This comment seemed to befuddle all three of them. And once the brain was taken aback, that left only one alternative for punks like these: They would try to accomplish with their fists what they couldn’t with their brains. And Robie had actually intended this, because he had an appointment to keep and just wanted to get this over with.
Clancy’s son broke off his beer bottle against a table edge and brandished it in front of Robie.
Only Robie was no longer there.
He had moved to his right, knelt, gripped the inside leg of the man next to Clancy’s son, ripped it off the floor, and then propelled him sideways into the other two. As they were all going down to the floor Robie reached over and snagged the hand holding the beer bottle. He bent it backward until Clancy’s son screamed and let go. He threw the bottle to the side, stepped back, and prepared for what was coming next.
Clancy’s son pushed off the floor and came at Robie. Another mistake. They should have regrouped and attacked him together from different flanks. But they were stupid and they couldn’t really fight.
Robie was now sure he would not be late for his meeting with Taggert.
One punch to the face, a shot drilled right into his nose with the base of Robie’s rigid palm torqued off a V-shaped arm for max power, followed by an elbow strike delivered directly to the right kidney sent the man to the floor. He did not get back up, because the blow to the face had knocked him out. The busted face and bruised kidney would be pains he would suffer later when he came to.
The second man bull-charged Robie and managed to get his thick arms around Robie’s waist. His plan, no doubt, was to lift his opponent off the floor and smash him against the wall. The flaw in his strategy was leaving Robie’s arms free. Robie slammed both palms against the man’s ears, which are quite sensitive appendages of the body. The man screamed, let Robie go, and dropped to all fours. Robie gripped the back of the man’s neck and jerked the head down at the same time he delivered a brutal knee strike upward to the chin, which cost his opponent two teeth, and knocked him flat on his ass and out for the count.
The third man did the smart thing — he ran for it. Robie could hear his boots clattering on the plank porch before they hit pavement and were gone.
Robie looked down at the two unconscious, bleeding men and then over at the girl behind the bar. She was staring at him openmouthed, the glass-rag and beer mug clutched in her hand, but neither touching the other.
He pointed to the leader. “It that Pete Clancy?”
“Y-yes, s-sir,” she said in a trembling voice.
“If they press charges will you be able to tell the truth?”
She looked like she might faint. “I…Mister, I…”
“Don’t worry about it.” He turned and walked out. He would have to hurry now to make his meeting.
Chapter
13
Robie walked into Momma Lulu’s on Little Choctaw at one minute past five. The place was only a quarter full, and Robie recalled that most folks who ate out in Cantrell ate out late. This was usually because they labored long, and their labor was often outside in a hot, humid climate, which required at least a shower and major amounts of deodorant before heading out to a public place.
He looked around but did not see Taggert among the tables. He noticed a man at the cash register who was staring at him. With a slight movement of his head he motioned Robie over.
“Go out the way you come in, turn right. There’s an alley there. Walk down it. She’ll be there.”
“And who are you?” asked Robie.
“A friend of hers, Mr. Robie. Just a friend.”
Robie did as the man said, though part of him expected an ambush as he walked into the darkened alley. But it was a straight shot with no place for concealment. He exited the narrow path, again ready for someone to jump him, but he saw Taggert sitting in what he assumed was her private vehicle, though she still had on her police uniform.
She pointed to the passenger door and he climbed in. As he belted up she put the rusty Ford Taurus in reverse, backed out, and sped off heading east. At the next intersection, she turned to go south.
Robie looked around the interior of the car and noted the booster seat in the back. On the floorboard were discarded fast-food containers and polystyrene coffee cups. Robie could see the pavement below through a hole in the floorboard.
The inside of the car smelled musty, layered by the stench of a fouled diaper.
“How many kids do you have?”
“Four.”
He eyed the booster seat. Her gaze followed his.
“My grandson, Sammy,” she said.
He said incredulously, “You’re a grandmother? You’re only, what, forty-one?”
“Had my first at nineteen. She had her first at eighteen. You do the math.”
“Okay.”
“You have any kids, Robie?”
“No.”
“Married?”
“No.”
“Ever been?”
“No.”
She shot him a glance. “You of the homosexual persuasion?”
“Not that I’m aware.”
Once they were clear of the small downtown she spoke again. “Heard you had some trouble at Danby’s.”
“That just happened a few minutes ago. How’d you hear already?”
“Small-town livin’ is faster’n Twitter ever thought’a bein’. Got me two calls probably before the last fellow hit the planks.”
“Just for the record, they attacked me.”
“Not disputin’ that. Pete Clancy is a royal a-hole.”
“I understand he was from a second marriage?”
“Shortly after Sherm came into money, he divorced Cassandra, married some bimbo he met in Biloxi when he was probably drunk outta his mind, and wham, bam, thank you ma’am, there was Pete. Then he divorced the bimbo and she’s long gone, but there’s still Pete.”
“So with his father gone, won’t Pete be inheriting?”
“Old Sherm liked the good life and spent his money — doubt there’ll be much left once the kids from his first marriage try to get their pound’a flesh. Seems Sherm didn’t leave a will, so he died intestate. Which makes it all a little trickier.”
“Since you wanted to meet, I guess the riot act you read me at the jail was just that, an act?”
“Only partly. It did piss me off to see you walk in that door. But you got outta Cantrell. Most of us didn’t. Guess I was jealous.”
“And the other part?”
“You’re persona non grata here, Robie. Won’t do me no good cozyin’ up to you. Folks don’t come into Cantrell all that often. Hell, almost never. And your daddy is an accused murderer of one of the citizens of this humble place. Not an esteemed citizen by any stretch, but still he was one of us.”
Robie settled back in his seat. “So what did you want to meet for?”
“Some things you ought’a know. And I suppose you got yourself some questions.”
“I have nothing but questions.”
“Let me ask you one.”
“Okay.”
“You took on three big guys at Danby’s and licked ’em. How? What you been doin’ with yourself all these years?”
“Well, the last guy ran off, so it was only two really.”
“You play cute with me, you can get your butt outta my car right now.”
“I learned self-defense after I left here. Just a few moves, and those guys were drunk.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly not believing him but apparently unwilling to push it.
Robie looked up ahead. “Where are we going?”
“Got a spot on the Gulf. Like to go there. Nice place to have a conversation.”
“Why are you doing this, Deputy Taggert?”
“Call me Sheila, for Chrissakes, Robie. I’m not on duty.”