No offence Intended - Barbara Seranella Page 18

  "What do you know about Brian Tuxford?"

  "He's the treasurer of the Gypsy jokers. Goes by the moniker Tux. Drives an eighteen-wheeler."

  "Treasurer, huh? Sounds like the feds have been holding off their bust so they can catch him with the dope and the money"

  "Yep," Moody said. "Bigger money, bigger bust. Looks good on a congressional report."

  "Meanwhile, all those weapons have been circulating."

  "They'll probably leave that part out," Moody said.

  The red light blinked to life. Moody held up a hand to quiet Blackstone. "Wait a minute, there's more."

  A new man was speaking.

  "Does the director know how you manage to be so au courant on the situation in Los Angeles?"

  "'That's gotta be Vanowen," Blackstone said, recognizing the agent's Ivy League arrogance.

  Claire laughed. "Director Hadley has never been one to concern himself with details that he'd rather not know He thinks it keeps his hands clean."

  "But really, Claire," Vanowen's voice went on, "a cop? Did you have to sleep with the man?"

  "It wasn't the only way," she said, "but it certainly was the quickest. He considers himself quite the catch—big man on campus. I know how to play that type."

  Adrenaline coursed through Blackstone's body, causing his legs to shake. He sat down heavily, lest he fall down. Moody watched him with concern.

  "Well, I suppose the situation called for drastic measures," they heard Vanowen say. "Talk alnout Murphys Law."

  "Desperate times call for desperate actions," she said, then laughed. "Don't be such a prig, fared. I'd do it again gladly. It wasn't a totally unpleasant experience."

  The shaking that had begun in his legs spread to his torso. The back of his neck burned with embarrassment and impotent rage. Moody looked at him sympathetically "Well, at least she gave you that," he said.

  "She used me," he said, stating the obvious.

  Moody patted the top of his head. " told you they were like that," he said. "They use people and throw them away when they're done."

  "Not this time," Blackstone said, thinking furiously "I've got to make some calls to Los Angeles."

  Despite the shock of Claire's betrayal, things were beginning to fall into place. He pulled out his notebook and listed the facts. Then he turned the page and listed his suspicions. To support those, he needed to fill in some blanks, but he was starting to get the picture.

  His first call was to the hospital, where he checked on Alex's condition and learned that his partner was still under, but stable. The second call he made was to the crime lab. It was after their regular hours, but he convinced the switchboard operator to ring Firearms. Jeff Hagouchi answered the phone.

  "It's me," Blackstone said.

  "You'll never believe what I found," Jeff said.

  "Try me," Blackstone said, "you'd be surprised what I'll believe."

  "The bullets I retrieved from your unit were an exact match to the bullets that killed that couple in Venice, the Ruiz/Guzman case."

  "You're positive?"

  "Yes. What's going on? Where are you?"

  "Jeff, document everything. Take pictures in front of witnesses. Cover our asses."

  "We got more background on Darnel Willis. He was a sniper in Vietnam, got to liking it too much. He tried to re-up but the Corps turned him down. Since he's been a civilian he's racked up quite a sheet, mostly violent crimes: aggravated assault, weapons charges, rape. He joined the National Guard as a weekend warrior before his Jacket caught up with him. They booted him last month."

  "Let me take a wild guess. This was in Kern County."

  "You got it. The same armory that was hit."

  "I'm reasonably certain Willis was our freeway sniper as well as the shooter in the Ruiz/Guzman murders."

  "This just about closes your homicides, right?" Jeff asked.

  "Not quite," Blackstone said, looking out of Moody's window. It was getting dark. "There's still some loose ends. On the freeway shooting, remember how I said there would be two of them? The driver and the shooter?"

  "Yeah."

  A large logging truck swept down the road, its air horn blaring as it negotiated a blind curve. "I'm thinking we're looking for a truck driver. I'm following a lead from . . . a source. I believe the accomplice, the driver, did Willis in L.A."

  "Not a cop?" Jeff asked.

  "No, we're clean on this one. The trick will be to prove it. I'll check in with you tomorrow" He hung up before Jeff could ask him any more questions.

  23

  ROXANNE SLIPPED A Rolling Stones cassette into the jerry-rigged eight-track and turned the volume all the way up, rendering conversation impossible. The drive from the Medford airport to Canyonville took over an hour. By the time they got to Deb's house, it was raining heavily. Large logging trucks barreled down the freeway outside her door and made the walls shake. The wood-burning stove in the main room threw one-sided heat on the three women seated around the kitchen table.

  "So you put down?" Deb asked.

  "Yeah," Munch said.

  "That's good, partner," Deb said. "I always told you to get off the dope, didn't I?"

  Munch watched Deb shake four Benzedrine tablets onto the glossy back cover of an Easyriders magazine. She folded the thick paper over the pills and used the back of a spoon to grind them into powder. Munch couldn't take her eyes off the process.

  Deb then took a razor blade and cut the powder into four lines. "You got a bill?" she asked.

  Munch reached into her wallet and pulled out a crisp one-dollar bill. Roxanne took it from her and rolled it into a tube.

  "You didn't want any of this, did you?" Deb asked.

  "No," Munch said. "I didn't even know you could snort whites."

  Deb drew a deep noisy breath through her nose to clean her sinuses. "Oh yeah. It's a little harsh, but it works."

  Roxanne went first, expertly inhaling the two lines set out for her. Her eyes watered. Deb took the bill next. She poised over the speed, but stopped when Boogie burst through the front door.

  "Look who's here," she said to her son, folding the magazine over the drugs and concealing the rolled-up bill in her hand.

  "Hey Boogieman," Munch said, holding out her arms.

  Boogie ran for her. He put his head down and barreled into her chest. She caught him up in a tight embrace and kissed his flushed cheeks.

  "Are you still my ace boon coon?" she asked.

  "Say it," he said, "the whole thing."

  "You're my ace boon coon," she recited, touching his forehead. "You're my pride and joy" She poked his belly "You're an ugly little sucker," she said, now tweaking his nose, "but you're still my boy" He laughed his distinctive belly laugh.

  "It's good to have you here," Deb said, watching the exchange. "What took you so long?"

  Munch felt a lump form in her throat.

  "It's my birthday next week," Boogie said, tugging on her sleeve and demanding her attention.

  "I know," she said. "That's why I'm here."

  "Honey" Deb said, "get Mama her T-bird. This calls for a celebration."

  Boogie went to the refrigerator and fetched his mother her wine, getting himself a Mountain Dew. He brought the wine to Munch first.

  "See there," Deb said. "'That's the man I raised. Guests first."

  Munch stared at the bottle for a long moment.

  "No thanks, Boogie. I'll take one of those sodas."

  "So this is like a test," Roxanne said, "you being here and all."

  "I guess maybe it is," Munch said uncomfortably.

  "You still smoke, right?" Deb asked, pulling out a Baggie of bright green pot.

  "No," Munch said. "Nothing. I don't use anything anymore."

  Deb turned to her son. "Boogie, go get mama her pipe." Boogie ran into the bedroom. He held his arms out from his sides and made zooming noises.

  "You don't mind, do you?" Deb asked, holding out the joint.

  "I'll just sit by the window,"
Munch said, scooting her chair away from them. Deb and Roxanne had both shed their coats as soon as the fire got going, but Munch had yet to thaw out. She cracked the window open six inches. Cold rain blew in.

  Boogie returned with a short-stemmed pipe.

  "Honey" Deb said, "why don't you go to your room and play. Mama and her friends need to catch up."

  She waited until the boy was out of the room and then opened the magazine back up. With the bill up her nose, she paused and said to Munch, "I'm real proud of you. That dope was killing you." She snorted up the whites, unrolled the bill, and licked it. She offered Munch her bill back. Munch waved for her to keep it.

  Boogie came back into the room and set his empty soda can on the table. "I'm hungry"

  'You want a sandwich?" Deb asked. "Munch?"

  "Yeah, thanks."

  Deb took down jars of peanut butter and jelly and cut four slices from a loaf of misshapen bread.

  "Is that homemade?" Munch asked.

  "What was your first clue?" Roxanne asked, the weed pinched between her fingers.

  "I got chickens in the back, my own vegetable garden, we even hunt for our own meat," Deb added.

  She looked at her son. "Boogie won't eat venison unless I sneak it in on him."

  "Aren't you having any?" Munch asked, seeing that Deb had only prepared two sandwiches.

  "No, but you go on."

  Boogie and Munch ate their sandwiches while Deb and Roxanne passed the bottle of wine. When Boogie finished, Deb grabbed his coat.

  "Honey I want you to go over to Stella's for a while."

  "Aw, Mom," Boogie said. "I'm sick of going over there."

  "I want to show Munch around."

  "Can't I come?"

  "Yeah, Mom," Munch said. "Can't he come?"

  Deb shot Munch a dirty look and then turned to her son. "You'd just have to sit in the truck when we go in the bar. Wouldn't you rather play with your friends?"

  "We won't be gone long, Boogie," Munch cut in. She knew Deb wasn't the kind of mother to let her kid sit in the car while she sat in some bar. That was one thing Deb used to say she'd never do.

  "How long is not long?" Boogie asked.

  Munch produced the present she had brought him. "Open it."

  He ripped through the meager wrapping and then squealed when he opened the box. "All right!"

  "What do you say?" Deb asked.

  '"Thank you."

  Munch strapped the watch on his wrist and pointed to the hour hand. "When this points to the three"—she pointed to the minute hand—"and this one points at the six again, we'll come back"

  "Okay" he agreed and walked out the door, his eyes never leaving his new treasure.

  Deb stood up. "I want to show y'all something, wait here."

  She walked off in the direction of the bedrooms. Roxanne turned to Munch. "Are you still writing poetry?" she asked.

  "Not lately Not since I got sober."

  "I liked that Christmas one you wrote."

  "'Twas the Night Before Kicking'?"

  "Yeah, that one."

  "I'll mail you a copy" Munch promised. "So what have you been up to?"

  "I was in Alaska," Roxanne said, "working the pipeline."

  "How was that?"

  "Cold and shitty "

  "And now you're here." A gust of cold rain blew in the window

  Roxanne met her eyes. "Yeah, right. Now I'm here."

  Deb returned to the kitchen, preceded by a three-foot Pinocchio marionette that she held suspended by a wooden crossbar. The puppet did a jerky dance.

  "Took me three nights to put this sucker together" she said.

  'You made that?" Munch asked. "I'm blown away"

  Roxanne finished the last draught of wine, carefully removed the bottom ring of the cap, and put the bottle in a box of similar bottles. Deb returned from hiding Boogie's birthday present, picked up his empty soda can, and put it in a plastic crate marked for cans.

  "Deb—"

  "Deborah," she corrected, standing by the sink.

  "Sorry . . . Deborah. Are you happy here? Is this what you want?"

  "Sure," Deb said, covering her nostrils with the tips of her fingers. She took a deep breath, removing her fingers halfway through and noisily sucking in any particles of drugs left in her sinuses. "Ahh," she said.

  "How about Boogie?" Munch said.

  "What about Boogie?"

  "Is this what's best for him? I mean, you're out here so far away from everything. What if something happened? You don't even have a phone."

  "Don't worry about that," Deb said. "Out here we all take care of ourselves. It's all them other people what has to worry"

  "Like who?"

  "Anybody who fucks with us, that's who." Deb grabbed her coat. "C'mon, I'll show you around."

  * * *

  The Snakepit was just how Munch pictured it. The only difference between it and the hundred other dives she'd been in was the songs on the jukebox. As the three women entered, johnny Paycheck was singing "Take This Job and Shove It." Merle Haggard followed with a song about drinking. According to him, the reasons to quit didn't outweigh all the reasons why.

  Roxanne and Deb took seats at the bar. The bartender automatically set them up with shots of whiskey and beer chasers. Munch asked the bartender where the pay phone was and for three dollars in change.

  "I've got to call the probation recording," she explained to her friends.

  "Good thing you remembered," Deb said.

  Roxanne downed her drink. "What about that?" she asked.

  "What about what?" Munch said.

  "Pigs. You still hate pigs, right?"

  Munch lingered the scar on her cheek. "Not really. I used to think they were the enemy always hassling me, always busting me. I used to think that if they'd just leave me alone, I'd be okay Now I realize that they rescued me."

  "By locking you up?" Deb asked, scowling.

  "I needed to be saved from myself," Munch said.

  "I was my own worst enemy"

  Roxanne nodded and took a drink of beer.

  "Make your call, already" Deb said. "I got some other shit to show you."

  "Good," Munch said as she walked to the pay phone. "Because I didn't come all the way up here to see a bar." If she wanted to watch people get drunk and stupid, she didn't say out loud, she could have stayed in Los Angeles.

  She called Tom Moody's private line. When a man answered, she said, "Hi, I'm trying to reach——"

  "You've got the wrong number," he said and hung up abruptly She called once more and this time the phone just rang. Great. Wonderful plan so far.

  She returned to her friends, both of whom now had two empty shot glasses apiece sitting in front of them.

  "Everything come out all right?" Deb asked.

  Apparently Deb had forgotten what Munch had gotten up to do, she thought as she slid into the next bar stool. "Yeah, everything's just peachy" She caught the bartenders attention. "Can I get a Seven-Up, please?" He nodded and filled a glass from one of the nozzles above the ice bin. She turned back to Deb. "So who was Sleaze supposed to have snitched on anyway?"

  "You don't want any part of that," Deb assured her and then ordered another round.

  "I don't want to know a lot of things," Munch said. "Who even told you that he was a snitch?"

  "James, wasn't it?" Roxanne said.

  Deb looked skyward for a second, her lips glistening with whiskey "Yeah, come to think of it. It was James." She lit a Kool. "When you were in the can, Tux called. They should be getting in tomorrow night."

  "James and Asia still with him?"

  "Yeah, he says she's really getting on his nerves, crying every two seconds. I told him she was probably teething and to put some Southern Comfort in her bottle. Remember when we used to do that for Boogie?"

  Munch squirmed with a hot flash of guilt. "I remember. Did you tell him I was here?"

  "He didn't give me a chance. We'll surprise him, huh?"

  * * *


  Moody hung up the phone and told Blackstone, "That was your snitch. She's at the Snakepit." He showed him the digital readout of the phone number on a box attached to the phone. " couldn't talk to her without tipping our hand. That pay phone has a tap on it, but I didn't give them enough time."

  "Let's get over there," Blackstone said.

  Ten minutes later they pulled up across the street in Blackstone's rental sedan. The bar was built low to the ground, the exterior wall covered in layers of dark brown woodshake. The entrance was a saloon-style double door. There were no windows.

  "This place got a back door?" Blackstone asked.

  His breath fogged the windshield. He cracked the window and blew on his hands. He thought about the sheepskin-lined coat he'd admired earlier and wished he had bought it when he had the chance.

  'You want some coffee?" Moody asked, producing a thermos.

  "Yeah, thanks."

  Just then, three women exited the bar, He recognized the women instantly as the two who had met Munch at the airport. One of the women was tall and blonde; she moved with her shoulders rounded and her head bowed as if uncomfortable with her height. The second woman had waist-long brown hair and wore an abundance of jewelry: large rings on each finger and silver bracelets from wrist to elbow Munch exited last, looking none too pleased.

  "Thats her," he told Moody without turning his head.

  "The little one?"

  A large logging truck barreled down the road, spraying slush as it passed. Munch's eyes widened, and she froze in midstep. Blackstone was reminded of a doe caught in crossfire. He also knew he'd put her there and that if anything happened to her he'd have a hard time forgiving himself.

  Silver Girl pushed out to the street first, followed next by Blondie, and then a reluctant Munch.

  "You recognize the other two?" Blackstone asked.

  "Oh sure," Moody said, unscrewing the thermos cap. "Biker chicks, they live out on Miller Road by the nickel mine. The one with the brown hair and bracelets has been in town for almost a year. Name's Deborah. She's got a little boy. Tuxford's been dicking her and parking his rig at her house for the last few months. Blondie's only been here a few weeks."