Fool's Flight (Digger) Read online

  "Then you pleaded surprise. That was another mistake, saying that you never got the insurance policy dupes. But if the people on that plane had just filled out the policies like normal people, some of them would have sent them to you. Not getting any of them just didn’t make any sense."

  Digger stood and walked back and forth to stretch his legs. He could feel the mud hardening on his socks and shoes. It felt as if he were wearing lead boots.

  "You missed another thing. One of your passengers wrote a letter to be mailed after his death. He told his wife, the wife he had run away from, that she would be hearing about him. Not from him. ‘About him.’ I missed that the first time I read it. It wasn’t some letter from a Jesus freak; it was a good-bye note from somebody who knew he was going to die."

  He turned back to Candace. "Anything to say?"

  "You’re doing so well, why bother?" she said.

  "But then there was Randy Batchelor. The first time I talked to him, it hit him. That Steve Donnelly wanted him off that plane for some reason. Then he started to snoop around and he finally figured out what happened. He put the squeeze on you. So you went in your disguise and rented a room in the Oedipus Motel and told him to meet you there. Then during last night’s service, you slipped out and put on your black wig…I guess we’ll find it in the house…and went and shot him."

  "There were fifteen hundred people here last night," Mrs. Wardell said. "They’ll swear I wasn’t off that stage for more than fifteen minutes."

  "Maybe," Digger said. Something was wrong. He was missing something. What was it? "Stay with me," he said. "You killed Batchelor and then you went back to work."

  "An awful lot of conjecture," she said.

  "Sure. But when I go to the cops tomorrow, I’ll just lay it out for them. I think they’ll be able to make something out of it."

  "Without a hard piece of evidence?"

  "Oh, there’s some evidence. The leftover insurance policy. The letter that was never mailed. There’s the wig. I found hairs from it on the headrest of your car. The life insurance policy on Donnelly that never should have been taken out. All those records I’m sure you keep inside and the coincidence that everybody on that flight had no next of kin, which is just the way you wanted it. The bribe you offered Mrs. Donnelly. The lie about a plane for more than forty people. I guess the cops’ll find the gun in your house, too."

  "They won’t find the gun." The voice was soft but chilling. Digger turned around from the corner of the stage. Erma was standing there, holding a gun on him. Erma, the secretarial mouse with the big bosom, a very big bosom. Of course, Mrs. Wardell had been off the stage for only a few minutes the night before. She had sent Erma on the killing mission. It had been Erma, her blond hair hidden by a dark wig but her big bosom unmistakable, that Koko followed to the motel corner.

  "No?" Digger said mildly.

  "No," Erma said. "After I’m finished using it on you, I’ll dump it in the ocean."

  "That’s the gun you used on Batchelor?"

  "Yes."

  "They’ll trace the slugs on ballistics. They’ll know Randy and I were killed by the same gun. They find my body here, they’re going to start wondering about you people and your connections with all these recent deaths."

  For a moment, Erma looked confused. She looked toward Candace and Digger immediately understood their relationship and why Candace had appeared almost masculine in her movements.

  "Wimp," she barked. "Are you stupid? Shoot him."

  Digger dove behind the corner of the stage, just as a bullet cracked over his head and hit a seat behind him. Scuttering like a crab, he moved down the side of the stage, staying low behind the protection of the wooden platform. Another shot cracked out and wood chips flew over his head.

  He found the corner of the stage and dove around it. Above his head, he could hear Candace Wardell running across the stage toward him. Another pair of footsteps were coming along the ground around the stage.

  He reached up over his head into the electrical control box and pulled down the light switch. The tent was plunged into darkness.

  Digger slammed the lid of the box shut and vaulted up into the bleachers just as a bullet whizzed past him. Crouching low, he ran to the edge of the bleachers, dropped heavily to the ground and ran up the slight earth incline toward the back of the tent.

  "Dumb bitch," he heard Candace growl. "Find that goddam switch."

  Digger had reached the back of the tent and with his right hand on it as a guide, began to run through the dark toward the lone exit. It was easier now. Even through the heavy canvas fabric, some light filtered and he could see slightly. He suddenly realized that so could the two women and in silhouette, he would be a perfect target against the white fabric.

  He dropped to the ground as another bullet cracked off and whistled past his head.

  He scurried forward and then the tent lights came on, illuminating the inside of the enclosure like a harsh, white operating room.

  His only hope was to stay low behind the bleachers, use them for cover and get to the entrance before the women. Another shot cracked toward him and he knew there was no way he could make it. The two women could run at top speed, while he had to slither slow to stay out of the line of fire. He was dead. He knew it. Dead without being around to welcome his ex-wife and children to Fort Lauderdale.

  And then there was a voice.

  "All right. Police. Drop it." There was a pause. "I said drop it. Don’t even think of it."

  Digger never thought he would be happy to hear Lieutenant Mannion’s voice. Then he heard Koko’s voice. She was running toward him.

  "Dig, are you all right?"

  He rose slowly as she got to him and threw her arms around him.

  "Are you all right?"

  "What time is it?" he asked.

  Koko said, "I don’t know. Eleven-thirty, I guess."

  "We’ve got to get moving," Digger said. "Lady Atilla and the Two Huns will be here any minute."

  The police were escorting Mrs. Wardell and Erma, in handcuffs, through the tent door, when Digger asked Mannion, "What got you here?"

  "The lady here. She made me come."

  Digger turned to Koko. "How’d you know?"

  "It was the names, Dig. It was on the tape and I just missed it the first time."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The blonde was named Erma. But you said that Mrs. Wardell called her Ninde. That’s short for Urninde. It’s German for lesbian. Then it all made sense. The matching outfits. The different-colored handkerchiefs they wore in their back pockets. They’re all gay signals. These two lesbians were flaunting it, sure that nobody in poor, old dumb Fort Lauderdale would notice or catch on."

  "I don’t know German," Digger said. "You couldn’t expect me to figure that out. I’m Irish and Jewish. I don’t know German. I thought it was the accountant."

  "I’m Japanese and Italian," Koko said. "I know German."

  "That’s because you were all on the same side in World War II," Digger said. "And besides, you’re smarter than I am. Now let’s get out of here before the Manson family hits town."

  "What the hell are you two talking about?" Mannion asked. "What Manson family?"

  "Some people we don’t want to meet," Digger said. "We just want to get out of here."

  "Well, you can’t just pick up and leave. You’ve got to stay around here for a while. Statements, complaints, you’ve got to be around."

  "Then I demand to be held in protective custody," Digger said.

  "Fine by me," Mannion said.

  "Stop your nonsense," Koko said. "I’ll get our things and switch us over to another motel."

  "They’ll find us," Digger whined. "No matter where we go, they’ll search us out. We’ll be sleeping some night and we’ll hear their claws scratching at the door."

  Mannion shook his head. "Well, I don’t care what you do. Just make sure you’re down at my office in a half hour. Now, I’ve got to go." He turned to Koko and sa
id, "What are you doing with this guy? He’s a nut."

  Koko’s cream-smooth face opened in a small, shy smile.

  "But he’s never dull," she said.

  After Mannion left, Digger asked Koko, "If we just run, do you think he’ll put out an alarm on us?"

  "With orders to shoot on sight," she said.

  "Shit. Nothing ever goes right for me," Digger said.

  They heard a voice over on the other side of the tent. "What’s going on here?" It was Reverend Wardell, in pajamas, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Oh, it’s you, Burroughs. What’s going on here?"

  "I’ll tell you if you promise to pray for me," Digger said.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Frank Stevens, the president of Brokers’ Surety Life Insurance Company, clicked his fork against a glass, and said, "A toast."

  He raised his champagne glass. Digger, next to him, lifted a glass of vodka. Koko raised a glass of water. Digger’s father took his right hand off Koko’s knee and hoisted a glass of John Jameson Irish whiskey.

  Next to him, Digger’s mother put her hand around a red spritzer. Walter Brackler lifted a sweet Rusty Nail.

  "To Digger," Stevens said. "Long may he rave."

  "That’s not funny," Digger said, but he drained his glass of vodka anyway.

  "I don’t see what’s so good about finding out that a lot of people committed suicide," Digger’s mother said.

  "That’s because you’re not a stockholder in B.S.L.I., Mrs. Burroughs," said Stevens. He was a tall, white-haired man, elegant in a three-piece blue pin-striped suit.

  "If anybody ever dies around you, Sarah, everybody’ll know it was suicide," Digger’s father said.

  "Well, I just don’t think it was so important that they had to whisk Julian out of town in protective custody, so that he wasn’t there to meet Cora and the children."

  "I told them, Mother, how important it was for me to meet my ex-wife and What’s-his-name and the girl," Digger said, "but they just wouldn’t listen. They had me hiding out in a motel fifteen miles out of town. I didn’t even have a telephone. Otherwise, I would have called you so you could tell Cora where to find me." Digger winked at Koko who giggled. Digger’s father put his hand back on Koko’s knee.

  "A good job," Stevens said. "One of the best things I ever did for this company was hire you. Don’t you think so, Walter?"

  Brackler cleared his throat and said, "Errr, I guess so."

  "Don’t guess," Stevens said. "Of course it was. Right?"

  "Right, Mr. Stevens," Brackler said.

  "Of course, he had help," Stevens said. He lifted his glass again. "To Koko."

  "I’ll drink to that," Digger’s father said.

  "You’d drink to anything," Digger’s mother said.

  Koko leaned over to Digger’s father and whispered, "Ditch her and I’ll meet you in the parking lot later."

  "Don’t tempt me, girl," he said.

  "What’d she say?" Mrs. Burroughs asked. "What’d she say?"

  "She said she hopes that you and I are always as happy as we are now," Digger’s father said.

  "Well, heaven knows I try," Mrs. Burroughs said. She looked across the table at her son. "Julian. I spoke to Cora and she said she’ll be back the day after tomorrow. She hopes you’ll be here to see the children."

  Digger snapped his fingers. "Oh, too bad."

  "What’s too bad?" his mother asked.

  "When’s she coming back?"

  "The day after tomorrow."

  "Yeah, what a shame. Koko and I are going back to Las Vegas tomorrow. First thing. Early flight. Too bad."

  "Yes," Koko said. "Too bad. I really looked forward to meeting Dig’s kids."

  "I don’t know what their mother would think of that," Mrs. Burroughs said.

  "How can the woman think anything about that when she never thinks anything about anything?" Digger asked.

  "Koko, take this with you," Stevens said. He handed an envelope across Digger to the young oriental woman. She nodded and put it in her purse.

  "What was that?" Digger’s mother asked.

  "It doesn’t concern you, woman," said Digger’s father.

  "I hate it when people have secrets," said Mrs. Burroughs. She saw her son watching her and said, "Look at you. Mr. Stevens is nice enough to buy you dinner and you don’t even wear a suit. Look how nice he dresses and look at you."

  "Mother, I’m wearing a jacket and tie. Give me a break, will you?"

  "I don’t know why you dress like that," she said. "You certainly don’t take after me or my family."

  Digger reached under his jacket, fiddled with something, then pulled out his small tape recorder and placed it on the table. He pressed a button, the tape whirred for a moment, and he pressed another button. His mother’s voice, clarion bright, resounded over the table. "I hate it when people have secrets…look at you. Mr. Stevens is nice enough to buy you dinner and you…"

  "Turn that thing off," Mrs. Burroughs said.

  Digger did.

  "Why did you record that?" she demanded.

  "So I’ll always have you with me," Digger said.

  In the cab, riding back to their hotel, Digger asked Koko, "What was in the envelope that Frank gave you?"

  "Oh. I forgot. Let me see." She fished it out of her purse and tore open the end. "Hey, look at this," she said. "It’s a check. With a note. ‘Hope this covers your expenses.’"

  "How much is it for?"

  She leaned against the side window of the cab to illuminate the check under a street light.

  "Holy shit," she said. "Five thousand dollars."

  "Save it," Digger said.

  "What for?"

  "You’ll need it. The next time, you’re taking me on vacation," he said.

  "I’ll have to call Cora first and find out where she and the kids would like to go. And your mother, too," Koko said.

  "Try Devil’s Island," Digger said.