Dance of the Bones

The customers, mostly regulars propped on sagging stools that might just as well have had their names written on them, were a dodgy--looking bunch of characters, as was the bartender, a man with multiple tattoos and the dubious handle of Unc Flores. Unc recognized Brandon as a cop the moment he walked through the door and long before he ordered black coffee.

Much to Brandon’s surprise, there seemed to be a kind of corporate memory lingering in El Barrio’s air along with all that cigarette smoke. Once he stated his business, no fewer than four -people—-Unc included—-claimed to have been present the night ten years earlier when Amos Warren had taken out the man they all referred to as Big Bad John Lassiter. That was the first time Brandon heard John Lassiter called that, but it wouldn’t be the last. The short-lived fight between Amos Warren and his pal John seemed to have taken on a kind of legendary status. When Brandon mentioned that he was investigating Amos’s death, quite a few folks felt compelled to jump into the fray, each willingly sharing his own take on the story.

Since Brandon was still attempting to establish a timeline for the crime, that was where the conversation started. Members of the peanut gallery in El Barrio all seemed to agree that the fight had occurred in the springtime, but no one could agree on the month or even the exact year. On details of the actual fight they were all surprisingly clear. The timing of events was hazy.

Nevertheless, they all seemed to be in complete agreement when it came to deciding who might be responsible—-Big Bad John. Who else could it have been? As for what caused the fight? A woman, of course. Amos and John had gone to war over John’s exceedingly attractive girlfriend at the time, one Ava Martin.

“That little bit of a thing was cute as a button,” one of the old codgers said, shaking his head. “What a girl Ava was! She had that big old lump of a John Lassiter wrapped around her little pinkie. Led him around by the nose—-that’s what she did. I thought it was funny as hell.”

“More like she led him around by the balls,” another one offered.

The next time Unc showed up to refill his cup, Brandon put the question to him. “What do you think?”

Unc feigned innocence. “About what?”

“Everybody else around here seems to be of the opinion that John Lassiter might be responsible for Amos Warren’s death. I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

“I’m in the ‘John Lassiter did it’ camp. I’ve thought that all along, at least ever since we found out about Amos’s will. Once that news surfaced, that’s when I eighty--sixed Big Bad John Lassiter and told him to get lost.”

“Wait,” Brandon said. “You knew about the will?”

“Sure I did, almost as soon as it happened. At the time, my sister Edna was working down at the county courthouse in the recorder’s office. She used to come in here now and again, so she knew Amos. When the deed transfer came through, she recognized the name and told me about it. Pissed the hell out of me. Think about it. This old guy goes missing and stays missing. Eventually he’s declared legally dead, and—-surprise, surprise—-his ex--partner ends up being the sole beneficiary under his will. It doesn’t take a Philadelphia lawyer to put that one together.”

“Did you talk to the cops about your suspicions?” Brandon asked.