Bicycle Shop Murder - Robert Burton Robinson (good beach reads .txt) 📗
- Author: Robert Burton Robinson
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“But John X allowed Satan to control him. He tried to kill me. He would have murdered me in cold blood. But you are righteous and wonderful, Lord. You caused him to aim the gun at his genitals instead of at me.
“Through your power, you protected me, your servant, while causing him to shoot off his own sex organs. And I know at this very moment that he is surely dead. Your will was done tonight.
“I confess that I used to be no better than John X. I have murdered many innocent people in my lifetime. But in prison, I prayed for forgiveness. And you granted it to me. I thank you again for providing Chaplain Cross, who helped me to see things your way.
“So, I made a vow to you. I promised that I would never again commit murder. But then I did. Several times, in Coreyville. I don’t count the pimp I killed a couple of weeks ago in Dallas.
“No, that was not murder. It was you, using me to bring righteous judgment upon the head of a rapist. The 16-year-old girl that he had raped, and tried to force into prostitution has been rescued by your hand, through me. But that was not murder.
“I may have been a little out of line when I tortured him by shooting him in the legs, arms, and stomach. Instead, I could have put him out of his misery quickly. But I believe that you looked upon the tortured with favor. Let’s face it, Lord—he deserved it.
“And now there’s the question of what to do with Buford. Clearly, he deserves to die. Yet, I have vowed to you that I will not commit murder. So, what can I do? Because of him, many innocent people have died.
“I will confront Buford Bellowin. And I will depend on you for direction. I know that you can provide a way to bring justice to him, without causing me to break my vow. And I am trusting you to do so. Amen.”
*
“I don’t think we should give the police a description of the man with the rifle,” said Cynthia.
“Why?”
“For one thing, he kept the hit man from killing us when he shot him through the window. So, we owe him.”
“Yeah
“
“And if we give the police a description, and they go after him, he might come after us.”
“But we can’t lie to the police.”
“Maybe just a little white lie.”
*
They had already given the local police a full account of what had happened. Then Angela Hammerly and Andrea Newly showed up, along with the sheriff and two deputies. So, Greg and Cynthia went through the entire story all over again.
“So, the man with the rifle—what did he look like?”
“I couldn’t see his face very well. He was wearing a stocking over his head—pantyhose,” said Cynthia.
Greg was not comfortable with lying to the D.A., and he hoped they wouldn’t regret it later.
“Okay. We’re going to have a lot more questions for you. A deputy will drive your car back to Coreyville,” said Angela. “Sheriff, please cuff them, and take them to jail.”
“What? We called you,” Greg said. “We’ve been running from that man all day. We were nearly killed twice. And now you’re putting us in jail?”
“I told her not to leave town. But she did. And you helped her. So, this is what you get,” the D.A. said.
“Buford Bellowin is the one you need to be questioning,” said Cynthia. “Ask him why he sent this killer after us.”
“Yeah. And ask him why Dorothy Spokane blamed him for all of the murders in Coreyville,” said Greg.
“When did you talk to Dorothy Spokane?”
“Right before she was murdered. I was talking to her when she got shot.”
Angela Hammerly looked at Andrea Newly. Things were getting a lot more interesting. What would it do for Angela Hammerly’s career if she could bring down the mighty Buford Bellowin? Prosecutors hated him. He had made them look like fools too many times. She would be their hero if she could slay that dragon.
*
Kantrell Jamison’s mother, Ella, sat in the ICU waiting room, talking to her daughter, Jolee.
“Mama, what if Kantrell doesn’t make it?”
“Then we can kiss that money goodbye.”
“But maybe we could still find it.”
“Where, Jolee? We’ve already looked everywhere. Come on—it’s time. We can go in again now.”
“This time, I’m gonna make sure he wakes up, and tells us.”
Kantrell’s eyes were closed. And they would have thought he was already dead, had it not been for the monitor displaying his heartbeat.
“Kantrell, this is your sister, Jolee. Can you hear me? Come on—wake up, Kantrell. Remember all those times I called you a ‘stupid ugly?’ Well, I didn’t really mean it, Kantrell.
“You’re my brother, and I love you very much. You mean so much to me. And to Mama. We’ve had so many great times together as a family. And we’re so sorry you busted your head open tonight.”
“Jolee.” Ella whispered in Jolee’s ear. “Don’t remind him about his head. Just ask about the money.”
Jolee went on. “But you need to let us take care of the money for you. We know it’s your money. We’re not trying to take it from you. But what if somebody else finds it? Then none of us would get anything. Kantrell?”
Her brother did not move.
“Kantrell?” Jolee was losing her patience. She wanted the money now. She deserved a new car. Not anything big or fancy. Just a cute little new car. Sometimes he was such a pain in the butt! “Kantrell?”
Still nothing.
“Okay. So, that’s how it’s gonna be? Then, you know what? I did mean it when I called you a ‘stupid ugly.’”
“Jolee, hold your voice down,” Ella said.
“Yeah, and not only are you a ‘stupid ugly, Kantrell—you’re an ‘ugly stupid’ too!”
Kantrell began to stir.
“You better wake up, Boy.”
Kantrell jerked violently, and then lay perfectly still. His heartbeat flatlined, and an alarm started beeping.
“No! My baby!” Ella cried.
No! My money! thought Jolee.
It was 8:25 AM on Saturday morning, and Buford Bellowin’s cell phone was ringing. How he wished he had turned it off before going to sleep at 2:00 AM. The wife and the servants would arrive by noon. He had hoped to sleep until 11:00. Through blurry vision, he could see it was Kyle Serpentine calling.
“Don’t you know it’s too early to be calling on a Saturday morning, Kyle?”
“Yes, Sir. Sorry about that. But I thought you would want to hear the news.”
You mean the terrible news about the death of Greg Tenorly and Cynthia Blockerman? he thought. “What news?”
“Kantrell Jamison is dead.”
“What? How’d that happened?”
“From what I understand, his cellmate pushed him, and he fell back and hit his head real hard. They took him to the emergency room. But he died during the night.”
Buford hoped Kyle couldn’t hear the smile in his voice. “That’s a shame.” Why couldn’t this have happened when the boy first went to jail?
“Yes, Sir, it is. I just found out about it a few minutes ago when his mother called me. And she asked me if Kantrell had said anything to me about the money.”
Buford cringed. “What money?”
“She said Kantrell had $30,000 hidden away somewhere. She’s desperate to find that money. I told her I didn’t know anything about it.”
“Were you telling her the truth?”
“Of course. I don’t know what she’s talking about. He didn’t tell me anything about any money. I hate to say it, Sir, but it sounds like somebody hired Kantrell to kill Sam Spokane. I guess he really was guilty after all.”
“That’s terrible. And here we were, trying save a poor young black man from the injustice of small-town discrimination.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And it turns out he was a criminal.”
“But we tried to do something good, Sir.”
“Yes. We tried. Well, thanks for letting me know, Kyle. You did a good job with this trial. And I’ll remember you when I become governor. You can count on it.”
“Thank you, Sir.” That was all Kyle needed to hear. Look out, Austin, here I come, he thought.
Now Buford was wide-awake. Finally, all of the obstacles had been eliminated: Kantrell Jamison, Arabeth Albertson, Troy Blockerman, Dorothy Spokane, Marty Crumb, Greg Tenorly, Cynthia Blockerman, and, of course, Sam Spokane. Too bad so many people had to die. But, successful politicians are tough. They’re not afraid to do whatever it takes.
His troubles were over, and it was going to be a fantastic day. He would celebrate with a drink or two.
*
“Dr. Huff? This is Greg. Sorry for calling you so early.”
He had not talked to the pastor since Wednesday. Dr. J. Marshall Huff was the pastor of First Baptist Church, and Greg’s part-time boss.
“Greg? What’s going on with you? We’ve been hearing a lot of stories. And then we saw on TV that you were wanted by the police.”
“I know. It’s been crazy. But I just wanted you to know that the things they’re saying are not true.”
“I didn’t think so.” There was not much certainty in Dr. Huff’s voice.
“The only thing I did wrong was to take Cynthia Blockerman out of town. The D.A. had ordered her not to leave Coreyville.”
“I see.”
“But there was a murderer on the loose, and she was in danger. And so was I. The killer followed us, and yesterday he tried to kill us—twice.”
“Well, I heard that you shot a man.”
“I did. But it was self-defense. And he shot me in the arm. I was just trying to protect Cynthia.”
“I didn’t know you owned a gun, Greg.”
“I don’t. It wasn’t my gun.”
“And how did you get involved with this woman?”
Greg didn’t appreciate the pastor’s tone. “It’s kind of a long story. I’ll tell you all about it later. I just wanted to let you know I won’t be able to direct the music for tomorrow’s service.”
“I’ve already asked Henry to fill in.”
“And—one more thing. Do you know a good lawyer? I’m in jail, and this is my one phone call.”
*
It was a lousy place to be, but at least Cynthia finally felt safe—in spite of the fact that two young hookers were staring at her from across the small cell.
“She’s getting a little old for this kind of work,” said Hooker #1.
“Nah. Some guys like ‘em older,” said Hooker #2.
“Or they’re too drunk to care.”
They both laughed.
“What do you think? She’s got to be at least 30.”
“But she still looks good. Check out the beautiful red hair.”
“Yeah. I guess guys would still want to do her.”
“Hey, I’d do her.”
They laughed even harder. One of them laughed until she went into a raging smoker’s cough.
Cynthia did feel safe. But her stomach was queasy. She nearly barfed on the floor—where someone else had apparently vomited a few hours earlier.
Just hang on, she thought. Surely, this will be over soon.
*
As Buford walked to his study, he felt all-powerful. Nobody could stop him now. He poured himself a well-deserved shot of whiskey. Buford Bellowin, Governor of Texas. He loved the sound of it.
“Having a nice day, Buford?”
The familiar voice sent tremors throughout Buford’s body. The shot glass slipped through his fingers, and fell to the floor. He turned around to see Marty Crumb sitting in a chair, pointing a pistol at Buford. “Marty?”
The pistol
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