Читать книгу The Devil's Right Hand - J.D. Rhoades - Страница 6
ОглавлениеKeller walked out into the motel parking lot, blinking against the sun. The previous night’s thunderstorms had blown away, leaving the world exposed to the hard glare of the sun. The heavy, waterlogged air soaked up the heat until walking across the parking lot was like swimming through soup.
As he approached his car, he saw a white police cruiser parked crossways behind him. There was a big cop leaning against the car, his arms crossed over his chest. His sleeves were rolled up to accentuate his massive forearms. His partner was standing beside Keller’s Crown Victoria, peering through the window with one hand shading her eyes. She was a tall woman, with the lean build of an athlete. Both cops’ eyes were hidden behind the inevitable mirrored sunglasses. The female cop turned as Keller approached.
“This your car, sir?” she said. There were a few wisps of light brown hair coming untucked from beneath her blue cap, but that was the only hint of softness about her. Her lips were compressed into a thin line when she wasn’t speaking. When she spoke, her voice was the officious bark of a drill sergeant. She made sure that the word “sir” contained not a speck of actual respect or courtesy.
Keller took a deep breath. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Is there some kind of--”
“Mind telling us why there’s a shotgun in the front seat?”
He kept his voice mild, inwardly cursing himself for choosing not to bring the shotgun in with him. The desk clerk at the last place he had stayed had seen him carrying his gun into the room and had spent most of the evening coming by and calling on various flimsy pretexts to make sure Keller had not killed himself with it. “It’s not against the law to have a shotgun, is it?” he asked.
The big cop straightened up. His lips stretched over his teeth in a rough approximation of a smile. “Smart-ass, huh?”
The female cop looked annoyed at the interruption. “Mind if we look in the car, sir?”
Keller did mind, but there was no way to win the argument without a lengthy discussion, part of which would probably take place at the police station. It was a discussion he was sure he would win, eventually. Still, that would take time, possibly a lot of time. Keller wanted to get back to work. He took the path of least resistance.
“Sure,” he said. He was still smiling. He took his keys out and opened the doors.
The search was quick and sloppy. Keller noticed that the male cop seemed to take particular pleasure in leaving the contents of the glove compartment scattered over the front seat so Keller would have to put them back himself.
“Why do you have these metal rings welded to the floor of the back seat, sir?” the female cop asked.
Keller’s smile was beginning to pain him. “I work bail enforcement,” he said. “Sometimes they don’t want to stay in the car. The rings are for the handcuffs.”
“What about the police scanner?” she said.
“Like I said,” Keller replied, “I work as--”
“A bounty hunter,” the male cop said. He pronounced it like a curse.
“Whatever,” Keller said. There was no overt insolence in his voice, but the lack of deference seemed to anger the male cop. He got out of the front seat of Keller’s car and stood up.
“You got a--” he began. The female cop interrupted him. “Can you open the trunk, sir?” she said.
Keller’s shoulders tensed, then he shrugged. He popped the trunk. The male cop walked around to the back and whistled in amazement.
“Marie,” he said. “Come look at this.” The female cop walked around to the back of the car. “Holy shit,” she said. She reached in and pulled out a length of heavy chain. Heavy leg cuffs were soldered to each end. She held it up and looked over at Keller.
“It’s all legal,” Keller said.
“We’ll decide that,” the male cop said.
Keller’s temper had reached the limit. “Bullshit,” he said. “There’s not a damn thing you can make stick here. I’ve got permits for the handguns. The handcuffs and restraints are all legit. All my licenses are up to date. So if you’re going to arrest me, do it. But stop jerking me around.”
“All right, smart-ass,” the male cop said. “Hands on the car and spread your legs.” Keller shook his head in frustration, but complied. The male cop frisked him quickly while the other one, Marie stood back to give herself a clear field of fire if Keller decided to try anything. Keller felt the male cop’s hand at the small of his back, heard him chuckle as he withdrew the 9MM from Keller’s waistband.
“Looks like carrying a concealed weapon to me.”
“I told you, I’ve got a carry permit--” he was cut short by an explosion of pain across his lower back. The cop had pulled his nightstick in a cross-body draw that would have done credit to a samurai. He whipped the nightstick in a short arc and smashed Keller across the kidneys. Keller arched his back in agony and dropped to his knees.
“And resisting arrest,” the cop said. Keller heard his high-pitched giggle. He tried to roll over on his back to stave off another blow, but he felt a sudden weight on him. The female cop had thrown her body across his. One of her hands grabbed Keller’s wrist. He heard the clink of metal as she took the cuffs off her belt. “Stay down,” she muttered. “You can’t win. Just stay down.” Keller tried to stand, then suddenly realized that she had placed herself between him and another blow. He relaxed and allowed himself to be handcuffed with his hands behind his back. When she was done, she rolled off and yanked Keller awkwardly to his feet. Her grip was very strong.
Keller looked at the male cop. The man’s image seemed to swim in a red haze before Keller’s eyes. The cop’s own eyes were dreamy and far away and there was a slight smile on his face.
“When this is over,” Keller said through pain-clenched teeth, “I’m going to take that fucking baton away and shove it up your ass.”
The cop’s smile widened. This was what he had been waiting for. He drew back his hand for another shot. Keller had no way to protect his head; he knew the next blow would shatter his skull. The female cop interposed her body between them again. “Get in the car, asshole,” she said. She put a hand on Keller’s head to guide him through the open door of the police cruiser. Without taking his eyes off the male cop, Keller slid into the back seat.
The brown truck pulled into the parking lot of the timber company office. The trailer was still surrounded by a web of yellow crime-scene tape that appeared to have been strung mostly at random. The three men got out of the truck and approached the steps. Raymond took a curved Hawkbill knife out of his pants pocket, opened it, and sliced through the tape. They walked up the steps and stood before the locked trailer door. There was a moment of silence. “John Lee,” Raymond said. “You got the keys?”
“Oh, um, yeah,” John Lee said, embarrassed. He fumbled for a moment in his pocket, then unlocked the door.
The interior of the trailer office was small and cramped. A metal desk sat facing the doorway and took up most of one side of the room. There was a gray metal filing cabinet behind the desk on their right. Raymond went around the desk and tried to open the cabinet. It was locked. He rattled the handle in frustration. “You got a key to this, John Lee?” he said.
John Lee shrugged. “Sorry, Raymond,” he said. “Daddy always kept that one hisself.”
Raymond slammed his hand against the cabinet in frustration. He turned to Sanchez. “He ever tell you where he kept the key to this?”
Sanchez shook his head. “No,” he said. Raymond turned back. He hit the cabinet again, as if he could convince it to open by beating it enough times. He withdrew the pistol from his belt and drew back the hammer. He carefully pointed it at the latch on the filing cabinet.
“Wait,” Sanchez said. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small plexiglass key ring. He laid it carefully on the table. There were two keys on the ring, one smaller than the other.
Raymond looked at Sanchez, his eyes narrowed. “You trying to be funny?”
Sanchez looked back without expression. “You didn’t ask if I had a key. You asked if your father had ever told me where his key was.”
“God damn it,” Raymond snarled. “You knew what I meant.”
“Me?” Sanchez spread his hands. “How was I to know?”
Raymond made a strangled sound deep in his throat and pointed the pistol at Sanchez. Sanchez didn’t move.
“I was your father’s foreman,” he said. “He trusted me with a lot of things. If you kill me, there are many things you will never know.”
Raymond slammed the pistol down on the desk. John Lee flinched. “Then tell me, asshole!” Raymond yelled. “Quit playin’ games! I need me some goddamn help here!”
Sanchez’ face clouded with anger. “You have never asked. You have never asked me for anything, least of all help. All you have done is wave your pistola around and shout orders.” He looked at John Lee. “The two of you are out to avenge your father. All right. It is a matter of honor. A man understands such things. A man might be willing to help. A stupid ‘greaseball’ who must be ordered around--” he shrugged. “Such a one will only do what he is told, no more.”
Raymond stared at him for a long moment. “I ain’t gonna beg you,” he said finally.
Sanchez shook his head. “That is not what I ask.” They continued to stare at one another, neither one willing to be the first to look down. It was John Lee who finally spoke.
“Mr. Sanchez,” he said, “will you help us find the man that killed our daddy?”
Sanchez smiled. “Si, I will help you,” he said. “And call me Oscar.” He pointed at the desk. “When the man Julio talked about came around, he left a phone number where he could be reached. I saw your father write it on the pad on the desk.”
Raymond looked down at the desk blotter. It was covered with ink stains, coffee rings, doodles and hastily scrawled notes.
Finally he located something. “DeWayne Puryear,” he read. “That sound familiar?”
Sanchez nodded. “That is the name that he gave.”
“There’s an address and phone number here,” Raymond said.
Sanchez turned around and walked out the door. He was already waiting in the truck when Raymond and John Lee followed him.
Like most of the people who wore the black robe, Judge Harold T. Tharrington was a former prosecutor. The District Attorney had handpicked Tharrington to run for election to the bench. He had run without opposition; none of the other prosecutors would dare to buck the boss’ choice. For their own part, the lawyers of the defense bar declined to take the salary cut that came with going on the State payroll. Defendants paid better, and often in cash.
Tharrington looked over his glasses at Keller, who was standing before him. He was a short, balding man with a round face and a fussy demeanor. He clearly found Keller’s presence in his courtroom distasteful.
Keller had spent the previous day and night sharing a jail cell with a pair of Jamaicans. The two men had totally ignored him. They spent the time playing a seemingly endless game of cards and arguing in low, incomprehensible voices. The argument and the fact that the lights had never been turned off in the cells had made it impossible for Keller to sleep. His eyeballs felt raw and gritty. He hadn’t been allowed to shave. His hands were shackled in front of him and his ankles were fastened together with a short length of heavy chain. His lawyer stood by his side.
The lawyer’s name was Scott McCaskill. He was an imposing figure, a full six and a half feet tall. He had thick snow-white hair brushed back until it resembled a lion’s mane. His face tended to remind people of someone they’d seen on TV, someone playing a Senator or President. He had represented Keller several times before. Part of the secret to his success was his massive presence that seemed to draw all attention in the room to him and away from his raggedy-assed client.
“Your Honor,” McCaskill intoned in a voice so deep that it almost rattled the water glasses, “my client has no prior record. He is a bail bondsman licensed by the State of North Carolina. He served his country with distinction in the armed forces and was decorated for bravery in the Persian Gulf. In addition, we are confident that these charges are the result of a misunderstanding and will be resolved in his favor at trial.”
The judge picked up a sheet of computer printout and studied it. “Your client,” the judge observed, “has been remarkably lucky to have no record of convictions. The PIN check provided by officers Jones and Wesson shows a remarkable string of charges that were either dismissed by the local prosecutor or resulted in ‘not guilty’ verdicts at trial. Can you explain this?”
McCaskill shrugged and smiled. “The nature of Mr. Keller’s business is such that the people he returns to custody are often, shall we say, less than happy with their situation.”
“Two of them apparently ended up dead,” the judge said.
“For which incident a jury returned a verdict of not guilty by reason of self-defense,” his lawyer replied smoothly.
Tharrington put the printout down and looked at Keller again. Keller was beginning to feel like a piece of livestock being haggled over at the market, but he kept his face neutral.
“I’m concerned here, counselor,” he said, “that your client is a violent man. He was apprehended with a shotgun in his car. He was carrying a weapon concealed on his person--”
“For which--” McCaskill began, but fell silent when Tharrington raised a hand. “I realize he claims to have a carry permit for that weapon. He has not been able to produce it.”
“That’s because Officer Wesson took it. Sir.” Keller said.
“Which brings us to my greatest concern,” Tharrington said. “The contempt and disrespect shown to law enforcement. It’s bad enough that Mr. Keller apparently fancies himself some sort of bounty hunter, despite having no official standing as a sworn law enforcement officer. But for him to assault a real officer and threaten him with further violence--”
“Sir,” Keller said. “Officer Wesson assaulted me.” He ignored the lawyer’s hand on his shoulder urging him to keep quiet. “He struck me with his baton while I had my hands on the car. Officer Jones can confirm that.”
Tharrington looked behind Keller. “Officer Wesson,” he said. “Is Officer Jones present in the courtroom with you?”
Keller didn’t trust himself to turn around and look, but he could hear the smooth confidence in Wesson’s voice. “No sir,” he said. “She had, ah, other duties to attend to. And your honor, I was forced to use my baton to subdue Mr. Keller when he attempted to reach for the firearm I was taking from him.”
“And is it not true, Mr. Keller, that you threatened to take Officer Wesson’s baton away from him and beat him with it?”
“No sir,” Keller said through clenched teeth. “I told him I was going to take it away from him and shove it up his ass.”
Tharrington reddened. He picked up his gavel. “Bail is set at fifteen thousand dollars. Cash.” He nodded to the deputy Sheriff standing at one end of the bench. “Take him back to the holding cell.”
“Your Honor,” a soft female voice said. “I’ll be supplying Mr. Keller’s bail bond. But may I request that the court change it to a secured bond rather than cash?”
Keller looked around for the first time. She was standing at the back of the courtroom, dressed in a floor length black trench coat that contrasted starkly with her white-blonde hair. Her jeans were black as well and she wore a white blouse buttoned up to the neck, despite the outside heat. Her hands were covered with black gloves. One hand rested on the silver handle of a dark cherrywood cane.
“And you are…?” the judge asked.
She walked down the center aisle of the courtroom with a pronounced limp, leaning on the cane for support. “Angela Hager, your honor,” she said. “H & H Bail Bonds. I’m Mister Keller’s employer.”
The judge tapped his chin with his pencil. “Hager, Hager…” he said thoughtfully. “You look familiar…”
She arrived at the bar and looked up at the judge. She brushed her hair from her eyes with her free hand. “My husband was Jeffery Hager.”
The judge dropped his pencil. “Yes, of course,” he said. “I--I remember the case. You--ah--you seem to be doing well.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Now, about the bond. I can supply a cash bond, but it’s less paperwork if I don’t have to transfer that much cash. The IRS, you know.” She smiled slightly. “I assume H & H’s credit is still good with this court?”
The judge didn’t answer at first. He was staring in fascination at the narrow band of puckered scar tissue that peeked above the high collar of the blouse. She waited patiently, still smiling. Finally the judge realized that he was staring and his gaze broke away he began randomly shuffling papers on the bench.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “Certainly. Fifteen thousand,” he said to the clerk. “Secured by H & H.”
“Thank you, your honor,” Angela said. She approached the low desk to the side of the bench where the court clerk was organizing the forms she would have to sign. She didn’t look at Keller until she finished signing. Then she stood up and smiled at him. “I’ve got to get back,” she said. “There’s no one in the office. I had to lock up to come down here and get you. Will you be okay?”
“Yeah,” Keller said. “I’ll pick up my car from impound. I’ve got some more leads to run down. I’ll keep in touch.”
She patted his shoulder. “Back to work, cowboy,” she said, then walked out.
The judge picked up his gavel, prepared to adjourn court “Your Honor,” Keller’s lawyer spoke up. “There is still the matter of Mr. Keller’s vehicle and ah, its contents, which were impounded.”
The judge seemed to have recovered his composure. “He can have the vehicle back,” he said. “Not the weapons or the restraints.”
The lawyer tried again. “Those are the tools Mister Keller needs to conduct his business, if your honor--”
“Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” the judge snapped. He stood up. “Adjourn court, Mr. Bailiff,” he ordered.
“This court stands adjourned,” the bailiff called out. “God save the State and this honorable court.”
“Mister Keller,” a voice said.
Keller turned. Officer Marie Jones was sitting in a red Honda Accord in a parking space in front of the courthouse. The driver’s side window was down. Her uniform blouse had been replaced by a white T-shirt with a Gold’s Gym logo on it. Her police cap was gone but her light-brown hair was still pinned up. She still wore the mirrored shades.
“You need a ride?” she said.
Keller approached the vehicle. “My car’s in the impound lot,” he said.
“I know,” she said. She leaned over and opened the passenger side door. “Get in. I’ll take you over there.” Keller got in. She pulled away from the curb without speaking. She was dressed in a pair of black workout shorts and tennis shoes. Keller looked her over. Her body was lean and muscular, the body of a swimmer or long-distance runner.
After a few moments, she spoke up. “I’m sorry about Eddie,” she said. “Officer Wesson, I mean.”
“That would have meant a lot more if you’d been there to tell what really happened.”
She sighed. “No one told me about it. I went off-duty and went to the gym.”
“Would you have told the truth if you’d been there?”
“Of course I would have,” she snapped. Keller looked at her for a long moment. She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t know. I mean, yeah, I guess. “She sighed. “Fuck, I don’t know.” She sounded weary.
“What is he, your boyfriend?”
Jones yanked the wheel suddenly, steering the car over to the side of the street and slamming on the brakes. She turned to Keller. “Get out,” she said. Her voice was absolutely flat.
“Whoa, whoa.” Keller said. “I’m sorry, I--”
“I am so SICK of that bullshit!” she slammed her open palm on the steering wheel. “From Eddie’s wife. From my ex. From every asshole in the station. The ones that don’t assume I’m fucking Eddie assume I’m some sort of dyke because I’m not fucking him. Well, fuck them, and fuck you too.” She grabbed the wheel with both hands. She rested her head on the steering wheel for a moment, getting herself under control. Her knuckles were white.
“You’re right,” Keller said softly. “I was out of line. It was a stupid thing to say. I’m sorry.”
She took a deep breath and straightened up. She looked straight ahead for a moment, took another breath, blew it out. She turned to Keller.
“I sit for the Sergeant’s exam next month,” she said. “I’ve got a kid that my ex keeps threatening to take away every time I make a fuss about the back child support. You think I need that kind of problem?”
“Not meaning to add to your load, but you’ve got another problem. Wesson’s a psycho,” Keller said. “He’s apt to turn on you.”
Jones shook her head. She pulled the car back into traffic. “He’s really an okay guy,” she said. “He’s just been having some problems at home. He’s wound a little too tight these days, I guess.”
“Officer Jones,” Keller said. “Your partner’s more than wound too tight. I’ve seen that look in people’s eyes before. He’s getting ready to cut loose. And when he does, he’s going to kill somebody. And maybe get himself killed as well. Or you.”
She shook her head again. “He’s my partner,” he said. “I’m supposed to look after him.”
“You’re supposed to look after each other,” Keller said. She didn’t answer. Keller could see he was getting nowhere, so he changed the subject. “How’d you find out about the hearing?” he asked.
“Your boss got me on my cell phone,” Jones said. “I tried to get here, but I ran into her in the parking lot and she told me it was all over, that you’d been turned loose.” She looked at Keller. “Do you mind if I say something?”
Keller shrugged. “Depends on what it is, I guess.”
Marie laughed. “Fair enough. It’s just that your boss-- Angela, is it?”
“Yeah, Angela Hager.”
“She’s pretty, but she’s kind of spooky-looking. What’s the deal with the gloves?”
Keller leaned back in the seat and looked out the window. “She’s got some pretty bad scars. Burns. She doesn’t like people staring at them.”
“How’d she get burned?”
Keller looked at her. “Her husband founded H & H bail bonds. He was a big shot, knew everybody, liked to throw his money around. He also used to beat her up. Finally, she had enough and took out a warrant on him. He went into court and denied everything. He had been a major supporter of the D.A. in the last election, so they dismissed all charges without even a trial.” Keller looked out the front window. “Jeff Hager went home, kicked in the front door and broke both her legs with a baseball bat so she couldn’t run. Then he set the house on fire.”
“Damn,” Jones whispered. “He do any time for it?”
“No,” Keller said. “But only because he shot himself in front of her.”
“How’d she get out?”
“Dragged herself out of the house on her elbows.”
Jones gave a low whistle. “That is one tough lady.”
“Yeah,” Keller said. They were pulling up to the chain-link fence that surrounded the impound lot. As Keller moved to get out, Jones took off her sunglasses and turned to him.
“Mister Keller,” she said. “When this comes to court, I’ll tell what happened. All of it.”
“That’s not going to help your career much,” Keller said.
“I know,” she said.
Keller looked at her. She obviously meant it. Her jaw was set and she stared at him defiantly, as if daring him to question her resolve. He noticed that her eyes were blue, the sharp, hard blue of the sky on a clear winter day. Finally, he shrugged.
“It’ll be a moot point anyway,” he said. “The D.A.’ll make a lot of noise about jail time, then when it gets close to trial, they’ll offer to dismiss everything in exchange for me agreeing in writing not to sue the department for excessive force.”
“And you’ll agree.” Her voice was flat.
He looked away. After the idealism she showed in her offer to testify, he hated what he was about to say. “It’s not like I’m giving up much. With your help, I may win the resisting, but they’re scared shitless of the publicity that they’d get from a civil suit. So they’ll make damn sure I go down on something. Even if they have to make something up.”
“Pretty cynical,” she said.
He shrugged. “Yeah, it is,” he said, “But I’ve seen it happen. If it happens to me, I lose my bondsman’s license. I weigh that against the possibility of winning a civil suit against the Fayetteville police. Even if I take it to a jury, who do you think they’ll believe?” He thought for a moment about the judge’s description of him as a violent man. “I’ve got better things to do with my time than take on lost causes. Even my own.” He closed the car door. He was walking towards the small guardhouse at the entrance to the impound lot when he heard her voice. “Mister Keller.”
He turned. Her hand was out the window, holding a small piece of paper. He walked back and took it. It was a business card, the type cops gave to victims and witnesses who might need to contact them. The police switchboard number was scratched out and another number written in blue ink.
“That’s my cell phone number,” she said. “In case you change your mind. Or, you know, if you want to, like, talk about anything else.”
He smiled at her. “That’s not going to do a lot to help your career, either.”
She didn’t smile back. “Yeah. Well.” She didn’t go on. She’d replaced the mirror shades, so it was impossible to read what was in her eyes.
“Okay,” Keller said. “I’ll keep it in mind. And my name is Jack.”
“I’m Marie,” she said. She looked like she was about to say something else, but she stopped. She put the car in gear and backed out of the gravel driveway. Keller put the card in his shirt pocket as he watched her go.
