The Devil's Dwelling Read online

  Momma had dinner on the table with four place settings. I knew it meant we were to join them for dinner and we would be pumped for all the info they could get out of us. I’m always good for a free meal. I told Mona to prepare herself for an interrogation.

  I introduced Mona as my new bounty hunter partner not giving them much information.

  “Where you come from, Mona? What brings you here?” The interrogation began.

  Mona started to answer when dad spoke up.

  “Mona, now if the misses asked too many questions you just tell her to mind her own business.”

  “I can ask questions if I take a mind to. You old fart. She is our daughter‘s work partner.”

  The war was on. Momma clammed up like an old toad and Dad did the interrogating. It’s a game they learned to play years ago. Dad would get all the information and Momma would start calling friends and neighbors.

  Momma, wiped her hands on her apron and pushed her hair back from her brow. “Ya’ll get around the table, dinner is ready and I don’t want it gettin’ cold.”

  We all joined hands and dad gave thanks for our daily bread and for His blessings.

  Dad piled his plate high with pot roast, potatoes, carrots and green beans falling off the side of his plate. He poured gravy over his meat and potatoes and tucked a kitchen towel in the neck of his shirt. With fork and knife in hand he was ready to chow down. He sopped gravy up with Momma’s homemade rolls, pushed his chair back from the table, tipped the chair on it‘s back legs and patted his belly.

  “This little woman knows how to get to a man’s heart. Right through his belly.”

  “Oh, Sparky you always say that.” Momma smiled, “ I have apple pie for dessert.”

  Dad with his big smile rubbed his belly and grinned. “Mother you should have told me we were having dessert.” He laughed, winked and took a toothpick from the green and purple ceramic toothpick holder Kimberly, my older sister made when she was in preschool. Most creative things I made at school didn’t make it home.

  Momma got up, threw her napkin on the table and turned for the kitchen.

  “You ole’ gizzard you know we always have dessert.” She yelled over her shoulder.

  Before Momma could serve up the apple pie the Brady twins were knocking at the door. They were halfway through the door way before dad could yell “Come in.”

  “Why are you boys hanging around here?”

  “We saw the apple pie setting on the window sill cooling earlier today. Thought there might be a piece leftover for us.”

  Daddy smiled. “Pull a chair over to the table. What have you boys been up to today?”

  Bill the talkative twin spoke up. “We helped Ms. Daisy weed her garden. And she gave us some tomatoes for a job well done. We took um‘ home to Mama and she’s canning them.”

  Will didn’t take his face out of his pie dish. When the pie was gone he scrapped the dish with his fork sending a chill down my spine. Put the plate to his face and licked it clean.

  “Look, Mrs. Turner you won’t have to wash this one.”

  Momma shook her head. “Will, when you gonna learn some manners?”

  We finished with dinner. I stacked the plates and carried them to the kitchen where momma was scrapping the leftovers into Tupperware.

  “What are you doing running with a woman like that?” Momma said as she lifted the lid releasing the air burping the container.

  “Mona is a nice lady. Now Momma don’t you go putting your opinion on her. You should give her a chance.” I said as I filled the sink with water and squirted dish soap in preparation of washing the dishes. I took the plastic drain board and rack from under the sink and placed it on the counter.

  Momma opened the frig door, stacked the Tupperware containers on the shelf, slammed the door and grabbed a dishtowel. “Mark my word she’s trouble.”

  I washed and rinsed all the glasses, silverware and dishes in that order while Momma dried and put them in the cupboard. Momma always washes the pots and pans before she serves dinner. Her reasoning being. If you don’t clean them immediately the food will stick. Sounds like a good reason to me.

  I walked back to the dining room with Momma on my heels. Dad and Mona were laughing. Seems Mona is good at telling jokes and dad is good for a few himself.

  I gave Dad a peck on the forehead and Momma a big hug.

  “We need to be going. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.” I said as we headed for the door.

  “Tiffany, I wish you would get a decent job. Bertha Beasley’s daughter got a job at the Pickle Factory. She‘s now an up standing citizen. And she gets a discount on all the pickles she buys. Bertha already has a years supply of pickles in her cupboard.”

  “Momma, I can’t stand in front of a moving belt picking out bad cucumbers. The motion would make me sick.”

  “You could stock my cupboard with pickles. Or, what about…”

  “Stop stop, I like my job. I’m a bounty hunter…get over it.”

  Momma dried her hands on her apron. “You worry me young lady. Bounty Hunters are not well thought of and anyway somebody is always shooting at you.”

  “Thank you for the nice dinner.” Mona said following me out the door.

  I moved toward the back door with Mona on my heels. I open the gate and put Bailey in the Edsel.

  “Thanks for the Edsel. I’ll take good care of her.”

  “Don’t bring her back riddled with bullet holes. You hear me? I‘m planning on making a shiny classic out of her.” Dad said, knowing the Edsel driving off would not look the same when it returned to his garage.

  “You got it Dad, I’ll take good care of her.”

  We jumped in the Edsel and headed for Mona’s apartment. I dropped Mona off on the curb next to the apartment building.

  “I’ll pick you up eight o’clock sharp tomorrow morning.”

  Mona stuck her head in the passenger window.

  “I’ll be here. Thanks Tiffany, it was nice of you to take me to your folks, the dinner was good. See you tomorrow.”

  I threw the Edsel in drive and headed toward home.

  Mona waved but didn’t take a step toward the apartment building. I looked in my rear view mirror. She was standing there. I stopped and put the Edsel in reverse and backed up maneuvering through on coming traffic and ran upon the curb bouncing to a stop.

  “Why the hell are you just standing here? Do you live here?”

  No answer, just a quivering chin with tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “You homeless?”

  Mona shook her head yes.

  “Get in the car. We gotta be honest with each other. You’re coming home with me.”

  Mona, open the door hanging her head trying to hide the tears flooding her pretty face.

  “Grab a tissue off the back seat. Momma always carries tissue where ever she goes. What do you have in that big bag?’

  “My make-up, toiletries and a change of clothes and my 38.”

  “You tote a ‘38’?”

  “A girl can’t be too careful.”

  “Where you been spending the nights? You look too good to be living on the streets.”

  “I’ve been staying at the Rescue Mission on the next street over the past couple days..”

  TWO

  Bailey was pacing in the back seat. Pacing can mean only one thing. He needs to poop and hike. I pulled into the parking lot and hopped out of the Edsel, opened the back door for Bailey and pointed out my apartment to Mona.

  “It’s apartment 208 up the stairs. Can you take my bag up saving me a trip up the stairs? The spare room is to the right. You put your stuff in there. You can use the main bathroom. Just keep it clean is all I ask. There’s a bed and chest of drawers you can use. It’s nothing fancy but it’s better than the Rescue Mission.”

  I hooked up Bailey, dropped a quarter in the paper vending box in the foyer taking a paper to keep me company while I waited for Bailey to do his job. We jogged to the park. I unleashed Bai
ley and plopped myself on the bench and shook the newspaper open hiding myself from the world.

  I heard someone yelling and looked over my shoulder to see Bailey atop someone bouncing, snorting and licking. I could see legs kicking and arms flinging. I made a quick decision to claim Bailey but thoughts of heading back to the apartment less one slobbering dog crossed my mind.

  I folded the newspaper, put it under my arm and made my way over to Bailey atop the flinging man.

  “Bailey! Get off him.”

  I rolled up the newspaper and slapped Bailey on the butt. I got a good grasp on his collar and yanked him back, landing on my butt. The gentleman pulled himself to his feet, brushed the fresh cut grass from his clothes and wiped the slobbers from his face.

  “Lady, what’s that dog doing off his leash?”

  I wanted to say jumping and licking you but I knew that would not be a remark he would appreciate. I pulled myself to my feet and brushed the grass off my butt and checked my elbows for blood.

  “I’m sorry sir. It’s my fault Bailey is a good dog. Did he hurt you? He loves guys and you were the male target for the day.”

  “Maybe your husband should be taking him to the park.”

  “No husband.” If I hadn’t wanted to make his acquaintance I shouldn’t have said no husband.

  With outstretched hand. “Brad, Brad Bradford.”

  “Tiffany .” We shook hands making a new friendship.

  I was trying to look pretty pushing loose strands of red curly hair behind my ears.

  His handshake was firm. I like the feel of a good handshake. It shows sincerity.

  “Do you walk Bailey often?”

  “Everyday. Seems he has this body function that needs daily attention.”

  “Yeah, I guess that was a stupid question. I live in the condominium across the tracks.”

  “Bailey and I live in the brown plaster apartment building down the street on this side of the tracks.”

  I hooked up Bailey, put the newspaper under my arm and excused myself.

  “Good meeting you Brad. I need to get home I have a house guest I need to tend to.”

  “Maybe next time our meeting will be on better conditions.” I waved and jogged toward

  home with Bailey at my side. I knew if Brad was interested he would show up at the park another time.

  I double stepped it up the stairs. Bailey lay panting at the foot of the stairs cooling off under the clanking ceiling fan that makes a poor attempt at cooling the foyer.

  “Bailey, get up here.” Begrudgingly he slowly pulled his body up the stairs dragging his belly across each tread.

  I noticed the door to the apartment was ajar. Mona must have left it open I thought to myself. The ‘chicken’ part of me took over. Slowly I pushed the door open. A dining room chair was turned over. I grabbed my bag laying on the floor and searched for my Glock. My fingers felt cold steel. I inserted my finger in the trigger and pulled my hand and gun from the bag.

  I slowly walked toward Mona’s bedroom trying to keep quiet but the damn floor squeaked with every step.

  “Mona, everything okay?”

  No answer. The house was eerie silent. Shivers raced up and down my spine.

  “Mona!” I yelled again, this time louder.

  “Damn, something is wrong.”

  I slowly walked over to Mona’s door glancing from side to side holding my Glock in an upright position in front of my face. I knocked on Mona’s door with the barrel of the gun.. The gun went off splintering a hole through the door and out through the ceiling. It’s probably a good thing I live on the second floor.

  I turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open.

  There lay Mona hog tied face down on the bed. Her arms tied behind her with her feet tied and pulled up to meet her hands. Her micro mini shirt was now her belt.

  I pulled the sock from her mouth.

  “Untie me, untie me!”

  She spit like a man after clearing his throat.

  I laid my Glock on the kitchen counter and took a paring knife from the rack in the kitchen and cut the cords from her wrist and ankles.

  “That ‘sonabitch’ kept saying, Where’s the redhead.” Mona rubbed her wrist trying to get the circulation back.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “Just my pride. I thought I could take care of a weasel like him but he knew some crazy kickin’ moves I couldn’t keep up with.”

  “You still want to be my partner?” I asked grinning. “I seem to find trouble where ever I go.”

  “Even more now. I’ll find that bastard unaware and show him what this girls made of. He slapped me around but I’m okay.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “He busted through the door so fast I didn‘t have a chance to grab my thirty-eight.. He was tall and skinny, his brown hair was over his collar. I remember a tattoo of a sickle on his forearm. He was probably about thirty.”

  “I guess I need to start locking the door. I’ll have a key made for you. You can stay here till you get on your feet but you have to be up front with me. I don’t want any surprises.

  You can fill me in when you take a notion.”

  “There’s not much to tell. I hail from Oklahoma. My life wasn’t going anywhere so I up and headed out for Arkansas. I drove through Conway and thought it was a nice clean town and maybe a good town to take up roots. I worked downtown as a cocktail waitress for a while but couldn’t get enough ahead to get a place. When the ‘Repo’ man picked up my car along with it he took my home.”

  “You have a husband, kids?”

  “No, it’s just me. My folks are dead. Mother died giving birth to me. Dad told me there were complications and he couldn’t get my mother to the doctor in time to save her. He delivered me in the seat of his truck. I have a few cousins on the east coast but that’s about it for me. You can tell I‘m street smart. Need I say more?”

  “No, I like your attitude.”

  THREE

  I hooked up Bailey and we were off for his morning hike and poop. There were traces of sprinkles on the sidewalk threatening a morning rain. Before too long the rain clouds covered the sky and rain was falling. After Bailey did his job I scooped up the poop, tossed it in the garbage can and jogged home. Bailey took his place on the big dog bed laying on the living room floor. I filled his bowl with some hearty dog food and a few treats and filled his water bowl with fresh water.

  “Bailey, you’re gonna stay home today.“ Bailey had a pleased look on his face. He ran over to his water bowl and began lapping up the water. He slung his head back and forth spraying water in every direction.

  I tried to back the Edsel from it’s parking space. The wheel was hard to turn and the Edsel flopped to the side when I backed up. Mona hopped from the car.

  “We have a damn flat tire.” She stood with her hands on her hips shaking her head.

  “What?” I yelled slapping my forehead.

  “You heard me right, a flat tire. Somebody stuck it with a knife.”

  I beat on the steering wheel. “Dang, what next. What sonnabitch stabbed my tire?”

  I took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “I’ll call Ace Towing.”

  “Call a tow truck? No way I can change this in a snap. That is if we have a spare tire.”

  I opened the trunk and Mona lifted the tire from it’s resting place.

  The jack and tire iron lay next to the tire. She threw the tire beside the car pried off the hubcap, She loosened the lug nuts and positioned the jack under the frame of the Edsel and started pumping up and down with the tire iron. The tire lifted off the ground. She took the lug nuts off and tossed them in the hubcap, pulled the tire off the Edsel and matched up the bolts to the holes in the spare wheel. Tightened the lug nuts and went through the steps in reverse. I was amazed at her ability to change a flat.

  She threw the tire in the trunk, wiped her hands on a mechanics towel she found in the trunk, slammed the trunk shut and we were off to The Oasis, the do
wntown bar where Marty was dropped off days before.

  Mona entered the swinging doors leading the way to the bar. She straddled the barstool and twirled around. Trying to look graceful I threw one leg over the stool and pulled myself up. Mona leaned over the bar and ask the bartender for Curly.

  “Curly doesn’t see anyone he isn’t expecting.”

  Mona leaned over the bar and took the bartender‘s shirt collar in her hand pulled him down to her face. “Tell him Mona is here.”

  “Tell him who‘s here? You know Curly?“ The bartender asked.

  “No, but that will make him curious.”

  The bartender lifted his hands up and backed off. “As you say.” And headed to the backroom.

  The young bartender came back motioning for us to follow him. We walked down a dark hall and entered through a big door. The room was small, the walls were painted red and the floor was covered with a dingy red sculptured carpet. A large portrait of a man with a cigar in his hand hang on the wall.

  “That must be Curly.” Mona said pointing at the portrait of a young man in his thirties.

  A gravelly voice came over the intercom.

  “Why are you asking for Curly?”

  My voice croaked like a frog. I cleared my throat.

  “Hmm, we are looking for Marty Martin. We heard you’re his friend.”

  “No friend of mine. You two need to find the door and get the hell out of here. You won‘t find him here. Now, go before I have you escorted out through the alley.”

  I pointed to the door at the end of the room. Took my Glock from my bag, nodded at Mona and the both of us kicked the door in.