Once Upon A Poet

by H S Peer

  “Gimble?” I asked.

  “That’s right. Who the hell are you?”

  “Philip Larkin.” I closed the space between us to six feet. I could see a driver in the truck but not anyone in the backseat.

  “Well, Mr. Larkin, what’s this all about? This isn’t the way I do business, usually,” he said.

  “This is some ride you have here,” I said.

  “Like it?”

  “Do I ever.” I stroked the hood with a gloved hand. “Can I take a look inside?”

  “Be my guest.”

  I walked to the driver’s door and pulled it open. Except for a hulking man the interior was empty. I palmed the stun gun from my overcoat pocket.

  “Nice dash,” I said over my shoulder. My left hand came up and pushed the stun gun into the driver’s neck. I triggered it. He jolted in his seat. In the green glow from the dash, he looked like a ghoul.

  I slipped the stun gun back into my pocket and raised the shotgun hanging on a harness under my right arm.

  “If you’re done admiring my car maybe you can tell me what this is about? You need some talent? That’s what I have, the best selection in the south.”

  I crossed back to the front of the vehicle and leveled the shotgun. I pumped it and made it ready.

  Gimble looked from my face to the gun to my face again.

  “What the hell’s going on,” he protested, “You know who I am?”

  “I don’t care,” I said.

  “You going to rob me? The world’s not big enough to hide you.’

  “Shut your mouth,” I snapped. “I’m the one with the gun. You might think about reaching for yours, but you’ll get a buckshot shampoo. I just want some information.”

  “Go spit.”

  “How naughty. That’s not the right attitude to have. Tell me what I want to know, and you can be on your way. Well, as soon as your driver can drive.”

  He looked again at the gun and apparently the man in black behind in, no school kid. Gimble nodded.

  “Who was responsible for the hit in New York?”

  “Pete and Al.”

  I sighed. “I know that. Who put out the contract?”

  “Get stuffed.”

  I pointed the shotgun at his groin.

  “Whoa,” he said. There was sweat on his brow.

  “The contract?” I asked again.

  “A guy named Lenny.”

  “Lenny?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who’s he with?”

  “With?”

  “Who’d he work for?”

  “A porno outfit there. Rainbow.”

  “He was the one who had to give the green-light?”

  “Yes. Yes. Now point that scattergun the other way,” he pleaded.

  I took a step forward, he took one back.

  “Get on your knees,” I commanded, “Hands up.”

  “Jesus,” he said and complied.

  I walked around behind him and leaned close to his ear to be heard over the running truck. “Al and Pete won’t be coming back,” I said, “My advice to you is to stay out of New York. Too much competition. It’s a dog-eat-dog world.”

  “What do you mean they aren’t coming back?”

  “Simple, they crossed my path. Al annoyed me, and Pete hit me with his little shotgun. I have no problems with criminals whacking each other out, but I don’t like innocent women cut down in the prime of their lives.”

  “Hey, that’s what I do,” said Gimble.

  “Yes,” I said, “It is.”

  I pressed the shotgun to the back of his head. He stiffened. With my left hand, I found the stun gun and pulled it out.

  “Chalk this up to experience,” I told Gimble, “There’s no margin in trying to come after me. I bested you once, I’ll do it again.” I pressed the trigger and zapped him. His body convulsed and dropped to the blacktop. I relieved Gimble of his pistol, a beautiful custom .45, and his roll of bills. I did a quick count, just over two grand. If it’d been a sadistic son-of-a-bitch, I would have handcuffed him to the bumper missing his pants. I wasn’t in that kind of mood.

  I gave the driver another jolt from the stun gun just to keep him in line and took his wallet. There was $600. I pocketed it and the keys to the SUV. What can I say? I am a thief. I searched the driver for a piece, he was clean. Leaving the pair in a parking garage without keys to their vehicle and money would give me enough time for a decent head start. I jogged back to my Jeep.

  Now I had to track down and talk to this Lenny person about the hit on Amber. He might be able to give me some answers. Was her hit related to Cindy’s? Or did Bill Jenkins actually do it? What was Rainbow up to that needed to be covered up with murders? Would Gimble warn Lenny that he’d given him up? Maybe. Maybe not. Would Gimble be gunning for me? Certainly. Atlanta was too hot to stay in.

  Safe in my car I exited the garage. I paid like a good boy and started my journey back home. My mind kept spinning over the possibilities of Rainbow and contract killings. I thought on that for a while and finally tuned it out. I listened to CDs and mouthed the words. I stopped for fuel, coffee, and cigarettes. I dreamed of tanned island ladies and eating dinner in my swimsuit. By the time I reached New York rush hour was in full swing. I cursed and pledged never to drive again.

  My Saab was parked behind the Liar’s Breath, but I didn’t worry about. I’d give it to Biscuit for a couple of days until I needed it. Inside, the kitchen managed a chicken sandwich for me. I ate it with Irish beer; aware I was dead on my feet. It was only 7 p.m., and I wouldn’t be holding court tonight. I drove the Jeep back to the garage I park in and hoofed it home.

  I lay in the bathtub and drank half a pint of brandy. I was in better spirits with the spirits inside me. My arm was healing nicely, still red, still puckered and ugly looking but the bruising was fading. I dragged myself out of the water and into bed. The sheets were welcoming. I lasted about a minute and a half before sleep took me.

  Chapter 23

  Rikers Island didn’t get any better with a repeat visit. I felt suffocated like the walls were closing in on me. In another small room, with a battered table and steel chairs. I waited, looking like a million bucks in a tailored navy suit. I knew I was pale and sweaty. Being in prison, even though I wasn’t locked up, didn’t sit well.

  A guard led Bill into the room. He looked like he had lost weight. His right eye was nearly swollen shut with an ugly black eye. The guard seated him and left.

  “Hard time?” I asked.

  “Don’t try to run a scam against the Muslims,” he said.

  I made a tsk-tsk sound and opened the briefcase I brought with me. I shuffled some papers.

  “What’s up, Poet? Am I getting out of here?” he asked.

  I cleared my throat and lowered my voice, “I don’t think you killed her Bill.”

  “Great,” he said, “Someone on my side.”

  “I’m serious,” I said. “Something big is going on here. I can’t explain it because I don’t really understand it yet.”

  “Don’t understand it? Come on.”

  “It’s not that easy. Her neighbor didn’t pop her, it’s not that simple. I can’t pull a rabbit out of a hat here. I need time,” I said.

  “I’ve given you time. I need results.”

  “I’m doing the best I can,” I protested. “This isn’t my bag. I don’t solve crimes.”

  “Well, you better,” he said without much force.

  “Watch what you say, Billy. Another threat and you might end up on the wrong end of a shiv. I’m helping you because I believe you’re innocent not because of your threats. There’s nothing you can say that will put me in the joint. That job we pulled was clean. There was nothing to link me to it. You’re making idle threats.”

  That shut him up. He was quiet for a minute.

  “We’re going to do this my way,” I said. “Keep in mind I could leave you in here to rot. I’ll work on this thing, and you’ll sit in here like a good boy. Understan
d?”

  He was looking at the tabletop and wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “Understand?” I asked again.

  “Yes,” he grumbled.

  “And Bill,” I said, pulling an envelope from the papers in the briefcase, “Don’t give your PD any more envelopes to hold.”

  His eyes opened wide.

  “That’s right Bill. I have your little confession. And I’ll get the next one too. Don’t ever think you can put one over on me.”

  I called for the guard.

  “Wait,” he said as I rose to leave.

  “Time’s up, Bill, you’ll hear from me when I know something.”

  “But Poet... .,” he said.

  “No more scams Bill, just try to make yourself smaller than you are and you might make it out of this. Understand?”

  He dropped his head and said yes. The guard arrived and took Bill away. I shuffled the papers in my briefcase to look like I’d used it for something other than a prop. I rose and started back toward the outside and daylight.

  I went back to the Liar’s Breath and perched on my stool. Biscuit brought me a Scotch, and I drank it. I was stalled. All I knew was that Rainbow had ordered a hit. Why, was the question. Why would a video company order the death of one of its employees? Why did they kill Amber? What did she know? So many questions. And I had nothing, just the confession of Gimble in Atlanta, hardly something I could use in court. I drank my Scotch and ruminated.

  The lunch crowd had been and gone. The place was empty save for a couple of regulars sitting at a table and drinking gin. I ordered a BLT and fries and ate some peanuts. It was pointless, from a business standpoint, coming in here during the day. Only the serious drinkers were here, and none of them needed a high-end burglary done. In the summer this was the place I came to bask in the air conditioning. Now, with winter beckoning, I came here for business.

  Back in the office, I found some travel brochures for the islands. I took them back to the bar. I flipped idly through the pages of sun, surf, and sand. I wouldn’t find what I was looking for in them. I needed a condo, something on the beach, something semi-private. While I could stay at one of the upscale resorts for a couple of months, I didn’t want that much excitement. Drinking and partying every night was what I did in the city, I didn’t need it for my holidays. If I started to feel too lonely, I could always hit one of the resorts for a week just to liven things up. I considered calling my travel agent to see what was available. That was putting the cart before the horse. Before I did anything, I had a murder to solve.

  My lunch arrived, and I ate with a pint of Irish red ale. As always the bacon was crisp and the tomatoes ripe. There was just enough mayo to give the sandwich a little zing without overpowering it. A full belly didn’t help me think any better as I had hoped it would. I considered another drink. My nerves were soothed after my trip to Rikers, so I was in good shape. I fought the temptation to drink until I was soupy enough for an afternoon nap.

  I told Biscuit to keep at it as he polished glasses for the evening. I left and re-parked my jeep in the garage. On foot, I made it back to my building. Back in my nest I hung my blue suit in the closet and put on some Ralph Lauren jeans and a golf shirt. I placed my pistol on the coffee table and flipped on CNN.

  Poor Bill, he didn’t look good. If I didn’t act fast, he might not survive inside Rikers. Of my list problems Bill Jenkins wasn’t first or fifth. He’d gotten in this mess all by himself. Some would argue that the cops had railroaded him. If he hadn’t slapped around Cindy in the first place, he wouldn’t be in this predicament. There are few crimes I really object to accept the crimes against the innocents. Child pornography, abuse in its many forms, most prostitution and any man that beats a woman.

  I used to have a waitress named Matilda. She came in for a shift with a fresh black eye. I couldn’t have her serving customers looking like that, so I put her in the kitchen. Her safely ensconced I pulled her original application and jotted down her address. Her boyfriend was half drunk and forty pounds overweight. It wasn’t a fair fight. I finished with a bruised hand and skinned knuckles. Matilda’s tormentor went to the ER with a broken jaw and nose, a lacerated cornea and a dislocated kneecap. I made sure he knew why that happened to him. It was crystal clear. Matilda never had another black eye, and she worked happily for the next three years. I saw him once, at our company Christmas party. He walked with a cane and wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  If I’d known Bill liked to slap around women he never would have worked with me, I have standards. While I may break few laws in the course of my business, I support the death penalty for rapists, pedophiles and child abusers, a view many of my friends and customers wouldn’t agree with. After being a cop and seeing everything I did, there’s no other view I could hold.

  With Bill in mind, I considered what my next move would be. I figured a nighttime trip to Rainbow’s office couldn’t hurt. While I considered, that I absently watched TV. I could feel my eyes start to droop. It happens if I wake up before noon. I flipped off the television and put on a light jazz CD, the volume low. I curled up on the couch and waited for the inevitable. I dreamt of Amber and seeing her shot again and again in slow motion.

  Chapter 24

  I slept until just past 8 p.m. My arm was throbbing. I looked under the dressing. The wound wasn’t as red as it had been. Some of the stitches had been pulled out. I debated taking them out myself right now. No, it wasn’t time yet.

  I showered and dressed in jeans and an LL Bean flannel shirt. I wore a pair of well-worn Nike shoes in case I needed to run from someone larger or better armed. From the vault, I retrieved the tools I would need for tonight’s excursion. I tucked my pistol in my waistband at the small of my back. I was ready to go. I grabbed a lightweight black flight jacket and headed out.

  The Liar’s Breath was warm with booze-fumes and cigarette smoke. I took my stool and ordered soda water with lime. I felt out of place so dressed down. I could have been a phone company employee, not a criminal mastermind. I looked at my nails, which needed a manicure. With a cigarette in my mouth, I settled in to wait.

  I said hello to half a dozen assorted thugs. I listened to stories of scores with dollars too high to count and why they went wrong. I was passive, nodding when needed and laughing when appropriate. My mind was on what was ahead not the moment.

  Marty sauntered in where another leisure suit, this on electric blue with white stitching. He approached my chair and looked me over.

  “Working tonight?” he asked.

  “Something like that,” I responded.

  “Poet the PI,” he laughed.

  I sipped my soda.

  “I need your expertise Poet,” he said without beating around the bush.

  “What do you need?” I asked.

  “Diamonds,” he said, “Your favorite.”

  “When?”

  “The sooner, the better,” he said. He paused to order a bottle of Dom Perignon. I winced. He wouldn’t pay the bill as he was here on business with me. And he wouldn’t drink it all; the rest would go flat, as I wouldn’t be drinking.

  “Layout it out for me,” I told him. I couldn’t help but be interested.

  “Simple. An ex-employee sold me everything we need. Demter’s Jewellery x in the diamond district. Alarm codes, safe combination, everything. Simple job for a man of your talents,” he said.

  “When,” I asked again.

  “A new shipment of uncut ice comes in every Wednesday, so any Wednesday night. The sooner, the better – before they change the codes.”

  I was tempted. There was no use lying. I remembered the travel brochures I’d been perusing. Aruba or diamonds? I did love diamonds. And the take from this score would set me up for a while.

  “How much?” I asked.

  “Ten percent,” Marty said.

  “Of what?”

  He paused.

  “Come on Marty, don’t keep me waiting.”

  “1.2,” he said.

  “
Million?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So 120 Gs for me?”

  “Minimum,” he said.

  “Minimum?”

  “I’m only counting the diamonds I expect to be there. Anything else you want to take I’ll pay you for, just like always.”

  Could I say no? I would be a fool. It was easy money if Marty was to be believed. There was always a hitch. It wasn’t as simple as it sounded. Getting in was one thing getting away with the loot was something else. I had to scope out the police presence in the area and know the streets like the back of my hand. Mind you, I did know the diamond district pretty well. You could say it’s a haunt of mine. I loved diamonds. I couldn’t explain it, I love to score diamonds. They were so shiny and so valuable, and unlike cash, diamonds were always useful. It was Wednesday now, and I couldn’t do it tonight. Next week? Perhaps.

  “Let me check it out," I told Marty against my better judgment. So much for the tropics. It’s funny how $120 thousand can change your mind.

  He slapped me on the back. “That’s my Poet. You’re still in the game after all.”

  Marty sipped at his second glass of champagne.

  “Give me a couple of days, and I’ll talk to you to work out the particulars,” I said.

  Marty finished the champagne and bid me goodnight smiling. Probably about all the money I was going to make him. I looked at the bottle of Dom and sighed. I told Biscuit to cork it the best he could and keep it in the fridge. I’d finish it later. My Rolex told me it was almost midnight. It was time for me to leave.

  I had intended on taking a cab tonight, but I could drive just as easily. My car was still outside the Liar’s Breath where Dr. Edwards had had it delivered. I started the car, and the engine sounded fine. I headed out to Rainbow Productions.

  I cruised past the building and parked on the street three blocks away. After walking back to the office building I entered the lobby, Luck was with me, there was no security in the lobby, but that didn’t mean there was none in the building. I’d never been here after dark and knew nothing about the building. That was a big mistake, but it couldn’t be helped.