Joe Lansdale - Devil Red

“A list of all of Kincaid’s clients,” he said. “Lateesha got it for me off her computer. It occurred to me that-and I know this will be hard to believe-Kincaid might be lying.”

“What has the world come to?” I said.

“I’m going to send it to Mercury, have him cross-check it and see if there’s anyone on it that might be someone who would do Kincaid a favor. So to speak.”

“The old organized crime figure on the accountant sheet trick,” I said.

“That’s it,” Cason said.

The greeter came over and guided us to a booth in the back, which is what we asked for. Soon as we were seated a thin waitress who looked as if it would be all right with her if everyone who ever wanted to eat in a restaurant was dead, arrived and took our coffee orders and went away.

“Mercury can do that?” I said. “He has that kind of list available to him?”

“He has a list of lists,” Cason said. “If there are people on this disc that cross-check as criminals, or are associated with criminals… We can check. It might lead to something, and it might lead to nothing. But it seems like this baby”-he held up the disc-“has made the trip worthwhile. It’s more than Kincaid would ever tell us just by asking.”

“Lateesha get anything out of this?” I asked.

“About six inches of dick and a marvelous breakfast,” Cason said.

“Six inches and about ten feet of bullshit is what I figure,” Leonard said.

“I’m not the world’s best person to be around women,” Cason said. “And the worse thing is, if I really get interested in them and they lose interest in me, which seems to happen as I tend to get preoccupied with things-”

“Like more women,” I said.

“That would be one of the preoccupations, yes,” Cason said. “But if they lose interest in me, I become a half-ass stalker if I don’t watch it. It’s hard for me to let go.”

“So you have an inferiority complex,” Leonard said.

“Could be,” Cason said.

“What about Constance?” Leonard said.

“I’m seeing her next weekend,” Cason said.

“What about Lateesha?” I said.

“Constance Saturday, Lateesha Sunday.”

“Do you take vitamins?” I asked.

“Push-ups and clean living,” Cason said.

Driving home, Cason and Leonard talked about this and that. I tuned out and thought about Kincaid. If he had done anything to get rid of those associated with Godzilla, and her crime, I had a hard time figuring out what made him bad and us good. I had his money and resources I might have done the same thing. Hell, without his money I had done that kind of thing in the past, and Leonard was with me and he was proud of it.

So why did his shit stink and ours smelled like perfume?

And Bert had an idea, maybe a guess similar to ours, that Kincaid might have done the daughter in, and since he had lost all that money to the kitties, maybe he thought he could get some out of Kincaid. Only thing was, Kincaid hadn’t bit, and he may not have bit because he may not have been guilty. Or the only card Bert was holding was a guess, and Kincaid knew it. He struck me as a shrewd and intuitive man. And Miss Clinton, she didn’t seem like a slacker either. But the bottom line was, Bert was dead. Why would Kincaid bother to have him killed? Or had he. And if not, who did?

No answers presented themselves.

By the time we got back to LaBorde, Leonard and Cason had become buddies. They both had been in the military, in different wars, but they had some similar experiences. When Cason got out of the car at his place, Leonard got out and they hugged.

When Leonard got back in and we were tooling along, I said, “That was some hug.”

“Don’t worry,” Leonard said. “You’re still number one.”

We drove to Marvin’s office. The girl at the bicycle shop was standing in the open doorway. She was dressed warm today. The weather had turned cold and there was a hint of rain on the air. She had on a woolen cap and her hair cascaded out from under that. She wore a leather bomber jacket with a sheep’s wool collar, blue jeans, and some big boots with fur trim. The only thing missing was the sled dogs.

In the office, Marvin had a small heater plugged into the wall and he was sitting by it in his rolling chair.

“Can’t find the money for some real heat?” I said.

“Central air is out,” Marvin said. “And I can’t afford to fix it. We get through with this case, I can. I may even get a new coffeepot and a better water cooler.”

We pulled the client chairs over by the heater. Leonard said, “Are you hinting that we should hurry up?”

“No,” he said, “but a conclusion at some point in time would be nice.”

“We’re starting to believe Kincaid was looking for vengeance for his son,” Leonard said, “and he knew someone whose accounting business he took care of was also someone who, for a fee, could take care of business for him.”

“You think that because Brett thinks that?”

“No,” Leonard said. “Because it’s logical.”

“Another thing,” I said, “Bert tried to blackmail Kincaid. Kincaid admitted that. I think Bert was guessing Kincaid had Mini and Mrs. Christopher’s boy killed. He may not have seemed smart, but when it got right down to it, he could have had things figured out. Kincaid may have had him whacked. He knows the right people, and he makes millions for them on their taxes and accounts. He might be able to have them to do him a favor. Or pay them for one.

“Actually, it’s all guesswork for right now, but it’s all we got. Frankly, I haven’t ruled out June either. She had money too, and she didn’t like Mini, and how much she liked her brother is up for debate. She struck me as a hard ass in a soft-ass body.”

“But you have no proof that anyone did anything?” Marvin said.

“We do have something that might give us some proof by way of our new BFF, Cason.”

We filled Marvin in on all that had gone on. Told him about how Cason got the disc with the names on it.

When we finished, he said, “Cason got two pieces of ass in as many days?”

“Gets two this coming weekend as well,” I said.

“I knew I hated that guy,” Marvin said.

“You’re married, and I might as well be,” I said, “so it’s of no interest to us.”

“Okay, we’re married, but damn, I’m jealous.”

“All right,” I said. “Me too. And Leonard here, I think he was hoping him and Cason might play a little grab-ass.”

“It was merely an affectionate hug between comrades,” Leonard said.

“About the case?” Marvin said.

“Cason is having the disc checked,” I said, “and we’ll get back to you.”

Marvin said, “You know, guys, I don’t want to be paranoid here, but I’m starting to look over my shoulder.”

“You think we’re in danger?” I said.

“I don’t know,” Marvin said. “But if Kincaid is responsible for Bert’s death, it doesn’t take much to piss him off. Why would he bother? It’s just one more death that might tie itself to him. He could have let it go and probably been better off.”

“That may not be his way,” I said. “He strikes me as a man that likes to win at whatever game he’s playing, and from the looks of his office digs, he has the money to make the kind of arrangements he wants for most anything next to a body transplant.”

Marvin got up and poured himself a cup of coffee, came and sat back down.

“So, how do we play it?” he said.

“I’m not one for quitting,” Leonard said.

“Here’s my thought,” I said. “Best thing for us to do is to keep poking our noses in other people’s business and find out if someone will come out and play.”