All Chickens Must Die: A Benjamin Wade Mystery by Scott Dennis Parker Page B

done the crossword, and emptied the coffee. Teague strolled outside,
putting his hat on his head. He looked one way and then the other. Plunging his
hands into his pockets, he walked at a brisk pace in my direction. I waited
until he passed my car before I opened the door and got out.
    It was lunchtime and the streets were crowded. I was trying to
figure out how best to corner him and give him some powerful reasons why he
needed to cancel the slaughter. I was going to need to get him in an alley so
we could talk in “private.”
    Sauntering up behind him, I sized up my opportunities. A block
and a half away, I saw the perfect place: an alley between tall buildings that
would provide enough cover from any looky-loos and long enough to dampen any
yell Teague was bound to emit.
    I matched his stride on his blind right side. When we had cleared
the corner of the alley, I reached over, grabbed his upper arm in my grip and,
as nonchalantly as possible, shoved him into the alley.
    “Hey.” He turned to see who was moving him.
    “Quiet.”
    He must have recognized my voice. “You’re that PI dick, aren’t
you?”
    “Forgot my name already?” I led him deeper into the alley.
    Teague slowed his pace and pushed back.
    “Look,” I said, “I just want to talk.”
    “No you don’t. You’re planning to harass me, knock me around,
aren’t you?”
    I wasn’t used to having folks guess my moves, especially not
pencil-pushers like Teague. With a quick little gesture, he cleared my grip and
turned to face me.
    “If you’re trying to strong arm me, Mr. Wade,” he said, standing
straighter and turning to face me, “it won’t work.”
    Involuntarily, I balled my hands into fists. “Why not?”
    “Because you have nothing with which to change my mind.”
    I showed him one of my mitts. “Wanna bet?”
    “It won’t change anything, I assure you.” He shrank a little at
my bluster but still retained an air of calm. “You see, there are powerful
forces that have already pointed me in the direction I have to take.” He
paused and adjusted his tie.
    “Who’s doing this? Who’s telling you to kill those chickens?”
    A shadow crossed over his countenance and his visibly shuddered.
He was answering my questions internally. “It’s not a “who.” It’s a “they.” And
when they speak, you listen and act.”
    Frowning, I said, “What kind of a group is that powerful? The
government? Aldridge’s cronies?”
    “When you deal with this group, it makes those you named seem
like amateurs.” He righted his hat and folded his arms. “You can beat me and
punch me or do whatever to me because I’m not afraid of you. I am afraid
of them and I’m going to damn well do what they say. Yes, they’re paying me,
but that’s just business.” He paused, giving me a funny look. “So, are you
going to do me harm? Or are you too chicken to try anything?”
    I wanted to, very much. But now my curiosity was aroused. “What
is this group?”
    “I am not at liberty to divulge that information. Suffice it to
say their influence is greater than that of any other organization I’ve ever
known. I respect them, but I fear them more. And that’s why I’ll do exactly
what they say.”
    “And that’s to kill my client’s chickens?”
    He nodded.
    Stupidly, I realized my fists were still hanging in the air. I
lowered them, defeated.
    Teague nodded once. “Good day, Mr. Wade.”

Chapter Eleven
     
    I spent the lunch hour downing iced tea
and a hot dog from a street vendor. I tried to reconstruct my confidence after
Teague’s seemingly fearless face in front of my fists. The longer I sat, the
more I realized there was still one other option to follow: Danielle Bowie.
    Killing the afternoon in my office by reviewing all the resumes
for the women who wanted to be my secretary, I drove back to the health
inspector’s office a half hour before closing time.
    The more I thought about it, the more something nagged at me. I
couldn’t help