Death Waits In the Wings
AN: Rated T for graphic descriptions of violence.
Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.
Chapter 38 Loose Ends
Harley McKeever drew in a deep breath before rapping at the office door bearing the name of J. M. Latreque. Why the man would want to see him after he had done his job, and quite well he thought, was beyond him.
'Less he's gonna pay me for what I did. Man like him can afford to pay some money for helpin' him get what he wants.
McKeever swiped his sleeve across his mouth. Just thinking about the money made him thirsty. He knocked on the glass of the door and listened.
"Enter."
As soon as he closed the door behind him and saw Latreque's face, he knew something was wrong. The man scowled but did not offer a seat.
For minutes, the man behind the desk scrutinized McKeever. Finally he picked up a pen and examined it closely as he began to talk.
"I had something special I wanted you to do for me. Do you remember what that was?" Latreque's voice was calm, chilling in its tone.
"I done what you tol' me 'n' with pleasure. The boy's dead sure as I'm standin' here talkin' to ya." McKeever tried to sound sure of himself. He began to fidget as Latreque continued to stare bleakly at the pen in his hands.
"And what'd I say I'd do if the job wasn't done 'fore openin' night?"
"Job's done! I buried him myself. Made sure he couldn't get outta that grave." McKeever's eyes darted around the office as if expecting Murdock's ghost to appear.
"Well, then he was resurrected from the dead. Deke said he saw that boy o' yours at the theater last night rehearsin'."
The drunken man's mouth gaped open. "He was as good as dead! Condition he was in he couldn't a dug his way out."
The businessman smiled and shrugged. "Obviously he did. You don't get a second chance. Hollis and Deke will do what you couldn't." Latreque smiled again and picked up an envelope. He glanced at the address on the outside and then up at the man in front of him.
"What're you gonna do?" McKeever's eyes narrowed with fear as he peered at the envelope and then at the man holding it.
"I told you I had something that would put you away in the federal pen for a very long while. See, most people 'round these parts figure Beau Delton moved out to California twenty years ago." Latreque's gaze bored into the man standing before him. "But we both know that's not what really happened, is it?"
McKeever tried to laugh but the sound he made was more a choking gurgle. "Beau Delton. Now there's a name I haven't heard for a while. Really don' know what came of him. Should I?"
"Depends on how good your memory is. You remember that maroon Pontiac Catalina you sold to Harris Lahman back in 64?"
The drunken man's eyes shifted to the envelope. "Good car. Gotta real good price for it."
"Harris Lahman works for me. Why'd you think he was so interested in buyin' that car? You became more than a blip on my radar when you and Delton started makin' those runs over to Lakes Charles with your trunk full a moonshine. Cut into my business pretty good for a while."
McKeever chuckled when he heard the accusation. "Prove it. 'Sides, the cops won't be interested somethin' like that goes back that far."
Latreque gave him a chilling smile and tapped the envelope against the blotter on his desk.
"Gotta wonder why Delton disappeared so quickly."
McKeever felt the trickle of sweat down his back. He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. "Wanted to move on. We weren't kids anymore."
"You still don' get it, do you? Lahman still has that Catalina stored 'way in a garage. Bloodstains're still there in the trunk. Can't ever get rid of 'em completely, can you?" Latreque watched the man pale, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
"Can't prove it ain't blood from a critter." McKeever's voice was a hoarse rasp. His gaze flickered around the room and landed back on the man at the desk and the envelope.
"There was a witness. One of my men over in Lake Charles. Had his signed and witnessed account sitting in my safe for 'bout twenty years waitin' on a chance to use it. You crossed state lines with a corpse in your trunk. He saw what you did, followed you 'n' tol' me soon as you went out to the Murdock place. What'd you think I meant when I said I had 'nough to send you 'way?" Latreque stood and leaned across his desk, the incriminating envelope under his right hand.
When McKeever moved, it wasn't with the staggering awkwardness of a drunken man but with the deparation of a man fighting for his life. Gripping Latreque by the hair on the back of his head, the panicked man smashed the business owner's forehead onto the glass plating of the desktop. He reached out and gripped a softball-sized marble paperweight in his right hand. Raining blow after blow on the back of the man's skull, he did not stop until he could see skull fragments and gray matter flecking the stone.
Latreque's body went limp and fell to the floor behind the desk. With the body went the envelope, the blotter and many of the desk accessories.
McKeever's eyes widened and his breaths came in ragged gasps. He peered over the desktop at the businessman. Blood trickled from the mouth, nose and ears. The man's eyes glared up in a horrified fixed stare. The drunken man edged around the desk, trying to avoid the lifeless gaze, and picked up the envelope from beside the body.
Ripping it open, he glanced at the text of the folded page within. He found what he was looking for at the bottom of the testimony.
"Deke Winton." McKeever stuffed the envelope and page in his pants pocket and staggered from the office and down the stairs to his truck.