Death in the Distillery (19 page)

I opened the door a crack, and a sudden force on it propelled me back into the room. "What the-" I yelled, catching my balance and charging back to the door.

I slid to an abrupt halt when a huge shadow stepped
inside and the kitchen light revealed his face. Godzilla,
alias Huey. He grunted and held the door for Danny
O' B anion.

"Get the light, Huey," Danny said softly, stopping in
front of me.

Huey closed the door and turned on the light.

Jack mumbled. "Hey, Tony. What's going on here? I was
sound asleep. Can't you see-" His words caught in his
throat, and he jerked upright when he saw Huey looming
over him.

Danny nodded to Jack. "Who's that?"

"Just a friend I'm letting flop here."

"Get 'em out."

Jack's one good eye bulged. "Hey, who-"

"Don't argue, Jack." I snapped at him. "Wait outside."

Huey jerked open the door. "Outside," he growled.
"Now."

For a moment, Jack hesitated. "Hey, no one-"

Huey grabbed him by his T-shirt and slung him onto the
lawn. "You stay out. You come back when we leave," said
the hulking man in his inimitable Neanderthal vernacular.

"You been a busy boy, Tony," said Danny, when Huey
closed the door.

I didn't play dumb. I had expected a visit, but not quite
so soon. I tried to appear casual. "Yeah. Research. The guy
at the distillery getting killed like he did gave me an idea
for a mystery."

"A mystery? You mean, like you're writing a book?" He
arched an eyebrow in surprise, although a trace of skepticism remained on his face.

"Yeah." I shot a glance at Huey. The way he glared at me with those wide-set black eyes gave me the feeling that
he'd enjoy ripping my arms off.

"I didn't know you was a writer." He eyed me suspiciously.

"Hey, Danny. Every English teacher fancies himself another Shakespeare. One bestseller, and I got it made. The
idea of sitting on my tail twenty hours a week and pulling
down a couple hundred thousand a year sounds okay to
me."

Danny laughed. "I understand that."

"In fact, I even visited a couple of guys at the forensics
lab to get some ideas."

Danny glanced at Huey, who nodded.

Just as I figured, Huey had followed me and reported to
Danny. "Why?" I gave him a look of pure innocence, of
snow-driven purity. "Is something wrong?"

He studied me a moment. "Naw. I just wondered about
the extra time you was spending on this thing, Tony. You
know, there's nothing wrong with curiosity, as long as it's
the right kind. Book writing is the right kind. The wrong
kind is unhealthy, you know, like a virus or something.
Make a guy sick. Probably even kill him." He grinned and
gave me a playful slap on the cheek. "You know?"

I held my hands out to my side. "Look, Danny. I may
not be an Einstein, but I'm not stupid. Mrs. Morrison wants
me to prove it was an accident. That's what I'm trying to
do. You want that, and your ..." I hesitated, then added,
"And everyone wants that. I don't plan on offending nobody."

"So that's what the snooping was all about out at the
distillery?"

"Yeah. Research, and trying to find enough evidence for
Mrs. Morrison to satisfy her. Besides, Marty doesn't want
to turn down four hundred a day either."

He considered my reply for several seconds. I could see
the wheels turning in his head as he considered my explanation. "Just be a good boy. You hear?"

I winked at him and held my hand up. "Scout's honor."

He gave Huey a nod, and the gargantuan bodyguard
opened the door. Danny winked at me. "See you, Tony."

"Yeah. See you." I hated to lie to Danny, but this was
one time the truth would hurt too much.

Huey left the door open, and moments later, Jack scurried inside like a tiny mouse, slammed the door, and gaped
at me. His face was drained of blood. Even the yellow
bruise had paled. His Adam's apple bobbed like a perch
cork. "Wh ... who was that Frankenstein?"

I shook my head. "You don't want to know, Jack. Believe me, you don't want to know."

The color was returning to his face, and he was getting
excited. "Did you see that big thing?" He jabbed a finger
at the door. "Did you? That lousy jerk threw me out."
Righteous indignation overcame his initial fear. "Why, I
should've knocked that big guy on his tail. If he ever lays
a hand on me again, I'll-"

"You'll do what he says, Jack. Or you'll end up as part
of the interstate."

"Oh, yeah?" His eyes flashed with anger.

"Yeah," I replied matter-of-factly.

He clamped his lips shut and stared at me. I saw the
sober realization of my words replace the anger in his eyes.
"You're kidding."

"Not on a bet."

Jack stood in his underwear and T-shirt, eyeing me quizzically. Finally, he shook his head and grabbed his pants.
"Hey, I'm sorry, Tony. I don't know what kind of trouble
you're in, but leave me out." He buttoned his pants,
grabbed his shirt, stepped into his shoes, and headed for
the door.

"Where you going?"

He stopped at the door and looked back. "To Maggie.
I'll take her screeching any day to what you've got here."

I managed to suppress my cheers of joy. "Hey, Jack. You
sure? You know, you're welcome anytime."

He hesitated, and for a moment, I thought I'd popped
off too soon. The alarmed man shook his head. "Look, Tony. You need anything, let me know. You're a good
friend, but this ... this stuff. .." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "All this you're tangled up in. I don't
understand it, and I don't want no part of it. Okay?"

"Sure, Jack. I understand. No problem. In fact, that's
probably the smart thing to do." I hoped I projected the
proper degree of dismay and disappointment.

Eager to get away, he fumbled behind him for the door
while nodding at the couch. "Just put my stuff in a sack.
I'll pick it up later."

I peered between the edge of the blinds and the window
as Jack climbed into his car. I waited until he pulled out
from the curb and headed down the street before I shouted
in joy at the top of my lungs.

My landlady banged on the wall.

I was exhausted, but too amped by what I had uncovered
in the library to sleep. I now had a reason for Voss being
in Austin, so to my outline I could add an A.

A. To beg, borrow, or steal the yeast. I didn't have a B,
but I decided this one omission could be that occasional
exception to grammatical discipline. I tossed some leftover
pizza in the microwave and opened a beer. Time to celebrate.

The next morning over coffee, I laid out my day. First,
visit Mary Tucker, who claimed she was nowhere near the
distillery on Sunday. Even Runnels said she didn't show
up. At least, he didn't see her. There was always the possibility she had been there, but kept herself concealed, committed the murder, then vanished, only to reappear two days
later. After all, she was a fixture at the distillery, and like
janitors and maids-invisible, never seen, and always presumed to be present even when they are not.

But, Tom Seldes claimed he saw her vehicle. Was it hers,
or one of the numerous red cars and trucks at the distillery?
And who's going to pay attention to a red vehicle coming
or going when all the vehicles are the same color?

Personally, I didn't know what was going on, so my next step would depend on what I found out from Mary Tucker.
Then, I would try to get my hands on Claude's ball bat.

By seven o'clock, the temperature had already raced past
eighty degrees. A thick haze lay over the city, a choking
combination of automobile emissions and an out-of-control
forest fire in Mexico. Normally, I drove with the windows
down, but the smog was too much for me. I decided to give
the air conditioner a try. To my surprise, a weak breath of
cool air dribbled into the cab.

During the drive to the distillery, I went over the questions I planned to ask Mary Tucker.

The whine of the forklift came from the open doors of
the rackhouse. I paused in the open door and looked around
the dark building. Wearing yellow spandex shorts and a
green tank-top, Mary Tucker rolled her eyes when she spotted me. She braked the forklift to a halt and removed a
soiled gimme cap with a Chalk Hills logo from her head.
Her red hair was wet with perspiration. "Christ. I thought
we was rid of you."

"Not yet, Mary." I gestured to the floor. "Can we talk a
few minutes?"

She tugged the cap on her head. "I'm busy, mister." She
ground the gears as she shifted into reverse.

I clenched my teeth against the sudden anger that burned
my cheeks. "Fine with me." I shrugged and turned to leave.
"But, I imagine you'll talk to the police, and they won't be
as easy as me." I headed for the door.

The gears clashed again, and the engine wound down.
"Hey, what are you talking about?"

Grinning to myself, I spun on my heel and blasted her
with a dose of her own venom. "Look, Mary. I don't care
if you talk to me or not, but I kid you not, you're going to
talk to someone. You've made no secret of how you felt
about Emmett because of what he did to your daughter. I
can't say I blame you, but if he was murdered, you've got
as good a motive as anyone and better than most. Now,
talk to me, and maybe I can keep you out of trouble."

Her florid face grew stubborn. "I ain't in no trouble."
Her large nostrils flared, and she clambered down from the
forklift.

Some people won't listen until you talk their language.
"Don't be so stupid. You got trouble out the ying-yang.
Cops find out about your daughter, and you'll be sharing a
cell with the kind of ladies you don't want to share a cell
with."

She glared defiantly at me, her red-rimmed eyes looking
like two buckets of blood against her blotchy skin. Her fists
were jammed against her ample hips that bulged the spandex in ways it wasn't designed to be bulged. "I wasn't
around here Sunday. I can prove it."

"That's all I'm asking. You tell me where you were, and
I'll verify it. If you're telling the truth, you got nothing to
worry about." I paused, then added, "All I'm trying to do
is pinpoint the whereabouts of anyone who might have
wanted Patterson dead. That's all."

For several seconds, she studied me. I could see the
wheels turning in her head, slowly, but still turning. Her
lifestyle down on Sixth Street wasn't conducive to the salubrious nourishment of brain cells, so it took some time
for the few remaining cells to throw themselves into gear.

She glanced around the rackhouse. No one was around,
but she lowered her voice nevertheless. I guess she thought
a soft tone was appropriate to the revelation of a secret.
She stepped toward me and ducked her head. She was close
enough that I caught a rank whiff of unwashed flesh.
"Look. I tell you something, you keep it to yourself, right?
I mean, if it proves I wasn't around here when Emmett got
killed?"

I took a step back for a breath of air. It was diesel, but
that was better than the odor she gave off. "Yeah. Nobody
but me. That's what I've been hired to do, Mary. Prove it
was an accident. If I can make sure everyone has an alibi,
then Mrs. Morrison will be satisfied that his death was an
accident."

"Okay. But, you got to promise not to say nothing to nobody. I didn't do nothing to Emmett. I woulda liked to.
But, I can get in bad trouble if you tell anyone what I say."

I was growing impatient. "Look, Mary. Either spit out
what you got to say or I'm leaving. I'm tired of you jacking
me around."

The blotches on her puffy face stood out against her pale
flesh. "You can't say nothing to Rue or the boys. You got
to promise that."

"Rue?"

"Yeah. You remember. Down at the Red Grasshopper.
The guy with the tattoos on his arms. He'd hurt me bad if
he knew what I'm going to tell you."

"Oh, that Rue." I arched an eyebrow. You can bet I remembered him and his Neanderthal buddies. "Don't worry.
Last thing I plan on doing is elbowing up to the bar with
Rue and his sidekicks for a beer."

She looked around again. "Okay. I was down in Bastrop
on Sunday. Spent the day with a guy named Gus."

"Gus who?"

She grinned crookedly. "Hey, I don't know. Ran into
him on Saturday night at a bar. We went back to his place.
Stayed there 'til Monday noon."

Jesus, I thought to myself. What was this Gus like to hit
the sheets with Mary Tucker? "Where can I find Gus?"

"All I know is he lives on the river. I was pretty drunk
when we went there."

I shook my head. "Christ, Mary. How did you know he
wasn't some kind of lunatic or something? That's crazy,
going with some guy you just picked up."

She looked up into my eyes. A wry grin curled her thin
lips that quivered as her brows knit in pain. In a trembling
voice, she replied, "Look at me, mister. Look at me good.
That answer your question?"