32 Porter Hayes

Branch and Libby Hassan lived in a two-story yellow brick house in Chickasaw Gardens that had to be worth close to a million bucks if not more. Hayes had parked across the street. It was hard to go unnoticed as a Black man in that neighborhood, but the Mercedes seemed to keep the private security satisfied. The guard truck passed him by twice with only a tip to his ball cap as Hayes read the sports section of the CA. He'd been sitting there a little more than an hour when a black G-Wagen pulled into the driveway. Hayes stepped out of his car, stretched, and reached for his leather jacket, sliding it on and approaching Libby Hassan as she passed a few sacks of groceries on to one of two boys.

She hadn't seemed to take any notice until he was about five feet away. "You boys go ahead in," she said. "I'll be right there."

"Mrs. Hassan, I'm—"

"I know who you are," she said. "And my lawyer told me not to speak to you."

"Your lawyer or your husband?"

"Both." Libby lifted two more full paper sacks in one of her arms, reaching for the hatch. Hayes stepped up and closed it for her. "What does it matter?"

"Might matter a lot to Addison," he said. "She's been missing for several days now."

"Addison isn't missing."

"You want to bet her life on that?"

"She's been sick," Libby said. "She has the flu. Dean's been helping with the kids. Why are you trying to make trouble for them? Weren't you already paid?"

Hayes nodded, reached into his coat for his Winstons, and fumbled around in his trouser pockets for his Zippo.

"I really wish you wouldn't."

Hayes placed the Zippo back in his pants but let the Winston hang loose from the corner of his mouth. The little white security truck showed up again and the guard let down the window, staring out at them. "Everything okay, Mrs. Hassan?"

She looked at Porter for a long moment and said, "It's fine," she said. After the truck rolled on past, Libby turned back. "Dean told me that you've been trying to extort money from him."

"Not true."

"He said you made up a bunch of stuff," she said. "Maybe to blackmail the family."

"Also not true. Your friend Addison knew it wasn't made-up."

"He said you were deceitful, money-hungry downtown riffraff."

"Riffraff?" Hayes said. "Damn. Hadn't heard that word in a while. But yeah. That part may be true. I am indeed some downtown riffraff."

She set the grocery bags on the hood. Everything about the house and the lawn symmetrical and perfect. The hedges and bushes looked to have been cut by a barber's steady hands, the lawn starting to brown but without a weed.

"Where is Addison, Mrs. Hassan?"

Libby was a small woman with fine features and shoulder-length bleached hair. She had the gaunt look that middle-aged women get when they exercise too much and barely eat anything. Her clothes looked like they'd been bought at the same place Addison shopped. Black cashmere hoodie and tight leggings. Running shoes and a black ball cap.

"She trusted you."

Hayes nodded.

"She said you'd found out that Dean wasn't Dean," she said. "That he owned some kind of mercenary firm and had been selling soldiers and guns overseas."

"Yes, ma'am."

Libby placed her hands in her pockets and turned back to the house's window. One of her twin boys peeked out from a curtain and then quickly disappeared. "Dean put her in rehab," she said. "My husband helped and supported him. Something happened at this party and Addison got wasted."

"Dean drugged her."

"Why?"

"To make her look bad in front of y'all's rich-ass friends," he said. "I'd just passed along a file that told her a hell of a lot of nasty truths about the man she'd married. Oh, and I'm pretty damn sure besides shooting a man in his living room, he killed a woman named Joanna Grayson. I found her body earlier today at Dean's farm down in the Delta. Let's cut to it, Mrs. Hassan. I'm worried as hell about Addison."

Libby's face softened and she looked down at the ground as if embarrassed to keep eye contact with Porter. "I am, too."

"Then how about you help me?"

"I really fucked this up," she said. "Addison won't ever forgive me."

"Where is she, Libby?"

"I don't know," she said. "Branch won't tell me anything."

"Would Branch tell his father?"

"Maybe," she said. "I don't know."

Hayes reached into his jacket and handed her his business card. She took it and quickly placed it into the pouch of her hoodie. "Call me if you learn anything that might help Addison."

"Mr. Hayes?" she said. "Addison's father isn't at home. He's at Saint Francis. They're about to release him into hospice."

"Hospice," he said, shaking his head. "Damn. Didn't know it had gotten that bad."

"Four-oh-eight in a private room," she said. "God. I feel like I might puke. Branch has made me feel so guilty and stupid whenever I take up for Addy. I guess he's a real son of a bitch, too."

Hayes nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he said. "Lots of that going around."

"How you doing, Sam?"

"I wake up coughing and go to bed coughing," he said. "I got a tube jacked up my pecker and it takes a dozen horse pills every few hours to keep me hanging on. But you know. I can't complain."

Hayes pulled up a sturdy wooden chair to Sam's hospital bed. He'd found Sami Hassan asleep and sat in a nearby couch until a nurse came in to check his vitals and offered him a paper cup of pills. When Sam turned to look out the window, he'd spotted Porter and smiled. "Well, I'll be a son of a bitch. Porter Hayes."

Hayes made a gun with his thumb and forefinger and pointed at his old friend.

"Is Addy with you?" Sam asked, lips dry and cracked.

Hayes shook his head, sad to see all the tubes plugging into Sam's arms and up his damn nose. "Hoping you could help me find her."

"Find her?" he said. "I thought you were looking for her worthless husband."

"Well," Hayes said. "You know, I did find his ass."

"I knew you would," Sam said. "Hey. Why don't you ever stop by the restaurant? I'll serve you up a mess of pork that would make you slap your momma."

"I'd never slap my momma."

"I remember her," he said. "Momma Hayes was a pistol. When did she pass?"

"June," Hayes said. "Nineteen seventy-nine."

"What year is it now?" Sam said. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. But he knew Porter and knew that he'd been working with Addison. That was something.

"Two thousand ten."

"Shit," Hassan said. "Ain't time a motherfucker?"

"You know it," Hayes said. "It's like the record's just about over and you and me are just spinning on those last empty grooves. Listen, Sam. I need to talk to you about Addison."

"I'm glad you found her husband," he said. "And nailed his ass. I told her you were the best. Nobody better in Memphis than Porter Hayes."

"Did you know Dean put her in rehab?"

"Rehab?" he said. "For what? Drinking too much white wine with those rich ladies at the Club? Come on."

"Remember Dago?"

"'Course I remember Dago," he said. "We got his ass sent straight to Brushy Mountain."

"Your son-in-law makes Dago Tiller seem like Chatty Cathy, man," he said. "Killing folks ain't just an aside, it's his main business. He hires thugs and guns for hire all over the globe. He's not who he says he is. The real Dean McKellar died nearly twenty years back. I don't even know if his marriage to Addison is legal."

Sam the Sham tried to sit up, not realizing where he was or that he'd been filled with so many tubes. Porter caught him and eased him back down to the pillow. "Easy, friend."

"Not married?"

"He's a bad dude," Hayes said. "I gave Addison a full report and she went missing a short time later. When I went searching for her, I found a woman named Joanna Grayson dead at Dean's place down in the Delta. Do you know why he'd be hooked up with her?"

"Never heard of her."

"She was an actress," Hayes said. "Made a movie with Elvis back in the day."

"He killed this woman?" Sam reached out a giant hand and grabbed Hayes, but there was no iron left in his grip. "What did this cocksucker do to my daughter, Porter?"

"I figured when Addison called Dean on his bullshit, he went to making her look to be unfit," Hayes said. "He and your son got her put into a rehab center."

"Where?"

"That's what I hope you'd help me with."

"Son of a bitch," Sam said. His voice so drawn and tired. He was white-whiskered with bloodshot eyes. "Get me my pants. Come on. I'll go with you. I'll kill the bastard."

"Sam," Hayes said, resting his hand on Sam's big forearm. "Settle down. I got this. You rest."

"He was just here," Sam said. "With my grandkids. He said Addison had the flu."

"He lied," Porter said. "He drugged her to make her look bad in public. If you can find out where she is, I promise I'll get her out."

Sam started to speak but then launched into a bad coughing fit. It was so awful that a nurse ran in from the hall and raised his bed up a foot higher. She gave him a glass of water and helped him calm down before leaving the room.

Hayes hated like hell to see Sam in that condition. He'd always been larger than life, holding that old Louisville Slugger behind his old bar—the Domino Club on Madison—like Babe Ruth, no one crossing him without the retribution he deserved. Now he couldn't walk to the bathroom without help and was soon headed down that last road in hospice. No food. No medicine. They just let you lie back and die.

"They're sending me home."

"I heard."

"It's a hospice-type deal."

"Yeah," Hayes said. "I got some experience with hospice."

"I know you do," Sam said. "Genevieve was a lovely person. How long's she been gone?"

"Long time, Sam."

"Time doesn't make a lot of sense to me right now," he said. "Clocks might as well be broken and upside down. Everything seems the same. Addison was twelve years old yesterday on her little pink bike with a banana seat and now this. How the fuck does that happen?"

There was a knock on the door and a middle-aged man with Sam's face but not his stature walked into the room. He grinned as he held two Styrofoam cups in his hands. When he saw Porter, the grin dropped.

"Branch," Sam said. "My son."

Porter stood up and Branch set down the coffees on a hospital tray. He was dressed like most white men in East Memphis, pressed checkered shirt and khakis with a fuzzy fleece vest. He had dark hair neatly barbered and combed to the side like a teenager from the sixties.

"Where's Addy, Branch?" Sam asked.

"At home," he said, trying to regain that smug grin. "I told you already that she has a flu."

"Mr. Hayes here said you and Dean put her in rehab."

Branch Hassan took a wide stance, put one hand in his pocket, and looked to his father and then over to Porter Hayes. "I don't see how that's any of his business," he said. "We didn't want to worry you, Dad."

"Consider me worried."

"She made a real scene at the zoo last week," Branch said. "She nearly fell into the lion's cage on the way out. Dean had to carry her out while everyone was watching."

"He drugged her, son," Porter Hayes said.

"Oh, come on," Branch said. From a distance, Branch Hassan would look just like a teenager except for the wrinkles and dark five o'clock shadow. The man hadn't inherited any of his father's physicality, at just under five foot eight, and probably didn't weigh much over a hundred pounds.

Sam lifted up his right hand and ushered Branch to his bedside. He looked to Porter and Porter nodded in Sam's direction. Branch walked slowly to the hospital bed and then leaned down toward his father's face. His dad took a breath, oxygen going up into his nose, and then motioned for him to come in closer.

Branch came closer.

Sam whispered something in his ear. Porter's hearing wasn't what it used to be, but he could make out something about money, the barbecue restaurant, and changing his will. Branch Hassan's face went completely bloodless, white as a goddamn sheet, as he straightened himself back up.

"How about you and me step out for some fresh air, son?" Hayes said. "It's time for you to get on the right side of things."

"You want me to side with this guy over my own brother-in-law?" Branch asked Sam.

"It's not just about Addison," Hayes said. "I understand your niece and nephew are still with Dean."

"Why wouldn't they be with their father?"

"Because he's a stone-cold killer," Hayes said. "You need to get with the goddamn program, Branch. Your whole family is in some serious shit."