Джон Коннолли - The Dirty South

Cresil had been provided with a cup of coffee by one of Randall Butcher’s dancers. She was petite and good-looking, but Cresil seemed barely to register her presence beyond thanking her for the coffee and declining some gravy and biscuits offered in case he hadn’t yet eaten. He wasn’t a morning guy when it came to his appetites, and this was as true of the carnal as the culinary, but he acknowledged a slight stirring in his groin as he watched the girl walk away. Cresil’s urges tended toward the aggressive at the best of times. He lived his life on the basis that any benefit to him had to come at a cost to someone else, and the greater the cost to the other party, the greater the benefit to Leonard Cresil. Ultimately, Cresil wasn’t happy unless someone else wasn’t happy, and preferably because he’d caused them to become that way. If the Kovas business worked out as Randall Butcher hoped it would – which would be due in no small part to Cresil’s own efforts – then Cresil planned to come back to the Gilded Cage some night when he was more in the mood, and claim an honorarium from Butcher in the form of one of his girls, although not that little angel; perhaps, instead, one that was burned out and wouldn’t be missed too much while her bruises were fading.

Now here was Randall Butcher himself, and beside him that redheaded piece of shit Ferdy Bowers, who had just arrived looking flustered. Cresil had wondered how long it would take for the Cades’ two whipping boys to find common cause. He’d known Butcher on and off down the years, and they’d helped each other when it suited them. Bowers he was aware of largely by reputation: the runt of the Burdon County business litter, feeding off whatever remained in the tit once the Cades were done suckling.

The three men shook hands, and Butcher made the formal introductions.

‘It’s my feeling, Leonard, that you only appear when you have trouble in mind,’ said Butcher, once they were all seated.

‘You know why I’m here,’ said Cresil.

‘The bodies in Burdon County.’

‘That’s right. Mr Shire is concerned about the activities of the Cargill police.’

‘I’ll bet he is. I hear he’s taken money from near half the state, and promised as much in return to the other half. Some of that cash in his pocket is mine and Ferdy’s.’

‘Then it’s in all our interests,’ said Cresil, ‘that a solution be found to these terrible crimes. Are you feeling all right, Mr Bowers?’

Ferdy Bowers had shuddered involuntarily. It was a response to the tone of Cresil’s voice, and the way his tongue had rolled the word terrible around his mouth, as though savoring the taste of it. Leonard Cresil, Bowers thought, was just the kind of man that could spit-roast a dead girl with sticks. It sickened Bowers that he was forced to keep such company, even temporarily. Randall Butcher was bad, but Cresil was a whole other can of worse.

‘I’m fine,’ said Bowers. ‘It’s cold in here, that’s all.’

‘Not to me. It might be that you’re susceptible to chills, on account of a constitutional weakness.’

‘That must be it.’

‘Get to the point, Leonard,’ said Butcher. ‘I got a business to run.’

‘I’m tired of working for others,’ said Cresil, ‘and cleaning the shit from their shoes. I have my eye on a bar in Boca Raton, and figure I may just retire there. If this deal goes through, my bonus, along with a cut from Mr Shire’s end, will set me up for life.

‘But Mr Shire is conflicted: there are risks involved in doing nothing about these killings, and other risks inherent in permitting the police to delve into them. Having slept on the problem, Mr Shire has come down on the side of no investigation. After all, a couple of months went by between the deaths of the Hartley and Kernigan girls. On that basis, the papers will be signed, and the first foundations laid, before we see another body – if we ever do. By then it’ll be too late to redline the project, and Griffin and Cade can call in the state police to solve the crime, letting the professionals take care of it. A bunch of amateurs beating around the bushes can only attract the wrong kind of attention.’

‘And has Shire seen fit to explain this reasoning to Evan Griffin?’ said Butcher. ‘Because my information is that the chief is of a contrary view – a contrary disposition, even.’

‘Plus, they’re not all amateurs,’ said Bowers.

‘What?’ said Butcher.

‘They’re not all amateurs,’ Bowers repeated. ‘Griffin has brought in a former detective from New York to help with the investigation, a man named Parker.’

Cresil eyed Bowers with something approaching interest.

‘So I’ve been led to believe,’ said Cresil.

‘I didn’t know about this,’ said Butcher.

‘You’ve probably been too distracted by pussy and narcotics,’ said Cresil. He returned his attention to Bowers. ‘Have you met Parker?’

‘He came to my office this morning. He was asking questions about the Cades, and the dead girls.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘That he should never have come to Burdon County.’

‘I could have told him that,’ said Cresil, ‘with or without dead coloreds.’

‘And how does Shire feel about Parker’s involvement?’ said Butcher to Cresil.

‘Mr Shire hasn’t yet been brought up to speed on it,’ said Cresil, ‘but I imagine he’ll be discommoded when he finds out.’

‘You could just inform him once the problem has already been taken care of,’ said Butcher.

‘In what way?’

‘No Parker, no investigation – or only the imitation of one.’

Bowers stood. He might have agreed with the substance of the words, but not their implication.

‘I don’t want to hear that kind of talk,’ he said.

‘Sit down, Ferdy,’ said Butcher. ‘You were in this from the moment you walked through that door.’

‘Yes,’ said Cresil, ‘sit down, Mr Bowers. I wouldn’t want cause to doubt your discretion.’

Bowers sat.

‘We’re not talking about killing,’ said Butcher, ‘just derailing.’

‘If you say so,’ said Cresil.

‘You are incorrigible, Leonard,’ said Butcher. ‘You’ll make Ferdy here anxious.’

‘So you’ll take care of it?’ Cresil asked Butcher.

‘I won’t even have to use my own people. All it’ll cost is a couple of cases of beer. I expect if Shire chose to seek a public vote on his policy toward the investigation, it would receive unanimous support in most quarters. Pruitt won’t have trouble finding idle hands for the devil’s work.’

‘So that’s one problem solved,’ said Cresil.

‘There are others?’ said Butcher.

‘One, but it may be both a problem and a solution. I was speaking with Reverend Pettle last night—’

‘That preacher and his church are giving me ulcers,’ said Butcher. ‘I can remember when he was holding roadside services, and sucking in exhaust fumes along with the fire of the Holy Spirit, and now he wants to go head-to-head with the Pentecostals.’

Cresil didn’t like being interrupted. Even after Butcher had finished talking, Cresil allowed silence to accrete, just so Butcher would restrain himself in future.

‘Well,’ Cresil continued, when he judged the moment was right, ‘the reverend was very close to Sallie Kernigan. He ministered to her needs, you might say, and not just the religious kind.’

Butcher seemed about to comment, but thought better of it.

‘The affair initially lasted a couple of months,’ said Cresil, ‘but came to an end just about the time that the reverend’s wife found out about it. Unfortunately, Pettle’s flesh is weak, and his spirit isn’t much stronger. In recent weeks, he and Sallie reignited the embers of their relationship. That’s information you can use right there, Randall. It might prompt the reverend to moderate his position on that church business.’