Little White Lies Page 19

  “Pack your bags, son,” Ridgeway said. “And get gone.”

  “Why’d you kill her?” I said. “As a favor to Wells?”

  “You got sand in your ears?” Ridgeway said. “The woman kilt herself.”

  Bliss snatched the gun out and hammered a blow against my left shoulder. It didn’t leave a pleasant sensation, but I kept my feet. I didn’t look at Hawk. I didn’t want anything to pass between us. If Bliss tried to kill me, he’d be stopped.

  “Sir,” Ridgeway said. “You wouldn’t be so smug if you knew what Christians face today. A man like Mr. Wells, with his contacts and experience, is our only hope. He is a warrior of faith who does what needs to be done.”

  “Selling guns to crooks?” I said. “I’m no biblical scholar. I’m missing your message.”

  “Perhaps the good brother can clear it up for you, sir.”

  Ridgeway kept on grinning and patted me on the shoulder on the way out. After he was gone, Bliss cocked his pistol with his thumb and reached for my upper arm. He nodded to Hawk and Hawk stepped forward, getting my other arm. I didn’t fight it, as a Glock was aimed at the back of my skull. I tend to notice details like that.

  Hawk opened the door and Bliss kicked my legs out from underneath me. I tumbled down the rickety steps and into the dirt. Four of the guards stood around an oil-drum fire, warming their hands. Ridgeway’s car disappeared down a dirt road.

  I got to my feet and the men formed a little circle around me. Bliss tossed one of the men his gun and made a running leap, taking out my legs. I rolled to my feet and hands and caught his slick bald head in a headlock, twisting it like a prize steer. He groaned and fought, pummeling my ribs with his sizable fists. His head was hairless and oily and loosened from my hands. He snatched a bit of my hair and drove a right into my jaw. There was a bit of a flash behind my eyes, but nothing I hadn’t felt before. We circled each other in the firelight, Bliss feinting into me and then darting back. His nose was bleeding down into his lips and across his bright smile. The other men cheered for him and someone tossed him a big piece of wood.

  I slowed my breathing, watching his hands lower from his head. A crooked nail embedded in the two-by-four glinted in the firelight. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hawk standing there, arms crossed over his chest, right hand brushing against the pistol on his hip. Bliss stepped into me with the piece of wood and connected with a lot of force, the nail stabbing into my upper arm. The men hooted.

  Bliss held the wood high and swung for the cheap seats, the nail missing my face by less than an inch. I caught the wood in my hands and twisted it away from him. I tossed it far into the woods, wiped the blood from my face, and moved in toward him. I punched him one, two, three times in the solar plexus and face. It felt very much like punching an oak tree. He spit blood and moved in, missing a shot and then landing a solid thump in my kidney. More bright light. More yelling from the acolytes.

  I tried to keep the other men in view, but someone hit me with something hard and solid from behind. The blow was so hard it knocked me to my knees. Bliss kicked me in the stomach and reached for my hair, pulling me into the dirt. I felt blood coming from the back of my head. I could taste blood in my mouth. I didn’t like the feeling one bit.

  “Shoot him,” someone yelled. “Kill him, Brother. Kill him.”

  Bliss was tired, sucking in air hard, wavering on his feet. Hawk pushed himself off the truck and walked forward, his hand still touching the gun.

  I held up a hand in his general direction. Hawk stayed put. My eyes connected with his for a brief moment. I made the briefest shake of my head. Save for the firelight, it was dark. Bliss was too tired to take notice. He wiped the blood from his face and spit on the ground.

  Two men came for me, clasping my arms.

  “Send him back to where you found him,” Hawk said.

  Hawk led them back to the rental car, and they shoved me inside. The trunk closed with a solid slam. I heard the sound of my own breathing and muffled talk outside.

  Soon the car started and rattled down the dirt road.

  We did not stop for a long while until they left me inside by the interstate. The trunk had been popped and the keys were still in the ignition.

  48

  I drove myself to the closest emergency room, waited nearly two hours, and then got stitched up by the intern on the night shift. He was a lanky Indian man who didn’t say much as he worked. As I was slipping back into my semblance of a shirt, he turned to me and said, “You slipped and fell on a bar of soap?”

  “The soap was very slick.”

  “And sharp,” he said.

  “Would you believe I cut myself shaving?”

  “In cases like this, I’m supposed to call the police.”

  I nodded.

  “You will be very sore for a few days,” he said. “Some of the bruises and cuts are very deep. You need to take it easy. Rest. Drink water.”

  “Thanks for putting the stuffing back in, Doc.”

  He nodded and shook my hand, and I drove to the closest liquor store for a bottle of Wild Turkey. I then drove back to the Holiday Inn and took a long and painful shower. I wrapped myself in a towel and examined my chest, back, and arms in the mirror. It wasn’t pretty, but it wasn’t that horrible, either. I poured some whiskey into a short glass, turned on the television, and sat at the edge of the bed to view The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

  I thought about calling Susan. But I could not lie to her.

  I hoped Hawk would call to let me know he was safe. If he’d done anything to interfere, they would have killed us both.

  After a large second whiskey, the Grinch had just had a terrible, awful idea on what to do with all those Whos down in Whoville. I wondered if he wanted to beat them all with a nail-studded stick. I drank more of the whiskey. I checked the lock on the door, placed a chair under the knob, and lay down in bed. I felt like I’d gone twelve rounds with a sharp-toothed Mike Tyson. On TV, the Grinch had finished his robbing and had rethought what he’d done. He rode the sleigh with his trusty dog Max down into the village to dine on roast beast and sing carols.

  The whiskey was working. I sang with them.

  I fixed another drink. I sang some more. Being loopy had a nice, calming effect.

  I thought of home and of Susan. I thought about Pearl snoring at the edge of my bed.

  Sometime in the middle of the night, I walked to the bathroom and drank a gallon of water. I was watching the cars pass on the Georgia interstate when the phone rang.

  “How you doin’, slugger?”

  “Dandy.”

  “Take more than that.”

  “Yep.”

  Hawk hung up. I lay back down and tried my best to sleep.

  49

  It was still dark when I got up, dressed, and drove two hours to Lamarr, Georgia, to find Tedy Sapp. It wasn’t easy. The Bath House Bar and Grill was now a florist and the local cop I’d known had moved away. I used an online database to run down Sapp’s latest phone number and address. It didn’t take long before I found him sitting at the edge of the bar at a place called the Paddock Tavern. He was drinking coffee, reading glasses down on his nose, and going through receipts. After he wrapped me in a big bear hug, I learned he’d been promoted from security to manager.

  “The owner thinks all gays can cook,” Tedy said. “And decorate.”

  “Can’t you?”

  “I’m much better at shooting people,” Tedy said. “But I know everyone in town. And I’m good at running the local talent.”

  “Still dating the ophthalmologist?” I said.

  “No.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Actually, we’re married,” he said. “As of last year. Small wedding. Two groom’s cakes. Honeymooned at Disney World.”

  “Weren’t you Eighty-second Airborne?”

 
He nodded. “We just can’t help it,” Tedy said. “It’s the happiest place on earth.”

  Tedy looked pretty much the same as I’d seen him last. He and some other friends had joined me to help clean up a town called Potshot in Arizona. He was just as big and muscled now, his arms nearly splitting the tight black T-shirt he wore, with very blond, almost white, hair. He looked like the Hulked-out version of Guy Fieri.

  “What’s the job?”

  “Why would you say that?” I said. “Maybe I was just driving through Georgia and thought I’d stop off at dear old Lamarr.”

  Tedy looked skeptical. He took a sip of coffee, walked behind the bar, and poured me a cold beer in a frosty mug. The paddle fans overhead twirled away like those in a turn-of-the-century hotel.

  “Since when do you travel without Susan?” he said. “Or that dog?”

  “Hawk is with me.”

  “Wow,” Tedy said. “Things must be bad.”

  I made a so-so gesture with the flat of my hand. “We may have run into a few issues south of Atlanta.”

  “Yeah?” he said. “It’s written all over your face.”

  “I cut myself shaving.”

  “You shaving with a weed whacker?” Tedy said. He grinned and drank some more coffee. A waitress walked up to him and asked if he had time to talk to their sales rep about a delivery. “I’ll call him back,” he said.

  Tedy rested his forearms on the bar and turned to me.

  “You’re a busy man,” I said. “Married, settled down, a respectable job. Maybe this isn’t for you.”

  “Excuse my French,” he said. “But how the fuck do you know what is or isn’t for me?”

  “Hawk isn’t on our side.”

  “And how does that work?”

  “He’s on our side,” I said. “But he can’t admit he’s with us.”

  “I wouldn’t admit I was with you, either.”

  I smiled. “Just how do you get your hair that damn white?”

  “I shampoo with Clorox,” he said. “What’s the job?”

  “A woman who hired me in Boston was killed down in Rockdale County,” I said. “People said it was a suicide. But she had a complicated relationship with a local con man who’s running guns for a big church down there.”

  “Oh, that old story,” Tedy said. “Hard to keep up with all the crooked preachers down south.”

  “Don’t you know you gays are ruining our American values?”

  “I did three tours with the Eighty-second,” he said. “I’m married. I go to church. I pay taxes. I’m damn fine with my American values.”

  “The locals are made up of a bunch of hired guns,” I said. “Some of them very good. Some of them are just local talent. Hawk joined up to find out more about the operation and what happened to my client.”

  “Hold on,” Tedy said. “Why would a church need a bunch of mercenaries and weapons?”

  “They claim to be helping Christians overseas.”

  “You don’t buy it?”

  “What do I know?” I said. “I’m just a liberal Yankee interloper.”

  “Lord help us.”

  “I could use a little backup,” I said. “While I sleuth.”

  “To be your white Hawk?” he said.

  “No,” I said. “To be my gay, white Hawk. With cooler hair.”

  “Hawk doesn’t have hair.”

  “True,” I said. “Just don’t tell him.”

  I drank the rest of the beer and reached for my wallet. Tedy shook me off. He sipped his hot coffee and studied his reflection over the booze bottles behind the bar. Little bright lights twinkled through the racks of booze. After a few moments of introspection, he nodded.

  “You’re in?” I said.

  “Let me talk to the hubby,” he said. “And grab my guns.”

  “There you go again,” I said. “Quoting John Wayne.”

  50

  I thought it best to change hotels. Not that the Holiday Inn’s service wasn’t excellent. I just took exception to the EDGE people knowing where I stayed and trying to poke a few more holes in me during my stay. I paid the bill, packed my bags, and walked down the steps to where Tedy had parked next to my rental. He drove a brand-new Ford F-250 painted a bright blue with both a rainbow flag and deer-hunting bumper sticker.

  As I crossed the lot, I saw he was speaking to two men in suits. One of them was Bobby Nguyen. He looked fine and dandy in his dark blue suit, with his slicked-down hair and government-issue sunglasses. The other was Agent Cardillo, whom I’d also met at the Boston Field Office.

  “Spenser?” Nguyen said. “We need to talk.”

  “I tried to talk to you at the Varsity,” I said. “I even offered to buy you onion rings.”

  “Can we please cut the crap?” he said. “What exactly went on last night?”

  Nguyen nodded to Tedy and Cardillo as he walked toward the motel office. I joined him. The air was brisk and cold late that afternoon. It wasn’t yet five, but the sky had already started to turn dark. I pulled my ball cap down lower for fear it might blow away.

  “You know we have Greater Faith and the EDGE camp on surveillance,” he said. “How’d the meeting go with Dr. Ridgeway and Brother Bliss?”

  “Lovely,” I said. “They’ve asked me to testify on Sunday. They heard I might lay hands on some parishioners.”

  “Looks like they laid some hands on you.”

  “Couple guys,” I said. “And one big stick.”

  “This isn’t good,” Nguyen said. “Or funny. Do you know what my grandmother used to say about situations like this?”

  “Actually, I have no idea,” I said. “I never met your grandmother.”

  “She said adversity brings wisdom,” he said. “She was Vietnamese. We talk like that. I’m hoping you may have a different perspective after last night. And that you’ll be leaving town and let us handle this ginormous shit show.”

  “My ancestors were Irish,” I said. “They taught me to never like a beating.”

  “What happened to your other friend?” he said. “The big black guy?”

  “I don’t describe my friends that way,” I said. “You’re just a pushy ATF agent. Not a pushy Asian guy.”

  Nguyen made a sour face. He shook his head and just stood there, right hand deep in his suit pocket. The wind fluttered his tie and he snatched it, placing it inside his coat. “Just what did Ridgeway and Bliss say to you?”

  “They swore my client Connie Kelly was a dear friend to the church,” I said. “Ridgeway said he knew for a fact she shot herself.”

  “Of course he did.”

  “We both know these guys are running guns up to Boston,” I said. “I don’t care where they get them or why they ship them north. I only want to know what happened to Connie and get her money back.”

  “All that will shake out,” he said. “We just need to catch them in the act.”

  “Mind sharing a few details?”

  “Did Reverend Ridgeway explain why they were doing all that training?”

  “He said it was some kind of Christian call to arms,” I said. “I tried to ask more, but it was tough to talk after I’d been designated a human piñata.”

  Tedy stood in the dark, talking to Cardillo. Something Tedy said made Cardillo laugh. He pointed out the sticker on Tedy’s truck and Tedy said something else. They both were laughing a lot now. The spirit of cooperation.

  “We don’t know what Ridgeway told you,” Nguyen said. “But I’m sure it was something like ‘Get the fuck out of town or we’ll kill you.’”

  I shrugged. “Crudely paraphrased.”

  “These guys aren’t kidding,” Nguyen said. “Ridgeway is a certifiable nutjob with priors. He spent most of his life in a federal pen. But Bliss? Oh, man. He’s another story. What concerns us is another fucking Waco situat
ion. If you haven’t been watching the news, separatists and militias are back in vogue.”

  “Been a while since Oklahoma City,” I said.

  “Some of these people don’t even remember it,” Nguyen said. “I knew it. I had two good friends die. This movement, these people, are pretty much preaching the same message.”

  “I think it’s a different message,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Old-fashioned greed.”

  “You willing to put a wager on that?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Why not?”

  “You must be the most stubborn son of a bitch I ever met.”

  “Shucks,” I said.

  “These people killed your client and John Gredoni,” Nguyen said. “Just what do you think they’ll do to an asshole like you?”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “We could have you arrested.”

  “You could,” I said. “But you won’t.”

  He stared at me for a good thirty seconds before he waved to Cardillo to bring the car around. They left fast and wordlessly.

  “How’d it go?” Tedy said.

  “Lovely.”

  51

  We rented a suite down the interstate, just off Powers Ferry Road. The new hotel offered two large beds with a sitting room, a slight bump up from the Holiday Inn. Tedy set out a couple plates and silverware and napkins he’d borrowed from housekeeping. We’d stopped off at a Fresh Market and bought two roasted chickens with sides of macaroni and cheese, coleslaw, and a six-pack of ale from the Atlanta Brewing Company. I figured the ale would go well with the little cornbread loaves that came with the chicken.

  “Last night I got drunk and watched The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.”

  “I would expect nothing less,” Tedy said.

  “How’d you spend your night?”

  “If I told you, it would only stereotype me.”

  “As a gay man or a pistoleer?”

  “Both.”

  Tedy didn’t drink, which was good, as it left all the beer for me. As we ate, I helped myself to a second bottle and walked to the window. I watched a long row of traffic along Interstate 275. We were about a forty-minute drive from Rockdale County. If we were needed, we could be there faster. I held out a little hope from Nguyen that the Feds might come through in a pinch.