In Hell: When Love Kills A Small Town Mystery

Chapter 3

"Cash! Get up! Drag your sorry ass out here," said Mickey. "You got company."

Mickey unlocked the battered lock that hung on the storeroom door.

"Call showed Cash how real men fight," Mickey said. "I thought the storeroom would be the best place for Cash to sober up. I dumped him in here after the fight. Couldn't think of nuthin' better. He was out cold. I didn't want to put him in the cab of his truck. He might wake up and drive off half-drunk. So I dumped him in here for the night. Locked up the fam'ly jewels for safe keeping. Hah!"

The deputy did not see the humor.

"Anyway," said Mickey, "I figured it was the best thing to do."

Cash was a disheveled mess. He reeked of stale beer and sweat. The deputy gave call a hard kick to the sole of his boot.

"What the fah . . . What do you want?" Cash asked Jamie.

"Sober up, Cash. I mean it. Seriously, I got some bad news," the deputy said.

"Yeah? How bad?" Cash asked.

"The worst," said the deputy.

"You gonna tell me I got crabs?" Cash asked. "I'll keep 'em all to my self! Can't have 'em."

Jamie frowned.

"Spent the night all by my lonesome in this five-star motel room," Cash said, pointing to the storeroom. "Service ain't worth a shit, but I guess the dry roof over my head was okay."

"Don't be a smart ass. Your uncle's been murdered."

Cash looked at Jamie.

"Murdered, huh. Good riddance."

Cash spit on the floor.

"Good riddance? Is that all you can say, Cash?" Jamie asked.

"He was your uncle," Mickey said. "Blood."

Cash looked at the two men staring back at him. His face was blank. Only the muscles in his temples tightened.

"Clifford was a sorry . . ."

Jamie moved closer to call.

"Don't speak ill of the dead," Jamie said.

"Don't tell me what to say. You don't know. Nobody knows! Neither one of you had to live with him. So, don't judge me. I suppose since I'm not crying alligator tears, I'm a prime suspect," said Cash. "I suppose you'll be dragging me in now even though I don't know what the hell happened."

Jamie's glare never left Cash's eyes.

"I ain't stupid, Jamie. I know how this works. I'm a Matstock, so I'm guilty. Right?"

"It doesn't work that way," said the deputy.

"Sure it does. You're not fooling anyone, Jamie. You guys have pronounced me guilty and are carrying out the sentence nice and quick. Why I can just see you plugging the juice into the chair as we speak! Your minds are made up. It doesn't matter what the evidence says. Shit, if your lot can't find any, you'll just plant some 'cause I'm Virgil Matstock's son, remember? You know what they say about my kind. I've heard it all my life. I have to have done it. It's in my blood."

"Don't worry about what folks say," Jamie said. "I ain't arrestin' you. I just came to deliver the message about your uncle. Besides, it's your lucky day. Mickey's given you an ironclad alibi. You're free to go. For now. But hang around. Don't get no ideas 'bout takin' off. The sheriff will have some questions for you, I'm sure."

Cash looked at Mickey. His eyes squinted as he read the bartender's face to see if he was playing a practical joke.

Mickey shook his head in agreement with all the deputy had just told Cash.

"Good ole' Mick," Cash said. "I owe ya."

"But he said you had a wad on you," Jamie said. "Lost it to Call playing pool. An unemployed fellow like you, Cash. Suddenly, you're loaded. How does that happen?"

"Look, deputy, that's none of your business. Maybe, I won the lottery. Maybe bills just rained down from the sky. Maybe I found a paper sack full of bills by the side of the road waiting for me to pick it up. Or just maybe, just maybe, I played my cards right."

Cash frowned, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Are you joshing, or am I really free to go?" Cash asked.

"No, I'm not joking," said Jamie. "You're free to leave Mickey's. Just don't go home. Your uncle's place is a crime scene. We're still processing it."

"How long you gonna take?"

"We'll take as long as it takes."

"But I need to get a change of clothes, shower, and get a bite to eat."

"You'll need to get that stuff some place else. Don't go home. You do. You'll be arrested. Nobody's allowed inside. It's off limits until the sheriff clears it. Stay outta there unless you want us breathing down your neck. You hear me, Cash?"

"Well, ain't that just dandy? It knocks your socks off telling me to stay away from my own home, doesn't it, Hogg?"

Mickey and the deputy watched Cash make his way out of the bar. He staggered a little, recovered, and walked toward his truck.

"Bet he's nursing the mother of all hangovers," said Mickey.

"Umm. Probably. Strange, though."

"What's that?" ask Mickey.

"He didn't react the way I'd expect him to when I told him his uncle was murdered," Jamie said.

"Wouldn't put too much stock in that. Cash ain't normal. 'Sides, everybody takes bad news differently. It had to be a shock. You know as well as me, folks' reactions to that kinda news are as varied as the weather. I can't say that if I was in his shoes, I wouldn't be glad the old bastard's finally kicked the bucket. The fact that Clifford's gone is probably a weight off Cash's shoulders. A great relief. I know for a fact that old drunk treated Cash like shit. I don't know why the boy hung around. Maybe he hates change worse than he hated Clifford. Guess Cash is really alone now," Mickey said.

Jamie's eyes focused on something in the distance.

"Where'd he get the money, Mickey? You musta' heard something. I mean, Cash ain't had a job in months. Lost the last one when he got mad and cursed out old Tom Buyer. Terrible scene. They called us in. Tom fired him on the spot. Now, Cash spends his days riding the back roads. I can't figure out where he gets the money for gas."

"Beats me," said Mickey. "Last I heard he was seeing Bess Hester."

"Bess Hester? Isn't she a little old?"

"Old? Young? Who cares? I don't claim to know what attracts some women to guys like Cash," said Mickey. "She's an adult, and she's got a steady job. She'd have money, and she makes her own decisions. Maybe she gave it to him. Maybe he stole it. Either way, I'm not his keeper. And that makes me glad. Look, if that's all, Jamie, I got a business to run."

"Yeah," Jamie said. "I got stuff to do, too. See ya' later, man."

When Cash reached the truck, he rubbed his eyes. Under the windshield wiper was a folded piece of paper. He grabbed the note and slung it onto the seat.

"Revival posters in a place like this," he muttered. "Casting your pearls among swine?"