for it to make any difference?” Smurf said.

  Whitey turned to look, and the glint in his half-crazy reddish eyes made Caroline’s stomach roll. She struggled not to show her fear. “Won’t matter. Not to him.”

  Slink twisted around. “What do you mean it won’t matter? You mean he won’t care whether you live or die or that he’ll come after us no matter what?”

  Caroline gave a sigh of exasperation, mocking Slink for asking a stupid question.

  Slink’s right hand shot out and clenched around Caroline’s throat. He yanked her closer as she fought to pry his hand off. “Missy, you better change your attitude or I’ll leave your ass in one of these ditches.” He threw her backwards with such force that her neck made a loud pop when she bounced off the back seat.

  Slink looked in the rearview mirror and pushed his hair back in place.

  14

  Conciliation

  “It’s this one over here,” Martin said pointing toward the Buick.

  Danny changed directions from the Mercedes and opened the Buick door. “I thought rich people drove Mercedes, BMWs, and the like.”

  “Well, some do. Nothing wrong with that. Just doesn’t make sense to spend that much money on a car, you know. Had a guy tell me one time that he was driving around up in the mountains and came to a little area where the cars in all the driveways were Oldsmobiles and Buicks and he knew that was where the rich people lived. I asked him why was that, and he said ‘cause rich people didn’t waste their money on Cadillacs and Lincolns when a Buick was just as good, if not better. I was pretty young when I met the guy but I thought about that and the families I knew who drove Buicks and doggone if he didn’t have a point. I’ve been driving Buicks ever since.” He gave Danny a conspiratorial grin.

  Danny grinned back but stopped short when the cut on his lip began to pull open.

  “You know the common name for cops like that used to be ‘pigs?’ I’d say that fits that bunch pretty good, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir, I would. They’ve kinda had it in for me for a while now anyways. I guess with them thinking I was in on robbing the church, they had a good opportunity to take out some of their anger.”

  “Why’d they have it in for you?”

  “Oh nothing much. Mostly me and the guys giving them lip. Stuff like that. I remember my first time having any trouble with them was in my first year of high school. That little café next to the dry cleaners was a hangout in the mornings before school, and one day myself, Michael Dunn, Tommy Whitehead were on the sidewalk drinking Cokes when a cop came by and told us to break it up, that we were blocking the sidewalk and loitering. We didn’t take that too well and got into an argument with him. When we got a little older, became teenagers, and would be at football games, dances, and stuff, we might get a little loud or rowdy and somebody would call them. Since they always acted like big shots, we got on them about it. Called them losers. Told them the only reason they were cops was because no one else would hire them. Teased them pretty bad because we knew they couldn’t arrest us. That was when we were about 15 or so. Just cuttin’ up. But they didn’t take it too well, I guess, and it built up over the years. Funny how things like that happen. Reach a point, and you don’t even know how it started.”

  “How well I know,” Martin said. “Could you eat something? I’m starving.”

  “My stomach says yes, but the rest of me says no. I feel pretty beat up but that shot helped. Might have to chew slow. My jaw and ribs don’t feel too good.”

  “What’s open this time of night? I don’t have a clue.”

  “The Bluebird Cafe on the highway ‘cross from the church is open. Best hamburger steak and gravy you ever ate.”

  “Ha. How ‘bout that. Just what I had a taste for. Hamburger steak and gravy.” Martin feigned a look of surprise.

  Danny tried another grin.

  A blue neon light in the shape of some sort of bird blinked in the front window. A long counter ran down one side with a grill, soda machines, two large coffee makers, and a runway for the waiters on the other side. Three customers sat on the chrome swivel seats with fake leather tops and chatted with the cook across the counter. Two of the eight tables were occupied but none of the booths that ran the length of the dining room.

  They took the back corner booth.

  “Danny, I’ve seen you look a little rough from time to time, but I do believe you out-did yourself this time,” the waitress said.

  “I believe so too, Gladys. I’m gonna pass next time,” Danny said with a twinkle in his eye.

  “You do that. Y’all need a menu?”

  “Nah, just bring us both hamburger steaks smothered in gravy and onions, french fries, cold slaw, and rolls.”

  “You sure he can handle that this time of night?” Gladys said rolling her eyes toward Martin.

  “Might as well break him in right,” Danny replied.

  Gladys stuck her pen back in her hair and sauntered off.

  Martin looked Danny in the eye. “Danny, I guess it might be best to start from the beginning, but I can’t help telling you it was one of the happiest moments of my life when Belinda told me you were my son. I already knew or was pretty sure but her telling me was like someone giving me permission, allowing it to be; I really can’t explain it. I guess in a way it was like you were just being born. Do I sound crazy?”

  “No, sir. Not to me. Because I felt kinda weird myself when she told me you were my dad. I . . . I was pretty pissed off, at first. Then . . . I don’t know; it just seemed too complicated to figure out, so I just, well, tried to not think about it. Nothing much happened that was any different, nothing changed, and Mom and I haven’t talked about it after that day, so it just kind of. . . .” Danny stopped short of saying ‘it didn’t matter.’

  “Got lost in the shuffle, huh?” Martin said.

  Danny smiled like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar then his forehead creased in a frown. “Well, to be honest, I felt like I’d been lied to all my life. I was pissed off about it. That and my dad . . . Robert . . . crap, I don’t know who to call what anymore. My dad Robert had been lied to also. I feel . . . I guess you’d call it betrayed and Robert too. He’s the only dad I know.”

  “Of course he is. He’s more your dad than I am. I know that. You’re what . . . 19 years old, and here I come telling you I’m your real father—”

  “You’re not my real father,” Danny said spontaneously and without expression.

  A lump came to Martin’s throat, and he felt cold. The feeling of companionship evaporated. He sat with a stranger.

  Martin swirled the spoon around in the coffee cup.

  Danny sipped his tea until the waitress brought their plates.

  “You boys want steak sauce?”

  “A1 for me,” Danny said then looked at Martin. “Sounds odd with the gravy, but it’s good. Try it on a corner—”

  Martin brightened. “No, no, if you say so, that’s good enough for me.”

  Gladys popped her chewing gum. “You got a live one, huh, Danny? Real adventurer. Make sure he don’t drip gravy on that purty shirt.”
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br />   “Just get me some more tea,” Danny said curtly, surprising himself by feeling protective of the out-of-place man across from him.

  “Get it yourself. I’m busy, smart ass.” Gladys strolled away.

  Danny slid over the booth’s plastic seat and pushed himself up with one hand, the other hand holding his ribs.

  “Sit down. I’ll get it for you. Your muscles tightened up from the beating. You’re going to be sore as heck for a couple of days.”

  Danny grimaced from pain and sat back down.

  Martin set the glass down and poured the steak sauce over the gravy. “Hmm, you’re right; this is pretty good. Despite its appearance,” he added with a chuckle.

  They were halfway through with the meal when Martin said. “Did you know that Robert was a pretty doggone good baseball player?”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that, but he didn’t like to talk about it. He always took time to play catch with me, even if he did work two jobs. I never did have much of an arm though. Good enough to throw from home to second base, which was why I became a catcher. And Dad taught me to hit. The Little League coach liked that pretty well.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Danny stopped chewing.

  “I used to come and watch you play from time to time. Not enough to be noticed. That wouldn’t do. . . . Not in this town.”

  “You came by to watch me play ball?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you kind of kept up with me, huh?”

  “Of course. I just had to do it on the sly. I had to respect . . . umm, the situation I suppose one would call it. I was very sorry when Robert died. And so young. Thirty-five years old just doesn’t seem, well, it’s too damn young to die.”

  “Mom said she knew the other guy was drinking, but I figure Dad might’ve been at fault too. Dozed off at the wheel coming home from his second job.”

  Martin shrugged. “Could be. Still too young to die, huh? I want you to know that I sincerely was sorry.”

  Danny toyed with the little piece of steak still on his plate. Martin could tell he was deep in thought.

  “Danny, I didn’t come around after that because I respected what I thought were Belinda’s wishes. She and I were close from the time we could walk. We were inseparable as kids and that turned into romantic love as we grew older. We were best friends as well as . . . Well, it’s just, I don’t know. Something like a one in a million chance that she and I didn’t marry and everything would have been so very very diff—”