Ragged Man (6 page)

“
I am certainly sorry that I cannot be helping you. I do not know the man you are looking for,” he lied. Jaspinder Singh had heard enough—as far as he was concerned Rick Gordon had done nothing wrong. He would continue on the prudent course that he had set out for himself very early in life and mind his own business.

Sam Storm paid for his cigarettes with a twenty, pocketed his change and walked out the door, pausing for a second to check the magazine rack to see if there were any nudies. There weren’t.

* * *

After the sheriff had dismissed them with the warning that he would be coming up the hill later to get full written statements, they stood next to the Jeep, talking around the events that had left a man dead on the beach.

“
Can we stay and see what happens next?” J.P. asked.

“
I think we should go home and let the police do their job,” Judy said.

“
Aw, Mom!”

“
I think your mother is right, the police have enough to do without us getting in the way,” Ann said.

“
Can we get some Ding Dongs then?”

“
J.P. loves frozen Ding Dongs,” Judy explained.

“
So I’ve learned,” Rick said.

“
Rick likes ’em, too,” Ann said.

“
Does Rick like everything you like?” Judy asked.

“
Pretty much,” Rick answered for the boy.

“
Rick doesn’t get on with too many people, but he’s really taken to J.P.,” Ann said.

“
Not fair, I like people.” Rick brushed hair from his eyes.

“
In great moderation. It’s good this isn’t a big city or we’d have been long gone.”

“
So I like small towns.”

“
Is that why you bought the house on the hill?” Judy asked.

“
It’s always been our dream to settle down in an isolated house in the woods. Quiet and private, with nobody around.”

“
But you like to be around me, don’tcha?”

“
J.P., we couldn’t have a better person to share the hill with. We’re glad you moved next door and we like being around you. You can come over anytime you want,” Ann said.

“
I’m glad, because I like doing stuff with Rick. He doesn’t treat me like a kid.” J.P. was squinting, trying to see what the policemen were doing on the beach. He turned away and looked down the street. “Can we get the Ding Dongs now?” He pointed to Singh’s Bait and Convenience Store.

“
I don’t think so, J.P.,” his mother said.

“
But we’re out,” the boy pleaded.

“
We need milk anyway,” Ann said.

Rick thought Ann was making an excuse, so they could stay longer and see what happened next, without feeling like freeway rubberneckers. He decided to help her out by starting off in the direction of the convenience store, leaving the three others to drift along in his wake.

* * *

They entered the store to the ringing of three golden bells. Jaspinder Singh looked up and smiled at one of life’s coincidences and wondered if he should tell Rick Gordon about the man that had just left.

Then the warning bells went off again and one of life’s many burdens came through the door for the second time that morning. “Can I be helping you, Mr. Gundry?” Jaspinder Singh asked.

Gundry ignored him, eyes wandering over the store.

“
You are not wanting more wine?”

“
No.”

“
Then for what are you wanting?”

“
Something to eat.” He shuffled toward the breakfast cereal, picked up a box of Wheaties with his left hand and held it in front of his face, like he was reading the back of the box.

“
Can you guys come over for coffee?” Judy Donovan said as the group was approaching the counter.

“
Sure,” Ann Gordon replied, “no way would we leave you two alone after what happened out there.”

“
What happened out where?” Jaspinder Singh asked.

“
A man tried to kill my mom and Rick ran him down.”

“
Big city crime in our little town?” Singh shook his head. “What is this world coming to?”

“
Right on the beach. Killed ’em,” J.P. said.

“
Can we get some wine?” Ann asked from the back of the store.

Gundry tried to replace the Wheaties with a shaking hand and caused an avalanche of cereal boxes. Startled, he jumped back and dropped something on the floor. The clank of metal on cement riveted Singh’s attention. A man at the magazine rack took his face out of Field and Stream. A man with a bag of bait froze. Judy gasped, Ann stared wide-eyed.

“
It’s the knife!” J.P. shouted.

And Jaspinder Singh saw Sam Storm enter the store and take in the situation as Rick Gordon started for Gundry, then he grabbed for the gun he kept on the shelf under the cash register.

Gundry looked confused as he snatched the knife from the floor and charged Rick with his right arm extended, hand holding the blade like a jousting knight. Rick stopped, stood his ground, stepped out of the way of the stumbling Gundry and brought a bottle of red wine down on his head. Gundry folded, all tension leaving his body as he went down.

Singh had his gun trained on the action, felt his arms shaking as he held the automatic in a two handed grip, saw Rick Gordon dive for the floor.

“
It’s okay, Mr. Gordon, I won’t be shooting you.”

“
You’re sure?” Rick Gordon said.

“
Absolutely.” Despite the circumstances, he was tempted to laugh as he lowered the weapon. He wasn’t a coward, but he wasn’t an idiot either, he’d been afraid. However, he didn’t back down. He’d acted like a real American.

“
Big gun,” Rick said as he got up.

“
He was coming at you with a big knife.” Singh put the weapon back on the shelf under the register.

“
Yes, he was.” Rick dusted off as the store came to life.

Everyone crowded around Gundry. Sam Storm bent to take his pulse. “Dead,” he said.

“
Somebody better go for the police,” the man that had been reading Field and Stream said.

“
Sheriff Sturgees is across the street,” Ann said. Then added, “I’ll go.” But light flashed through the store before she had a chance to move. Then the lights went out.

* * *

In the excitement no one saw Sam Storm pick up the Bowie knife. They didn’t see the dead Gundry’s hand close on Storm’s arm, They didn’t see him jump away and they didn’t suspect a thing when he eased himself out of the store.

He tossed the knife on the passenger’s side of his old, brown Ford Granada, started the car and drove. Something was happening. He felt light headed. He reached and scratched the itching sensation on the back of his neck. Something wasn’t right.

He made the first left without thinking, then the next left, then the next, and he found himself driving past the convenience store. Something was drawing him back. He continued on and found himself driving around the block for a second time. This time he parked across the street and down the block from the store.

He lit a cigarette and thought about Gordon.

He would sit tight and see what developed. He’d been after Rick Gordon for years, not that he could do much unless he caught him with a smoking gun, but he was convinced that he hadn’t retired. Once they taste the easy money they never quit.

It had taken him over twenty years to put it all together, but he’d done it. From that first scratchy record in the plain white cover, to the current rash of bootleg CDs, he had been on the case, and behind most of it was Rick Gordon. He was sure of it.

* * *

“
So the electricity goes out in a great white flash and the knife disappears,” the sheriff said through a frown of disbelief.

“
Yes, sir. That’s about it,” Jaspinder Singh said.

“
I’ll ask it again. Where’s the knife?” the sheriff said.

“
Not here.” Ann was the first to speak.

“
There was a knife,” J.P. said. “I saw it.”

“
Me, too,” his mother said.

“
That enough for you, Sheriff?” Rick said. For a short moment he thought he was in trouble, the kind of trouble he didn’t need.

“
No, it’s not. What I’d like to see is the knife.” He bent to see if it might have slipped under one of the food counters. “Not here.”

“
There was a knife,” Judy said.

“
It’s not here now.”

“
Somebody took it, that’s for sure,” Jaspinder Singh said. “It was right there, bigger than life.”

“
Well, if there was a knife, then one of you took it.”

“
No, sheriff, there were two others here. A man reading the magazines, who is now gone and a private detective. They are not here now.”

“
That’s right,” Ann said.

“
Private detective?” The sheriff turned to Singh. “What did he want?”

“
He was asking if I saw a certain person in town,” Jaspinder Singh said.

“
What person? Who?”

“
I am not remembering.”

“
How could you forget?” the sheriff asked with the edge of anger creeping into his voice.

“
I would remember if it was somebody I was knowing, but a name I have never heard is a thing easy to forget, especially after what has happened this morning.”

The sheriff turned toward Rick.

“
You know I’m going to have to hold you for this.”

“
No, I don’t know that. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“
Two men are dead because of you.”

“
That’s absolutely not true. That bum on the beach was going to kill Judy, and that bum there,” he pointed to Gundry’s body, “came at me with a knife. There’s a world of witnesses to both events.”

“
You used deadly force.”

“
Come on, Sheriff. I hit a man who was trying to kill me with a bottle of wine. It’s not like I used a gun.”

“
Sheriff, it is without a doubt that the dead Mr. Gundry was going mad. He was going to kill Mr. Gordon,” Jaspinder Singh said.

“
Without doubt,” Rick added.

“
Even if I agree, I’m going to need you to come in and make a statement.”

“
And I’ll be glad to do it,” Rick said.

“
J.P., get away from there,” Judy scolded. Her son was bent over the corpse, the second dead body he’d seen that morning.

“
There’s blood,” the boy said.

“
He was hit hard, J.P.” Rick pulled the boy away from the body. “Why don’t you wait outside.”

“
Blood on the back of the neck,” J.P. whispered under his breath, “like the man on the beach.” But nobody was listening.

Chapter Four

Ann clenched her fists, then fumbled in her purse for her keys. The day hadn’t even started yet and already she was fighting the pain. She found the keys, then took J.P. by the hand, looked both ways, threw a quick glance behind and caught Rick looking, as she knew she would.

“
He always watches when you walk, doesn’t he?” J.P. tugged on her hand.

“
Yeah, he does,” she said. The group had decided she would take J.P. home, while Rick and his mother answered more of the sheriff’s questions.

“
Why?” J.P. pulled her into the street, toward the Jeep parked on the other side.

“
He likes the way I walk.” She opened her door, but J.P. climbed over.

She heard the distant blast of a fog horn.

“
Can we go?” he asked. “You’ve never been, Mom and Rick take me all the time and they like it. I bet you would too.”

The single blast of the foghorn told the town that it was 9:00 and that the Seawolf was docking at the pier, like she did every morning, rain or snow. Holiday anglers didn’t like going out too early and they didn’t like coming in too late.

J.P. loved the Seawolf and Captain Wolfe Stewart. He’d been out so many times that the bearded captain thought of J.P. as his lucky charm. Lately the boy had been having breakfast three or four times a week in the ship’s galley. If his mother didn’t want to go, Rick did.

The ship’s cook, under captain’s orders, had bacon sizzling every morning when they docked, just in case J.P. showed up for breakfast. He had become the ship’s unofficial mascot, and both crew and boy enjoyed the arrangement.

Ann waved to Rick, bit back the pain, let out the clutch and sped away. Soon she wouldn’t be able to conceal it anymore, but every minute of happiness she could give him, before the awful truth surfaced, was a minute worth fighting for, and she was a fighter.

“
Of course, the Seawolf,” she said. “I should have known.” She knew he loved the bacon and egg burgers and told herself she probably would, too. A few weeks ago she would have shuddered at the thought of so much grease and fat. She always ate healthy. Low fat, high fiber for her, exercise for her, aerobics for her, vitamins for her, she wasn’t going to get the big C, no sirree. Well she did, so this morning she was going to have a bacon and egg burger, maybe two, grease, fat, cholesterol and all.