Brokenhearted in Bakersfield

 

87 - TELLING IT LIKE IT WAS

Bakersfield is the kind of place where shadow and substance don’t just meet, they rub up against each other, with all the subtlety and nuance of tomcats under the same cramped camper.

You could have heard a pin drop if it hadn’t been for the loud Sinatra music.

The Deputy Sheriff said, “You’re saying he shot the Minister’s Son?”

Maggie pointed directly at Christos, “It was him all right.”

Whitey interrogated, “How do you know it was him?”

“I was there, that’s how.”

I had to butt in.  “Honey, no, don’t you remember?  You was with me in bed, making sure our baby was legal.”

“Shut up,” she snapped.

Looking at Deputy Whitey, Maggie started explaining her side of the story.  “Look, officer, I was in Broken Heart Park that night.  It seems like everyone was in Broken Heart Park that night.  I knew Philpot would be digging around the trailer park looking for buried treasure.  He revealed the legend of Montezuma’s Reserves to me because he was trying to manipulate me into using my trailer park connections to help him.  That was his mistake.  He also needed my help because he had to maintain a low profile.  You see I knew from some investigative work that Philpot was wanted in five different states on various felony counts.  That’s why he suddenly left his Park Manager’s job in the first place.  It was getting too hot for him in Bakersfield.  That’s also why he killed Sheriff Al and Deputy Perro.  He wasn’t about to let the law take him.  Not alive.  No, it was the law that was going to pay the ultimate price instead.  When I declined Philpot’s business proposal he sent the Minister’s Son to kill me.  Sure, I’ll admit it.  I was pissed.  I knew it was kill or be killed, the law of the jungle.  And I made plans to even the score, with both of them.”

Maggie reclined on top of the metal desk and looked over her rapt audience.

“When I showed up on the night of the murders, I saw Philpot and the Minister’s Son busy dragging two dead bodies in uniform into a ditch.  Sure, I was caught off-guard by this.  I wasn’t expecting to see Sheriff Al and Deputy Perro, much less see them dead.  So I decided to lay low and let things develop.  Five minutes later, Philpot and his precious little love-plug climbed out of the ditch wearing the dead officers’ uniforms.  It was now obvious.  After he’d committed the double-homicide, Philpot planned a getaway disguised as the Sheriff.  I hate to admit it, but it was a brilliant move by Ol’ Jack.”

By this time we were all sitting at her feet like little kids listening to ghost stories around a campfire.

“I saw my opening.  I reached into my purse for my little heater, which I always keep near.  I aimed it right at Philpot, loaded with bad intentions.  Then that crazy old man came running out, and the next thing I knew, Philpot and the Silver Ghost were firing hot lead big time.  They both dropped.  I figured both were dead.  The only one still standing was the Minister’s Son, like he was just waiting for me.  Oh, yessssss, I was ready to even a score.  Just as I drew a bead between those stupid fawn eyes, I see the flash of another gun going off.  And whose ugly face do you think I see at the other end of that flash?”

Maggie surveyed her audience, which was hanging on to her every word.

“Who?” I asked.

“Christos Kartone, you idiot.”

An audible gasp escaped throughout the room.

Maggie continued, “Sure, I may have had murder in my heart, but Christos saved me the trouble.  It was Christos Kartone who murdered the Minister’s Son.”

Once Maggie finished fingering Christos for the murder of the Minister’s Son, everyone just sat there staring at him.  Then, with a flailing arm he lashed out, “You ain’t nailin’ me on dis, lady!  You admit you was dere, an’ you already admitted you gotta gun, and dat poor boy, may God rest his perverted soul, is dead.  What, oh what more do dey want from me?”

Deputy Whitey stood resolute.  “Plenty.  I’m taking you both in.”  He turned toward the blanket door.  “Come on in, boys.”

Out of the shadows stepped four more young, buffed officers in tight uniforms, their biceps and buttocks stretching official fabric taut against skin, boots shining like black stars.

“Now, come along quietly,” Deputy Whitey reached for Maggie’s arm, “and we can sort this out.  Downtown.”

Two officers surrounded Christos as Matt, Marko, Lucas and Juan jumped up and circled around.  “Feh!  Don’t do nuttin’ stoopid,” Christos warned the Kartone Boys.  “Go call Manny and tell him to meet me at da station.”  And with a quiet dignity I did not know he possessed, Christos Kartone passed through the blanket wall.

Maggie smirked, “Come on, Whitey.”  She put out both hands.  “Let’s go play Good Cop/Bad Girl.”

Then Maggie turned her face toward our legal rep, “Mr. Chase, here, take my car keys.  Would you be good enough to drive them back home?”  She was nodding at me and Little Billy.  “Then come pick me up at the station.  These cowboys are on a fishing expedition with no bait, and they won’t hook me.”

For a few seconds me and Abel Chase and Little Billy and the Kartone Boys stood glaring at each other, with only the sound of Sinatra and Doll-Face’s whimpering and nail-scraping in the background.  I feared the violence might escalate when I noticed Little Billy pulling out a sharpened Popsicle stick.

Our attorney piped up, “Well, nice meeting you Kartones, but we gotta hit the road.  It is my paid duty to project and defer any and all libelous needs my clients might encounter and to save them from preeminent disdain, so, if you’ll excuse me, we’ll be exiting now.”

The three of us did a little speed walk past Doll-Face, but not so fast that we couldn’t see the teary black mascara streaks running down each of her sagging and red-rouged cheeks.  She softly wept as she filed her nails, and I suddenly realized the Sinatra music had stopped.