Chapter 2
The mess that was Kate’s office turned into a mission of stacks for Ron. He made four and started with the biggest stack: A stack of papers that he considered useless to finding out what happened to Kate. These were old, irrelevant cases and made up over half the ones he quickly scanned that morning. The second stack was the ones he considered possibly useful, but not in an immediately relevant way. That made up more than half the remaining stuff he ferreted through. The third stack was smaller than a phonebook and was made up of active or recent cases and people who owed Kate money. His final stack was all the raunchy pictures Kate had taken over the years for clients. A collection of wives, husbands, and their lovers in delicate situations. Ron figured if nothing turned up elsewhere he could start tracking those people down and twisting fingers.
That, and Kate isn’t the only pervert in the world.
Fortunately Kate had been forced to go through some of it before his murder and throw out a lot of papers out of sheer necessity. There just was no more room in the office for both Kate’s rapidly expanding waistline and more of his notes. But sorting everything out had taken Ron and his dad more than the better part of the day. Once he’d sorted everything in the office he went upstairs to the apartment and searched for anything valuable or helpful. The verdict there was a no, unless it was hidden in the safe he couldn’t guess the combination for. In the nightstand by Kate’s bed there was a .38 caliber revolver and an ankle holster for it. Ron tried it on and decided he couldn’t be too careful. Kate certainly hadn’t been too careful.
“Where are the rest of his guns and other effects? Watch, lighter? He didn’t leave them here.”
Winston shrugged. “They didn’t find them on him.”
Ron nodded and stored that away. He would recognize Kate’s watch and lighter anywhere. That meant whoever had them…
Kate had converted one drawer of his office desk into a humidor for his cigars. Ron saw to keeping them humidified and looked through the whisky bottles the next drawer up. Cheap throat burners that would probably do more good starting a fire. Once more he found himself looking through case files. Almost everything recent had been outside of town, in New Orleans, in Mobile, and in Jackson. Far from town, and far from where he’d been found. Nothing extraordinary in them. He put the stack neatly in the drawer that previously contained cheap booze as his stomach rumbled angrily.
“Lunch?” He asked. His father nodded.
When they stepped out into the street, Ron locked the door behind him and looked up at the building. Memories of the time spent with that ornery old cuss washed over him and his eyes watered. How could someone actually murder the old man? It was true that his investigations often upended lives but he was only exposing the truth. He never fabricated evidence, never treated anyone unfairly. People paid him to find the truth and that was what he did. Despite all his warts and flaws he stuck to that. Now ROn aimed to shine the truth on whatever cockroach had killed him.
They went down the street a ways to a place called DOnnelly’s Diner. Owned by and named after Bob Donnelly it was much improved from before Ron last ate there. Back then it was like eating grease that was food-flavored. Apparently the effort to improve the town was underway enough that you could actually find grits in your grits at the diner instead of just buttery grit-flavored water. But his thoughts on the food were pushed aside when he saw her. A woman he didn’t know but immediately wanted to. If she was from town he had been staying in the wrong part of town.
She was about five and a half feet tall, with wavy auburn hair, and sitting at a stool having the healthy world renowned lunch of coffee and a cigarette. The longer smoke was held between her slender fingers, smoke curling up out of it as she read the paper in front of her. With only a side view of her Ron’s attention turned down a bit from her face to her breasts, which stood out proudly, stretching our her shirt. The fabric was strained by the size of them in a way that kept Ron’s attention for a long moment that seemed only a blink to him. She had the kind of body for a pinup or a stag magazine: curvy in all the right places. Ron excused himself from the booth with his father to go introduce himself.
“You look like you could lose a light,” Ron said as he sat at the stool next to her and glanced at her fingers. No ring of any kind.
“This one is lit,” she said, fixing her blue eyes on him. He smiled at her.
“I meant for the next one. Ron Cavanaugh.”
“Audrey Carmen,” she took his offered hand. “Who says there is a next one?”
“I think our conversation is going to last longer than what’s left of that cigarette.”
“Really.” It wasn’t a question but rather came out like an accusation. “Well, Ron Cavanaugh, what are we going to talk about?”
“You, of course. My new favorite subject. Where are you from? What do you do?”
Her grin was equal parts malice and amusement. “What and who, I imagine.” She was too fast for Ron.
“All right, I wasn’t going to start by going there, but it would be useful information to have.” Ron produced his lighter as she put her cigarette out in the ash tray.
Audrey looked him up and down, focusing for a moment on his jacket. “Another time, flyboy. I’ve got to get back to work.” She patted his hand as she stepped off the stool.
“Well, how will I find you for another time?” He asked as she paid for her coffee and started to walk out. She was getting away — that whole too fast thing again. But Ron couldn’t find a good way to stop her as she had made her intent to get out of the diner clear.
She turned, stepping out of the door backwards with a heart stopping grin. “Chet’s trucking or this diner.”
Ron watched her leave until he couldn’t see her anymore. Her hips and behind were perfect, topping a lengthy pair of legs. Ron felt he could get spoiled by legs like that and wished he could see more of them, and more of where they came together. He sighed and started back toward the booth where he dad was sitting, and noticed that he’d been watching and was smirking at him.
“Good luck with that one,” a voice said off to Ron’s right. He turned to see the younger brother of his class’s idiot, Donald Davis. He was affectionately and derogatorily known as Donny Donno, because usually Donny “donno.” His brother was Danny “Durag” because he always had a stupid cloth wrapped around his head and pretended he was a gang leader.
“Why’s that, Donny?” He asked. He didn’t much care for whatever answer Donny would produce and half wanted to blame him for Audrey leaving. His presence certainly made Ron want to split.
“Donno,” he said with a grin. “Probably because nobody has managed to get on or under that one since she came down and better looking goofs have tried.”
“Like yourself?” Ron didn’t feel the need to defend his handsome jaw to this goober.
Donny shrugged. “Danny tried to make a go of it.”
“Oh Donny, I donno if you realize this, but any woman that would have your brother is immediately taken off the list of women I would have.”
Somehow Ron got the feeling Danny didn’t know what he meant when the man tried being belligerant in reply and failed. Ron didn’t have time for him or his belligerance and walked back to the booth and sat across from his father to finish his lunch. He would never have time for one of the Dunno Brothers. In high school, before Donny was Donny Donno, Danny was Danny Dunno. It was a running theme for them. They were a member of that class that he’d learned to ignore. Not because of their station, or upbringing, but because of how they carried themselves. The Dunno Brothers carried themselves like common hoods and respected only the thuggish hoods they associated with.
There were guys like that in the service, too. Belliferant, down right mean on occasion, and disrespectful turds. They usually had a crap job and an inflated sense of importance and they’d control whatever resource they could get authority over and be a real pain in the ass about distributing it to people who needed it. The word toadie described them pretty well as they always answered to one guy, the kind of the creeps. That guy was usually a real rake and a big talker but just as useless and spineless as any of his lesser rakes when cornered and without help.
In high school that guy had always been Danny Durag, a role he’d inherited from a former elementary school scoundrel named Vern SCott. Vern quit being the bully after some lesser kids got fed up with him and punneled som good behavior into him. He became a loner when his fellow wolves abandoned him and eventually turned into a dope fiend. At some point that habit put him at odds with a real rough crowd and they had to drag his body out of the abandoned rock quarry north of town. It wasn’t a story the town was likely to soon forget.
The Dunno Brothers had a pretty simple operation. They’d hang out with any kid they thought was cool — usually the ones who smoked weed during school hours — and they’d pick on the squares and pocket protector brigate. Guys that couldn’t, or wouldn’t, fight back all that often. Girls received rude compliments and suggestions, and learned not to go on dates with guys like them — guys who would steal second and try for third even when few girls wanted anything to do with their advances. The ones that did stick around were usually doped up to the eyeballs and had a reputation almost as long as the Dunno brothers thought their manhoods were.
Their names, along with a currently jailed associate named Pat Lock, appeared in Kate’s notes but only in passing. Kate was aware of them but not impressed. That made them persons of interest for ROn if they could lead to someone more important, to the current king of the toadies, who no doubt would be working for some real criminal or another. No one with any sense or of any threat to Ron’s investigation would trust these knuckleheads with any sort of real operation. They were unreliable on their best days and downright foolhardy on the rest.
If they were involved, and Ron considered that a big if, this would be a lot easier than it seemed at this juncture. Eventually one or both of them would run their mouth off and that’d be the end of it. Neither brother could keep a secret or resist the urge to brag. That was their way, and they would talk about anything to anyone if it made them feel cool. He hoped that would be their downfall.
He finished lunch with his dad in silent thought. There was a lot to do and a lot of people to talk to and he was forming up an idea in his mind about how to organize it.
