Don Bruns - Stuff Dreams Are Made Of

“I should. I won’t. I’ll eventually get the questions answered, okay? But I’ll do it my way. And nobody is fleecing anybody.”

This whole adventure had been done James’s way. I kept thinking maybe we ought to consider doing it someone else’s way. I just didn’t have the answer yet.

“Okay. I’ll probably stop down later.”

I saw Crayer leave his small tent in the village and slowly walk down toward Stan’s pizza wagon.

“Maybe I could suggest we heard about Michael Bland’s death and see what kind of reaction I get. Let’s see if anyone talks about the drug overdose. And, I’m tempted to tell Crayer I saw him down on South Beach at the time of the shooting. What do you think he’d say to that?”

James shook his head. “Skip, your questions have already stirred these guys up. I don’t think you can do that. That’s practically accusing him of being involved. Try the subtle approach, pard. Take my lead.”

“Yeah. Mr. Smooth.”

He frowned.

“James, the more I think about it, the more I think Crayer might have been involved. I’m serious. He did not want to be recognized. As soon as he realized I was looking at him, he ducked.”

“Skip,” James gave me a grave look. “I love you like a brother, but don’t fuck this up. We’re in a position to make a lot of money. We’re in a position to learn a lot about how a major business operation runs. And, we’re in a position to find out if anyone in this group is responsible for multiple murders. Let it play out, pard. Okay? We’ll get all the information we need. Just don’t fuck it up.”

“I’m confused.” Styles looked back and forth at each of us. “What exactly are we looking for tonight?” He asked the question that really needed to be answered. “A little excitement? A chance to ruffle some feathers? Or are you two trying to point the finger at the rev’s henchmen?” He pulled his hat down on his forehead. “If I’m going to be a party to this charade, tell me what you’re trying to accomplish.”

“Oh, I’d like to know if one of these guys is a murderer. I’d like to find out what makes this place tick, but what I really want to find out is who shot my tires out. I want to find out who stole our money. I want to find out why they don’t want us back next year. I think Crayer was very clear about that, and I think the letter was very clear about that.” James watched Crayer slowly walking down the path. “I don’t want to walk up to these guys and start pointing fingers, but there’s got to be a subtle way to get the information. That’s what I’m looking for.”

“Fair enough. I’ll help you guys.”

Styles had been such a big help up to now! As far as I was concerned he hadn’t done anything. I asked the question that had been building up inside of me. “And how are you going to do that? How are you going to help us?”

“Look, if Thomas LeRoy paid for four new tires on your truck, he knows who shot them out.”

“You think?”

“I’ll guaranfuckingtee it.”

“Maybe it’s just that he doesn’t want anyone to rock the boat. Maybe there was a concern that our complaining would upset church festivities. That would rock the boat, wouldn’t it? He’s buying new tires just to shut us up so we don’t scare off the crowd. Can’t afford to have a dip in the collection plate.”

“You’re right,” Styles nodded. “They don’t like anyone to rock the boat. And somebody has. However, Thomas LeRoy will try to smooth things over. But there’s another side to this. LeRoy knows what happened. You see, there’s nothing that goes on during this four days that he and Cash don’t know about. Nothing.”

“They know everything?”

“They do.”

“Bullshit. They don’t know everything.”

“You’re a naive jackass, Skipper. These boys are pros. LeRoy and the rev both know what happened to you. And, they know who did it.”

“Okay,” I said. “Maybe they do know more than I think. Hell, they know that you’re back in the camp, and I could tell by Cashdollar’s reaction that he is not happy to see you.”

“Well — ”

“Why?”

“I told you. He thinks I was running a scam.”

“It’s more than that isn’t it? What does Cashdollar know? What does Thomas LeRoy know?”

I thought he’d spill the information, but James jumped in.

“So how are you going to get that information?”

“The office.”

“What office?” I hadn’t seen an office.

“It’s back behind the tent. A semitrailer with a padlocked door and steps leading up to it. We check out his office.”

I’d seen it, but thought nothing of it. “That’s an office?”

“It’s the nerve center for everything that goes on around here.”

I didn’t know whether to believe him or not. He was an idiot and to trust him would be the dumbest thing we could do. I looked him square in the eyes. “And of course it’s easy to just walk in and get all the information you want. I’m sure a business this size just closes at the end of the day and trusts the faithful not to break into the office. Come on, Daron, the place would have to be under lock and key and it would have to be guarded all night long.”

Styles lit one of his small cigars and flicked the match at me. “No, you’re wrong, smart ass. Actually they don’t have the best security in the world, but it is guarded from midnight till six in the morning by — guess who?”

Who the hell would Cashdollar hire to watch his office?

“Come on, Skipper, James. Think.” He blew a stream of gray smoke at me.

I thought. “One of the full-timers?”

“Give the Skipper a silver dollar.”

“So your idea is?”

“I know the players. They’re not the brightest guys in the world. I’ve got a plan. I can get by security.”

“You can get by security? What? You’ve got a gun?”

Styles looked at me and gave me a sorrowful glance. “Skipper — ”

“Don’t call me Skipper. It’s Skip.”

“Skipper, I don’t need a gun. I can find the information you’re looking for. Actually it’s quite simple.”

What a horse’s ass. “You can break into the office?”

“I can. You can be as sarcastic as you want, but I know something that you don’t. I know something that very few people know.”

That scared me. The fact that James had involved Styles scared me.

“Thomas LeRoy keeps an organizer.”

“Yeah. I’ve watched him punch in the numbers. Stan the pizza man has one too.” James had a smug look on his face. “So what does that prove?”

“They both keep all their notes on those organizers.”

“Notes. Financial transactions.” I was trying to hurry him along.

“Not just that. I told you. LeRoy also keeps track of every full-timer and the staff on that thing. He makes notes on people who work on the weekend revivals. You’re in there I’m sure.”

“So what’s your point?”

“Both LeRoy and Stan download their organizers every night into a master computer.”

“And?”

“That master computer is in the office.”

“How is that supposed to help us?”

“I’m telling you, LeRoy probably wrote down the story about the tires, and if he did, he knows who shot them out. If he paid for the new ones,” Styles pointed to the black beauties, “then he’s got the info on who shot the other ones. My guess is, that person’s going to have to pay Mr. LeRoy and Mr. Cashdollar back.”

James’s eyes rolled. It was obvious he was getting a little tired of his friend’s arrogance and crazy stories.

I couldn’t stand the arrogance either and verbally demonstrated it. “How do you know this? You were a one-weekend wonder. They asked you to leave the park. And now you claim to know more than almost anyone here?”