George Wier - The Last Call

It was the best goodbye I’d ever had.

Within five minutes after we left the sky overhead had become overcast with immense, dark clouds. Lightning played across the sky to the east. We all knew we were in for it.

We crossed Austin from east to west, then got back on the Loop going south. Our destination? My house.

It was sort of interesting being home without my own car. Mine was back at Dock’s house in Killeen.

Then it hit me. Anyone trying to figure out who Dock was or how he’d gotten where we left him would begin by checking into his home on the outskirts of Killeen. Which meant they’d find my car.

It was time to make a couple of phone calls and then get a move on. Well past time.

Before going inside we looked the place over as best we could. Nothing appeared to be tampered with. Hank got Dingo out of the Suburban and let her sniff around, first the front door, then the back. Nothing. I didn’t know whether or not Dingo was specially trained, but Hank seemed to act as if she had given the place her seal of approval.

Just in case, we went in through the back door.

About the time we got inside, the rain began, coming down in sheets. It had been awhile since I’d seen such a hard rain.

It didn’t appear that anything in the house had been tampered with. My fish were about half starved, so I gave them an extra dose of food.

While Julie, Hank and Dingo raided my refrigerator, I picked up the phone.

“Yallo?” The voice sounded like it was talking through a couple of jawfuls of gravel.

“Is this Mr. Neil, or Mr. Mortensson?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Bill.”

“Bill who?”

“Just Bill. This is with regard to Julie Simmons and Archie Carpin.”

Silence.

“Hello?” I said again.

“I’m here,” gravel-voice said.

“Just making sure.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s safe, for now. A couple of jokers named Jake and Freddie, whom I’ve been dying to meet, keep trying to kill her. Know anything about that?”

Silence.

“Is this Mr. Neil?” I asked.

“Neil’s dead.”

“Really? My condolences. When did he die?”

“Last week.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

“So I guess he can’t talk to me then.”

“Not unless you’ve got a crystal ball or something-connections on the other side. Son, you don’t want to get involved in this shit. It’s not exactly safe.”

“You know what’s not safe? Going around sniping at folks with deer rifles and setting dynamite charges inside of duplexes. That’s not safe at all.”

“Bill, huh? Maybe it’s your real name. Okay, listen up real close, you happy dip wad. You’ve got a woman there who is pure-dee poison. Don’t turn your back on her.”

“Thanks for the advice,” I said. “So how do we go about calling off these dogs?”

“You mean the dipshit twins? Bullets won’t stop ’em. They’re too stupid to know when to quit.”

“That’s what I thought,” I said. I looked up from my couch to see Julie leaning up against the doorway from the kitchen. Her arms were crossed under her breasts and she had a serious look on her face. Behind her I could see a tail wagging. Hank was feeding Dingo something. I wondered what it could be.

“What you think is what she wants you to think.”

I covered up the phone with my hand so gravel-voice couldn’t hear.

“Does Jolly Mortensson sound like he gargles with sandpaper?” I asked Julie

“Yeah,” she said.

I took my hand off the phone.

“Okay,” I told him. “Somehow I get the feeling that you two aren’t the best of friends.”

“I don’t have any friends, Mr. Bill. All my friends are dead.”

“I understand your nickname now.”

“What?”

“Goodbye, Jolly,” I said, and hung up.

I made another call.

I had to wade through three different people at the Sheriff’s office until I got who I was looking for: an old friend of mine, Deputy Patrick Kinsey.

“Kinsey,” he said.

“Pat. This is your old friend, Bill Travis. I need a favor.”

“Bill? Bill Travis?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn. It’s been awhile. I thought I saw you one time across the room at one of those lawyer functions my wife’s always trying to get me to go to. By the time I got over to you, you were nowhere to be found. By the way, what happened to us? We used to really knock back the suds.”

“You got married, Pat.”

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah. Guess you’re right. I did. Okay, so that makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

“So what kind of favor?”

“First, I’ll give you something.”

“Shoot,” Pat said.

“That explosion in northwest Austin last night.”

“Okay, you got me. I’m all ears.”

“You recording this?” I asked.

“Not if you say not to.”

“Okay,” I told him. “Don’t.”

“Got it.”

“Write down a name. Got a pen?”

“Sure do. Poised for writing.”

“Good. The name is Carpin, with a ‘C’.”

“Carpin. Got it. Is that a first name or a last name?”

“Last. What I’ve got for a first name is Archie. I don’t know anything else, so I’ll guess it’s maybe an Archibald. Who knows?”

“Okay. This who I’m looking for?”

“Him or a couple of his flunkies. Two names. Flunky number one is Jake Jorgenson, I think. The other is Freddie Sanderberry. You might have to flip-flop those two last names, though. I never did write any of this down, so it might be all backwards.”

“Okay.”

“Jake and Freddie blew up the duplex. They drive a late model Ford F-150 pickup, light blue. Looks like it needs a coat of paint.”

“Coat of paint, got it.”

“Okay, so if you run all this through the National Crime Information Computer, I’ll bet you get diddley-squat. But, I’m willing to bet the FBI has a file on them, especially Carpin. He runs horses and moonshine stills up in North Texas, or rather, he did.”

“Geez Louise. Got it. You’re leaving out a whole lot,” he said.

“Protecting somebody.”

“One of your special clients?”

“As I recall, you were a special client of mine once,” I said.

“Bill, did you know the guy who died. Dock Slocum?”

“Yeah. He was… a friend of a friend. One of the good ones. He’s got people up in Gunnison, Colorado, if I recall correctly. You’ll find my car when you go over to his house.”

“I was just about to head over there and have a look around. Geez, Bill, I really think you ought to come in and talk with me about this one.”

I watched as Julie turned away from me and went up the stairs. Maybe she’d heard enough.

“Can’t do that, Patrick,” I said. “I’ve just told you everything you need to know right now.”

“Somehow, I have trouble believing that.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“All right,” he said. I could hear the resignation in his voice. “Where can I reach you, Bill?”

“If I need to, I’ll be reaching you.”

“You better write down my cell phone number,” he said. He gave it to me and I took it down. I could hear some shuffling over the phone line. Probably Patrick clearing his work space. Maybe I’d lit a fire under him.

“So what’s the favor?” he asked.

“When all this is said and done I may be seriously needing your help. For my client. Possibly for me too.” There was a long silence on the other end.

“Bill. I can do just about anything except break the law. But you know that.”

“I know. Wouldn’t want you to break anything. Might want you to bend a few things, though.”

“Bending. Now that I can do, if I have to. It depends on how far.”