{"id":7311,"date":"2020-12-31T08:53:03","date_gmt":"2020-12-31T08:53:03","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/?p=7311"},"modified":"2024-09-25T13:22:56","modified_gmt":"2024-09-25T13:22:56","slug":"syd-and-john-play-checkers","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/syd-and-john-play-checkers\/","title":{"rendered":"Syd and John Play Checkers"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u201cSure, I know games. Football. Poker. Insurance. It\u2019s all about risk and reward, and reading people, anticipating their next move. Chess? Yeah. It\u2019s like polo. A game for the rich. They play by different rules. They can afford to lose. But the prize for everybody in any game is money and sex. I went after the prize. That\u2019s all.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Syd Conklin got up from his jail cell cot and stood under the small barred window four feet above him, letting the sliver of sunlight shine on now-gaunt and haunted face, basking in the glow of infamy.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat about the dame?\u201d Bart Azar was like any other journalist. If the story bleeds, it leads, but sex sells as quick as dope. Conklin\u2019s story had plenty of blood thanks to a phallic .45 but he wanted a few sexy details to spice it up.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat about her?\u201d Syd with a shrug. She wore red lipstick and stiletto heels to bed. She was a winner in the sack, sure. And in an elevator and the back seat of a Plymouth. Mine was blue. Dual-quad carburetors that could make it from San Diego to L.A. in an hour and a half. Wish we were in the yard. I want a smoke.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Azar watched him stretch his arms towards the window in supplication. Was he praying for forgiveness or a pack of Pall Malls? Two people were dead Rita Dirkson and her husband Tom, and Conklin had killed them both after sleeping and scamming with the blonde Rita laying in a morgue drawer.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cHere,\u201d Azar said as he fished a half-empty pack Luckies out of his shirt pocket. \u201cTake \u2018em. For later.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Conklin stared at the outstretched hand offering the gift. \u201cYou remind me of the guy on the train. Wendell Lang \u2e3athe guy who\u2019s testifying I asked him to get my cigars.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cThat\u2019s when you jumped off the train and put Tom Dirkson\u2019s dead body on the tracks.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cNever mind.\u201d He took the cigarette pack and passed it under his nose. \u201cWhy do bad habits smell so good? Tobacco. Crisp counterfeit Jacksons. Rita\u2019s perfume. I bought her a bottle of the shit she liked. Dangerous by Reveli.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cIs it expensive?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cSix dollars an ounce. Why, you got a gal stashed somewhere your parents don\u2019t know about?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m older than I look, Mr. Conklin.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cLucky you.\u201d Conklin returned to his cot and leaned against the wall. \u201cMaybe she works in editing? No. More like the mail room. Is she pretty?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cUhhh, yeah. But it\u2019s nothing serious. Girl next door kinda thing. Not anything like Rita Dirkson.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cMeaning you haven\u2019t nailed her,\u201d Syd said with a grin. \u201cOkay. Maybe the perfume will work. Why\u2019d the Sheriff let you in here and not the Tribune? You got an \u2018in\u2019 with the department?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cIt was a lottery. I won. I was the only one who agreed to let the Sheriff have prior restraint. The public has a right to know, do you regret killing two human beings?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Conklin leaned forward, looked into Azar\u2019s blue innocent eyes, and whispered, \u201cThe real me loves killing better than sex.\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

The next time Azar saw Syd Conklin was in court. Judgment: voluntary manslaughter. The jury thought Tom\u2019s death wasn\u2019t premediated, that Syd was at the mercy of a seductress who almost killed him after collecting the insurance money.
\n+++++<\/span>The other reporters swarmed D.A. Marioti, but Azar waited a week before calling on the losing side. \u201cI don\u2019t second-guess verdicts, and I can\u2019t try Conklin again. End of story.\u201d Marioti settled into an uncomfortable leather office chair and waited. \u201cAlright, Azar, what can I do for an aspiring Walter Winchell?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m not here to ask you questions without answers. I\u2019m here to give you information. The jury may have had reasonable doubt, but I know it was murder one.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Marioti was smiling now. \u201cDo tell. The psych said he was depressed. Conklin said he only assisted Rita in getting rid of the body and killed her in self-defense. He did have a .22 slug in his shoulder. Are you sayin\u2019 you\u2019re smarted than the doc?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cNo, I\u2019m saying I know why he did it, and he\u2019ll kill again.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWho\u2019s next?\u201d Marioti bit off the end and lit a cigar.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWendell Lang.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cHe said he didn\u2019t think it was Tom Dirkson who asked him for the favor, but couldn\u2019t say for certain Conklin was the one who did. Why kill him\u2026\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI tell you, Syd confessed that killing to him is better than sex. What does that say?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Marioti slammed a fist on his desk. \u201cThen why didn\u2019t you testify?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI \u2026 I couldn\u2019t. I was going to, but I knew he wasn\u2019t going to be convicted no matter who testified.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cHow? How\u2019d you know?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cBecause Syd\u2019s lawyer was going to put Rita on trial the way they do all women who get mixed up with a guy like him,\u201d Azar said. \u201cHell, his boss testified on his behalf. You think Century Insurance was happy about Lawson Miles telling the world what a great employee Syd was?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cJust what the hell are you getting at?\u201d Marioti seemed humanly calm now.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cNot every reporter is a hard-boiled scrapper. Some are like me \u2026\u201d Azar said.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cHumph! You mean like college boys who think they\u2019re better than everybody?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYou\u2019re not taking me seriously. Do you think the jury would have believed me instead of hating Rita the vamp?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Suddenly alert, Marioti hit his intercom button. \u201cMargie! Get some coffee in here.\u201d He got a pen and a yellow legal pad from his desk drawer. \u201cOkay. Wha\u2019dya got? How do you take your joe?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cBlack and strong. What I have is a way to charge Syd with crimes that\u2019ll stick. Attempted murder. Intimidation of a witness …\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>He stopped talking when Margie came in with two steaming cups of black goo. \u201cSorry guys, all the cafeteria had was dregs.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Marioti took a sip and winced. \u201cThat does it. I\u2019m buyin\u2019 a hot plate and a percolator. You were saying \u2026 ?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Azar nodded. \u201cThank-you, Ma\u2019am.\u201d The coffee was bitter, but real men drink anything on hand and know better than to talk when a third party might overhear. Maybe Marioti needed reminding.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYou\u2019re sure Syd will try and kill Lang after he does time?\u201d the older man said after Margie left. \u201cMaybe Century Insurance will rehire him. He was salesman of the year three years straight. Maybe he\u2019ll get married. He\u2019ll only be thirty-two. Only one visible scar.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cHe doesn\u2019t actually have to commit a crime. You only have to prove he did. Isn\u2019t that the way the system works?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cHe got three years \u2014should be paroled in eighteen months. He\u2019s no dummy. He knows we\u2019ll be watching him every second for the next eighteen.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Azar leaned back in his chair and hoisted his feet onto Marioti\u2019s desk. \u201cBut he won\u2019t know I\u2019ll be watching him, if you get my drift.\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

The day Syd walked out of Folsom State Prison, Lawson Miles was waiting to drive him back to San Diego. \u201cMaybe you did humanity a favor,\u201d Miles said to break the ice. \u201cRita Dirkson was the devil\u2019s daughter. I knew it the first time I laid eyes on her. She was pretty, but so was Henrietta Lorenza.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWasn\u2019t that the woman you were going to marry?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYeah. To look at her, you\u2019d think she knew the Blessed Mother. Sweet. Wore pink lipstick and nail polish to match. How do they get the nail paint the same color as lipstick, Syd?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m no chemist. No artist either. But gals know a hell-uva lot about deception. I give \u2018em credit for that.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cAll we know is insurance. Poor bastards that we are. What\u2019re you goin\u2019 to do now, Syd? Century won\u2019t hire you back as a salesman \u2014yeah, I asked. But I said we had a duty to help rehabilitate you \u2018cause if you hadn\u2019t been working for us, you\u2019d never have met Rita Dirkson.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cThanks, Miles.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cThanks, nothin.\u2019 The big boss said I could hire you on as Director of Housekeeping. Forty bucks a week. Tell me the name of your parole officer, and I\u2019ll have him set it up. The one way I can be sure you won\u2019t be meeting any more Ritas is to have you working evenings. Five p.m. to one a.m., five nights a week. And playing golf on the week-ends. You were getting to be a fair duffer. Wa\u2019dya say?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Syd didn\u2019t know what to say. It wasn\u2019t often the man you double-crossed, the man who had all the faith in the world in you, offered you a chance to go straight. \u201cDirector of Housekeeping, hunh. It sounds classy even if it means head janitor. Yeah, I\u2019ll take it, Miles. And thank-you.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>The rest of the way down the Coachella Valley, they rode in silence, except Syd asked if Miles wanted him to drive a spell, \u201cNo. Go to sleep a free man,\u201d and that\u2019s what he did until Miles stopped in front of his old apartment building. \u201cAhhh, I hope you don\u2019t mind, but all that vacation and sick pay we owed you? I paid your rent with it. Folsom isn\u2019t the vacation I\u2019d have chosen but here\u2019s your keys\u2026\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>He hadn\u2019t lost everything after all.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cGet married, Syd. It\u2019ll make you less of a sap. Nothing like a good woman to keep your pants zipped.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>That had been Syd\u2019s wining excuse. He was a sap. Made a fool of. No doubt most of the seven men on the jury had been down that road, and the five women had probably strung a guy along at least once in their lives. The coroner testified Rita had sex before she died and the jury assumed it had been Syd. It wasn\u2019t. She\u2019d cheated on him before she plugged his shoulder, the bitch. Maybe he should swear off dames forever \u2026 but was a young guy. And how was he supposed to get married unless he shopped around for a wife?<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

While the women cleaned up after the salespeople, Syd haunted the upstairs offices of the claim\u2019s adjustors, emptying ashtrays and trashcans, vacuuming carpets, washing coffee cups, and \u2026 he looked at the locked file cabinets. He still had his old office keys. One fit the cabinets. He found \u201cP\u201d for payouts \u2e3aand just inside the file was the master list of payees and the amount of the checks signed by Lawson Miles.
\n+++++<\/span>Sub heading: Double Indemnity Claims.
\n+++++<\/span>He scanned the names:<\/p>\n

\u2022 Mrs. Adriana Heinz, thirty-four, 3625 E. Mountain View Drive, one-hundred-fifty thousand dollars;
\n\u2022 Mrs. Eleanor Roark, fifty-five, 2811 Orange Ave., fifty-thousand dollars;
\n\u2022 Mrs. Frances Robinson, forty-two, 339 W. Point Loma Blvd., one-hundred-thousand dollars.<\/p>\n

He could be a charming replacement companion for their deceased husbands, and perhaps become the sad survivor of a rich spouse himself. He set his sights on Adriana Heinz whose husband owned a Texaco station and garage at First and Kettner Blvd. He made a mental note to fix that flat tire he\u2019d arrange tomorrow.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

\u201cYou wouldn\u2019t be looking for a job, would you?\u201d Adriana said, half-joking. She didn\u2019t have anyone to fix his tire and had watched him do the work himself.
\n+++++<\/span>He\u2019d put his jacket and shirt on the front seat and borrowed her tools. \u201cFrom the looks of that For Sale sign, I figure you\u2019ve made up your mind to move on.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cIf I can\u2019t find a buyer or a manager real soon, I\u2019ll be selling at auction. You know what that means.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cIt means you\u2019ll lose your shirt. Ol\u2019 FDR says we\u2019ve turned a corner, but we\u2019re still in the same neighborhood. I suppose I could run the station for you part-time. My dad had a garage in Jersey.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cCould you run it full time? I might be able to keep it if the insurance company ever pays my claim.\u201d She tried hard to hide her tears but made sure he saw her do it. \u201cI lost my husband three months ago in a vacation accident.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cLosin\u2019 people\u2019s tough. I\u2019ve been there.\u201d He kept quiet as he put the repaired tire back on the car and tightened the lug nuts. \u201cI \u2026um \u2026 already have a job. I\u2019d hate to quit and then \u2026\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cOh, I understand. Absolutely.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI supervise a cleaning crew from five to two a.m., but I could work afternoons a few days a week. Get you some reliable help. If it\u2019ll help you out.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cCome inside the office. We\u2019ll talk.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>She led him to a windowed room that looked more like a hospital waiting room than a garage office. The floor tiles were clean and the file cabinets dusted. She had a potted palm in the corner and magazines neatly arranged on an end table. A coffee urn and paper cups sat at one end of the counter and the register on the other. No ashtrays. A good wife, he decided, was his best bet. He could handle two jobs; he\u2019d sleep on Miles\u2019 office sofa while the maids worked.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Syd didn\u2019t know who was tailin\u2019 him in the Chevy Bel Aire. Maybe the cops, maybe his parole officer. It didn\u2019t matter. He wouldn\u2019t propose to Adriana until his parole was up. He needed time to woo his mark anyway. At least that\u2019s what he decided until a skinny nine-year-old came by the station selling magazine subscriptions. \u201cI sell two more, and I can go to summer camp,\u201d the kid explained. Syd bought two. One for him and one for the station.
\n+++++<\/span>Adriana cried when he told her Field and Stream would come monthly. \u201cThe customers can read it while I change their oil,\u201d he said.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYou\u2019re so sweet,\u201d she said. Boo-hoo. Sniff-sniff. \u201cMy husband read that magazine. He loved to fish. Slipped on a rock up at Clear Lake, hit his head, and drowned in four inches of water.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m right sorry, Ma\u2019am.\u201d She put her head on his shoulder and he enveloped her in his arms. She pulled him closer; he smelled familiar perfume. The day he bought Dangerous for Rita, he\u2019d sampled another called Pretty Poison. They kissed and he stroked her pretty rose petal skin.
\n+++++<\/span>They reluctantly parted when the \u201cding\u201d signaled a customer. \u201cI \u2026 I\u2019m going to take your car to pick up Mr. Salazar\u2019s spark plugs, Addy. I thought I heard it ping.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Aroused, he limped through the back gate around eleven forty and waited until noon when she drove his Plymouth to Tops Drive-in for lunch. In Salazar\u2019s car he followed the Chevy as it followed his Plymouth. Amateur, he thought, as he pulled up next to the Chevy at a stop light. Cheap wig. Fake moustache. The guy was so intent on following the car ahead of him, he never even looked to his right. Was it possible? He stopped off at the market on State street and bought a newspaper. He found Azar\u2019s picture next to his op-ed column and drew a moustache on the baby-faced reporter. \u201cYa\u2019 little shit,\u201d he whispered to himself.
\n+++++<\/span>Being shadowed, even by a light-weight wanna-be, weighed on his mind, and grew larger and heavier as he chronicled the Chevy\u2019s persistent presence catty-corner from the station. Then John Floyd brought in an answer to his prayers \u2014his black De Soto.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cDamned if I know what\u2019s wrong with \u2018er. Making that click-ping noise that drives me crazy. Cain\u2019t drive \u2018er no more with click-pinging remindin\u2019 me I might break down at any minute.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI know what you mean,\u201d Syd said. \u201cGot a nerve-wracker of my own. I\u2019ll have to keep it a few days. Noises hide like snakes in a tree and all of a sudden reappear. You need it before the week-end?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cKeep \u2018er \u2018til she purrs.\u201d He signed his name to a work order. \u201cJest gimm\u2019me a call.\u201d Floyd looked around the office for an ashtray. \u201cMrs. Heinz sure keeps the place tidy. Don\u2019t look nothin\u2019 like when the Mister ran the place. Sure do miss him. Used to stop by here Thursday noons and play a game of checkers. You play, do you?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cSometimes. Did you know the Heinzs well?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYep. Him.\u201d He hesitated, like he wasn\u2019t sure if he should go on. \u201cWe was Doughboys together. You\u2019re too young to remember the Great War. Too bad Steve passed. He could tell stories about Par-ee like nobody\u2019s business. Have you known Adriana long?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cNaw. I just saw she needed help. I\u2019m just a part-timer.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYep, Little Miss Charmer can get folks to do most anything. She sure charmed Steve.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>There was something about the brittleness in his voice that made Syd reconsider his lunch plans. This guy was angling for information and Syd felt like fishing a little himself. \u201cYou got that checker game with you? You didn\u2019t figure on running into the champion of Soiux Falls Iowa, now did you?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>He drove Floyd to a greasy spoon called Noodle\u2019s where they picked up hamburgers, and then back to the station to knock off a few games before driving the ol\u2019 man home. He hoped it looked like he and Floyd were buddies to Azar.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cSo, why don\u2019t you tell me about Par-ee?\u201d he said for openers.
\n+++++<\/span>Floyd, got a fresh cigar from a box of Havana\u2019s and offered Syd one too. \u201cI like my women solid and shapely. I\u2019m Irish. Steve liked those Parisian ladies \u2018cause they was wispy, like smoke that disappears quick when the money runs out. He must\u2019a had somethin\u2019 going for him, though. That there Louisa let him come \u2018round during the week. He said it was \u2018cause he was from San Francisco and knew the ways of the world. I could believe that. His parents sent money along with their letters.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cMust be nice to come from wealth.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cAdriana sure thought so. King me, Syd.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cIs Adriana from Frisco too?\u201d Syd put one red checker on top of Floyd\u2019s and realized he was going to lose to this codger in a hurry if he didn\u2019t pay attention.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cNope. L.A. \u2018Round the tar pits, I\u2019d say. Steve took one look at her and fell hard. They met when she come into the station. Prettied up, smellin\u2019 like flowers, playin\u2019 like she was Mary Pickford herself. I told him, beware the painted doll. Oh, you don\u2019t know about them. The Frenchie\u2019s make these puppets\u2026. Well, it don\u2019t matter. He said I was jealous \u2018cause she was a lot younger than us.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>It sounded all too familiar. Rita Dirkson had dangled her youthful charms in front of middle-aged Tom, and he\u2019d taken the same bait. \u201cDid Steve have any kids?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Floyd hopped his checker around the board and left Syd with three pieces. \u201cNot him. And he never caught the clap either. Kept his johnson protected in all kinds of weather.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cAnd Adriana? Was it her first rodeo?\u201d He noticed Floyd scrutinizing his face for a sign of what Syd suspected before he held up three fingers. \u201cWhat happened to her other two husbands?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Floyd leaned back on the sofa. \u201cI hear tell they both died.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cHeard from who?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cCalifornia Bureau of Statistics in Sacramento when I called my nephew. Young man, you seen like a bright fella, but the way you play this game, I\u2019d say you were out of your league. They keep you busy milkin\u2019 them dairy cows in Iowa?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Syd laughed. \u201cWhat kept you busy?\u201d
\n\u201cPuchin\u2019 a herd of cattle in Oklahoma and lookin\u2019 out for Apaches. I wasn\u2019t about to lose my scalp.\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

As he drove back to the station. the big question kept repeating in his head: How had Adriana gotten away with murder when an insurance expert like Miles was able to piece the Dirkson fraud together so quickly? God, how he wanted to ask her. Maybe Miles\u2019 internal \u2018radar man\u2019 had been rattled by the perpetrator being so close. Sure, it was possible that all the deaths were accidental, Syd thought, but his gut told him otherwise.
\n+++++<\/span>He called in sick with Century for the first time in a year. He needed time to think things through. Floyd had advised him to steer clear of his mark, and it was advice he\u2019d heard before \u2e3abefore he strangled Tom Dirkson. His own \u2018radar man\u2019 had screamed beware! Adriana was as dangerous as Rita, but sexier. Was it beauty or danger that made his own dough-boy stand at attention every time he was near her?
\n+++++<\/span>In the top drawer of his dresser was the engagement ring he\u2019d planned to give her in two weeks. He\u2019d let her set the date, and they\u2019d tell her family. God forbid there be a party or worse \u2014 an announcement in the newspaper. Yet, it had to look sincere. He\u2019d introduce her to Miles. He\u2019d approve. Adriana was charming. Best of all, she wasn\u2019t a blonde.
\n+++++<\/span>But the plan had to be changed. Different town. Different insurance company. Miles would recommend him for a job as a claims investigator, the way Miles had wanted to do. He and Adriana would be married a year and have a baby on the way. Not enough to show, but a rabbit had to die. He\u2019d take out a hundred-thousand-dollar double indemnity policy on himself, and a regular hundred grand life insurance policy on Adriana. Only then would she have her accident.
\n+++++<\/span>And the little shit, Azar? What if he talked to John Floyd? Maybe he already had. Fuck! Why did everything get complicated? Was every beautiful woman a potential black widow? Screw it. By ten o-clock that night he was vacuuming Miles\u2019 office.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI thought you were sick, Mr. Conklin,\u201d Richard, the elevator operator, had said as they rode to the third floor. \u201cMy doctor said people shouldn\u2019t come to work sick.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYour doctor doesn\u2019t pay my bills,\u201d Syd replied, \u201cBesides, I\u2019ve recovered.\u201d Richard was just another working nobody. He laid on Miles\u2019 couch, sick of the bullshit and sick of work. Miles was right about one thing, among the thousand other things he was right about. When it came to the insurance business, a sick \u2018radar man\u2019 was an indication there was something wrong about a situation; maybe Adriana\u2019s prior relationships deserved more investigation.
\n+++++<\/span>He couldn\u2019t open Miles\u2019 top desk drawer. Under it was a button Miles pushed at the same time he opened the drawer. Who but a friend would know that? But the side-drawer opened easily. He found the file marked OPEN CASES. No Heinz listed. CLOSED CASES. Yes, that\u2019s the one that held cases that were closed, but were still in Miles\u2019 gun sights. He found Miles\u2019 notes on Adriana Heinz:
\n+++++<\/span>Spoke with John Floyd again. Still convinced Steve Heinz\u2019s auto accident was murder. Still no evidence on an accomplice or foul play at a vacation camp ground. She might work alone. Check with Syd Conklin. According to Floyd, he\u2019s working at the station.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat are you doing here, Syd?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>He didn\u2019t need the light to know it was Lawson Miles. \u201cI played checkers with Jon Floyd today. Let\u2019s just say I\u2019m verifying some information he implied about Adriana Heinz.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Miles turned on the lights. \u201cWhat have you got to do with her?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cSomething worth noting. She\u2019s coming on to me strong. After Rita Dirkson, I\u2019ve decided to find out what her game is before somebody gets hurt. I think her game is murder for profit.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cIt\u2019d be nice if we could prove that. It\u2019d let the company recoup the green we forked over.\u201d Miles took the file from his hand and put it back in the drawer. \u201cRemind me never to open this drawer with anyone around.\u201d He sat as his desk and took a cigar out of his breast pocket. \u201cDo you have any evidence?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Syd sat in one of the office chairs. \u201cOnly that she lied about being cash-strapped and that she plays happy homemaker at the station but knows her way around automobiles mechanically. I think she suspects you\u2019re on to her and is setting me up to take the fall. I played it straight with her. She knows I\u2019m on parole. And she told me her husband drowned on a fishing trip.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cFloyd said she told him the same thing. See, I talked to him today, too. You haven\u2019t seen anyone hanging around who might be Rita\u2019s real lover boy?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cSomebody\u2019s tailing me. I turned the tables on him and followed him when Adriana was driving my car. It might be him. Brown hair. Moustache.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYou did right telling me. But I question your research methods.\u201d He still hadn\u2019t lit his cigar, but he was one of those sniffers who tried to make sure the tobacco was fresh.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI didn\u2019t want to sound paranoid or hysterical. I figured Floyd had talked to you. Maybe you think he\u2019s a crank.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>There was a long pause. Finally, Miles said, \u201cI hesitate to ask for your help, but you always were a good insurance man. Remember when I asked you to give up the doorbells and take a desk job working claims?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019ve grown up since I refused.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cShe\u2019s dangerous, Syd. Husband number one died in a hunting accident. A wrongful death suit against the lodge netted her fifty-grand. She got another fifty-grand from husband number two. He died when his Cadillac dove off a Topanga Canyon cliff. Bad brakes. But Steve Heinz died from a fall into water when his car drove off a bridge. Oh, he drowned alright. Somebody strong must have held him under. Not Adriana, I\u2019ll wager. Who knows what happened to that guy or what she may have in store for you.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYou mean frame me.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cDead men can\u2019t defend themselves.\u201d He struck a match from a book Syd recognized as one from the station, and lit his cigar. \u201cThere are Rita Dirksons all over, Syd. You seem to be a magnate for them. I could talk to the big boys upstairs if you\u2019re interested in putting that magnetism to work for Century.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWould it pay well?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cNot really, but there are bonuses. You\u2019d get ten percent of whatever we can recover. In Heinz\u2019s case, with her assets, we might get the whole one-fifty-grand back. That means fifteen-hundred in your pocket. If you live to collect it.\u201d It was the same ol\u2019 Miles. Sardonic. \u201cThink it over.\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Did it matter who killed Adriana Heinz? Him or California, as long as he got some real money in his pocket. She planned on making his life hell again. He hated people who fucked over him. Like Azar trying to catch him in something that would send him to the chair. Maybe it was time to do a little framing himself.
\n+++++<\/span>As he did with Tom Dirkson, he hid on Azar\u2019s backseat floor and waited for the son-of-a-bitch to leave for his surveillance gig. At eleven a.m., Azar opened his garage door and slid into the driver\u2019s seat. Like most people, he didn\u2019t see what he wasn\u2019t looking for. He put on his brown wig, and his fake moustache. \u201cLet\u2019s see what you\u2019re up to today, Conklin,\u201d he said as he put the key into the ignition.
\n+++++<\/span>The last words he ever heard were, \u201cI\u2019m right here, you little bastard,\u201d as Syd collared him with his left arm, and thrust Adriana\u2019s .45 into his torso with his right hand and fired twice. Blood soiled his clean overalls, but some dirty motor oil and dusty tires would cover that up. No one questioned a grease monkey laundering his overalls.
\n+++++<\/span>In Azar\u2019s bathroom, he wiped the gun clean, crumpled it in his dirty overalls, and stashed them both in a paper bag. He changed into a clean pair of overalls, went out the back gate where Floyd\u2019s De Soto was parked and drove to the station. He removed the .45 from the sack and returned it to its secret box under the register.
\n+++++<\/span>The he waited for Marioti and the questions.<\/p>\n

Have you seen Bart Azar lately?<\/em>
\nNo. But I\u2019ve seen is the guy in a Chevy who\u2019s courtin\u2019 Mrs. Heinz. She never did tell me his name.<\/p>\n

Where were you yesterday morning about eleven?<\/em>
\nCatching some shut-eye before I went to work.<\/p>\n

Can you prove that?<\/em>
\nDo I need to? What\u2019s this all about? Maybe you ought to talk to Lawson Miles.<\/p>\n

By the time it was over, Marioti admitted Azar had approached him with a plan to manufacture evidence against Syd to send him to the gas chamber. \u201cI told him to get lost,\u201d Marioti swore. \u201cThe D.A.\u2019s office doesn\u2019t frame people who\u2019ve paid their debt to society. I think Azar had a personal agenda that didn\u2019t include his heart-throb pluggin\u2019 him with her ol\u2019 man\u2019s revolver.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Syd was free again. Adriana was behind bars. He had fifteen hundred dollars in his pocket, and a new job as a recovery agent. Yet, something was missing. The delicious rush of adrenaline he felt when he his arm was locked around Azar\u2019s throat. The feeling of a once-living thing wilting in his hands like a defeated flower. The smell of blood beginning to congeal. The way the ache in his groin ebbed away and replaced the tenseness with warm, moist relaxation.
\n+++++<\/span>He couldn\u2019t kill Wendell Lang. Ever. But he could kill strangers, substitutes for those who\u2019d harmed and rejected him. Rita. Adriana. And then Azar. Anyone could do, really. There were millions of stand-ins for the deceitful people he knew. Get to know strangers and they become deceitful friends, sooner or later. Why should it matter if he killed them before they had the chance to harm him?
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m taking your advice, Miles. I\u2019m taking my first vacation. Maybe it will cure my blues, and set me on a new course of success.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cThat\u2019s the spirit, Syd. You\u2019ve worked hard to rehabilitate yourself. Don\u2019t let bad experiences sour your future happiness.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>And it might have worked out that way \u2026 except Marioti believed Azar\u2019s story about Syd\u2019s confession. Officially, Syd wasn\u2019t even a suspect in the Azar murder. Unofficially, Marioti\u2019s \u2018radar man\u2019 told him to wait and watch. He and Syd would play checkers for the rest of their lives \u2014or until Syd screwed up so bad one of his dames would finish him off with a bang.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

With his ten percent, Syd booked a vacation in Paris. He\u2019d wanted to see the city ever since his checkers games with John Floyd. He couldn\u2019t find a painted doll, but he did meet a nice widow on the ship. Charlette Simmons. They were in Paris when it surrendered to the Nazis on June 22, 1940. Syd got his first taste of legal murder as a Corporal in the U.S. Army\u2019s 4th Armored Division, and once played checkers with General Patton \u2014or so he told Marioti when the French government handed him over to California for killing Charlette Simons, Chula Vista\u2019s Chili Queen.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cSure, I know games. Football. Poker. Insurance. It\u2019s all about risk and reward, and reading people, anticipating their next move. Chess? Yeah. It\u2019s like polo. A game for the rich. They play by different rules. They can afford to lose. But the prize for everybody in any game is money and sex. I went after […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":348,"featured_media":7316,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[1462,1614,1452],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7311","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-j","category-jenean-mcbrearty","category-short-story"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p1Zyqm-1TV","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/12\/Syd-and-John-Play-Checkers-Mailchimp.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7311","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/348"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7311"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7311\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/7316"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7311"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7311"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7311"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}