A Grant County Collection: Indelible, Faithless and Skin Privilege

  'Still do,' he said, picking up a piece of metal from his worktop. Jeffrey saw it was an old Porsche medallion, plated in shiny yellow gold. The set of fine-tipped paintbrushes beside it indicated Dale had been working on filling in the colors. 'This is for the wife's brother. Sweet ride.'

  'Can you run me through the process?'

  'Plating?' His eyes widened in surprise. 'You came all the way out here for a chemistry lesson?'

  'Can you humor me?'

  Dale didn't stop to think it over. 'Sure,' he agreed, leading Jeffrey to a bench in the back of the shop. He seemed almost relieved to be in familiar territory as he explained, 'It's called a three-step process, but there's more to it than that. Basically, you're just charging the metal with this.' He pointed to a machine that looked like a battery charger. Attached were two metal electrodes, one with a black handle, the other with a red one. Beside the machine was another electrode with a yellow and red handle.

  'Electricity runs positive from the red, negative from the black.' Dale indicated a shallow pan. 'First, you take what you want to plate and put it in here. Fill it with solution. You use the positive, clean it with the chrome stripper. Make it negative, activate the nickel.'

  'I thought it was gold.'

  'Nickel's underneath. Gold needs something to stick to. Activate the nickel with an acid solution, banana clip the negative to one side. Use a synthetic wrap on the end of the plating electrode, dip it into the gold solution, then bond the gold to the nickel. I'm leaving out all the sexy parts, but that's pretty much it.'

  'What's the solution?'

  'Basic stuff I get from the supplier,' he said, putting his hand on top of the metal cabinet above the plating area. He felt around and pulled out a key to unlock the door.

  'Have you always kept that key up there?'

  'Yep.' He opened up the cabinet and took down the bottles one by one. 'Kids can't reach it.'

  'Anybody ever come into the shop without your knowing it?'

  'Not ever,' he said, indicating the thousands of dollars' worth of tools and equipment in the space. 'This is my livelihood. Somebody gets in here and takes this stuff, I'm finished.'

  'You don't ever leave the door open?' Jeffrey asked, meaning the garage door. There were no windows or other openings in the garage. The only way in or out was through the metal roll-door. It looked strong enough to keep out a Mack truck.

  'I only leave it open when I'm here,' Dale assured him. 'I close it up when I go into the house to take a piss.'

  Jeffrey bent down to read the labels on the bottles. 'These look pretty toxic.'

  'I wear a mask and gloves when I use them,' Dale told him. 'There's worse stuff out there, but I stopped using it when Tim got sick.'

  'What kind of stuff?'

  'Arsenic or cyanide, mostly. You pour it in with the acid. It's pretty volatile and being honest here, it scares the shit out of me. They've got some new stuff on the market that's still pretty nasty, but it can't kill you if you breathe it wrong.' He pointed to one of the plastic bottles. 'That's the solution.'

  Jeffrey read the label. 'Cyanide free?'

  'Yeah.' He chuckled again. 'Honest to God, I was looking for an excuse to change over. I'm just a big ol' pussy when it comes to dying.'

  Jeffrey looked at each bottle, not touching them as he read the labels. Any one of them looked like they could kill a horse.

  Dale was rocking back on his heels, waiting. His expression seemed to say he was expecting some reciprocation for his patience so far.

  Jeffrey asked, 'You know that farm over in Catoogah?'

  'Soy place?'

  'That's it.'

  'Sure. Keep going that way,' – he indicated the road heading southeast – 'and you run right into it.'

  'You ever have anybody come over here from there?'

  Dale started to put away the bottles. 'Used to be they'd cut through the woods sometimes on their way to town. I got kind of nervous, though. Some'a them folks ain't exactly your upstanding types.'

  'Which folks?'

  'The workers,' he said, closing the cabinet. He locked it back and returned the key to its hiding place. 'Hell, that family is a bunch of fucking idiots if you ask me, letting those people live with them and all.'

  Jeffrey prompted, 'How's that?'

  'Some of these folks they bring down from Atlanta are pretty bad off. Drugs, alcohol, whatever. It leads you to do certain things, desperate things. You lose your religion.'

  He asked, 'Does that bother you?'

  'Not really. I mean, I guess you could say it's a good thing. I just didn't like them coming on my property.'

  'You worried about being robbed?'

  'They'd need a plasma torch to get into this place,' he pointed out. 'Either that or have to come through me.'

  'You keep a gun?'

  'Damn straight.'

  'Can I see it?'

  Dale walked across the room and reached up on top of another cabinet. He pulled down a Smith & Wesson revolver and offered it to Jeffrey.

  'Nice gun,' Jeffrey told him, checking the cylinder. He kept the weapon as meticulously clean as his shop, and fully loaded. 'Looks ready for action,' Jeffrey told him, handing back the gun.

  'Careful now,' Dale warned, almost jokingly. 'She's got a hair trigger.'

  'That a fact?' Jeffrey asked, thinking the man was probably pleased with himself for setting up such a good alibi should he ever 'accidentally' shoot an intruder.

  'I'm not really worried about them robbing me,' Dale explained, returning the weapon to its hiding place. 'Like I told you, I'm real careful. It's just, they'd come through here and the dogs would go crazy, the wife would freak out, the kids would start crying, got me all het up and you know that ain't good.' He paused, looking out at the driveway. 'I hate to be this way, but we're not living in Mayberry. There are all kinds of bad people out there and I don't want my kids around them.' He shook his head. 'Hell, Chief, I don't have to tell you about that.'

  Jeffrey wondered if Abigail Bennett had used the cut-through. 'Any of the people from the farm ever come to the house?'

  'Never,' he said. 'I'm here all day. I would've seen them.'

  'You ever talk to any of them?'

  'Just to tell them to get the fuck off my land,' he said. 'I'm not worried about the house. The dogs would tear them apart if they so much as knocked on the door.'

  'What'd you do?' Jeffrey asked. 'I mean, to stop them from cutting through?'

  'Put in a call to Two-Bit. Sheriff Pelham, I mean.'

  Jeffrey let Dale's comment slide. 'Where'd that get you?'

  'Same place as when I started out,' Dale said, kicking his toe into the ground. 'I didn't wanna bother Pat with it, so I just called up there myself. Talked to old Tom's son Lev. He's not bad for a Jesus freak. You met him?'

  'Yeah.'

  'I explained the situation, said I didn't want his people on my property. He said okay.'

  'When was this?'

  'Oh, about three, maybe four months ago,' Dale answered. 'He even came out here and we walked along the back property line. Said he'd put up a fence to stop them.'

  'Did he?'

  'Yeah.'

  'You take him into the shop?'

  'Sure.' Dale looked almost bashful, a kid bragging about his toys. 'Had a sixty-nine Mustang I was working on. Damn thing looked like it was breaking the law just sitting in the driveway.'

  'Lev's into cars?' Jeffrey asked, surprised by this detail.

  'I don't know a man alive wouldn't be impressed by that car. Stripped it from the ground up – new engine, new suspension and exhaust – about the only thing original on that baby was the frame, and I chopped the pillars and dropped the top three inches.'

  Jeffrey was tempted to let him get sidetracked but knew he couldn't. He asked, 'One more question?'

  'Shoot.'

  'Do you have any cyanide around?'

  Dale shook his head. 'Not since I quit smoking. Too tempted to end it all.' He laughed, then, seeing J
effrey wasn't joining in, stopped. 'Sure, I keep it back here,' he said, returning to the cabinet over the metal plating area. Again, he found the key and unlocked the cabinet. He reached far into the back, his hand disappearing for a few moments into the recesses of the uppermost shelf. He pulled out a thick plastic bag that held a small glass bottle. The skull and crossbones on the front sent a shiver through Jeffrey's spine as he thought about what Abigail Bennett had been through.

  Dale placed the bag on the counter, the glass bottle making a clink. 'I don't even like touching this shit,' he said. 'I know it's stable, but it freaks me the fuck out.'

  'Do you ever leave the cabinet unlocked?'

  'Not unless I'm using what's in there.'

  Jeffrey bent down to look at the bottle. 'Can you tell if any salts are missing?'

  Dale knelt, too, squinting at the clear glass. 'Not that I can tell.' He stood back up. ' 'Course, it's not like I count it out.'

  'Did Lev seemed interested in what was inside this cabinet?'

  'I doubt he even noticed it was there.' He crossed his arms over his chest and asked, 'There something I should be worried about?'

  'No,' Jeffrey told him, though he wasn't sure. 'Can I talk to Terri?'

  'She's with Sally,' he said, then explained. 'My sister. She's got this problem with her . . .' He indicated his lower regions. 'Terri goes over when she has bad spells and helps her watch the kids.'

  'I need to talk to her,' Jeffrey said. 'Maybe she's seen someone around the garage who shouldn't be.'

  Dale stiffened, as if his honesty had been challenged. 'Nobody comes into this place without me,' he said, and Jeffrey believed him. The man wasn't keeping that gun around because it made him feel pretty.

  Dale allowed, 'She'll be back tomorrow morning. I'll tell her to come see you as soon as she gets back.'

  'Appreciate it.' Jeffrey indicated the poison. 'Do you mind if I take this?' he asked. 'I want to dust it for fingerprints.'

  'Glad to have it out of here,' Dale agreed. He opened one of his drawers and took out a latex glove. 'You wanna use this?'

  Jeffrey accepted the offer and slipped on a glove so that he could take the bag.

  'I'm sorry I can't be specific with you, Dale. You've been really helpful, but I'd prefer if you didn't tell anybody I was over here asking about this.'

  'No problem.' Dale's mood was almost exuberant now that the questioning was over. As Jeffrey was getting into his car, he offered, 'You come on back sometime when you can sit a while. I took pictures of that sixty-nine 'Stang every step of the way.'

  Lena was sitting on her front steps when Jeffrey pulled up in front of her house.

  'Sorry I'm late,' he told her as she got into the car.

  'No problem.'

  'I was talking to Dale Stanley about plating.'

  She stopped in the middle of buckling her seat belt. 'Anything?'

  'Not much.' He filled her in on Dale's operation and Lev's visit. 'I dropped the cyanide by the station before I came to get you,' he told her. 'Brad is running it to Macon tonight to have one of their fingerprint guys take a look at it.'

  'Do you think you'll find anything?'

  'The way this case has been going?' he asked. 'I doubt it.'

  'Was Lev ever alone in the shop?'

  'No.' He had thrown out that question before leaving Dale's house. 'I don't know how he would steal the salts, let alone transport them, but that's a pretty odd coincidence.'

  'I'll say,' Lena agreed, settling down in her seat. She was drumming her fingers on the armrest, a nervous habit he'd seldom seen her employ.

  He asked her, 'Something wrong?'

  She shook her head.

  'You ever been to this place before?'

  'The Pink Kitty?' She shook her head again. 'I doubt they let women in unescorted.'

  'They'd better not.'

  'How do you want to do this?'

  'It shouldn't be too busy on a Monday night,' he said. 'Let's show her picture around, see if anybody recognizes her.'

  'You think they'll tell us the truth?'

  'I'm not sure,' he admitted, 'but I think we'll have a better chance of somebody talking to us if we go in soft instead of swinging our dicks around.'

  'I'll take the girls,' she offered. 'Nobody's gonna let you back into the dressing rooms.'

  'Sounds like a plan.'

  She flipped down the visor and slid open the mirror, checking her makeup, he guessed. He took another look at her. With her dark Latin coloring and perfect complexion, Lena probably didn't spend many nights alone, even if it was with that punk Ethan Green. Tonight, she wasn't wearing her usual suit and jacket, instead opting for some black jeans and a form-fitting red silk shirt that was open at the collar. She also wasn't wearing a bra that he could tell, and she was obviously cold.

  Jeffrey shifted in his seat, turning off the air conditioning, hoping she hadn't seen him looking. Lena wasn't young enough to be his daughter, but she acted like it most of the time and he couldn't help but feel like a dirty old man for noticing her finer points.

  She flipped the visor closed. 'What?' She was staring at him again.

  Jeffrey searched for something to say. 'Is this a problem for you?'

  'A problem how?'

  He tried to think of a way to phrase it without pissing her off, then gave up. 'I mean, you still drinking too much?'

  She snapped, 'You still fucking around on your wife?'

  'She's not my wife,' he shot back, knowing it was a lame retort even as the words left his mouth. 'Look,' he said, 'it's a bar. If this is going to be too hard for you –'

  'Nothing's too hard for me,' she told him, effectively ending the conversation.

  They drove the rest of the way in silence, Jeffrey staring ahead at the highway, wondering how he had become an expert at picking the most prickly women in the county to spend his time with. He also wondered what they would find at the bar tonight. There was no reason for a girl like Abigail Bennett to hide that book of matches in her Snoopy doll. She had carefully sewn it back up, and Jeffrey wouldn't have even known to look if he hadn't tugged on the end of a thread like pulling a loose string on a sweater.

  A pink neon cat glowed in the distance, even though they were a good two miles from the bar. The closer they got, the more detail they could see, until the thirty-foot-tall feline in stilettos and a black leather bustier loomed in front of them.

  Jeffrey parked the car close to the road. But for the sign, the building was nondescript, a window-less one-story structure with a pink metal roof and a parking lot big enough to hold about a hundred cars. This being a weeknight, there were only about a dozen spaces taken, mostly with trucks and SUVs. An eighteen-wheeler was parked long-ways in front of the back fence.

  Even with the car windows up and the doors closed, Jeffrey could hear the music blaring from the club.

  He reminded her, 'We'll just take this slow.'

  Lena slid off her seat belt and got out of the car, obviously still pissed at him for asking about her drinking. He would put up with this kind of shit from Sara, but Jeffrey would be damned if he let himself get whipped by one of his subordinates.

  'Hold up,' he told her, and she stopped in place, keeping her back to him. 'You check that attitude,' he warned her. 'I'm not putting up with any shit. You got that?'

  She nodded, then resumed walking. He took his time, and she shortened her stride until they were walking shoulder to shoulder.

  She stopped in front of the door, finally saying, 'I'm okay.' She looked him in the eye and repeated herself. 'I'm really okay.'

  If Jeffrey hadn't had just about everybody he'd met today skillfully hide some vital piece of information about themselves while he stood around with his thumb up his ass, he probably would've let it slide. As it was, he told her, 'I don't take lip from you, Lena.'

  'Yes, sir,' she told him, not a trace of sarcasm in her tone.

  'All right.' He reached past her and opened the door. A fog of cigarette smoke hung lik
e a curtain inside, and he had to force himself to enter. As Jeffrey walked toward the bar that lined the left side of the room, his back molars started to pulsate along with the heavy bass cranking out of the sound system. The space was dank and claustrophobic, the ceiling and floor painted a matte black, the chairs and booths scattered around the stage looking like something that had been pulled out of a Denny's fifty years ago. The odor of sweat, piss and something he didn't want to think about filled his nostrils. The floor was sticky, especially around the stage that took up the center of the room.

  About twelve guys in all ages, shapes and sizes were there, most of them elbowed up to the stage where a young girl danced in a barely visible thong and no top. Two men with their guts hanging over their jeans were propped up at the end of the bar, their eyes glued to the huge mirror behind it, half a dozen empty shot glasses in front of each of them. Jeffrey allowed himself a look, watching the reflected girl shimmy up and down a pole. She was boyishly thin with that gaze they all seemed to perfect when they were on stage: 'I'm not here. I'm not really doing this.' She had a father somewhere. Maybe he was the reason she was here. He had to think things at home were pretty bad if this was the kind of place a young girl ran to.

  The bartender lifted his chin and Jeffrey returned the signal, holding up two fingers, saying, 'Rolling Rock.'

  He had a name badge on his chest that said Chip, and he certainly acted like he had one on his shoulder as he pulled the tap. He slammed both glasses on the bar, foam dripping down the sides. The music changed, the words so loud that Jeffrey couldn't even hear how much the drinks were. He threw a ten on the bar, wondering if he'd get change.

  Jeffrey turned around, looking out at what could politely be called a crowd. Back in Birmingham, he had visited his share of titty bars with other cops on the force. The strip joints were the only bars open when their shifts ended, and they had all filed into the clubs to wind down, talk a little, drink a lot and get the taste of the streets out of their mouths. The girls there had been fresher, not so young and malnourished that you could count their ribs from twenty feet away.

  There was always an underlying tinge of desperation in these places, either from the guys looking up at the stage or the girls dancing on them. One of those late nights in Birmingham, Jeffrey had been in the bathroom taking a leak when a girl was attacked. He had broken down the door of the dressing room and pulled the man off her. The girl had this open disgust in her eyes – not just for her would-be attacker, but for Jeffrey, too. The other girls filed in, all of them half-dressed, all of them looking at him that same way. Their hostility, their razor-sharp hatred, had sliced into him like a knife. He had never gone back.