Danny Johnson walked through the showroom of Roland Spencer's tire place while Echols pulled fibers from the body of Yolanda Thomas. Sherry Calhoun and Clint Land had the place barred from the public, but Danny still saw about a dozen black men and woman watching them through the big windows of the showroom. This murder marked the third one in Pickett County over the past week. Danny knew Yolanda in a roundabout way. He went to school with her uncle George, her father being a few years younger than Danny and George.
"You know who runs this place, Danny?" Echols asked as he took photos of the body.
"Roland Spencer, a bit of a shady character."
"You like him for this?"
Danny looked back at the people watching from outside. Word was already filtering through the community about the shooting. It wouldn't be long before one of Yolanda's people came to the scene, demanding to know if it was true or not. Danny saw Gus Harris among those out there. Gus just nodded his head towards Danny. He had the same, world-weary eyes that Danny knew he also had. They were both men who had seen too many dead bodies and knew that the only way to prevent from drowning was to go along with the current, no matter how rough it was.
"Danny?" Echols asked again.
"I don't know," he finally said, turning to look at his partner. "Ronald Spencer is more of a talker instead of a doer. He's an idiot, but I don't know if he's dumb enough to kill his secretary in the showroom of his own business."
"We've seen dumber crimes," Echols said, photographing Yolanda's face.
"I'll ask Clint and Sherry to canvass the area for leads, see if anybody saw anything."
They both looked towards the door as it opened and Sheriff Gene Parker walked in. Parker wore a suit and tie with cowboy boots, his steely grey hair combed perfectly and with a plug of tobacco in his mouth.
"Fellas," he said with a nod. "What's it look like?"
"Murder," said Echols. "And maybe a prime suspect. Roland Spencer is the name of the guy who owns this place, dead girl is his secretary."
"Right," Parker said, spitting tobacco juice in a styrofoam cup in his hand. "This shit is getting out of hand, boys. This makes number three, two of 'em unsolved. I can request SLED to come in and help y'all with the murders if you need help."
"We have a prime suspect in the Beggs murder," said Danny. "John Norman."
Danny saw Echols staring at him out the corner of his eye. He tried to not meet it, but Parker caught the look and furrowed his brow.
"Something wrong, boys?"
"A disagreement, sheriff," said Danny.
"Sir," Echols said, standing and walked towards Parker. "Why did you ask us to both find Howard Beggs and follow John Norman a week before, presumably, Norman killed Beggs?"
"Sheriff's prerogative," Parker sniffled. "I sometimes do things that are in the interest of this county that only I can know. One day, one of y'all will understand. I can't be sheriff forever, and no way in hell do I want to see Scott Andrews take my badge."
Parker spat into his cup again and winked at the two detectives.
"Y'all make sure to put out APBs on this Roland Spencer and John Norman. I want them brought in for questioning and charged if it comes to that. If y'all can't get it done, I'll bring the state police in to take care of it. Okay? Good. Need anything, let me know."
Danny and Echols watched Parker saunter out as quickly as he had come. The two sergeants traded looks again.
"Something is not right, Danny. I'm telling you.
"Focus on this murder," Danny said with a shake of his head. "And let's hope we can get it solved before a fourth one happens."
--
The front door to John Norman's trailer shuddered and shook before it came off its hinges. Scott Andrews stepped over the flimsy metal door, his gun out as he walked into the trailer. The small, cramped little single-wide was a cluttered mess that reeked of weed. Scott went through every room for a sign of life. Not finding one, he reached into the small of his back and pulled out a gun wrapped in a plastic bag.
This was the murder weapon Jed used on Beggs. It was an unregistered piece that had its serial numbers filed off. Scott made sure to wipe it clean of any prints before putting into the bag. They wouldn't find John's prints on the gun, but they wouldn't find Jed's. It wasn't always that you got prints on a weapon in a murder case, so Scott felt sure that planting the gun in the trailer would serve as ample evidence without a print.
He went into the bedroom, planning to tuck it in between the mattress and the box spring, when he balked. He saw a curled up piece of paper on a nightstand. What drew his eyes to it was the sheriff's department logo on the top of the page. Scott walked over and picked the paper up. It was the arrest report on Howard Beggs. Official PCSD material, senative and classified, and it was in John Norman's trailer.
"What the fuck is going on?" Scott said to himself.
--
Mike Norman pulled into the motel parking lot just after ten that night. He drove John and Carol through Pickett and Abbeville County all the way to Anderson. John looked through the parking lot at the Howard Johnson’s just off I-85. Bright halogen lights strung up around the parking lot gave the place a clean, sterile look that didn’t offer any comfort. But John guessed that was the point. This was a way station for people headed out to parts unknown; it was a temporary shelter and nothing more.
Mike found a parking spot close to the front office and turned the car off. Carol looked out through the window at the surroundings and then at John.
"Are you sure this is the only way?"
"Only way that doesn’t end up with you getting hurt."
"I just can’t believe Howard’s dead..."
She looked like she was about to break down crying again. John put his hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed. She’d spent most of the ride up here crying softly while she sat curled up on the passenger seat. He helped her out of the car and they walked under the halogen lights towards the office.
"Here," John said as he pulled money from his pocket. "This should keep you holed up for a few days."
She looked at the wad of cash and then at John, her eyes gleaming covetously. Even through her grief, the monster that is addiction was shining through. She started to reach for it, but John pulled it back at the last second.
"Hey!" She stared at him with a perturbed look on her face that was as telling as watching her down a bottle of oxy would ever be.
"Use this right." He placed the money in her hands. "What you have left over, you spend on your kids."
"Okay, okay," she said as she picked the money up and rifled through it to count it.
Sitting there, watching her count that money, John knew that there would be no happy ending for him. The denial that clouded his vision since the start of this melted away. The odds were too stacked against him. The only thing he had on his side was an old man, a mean old man to be sure, but just one old man against Billy Brown and the cops. To top it all off, the girl he got into all this trouble for was more concerned about pills than she was about anything else.
"Can you make me a promise?" He asked quietly.
"What?" Carol said without looking up from the money.
"I know how much of a bitch being addicted to something can be. I get it. But, please, for your kid’s sake could you please try to get clean?"
"Jesus, John, you sound like my fucking father."
"Maybe that’s what you need." His voice started to rise and he could feel his face flushing. "Ever think of that?"
Carol’s face pulled back into a snarl. “Oh, I see what this is. Still trying to make time with me? Is that what this is, you pathetic piece of shit? Give me all this money so I’ll spread my fucking legs for you? Huh? HUH?!”
And that was when he lost his temper. He lashed out with his left hand and slapped Carol so hard it knocked her to the ground. She screamed and started to crawl away, but he grabbed her ponytail with his right hand and yanked her back. His left hand reached into his jacket while she struggled against his grip. Carol's arms trashed and her nails tried to dig into his skin. She cut John's forehead just a few inches from his right eye but he didn't didn’t feel it. Pain was a distant memory, as was love, worry, or sadness. It was all secondary to the hate. He pulled the gun Mike gave him from the seat and pressed it to her temple. The struggling stopped. Somewhere from behind, Mike's driver door opened.
"Listen to me right goddamn now," John said into her ear. "I don’t want to fuck you, why do I want to fuck some nigger loving junkie? The girl I loved is dead, and you’re just some dried up old husk nobody worth a damn wants anymore."
Carol was doing something that was a mix of hyperventilating and sobbing. He poked her temple with the barrel of the gun and let out a hollow laugh as she shuddered from the touch of the gun.
"What’s wrong, baby? I thought you liked scumbags? Is this turning you on? I bet it is. Let me make this very clear to you, Carol. Either you get clean, or you die. You won’t OD either. I’ll come back and find you and put a goddamn bullet in your head."
He felt Mike's hands on his back, pulling him away. Carol started to sob and crawl towards the hotel's front office as Mike pushed John back towards his car.
"Get in the car, you goddamn idiot," he hissed as he pushed John into his Cadillac.
They peeled rubber out of the parking lot, leaving Carol behind in the dark. Mike cursed at him loudly, but John wasn't listening. His hands were shaking and his eyes were stinging with tears. He hated myself for what he did back there. He laid hands on a woman in anger for the first time in his life. Now, he was no better than the drunks and shitheads who beat on their old ladies for no reason. As much as he hated it, what he hated more was how good the act made him feel. It was like there was a switch somewhere in his head that had been turned on. For the first time since this whole mess started, John felt like he was in control.
Mixed with that feeling were the dark red revenge fantasies that now filled his mind. Visions of Billy being shot, Jed being stabbed, beating Jim Brown to death and making them all beg for mercy while he ended their lives. It was horrifying and exhilarating all at the same time. For years he had been ignoring my anger, pushing it down and locking it away where he couldn’t get to it. Now that his back was against the wall, that anger came roaring out. There was no way in hell he could put it back now, and he probably didn’t want to put it back. For years people said that he was a time bomb, that eventually his family history would catch up to him. Now, it looked like that was coming true. John's Norman side was coming out and he had a tiger by the tail with it. A tiger he could use against Billy.
Mike kept cursing as he drove south back towards Pickett. John ignored him and lit up a cigarette in the dark, plotting is next move.
-
He forced the rickety wooden door opened with his shoulder and went inside the filth filled room. Inside he found a tweaker hunched over a TV, entranced with trying to take it apart. On the far end of the room, sitting on a piss-stained mattress and getting head from a bony whore, was George Silvers. The whore’s face was frozen in a look of panic, her open mouth hanging just a few inches from George’s rapid shriveling manhood.
“What the fu—,“ George started before seeing the gun in John's hands.
“Everybody who ain’t George get the fuck out.”
The whore jumped up and pulled the TV obsessed meth head from the set. They scuttled out the room whileJohn walked towards George with the gun trained on him.
“You lied to me, Georgie,” he said as he sucked his teeth. “Now, I thought we was kin. Kin don’t do that to each other.”
“Fuck you talking about, John?”
John fired off the gun. The bullet burrowed into the peeling wallpaper beside George’s head. He yelled and held his ears.
“Lie to me again, George, and I’ll aim for the wallpaper and hit you instead. You was spinning bullshit when you said you didn’t know Howard Beggs. Why lie?”
“Why do you think?” He spat. “Bad enough I got Billy breathing down my neck and Parker threatening to toss me in jail, but the last thing I want is fucking you in the mix.”
“Parker?” John frowned. “When’d you talk to him?”
“Day before you showed up at the trailer. He came looking for Beggs just like you did. I fed him the same bullshit that I told you and he left, but not after telling me he’d send me to the state pen if I was lying to him.”
Parker? Why the hell had Parker not told him about going to see George? Billy’s guy on the force coming to see George made sense if Billy was issuing a dragnet for Beggs. But if Parker was working the same angles as John, then why bring him in at all?
“Beggs is dead, George. You know that?”
He nodded slowly and licked his lips. “Yeah.” He stuttered. “I mean, I- I figured that’s what happened.”
“What do you know about that? I’m getting antsy. I tend to fidget when I get antsy. Best hurry up and tell me.”
“Few hours after you came to see me, Beggs showed up. He got his fix and headed up to Jardin. I... I called Jed. They took him, Jed and whoever he's with. I could imagine what they’d do next.”
“Why take Beggs and not you? You were both plotting to stab Billy in the back.”
“I—I guess Billy needed a good meth cook. Beggs had a good formula, but he couldn’t cook worth shit.”
His line about Beggs’ cooking skills rang true to John. He saw the distilled dog shit on the floor of his house. But something didn’t jive with what George was saying.
“You overestimate your skills, George. You’re not Betty Crocker here, cousin. Probably a dozen people in Pickett County alone that could cook as good as you. What did I say about lying to me?”
Before he could answer, John lunged forward and slapped him with the barrel of the pistol. The sight of the piece dragged across his cheek and cut a long, vertical line that ran just under his right eye down to his nose. He yelled and grabbed the cheek.
“Goddammit!” He yelled in pain.
“Tell me!” John shouted. “Why were you spared but they killed Beggs? Tell me before I put a fucking bullet in your head! Tell me, goddammit!”
In a convoluted and jumbled mess that ran together in one long sentence, George told him why. John made him repeat it three more times before he could understand it and fully believe him. That was when all the pieces fell into place.
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