Chapter 4

Carl’s turn:

I’ve never been part of a crime scene before. I’ve done a few accidents, road stuff, industrial, the aftermath of ‘oops’ and ‘we didn’t think THAT was important’, that sort of thing.

Right now I’m standing in the middle of the dining area of a semi-rural bar & grill in Arkansas with three sheriff deputies and there’s a dead guy lying on the floor and he’s NOT a pretty corpse.

I guess I’m supposed to be all upset. Maybe not. Maybe it’s adrenaline. You know, in class they talked about ‘fight or flight’, and when that big sumbitch grabbed my shirt and jerked me up, obviously ‘flight’ wasn’t on the menu.

I carry a knife. It’s a folder, three and a half inch blade, sharp as the north wind in January. It’s a tool. I pull that knife out no less than a dozen times a week, and it’s easy-opening, with a little assist from a finger hook.

Tool. I open boxes, strip cables, cut all manner of strings and ropes and fabrics and whatever. I don’t think I consciously moved to get that knife, but he had me by the front of the shirt, my left arm was out of the picture, and that knife was there in my right hand.

Without thinking I plunged it into him at groin level and pulled UP! Jeans. No problem. Belt. No problem. T-shirt. No problem. And he fell like he was pole-axed.

That surprised me. thought fights lasted longer than that, although I haven’t been in a FIGHT fight since junior high. I wrestled and tussled with buddies at the gym. One of them went on to some minor success in mixed martial arts, which means that he got his ass handed to him by somebody who achieved slightly MORE success in MMA.

Guy called me a pussy. I’m a Louisiana country boy and I ain’t a pussy.

I looked at my partner, a LADY whom I was bent on protecting when this turd walked up and made remarks to her.

She looked like steel.

“You okay?” I asked her.

“I’m fine ... You? That your blood?”

I looked down. Blood from my side all the way down my left pants leg. “Nope. Not mine.”

“‘Scuse me, folks,” one of the deputies said. “I need to get your stories.” He pulled me off a ways.

I thought that was a pretty slick move to keep us from talking.

“You know this guy?”

“No, sir.” Damned straight he was ‘sir’. Law enforcement in these small towns is close to godlike in authority in a situation like this. “I’m not from around here.”

“Yeah. You got ID?”

“In my wallet. Thigh pocket.”

“You got a gun on you? ‘Nuther knife?”

“I have a Swiss Army knife in my right pants pocket,” I said.

“Get your wallet, sir. I need your license.”

I produced it. He compared the picture on the license with the guy standing in front of him.

“Louisiana? Whatcha doin’ up here?”

“That lady there and me, we’re the technicians on a new electrical substation going in on the other side of town. Just got into town. Staying at that RV park on the south side of town. Lady there said this place has good burgers. She’s right. Clientele sucks, though...”

I could see that Sunny was watching and listening from a short distance and she was slightly shaking her head. I suppose she thinks I talk too much.

“Okay, now, in your words, what happened.”

“Miranda rights?”

His eyes flashed. “You want me to officially read ‘em to you?”

“No, but I know ‘em.”

“Sir. Mister ... Okay, that name’s Cajun and I ain’t gonna try...”

“Primeaux. Pronounced ‘PRE-moe’. Thank you for asking.”

“Mister PRE-moe,” he said, “You’re not bein’ charged, best I can tell...”

“Never know,” I shrugged. “He might be the sheriff’s cousin...”

He shook his head. “PLEASE don’t you tell the sheriff that one. Bayliss Hawkens is a genetic experiment gone wrong. How’d he...”

“Me ‘n’ Sunny – that’s Kim Soon Yi – Korean-American – we were sitting there enjoyin’, like I said, some good burgers. Those two were loud-talkin’ at the other side of the place, came over here. Him, uh, Bayliss? He made a pass at Sunny...”

“Sunny?”

“Miss Kim. Soon Yi’s her given name. Goes by ‘Sunny’. We both told him we didn’t want to talk with him. I told him she was here with me. That’s when he grabbed me...”

“How’d he grab you?”

“By the front of my shirt. Had me. could’ve done me in, so ... I fought.”

“With that knife...”

“Was a bar fight. Not a place for Marquis of Queensberry, you know. ‘Sides, there were TWO of ‘em...”

Another deputy pulled Sunny further away. The medics were sliding Bayliss into a big plastic bag, then loading him onto a dolly to haul him out. Crain was already outside, being pushed into the back seat of a Sheriff’s Department SUV.

“And that’s the whole story?”

“Yessir. That’s it. When those two started talkin’ loud, I think the manager called y’all.”

He sighed. “Yeah ... figured another Friday night. Those two usually start off drunk, early. They ain’t the only ones. This one escalated.”

Sunny’s turn:

All I wanted was a stupid hamburger and some onion rings. Things went way off track. I’m standing here looking at a very serious looking forty-something year old white guy with a badge on his chest and a gun at his hip and he’s looking at my driver’s license.

“Soon Yi Kim. Korean?”

“Yessir,” I said. “People usually call me Sunny. Kim’s my family name.”

“I did a tour in Korea with the Air Force,” he said. “You don’t have an accent.”

“Grandparents have accents. Parents have accents. I’m second generation native-born.”

“Oh. Didn’t mean...”

I smiled. “Oh, Deputy Harvey, I didn’t mean ... I LOOK like I should have an accent. You’re not nearly the first to note that.”

“Didn’t mean to offend,” he said.

“I’ll find something else to be offended by. That ... that PERSON...”

“Okay, Miss Sunny. Your side of the story.”

“Which will be the truth,” I said.

“Naturally.”

“Carl and I were eating our burgers. Those two walked in, talking loudly. They went to the other side, the pool tables, then they came over here. The started making remarks. I protested. Carl said I was here with him...” Light bulb lit off in my head. “And the dead guy grabbed Carl by the front of his shirt and pulled him up. I didn’t want Carl beat up, so I grabbed the sugar jar and swung it. I don’t think Bayliss saw it coming...”

“Did you see the dent in the side of his head?” he asked.

“No. He was down. Blood all over the place. I wasn’t really being observant at that point.”

The microphone on his shirt squawked something I didn’t quite make out. “Unit fifty-one. Ten-four,” he said into it.

“Uh, Miss Sunny, the district attorney’s comin’ to our office. Can I get you to come talk with him?”

“Absolutely,” I said. No sense in playing stupid or uncooperative at this stage of the game. “Your car? Or can I take our truck?”

“‘Our’ truck?”

“We’re in town on company business. Carl’s got a company truck. I’m his assistant, so I ride with him.” I saw Carl over across the room still talking to his deputy. “Or I can get the keys from him if he’s going in one of your cars?”

“Hey, Brant!” my deputy called. “You get that last call?”

“Yeah,” came the answer.

“You wanna let these two follow us to the office in their truck?”

He scanned the bloody mess of Carl’s pants. “Yeah, that’ll work.” He started guiding Carl towards the door. Carl stopped.

“Problem?” he asked.

“Yeah ... I didn’t pay...”

The bartender and the waitress were standing there.

“How much...” Carl asked.

“Nuthin’,” the waitress said.

“Hon,” Carl replied, “we ain’t that kind of people. Here’s a couple of twenties...”

“That’s WAY too much, sugar,” the waitress said.

“So sneak me free onion rings next time,” Carl smiled, pushing the money across the bar.

Out at the truck, he opened the camper shell’s side hatch.

“Whatcha looking for?”

“Those oil pads we use. Don’t wanna get blood all over the inside of my truck.”

“Good point.”

He opened a fresh bundle, grabbed a bunch, opened the driver side door and started preparing a spot as the two deputies watched.

“See?!?” Deputy Brant said, elbowing the other one, “that guy THINKS. I didn’t want blood inside my car.”

“Trustee’d detail it for you...”

“Might see if we can get a trustee to detail Carl’s truck.”

Twenty minutes had us at the sheriff’s office complex where we were directed to a parking spot behind the building, inside a gated parking area.

Once inside, one of the deputies disappeared and returned with a cloth bundle, bright orange, handing it to Carl. “Coveralls. I know you’ll look like an inmate, but you can hit our locker room, get out of those clothes. There’s a shower. And if you soak those clothes in cold water, the blood won’t stain.”

“Lookit you!” the other deputy laughed. “Regular Suzy Home-maker!”

“Asshole,” his buddy laughed back.

Carl took the bundle. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate this.”

“There’s body wash in the shower. It’s supposed to be antimicrobial or something...”

“Thanks,” Carl said.

To me, they said, “Miss Sunny, if you don’t mind...”

I was led to a little conference room where I met a man who obviously had not been planning an evening of social interactions away from home. Gentleman, though. He stood when I walked in. Offered me a hand.

“Oliver Williams,” he said. “District attorney.”

“Kim Soon Yi,” I replied, then considered the audience. “Soon Yi Kim. Substation technician.”

“I’ve heard bits of your troubles this evening. Please, sit. Let’s talk.”

“Yessir,” I said. “But if things get off-track, I get to stop, right?”

“Yes ma’am. You have your Miranda rights. But let me start off by saying that this is not meant to get you charged with anything. You were involved with a couple of what my friends here call ‘frequent fliers’. This is the first time they were so energetically opposed.”