Choppy Water

Bess was driving down to Virginia when she passed a liquor store and remembered that Sykes’s bar was out of Knob Creek. They had all been drinking it. She parked, went inside, and bought three bottles of the bourbon.

At the compound she took her suitcase in one hand and the shopping bag from the liquor store in the other and went inside. She left her suitcase on the stairs, then knocked on the door of Sykes’s study. No answer. She knocked again, then went in and left a bottle of Knob Creek on the butler’s tray that he used for a bar, then took the other two into the dining room and put them with the rest of the booze.

“That’s very generous of you,” a voice said from behind her. She turned and saw Sykes standing in the doorway.

“Well,” she said. “I’ve been drinking a lot of it, so I thought I’d return some to the fold.”

“Thank you. I’m sure we’ll all appreciate it.” He beckoned her into the study. “Sit down.”

“I put a bottle with your stock, too,” she said, nodding at the butler’s tray. Then she sat down. “What’s up?”

He set her burner phone on the table between them. “What’s this?”

She picked it up, opened it, tried to turn it on, and failed. “It’s a throwaway cell phone,” she said. “The old-fashioned kind, not a smartphone. Dead.”

“We found it at the top of the hill, where Eugene does his target practice.”

“And...?”

“And, I wondered if it was yours,” he said, his gaze steady.

“No, mine is an iPhone, remember?”

“Maybe we should charge the throwaway.”

“I don’t have a charger for something that old, just for my iPhone.”

“Well, I couldn’t find one in your room. Everybody else has denied ownership of the throwaway. That leaves you.”

“No,” she said. “More likely it leaves one of them who’s lying. The phone is not mine.”

“You mind if we fingerprint you and make comparisons?”

“Go right ahead. You fingerprinted me when I first came here, remember? All you need is a print from the phone.” She was sure she had wiped it down, and she hoped she had done so thoroughly.

“Only Eugene’s prints are on it,” Sykes said.

“Perhaps Eugene found his own phone,” she said.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Because you know it’s not yours. I know it’s not mine. And Eugene’s prints are on it. Were his the only ones?”

“There was one other,” Sykes said. “It doesn’t match anyone here. We’re running it through the national register.”

“Wow! How do you get access to that?”

“We have friends everywhere.”

“You certainly do. What will you do if the odd print belongs to one of the other men?”

“Take him out and shoot him, I suppose.”

“Well, that’s decisive.”

“I’m a decisive man; when I find that I’ve been betrayed, I act decisively.”

“I admire that in a man.”

“I thought you preferred women.”

“I prefer decisiveness in men. I prefer fucking women.”

“Is that what, ah, you girls call it?”

“We look at fucking as an act of sex in general, not one in particular.”

“I read that in a novel once,” Sykes said.

“Perhaps we read the same fiction.”

“I doubt it.”

“I doubt it, too.”

Sykes stood up. “Thanks for the bourbon,” he said, then left the room.

Bess thought about which of the men she had seen on the hilltop. Just two: Eugene and his friend Earl. Then she had a thought. She went into the kitchen where Elroy was making biscuits. “I’m a little peckish, Elroy,” she said. “May I have a biscuit?”

Elroy flipped one from a hot pan onto a saucer, opened it with his knife, and buttered it. “There you go,” he said, handing her the saucer.

She bit into it and burned her tongue a little. “Fresh from the oven,” she said, fanning her mouth.

“Sorry about that,” Elroy said. “They’re best hot.”

She blew on the biscuit and attempted another bite. “Better,” she said.

“Always.”

“Elroy, may I ask you a question?”

“As long as you don’t expect an honest answer,” he replied.

“It’s not all that personal. Have you ever been to the top of the hill out there?” She pointed her chin at the outside.

“Sure. I go up there and set a spell now and then.”

“Have you ever taken a cell phone up there?”

Elroy looked at her appraisingly. “Why do you ask?”

“Because Eugene found one up there, and Sykes is pissed off about it. He says he found a fingerprint on it that isn’t Eugene’s or the rest of his guys’ or mine. He also says that if he finds out who it is, he’s going to take him out and shoot him.”

Elroy looked at her curiously, but didn’t reply immediately. “Do you think he would do that?” he asked, finally.

“I think he might. You must know that there’s something going on around here.”

“Generally,” he said, “I keep my ass in the kitchen.”

“A wise decision. I just wanted you to know, just in case it’s your print.”

Now he looked at her more curiously. “Who do you work for?” he asked.

“I work for a guy at the Justice Department. What about you?”