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CHAPTER 28, EXCERPT 1

On Tuesday it was on the front page of the morning paper.

Pillsbury pharmaceutical heir, wife and mystery sister-in-law found dead in alleged murder-suicide scenario.

In a constant state of fearful anticipation waiting for this moment, Frank had learned firsthand the meaning of the phrase on pins and needles. But now, sitting at his kitchen table reading the News Tribune and eating corn flakes, he was feeling pretty damn good. Yeah, there was still the regret eating at him—but that went back to his initial involvement, Frank knowing that if he’d stayed away from Judy in the first place his nightmare would never have happened. But hell, things had turned out for the better and you could make a case for Frank Ford as somewhat of a hero. He hadn’t saved anybody but he had rid the world of two festering cancers. If it weren’t for Frank Ford, Judy and Lisa would still be out there spreading their insidious seeds upon the world.

Okay, that was a bit over the top. Suffice to say he wasn’t destroying himself with guilt. He was, however, worrying about Artie Autry and Doughboy Loy. Shit, how long could it be before the Zenith cops picked up on the pair’s association with Judy? And following that, how long before the two dirtbags flapped their gums about Frank fucking Ford and his own interactions with Judy Bruton? Not to mention Frank’s usage of a .38 caliber revolver, which, obviously, matched the caliber of the identified murder weapon from the front-page story.

He shot Autry’s goddamn earlobe off for Christ sake…

So now Frank was fast becoming adverse to the Zenith City. Always a tough place to make a buck, the economy was still mired in depression—or at least recession—without much optimism for the future of the rustbelt port city—so it seemed like a good time to leave.

Early the next morning Frank was at the kitchen table biting his nails—a newly acquired habit—when another shocking headline greeted him.

Body of Zenith man found near Enger Tower.

Biting faster now Frank anxiously read the story of Arthur John Autry’s body being discovered—throat cut from ear to ear— beneath some tree branches and other debris in the foliage surrounding Zenith’s historical bluestone tower.

Man, Doughboy Loy finally gave it to Artie. Fat man had to be long gone by now.

Two days later Frank was greeted with another world-rocking headline.

Overdose death linked to Zenith man’s murder, it said at the top of page one of the News Tribune.

Poor Maynard, Frank thought, reading the story. He could never get things right. Christ, they found him with the syringe still in his arm, the Doughboy never much for originality. Either Maynard got too excited after coming into possession of Autry’s drug stash and fired up too heavy a load, or he couldn’t deal with the guilt of slitting his old running mate’s throat and overdosed on purpose.

Frank’s money was on the former, but you never know.

The story went on to say that the police found Autry’s car keys in Loy’s jacket pocket, and Artie’s GTO was discovered parked a half block away from Loy’s rundown residence in Piedmont Heights.

Jesus, with those two drug-soaks dead and gone, it was hard to believe, but it looked like Frank was home free. At the very least, he had a little more breathing room.

And, yeah, sure, that kind of shit gets you thinking. Like maybe Ray-Ray was somewhere out there in the ether pulling the strings, the powers that be giving him one last shot at making things right.

If you believe in that kind of thing.

And even if you don’t, sometimes you wonder….

So right then and there he decided he was going to California. They had to need bartenders out there, didn’t they? California—shit, man—where it was happening, where it was going on. Had to be tons of good-looking women out there. Get to a nice quiet town on the coast somewhere and find a small, clean, well-lighted place where all the customers are tan and smiling, perfect white teeth glistening….

That sounded nice. And as guilty as he felt about leaving his mother with her grief, he knew Anne was always better with her. But he had to admit that he was also running away from telling Joan that he now believed Ray had committed suicide. He just couldn’t face that one. He’d have to write her a letter once he got settled and explain his conclusion, feeling strongly that his mother would never accept it, no matter how it was presented.

So it was settled, he was heading for the West Coast. But he needed money for the trip, so later that day he swallowed his pride and called Betty Brown. After he begged and pleaded with her to put him back on the payroll for a month, Betty showed her forgiving side and agreed, telling Frank he was the best bartender she’d ever had at the Metropole—and by the way, she’d just fired Doug Sackberger.

About goddamn time, Frank was thinking as the universe came through for him once again.

(To be continued)

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