W hen my father left home, things sort of fell apart. It’s not that they’d been going so well before then, but my working mother and little sister seemed to hang out in their own world, and I was left to figure out what was left of mine. James became the brother and the family that I never had. And because he became such an important part of my life, I forgave a lot that James did because he was family, the only real family I know. So, in some perverse way, I have to forgive friends of the family. Like Daron. Thank God there aren’t too many of them.
“Where the hell did you disappear to? You break into the trailer, almost kill someone, then leave Em and me to cover it up?”
The sirens were much louder now.
He glanced over his shoulder, tugged the brim of his hat down low and put his finger to his lips. “Could you say all that a little louder? Maybe they didn’t hear you over by the Intracoastal.”
I lowered my voice. “So what happened to you? You just walk out on us?”
“I told you I’ve got a friend who gives me heads-up on the FBI.”
“Yeah. The friend who runs license plate numbers and tells you when there’s going to be a raid on your dealer’s warehouse. That friend?”
“Let’s just say I needed to visit her. The friend. Okay?”
“At three in the morning?”
“Hey, I got the information I needed. That’s all that’s important.”
“There’s a lot of stuff that’s gone down since you left.”
“Let’s walk.” Styles looked over his shoulder one more time.
“Walk? Christ, if you only knew what I’ve been through tonight -”
“Softly, Skipper, tell me what’s happened.”
“You hear the sirens?”
“Couldn’t miss ’em.” They were across the causeway and must have pulled into the campgrounds by now. In thirty seconds they would be in the parking lot.
“One of Cashdollar’s bodyguards tried to kill him, and Thomas LeRoy killed the bodyguard.” I started shaking, the kind of shaking that you can feel in your hands, so if you’re holding a drink you’re afraid you’re going to spill the whole thing.
“Tried to kill the rev? Where did you hear this?”
“We saw it, man. We saw it.” And I still couldn’t get the picture out of my head. Walter’s brains spattered on the car.
“Jesus. Is the rev alive?”
“It appeared he’s okay.”
We’d reached the aluminum camper where James had drunk Stan the pizza man under the table. A proud moment for my friend. The door hung open, and I could see what looked like a green couch or chair inside. Someone was slouched in the chair. I gestured at the trailer. “Stan’s place.”
Styles looked up and stopped. He took two steps backward, then climbed the two wooden steps leading to the entrance.
“Daron, what the hell are you doing?”
“Come here, Skip.” The sirens were ear piercing as they pulled into the parking lot. There must have been three vehicles, and they all shut down at once, the screaming sirens giving off that long, lonely wail when they finally die.
I glanced over at the parking lot and could make out an ambulance and at least one cop car.
“Skip. Up here.”
The last thing I wanted to do was see Stan. Still, I climbed the stairs.
“Seems there’s a lot of this going around this morning.” Styles stood there, looking at the slumped body of the pizza man. Blood stained the green fabric chair, and a pistol lay on the linoleum floor beneath his outstretched hand.
After what I’d seen so far, I should have been shockproof. I wasn’t. It appeared he’d put the barrel of the pistol into his mouth and blown the back of his head off. I closed my eyes and stepped out of the trailer. It was all I could do to keep from heaving.
Styles walked out, and stared for a moment at the vehicles in the parking lot. “A little too late for this one. Put the Glock into his mouth and bang.”
I walked away, Styles following. I needed to put some distance between myself and that picture. We walked to the edge of the trees that bordered the small village. I thought about walking even farther and never going back.
“Skip, he killed himself. It happens.”
“There would have to be one hell of a reason.”
“You never know. It might be something very simple.”
“What was that you said back there? He put something in his mouth. The gun, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t say ‘gun.’ ”
Styles studied me. “What did I say?”
“You said he put the ‘gunk’ or something in his mouth.”
“The Glock.”
“What is a Glock?”
“A nine-millimeter pistol. It was a Glock on the floor. Model 26, I think.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve been around guns.”
“And a Glock isn’t a Smith and Wesson?”
He gave me a surprised look. “Two different animals. Why?”
“Because James was here earlier, in Stan’s camper, and Stan’s gun was a Smith and Wesson.”
“Maybe he’s got a couple of guns.”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t believe that Glock was Stan’s gun. He told James that his Smith and Wesson was the only real friend that he had.”