Jason Deas - Benny James 02 - Pushed Page 3

  Red popped up and looked down at Galaxie who was looking at him. “You good, good girl, Galaxie. You take care of Red and Red take care of you.” Galaxie rubbed against Red’s leg and he bent over and scratched the top of her head.

  “Snap out of it buddy!” Ned called as he walked over to Red.

  The two men shook hands and exchanged a warm look.

  “I haven’t seen Benny around town in a few days,” Ned declared. “I thought you would probably know where he’s run off and gone.”

  “Bendy in bad, bad trouble. Red worried about Bendy.”

  “What did he do?” Ned asked confused.

  “He not doing nothing. What somebody be doing to him be the bad, bad way to treat a peoples.”

  “Oh,” Ned said, utterly confused. Thankfully, from his experiences with Red he knew if he let him keep talking it would all eventually make sense.

  “When me and Bendy throwing strings into water and pulling out fishes, Vernon come on dock looking like he poop he pants and tell Bendy that Reverend Jim need to do some talking with him for money.”

  “Oh, I see,” Ned said, nodding his head up and down with understanding. “Reverend Jim has hired Benny to help with the case of finding his son, Brother Jim.”

  “That be what I just say,” Red shot back, looking at Ned like he was thick.

  “You certainly did,” Ned conceded. “Well, is there anything you need?”

  “Nope,” Red said. “You need something from Red.”

  Ned was not sure if this was a question or a statement.

  Thankfully, Red finished his thought and said, “You need a bag of vegables from Red garden.”

  “I would love a bag of vegetables.”

  As Red walked the garden and filled a brown paper bag with vegetables for Ned, Galaxie followed. Ned watched with wonder. Red talked with her the entire way around the garden and showed her some of the vegetables he picked. At one point, they both stopped simultaneously and looked up. Three crows flew over, and Red dropped the brown bag. Red didn’t move and Galaxie hissed and mewed as if she was injured. Red’s face paled and his hands trembled. After a full minute, Red picked up the bag and walked over to Ned.

  “Did you seeing that?” Red asked Ned.

  “The crows?”

  “Three in crows equal gray news.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “I don’t heared it, I knowed it,” Red answered. “Mama always scared of crows and call thems black angels. Daddy say not to be scare until they come in threes. I see three sitting on he tractor the day before he dead. I didn’t believe. Now, Red believe.”

  “So, what do you think it means?” Ned asked.

  “I don’t thinking, I knowing,” Red said seriously. “The black angels be flying south. Bendy south in Florida. Bendy in trouble.”

  Chapter 5

  Reverend Jim’s mega church sat atop the highest point in Coldwater County, Mississippi. The steeple could be seen from miles and the chiming of its bells could be heard from even farther. Reverend Jim’s compound was positioned west of the church, so he could see the sun rise over his church each and every morning.

  His compound consisted of his incredibly large residence, his office, and a multitude of office buildings disguised as barns for his closest and most trusted employees. There was also a studio for taping Hollywood quality productions. It was equipped with the latest and best sound, video, and lighting equipment on the market.

  Reverend Jim had a gentleman on his books who had received a prestigious award for work he did on a film for Hollywood about pirates. His services cost Reverend Jim a fortune, but in his mind they were well worth the price.

  The compound was surrounded by an enormous metal fence, surveillance equipment, and security guards. The office buildings/barns on the compound were mostly painted red, which was not an uncommon sight in the country side. The one that housed the office of Reverend Jim was gold and adorned with a singular silver star that was fashioned as a weathervane but exceedingly oversized. Reverend Jim’s weathervane did not point north, south, east, and west, as most did. It had an arrow pointing upward to heaven and one down toward hell.

  The interior of his office contained one enormous room. In the middle, a rectangular stage rose five feet above the ground floor or about half as high as a loft might. In the center, sat a piece of furniture and a work of fine, high art—Reverend Jim’s desk. The desk itself was enormous. It went left, it went right, and it basically wrapped around the red leather chair that was a whole other story entirely.

  The many sides of the desk had been intricately carved with scenes from the Bible. The massive front of the desk, which people were confronted with upon entering Reverend Jim’s office, was a scene of David versus Goliath.

  The carving depicted anything but the classic version. It depicted a David who was sweating, fearful, and uncertain. Goliath seethed evil and nightmarish hate. Goliath towered over the cowering David and one might have thought from the first panel that the known outcome of the battle might go differently this time around.

  The second panel made some who viewed it almost leap and cheer. David rested on one knee, exhausted from the battle. His clothes were torn and his face radiated fatigue. Goliath lay amongst a mountain of stones. One of the rocks though, was cemented in the middle of his forehead, with its hidden-half obviously embedded in his brain. The image reconfigured the classic story of the boy who took only one rock to slay the giant. This David and Goliath story told a different tale.

  Most of the office buildings had a few windows constructed with normal glass accompanied by a few small stained glass pieces for decorative purposes. Reverend Jim’s windows stretched the length and width of the structure and were fashioned with two-way glass, so no one could see in, but he could see out. From his desk, he could see all the pieces of the kingdom he had so carefully created.

  The church itself stood on the hill. Its massive structure beamed strength, power, hope, and beauty. Most were awestruck upon their first look. The church could actually be classified as a mega church as its membership passed the three thousand mark. The services were broadcast on television stations across Mississippi and a few other states scattered across the country. Reverend Jim had a considerably large flock, and his members contributed large sums of money to his mission.

  The Sunday morning after meeting Benny, Reverend Jim sat behind the pulpit listening to the heavenly sounds of the choir. His thoughts flew all over creation. The voices of the choir lifted him up and the thoughts of his son pulled him down. Thoughts of his mission for God launched his thoughts heavenward and his poor son’s absence pulled him back to earth. He did love his son unconditionally and understood the sacrifice he was making with his life.

  As the choir started their second song, he thought of their unconventional relationship. Reverend Jim’s wife died during childbirth. Always looking for signs, he took this as a sign from God that her only purpose on earth was to give birth to a special child. So, Reverend Jim, for years, kept the child hidden away like a secret treasure. He always referred to him as “the one” and he became a part of the church’s mystique. A hidden gem and the heir apparent.

  As the choir finished its last song of the morning, Reverend Jim stood. The cameras and the members turned their attention on him as he was always full of serious thoughts and focused.

  “Let us pray,” he instructed. The congregation bowed their heads in complete silence. “I come to you this morning Lord, with a heavy, heavy heart. My world is at an impasse. Trouble flows through me like a river. It bubbles and roars and splashes its complexities across me like rapids on angry waters. I feel a war within myself. I know on one hand what has to be done and on the other what should not be done. I ask myself time and time again if I should work for your glory or mine own and time and time again the answer comes back—work only for the glory of God.

  “Look after my flock. And especially look after our Brother Jim. He is fighting personal dem
ons. Be with his flesh. Be with his mind. Protect his soul. Protect and be with all of my flock who may be experiencing the same difficulties in their lives. Be with us all as we battle each day to win the war of good versus evil. Amen.”

  Chapter 6

  Rachael woke up before any hint of the sun. She spied Benny curled into a strange concoction of covers, legs, arms, and breathing. Watching him sleep, she thought back to the previous night and smiled. They had another wrestling match of sorts, followed by a couple of drinks, dinner, wine, and a walk on the beach.

  Benny had a couple more stiff drinks after their second tryst and she imagined he would sleep until ten or so. He started slow in the morning, and Rachael did not imagine it would hurt his feelings in the least if he woke up to find her out and about. She quickly washed her face and brushed her teeth.

  She had laid clothes in the bathroom the night before when she noticed how tipsy and talkative Benny had become. As a conversationalist, Benny could hold his own but he did not usually grab, take over, and control a conversation. A pulpit might have served him well the previous night as he went on and on and on with his thoughts.

  She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, left Benny a quick but sweet note, and slipped out of the room. She had not rented a car, as the network gave her plenty of money for taxis. On this particular morning, she decided to borrow Benny’s rental and climbed behind the wheel of the sporty Smokey and the Bandit Trans Am. Not certain if she meant to or not, Rachael left a little rubber on the pavement of the Sea Chief’s parking lot. She laughed as the car launched forward.

  The girl who had been pushed off the Royal Park Bridge to her death had been named at birth, Josephine Brezark. Her stage name was Breeze. She had been one of the most popular dancers at a strip club called Wax. Rachael wanted to get a feel for the club, thinking it would be deserted at such an early hour. She envisioned being able to sit in the parking lot of the club and taking in the aura of the place. She did her best work when she felt as if she really knew a place and formed a connection.

  She drove the Trans Am into the lot and noticed the sign for Wax. The sign displayed a neon candle that looked vaguely and suspiciously like male genitalia. The substance coming from the candle in neon flashes did not exactly look like wax. She laughed at its absurdity.

  As Rachael backed the car into a spot from which she could see the entire lot, she noticed a white Mercedes Benz parked by a side entrance. She assumed it was the automobile of a patron who had been too drunk to drive home the previous night and had wisely found an alternative way back to their residence. Before she could even settle in and gather her thoughts, a man exited the side entrance door and walked toward the Benz.

  Just as he pushed a button on his key fob and the lights on his white Mercedes flicked on and off, he noticed the black Trans Am and the woman watching him. He froze. Not exactly sure what to do, Rachael waved at him. Hesitantly, he waved back.

  Rachael got out of the car, smiling to put the man at ease. She was sure that if she had been a man, at this time of the morning, in a car like this, he would have bolted, thinking he was being robbed. His face eased seeing it was a pretty woman and Rachael thought he must be thinking it was just another desperate girl looking for a job. As she walked toward him, still smiling, his face changed from pleasant to ill. She was too close when the reality of the situation finally hit him.

  “You’re…” his mind searched.

  “Rachael Martin,” she finished.

  “That’s it,” the man answered. “I’ve been expecting news coverage but didn’t expect it to come at five in the morning.”

  “I don’t have any cameras with me,” Rachael spoke soothingly. “I just came here to get a feel for the place. I didn’t expect anyone to be here. May I ask you who you are?”

  “Of course,” the man said, his nerves seeming to settle. “My name is Azim. I am the owner of the club. I always come in at about ten every night and stay through closing and into the morning to do the accounting.”

  Azim reminded Rachael of an Indian man who worked at her first television station as a graphic artist. She had loved to hear him talk. Azim spoke in the same singsong manner as his voice rose and fell with each word, making his sentences lyrical.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Azim.” Rachael extended her hand.

  The two shook hands.

  “I know you have probably had a long night, but could I ask you a few questions about Breeze?”

  “Sure,” Azim answered. “Why don’t we go back inside,” he suggested. “I can make us some coffee.”

  “That would be nice.”

  Azim led her to the front door and once open, held it for her to enter as a gentleman might. Rachael walked through the door and froze. It was pitch black inside. Sensing Azim behind her, she moved a bit to the side to let him enter. Azim clicked a single switch on the wall, and the room lit up.

  Rachael’s jaw dropped as she looked around. She had never been inside a strip club before. She had seen them on television shows and in movies, but she had never actually been inside one in person.

  Everything seemed incredibly purple to her. As she studied the room, Azim made his way over to a coffee machine to create a beverage that did not seem to go with the establishment at all. Who in the world came to a strip club and had a cup of coffee?

  Rachael imagined drunk men slamming Jager Bombs, Buttery Nipples, Blue Hawaiians, and nasty concoctions with vodka hidden inside. She eyed the infamous stripper poles. One of them had a greasy streak running down its length and she tried not to think of what might have caused the mark. Rope lighting surrounded the stage and Rachael spotted a dollar bill resting on the shiny wooden floor, lonely, forgotten, and out of place.

  Entranced by the room and the dollar bill, Rachael did not sense Azim as he approached with the steaming cup of coffee. Startled, her body twitched.

  “First time in a strip club?” Azim asked.

  “How did you guess?”

  “Your eyes were just about to pop out of your head.”

  “That obvious, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Azim smiled. “You should see the guys who come in here for their first strip club experience.”

  “I bet that is funny.”

  “It’s hilarious. You should come back when the girls are on stage, to get the full effect.”

  “I don’t think so,” Rachael said with a smile, knowing that he was kidding.

  Azim sat the mug of coffee in front of her and sat on a stool at the bar, leaving two empty stools in between. He pulled his mug to his face and blew on it before he tried to take a sip of the steaming brew.

  “It smells amazing,” Rachael said, holding the cup in front of her face.

  “It’s my personal coffee. We don’t serve this kind here. This is called Cinnamon Rock and Roll. We serve Folgers if you would prefer that.”

  “No, no,” Rachael answered. “Cinnamon rolls are little pieces of heaven. Who doesn’t like cinnamon rolls?” She took a little sip of the fiery hot liquid. “Oh my God, this really tastes like a cinnamon roll mixed with coffee.”

  “I know,” Azim answered, smiling at her. “It better taste just like it for the price I pay.”

  “Where do you get it?”

  “Italy,” he answered. “The company ships it in a special container that supposedly holds in the flavors.”

  “I think it works,” Rachael said.

  “I’m happy with it.” Turning away from the chitchat, Azim asked, “How can I help you with this case, Rachael?”

  “I need to know who might have wanted Josephine dead.”

  “Certainly not me,” he said. “I loved her.”

  Rachael was rarely, if ever, thrown off guard. She was thrown off guard. “You what?” she asked.

  “I loved her,” Azim stated. “I have loved her from the minute she walked in these doors.”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Rachael said.

  “I know this is going to sound like a
cheesy romance movie or novel. But, it was a rainy day when I first met her. Thunder was keeping all the customers away and we were doing no business that afternoon. She opened the front door and I swear to you on my life that a ray of sunlight followed her inside. The moment I saw her my heart broke because I knew my life would not be complete until she was a part of it.”

  “So you hired her on the spot?”

  “Hell no,” Azim answered. “I didn’t want her to work in this filthy place. This place is filled with creeps each night. She didn’t deserve that!”

  “But she did work here?”

  “Yes. She would not take no for an answer. I have never met a more determined woman.”

  “Did she know how you felt about her?”

  “Yes. I am usually a very quiet and guarded person, but I told her on that first day what she did to my insides.”

  “And how did she take that information?”

  “I honestly think she was touched. Here she was in an establishment that sells sex and its owner was attracted to her beauty in a non-sexual way.”

  “You were not interested in her sexually?” Rachael asked, unconvinced.

  “No. I know it’s hard to believe, coming from a guy who owns a strip club, but no. I was taken by her because I felt something deeper than the usual animal attraction I usually feel in the presence of a beautiful woman. Because of that, I knew there was something special about this woman.”

  “Who killed her?” Rachael asked, taking a stab with a very direct approach.

  “I’ve been wondering that myself and trying to figure out whom it might be.”

  “Do you know that people involved with the victims, especially love interests, become main targets of scrutiny.”

  “Yes,” Azim said. “I was aware of all of that before I told you anything. I have nothing to hide about my love for her.” Azim paused and a look of confusion washed over his face.

  “Is everything OK, Azim?”

  “Maybe it is because I am very tired, but I am not comprehending something here,” Azim stated.