“Mr. Randolph, can we cut the shit? We both know it was the Rare Breed that kidnapped your granddaughter and tried to kill your wife and Buddy Lee and burned your house down. We both know you and Buddy Lee went on the warpath all across the state culminating in a scene out of the goddamn Wild Bunch at a compound owned by a dummy corporation with ties to the Sons of Freedom, who just happen to have ties to the late Mr. Jenkins’s brother. A murder scene where a whole bunch of bikers and a former state senator and a sitting judge were found dead,” LaPlata said. Ike put his water bottle on the counter.
“I did see something on the news about that. They were saying that judge had a relationship with them bikers? I think they were saying the bikers had been bribing him for a while? Channel Twelve was saying my son and his husband’s name was coming up in the investigation. You think this judge had something to do with what happen to my son? To Buddy Lee’s son?” Ike asked. LaPlata gave him a long hard look.
“Well, it doesn’t really matter now does it, Mr. Randolph? You can’t prosecute a dead man,” LaPlata said.
“Guess not,” Ike said. LaPlata moved up to the counter and leaned on it with both hands.
“You don’t really think anybody believes Buddy Lee Jenkins killed all those bikers and the Culpeppers by himself, do you? That he just happened to figure out how to construct a fertilizer bomb with a ninth-grade education?” LaPlata asked. Ike crossed his arms, careful not to touch the wound on his left arm.
“Why are you here, Mr. LaPlata?” Ike asked.
“Detective LaPlata, Mr. Randolph. And I’m here because there’s an awful lot of people missing or dead around you. A lot of them deserved it but some of them didn’t. I don’t think there are very many people who are gonna shed a tear because Slice Walsh hasn’t been seen in weeks. And even the members of his club thought Grayson Camardie was a piece of shit. But I also don’t think Lunette Fredrickson deserved to have her guts sprayed all across her living room floor. Frankly, there are so many jurisdictions involved, it’ll never get settled. I couldn’t even get authorization to pull your cell phone records. Most everybody who counts is content to lay it all on Buddy Lee and make this whole thing go away,” LaPlata said.
“But not you,” Ike said.
“No, not me. Too many questions are still floating around unanswered. No, I can’t let it go, because men like you are dangerous, Mr. Randolph. Today it was avenging your son. Tomorrow it’ll be some guy who flips you the bird. I’m here because I want you to know I’ll be watching you,” LaPlata said. Ike finished his water and tossed the bottle in the trash.
“You can watch all you want. But next time you come by my place of business you should probably bring a warrant, or I might start thinking you’re harassing me,” Ike said. LaPlata gave him the cop’s eyes, but Ike wouldn’t drop his gaze.
“I haven’t started to harass you yet, Mr. Randolph,” LaPlata said.
The chime on the door rang.
“Detective LaPlata,” Mya said. She was holding a huge bag of food from Sander’s. They’d cut her braids during surgery so she was rocking a pixie cut. Arianna came bounding through the door. She darted past LaPlata and headed straight for Ike. She tugged on his pants leg as he ruffled her hair.
“Hello, Mrs. Randolph,” LaPlata said.
“Let me walk you out, Detective,” Ike said. LaPlata nodded to Mya. Arianna waved goodbye to him. LaPlata waved back before he turned and headed for the exit. Ike followed him.
“There’s my Little Bit!” Tangerine said. LaPlata heard Arianna giggle.
LaPlata stepped through the door but then he stopped and faced Ike.
“Was it worth it, Riot?” he asked. Ike smiled.
“That’s not my name. And as far as it being worth it, you’d have to ask Buddy Lee that. But I think if he was still here he’d say…” Ike lowered his voice:
“‘I could kill them all a thousand times and it wouldn’t even come close to being enough. But it would always be worth it,’” Ike said, but it was Riot who bored his way into LaPlata’s soul with his flat dead eyes.
LaPlata took a step backward.
“Goodbye, Detective,” Ike said.
He closed the door.
FORTY-FIVE
Ike parked his truck and grabbed the brown paper bag sitting in the passenger seat. He got out and began threading his way through the headstones that filled the cemetery like it was a forest of granite.
He came over a slight hill and saw Margo on her hands and knees at Buddy Lee’s grave. She was planting red, white, and blue petunias.