Three Sides of the Tracks Read online

  Belinda saw her mother’s face. “I wish I were, Daddy, but you’re sweet to ask. Maybe some other time.”

  The piano paused from playing background music and accompanied a trio from the church choir, who began the service by singing one of Martin’s favorite songs, “Will the Circle Be Unbroken.”

  Reverend Holcomb was silently singing along with the trio when, abruptly, his lips stopped moving and his face turned pale as two women entered the back of the sanctuary. One found a seat on the back row, but the other woman, who wore a midnight blue skirt and jacket with matching hat and veil, whispered to one of the ushers. He nodded then escorted her all the way to the front where she stopped and lifted her veil.

  Danny focused on the coffin in front of him but he was aware someone had walked down the aisle and hadn’t sat down. He turned his head to see why, and, before his brain could command his legs to move, they acted of their own accord and propelled him from his seat. His arms wrapped around Caroline.

  She touched his cheek with one hand and snuggled her chin over his shoulder. “I was afraid you’d hate me,” she whispered.

  “Never.” He squeezed her waist then took her hand and led her to where he was sitting.

  MJ scooted over to give them room. A few seconds later, he tapped Danny’s knee and nodded toward Caroline. “Your daddy would’ve paid a hundred dollars to have seen that. Takes class to do that, son. Takes real class.”

  The singing continued, and the color gradually returned to the reverend’s face.

  46

  Busted

  Jessie simmered as he read the front page story of Martin’s funeral procession, which had blocked traffic for a half hour. Stories of Martin’s achievements took up most of the afternoon edition, with no mention of Jessie whatsoever. Only that Martin had been shot during an altercation.

  Banging on the front door interrupted him.

  “Marie, get the door?” he shouted and, when he heard no reply, he cursed and left his room to open it himself.

  Men rushed in as soon as the door opened.

  “Jessie Whitaker you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder and attempted murder,” a man with a GBI badge in his handkerchief pocket told him as other men with badges spun him around, pulled his hands behind his back, and handcuffed him.

  Jessie’ mouth fluttered open several times, but he was too flustered to say anything. Before they could usher him out the door, he yelled to Marie to call his lawyer. He heard no reply.

  “You know damn well that was self-defense,” he barked at the arresting officer on the way to the dark sedan.

  A uniformed sheriff’s deputy checked him for weapons then opened the back door and pushed Jessie’s head down as he put him in the back seat.

  When the door shut, Jessie felt fear he’d never experienced. He was helpless.

  He checked the two men in the front seat. They looked like bookends: hard, no nonsense professionals. He couldn’t badger these two, Jessie decided, and leaned back to concentrate on what his next move should be. He already felt the numbing restriction of having his every move dictated by those on the other side of the bars and knew he couldn’t stand it for long.

  Bowtie would get him out of this within a few hours, Jessie told himself. If Marie hadn’t already called him, then he would, as soon as he reached . . . where? He hoped they were taking him to Atlanta. Less embarrassing. But no, they were headed downtown.

  The convoy stopped in front of the jail. Reporters jammed the sidewalk. How had that happened? There was that damn Gresham woman, already taking pictures.

  Jessie tried to shield his face with raised hands and chin tucked in, but the men in the sedan gripped his arms and led him firmly toward the entrance.

  Shouts of “Do you have a statement, Mr. Whitaker?” and “What are the charges?” rang out as Nancy Gresham’s camera flashed, one shot catching Jessie’s changed mood as he snarled at her to “shove that camera up her . . .”

  The deputy who fingerprinted him showed considerably more respect than the suits, even whispering “Sorry about this, Mr. Whitaker.”

  “You should be. I paid for enough benefit functions and sheriff elections.”

  “We ain’t in charge of this. The state boys are.”

  “Phones too?”

  “What do you need?”

  “Look in my wallet and find Charles Morrison’s card. Call and tell him what you told me. Tell him to get his butt down here but go by my bonding company first and bring a company checkbook with him. Matter of fact, tell him to bring Wanda—she’s the manager—with him. You got all that?”

  The deputy looked uneasy. “They’ll give you a phone call.”

  “These boys are playing rough. Might be a long time before they do. Get that done, and I won’t forget it.”

  “I’ll log your personal effects in myself and do it then. Maybe a half hour at most.”

  Jessie nodded and went through the remainder of the arrest process without speaking.

  When they put him in a holding cell, he had a moment of panic but it soon turned to outrage and he began yelling for his phone call. Heavy metal doors separated the holding cells from the offices, so his demands went unheard.

  An hour passed and the deputy who fingerprinted Jessie came to his cell. “I spoke with your lawyer, Mr. Whitaker, and he said there’s nothing he could do tonight and he’d be here first thing in the morning and get you out of here. See, they’ll hold a first appearance hearing in the morning—”

  “I know how it works, damn it. Think I’m a fool?”

  The smile on the deputy’s face faded. “I didn’t, but maybe I was wrong,” he said and the steel door clanged behind him.

  47

  Slink

  Slink had stolen yet another car and with his hair dyed brown, sunglasses, and a baseball cap snuggled low on his forehead, he felt confident enough to rent a room at a seedy motel in south Atlanta and drive around for his basic necessities. Those included hours at low-class topless bars where the majority of customers had criminal records or a run-in with the law and hated cops as much as Slink.

  He’d driven straight to Atlanta after getting the money from Jessie because he knew that what he’d told the old devil was true: getting to Danny now was impractical. Cops were all over him and Bernard, asking questions about the shootings and kidnapping.

  Every evening Slink drove to a convenience store north of Benton and bought a newspaper to find out whether things were dying down. He chuckled when he read of Jessie’s arrest and hoped the SOB got life. Good thing he’d taken the money too because Jessie’s bond had been set at one million dollars due to the nature of the charges, which were for his part in the deaths of Smurf and Whitey, the shooting of Bernard, and the attempted murder of Danny. The murderer had still not been identified because he had no fingerprints on record and facial recognition had produced no matches.

  Jessie’s preliminary hearing in which the state had to produce its evidence of Jessie’s involvement was set for a week from the date of his first appearance, which would be four days from now. Jessie had made bail, and Slink wished he’d told the old man that the quarter million was half of what he wanted, with the other half after he killed Danny.

  Slink drove to the Army-Navy store and bought camouflage shirt and pants and a black knit sailor’s cap, which he intended to roll down over his face after cutting eye holes. Not for disguise but for added camouflage.

  He left the motel just before dark in the 2005 Honda Accord he’d stolen and drove to Benton. He circled the block to check for police cars then parked the Honda in front of the abandoned warehouse instead of on the side like Lenny had done, thinking that a car parked in a parking space would be less conspicuous.

  He didn’t pull the cap over his face until he’d crossed the side street and was in the vacant lot, then he bent low and trotted to the line of trees and shrubs and waded through the weeds till he had a good view of Danny’s back yard. He wanted to catch him in the ope
n, coming or going to Bernard’s or taking out the trash instead of breaking into the house where the mom was likely to hear the noise.

  Slink grunted when he saw his mother’s old Taurus in the back yard. Bernard must have given the kid the car. He checked his watch and it was a little before ten o’clock. Both Bernard’s and the kid’s lights were still on.

  Slink scooted back through the trees, turned his back to the houses, and lit a cigarette then returned to his observation spot, cupping his hand around the cigarette when he took a puff.

  An hour passed, and some of the lights in Danny’s house went dark. He waited another thirty minutes, smoked another cigarette, then had an idea.

  He went back to the car and drove to the nearest convenience store and bought a roll of kite string. When he returned to the vacant lot, he picked up one of the many empty beer cans and punched two holes in it with his pocket knife. He ran the kite string through the holes and tied it off then crept back through the line of trees and around Bernard’s garage. A few long slow strides put him about 20 yards from Bernard’s back porch. Slink threw the beer can against the side of the house and let the can clatter across the boards of the back porch before he quickly reeled it in and hid in the trees.

  On the third throw, Bernard pushed the back screen door open and yelled, “Who’s out there?”

  Bernard stayed on the porch for a few minutes shining the flashlight around then went back inside.

  Slink waited ten minutes to make sure Bernard wasn’t waiting at the door to discover the cause of the noise then tossed the can again. The can had barely cleared the pool of light from the porch when Bernard rolled out in his wheelchair with a shotgun in his hand. He shaded his eyes and peered into the darkness but didn’t yell. He shined the flashlight for a few minutes then did exactly what Slink hoped he’d do: call Danny to come take a look.

  As soon as Bernard took his cell phone from his shirt pocket, Slink made his way back through the trees.

  Lights came on in Danny’s house then the back porch light. Danny came outside and walked across the yard to Bernard.

  “Something keeps makin’ a racket out here and I can’t catch what’s doin’ it. You mind takin’ a look see? Take this here shotgun.”

  “No, you keep the shotgun, Bernard. Just give me the flashlight.”

  Danny surveyed the yard then shined the light into the garage and behind it. He walked across the line of trees shining the light until he was sure nothing was there then went back to Bernard’s.

  “I don’t see anything. What kind of noise was it?”

  “Hell, I don’t know what kind of noise it was. How many kinds of noise are there? It was a noise. Some kind of noise that ought not to be. What else you want me to tell you?”

  “Okay, Bernard, okay. I mean, was it like somebody knocking or beating against the house or a voice maybe?”

  “No, no. Just something makin’ a racket, like I said.”

  Danny decided it wiser not to ask him whether he’d taken his medicine, so he said, “Want me to sit out here for a while? See if it happens again.”

  “No. I reckon not. You done enough. I guess I just won’t pay no attention to it if it happens again. But I’ll keep this here’n shotgun by my bed and better not be woke. ‘Cause whatever wakes me gonna git a load of lead.”

  Danny smiled. “I’ll make sure not to come over tomorrow till I see you up and about.”

  “Uh, huh. Smart alecky young’un. Go on home then. ‘Preciate you comin’ though.”

  “You’re welcome, Bernard. Anytime,” Danny said and held the screen door open for Bernard to roll through.

  Danny was halfway across his backyard when a muscular arm wrapped around his throat and pulled him backwards. A knee jammed into his spine. He was off balance and helpless. Something sharp pricked his skin just below the jawline.

  “You make a sound and I’ll kill your mother too.”

  The arm around his throat was so tight he could barely make any sound at all. “Okay,” Danny croaked.

  “Now, we’re gonna back up into the trees. Try anything and this knife is going straight into your windpipe.”

  Slink dropped his knee but kept a firm choke hold and pulled Danny along with him till they reached the trees and into the shadows.

  “The crazy bastard who sent the hit man after you decided to pay me instead, since you killed the first guy. That must have been quite a show. How’d you pull that off?” Slink let go of Danny’s neck.

  Danny turned around expecting to see a gun pointed at his head, but Slink just stood there with a crooked smile on his face.

  “I had a derringer hidden behind the button of my blue jeans that Smurf didn’t find when he searched me. The guy shot at me once but I dodged. Then Caroline jumped on him, and I pulled the derringer out and shot him. Got lucky because I was scared to death.”

  Slink had a big grin on his face now. “Might’a known Sweet Cheeks would’ve had something to do with it. That’s some gal, there. Hope you know that.”

  “Yeah, I know that.”

  “You didn’t do too bad, kid. Found us and killed the guy who killed my pards. Not bad at all.”

  “Guess it doesn’t matter.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said Mr. Whitaker paid you to kill me, so I said the other doesn’t matter.”

  “Hell, kid. I just told the ole fool that. You helped my uncle. I ain’t gonna kill you. I just said that to keep you quiet. I am on the run, you know.”

  Danny’s knees almost buckled with relief. “You’re not gonna kill me, Slink?”

  “Naw, man. By rights, I should’ve killed Whitaker, but, after taking his money, I didn’t much care one way or the other, and I ain’t the really bad guy folks make me out to be. Killin’ someone is serious business.”

  “Now, Slink, don’t take this the wrong way, but I have to tell you, you’re a trip.”

  Slink unsnapped one of the camouflaged pants deep pockets and took out a paper bag. “Here, kid. This is a little something courtesy of our pal Whitaker. I want you to take this and get that lip fixed, then you and Sweet Cheeks need to hook up. That’s all I gotta say. You take care now and watch your back. When big daddy finally figures out I played him, he’ll likely just hire someone else, so keep your head on a swivel. And, oh yeah, you make sure to give Sweet Cheeks my regards. Tell her I’m sorry ‘bout that hole burying business. Okay?”

  “Slink, I appreciate it, but I’m not taking anything that comes from that son of a bitch.”

  Slink frowned. “Hey, man, I’m trying to do you a favor.”

  “He killed my father while I was gone.”

  “That was your father he killed? Well then, guess I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t take it neither.

  “Okay, I’m outta here. Going to South America somewhere’s there ain’t no extradition. Take care of Unc for me and tell him don’t die before I get back.”

  Slink poked Danny’s chest, turned, and melted into the darkness.

  48

  Will

  A week after the funeral Bart Phillips called Belinda and asked her and Danny to meet with him and the rest of Martin’s family to settle his estate.

  The Benton courthouse had several conference rooms for legal proceedings. The bottom floor was a rotunda with an overlooking balcony on the second floor where many of the courtrooms and conference rooms were located.

  Bart saw Belinda and Danny come in and called down to them from the balcony. “We’re up here, Belinda.”

  Danny squeezed his mother’s hand. “You okay, Mom?”

  She returned the pressure and smiled.

  “Good to see you,” Bart Phillips said to them both and shook hands with Danny.

  “The rest of them are inside. Let’s go in. Danny, I think it best if you wait out here while we handle the first part, then I’ll call you in for the part that involves you.”

  “I’m not letting my mother go in there alone. Not with the way those people have
treated her.”

  Bart folded his arms across his chest and thought for a few moments then looked at Belinda for guidance.

  “After the events of the last few months, he deserves to see for himself,” Belinda said.

  “Okay then. Let’s go inside.” He opened the door of the conference room, which had a long table with chairs on each side and a chair at the head.

  Martin’s parents, MJ and Delores; and his wife, Angela, sat on one side of the table and Belinda’s parents on the other. Belinda simply walked to the nearest chair and sat down, with Danny beside her.

  Everyone smiled and nodded when they arrived, except for Belinda’s mother, who sat tight lipped and stern faced.

  “I’ve been Martin’s executor for quite some time, and since it has always been quite straightforward, there’s no need for probate court and all that time-consuming nonsense. However, there have been some recent changes that occurred when Martin learned about Danny and acknowledged him as his son.”

  Belinda’s mother, Gwen Hathaway, raised her chin and grunted.

  Angela looked at her and abruptly stood. “I want to say something, Bart, before you continue.”

  “You have that right. Go ahead.”

  Angela was not the classically handsome woman that Belinda was, but she was pretty enough to have her choice of dates before she and Martin married, and she had character.

  “I was only a year behind Martin and Belinda in high school, and I, like everyone else, knew about their relationship.” She paused briefly, her eyes softened and the corners of her lips turned up as she looked at Belinda. Then she stared each of the grandparents firmly in the eye before continuing.

  “I knew when Martin and I were dating that I was not his first love and after we became more serious, he told me the full story about his and Belinda’s relationship. At least as much as he knew at the time. To be perfectly honest, I suspected Danny was really Martin’s son even though Martin didn’t have a clue, but I kept it to myself, partially for selfish reasons I have to admit, but also I didn’t want to upset the status quo. And for that, I’m truly ashamed of myself. I mean in regards to you, Belinda. You were treated horribly.”