Jeff Sherratt - The Brimstone Murders

Though upset about Rita and just missing Bickerton at the college, I felt good about bumping into Snavley. I figured he knew that something horrible was going on at the base and he was keeping quiet about it. I couldn’t fathom why-maybe he was afraid-but whatever his reasons, it was chewing him up. And I knew it was only a matter of time before he’d come clean. A man like him couldn’t keep that kind of information bottled up inside forever. He’d explode. Already the fissures were starting to show.

I turned onto Cecilia a couple of blocks from my apartment. My head swiveled as I rolled along the dark street, checking for cars, especially ones that might hold those ugly bruisers. A few cars lined the curbs; they were empty.

Sol always said I was a little reckless, but I didn’t think the bad guys would stake out my place and wait for me to show up. They’d know there were too many neighbors with prying eyes who’d spot them-suspicious mugs lurking in the shadows-and call the law. If they were truly after me, they’d cruise the street a few times, and when they noticed a light in my window or saw the Corvette, then they might try something. The goons wouldn’t place themselves at serious risk. Hit and run was the style of all the leg breakers I’d heard about. Besides, they wouldn’t expect me to be driving an El Camino.

I pulled up to the curb in front, slipped out of the pickup, and dashed upstairs to my apartment on the second floor. The red light on the answering machine wasn’t blinking. Damn , no message from Rita. I picked up the receiver to see if the phone was working-it was. I grabbed a few things-a book, a change of clothes-and was out the door in a matter of minutes.

Arms filled, I stayed in the shadows and peered around the corner of building. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary I made a run for the El Camino. As I struggled with the junk, trying to open the driver’s side door, I sensed someone near. I was about to turn when a man slipped up behind me. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my sore ribs; no doubt the hard jab of a gun barrel.

I dropped the stuff and instinctively raised my arms.

“Hold it right there, O’Brien. Don’t move.”

The voice was familiar, too familiar. But it was a relief. A cop, Hammer; it wasn’t one of Moran’s thugs that held the gun. Over my shoulder I said, “What is this, Hammer? Gonna give me a ticket?” I looked down at my belongings in the street. “Littering?”

“What are you doing here, wise guy?”

“I live here, for chrissakes.”

“Yeah, looks like you’re moving out. Trying to escape. Where you get the El Camino? Steal it?”

Lowering my hands, I turned until we were face to face. I could smell whiskey on his stale breath. “Are you charging me with-”

“Keep your arms up, or I’ll drop you where you stand!”

“Cool it, Hammer. I’m not armed.”

“Oh yeah, not armed? What’s this here?” He opened the front of his jacket. Tucked in his belt was a snub-nosed automatic. I knew what this was. I’d been a cop. The gun was a thrown-down piece, probably lifted from some street hood, untraceable, of course. He could shoot me, plant the piece in my cold, dead hand and claim self defense.

My stomach churned. He’d get away with it.

“Turn around,” he said.

I started to talk fast: “Look, Hammer, I know you think I’m guilty of killing the old lady, and all the talk in the world won’t convince you otherwise, but until I prove differently-”

“Cut the bullshit. You’re guilty, and if I could prove it, you’d be a goner right now. But I’m not through with you.” He paused for a moment. “You’re still breathing, but that doesn’t mean you’re not dead.” He turned and disappeared into the darkness.

I pulled away from curb,and as I did I saw the detective’s unmarked car make a U-turn and drive away in the opposite direction. I breathed a sigh of relief. Hammer had been drinking, and I noticed that he hadn’t written down the plate number of the El Camino. It didn’t seem as if he was following me, but I took a roundabout way back to the dairy anyway, checking my rearview mirror every three seconds. When I felt sure that no one had tailed me, I turned on Artesia and headed straight for the dairy.

Bellowing cows and grunts and shouts from dairy workers, woke me up. My noisy bovine neighbors filled the milk barn just on the other side of the wall. The morning milking ritual was in full swing. I stumbled out of my bed in the Holstein Hilton and made my way into the kitchenette to put on a pot of coffee. The clock above the sink read 8:10.

After I got out of the shower and into my clothes, I poured my first cup of the day. I sat at the little table, hands ringing the warm mug, and let my thoughts wander. What was I going to do now? Especially about Hammer waiting for me to make one small mistake? Of course, he’d been drinking, but I felt as if he’d shoot me on sight with the slightest provocation. I’d have to be extra careful with him lurking in the shadows.

And what about Rita? Would she come back? I was carrying a ton of guilt. I should’ve come clean with her from the start. I should’ve trusted her, trusted her ability. If she did return, I’d lay it all out. Let her know why I did what I did, why I went to the base, and I’d tell her about the gun too. I shouldn’t have let Mabel get rid of it to begin with; stupid thing to do. After all, it was the murder weapon, a serious piece of evidence, and maybe the real killer left his prints or something. It was a long shot but the gun might have proven my innocence. Now the only way to clear my name would be to get Robbie back.

I took another sip. The coffee tasted bitter.

Suddenly the door burst open.

Sol’s voice boomed, “Jimmy, turn on the TV! Quick, channel nine.”

I didn’t like the sound of this. “Sol, what’s going on?”

“Turn on the goddamn TV!”

“Why?”

Sol grabbed the remote and clicked on the set. “Christ, you’ve done it now,” he said as the television warmed up. “It’s been all over the news this morning.”

“Done what? I just went to see Bickerton.”

“You went where?”

“Went to see Bickerton. I had a hunch and thought… Sol, I missed Bickerton out there, but I had a powwow with Snavley…”

“…And now the local news…”

“Shut up, Jimmy. This is it.”

A talking head filled the screen and a chill crawled up my spine. “…the young victim, identified as Robbie Farris, a client of the suspect, attorney James O’Brien, was discovered by L.A. County Sheriff’s deputies. The body was sprawled in the back of an abandoned milk truck parked on a side street just off the Pomona Freeway in a remote area of San Dimas. Farris had been shot to death with a.45 semi-automatic pistol. According to police, the victim had died last night sometime before eight p.m., and O’Brien’s fingerprints were found on the murder weapon as well as the milk truck. O’Brien, also a suspect in the murder of the victim’s mother, is considered armed and dangerous. An all-out search is underway for the missing Downey attorney…”

The newsman went on to say that the police had already talked to Peter Van Hoek. He denied knowledge of how I happened to have the truck. The film cut to Van Hoek standing in his lot pointing at rows of identical delivery trucks. “I’ve got a hundred of ’em. Can’t keep track of all of them, can I?”

“Van Hoek doesn’t want the cops or the bad guys to know he was involved.” Sol clicked off the set.

There was a big empty hole where my soul had been. Robbie was dead, and so was I. There was no hope now. I slumped to the couch and stared at my shoes, trying to concentrate on what I’d just seen, failing to make sense of it all. Hammer had seen me at my apartment at around midnight, plenty of time to shoot Robbie, snatch an El Camino somewhere, and get back to Downey. He saw me with my arms full of clothing, like I was taking it on the run. It would look bad for him if word got out that he had me in his clutches, then let me, a murderer, walk away like that. One thing was for sure: the next time he saw me, he’d shoot to kill.