A Tin Full of Gold – Chapter 30

The Grumpy Gourmet

Expectation and anticipation meet reality at The White Hart. The Grumpy Gourmet has something to be grumpy about.  At least he thinks so. Check out the latest post on the Salisbury, CT landmark. Click on the G.G. header.

Chapter 30

            Should I go or not? My coat swung from the tips of my fingers. Indecision cemented my feet to the kitchen floor. For the first time in twenty years I felt ambivalence about attending our annual ham and bean supper. The event marked the closing of tourist season, a time for the locals to gather to take back and enjoy their town. For business folks the evening became a time to celebrate another successful summer. For the elders, a time to determine who still remained among the living. This meal evolved, over the years, into a social obligation. All the ranks of Granite Cove society attended.  Lobstermen ate with lawyers, tee-shirt merchants with teachers. Simple baked beans the improbable leveler. Oblivious to the ritual, Owens never attended. Hated to admit it, but I enjoyed my role as “Pseudo-chief” in her absence. Of course, the presence of Dennet and the other selectmen put a bit of damper on my ego trip.

Hadn’t missed one of these events in forever. Now hunger and a dull ache ebbed and flowed as my stomach and shoulder vied for attention. My busy day had about done me in. Not the recommended recuperation. Should pop one of those magic pills they gave me.  No, need a clear head if I’m going out. Doc Danforth would be up there, wondering why I wasn’t home resting up.  Good enough reason not to go. Come on, Snodgrass, make up your mind.

 I threw the decision to fate. If had enough free cash, I’d go. Otherwise I’d spend a night at home with a frozen pizza.  One five and three one dollar bills—eight dollars. What did I need?  Seven.   Price hadn’t changed in years. My pocket change would cover me.  The thought rolled in like a thunder clap in a clear sky. Seven dollars, shit. Beanie asked Mary for that exact amount. The damned fool intended to go to the supper. I had to get up there.

Keys in hand, I ran to the garage. My phone rang as I slid behind the wheel.  Joe Burns. 

“You at the church?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Beanie’s there, right?”

“Come on, Al. How the hell did you know ?”

“Explanation later. Any chance of getting him out quick?”

“Not without makin’ a scene.”

“Anybody make the call yet?”

“What call?”

“To Headquarters to report his presence.”

“Jeez, I don’t think so. It’s like a time warp or somethin’ here. Everybody’s frozen in place.”

“Any of the cops around?”

“Don’t see any. Betty’s here, got her phone out but kinda huggin’ it, not talkin’.”

“Make sure Betty calls this in.  She’s part of the department and needs to report to protect herself.”

“You want us to turn him in?”

“He’s made his bed, and none of us should climb in with him.  We’ve done all we can. High time to think of ourselves. Mort Shaw isn’t there, is he?”

“Yeah, he and Dennet are standing over against a wall, mouths wide open.  The whole town is cleared up against the walls.  Beanie’s chowing down like he’s never seen beans before. Doesn’t even seem aware everybody has moved away. The only things moving in here are his fork and my jaw.”

“Alright, go get to Betty. Then tell Mort I’ll be there in five minutes and I must talk to him.”

As the keys slid into the ignition, I realized I was unarmed.  Shouldn’t need a weapon tonight, but after getting shot, I carried more places than usual. For all the good the gun did at the junkyard might be better to leave it home. But who knew what I could run into if our head of detectives decided to show up.

A full clip clicked into the butt of my Glock.  Wriggling into the shoulder holster so it didn’t bother my wound became a torturous game of trial and error. Why was I bothering? Sweat slicked my brow and agony rippled down my arm as I gripped the door to my gun safe to keep from collapsing to the floor. Couldn’t hang here all night, had to move.

My little thirty eight snub-nosed revolver lay on the bottom shelf.  Did this mess require a backup piece? Yes, the situation could turn ugly and if one firearm made me feel safer, why not two? I grabbed the pistol, strapped it to my ankle and pulled the sock over it. Snodgrass you’re getting paranoid in your old age.

My phone rang again, I assumed Joe called back, but the display showed Mark Renfrew’s cell.  “Mark, good timing.  Beanie’s surfaced and he’s at the Unitarian Church hall.”

Silence on the other end of the line for several seconds.  “What?  Why?”

“Who the hell knows why. Can’t expect logic from him. Wanted some beans, I suppose. They’re one of his favorite foods. This will be the break our friendly head of detectives has been waiting for.  I’m headed up there now, but I could use some help if you’re in the area.”

“That’s why I’m calling. Mahoney received new evidence in DeFranchesco’s case. She issued an arrest warrant for him.  I’m assembling a team now and heading in your direction.  Figured I’d give you a heads up. Should we go to the church?”

“How long before you can be here?”

“At least thirty minutes.”

“By then he will be grilling Beanie in the box at headquarters.  I’m going to convince Attorney Shaw to be at the questioning, to prevent things from getting all twisted up.  We will try to stall until you make it.”

“Al, one more thing, we’ve been given the go-ahead to take over the murder investigation. Owens will be sidelined.”

“Good. Now something will happen.  I’ve got to get up there. See you in a half an hour.”

“Al, wait.  The lab came up with an additional piece of data on your shooting.  You man, Jenkins, found the slug that hit you.”

“Thought they couldn’t find it.”

“Couldn’t on the first pass. Damn thing went through an old screw hole in the face of the door.  Must’ve been a sign or something tacked up there.  Hardly noticeable, but Carl kept hunting and found what was left of the slug inside the door. Rattled around in there quite a bit.”

“I’ve told you, Carl’s a good cop.  If he sticks with it, he’ll go places. So we’ve got ballistics?”

“That’s the bad news. The slug got so beat up in the door, all we can say is that it is a forty four magnum. The only brass Carl found was yours, and from what you told me the shooter wouldn’t have had time to police the area, so I’m going to assume a refvolver.”

“You mean like an old Colt?”

“Yeah. Not exactly a weapon of choice these days too big and too heavy.”

I had no idea what to do with this new information. It all sounded anticlimactic and unimportant even though we were talking about a bullet that put a hole in me. “Thanks for the update, but I really need to run.  I’ll keep my eyes open for “Dirty Harry”, but I doubt we see that gun again.  See you shortly.”

The only Colts I had never seen were in museums, and of course old Westerns and the Clint Eastwood movies, Easy to spot if the gun surfaced again. I flushed the thought and focused on what lay ahead at the church.

The Mustang sat dead center of the narrow street, blocking passage in both directions. Cars parked all along the road, all with wheels on the sidewalk, a veritable bonanza of potential revenue. No room for me.    Screw it, pseudo-police chief business. I pulled up behind the Mustang, got out and ran for the door.

A wall of people ringed the room.  The place resembled a roman coliseum with the spectators at the edge and the gladiators in the center. Except, I couldn’t see any combatants.  The orderly rank upon rank of butcher paper covered tables was disrupted in the middle of the room. Some were pushed aside. Chairs were overturned. One of the table cloths was pulled half off. Plates, silverware and condiment holders teetered over the brink.  Grunts came from the open hole in the sea of white. “Hold still you stupid bastard.”

I moved around the ring until I reached a gap in the tables. Two bodies struggled on the floor. The one on top wore a hiked up suit coat, showing the butt of a pistol in a holster on his back.  DeFranchesco, and by default the wiggling form on the bottom must be Beanie.  The action took on the appearance of a Three Stooges comedy. The detective would grab one arm.  Beanie would pull the other free as though his bones were made of spaghetti.

The wrestling match reached the awkward moment when neither opponent held an advantage and no one seemed to possess the energy to gain any ground. DeFranchesco scanned the crowd he could see from his vantage point. No one moved. His back was to me, but I doubted he would have asked for my help even if he did notice me.

My eyes met Joe ‘s across the hall.  I shook my head.  No way any of them should get involved. Not sure I wanted to be, but had to.  I pushed between the chairs toward the two writhing bodies.

Red faced, sweating, DeFranchesco sucked wind. How long he could hold out? With a bellow he wrapped Beanies arm behind his back again. “Stay still you fuckin’ retard.” He fumbled in his jacket. Instead of cuffs, he extracted a small black box, a Taser.

 “Wait a minute. Is that necessary?”

“Back the fuck off. This is police business. Stay out of it.”

Beanie snaked an arm free and smacked the detective’s wrist. The black box clattered to the floor. DeFranchesco reached out, stretching to the side.  Beanie grabbed his leg and heaved them both over on their backs.  Beanie now lay on top looking at the ceiling held by a bear hug from below. A collective gasp rolled across the space, but no one moved. 

I leaned over the pile and yelled. “Beanie, lie still before someone gets hurt.  Let him put the cuffs on. I’ll go with you at station.  Let’s get this all sorted out.”

Beanies head whipped back and forth. Spittle sprayed from his mouth. I’d seen this before on the beach. He’d lost control. Couldn’t hear a thing.

A piece of skin  flopped about by his right eye. No, not skin, but a Band-aide, loose but still stuck at one end. Above his eye, a red gash leaked a trickle of blood. Injured in the scuffle? How would he have time for first aid?

My eyes jumped from face to face as DeFranchesco fought for control, and Beanie struggled for freedom.  Two moon faces, flushed with exertion. Sweat beaded and dripped from both, their appearance so similar I had difficulty distinguishing between the two. Except for the cut over Beanie’s eye and different hair styles,  they were identical.  Beanie?  With the head wound? Made no sense.

DeFranchesco let go.   Beanie rolled to his knees, pushing me back into the tables. The detective sprang to his feet, Taser in hand. He caught Beanie staggering upright. A high voltage discharge crackled.  Beanie danced at the end of DeFranchesco’s outstretched arm and then collapsed to the floor. The detective rolled the limp body face down and applied cuffs.

“You have to be so rough?”

 “What the fuck do you think? Did he look like he wanted to discuss it?  He’s off his rocker and I’m using reasonable force. I could have shot him. Back the hell off.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Him? Nothing more than a tickle for someone his size.”  He kicked Beanie over on his back. “Get up you dweeb, I ain’t carrying you outta here.” 

His body a blob of Jello, Beanie’s head lolled to the side. The detective emptied a pitcher of iced water in Beanie’s face.  Sputtering and spitting, Beanie rocked his head side to side, but never opened his eyes.  Alive, but not conscious.

DeFranchesco had gone too far.  “Stop! You’re out of line.”  I reached under my coat and gripped the handle of the Glock.”

He whipped around and pointed the black box at me the metal contacts electric snake fangs ready to strike. “Go ahead, you son of a bitch, give me an excuse. Told you once, this is police business.  Back the hell off before I zapp you.  You ain’t a cop no more.”

Good advice considering the source. I wasn’t all that sure the Taser still held a charge, but I released my grip on the gun and bent down to examine the groove sliced into Beanie’s forehead.  Sure looked like the mark of a shotgun pellet.  The Band-aide was gone.

DeFranchesco still pointed his weapon at me. “What’re you looking at?”

“This cut over his eye.  He get that in the fight?”

“How the hell would I know? We didn’t trade punches or nothing. Think he had it from before.”

Could Beanie have been the one at Joe’s impound, the one who put a bullet in me? A conclusion began forming in my mind and I didn’t like it. Must be some other explanation. Why would he even be at the junk yard? Where would he get a gun? Didn’t make sense. My desire to be involved in this mess ebbed by the second, and I backed away.

Slapping Beanie on the face hard enough for his head to flop back and forth with each blow, DeFranchesco shouted again. “Come on. Wake up you numbskull.” 

Police brutality without question, but the detective didn’t seem to realize sixty witnesses, including a lawyer and head selectman, monitored his actions.

I caught Mort Shaw’s attention and motioned him to come over.

As Shaw threaded his way through the maze of cockeyed tables and scattered chairs, Beanie woke.  DeFranchesco got him to his feet, spun him around, lifted his arms behind his back and shoved him toward the door. Pushing and stumbling, they passed through the wall of people and out of the building.

Mort stepped into the arena.  “Quite a show.  Think he’ll make to headquarters alive?”

“He better. He needs representation. You willing to take the case?”

Mort heaved a big sigh and shrugged. “What the hell, I’ve had a pretty good year, a pro bono or two is no problem.  Suppose I better get up to the station.”

“Beanie’s in real trouble on this one, and he’ll need all the help we can give him. May be able to pay you something this time, he’s got some assets.”

“We can deal with money later.”

“You should know, I believe our head of detectives is more interested in those assets than solving a murder. We need to make sure the questioning stays on topic.”

Mort’s fingers raked through his thick gray hair as his narrowed eyes bored into mine. “Interesting. You can fill me in later. I should be up there, now.” The attorney strode off after his client.  The ring parted to allow him to pass then filled in again.

I stood alone in the makeshift arena, all eyes on me.  I felt like an actor, center stage, who forgot his lines. 

Joe tugged on my arm from behind. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, think so. Did you spot it?”

“Spot what?”

“The gash on Beanie’s forehead. He was at the junkyard. That bastard shot me.”

Joe cocked his head to the side. “Whoa, hold on. He did have something on his head, right above his eye. Didn’t think nothin’ of it.  Too busy trying to figure what to do.”

“The bandage came loose.  The wound we expected on DeFranchesco, I found on Beanie.”

Joe crossed his arms over his chest as he rocked back on his heels studying the mess of flatware and napkins on the floor. “You sure?”

All these years and now he’s questioning my observation skills? “Stared right at his face after he got zapped. No doubt about it.” 

Despite all the crap strewn around, I found the Band-aide under one of the toppled chairs. Scooping it up with a clean napkin, I held it out. “Saw this flopping around on beanies face while they tussled. Got knocked off. Blood on it. Go snag a baggie from the kitchen.”

Joe opened his mouth, but closed it again, lips settling into a drawn white line. I delivered orders without any authority and that never sat well with Joe. “Ah—please? For better or worse, this is evidence.”