Part II
The phone jangled, and Beagle sat up slowly and shook the cobwebs out of
his head. He had pulled down the shades when he got back to his room, but
sunlight now was creeping in around the edges.
The phone rang again, and he picked up the receiver.
It was Cass. "Beagle, how much trouble am I in?"
Beagle paused, composed his thoughts and said, "He's pretty pissed,
Mike. I mean, he's so pissed I think you're fired."
"Shit." Cass's voice was filled with anguish.
After a moment, he said, "Can I fix it up?"
"I don't think so, Mike. Where are you?"
"Over in Gulfport. There's a girl I know here - you remember her, Binky;
used to be a stripper in Pensacola."
"Oh, yeah," said Beagle. "I remember her."
"So I'm in deep shit."
"Yeah, pretty deep." Beagle's tone was sympathetic. He was thinking
hard. "What's the phone number there?" He found a pencil and wrote it on a piece
of yellowed hotel stationery.
"I'll see what I can do at this end," he said. "And I'll call you back
this afternoon." He paused. "No, don't come 'round here right now. Seein' you
might jus' set him off. I'll call you."
He hung up, got out of bed and raised the shades. The sunlight hurt his
eyes. He pulled the shades back down and lit a cigarette. This could be a real
interesting day.
# # #
They gathered together in the dining room downstairs for breakfast: LT,
Deedee, Beagle and Mealia. Everyone was quiet. Even the usually voluble LT was
lost in thought. Deedee seemed depressed and wouldn't look anyone in the eye.
She slipped a cushion onto her chair before sitting.
"You okay?" LT asked.
"I jus' need my coffee," she mumbled.
"How'd it go last night?" Mealia asked.
"Pretty good, I guess," said LT. "Wouldn't you say it went okay,
Beagle?"
"Sure, LT."
They fell silent again.
Finally, Mealia said, "You sure don't sound like everything went okay."
LT munched on a slice of toast, washed it down with a gulp of coffee,
and said, "Well, there was one problem. Mike Cass got drunk and picked a fight
with the mayor's son. It was a stupid thing to do. I had to fire him."
"You fired Mike?" Deedee asked. It was the first time since she got up
that she'd shown any spark of life.
"Yeah, I didn't want to, but I had no choice. It was either fire him or
lose the mayor. And if we lose the mayor, the whole deal blows up."
"That's too bad," Deedee said sadly. "I like Mike. And I know he really
looks up to you."
"Yeah, well, he shouldn't have got drunk." LT was peeved, and it showed.
In fact, any feeling LT had immediately showed up in his face. He's an open
book, Beagle thought.
"I feel bad about it, too," Beagle said. "I wish I had told him to quit
the booze. Deedee's right. He really admires you, LT." He paused, then added,
"And I know he really likes you, too, Deedee."
# # #
After breakfast, Beagle followed Mealia to her room.
"We need to talk," he said.
She let him in. The room was a mess. Mealia always had been a slob.
He sat in a wicker chair and felt a lump beneath him. He slid forward,
turned and picked up Deedee's balled up panties. He held them up and gave them a
shake.
"You gettin' awfully sexy these days," he said to his sister with a sly
grin.
Her face got even redder than usual.
"Give 'em here," she said.
"Whose are they?" he asked.
"None of your business."
He sniffed them. "Don't smell like you, sis. And there's only one other
woman in this hotel, besides the maid." He sniffed them again. "Yeah, this here
reeks of Deedee."
"Give 'em to me," Mealia demanded.
"No, I think I may find a use for them, sis. Maybe I'll keep 'em in my
pocket, so I can give myself a little pick-me-up from time to time. Like
smellin' salts when a person's feelin' faint. And speakin' of feelin' faint,
how rough were you with her last night?"
"You're such a prick," Mealia said.
He got up to leave.
"What'd you come in here to talk about?" Mealia asked.
"I was gonna ask how you thought LT and Deedee was gettin' along. But I
don't need to know anymore. The past don't matter. I think I know exactly how
they'll be gettin' along from now on."
# # #
"It's the damnedest thing," LT said, slowly twisting his bottle of Dr.
Pepper back and forth between his hands. "She's got these red welts all over her
behind, but she won't talk 'bout 'em. And she seems all confused and sad. I
ain't never seen her like this before."
"Maybe you got cooties in your room," Beagle said, letting out a stream
of cigarette smoke.
"No, these ain't bug bites. Looks more like she's been hit - you know,
like when someone whips you with a switch."
"Y'all into that kind of thing?" Beagle asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Not me," LT said. "I'm old-fashioned when it comes to lovemakin' - jus'
fuckin' and blow-jobs and maybe a bit of pussy-lickin' on special occasions."
He grinned in spite of himself.
"What about you, Beag?" he asked.
"I guess I'm pretty much like you, LT. I'm not really into kinky stuff.
. . . Well, not ordinarily, anyhow."
"What d'you mean, 'not ordinarily'?"
"Well, a few months ago me and Mike went to a whorehouse in Biloxi, and
things got kinda strange."
"How so?" LT seemed keenly interested.
"Well, Mike asked for a girl who liked rough stuff. That's the way he
put it - 'rough stuff.' And the madam, she said she had a girl who was willing
to put up with a little roughness. Spanking and such."
"Really?" LT asked, wide-eyed. "Mike asked for that?"
"Sure enough," Beagle said. Then he fell silent.
"Well," said LT. "What the hell happened?"
"Aw, I shouldn't be tellin' you this, LT. It's kinda private, and it's
not really fair to Mike."
"Tell me what happened, for God's sake," LT said loudly.
"Okay, okay. Jus' keep it down." They were sitting in a cafe in what
passed for a downtown in Cypress Grove.
"Well," said Beagle. "He took out this leather whip he was carrying. It
was coiled up inside his shirt. He took it out and whipped the shit out of her."
LT whistled. "Beat her with a whip?"
"Yeah, and it kinda upset me. I mean, it was the same sort of thing
we're goin' into business to do, but this was a Southern white girl, not some
Yankee slut."
"I never would have thought it," LT said softly.
"Yeah, me neither," said Beagle. "After all, it's not like Mike needs to
go beatin' up whores if he's lookin' for sex. He's never had trouble gettin'
women. He was real popular in high school. In fact, I think he dated Deedee.
Yeah, I'm pretty sure he did."
"He never told me that," LT said, his face darkening.
"Well, no reason why he should. It was probably no big thing for either
of them. I'm not even sure Mike would remember."
"You don't forget a girl like Deedee," LT said menacingly.
"Sure, you're right. She's special," Beagle said quickly. "It's just
that he had so many girls. Anyway, I'm sure it wasn't nothin' but a little high
school fling."
The waitress, a thin young black woman, came up to their table and asked
if they wanted anything else.
"Yeah," said LT. "I think it's time to switch to beer. Bring me a
Dixie."
"We don't serve no beer," the waitress said.
LT looked at her coldly. "Sure, you got beer. You go back in the kitchen
and tell whoever runs this place that LT Moore and his right-hand-man are out
front and they want a couple bottles of Dixie. Tell him that, and see what
happens. And if he ain't heard of LT Moore, tell him to call Sheriff Berkey and
ask about me."
"Okay," the waitress said sulkily as she walked away, "but I know we
ain't got no beer."
"Jesus H. Fuckin' Christ," LT sighed. "It's one goddam aggravation after
another. Now, where were we?"
"I don't recall," Beagle said. "Oh, yeah, it was about Mike and Deedee."
"You think they ever did it?" LT asked, staring into Beagle's eyes.
Beagle looked away. "Why you put me on the spot like this, LT? It was a
long time ago and they was jus' teen-agers. What difference does it make?"
"I want to know what you think, dammit," LT shouted.
"Okay, okay. Calm down. What I think is that, yeah, they probably did
it. I mean, it was probably just a blow job or a quick fuck in the back seat of
a car at the drive-in. But shit, that doesn't mean they was in love, much less
that they're still -" Here he paused.
"They're still what?" LT grabbed his arm.
"Christ, LT, that hurts. Relax, will you?"
LT released him. "Okay, I'm relaxed. I'm calm. What I want to know is do
you think there's still anything between Mike and Deedee? Any love interest? Any
carryin' on?"
"No, I don't," Beagle said. "And that's the honest to God truth. I think
whatever was between them is over and done with. Besides, I'm not even sure
Deedee ever enjoyed that kind of rough stuff."
LT stood up so suddenly that his chair fell over backward.
"What you mean? You sayin' he used to beat her?"
"No, that's not what I'm sayin'. Sit down, for Christ sake."
LT picked up his chair and sat. He leaned across the table until his
face was close to Beagle's.
"Then what are you sayin', Beagle? Think very carefully before you talk,
you son-of-a-bitch. What are you gettin' at?"
Beagle wore a pained expression, as if he was struggling within himself.
"Look, LT, I don't want to cause no trouble. I don't want to upset you.
I don't want to hurt Deedee or Mike."
"Get to the goddamn point," LT bellowed.
Two men who had been finishing a late breakfast at another table got up,
shook their heads disapprovingly and left.
"What I heard is that Deedee found Mike powerful appealin'. And when she
got to know him . . . . when he introduced her, so to speak, to some of his
kinky stuff, she got real excited."
"And that happened back in high school?" LT asked.
"No, this was sometime after high school."
"How long after?" LT demanded.
Beagle was silent for what seemed like a long time. Finally, he said,
"Til you and Deedee took up together. About three months ago."
LT looked like he had been hit between the eyes with a two-by-four.
"I gotta talk to her," he said, more to himself than to Beagle. "I gotta
talk to her."
"Before you do that, LT, you need to think this through. What good will
it do to talk to her? She'll just deny it. She'll say Mike don't mean nothin' to
her. That's only natural. And so will Mike. They don't want to hurt you.
Besides, what happened before you and Deedee took up with one another ain't
technically any of your business. I mean, so long as they ain't still at it, you
can't claim no wrong."
"And how in the fuck am I to know whether they're 'still at it'?"
"I don't know," Beagle said. His voice was filled with sadness. "I wish
I had just kept my mouth shut. I don't know how you can know for sure what's
goin' on."
"I'm goin' out for a walk on the beach," LT said. "You're right. I gotta
think this through. I'll see you later at the hotel."
"Sure, LT. You go ahead. I'll pay the bill here."
LT walked away, his shoulders slumped. When the screen door swung shut,
Beagle gestured to the waitress. "How much?" he asked.
"Dollar and a quarter," she said. Then she added, "I checked. We don't
have no beer."
Beagle smiled. "Dollar and a quarter don't seem much of a price for
destroyin' a man's soul," he said.
The waitress frowned. "I don't know what you talkin' 'bout, Mister."
He gave her two dollars. "Keep the change, honey," he said. "I'm feelin'
generous today."
# # #
From a pay phone at a gas station near the hotel, Beagle called the
number Cass had given him. A woman answered.
"Mike there?" he asked.
"He's sleepin'," the woman said.
"Is this Binky?"
"Yeah, who's this?"
"This is Mike's friend Beagle. Tell him I need to talk to him. Wake him
up. He won't mind."
"You sure?" she asked.
"I promise he'll be glad you did."
A few seconds later Mike's sleepy voice asked, "Yeah, Beagle, what's
up?"
"Get over to the hotel as quick as you can. I think I know how we can
patch this thing up. LT is a sucker for Deedee. He'll do jus' about anything to
please her. If we can get her to talk to him about your situation, I think we
can fix it."
"Thanks, Beagle," Cass said, his voice filled with relief. "You're a
real friend. I'll be there in no time - 20 minutes tops."
Beagle hung up and walked jauntily to the hotel. A stiff breeze was
blowing in from the Gulf, carrying a tang of salt and the cries of gulls. Far in
the distance, he could see LT, at the water's edge.
Mealia was sitting on the veranda.
"You seen Deedee?" he asked.
"I think she's still up in her room," Mealia said. "What you up to,
Beagle?"
"You ever been in the bumper cars over at Pontchartrain Beach? Imagine
if the bumper cars was locomotives. That's what I'm up to, sis."
He went into the Cytherea and raced up the stairs, two at a time.
# # #
LT wasn't much of a walker, but he trudged through the sand with grim
determination. His despair had quickly been transformed into anger, and the
anger frightened him. He wanted to work it off. At the moment, walking was the
only safe way to do so.
Now he was headed back to the hotel, head down, brow furrowed, deep in
thought. What did he really know about Mike and Deedee? Nothing but what Beagle
had told him, and Beagle himself said he didn't have anything definite. They
probably dated in high school. They may have had something going after high
school. It was all surmise and suspicion.
But then there were the welts on Deedee's behind. When he had asked her
about them, she had blushed and turned away from him. She wouldn't talk about
them.
And whipping women's behinds was something that turned Mike on. Beagle
had seen it with his own eyes.
But Beagle could be lying. Naw, why would he lie? He liked Mike.
So the story about Mike at the whorehouse had to be true. And the welts
on Deedee's ass were a fact. Put two and two together and what do you get?
Perversion, that's what - kinky shit between his buddy and his girlfriend. Kinky
stuff that she must like. Going on while his back was turned. Going on last
night, while he was at the VFW hall making his sales pitch. Mike must have come
back to the hotel, still sort of drunk. He sees Deedee sitting on the veranda.
They talk. He makes a suggestion. She smiles seductively. They go up to the
room, and then . . . .
"Jesus H. Fuckin' Christ!" LT yelled, startling half a dozen terns into
flight.
He looked around to get his bearings. The hotel was barely a hundred
yards away. Two people were on the veranda. He couldn't tell from this distance
who they were. But he was pretty sure one was a man and the other was a women.
He walked faster.
# # #
"I don't know if it'll do any good, but I'll try," Deedee said. "He
doesn't like me inquirin' into his business."
"I'm not askin' you to get him to talk business," Mike said. "I'm
askin' you to talk to him about how me and him have been friends for a long
time. I'm askin' you to ask him to give me another chance."
A voice came from the screen door a few feet from them. It was Beagle,
who had been standing in the lobby, by the door.
"Mike, you better hightail it out of here," he said. "I see LT comin'
and he's walkin' like a man who's really pissed."
"Why should I run away?" Mike asked. "I want to face him like a man. I
want to tell him I'm sorry and ask him to forgive me."
"I'm tellin' you," Beagle said urgently, "You better get the fuck out of
here, fast."
Mike sighed, then walked down the steps of the veranda and looked to his
left. The figure in the distance was still small, but he could tell it was LT.
He turned and walked briskly in the other direction.
Deedee came to the top of the steps and leaned against a wooden column.
She was confused. Beagle had urged her to talk with Mike, but now he had told
Mike to go away. Why not let Mike and LT work this out together? She didn't want
to get in the middle. She liked Mike, but who was she to tell LT who to hire and
fire?
LT reached the foot of the steps, paused and tried to catch his breath.
"Was that Mike jus' left here?" he finally asked.
"Yeah, honey, he . . . ." Deedee hesitated. LT was coming up the steps
fast and his face was twisted with rage.
She backed away, but his open-handed blow still caught her on the side
of the head. She tumbled backward into the clapboard wall and fell to the floor.
He knelt and continued slapping her.
Deedee's screams brought Mealia out from the kitchen, where she had been
talking with the cook. She rushed past Beagle and out on the veranda.
"LT, what the hell you doin'?" she cried. She tried to grab his raised
right hand, but he pushed her away and continued pummeling Deedee.
"Beagle," Mealia called. "Come out here and stop him. Please, for God's
sake."
Beagle stepped out and said, "Lay off her, LT. You jus' gonna get
yourself into trouble. Let her alone. Let's go for a walk and do some talkin'."
LT paused. He was still on his knees. Deedee was curled up next to him,
her hands pressed against the sides of her head.
"I done enough walkin' today, Beagle. I done enough thinkin' and talkin'
too."
"A person can't never do enough thinkin'," said Beagle. "Lack of
thinkin' is what gets you into trouble." He walked over to LT and squatted
beside him.
"Let her go back up to her room and compose herself," he said.
"Mealia'll take care of her. Let's you and me go somewhere and figure out what
to do next."
LT got unsteadily to his feet. His fit of rage had suddenly passed, and
he looked dazed. Deedee was sobbing softly. He looked down at her and said, "You
okay, honey?"
Mealia helped Deedee to sit up, and took her in her arms. "Go away, LT.
Go away, and let her go upstairs and rest. You done put her through hell."
LT walked down the steps. Beagle was at his side, with one hand on his
shoulder. LT felt old and tired. He wanted to go somewhere, far from everyone,
and sleep. Sleep forever. No more pain. No more jealousy. No more voices.
But one voice wouldn't stop. It was Beagle's. He was saying something
about "tangerine poof."
"I gotta sit down," LT said. "I feel like I'm gonna keel over."
He sat on a concrete barrier at the edge of the beach road.
"I jus' hate to tell you this," Beagle was saying. "But I saw Deedee
hand it to him, and he put it in his pocket. Least ways, I think I saw it.
Anyway, if he has it, that would be tangible proof. That would end all this
uncertainty."
"He put what in his pocket?" LT asked, his face full of confusion.
"Well, it looked like black lace panties," Beagle said. "With a big red
heart where - well, you know , over where a girl's pussy would be."
"Black lace panties? With a big red heart? Oh, Beagle, oh, oh, oh. She's
done give him the panties I gave her. Oh, my God, I'll kill 'em both. I'll kill
'em both, then I'll kill myself."
"Don't talk crazy, LT. I ain't sure what I saw. You can't kill 'em
without havin' some proof in your hand."
"But how we gonna get the proof, Beagle? I don't even know where
Beagle's stayin'."
"I do. He called me up. He's stayin' with some whore just outside
Gulfport. I don't know her address, but I got her phone number."
"What good does that do?" LT said. "You think if I call him up, he's
gonna bring the panties to me and say, 'By the way, boss, your sweetie pie gave
me these'?"
"No, but if I find out where she lives, we could bust in and surprise
them. We could search the place."
LT rose. "You find out. Find out where she lives. Then we'll see what we
do. Meanwhile, I gotta figure out about Deedee. How can I go back and be with
her? How can I trus' myself not to strangle her the very next time I see that
pretty, lyin' face?"
"You jus' gotta get control of yourself," Beagle said. "Go back to the
hotel, and apologize. Say you been under a lot of strain, and you're real sorry
what happened. Don't do anything crazy." He patted LT on the back. "Let me do
all the work here. Let me find out what I can find out. If we get tangible
proof, then I swear to God, I'll help you kill 'em."
# # #
The doorbell at Binky's apartment had an eight-note chime more suitable
for a 14-room mansion than what confronted Beagle when she opened the door.
"Hi," he said. "I'm Beagle. You know, Mike's friend."
She looked puzzled. "Mike's not here right now. In fact, I thought he
said he was going to meet you."
"Yeah, that's right. We did get together, and he wanted me to come over
and tell you he'll be comin' in late tonight."
Her face fell. "Oh, we were supposed to go out to dinner. A seafood
restaurant in Biloxi. It's my . . . ."
"Your birthday. Yeah, Mike told me. He said he's real sorry, but he's
gotta meet with his boss . . . . well, his ex-boss. LT Moore."
Her face brightened. "Is LT gonna forgive him?"
"I think so," said Beagle. "I'm workin' on it. Anyway, Mike'll be late,
so he asked me to give this to you and to tell you to please wait up for him. He
said, 'Tell her to wear 'em, and a great big smile.' That's the way he put it."
He handed her a gift-wrapped box.
"What are they?" she asked.
"I dunno. He didn't tell me. Anyway, I suspect it's somethin' kinda
intimate, so I'll let you open it in private. He should be here around 10."
She smiled. Kinda pretty, Beagle thought. Curly brown hair, nice,
compact body. Looks like a good fuck.
"See ya," she said.
"Yeah, see ya."
He whistled as he walked out to the car.
# # #
A mile and a half away, Mike Cass lay face down in a gravel side road.
Half an hour earlier, Beagle had hit him on the back of the head with a
tire iron, then hit him three times more. He had pulled out his switchblade
knife to finish him off, but decided against it. "Leave that to LT," he had said
to himself, before setting out to meet Binky.
# # #
At 9:15, LT came downstairs and gave his room key to the clerk.
"Out for a night on the town?" the clerk asked, with a sly smile.
"Yeah," LT said grimly. "A night on the town."
Outside, in the dark, LT saw an orange speck of light. It was Beagle's
cigarette.
"You ready?" LT asked.
"I'm ready," Beagle said.
They walked in silence to the car. Upstairs, from a balcony, Deedee
looked down. She hugged herself and trembled. It wasn't just the night air. She
felt death was approaching, like a skeletal horseman riding across the waves.
# # #
The plan was simple. Beagle would ring the doorbell. When Binky opened
the door, they would rush in, subdue her, tape her mouth shut, and search the
apartment.
Ding-dong, ding-dong - pause - ding-dong, ding-dong.
The door opened a crack. "Mike?" she said.
Beagle pushed the door open, knocking her backward into a chair. She
toppled over it and landed on the floor. He was on her in a second. He punched
her full in the face as she tried to get up, and followed it up with a kick in
the belly.
LT pulled him away from her. "Not so rough," he said. "We may need her
help to find 'em."
"Yeah, you're right. Try the bedroom. I'll go through this room."
LT disappeared into the bedroom. Seconds later, Beagle heard furniture
being overturned. He reached down, grabbed Binky by the throat and pulled her
upright.
Her eyelids fluttered and she tried to speak, but his grip turned her
words into desperate gurgles. "Hope you're wearing Mike's little present,
honey," he whispered. Then he called out, "Come here, LT. I got a surprise for
you."
LT came to the doorway, filling it with his massiveness.
"I'll hold her, and you pull down her shorts," Beagle said. He slipped a
forearm across her throat and pulled her hard against him.
LT approached, puzzled.
"What the hell you talkin' 'bout, Beagle?"
"She jus' told me where they are. Go ahead. Pull down her shorts."
LT slipped his hands between her belly and the waist of her shorts and
yanked. The fabric ripped apart, and LT found himself looking down on a pair of
black lace panties. A big red heart covered her crotch.
He didn't think. He didn't plan. He didn't even feel.
He acted. A huge fist slammed into her gut, and she doubled up, despite
Beagle's efforts to hold her upright. The next blow landed on the back of her
downturned head. Beagle let her fall to the floor.
LT flipped her onto her back and pulled off what was left of her shorts.
The red heart was now fully visible, mocking him, mocking everything he had ever
yearned for.
He punched her in the crotch, then pounded her defenseless belly. After
half a minute, he stopped. He was sobbing and trying to catch his breath.
"I think she's dead," Beagle said. His voice was flat, betraying no
emotion and not even much interest.
LT finally calmed down enough to speak. "She's not the one who ought to
be dead," he gasped.
"You're right about that, pal," said Beagle. "So who's next?"
"Mike. I gotta find Mike. Find him and kill him."
"Yeah, well, I think I know where we can find him. I sorta got started
on him this afternoon."
They drove along Ricketts Road for a little over a mile, then Beagle
turned onto an unmarked gravel trail. After a few hundred yards, he pulled to a
stop.
"Damn," he said. "I left the son of a bitch right here."
He got out and looked down at the patch of road illuminated by the
headlights. There was blood on the gravel, but Cass was nowhere to be seen.
"He's tougher than I thought," Beagle said. "Oh well, we'll find him. He
wasn't on the road between here and the whore's place, so maybe he's headed into
Gulfport."
"To hell with him," LT said quietly. "I got other business to attend to.
Let's get back to the hotel."
# # #
Deedee couldn't rest. She couldn't even sit down. She wandered back and
forth, from her room on the third floor to Mealia's on the second, then
downstairs to the lobby, and back up again.
"I've lost him, lost everything," she said forlornly. "Lost, lost,
lost."
Mealia followed her, growing increasingly worried.
"Deedee, you ain't lost nothing," she said. "LT, he'll get over this.
It's jus' some kind of craziness come over him."
Deedee wasn't listening. A dreamy sort of trance had come over her.
"Willow," she said. "They whipped me with a willow switch. They whipped
me into destined-for-hell perversion. All because of a willow switch. All
because it tingled between my legs, and I liked it." She sounded as if her mind
had wandered far away. "Destined for hell for a willow switch."
"You're talkin' crazy, Deedee. You're scarin' me."
They were on the third-story balcony now, and in the moonlight Mealia
saw a car pull up below. Beagle and LT got out.
"We gotta get out of here, Deedee. LT's back, and Lord knows what he'll
do."
The front screen door squeaked open, then slammed shut.
"Deedee, please. We gotta get out of here."
But it was too late. Mealia heard LT's heavy steps on the stairway.
There was only one way up and down, and LT now blocked it.
"Stay here," Mealia whispered. She went out into the hallway just as LT
reached the top of the stairs.
"She's not here, LT," she said. "She went for a walk on the beach."
LT pushed her aside, went into the room and locked the door. Deedee
stood in the French window that opened onto the balcony. She leaned against the
frame, and her eyes were closed.
LT walked over to her, slowly, like a very tired man just come home from
a hard day at the office.
"Where are your panties, Deedee?" he said. "Where are the black lace
panties I gave you, with the heart to cover your pussy?"
"I don't know, LT," she said in a small, childish voice. "I noticed just
today they were missin'."
"Yeah, well I saw them jus' an hour or so ago. On a whore in Gulfport.
Mike Cass's whore."
Deedee looked at him in puzzlement. She seemed to have trouble getting
her eyes to focus.
"Mike Cass," she said. "What would Mike be doin' with my panties?"
LT suddenly grabbed her shoulders. "Yeah, Deedee, that's what I was
wonderin', too," he said in a low, hoarse whisper. "I was wonderin' how Mike
ended up with your panties. How somethin' I gave to you ended up on his whore in
Gulfport. And I was wonderin' about those welts on your ass, Deedee."
He jerked her toward the bed. She was like a rag doll in his hands.
"You gonna kill me, LT?" she asked. For the first time, she sounded
frightened.
"Yeah, Deedee, I'm gonna kill you. I don't know if you pray anymore, but
if you do, now's the time for a prayer." He pushed her backward onto the bed.
She didn't resist.
He towered over her. His hands were trembling, but his voice had become
strangely calm. "Pray, Deedee. Pray to God to forgive your sins."
"My sins?" she said. "What sins? Lovin' you too much. Runnin' away from
my home to be with you? Actin' like a tramp for you?"
He picked up a pillow and began kneading it with his big hands.
"Don't kill me, LT. They'll hang you for it, and even if they don't hang
you, you'll never forgive yourself."
There was a knock at the door, and Mealia called out, "LT, let me in.
Don't hurt her, LT. She never done anything but good for you."
Slowly, LT lowered the pillow onto Deedee's face. She had closed her
eyes and seemed resigned to death. But when he leaned heavily on the pillow, she
began to struggle. She kicked and clawed and squirmed.
After a minute, the struggling subsided. By the time the door was forced
open, she lay completely still.
A sheriff's deputy with a drawn pistol told LT to back away from the
bed. Mealia rushed to Deedee and pulled away the pillow. Deedee's face had taken
on a purplish hue, and her eyes had rolled back in her head.
"You stupid bastard," Mealia screamed. "You killed her. You killed the
woman who loved you."
Beagle stood just outside the room, in the hall. LT spotted him and
cried out, "I done it. I killed her. I squeezed the breath out of her, so she
couldn't tell another lie."
A captain from the sheriff's office entered the room. "Turn around and
put your hands behind you," he shouted. LT did as he was ordered. The captain
tried to snap a set of handcuffs on LT's wrists. "I can barely get the damn
things to close," he said.
"Yeah, he's a big son of a bitch," said the deputy.
Suddenly, as the captain struggled with the cuffs, LT rushed through the
French window, out onto the balcony and crashed through the railing. He didn't
utter a sound as he fell, but there was a loud thump when he bounced off the
roof of the veranda and then a duller thud as he hit the pavement.
The officers, Mealia and Beagle crowded out on the balcony and looked
down. LT lay sprawled, face down. In the light from a lamp on the veranda, they
could see blood pooling around his massive head.
Mealia turned to Beagle. "You got what you wanted," she hissed. Beagle
retreated from the balcony. She repeated, "You got what you wanted. You tricked
the poor, dumb son of a bitch into killin' her, and now he's dead, too. And
where's Mike Cass? How'd you get rid of him?"
"Shut up, woman," Beagle snarled. "You don't know what you're talkin'
about."
She kept moving forward, and Beagle kept retreating, all the way down
the stairs to the lobby. The officers followed, wondering what this big, ugly
woman was driving at.
They heard a car pull up outside and the sounds of men talking. One of
the voices said, "Holy shit! Isn't this the guy who was supposed to be setting
up this operation?"
The screen door opened and two men came in. One was a heavyset man in
his mid-thirties, the other twenty years older, with the stern, worn face of a
Roman general - or an Italian gangster.
"Who are you?" the deputy asked.
"I'm Silvio Mozzarella," the older man answered. "And this is my driver,
Tony Capoletto. What happened here?"
The deputy was about to tell him it was none of his business, but the
captain jumped in. "Sheriff Berkey said you might be coming down," he said. "I'm
sorry, you arrived at a real bad time."
Mozzarella repeated his question: "What happened here?"
"Murder-suicide," said the captain. "The man outside on the ground
killed his girlfriend, then jumped off the balcony. To his death, I guess. We
ain't been outside yet to check."
"No need," said Mozzarella. "He's dead."
"Well, now we got to figure out who he is, and who the girl is and . . .
."
"He's Leo Tolliver Moore," said Mozzarella. "He was a business associate
of mine. A very promising young man."
"And the woman?"
"I don't know," said Mozzarella.
"I do," said Mealia. "Her name was Deedee Brandon. She was from north of
here, up in Veniss."
"And do you know what led to all this?" the captain asked.
"Yeah," said Mealia. "I know pretty much what led to it." She turned and
looked straight at Beagle. "My brother Beagle set it up. He told LT a pack of
lies about Deedee and turned him into a madman."
"Shut up, Mealia," Beagle yelled. "Quit makin' up all this shit."
"So you're Beagle," said Mozzarella. "Mr. Moore told me about you. Said
you were one of his most trusted lieutenants."
"Trusted?" Mealia said with a harsh laugh. "Yeah, he was trusted all
right. LT trusted him so much that he's dead and so is the woman he was crazy
about."
"What are you saying?" Mozzarella asked. "Explain it to me."
As she started to explain, Beagle lunged at her and stuck a knife into
her side. Mealia groaned, staggered to the stairway and collapsed. The deputy
grabbed Beagle, and the captain punched him in the face. But Beagle was stronger
than they expected. He kicked the captain in the balls and wrestled free of the
deputy. It was Tony who brought the battle to an abrupt halt. He had slipped on
a set of brass knuckles, and when Beagle turned to flee, he landed a crushing
blow to his jaw. Beagle's knees buckled, and he fell face forward to the floor.
Outside, a siren approached, then another and another. Within seconds,
two more cars from sheriff's department and an ambulance were outside, their red
lights giving a hellish glow to the scene in front of the hotel. A deputy helped
a man with a bandaged head get out of one of the cars. It was Mike Cass.
"Too many badges," Tony said. "We better get out of here, boss."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. This cracker tragedy is beyond me."
A deputy stopped their big black Cadillac as Tony was pulling away, but
his commanding officer called out to let them pass.
"Where to?" Tony asked. "Back to the New Orleans airport?"
"No, let's drive along this coast that Mr. Moore was so excited about."
They drove along Highway 90, headed east toward Biloxi and Pascagoula.
It was past midnight, but a full moon was out and they could see the bungalows
and occasional tourist courts strung along the highway. They slowed as they
passed the Edgewater Gulf Hotel, huge and white in the moonlight.
"It's kinda nice down here, ain't it?" Tony said.
"Yeah, I could get used to it. Especially in winter. But I have a
feeling that one big storm could blow it all away. They had a bad one in '47."
"They name hurricanes after women, don't they?" Tony asked.
"Yeah. I'm not sure it's fair. Women can do a lot of damage. My first
wife certainly did. But then you run into a son of a bitch like this guy Beagle,
and you have to wonder. What woman could possibly be worse?"
"Ain't that the truth," Tony said with a grunt.
Mozzarella looked out at the Gulf. The surf was rolling in, unmindful of
the little drama at the Cytherea Hotel. He wanted to achieve that kind of
detachment.
"Killing should be reserved for business," he said softly. "Never in
anger."
"Right, boss," answered Tony. "I'll try to remember that next time
Camille blows up at me."
But you won't remember, Mozzarella said to himself. You're too much like
the unfortunate Mr. Moore.
Controlling one's passions requires years of training and the discipline
of a monk. Controlling one's wife - "Impossible," said Mozzarella, in a voice so
soft it might have been no more than a thought.
THE END
