Yo Ho Ho
From the telling of Áine
The killer enjoyed the morning ride to the appointment with his probation officer in
downtown Dallas. As the DART bus lumbered across the Commerce Street Bridge, he
looked out over the Trinity River swollen by the annual Texas spring rains. Eddie turned
the dial of the stolen Walkman in his jacket pocket to the weather station and groaned
when he heard the forecast -- continued scattered thunderstorms for the next three
days. He stared at the thick, green vegetation covering the river bottom and shuddered.
Eddie couldn't stand the thought of all the slimy, crawly things that the rain encouraged
-- especially worms.
* * *
At precisely 9:00 a.m., Rolanda Skeet stubbed out her cigarette in the already overflowing
ashtray. She picked up the phone and dialed her father's number. She was by no means
a dutiful daughter, but she thought it only fair to give her father one more chance
before putting her plan into action.
As she waited for him to answer the phone, Rolanda impatiently tapped her red enameled
fingertips and looked around her North Dallas mansion. There was no doubt that
her father had been generous with the money reaped from the investment of her
mother's life insurance. Although he still lived in the same small frame house of
her childhood, Cappy had bought Rolanda several cars, a country club membership,
and her freedom from two disastrous marriages. But she would only be satisfied
when she possessed it all.
Rolanda jumped when her father's strong voice answered on the line.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Daddy,' she replied. "How are you today?"
"Speak up!" the old man yelled. "I can't find the battery for this dang hearing aid.
The darn thing keeps fading in and out on me!"
"I said how are you!" she said loudly.
"No need to shout at me!" said her father. "Not that you care, Rolanda, but I'm
doing just fine. Bart and I are just going over some new articles on Spanish treasure
ships I got at the library yesterday."
Rolanda mashed her lips into a thin gray line as her father continued.
"'Course, I had to go downtown by myself, seeing how I couldn't let my friend here get
wet, what with all the rain we've been having lately."
"Well, of course, Daddy," she agreed. "We have to take care of our friends, don't
we? I just called to see if you were still planning your little trip to the Gulf."
"You betcha!" Cappy laughed. "And it won't do you any good to try and talk me out of it, either."
"Oh Daddy, don't--"
"Don't start that "Oh Daddy" stuff with me, girl," he said firmly. "I've made sure you've
been provided for all these years, haven't I?"
"But, Daddy--"
"You've got a nice house and a car and enough stocks and bonds to last a lifetime, don't you?"
"Yes, Daddy, but--"
"No ifs, ands, buts, or nothing!" the old man shouted into the phone. "What I didn't sell to
buy the map, I've told my lawyer to sell after we leave, and put in the bank for Bart and
me to use as we need it down in Mexico."
"But, Daddy," Rolanda replied with the saccharine voice she used when she wanted something,
"Don't you think you'll need to save some money for when you come back . . . you know,
for the hospital?"
"Ain't going to be no hospital!" shouted Cappy. "You know as well as I do there's no cure
for what I've got, and I won't die shrivelled up in a cold hospital bed with somebody
counting how many breaths I have left!" The old man was tiring and his voice had lost
most of its ire. "Now, I know you think I'm a crackpot and I wasted good money on a
phony map. But Bart and me are going on this trip and nobody can talk us out of it."
"Of course I wouldn't try to talk you out of it, Daddy. Not if you have your heart set on it.
When are you planning to leave?"
"One or two days, I think. "Soon as it stops raining."
They said their goodbyes and Rolanda hung up the phone. She lit another cigarette and an
evil smile cut across her face. Their conversation had settled everything. She knew her
father wouldn't survive his stupid expedition to look for pirate treasure. So, she
decided, he might as well die while she could still get at his money. However, she'd
told the truth about not wanting to talk him out of the trip. Ever since Cappy had
told her of his intentions, she'd known it was the perfect way to finally take everything
from him -- his map, his money and his life. Smoke exploded from her nostrils as she
picked up the receiver again.
* * *
Eddie regarded the darkening sky and flipped his cigar butt into the gutter. Leaning
against the pole of the streetlight he'd knocked out with a keenly aimed rock, he looked
up and down the residential street to be certain that no one would see him approach the
house. He pulled a pair of thin rubber gloves out of his right hip pocket and maneuvered
them over his long fingers. Eddie grinned as he remembered the lies he'd told his
probation officer that morning, and how concerned the jerk was about his continued
unemployment. Well, this wasn't exactly his line of work, but a job was a job, and he
sure needed the money. Besides, it sounded easy enough. Just knock off the old man,
grab a map, lose the guy's car and his body. Eddie knew the first three items would be
easy. The last one would be a little hairy, but he'd gotten a great idea that morning on
his ride across the river.
Keeping a wary eye on the street, Eddie knocked on Cappy's front door. After a few
seconds, he knocked again. Still no answer. He looked through an uncurtained window
and saw someone moving around beyond the living room. Putting his hand on the doorknob,
he was surprised when it turned easily. With one last glance behind him, he moved quickly
inside the house, his eyes darting around as he moved through the rooms, checking for
anyone else.
Reaching the dining room, Eddie paused to remove the small .22mm semi-automatic pistol
and silencer from his jacket pocket. He examined the pile of books and papers spread
across the table in the center of the room as he quickly screwed the short piece of metal
onto the muzzle of the gun. He grinned when he saw the brownish, much-folded piece of
paper tucked under a large book. Hefting the gun in one hand, he slid the map out, awkwardly
folded it with the other hand and shoved it in his pants pocket.
Eddie jerked his head toward the kitchen when he heard the old man talking to someone.
Two for the price of one, he thought. Well, that Rolanda chick had a lot of money. Maybe
he could raise his price. That was only fair. Getting rid of two bodies would be a lot
harder than just one.
Keeping close to the wall, he moved silently to the open kitchen door. With the man's back
turned, Eddie was sure he could get an easy first shot off and then take care of the other
guy, too. He watched the man lift a large, steaming pot off the stove, set it on the dinette
table and reach for something out of Eddie's line of sight.
Eddie gripped the butt of the gun with both hands and turned into the doorway. He took
two steps toward his victim and pointed the pistol at the man's head. Eddie's mouth flew
open as the apparition glaring from the end of the kitchen table blasted his ears with an
unearthly shriek. Eddie never saw what hit him. As his dying body fell to the kitchen
floor, he realized he was truly damned. He was falling into his worst nightmare--a mound
of worms.
* * *
Rolanda shifted her weight in the hard plastic chair in Detective Springs' office and waited
for him to finish his phone call. He nodded in response to something the caller said, then
put the receiver down. Turning to the woman on the other side of the desk, he picked up
a pencil and began tapping it on the phone. He knew it was an annoying habit, but something
about this case made him nervous.
"I'm sure sorry to have to call you down here, ma'am, but we're hoping you can help us out here."
"Anything I can do to help," she replied. "They didn't tell me that much over the phone. Have
you heard any more since this morning?"
"No, ma'am, we haven't. The basic information is still the same." The detective leaned back
in his chair and twirled the pencil with his fingertips. "A patrolman found an abandoned
Cadillac under the Commerce Street Bridge at dawn this morning. He traced the license
plate and found that the car is registered to your father."
Rolanda shifted again, wishing the chair had arms on it so she could do something with her
hands. She tried hard not to appear excited. She hadn't heard from Eddie yet, but it
sounded like he'd done his job.
"We've gone by your father's house, Ms. Skeet, and nothing looks out of place there.
Now, you say he was planning a trip down to Mexico?"
"Yes, that's right," she replied. "I talked to him yesterday and he'd made all the arrangements."
"When did he plan to leave?" Detective Springs stopped twirling the pencil and began tapping it again.
"Oh, I think he said in the next two or three days, why?"
"There's just a couple of things that seem to point to this being more than just a stolen car,"
he answered. "We found traces of blood in the back seat."
Rolanda tensed. "But you haven't found a body yet, have you?"
Springs narrowed his pale blue eyes. "Yet? No, ma'am, not yet." Tap, tap, tap went the
pencil. "Besides the blood stains, there was, uh, something else in the car."
"Something else?" whispered Rolanda. "What?"
With a satisfied expression on his face, Springs reached under his desk and placed a large
evidence bag in front of the woman. "This."
Rolanda's face paled as she stared at the bloody wooden tennis racquet through the clear
plastic. She could have sworn there were bits of dried spaghetti entwined among the strings.
* * *
Cappy reeled in his fishing line as he watched the police maneuver around his abandoned
Cadillac. He chuckled each time they slipped in the black mud of the sodden river bank.
He knew he was taking a big chance coming back to this spot so soon, but he figured no
one would notice an old man fishing downstream.
"Well, Bart," he said, "Can't say as I won't miss that old car. She's been a good one. Never
thought I'd need another one in this lifetime. But it sure came in handy, didn't it?"
Bart, sitting at the other end of the aluminum dinghy, stared intently at his friend, but didn't reply.
Cappy laughed hoarsely. "Never thought I'd need that old racquet for anything other than
straining my spaghetti for dinner. But, it came in right handy too!" The old man put down
his fishing pole and set the oars into the braces on either side of the boat. "Now, I know
you don't like me to brag on you, Bart. But I can't thank you enough for singing out when
that young fella came up behind me last night. I never would have heard him with my
busted hearing aid. I never would have figured out what his game was either, unless I'd
found Rolanda's phone number in his pocket. Right next to our treasure map, too!"
Cappy began to row southward with deep strokes, away from the police still sliding around his
car. He watched one of the officers use a crowbar to open the trunk, and grinned when the
man recoiled from the smell, splattering mud into the air as he fell to the ground. The old man
laughed again and said to his companion, "Yep, just goes to show ya, Bart. You never know
where you'll find a pirate."
Bart spread his bright green feathers and flew to his friend's shoulder. He picked at Cappy's
shirt once and squawked, "Yo, ho, ho!"
Copyright © 1994 by A. K. Cooke
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