Jake Caldwell Thrillers

by Weaver, James

  “What can I get you, handsome?” she asked, her gravel voice sounding as if she’d smoked for a hundred years—which may very well have been the case.

  “Looking for a buddy of mine,” Jake said. “Medium height, brown hair, carrying a silver briefcase.”

  “Haven’t seen him,” she said in a flat tone, raising her penciled eyebrows to tell him otherwise.

  Jake reached into his pocket and slapped a ten spot on the counter. The woman looked at the lone bill like the Ebola virus danced on Alexander Hamilton’s face. Jake sighed and placed another ten on the bar top. “I forgot to mention he’s ugly too.”

  “Oh, him,” she said, snagging the two bills and stuffing them in her waistband. She pointed to a curtained opening twenty feet behind the bar. “Back in the Diamond Club.”

  Jake thanked her and wandered past the bar. A thick, red, velvet curtain covered the opening. Jake slid the curtain aside and traversed a ten-foot hallway. Two rooms on either side were empty, just couches that would reveal untold horrors if someone ran a blacklight over them. Three stairs at the end of the hall led to a room.

  He entered a thirty-foot square decorating nightmare of blood-red walls, a long, leather couch, a couple of chairs and a coffee table displaying a thick ice bucket, a champagne bottle and the silver briefcase. The lid to the briefcase was open but facing the wrong way. Jake couldn’t tell what lay inside. Voleski sat on the couch bookended by two broad-shouldered apes in jeans and t-shirts with sport coats. Another guy in a suit by a door on the opposite side of the room. Voleski’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Voleski asked.

  “Who is this?” the squatty guy on Voleski’s right asked. Guttural accent. Sounded Russian. It seemed there was an inordinate amount of Russians tangled up in this mess.

  “I’m nobody,” Jake said. “I just want to talk to Alexander for a moment.”

  “We are busy,” the guy said. “Go away.”

  “Come on, Voleski,” Jake said. “Bring the case and let’s go.”

  “Who is this?” the guy asked again.

  “The guy’s been chasing me all over the city, Victor,” Voleski said. “I don’t know who the fuck he is or what he wants.”

  Couch guy, Victor, nodded to the guy by the door, and then to the guy on the other side of Voleski. The two of them approached Jake from opposite ends, twisting their necks and rolling their shoulders. Loosening up for battle. Victor remained seated, confident of the ability of his lackeys to take care of Jake.

  “We will ask you one more time to go away,” the guy on his right said. He had Victor’s accent along with impenetrable, black hair and bushy eyebrows that could use some manscaping. His tight jacket would slow his swing. Jake glanced to the guy on his left who removed his jacket. Smart. He was wiry with arms like spun steel. He would be the one Jake took out first.

  “And if I don’t?” Jake asked.

  “Then you are going to get hurt.”

  Jake made an overt show of looking around the room. “You must have some more guys hidden somewhere.”

  “We don’t need more guys. The two of us will break you.”

  “You will break me?” Jake asked, mimicking his tone. “What is this? The cast of Rocky IV? Let me guess, your name is Drago.”

  The guy to his left chuckled. Their eyes locked in a brief moment of comedic comradery before Jake head-butted him into oblivion. Before he hit the floor, Jake ignored the stars that sprung in his eyes, spun and threw his elbow into the bridge of Drago’s nose. Drago staggered back, and Jake finished him off with a powerful kick to the side of his knee. The snap of ligaments and bone would register in Iowa. Drago collapsed to the floor, screaming.

  Jake leapt over the coffee table and pounced on Victor who tried pulling a gun from under his jacket. Jake pinned the arm reaching for the gun against Victor’s body with his chest and rammed a couple of quick jabs to his paunchy face. He finished him off by smashing Victor’s head into his bad knee. It hurt like a bitch and was perhaps excessive, but the resounding crunch was worth the price of admission. Victor crashed back to the couch and slithered to the floor, blood pouring from his face.

  As Jake pinned Victor to the couch, Voleski slammed the case shut and made a beeline for the back door. Jake stretched back to the coffee table and grabbed the thick champagne bottle. He reared back and flung it after Voleski. It landed with a resounding thunk on the back of his head, and Voleski went sprawling, the briefcase gliding across the floor and smacking into the door. A damn fine throw for a former linebacker.

  Jake moved to vault over the couch after him when someone enveloped him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides in a vice grip. The guy holding him spun around, and Jake came face-to-face with the football-playing, mountain bouncer.

  “I told you I didn’t want to climb those stairs,” the bouncer said. A fist the size of an asteroid sped toward Jake’s face. He jerked his head to avoid the blow in time to see Voleski disappear with the case out the back door before everything went black.

  * * *

  Jake awoke with a pounding headache, his brain thumping against his skull like a big bass drum. Handcuffed to a metal bunk in a jail cell, he squinted as the bright overhead lights activated the pain and nausea centers in his brain. Had he been run over by a Mack truck? Recalling the bouncer, a Mack truck was close to the truth.

  A scrawny kid with bloodshot eyes and tattoos of Chinese symbols running along his arms scrutinized Jake across the cell. His knees drawn to his chest, head leaning against the pitted concrete wall, in his early twenties and too comfortable sitting in a jail cell.

  “Welcome back to the world, man,” the kid said, his long, auburn hair spilling across his shoulders.

  “Whoa,” Jake said, sitting up, the world spinning. After a moment, the room stopped swaying and the nausea dissipated to a level where the urge to puke on his shoes disappeared. “How long have I been out?”

  “You were out when I got here. That was three hours ago. What’d you do?”

  “Probably disturbing the peace. Got in a fight with a bunch of guys in a strip club.”

  “Dreams?”

  “That’s the place,” Jake said.

  The kid grinned. He needed to see a dentist in the worst way. “How’d you do?”

  “Started great, didn’t end well. Big fucking bouncer got me.”

  The kid nodded. “Bruno. You’re lucky you’re not in a coma.”

  “I’ll have to settle for a probable concussion. You know him?”

  “Yeah. I sell him weed. Which is why I’m here. Not selling to Bruno but to an undercover. You can’t trust anybody these days.”

  Jake rubbed his eyes with his free hand, the handcuffs rattling on the metal frame of the bed. He wondered what happened to Voleski and Snell.

  “Tell you what,” the boy continued, “you must’ve pissed somebody off. This mean-looking detective keeps coming back here seeing if you’re awake. Tall, red-head guy. Judging from his attitude, I’d bet he hasn’t been laid in a while.”

  As if on cue, the door to the end of the cell block slammed open and hard heels clipped on the concrete approaching the cell. An overweight cop who should have retired a decade earlier stopped at the door. He called over his shoulder to open their cell. The guard fumbled with a thick set of keys and unlocked Jake’s cuffs.

  “Come with me,” the cop said to Jake. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “When am I getting out?” his cellmate asked.

  “Shut up, Carl. Get comfortable.”

  “Shit,” Carl said. “Good luck, man. You’re gonna need it. The red-headed guy looks like an asshole.”

  * * *

  Five minutes later Jake sat in the same interrogation room from the day before. Same table, same chairs, same one-way window in the wall. A bad habit to be getting into. Unlike yesterday, they didn’t make him wait long. It wasn’t Police Chief Ware, but the red-headed detective in a cheap suit and ugly, br
oad-striped tie who entered and shut the door behind him. He parked in the chair on the other side of the table and glowered through deep set eyes like Jake kicked his dog.

  “No Police Chief this time?” Jake asked. “I must be moving down the totem pole of importance.”

  The back of Jake’s head thumped in rhythm with his heartbeat. He thought of asking for some aspirin but knew the chances of getting them were less than zero. He was in no mood to go through yet another worthless interrogation.

  “I’m Detective Morrisey,” the red head said.

  “Congratulations.”

  “You have trouble following directions, Mr. Caldwell?”

  “Depends on the directions.”

  “My boss told you to stop chasing Alexander Voleski.”

  “I wasn’t chasing him,” Jake said. “I stopped by a club to see some naked women, and he happened to be there. He ran away before we had a chance to chat.”

  “You expect us to believe that?”

  “I don’t care what you believe.”

  Morrisey inhaled a deep breath and thudded forward, giving Jake a hard stare. If he was trying to be intimidating, it wasn’t working.

  “You know what I think? I think you’re a loser scumbag like your buddy Logan.”

  “You know Logan?”

  “Everyone knows that dirty cop.”

  “Well, you know how the saying goes. It takes one to know one.”

  Morrisey marched around the table. He crowded in close enough for Jake to smell the coffee and cigarettes on his breath.

  “Listen, dickhead,” Morrisey said. “I’ve got half a mind to beat your ass to a pulp.”

  “Half a mind is giving yourself too much credit.”

  Morrisey gathered a fistful of Jake’s shirt and drew back a fist. A loud knock resounded from the other side of the interrogation window. Morrisey’s fist froze in mid-air, his nostrils splayed wide, and the thick vein in his neck pulsating dangerously. A few seconds later, Detective Ogio trudged into the room. His cheap suit wrinkled against his lanky, black frame. The cops in this town couldn’t dress for shit.

  “Take a break, Vince,” Ogio said. Morrisey shot one last dagger at Jake and pushed off. He retreated to the corner of the room and propped against the wall, seething, arms folded. Jake wondered if the sleeves on his suit were going to burst from the tension like the Hulk.

  “That’s pretty good,” Jake said. “Can he roll over and play fetch too?”

  “I don’t think you’re funny, Mr. Caldwell,” Ogio said, resting on the edge of the table.

  “Oh, I get it. He’s the bad cop, you’re the good cop. What happened to your Oompa Loompa partner?”

  “Stomach flu. Ate one of those subs below your pal Logan’s apartment.”

  “I’m not surprised. You should call in the health department about that shithole.”

  Ogio eyeballed him for a moment. “So, we keep running into each other. What seems to be your problem today?”

  “I don’t have a problem other than being here.”

  “Why are you chasing after Alexander Voleski?”

  “I’m not. Like I told dickhead over here…”

  Ogio waved his hand. “Let’s stop with the charades. We can lie to each other all day or we can help each other.”

  Jake had no intention of cooperating with these guys but was interested to find out where the conversation headed.

  He spread his hands wide. “What do you have in mind?”

  “What is your interest in Mr. Voleski?”

  “Someone hired Jack Logan to track him. I was helping him.”

  “Hired by who?”

  “I don’t know. Logan didn’t say.”

  Ogio nodded and checked his watch. “How is Jack?”

  “Unconscious last I checked. He’s holed up at Truman.”

  “I know,” Ogio said. “I stopped by to visit him earlier today.”

  Jake paused a beat, eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Logan used to be my partner. He’s a good man.”

  Jake studied Ogio. Sincerity blanketed his face. Ogio reminded Jake a lot of Logan. Not his appearance obviously, but his spirit. He could picture Logan and Ogio tag-teaming suspects across the interrogation table.

  “Chief Ware mentioned Mr. Voleski is aiding the department in an ongoing criminal investigation,” Ogio said.

  “He mentioned it, but I don’t buy it.”

  Ogio cocked his head. “You don’t?”

  “Nope,” Jake said. “No more than I think I’ll be quarterbacking the Chiefs to the next Super Bowl. Do you buy it?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe. I have orders, as do you.”

  “What do you believe?”

  “I believe your continued involvement in this situation has the potential to upset a delicate operation. I also believe you have been instructed by the Chief of the Kansas City, Missouri Police Department to back off or you will face some very harsh consequences.”

  “Like what?” Jake asked. “What are you charging me with?”

  “Disturbing the peace and criminal assault,” Morrisey piped in from the corner.

  Jake hooked an eyebrow. “Against who? I’ll bet a thousand dollars that when you found me, the only people in the room were my unconscious body and a big ass bouncer with swollen knuckles.”

  “His knuckles weren’t swollen,” Ogio said. “Still, the Chief says to charge you with disturbing the peace and first-degree assault with serious physical injury. That’s a Class A felony, Caldwell.”

  “I feel like I’m getting repetitive. Against who?”

  “Class A felony is ten to thirty years in prison.”

  “Against who?” Jake sang.

  “We’re to charge you unless you drop this obsession with Alexander Voleski. If we find out you’re still pursuing him, the Chief will have you arrested, charged and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

  “This is bullshit.”

  “It is what it is,” Ogio said. “You may beat the charge, but it’ll take a long time to sort out and who knows what could happen while you’re here.”

  “So, what’ll it be, dickhead?” Morrisey asked. “You gonna play nice or do we get to throw you in a cell?”

  Jake slid his eyes to Morrisey and back to Ogio. “How long have you been working with Mr. Sunshine?”

  “Six months,” Ogio said. “The Oompa Loompa and I are breaking him in.”

  “Longest six months of your life?”

  Ogio offered a close-lipped smile. Morrisey muttered some expletives and stormed from the room.

  “He doesn’t like you much,” Ogio said.

  “So I gather. Not sure what I did.”

  “Guilt by association. He hates Logan. My advice to you, kid, is to let this one go. There’s nothing more you can do than get in a heap of trouble.”

  Jake’s head shake bounced pain shards across his skull. “I have to find out who beat Logan and why.”

  “That’s a bad idea,” Ogio said.

  “According to who?”

  Ogio stepped toward the door and turned back. “People you don’t want to cross. You got any leads?”

  Jake shrugged. “A few. Could always use more help.”

  “Wish I could. I always liked Logan. Now, you going to let this go?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Ogio sighed. “You’re from Missouri, right?”

  “Grew up around the Lake of the Ozarks in Warsaw.”

  “Baseball fan?”

  Jake’s brow wrinkled, wondering where this was headed. “Sure. It’s our national past time.”

  “Royals or Cardinals?” Ogio asked.

  “Royals. Always the boys in blue.”

  Ogio turned his back to the interrogation window. His gaze shot to the ceiling. Jake waited a moment before following suit. A microphone set into the light fixture. The microphone fed audio back to the interrogation room viewing area.

  “I’m from St. Louis, myself. Must h
ave been to a thousand games over the years. Know those teams inside and out. Yes sir, I grew up a diehard blue birds fan. Someone should keep an eye on those blue birds.”

  “Don’t you mean red birds?”

  “Oh, did I say blue bird?” Ogio said, winking at Jake and heading for the door. “I must be getting old and senile.”

  Jake followed Ogio out the interrogation room and to the end of the hall. Ogio handed him his stuff and left him at the elevator. Jake rode it to the first floor, puzzling over the comments of the detective. He exited the elevator and out the front door. The late afternoon sun began its descent, the air cooling. Bear leaned against his Tahoe by the street.

  “What’s the matter?” Bear asked. “Your face is scrunched up like you’re trying to figure out the square root of pi.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Heard you might need to be bailed out.”

  “From who?” Jake asked.

  “Snell.”

  “She called you?”

  “I think she likes you. Jesus, that’s a hell of a goose egg on your eye.”

  Jake gingerly touched the growing lump on his cheek. “Think Maggie will notice?”

  “I’ll tell her you ran into a door.”

  “What did Snell say?”

  “Said you were going into a strip club after Voleski and told her to stay outside. She waited until the cops hauled you out in cuffs unconscious. She says she never saw Voleski. I drove to the city, talked to some guys I know inside the department. They said they were kicking you loose, so I waited.”

  The inside of Bear’s truck smelled of fish and wintergreen chewing tobacco.

  “Jesus,” Jake said. “You gut your fish in here? Let’s swing by and get my truck at the strip club and go back to my place. I need some aspirin, and we have some shit to figure out.”

  Bear put the truck in drive, bushy eyebrows raised. “Strip club?”

  “We’re not going in.”

  “Aw, come on,” Bear said, brown eyes wide and pleading.

  “You’re married anyway.”

  “Exactly.” Bear peeled away from the curb. “I haven’t seen a naked woman in months.”