Rabbit Punch (Part Four)
BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH
Cover image by Виктория Бородинова from Pixabay. Cover art by Gregory Hedgepeth.
I was at my wits’ end and tired of waiting for answers. It was time to start demanding the truth. I rapped my knuckles against the glass a fourth time, wondering what was taking her so long to answer. Suddenly, a face appeared in the glass and I gave a smile.
She shook her head and rolled her eyes before finally opening the door. “What is it, Walker?” Daytona asked solemnly.
“Damn, you’re not even going to invite me in though?” I asked. She let out a sigh and moved to the side as I strolled across the threshold. “Have you talked to your sister today? She hasn’t returned any of my calls.”
“I’m sure that was done on purpose,” she said, closing the door behind us. “Maybe she doesn’t want to be bothered.”
“Bothered? What makes you think that’s what I have in mind?”
“All I’m saying is that maybe she wanted some time to herself.”
I scoffed. “Hmph, why can’t she just say that then?”
“Walker, why don’t you just give her a break? She’s got a lot going on right now.”
“You think I’m not aware of that?“ I asked irritatedly. A knock at the door broke through our conversation, and she scurried off to answer it while I plopped down on the sofa. The room smelled light and feminine—probably some sort of floral nonsense, knowing Daytona.
“No, it’s fine,” she said, coming back around the corner followed by a man I didn’t recognize. “I’m not up to anything important.”
“I tried to tell Hampton we could probably do this another day, but he insisted.”
I scoffed at the mention of Hampton’s name. “No surprise there.”
“Excuse me?” the man said with an upraised eyebrow.
“Ignore him, Bishop,” Daytona said with a wave of the hand in my direction. “It’s no problem at all. I know how particular he can be about these things.”
“That’s one way to put it,” I said rolling my eyes.
“Do I know you?” the man asked.
“No, but I do know Hampton. I’m not surprised he’s inconveniencing you to complete a trivial task on his behalf.”
“Almost like how you’re inconveniencing me by being here,” Daytona let out.
I was taken aback. “And how am I doing that just by sitting here?”
Daytona shook her head. “Just wait here, Bishop. I’ll be right back.”
She walked off, leaving the two of us alone. Bishop took a seat in a leather arm chair across from me, clearing his throat but remaining steadfast in his silence.
“So you work with Hampton?” I asked.
“Yes. I’m one of the junior associates at the firm.”
“How interesting,” I said, feigning a yawn. “So instead of real work, he has you running around, completing his errands and whatnot?”
“It’s not an errand,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “He left an asset here—I’m just retrieving it.”
“An asset?” I asked, growing suddenly interested. “Do tell.”
His face scrunched in confusion. “Who are you exactly?”
I smirked. “My name is Walker Gauff. Daytona’s sister is my fiancé.”
“She is not your fiancé,” Daytona let out suddenly, returning to the room.
“Well, we might as well be engaged.”
“You haven’t asked her anything and she hasn’t accepted anything. You’re just playing around and keeping her from moving on with her life.”
“Jesus, Daytona,” I said mockingly. “Is that anyone to talk about your future brother-in-law?”
She shook her head and turned to Bishop. “Here you go,” she said simply, handing over a small USB and a manila folder. “Let him know that I could’ve dropped it off though—he didn’t need to send you.”
“I’ll pass along the message, but you know Hampton. Thanks anyway, Daytona. I see the new spot is coming along nicely. You have it looking like a real home in here.”
“It’s no problem at all. And oh yeah, I’m having a dinner party next week. You and Krystina should come! It’ll be fun. I haven’t seen her in ages.”
“Are you making peach cobbler?” he asked with a wide grin.
“I may bake up a pan or two,” she said slyly.
“Then we’ll definitely be in attendance. Thanks for the invite.”
“No problem—I’ll walk you out.”
I was left to my own devices yet again, taking in the decor of the living room. Most of the items looked cheap and novel. Daytona had always made decent money, so I never understood why she didn’t buy more top-of-the-line items. I was just glad it hadn’t rubbed off on Dahlia.
“So are you planning to stay here all afternoon?” she asked, coming back into the room. “I actually have things to do, believe it or not.”
“Did my invite to the dinner party get lost in the mail or something? I’m a fan of your cobbler as well. I don’t remember hearing about a gathering.”
She placed her hands on her hips and gave me a stern look. “Walker, I’m really not in the mood for this today.”
I studied her closely. “Are you sure you haven’t heard from Dahlia? You guys talk ten times a day, and suddenly—now that I’m looking for her—you two haven’t talked?”
She let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not her keeper. If she wanted to talk to you, I’m sure she would. Now, I have an artist who’s going to drop by any moment—I’d prefer it if you weren’t here when they arrived.”
I cleared my throat, looking for something to say, but ultimately deciding to keep it to myself. “I guess I’ll make myself scarce then. I should probably get back to the office anyway. If you hear from your sister, how about you tell her I dropped by?”
She gave me a smarmy look. “Yeah, I’ll do just that. Have a great day, Walker.”
I stood and made my way to the door with a sly smile, checking the time on my watch before heading out into the sun and returning to my car. I dialed Dahlia’s number, and yet again, it rang unanswered. Just as I hit the end button, I noticed the shade lift slightly in an upstairs window before dropping back down almost immediately. I smirked, convinced I was seeing things. I studied the house a final time before turning the key in the ignition and speeding off once the engine roared to life.
***
I had been sipping on Rabbit Punch for the past hour. I was already feeling the pull of gravity against my forehead, but I still remained fairly upright. Hampton couldn’t do much, but he could certainly make a decently strong drink. I stumbled into the front study, and leaned against the desk, mesmerized by all the books displayed across a single shelf. I moved closer to examine the titles, when I noticed Dahlia walk by out of the corner of my eye with a wide smile. I placed my glass on the desk and stumbled out after her, determined to finally have the conversation she’d been avoiding.
“Babe,” I said simply. Her smile faded and she began to rush off with a tray full of appetizers. “Dahlia, don’t be like that—can we just talk please?”
“We have nothing to talk about,” she said, making her way back towards the kitchen. “Why are you even here?”
“So you’re not even going to let me explain?”
“I’ve heard everything I needed to hear from you.”
I stopped in my tracks. I couldn’t believe how unreasonable she was being. “So we can’t even—“
She let out a sigh and turned to face me with a roll of the eyes. “Can’t you just leave me alone? I don’t have anything to say to you!”
“Just let me explain—“
“Explain what? Why you continue to make me look stupid? Why you should get another chance after all the times you’ve fucked up? Why you called me a slab behind my back? Which is funny to me because didn’t you tell Daytona I was your fiancé last week? How am I supposed to reconcile all that when it’s clear you want to keep playing these games?”
“Dahlia, listen—“
“No, you listen. You’ve made a fool of me for the last time. I’ve told you repeatedly that I don’t want to deal with you anymore and you refuse to take no for an answer.”
“Look, you’re not a slab, okay? I was just—“
“You think I’m not aware of that? You really think I need you to confirm something I already know about myself? You continue to assume that no one’s opinion matters but your own! A real man would’ve never let something like that even come out of their mouth! Just leave me alone.”
She attempted to walk off again and I reached out to grab her elbow. “Babe—“
Her eyes glowed with anger as she jerked her arm away from my grasp, nearly spilling the tray of food. “Do. Not. Touch. Me. Do you understand? Don’t put your hands on me ever again.”
I stood there silently and began to notice how many people were suddenly staring at us. My plan was backfiring. I held my tongue and let out a loud sigh as she walked off. I saw her place the tray on a small side table and whisper something to Daytona. Soon after, she left out the front door without once looking in my direction.
***
The detective looked at me with a scrunched face. “I still don’t understand—what the hell is a slab?”
I let out a sigh. “It’s a name me and my friends came up with...”
“Which means?”
“A slab is a girl you are just messing around with, someone you aren’t really serious about.”
“But I thought you told Miss York—“
“Look, I didn’t mean it, okay? I was just joking with my dickhead friends. I didn’t think they’d actually go back and tell her what I said.”
“Hmph,” he said before jotting down something quickly in a small spiral notebook. “And what can you tell me about Mr. Hamilton? You didn’t seem very fond of him.”
“That’s because I wasn’t. He always walked around like his shit doesn’t stink.”
“You two seem to have quite a bit in common.”
I swallowed my retort before it escaped. “Look, Hampton never cared for me dating Dahlia. He always said I was a bad influence. He acted like her big brother or something. But if you ask me, he had no right to stick his nose in my relationship.”
He studied me curiously. “And do you blame him for the demise of your relationship to the younger Miss York?”
I swallowed hard. “I didn’t say that. Look, I didn’t like the guy—but I didn’t kill him.”
“Mr. Gauff—“
“I don’t understand all this sorrow for him anyway!” I let out, growing frustrated. “The guy was a fucking asshole, cheating folks out of their money! Hell, anyone could’ve murdered him and they would’ve been in the right!”
The detective placed his pen down and studied me closer. “And what exactly does that mean?”
I realized I’d said too much. “Nothing.”
“Mr. Gauff, let me remind you that this is a murder investigation—now, you need to explain what you mean and explain it right now!” he snarled. It was too late to take it back.
“Hampton’s been dicking people around for years. Everyone loves to act as if he’s some folk hero, supposedly saving all these poor folks from the grasp of New Lorraine. All he’s really doing is tricking everyone who doesn’t know any better into giving up their entire reparations, so he can ‘teach them the game.’ Whatever the fuck that means. It’s all horseshit.”
“Lots of business people charge folks for their expertise—especially the younger kids. How else will they learn the trade?”
“I hear you... the only problem is Hampton didn’t have any expertise. He just follows the index.”
“The index?”
“There’s always a list of the most profitable stocks in the country floating around at any given moment. Hampton just studies the list, drops the bottom 90% and switches the order around to make it seem like he knows what he’s talking about. People say he’s a guru, but he’s not doing anything special. Anyone with half a brain and an Internet connection could do the same thing.”
“He beats the market every year, so he must be doing something right.”
“Beats the market according to who? His company?” I scoffed. “I’m sure they’ll go along with anything that helps him bring in new clients.”
The detective looked at me as if he wasn’t sure I was telling the truth. “So if you knew this information, why didn’t you speak up before now?”
“I’ve been telling anyone who would listen for the last three years what he’s doing! But everyone thinks he’s God’s gift and I’m just—“ I paused briefly. “Look, he’s not who everyone thought he was... I’m not surprised someone finally realized the scam he was running and put him out of his misery.”
He scribbled something into his notebook and remained silent for several moments. “Do you remember what happened before you passed out?”
“I barely remember anything about last night. I was drunk off my ass before Dahlia even arrived and I’d been trying to call her for hours, but she refused to pick up. I just... I really fucked up. I know I shouldn’t have said what I said. I should’ve ran out after her, but I was too drunk to drive anywhere.”
“Interesting,” he said, pulling a sheet of paper from a folder. “Your phone records show you didn’t call the younger Miss York at all last night. Instead, we show 28 calls over a five-hour period to an escort service in Alpine. When we called to confirm, they said you would just yell into the phone for several seconds and then hang up.”
My face turned white. I felt like an idiot. “Fuck, so she doesn’t even know I was trying to reach her?” I said to myself, shaking my head. “That goddamn Rabbit Punch.”
“I’m sure that’s exactly it was,” he said with a smug smile. “I’ll be back in a moment, Mr. Gauff—be sure to make yourself comfortable. We’ll resume with questions in a bit.” He let himself out and I laid my head against the cold metal table, attempting to ease my impending migraine while I waited for his return.
Gregory Hedgepeth is the editor-in-chief of Vital Narrative Press. You can follow him on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. Feel free to follow on all three. Or maybe just two. Yeah, two’s probably good—he’s not that interesting. Gregory Hedgepeth is also the author of MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT SUNRISES, THE YEAR THAT ANSWERED and A COLLECTION OF ECHOES. BUY THAT SHIT.