Birdsongs (2 page)

    His new message was from a Mrs. Clemmons. She was inquiring as to Benny’s progress in the case of her suspected unfaithful husband. Mrs. Clemmons was almost certain her husband had a girlfriend but she wanted some evidence to present in divorce court. She said to call at any hour since she was not getting any sleep. Benny decided he would take her word that she was an insomniac and get the call out of the way. Benny dialed the cell number and before the first ring was complete, she answered. “Mr. James?” she garbled.

    “Yes ma’am, this is Benny James. How did you know it was me?”

    She responded in a slur. “My phone shows who is calling and I also don’t have any other people who would call me at four in the morning, Mr. James.”

    “I do apologize Mrs. Clemmons; you said call at any time. Did I wake you?”

    “Hell no,” she said with a saucy laugh. “What’s that asshole been up to? He’s not here again tonight. Surprise, surprise. He told me he was in Seattle this time. I bet he’s at that little slut’s house.”

    “Well,” Benny said cautiously. “I did wrap up the case about twenty-four hours ago, but have been trying to decide how I was going to present my findings to you.”

    “Shit Benny.” There was a pause as Mrs. Clemmons was obviously taking a drink of something. “Can you hold on a second?”

    “Sure,” Benny said.

    He heard what sounded like the phone being tossed on a table clumsily, ice rattled into a glass, and he heard the glug, glug, glug, of a liquid being poured. She took a drink, sighed, and said, “All right, what’s her name? How young is she? How big are her fake tits? What’s Barbie’s name, Benny?”

    Benny composed himself and said, “Mrs. Clemmons, your husband is having an extramarital affair, but she is actually a he.” There was silence on the other end of the phone, so Benny continued. “Remember when I asked you for the places he often frequents?” Silence still. “I followed him three times to the Gregarious Gringo Restaurant over on West Peachtree.” Silence still. “He left all three times with the flamboyant host Joel,” (Pronounced like noel with a J). “Each time they went back to Joel’s midtown apartment.” Silence. “I do have a few pictures of them making out in Mr. Clemmons’s car.”

    Finally breaking the silence Mrs. Clemmons said, “Thank you Mr. James. Please send me my bill and the photos.” The phone went dead. Well, Benny thought, another happy customer.

Chapter 4

    R.C. started working for Jimmy’s Uncle Sly at the diner, and the package deal was just as Jimmy had described. The job, the trailer, and the motorcycle were all real. Being a short order cook for country folks was a breeze after cooking for cons. The singlewide trailer was more like a camper, but even without electricity, it was the Taj Mahal compared to a dank, tiny jail cell. Sly brought the broken down Gold Wing over to the trailer in the back of his pickup truck upon R.C.’s request. The negotiated price was a few dollars shy of a gift. The bike needed a new clutch, carburetor, tires, and the exhaust pipes and seats had holes in them. Luckily, the Fairbrook County Penitentiary offered a vocational class to the inmates. After a time R.C. was more skillfully competent than the instructors were. Outdated police cars, motorcycles, and other government vehicles passed through the prison. They became instructional tools and repaired if necessary before auction.

    About two weeks into R.C.’s new job at the diner, Jimmy the guard came in to the diner one early morning for breakfast. He usually ate there at least twice a week, but he wanted to give R.C. his space. He did not want him to feel like he was checking up on him. Jimmy called his Uncle Sly every evening to do that. As Jimmy walked into the diner, R.C. immediately made eye contact with him as he looked up from his egg scrambling duties. Both men smiled at each other like old friends and Jimmy greeted him saying, “Hey R.C., how’s it going?”

    “Going good Jimmy,” R.C. said, glancing back at his eggs. “Going real good man.”

    “It’s great to see you out here. How does it feel?”

    “Feels good. Real good. Step one, ya know? Do a little time here and on to step two. I been working on that bike.”

    “It’s a real piece of work, huh?”

    “Oh it ain’t that bad. I seen worse. Some a’ them copper bikes that came into the shop that had been laid down make this one seem brand new. Your Uncle Sly is a real good fella. Set me up real nice here and even fronted me some cash to buy a couple of parts. Waitress is running late this morning and Sly worked late, so I’m doubling as the wait staff till Sheila gets in. What ya gonna have?”

    “Did Sly teach you how to make his special house breakfast sandwich yet?”

    “Oh yeah. Made at least twenty something of them already. You want coffee or juice?

    “Coffee.”

    “Back in a jiffy,” R.C. said as he filled out a ticket. When he came back with the coffee he said, “I put the meats on the grill and dropped the hash browns in the fryer, should be a couple minutes till I need to put the eggs on. Timing is everything with this sandwich here. All comes out hot at the same time. You need cream?”

    “Yeah, please,” Jimmy said. “And the container here is out of artificial sweetener. Would you grab me some?” When R.C. handed him the cream and sweetener Jimmy asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, what is step two of your plan?”

    “Glad you asked. I was actually going to ask you a favor to help me out with that. Let me get those eggs going and I’ll be right back with your food.” When R.C. came back, he refilled Jimmy’s coffee and set his plate in front of him accompanied with a napkin and utensils.

    “Whoa!” Jimmy said looking at the massive sandwich. “Looks better than when Sly makes it, and he invented it.”

    “Don’t tell him,” R.C. said with a grin, “but I’ve heard that more than once.” Turning serious R.C. continued as Jimmy tore into the meal saying, “When I get the bike fixed and I’m all settled up with Sly, step number two involves finding an old friend of mine.” Luckily, Jimmy was looking into his coffee as the words “old friend” rolled off R.C.’s tongue because as he said the words his eyes could not hide their evil intentions. “He wrote me my first ten years in the pen, but the letters quit after a while and I don’t know what happened to him or where he is now,” R.C. lied. “Would it be possible for one of your copper buddies to run his name and find out where he is?”

    “I don’t see why not,” Jimmy said. “I got a friend who owes me a favor. Write his name on a napkin or something and I’ll get him to run it.”

    “I appreciate it man,” R.C. said as he looked up at the door. “Oh good, Sheila’s here. Enjoy your breakfast Jimmy; I gotta get over to the grill.”

    “All right R.C. Keep up the good work.”

Chapter 5

   The Sleepy Cove Marina was its normally uneventful self the following morning and Benny awoke a little past noon. Seconds after his eyes opened, the coffee pot was fast at work producing Benny’s wake up juice. While the brew reached its final stage of readiness Benny walked to the office, said good morning to the owner Donny, who told him it was actually the afternoon, and grabbed the morning edition of the
Tilley Bee
. There was not a mention of the crucifixion.

    At the scene the preceding night, the next steps proceeded without Benny. Vernon’s boys sealed the scene with a radius wide enough to pick up any shoe prints or tire marks the perpetrator might have left behind. The photographer did his thing, and all aspects of the surrounding outdoor area were carefully and quickly scrutinized in the event wind or any other type of weather might destroy the available evidence. They searched the entrance and exit routes as well. A search for artifacts and traces of odd elements that could possibly provide clues also took place. Vernon wanted a minimal amount of personnel on the scene as to avoid inadvertent contamination of any items that might eventually link a suspect to the crime. The process of recording all of the evidence and the comings and goings of all involved took most of the night.

    Instead of heading back to the lonesome house with the peculiar brick red picket fence, Benny wrestled his body and mind back to the boat. Once on the boat the fridge called his name and he grabbed a frosty adult beverage and plopped down in one of his rocking lounge chairs on the outdoor deck.

    Benny’s mind creaked and rocked with the boat and his thoughts of murder. In his mind it was one thing to shoot, stab, strangle, or beat a man to death. To hang a body in a crucifixion pose after the fact added another element to the demented act. Quickly finishing his first drink, he prepared a cooler with enough ammo to get him through the mental war and into bed. The cooler also made a great ottoman. His thoughts turned to the binoculars and items attached to the right side of the body and it took one too many a stiff bourbon drink before he decided he was befuddled. His night ended there.

    Benny poured himself a cup of Joe into his favorite mug, picked up the cordless phone, and dialed Jerry Lee’s number. It sounded as if Jerry Lee was on the move as he answered, “
Tilley Bee
?”

    “Are you brain dead?” Benny asked.

    “I’ve been expecting this call all morning, Benny. It was too late to go in today’s paper,” Jerry Lee retorted.

    “Don’t even try to play this fucking game with me paperboy. I know, and you know, that the paper does not go into print until 4:20 a.m. What are you playing with here?”

    “Benny,” Jerry Lee uttered, “I don’t think this town is ready for a front page crucifixion story. Yesterday’s lead story was about a ninety year old woman and her award winning squash recipe.”

    “When did you become the town’s conscience?” Benny asked.

    “Give me today, Benny. I wanted to give Vernon a day to catch this Louis von Sick Throat. If we don’t have a suspect by tomorrow’s edition, I will disclose it to the town. Until then, can you keep your mouth shut?”

    “All right. God, I love your stupid ass curse conversions.”

    “Thank you,” Jerry Lee said.

    Benny drank his coffee quicker than usual, the buzz kicked in, and he was off. Even though he had the sweet phone conversation with Jerry Lee, he decided to pay him a personal visit as well. He walked into the
Tilley Bee
office as if he owned the place and strolled into Jerry’s office unannounced.

    “What is my favorite paper pusher doing?” Benny asked as he made himself at home in Jerry’s office.

    Jerry’s head popped up from his typing duties and he said, “I knew you would come down here, Benny. I thought we discussed this earlier?”

    “I guess we did,” Benny said with nonchalance. “I just wanted to make sure you knew I wasn’t fucking around.”

    “Benny, you never shimmy around,” Jerry confided.

    “I know I am not an official part of this investigation, but who do you think is going to crack the case, Jerry?”

    “You are, Benny,” Jerry said with resolve.

    “Of course I am, Jerry.”

Chapter 6

    Sly strolled in a half-hour before the throng of lunch goers arrived with a smile on his face. He was a white Mr. Miyagi from the
Karate Kid
and the Quaker Oatmeal man rolled into one tubby little package. He had not felt nearly as rested in years as it was nearly impossible to find a cook that could outdo him. Customers don’t frequent diners four and five times a week for mediocre victuals. Sly opened and closed the diner six days a week. It was years since he saw
The
Price is Right
from the comfort of his Lazy Boy. There was not a worry in his heart that R.C. would cross him. The motorcycle was still a few parts and two tires away from being ready for the road, and anybody who talked to R.C. for more than three minutes knew he wasn’t going anywhere without the bike. Sly knew he itched to get somewhere, and he figured he would move on in a month, give or take a couple of weeks. He also knew ex-cons generally did not like to live in the shadow of the prison that held them for long, if at all.

    When Sly traversed the doorway, it was as if Norm had just entered the bar on the television show
Cheers
as the patrons bellowed his name in unison. He did a lap around the room, shaking a few hands, engaging in simple banter with customers finishing late breakfasts or beating the oncoming lunch crowd. When he made it back to the kitchen, he noticed that R.C. fully prepped for the upcoming rush and the place was spic and span with the dirty breakfast dishes and utensils a distant memory. R.C. was under the sink, tightening a joint in the piping, and did not see Sly behind him.

    “R.C.?” Sly called gently as not to frighten him. R.C. slid his head and arms out from under the colossal stainless steel sink and stood, unfurling like an ostrich pulling its head out of a hole. “You trying to get employee of the month?” Sly said with a laugh.

    “No sir, just fixing a little drip. I think I got her though.”

    “Looks like everything’s set to go here for lunch.”

    “Yes sir. I done just as you told me. I memorized that list you made me. Don’t even have to look at it no more.”

    “R.C.,” Sly said with a sigh. “Is it possible for you to stop calling me sir? I’m not that much older than you.”

    “No sir,” R.C. responded. “You been real good to me and I tend to show you respect any way I can while I’m here.”

    “All right. Not a problem. Grab one of your cigarettes there R.C. and let’s have a talk out back real quick before the folks show up for lunch.”

    “Did I do something wrong Sly?” R.C. asked with concern.

    “No. No. God no. Just the opposite.” Outside, R.C.’s concern dissipated as he lit his cigarette, curious as to what Sly wanted to talk to him about in private. “R.C.,” Sly began. “I know we don’t know each other too well—and you haven’t let me down—just like Jimmy said you wouldn’t. I can tell that you’re itching something fierce to get the hell out of Dodge. The way I’ve figured it, you probably need three to four more weeks a’ pay to put that bike back together and leave yourself with a few bucks for gas. Am I right?”