Extreme Justice

Chapter 30

BEN MET EARL at Nelsons Buffeteria, Tulsa’s most famous downtown eatery. This restaurant was such an established landmark it had been written up in National Geographic. Nelson’s had been around for a million and one years, and it still retained its Depression-era ambience. Most of the menu was carbo heaven—chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes, everything smothered in gravy. It was Earl’s favorite dining experience.

Ben told Earl what he had learned during the course of his interviews. “I still need to talk to Scat. He’s the only member of the band I haven’t spoken to individually.”

“Scat don’t have nothin’ to do with no murder,” Earl said as he terminated his apple pie. “I can tell you that right now.”

“Maybe not. But he might still come in handy. Maybe he saw something; maybe he heard something.”

“Don’t you think he would’ve said so by now?”

“Sometimes people don’t realize the significance of what they know. Sometimes they forget. I’ve seen people totally forget important pieces of information till they’re on the witness stand. You never know.”

“Well, I’ll set somethin’ up, but I don’t want you givin’ Scat no bad time. He’s been around a while, you know?”

“I know.”

“Man’s old as Moses, and about as good. He’s done a lot for me. Me and the Professor both. So I don’t want you treatin’ him like no criminal.”

“You have my word, Earl.”

“All right then.” He wiped his face with a napkin. “What else?”

“I’ve spoken with Lieutenant Morelli at police headquarters,” Ben explained. “He’s says they’re still not prepared to make an arrest. But he also told me Police Chief Blackwell is under pressure, both from the press and from the city council, to make an arrest. So you figure it out.”

Earl grunted. “It’s gonna happen. They’re jus’ bidin’ their time.”

“Yeah, but their time’s gonna come quickly. We have to be ready. That includes Tyrone. He’s all that’s kept you out of the hoosegow this long.”

Earl coughed into his hand. “About Tyrone. I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Is there a problem? Is he threatening to recant?”

“No, no. I jus’ don’t want the boy involved.”

“Earl, we don’t have any choice. He’s critical to our case.”

“If he testifies for me, he puts himself on the line.”

“He’s already on the line. Those warrants bearing his name will exist whether he testifies for you or not.”

“But he could get out. He could deal. Right?”

Ben didn’t say anything.

“If he becomes the witness that puts a dent in their nice neat case against me, they’re gonna go up against him with everything they have. Hell, they’ll probably call in both warrants and charge him jus’ so they can say he’s a criminal when he takes the stand.” He leaned forward. “Right?”

Ben pursed his lips. “It’s possible.”

“But it’s a sure thing they’ll go against Tyrone, right? Don’t lie to me, Ben.”

“Lieutenant Morelli doesn’t think either charge amounts to much. But if your case goes to trial”—Ben drew in his breath—“you’re right. The prosecutor is certain to go after Tyrone.”

“Well, I don’t want that to happen. Tyrone’s a good boy. He’s tryin’ to straighten himself out. He deserves a chance.”

“But if he knows something, he has an obligation to come forward.”

“You’re not listenin’ to me, Ben. They’ll crucify him.”

“You can’t be sure of that. You don’t even know he’s guilty.”

“I know the cops have a way of makin’ a man guilty if they want him to be.”

Ben didn’t argue; Earl was the expert on that subject. “Look, let me talk to Tyrone. See what really happened. If this fraud warrant is a bum rap, I’ll do everything in my power to get him off.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“We’ll find out how strong the prosecution case is. We’ll see what they’ve got, then take it from there.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning we’ll talk about the possibility of not using Tyrone as a witness. Just let me talk to him.”

“I’m supposed to be meetin’ Tyrone tonight.” Earl checked his watch. “In fact, I’m late.”

“It’s a little late in the day for a sax lesson, isn’t it?”

“This wasn’t no sax lesson. This was for me to give him a wad of cash and tell him to get the hell out of Dodge. Before he gets dragged into this mess.”

“Please don’t do that, Earl. Please.” Ben leaned across the table. “Look, let me keep your meeting. I’ll see Tyrone, try to get this thing worked out. There must be some solution that doesn’t send anyone to prison. Or worse.”

“I don’t know. I—”

“Please, Earl, trust me on this one. Give me a chance.”

Earl stared at Ben. “All right,” he said finally. “You keep the meetin’. But I want to hear about it, and if you can’t get him off the hook—”

Ben nodded. “We’ll discuss that when we get there.”

He checked his watch once more before leaving. Good, just enough time to make the appointment.

He was pleased to see it was a dark night. He had completely repainted the van; still, it was best not to take any risks. The whole purpose of this venture was to terminate the risks, not to create new ones.

He made sure he had everything—keys, wallet, and most important, the shiny silver blade. That would come in handy tonight.

He’d had trouble sleeping lately. He was plagued by nightmares. Fears that the stupid-ass kid in the bathroom might finally realize who and what he had seen.

He couldn’t let that happen. He would get no rest until that threat was eliminated.

Which was what tonight was all about.

He fingered the handle of the long serrated blade tucked in the holster of his belt. This was the night he put his fears to rest. This was the night the nightmares stopped, the long darkness ended.

He stopped on his way out the door, touching that shiny gold Supertone sax for luck. There had to be some luck coming off that, didn’t there? Had to be something special about it.

He left the house and started toward the garage. He was feeling lucky already. This would be the last night for his problems. The last night he would have to worry.

And the last night—period!—for one Tyrone Jackson.

He smiled, his hand gripping the knife. Tyrone Jackson—and anyone else who got in his way.