Puss 'N Cahoots (16 page)

B
y the time Harry, Fair, Booty, and others reached the parking lot, the flames had engulfed the remains of the van. Fortunately the only other damage was to the windshield of a truck parked fifty yards from the van. A piece of debris had smashed through it.

As the people stood there helplessly watching, Benny ran for Ward, who upon hearing the explosion had put the horse to be moved back in a stall. He didn't know what had happened, but he figured the commotion would spook the horse.

The two men now ran to the parking lot.

Carlos, who'd been as close to the event as Benny, explained to the others what they heard, what they saw. Charly had pulled into the Route 60 parking lot minutes before the van blew apart. He ran down, too.

As Ward and Benny approached, Booty hurried to him. “Man, I'm sorry. What a goddamned mess.”

Charly, hearing this, bluntly said, “Mess? Benny could be dead.” He waited, then added, “I'll guarantee you when the cops finally finish crawling over what's left, they'll find it was a bomb.”

“We're not in Baghdad.” Booty frowned.

Ward, speechless, put his arm around Benny's shoulders.

Benny, voice low, whispered, “Someone wants us dead.”

“Just me, I think.” Ward's voice was even softer than Benny's.

Renata drove into the lot. She had seen the black smoke curling upward but couldn't have imagined the source. Upon seeing that this wasn't a brush fire, she turned around, but she heard fire engines and knew she couldn't get out, because they'd both reach the opened gate at about the same time. So she pulled a one-eighty and cautiously drove behind the long barn where Charly kept his horses. She, too, got out and ran to the scene.

She reached the small knot of people as the fire trucks and sheriff's squad car spit out small stones tearing into the parking lot.

“What happened?” Renata asked.

Charly simply said, “Ward's van was bombed.”

“Oh, God.” She quickly walked over to Ward but didn't really know what to say, so she hugged him, then Benny. Renata wondered if this show was cursed, but she kept her misgivings to herself. She could be emotional, but she could put other people's feelings first. Right now Ward needed consoling.

Booty snarled, “Charly, stop saying the van was bombed. It could have been anything. I mean, these old jobs, the wires burn, touches grease or gas. Boom.”

“Booty, my job was explosives.” Charly referred to his combat service. “I'm telling you, someone planted a bomb in Ward's van. The kind that detonates a few minutes after ignition.”

Harry asked the question on other minds, too. “Why?”

“How the hell do I know?” Charly, upset, growled.

Renata, voice quiet but commanding, said, “We're all upset, Charly, don't take it out on Harry.”

“You're right. Harry, I apologize.”

“That's okay.” Harry's eyes watered as the wind blew the smoke their way.

“Let's move,” Fair sensibly suggested. “Sheriff Howlett knows where to find everybody. We'll just add to the confusion.”

Benny, shaking now that it had begun to sink in, said, “My favorite penknife was in that van.”

Ward tried to think if he'd left anything valuable in the cab or in the box. Apart from two leather halters and lead shanks, he couldn't think of anything.

As Harry and Fair walked back to Barn Five, she touched Fair's forearm. “Where are the kids?”

“I expect the explosion scared the bejesus out of them. They'll be back at the barn.”

They were chasing Miss Nasty through Booty's barn. The monkey squealed to high heaven. Given the commotion down in the parking lot, no one was paying attention to an irate monkey.

Mrs. Murphy kept up with her as she climbed rafters and dropped down to beams, but Pewter and Tucker shadowed her from the aisle. Miss Nasty finally squeezed out under an eave and climbed up to a large overhanging light fixture at the main entrance to the barn. There she sat howling obscenities and abuse. For good measure she tried to pee on Pewter and Tucker, who'd just emerged from the barn, but they ducked back in.

Mrs. Murphy backed down a stall post and walked to the large entrance. She called up to the monkey,
“Tell me where the pin is and I won't bother you.”

“Never! Never!”

“Why'd you take it?”
Tucker asked, then dashed to the side.

As Miss Nasty had completely emptied herself, Tucker was safe. The two cats, realizing this, also walked outside and turned to view the monkey, who swung on the light fixture, then righted herself and sat on it. She sure wouldn't be doing that if it were night and the fixture were turned on.

“'Fess up, Miss Nasty.”
Pewter thought the animal even worse than the blue jay who dive-bombed her at home.

“Pretty things for pretty girls.”
Miss Nasty struck a pose.

“My, my, don't we think a lot of ourselves,”
Pewter purred maliciously.

Mrs. Murphy thought to change her tack.
“How do you keep getting away from Booty?”

“Easy as pie.”
She puffed up, swung around again.

“Show me,”
Tucker egged her on.

Too smart for that, Miss Nasty just intoned,
“I have my ways.”

“I thought he locked you in that big gilded cage.”
Pewter slyly moved a little closer to the wooden side of the barn.

“Twit. It's painted white.”
Miss Nasty now contemplated her nails.

“But he locks it?”
Pewter called up.

“Yes.”
She grinned, ear to ear.
“I can get into or out of anything.”

“You didn't get into the van that just blew up, did you?”
Mrs. Murphy realized that Miss Nasty knew a lot more than she was telling.

“No.”
The monkey stared down, grinned again as she enjoyed her superior position.
“You can't trick me. I'm too smart.”

“You go with Booty everywhere, don't you?”
Mrs. Murphy kept on.

“'Cept on dates.”

“With you along, the date would be a disaster.”
Pewter laughed.

Miss Nasty flipped her the bird, a gesture she'd studied from Booty.
“Fat fleabag.”

“You play with yourself,”
Pewter fired back.

“I have an itch.”
Miss Nasty bared her fangs.

“Gross.”
Pewter's pupils narrowed to slits.

Mrs. Murphy hissed quietly,
“Pewter, shut up. Let me handle this.”

Pewter glared at her tiger friend, but she piped down.

“You know about Booty's bringing in Mexicans,”
Mrs. Murphy flatly declared.

“How do you know that?”

“Saw you in Charly's barn in the middle of the night on Thursday.”

“What were you doing there?”
Miss Nasty was becoming intrigued.

“Harry couldn't sleep, so she came over to check on the horses. Was the night after Charly and Renata had the big fight. She took Queen Esther, Voodoo, and Shortro out of his barn.”

Tucker smiled as she looked up.
“Good business.”

“Yeah, until all those goons showed up.”
Miss Nasty, spoiled, wanted Booty to make lots of money, as then she'd get more toys, treats, and dresses.

“Did you know Jorge?”
Mrs. Murphy asked.

“Not really. He had something to do with that business, but I don't know what. Booty works with the people in Texas. Charly dealt with Jorge. All three of them hooked the workers up with their employers.”

“Who took Booty's hair dye?”
Tucker was sure those bottles had been used to blacken Queen Esther's neck and legs.

The monkey's eyes widened.
“Don't you ever mention that! Booty would die.”

“Because he dyed the horse?”
Pewter couldn't stand it any longer.

“I'm not talking to you.”
Miss Nasty grimaced.

“Is it because he dyed Queen Esther?”
Tucker reiterated Pewter's question.

“No. He doesn't want anyone to know he's gray. He'd die.”
Miss Nasty was very loyal to Booty.
“He's afraid to get old.”

“Who dyed Queen Esther?”
Tucker asked. She knew, but she was testing the monkey.

“Not Booty. But I'm not everywhere.”
She swung around again.
“I'm tired of talking about this. I want to talk about me. Did you know that I can eat a raspberry sherbet cone faster than Booty? I can. And I can use the can opener, too, so I can open any can in the kitchen if I'm hungry. I bet you can't do that.”
A malicious gleam enlivened her eye.
“Maybe Pewter.”

“Eat you!”
Pewter snarled, fangs at the ready.

Just as Harry and Fair walked up to Barn Five, Miss Nasty clapped her hands. The humans spied the animals at Barn One.

“Come on, kids,” Harry called.

Reluctantly, the three friends turned from the monkey.

Calling after them, Miss Nasty yelled,
“I know things.”

“We just want Joan's pin,”
Mrs. Murphy called back.

“I want to kill her,”
Pewter threatened.

“Wouldn't mind that myself,”
Tucker agreed.

“Not until we find that pin,”
Mrs. Murphy paused,
“and the rest of it.”

“What rest of it?”
Pewter thought the monkey was a blowhard.

“What she knows.”
Mrs. Murphy glanced over her shoulder as Miss Nasty hung from the light fixture with one hand and made an obscene gesture with the other.

T
he acrid smoke frightened many of the horses. Trainers and grooms did their best to comfort the animals. None of this boded well for those who needed to perform tonight, the last night.

The black billowing smoke spiraled upward as the firemen pumped water onto the van and the sizzling debris. Little by little the cloud flattened out, the flames subsided, but the smell of burned rubber and upholstery remained.

Fair called Larry, who was back at Kalarama working a horse from a jog cart, a light sulky used to develop an animal's stamina. Saddlebred training, like any type of equine training, demanded patience, knowledge, and a variety of methods. Harry didn't need a jog cart, since she could throw her leg over a horse and jog for miles across country. Saddlebred trainers worked on their farms, using outdoor tracks and indoor arenas. They rarely rode across country. Fair reassured Larry that everything was all right in Barn Five and that he, Harry, and Manuel and the other grooms would do whatever was necessary to calm the horses.

“Need to tranq?” Harry asked when Fair clicked off the cell.

“Let's see what we can do without,” Fair told Harry and Manuel. “Hate to tranquilize them before a show, even if it is hours early.”

With Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker tagging along, the humans began visiting each stall.

Before Charly and Booty walked back to their barns, Ward pulled them aside. “I'm taking the big risk.” He sneezed violently, and they moved farther away from the smoke. “It was my van, not yours, so someone knows.”

“Don't jump to conclusions,” Booty counseled.

“Easy for you to say. Not your van.”

“We'll get you another van,” Charly volunteered, patting Ward's shoulder once. “Blessing in disguise. You collect insurance. We buy you a brand-new,
reliable
van. Everyone's happy.”

Ward's mouth twitched slightly. “It's got to be a three-way equal split. I'm the one carrying the freight. You two aren't. I'm the one with your workers still at my farm, Charly.”

“We make the deals.” Booty ran his hand over his hair. A thin, dark sheen appeared on his palm, which he wiped on his jeans.

“Soot,” Charly generously said, checking his own hair. “Ward, I understand your position. But Booty and I have the contacts. We make the payment to our man in Texas.”

“Your man or an independent operator?” Ward's eyebrows rose.

“Independent.”

“See, I don't think that's quite the way it goes.” Ward was upset—after all, he or Benny or both could have been blown to bits. “I think Jorge was the go-between.”

A moment passed, then Booty said, “He was sure helpful, but there's someone in Texas. We told you when we agreed to do business to let us,” he nodded toward Charly, “take care of the setups, the pickups. You make the deliveries.”

“I run my van to Memphis or Louisville. Hell, one time I had to go to St. Louis. I'm smart enough to know the rivers prove safer passage than roads, but I still make the last trip on the roads to pick up the boys off the river. It's me that will get stopped, not you. And I'm telling you, someone's on to us.”

“I still say your van blowing up and burning could have been faulty wiring.” Booty avoided the main question.

Charly said, “Booty, it was a bomb. I'd bet my life on it.”

Churlish since he was being contradicted, Booty spat, “Let's hope you don't have to.”

“No, it's me that's betting my life. If I have to take this risk, I want an equal third. If not, I'm out,” Ward said.

“Out where?” Booty crossed his arms over his chest.

“In for a penny, in for a pound.” Charly said this in a lighthearted manner.

“How do I know you won't run to the feds to save your skin?” Booty's eyes narrowed.

“Don't be an ass, Booty.” Ward, emotions close to the surface, raised his voice.

“Shhh, shhh.” Charly held his palms out toward the ground and made a slowing motion.

“Dammit!” Booty did keep his voice low.

“If I turned tail, if I double-crossed you all, I'd be in the slammer. They wouldn't let me walk free. Plea-bargaining is a crock of shit. I'd still get it.” Ward's voice was urgent, worried.

“Not as many years,” Booty shot back.

“I don't want any years. As I see it this is a needed business, supply and demand.”

“Got that right.” Charly agreed with Ward, which he hoped would help defuse the situation.

“The fact that this is illegal is ridiculous. The laws will change.” Ward also lowered his voice. “They must. White folks ain't doin' this work.” He half-smiled. “But in the meantime, we're breaking the law. I'll pay for it. You two will be safe. 'Course, while I'm in the slammer, maybe Congress will figure out a way to make these guys legal. Then you two have a head start on an upright business while I'm punching out license plates.”

“If whoever blew up your van is the same person who killed Jorge,” Charly hooked his thumb into his belt loop, “Booty and I won't be safe. I've been thinking about that.”

“You think too much.” Booty, exasperated, threw up his hands. “Looks to me like Jorge's regrettable murder was a crime of passion.”

“You think a woman slit his throat?” Ward was incredulous.

“No, a brother, another lover. Too violent.” Booty pondered this. “Too violent to just be business.”

“Never stopped the Mafia.” Charly stated the obvious, which only made Booty angrier. Charly noticed and added, “But you might have a point.”

Booty checked out the firemen, the sheriff. “We need to wrap up this meeting. I need to get to my horses. My advice, especially to you, Charly, is for God's sake don't mention a bomb. Let them figure it out. If it is, we'll think of something else and try to find out what's going on. Maybe Ward's right, maybe someone is on to us.”

“What I can't fathom is, why try to scare us? That's what drug czars do. Doesn't fit.” Charly stifled his worry, hoping it wouldn't show on his face.

“Fit or not, one man is dead, my van is cinders.”

“We'll buy you a new van.” Charly repeated this as though to a child.

“An equal third and a van.” Ward looked each man square in the eye, then returned his gaze to his van.

“Charly and I need to talk about it.” Booty played for time.

“Now or never, Booty. I'm not the fool you take me to be.”

“I say we let him in as an equal partner. He's proven himself these last two years, and he does risk more,” Charly paused, “initially.”

Booty was livid that, as he saw it, Charly had given in, but he agreed through gritted teeth. “Fine.”

“And we'd better start sniffing around.” Ward's shoulders dropped a little, he'd been so tense. “You might be next.”

“Shit.” Booty spat on the ground.

“Booty, don't be so sure you won't wind up with your throat slit. We're all marked, I swear it.” Ward's voice wavered slightly.

“Oh, hell, Booty will be killed by his ex-wife. She'll start lower with the knife, then work her way up to his throat.” Charly couldn't suppress a laugh.

“Kill Miss Nasty, too,” Ward, enjoying Booty's sudden look of discomfort, added.