by Scott Cook
He nodded, “They will or I’ll know the reason why.”
“Then there’s Bryce,” I said a little doubtfully. “Maybe we should talk to him?”
Scott grinned, “Couldn’t hurt. He probably knows nothing, but it’s worth a shot… that sounds like a job for you, though.”
“Me?”
“Yeah… the pretty girl who he doesn’t hate,” Scott pointed out. “I want to go downtown and talk to O’Malley. I want to work with the cops and he’s my best shot.”
“Other than Sharon, you mean.”
“Yeah… but O’Malley is in charge, at least as far as active duty cops go.”
Scott’s phone began to ring. I think our hearts both skipped a beat. It was only a little after seven. There were only a couple of reasons somebody would be calling that early and with what had happened last night… they couldn’t be good.
He went inside and came back out with his iPhone. He frowned, “Unknown… hello?”
Whatever was said, it made Scott’s face turn red and his eyes narrow in anger. He set the phone on the cocktail table between us, “It’s Lissard.”
“Oh, is the lovely Ms. Lisa there, too? Excellent. So how are you this morning, Jarvis? Have a bit of a bad night?”
I could see Scott physically controlling his anger… his muscles bulged and his jaw clenched. A little furrow appeared between his eyebrows, too. Hell, it was probably rage. It had to be, because that’s what I was feeling.
“What the fuck do you know about it, you fat hunk of shit!” I exploded.
“Temper, temper,” Lissard clucked. “I do love a spitfire, though. I heard about the little accident with your cop friend last night, Scott. Most unfortunate.”
Scott’s fists were clenched, “Lissard… what do you want?”
“I only want what I said yesterday… to offer you my help and protection,” The prick said smarmily. “I think it’s clear now that you need it. You’re vulnerable, my friend. You’re facing an unknown enemy with his sights on you and have no idea who he is or what he’ll do next. Doesn’t it make sense that you have a few extra helping hands? Hell, your pal Franco does. He’s surrounded himself with tough boys after the other night.”
Scott suddenly seemed to relax, “Lissard… how do you know about last night?”
“I have my ways,” he said in that haughty southern accent. It reminded me of something… that rooster from the cartoon.
“Yeah… I’ll bet you do,” Scott said thoughtfully. He took a sip from his mug. He still seemed mad to me, but something had changed. He seemed calmer now and was taking his time. “Lissard… are you Shade?”
That got a big belly laugh from the phone, “Me? Gawd-damn, that’s some funny shit, Jarvis! But no… I ain’t Shade. I told you the truth yesterday. I’m in the protection game and I’m offering you my services.”
I was about to say something when Scott held up a hand, “how would that work, Lissard… Tom?”
“We’d have to talk about it. I can provide you with several options… why don’t we set up another face to face. No guns this time, okay?”
Scott chuckled good naturedly but his face certainly didn’t reflect his tone, “All right, Tom. Maybe I was hasty yesterday. You want to come to the office this morning?”
The self-satisfied voice chuckled, “I don’t think so. I’d rather meet in a neutral place, at least this time. Maybe we can have lunch today. Know any good places to eat down city?”
Scott grinned and this time it was real, “I do, Tom. I do. Let’s go to Hamburger Mary’s. It’s in the Church Street Station. Know where that is?”
A pause, “I can find it. How does noon sound?”
“I look forward to it,” Scott said pleasantly.
Lissard said good-bye and hung up. Scott treated me to a wicked smile, “Perhaps, Watsita, we have gotten our first break.”
“You think he could be a lead?”
“Oh, he’s a lead all right, one way or another,” Scott said, rubbing his chin. “If nothing else, perhaps we can ruff him up until he talks. It is odd that he has no print records or anything… but there’s something else that I picked up on. It’s a small thing, but maybe it means something.”
I waited patiently.
“Did you hear what he said when he asked to have lunch?” Scott asked, clearly pleased. “He asked if I knew any good places to eat ‘down city.’”
“Yeah… so what?”
“So, my gorgeous side kick,” Scott said, picking up my hand and kissing it. “That’s a Rhode Island expression. Usually when you say down city you’re talking about downtown Providence.”
“So… what? He knows you’re from Rhode Island? Not really a secret,” I said.
He shrugged, “True enough. And maybe you’re right… maybe he was just using a regional expression on me because he thought it might make me comfortable or something… but that’s pretty specific.”
“I’ve heard people down here say down island,” I offered dubiously.
He nodded, “Yes… but nowhere else have I ever heard down city or down celluh… I don’t know, it’s just interesting. Especially when you consider that stupid Foghorn Leghorn accent of his. Sounds kind of fake to me.”
That was the rooster’s name, “Yeah… I thought so too. So what’re you saying? That this Lissard guy is really from Rhode island and is doing a fake accent to cover up his real one?”
“I know, it’s a wicked long shot,” Scott said with a twinkle in his eye. “he also said that he could find Church Street Station. That tells me he’s not from around here, too.”
Scott then called the hospital and the bit of good mood he’d had vanished like smoke in a breeze. Wayne was in intensive care. He was breathing on his own but was still in a coma. The doctors couldn’t say if there was brain damage or not. A CT scan didn’t show any brain swelling, which was a good sign, but not one-hundred percent. The fact that he hadn’t regained consciousness was a concern, they said.
“They did say that the fact that he did come too for a minute just before the ambulances arrived was also a positive sign,” Scott said glumly when he hung up. “The fact that he asked after Sheila and called out my name was a good indicator… Christ…”
Next came a text from Sharon that said that the police divers and a tow truck were already on the scene and hauling out Wayne’s car. She’d let us know if the CSI folks found anything significant.
“Now what?” I asked.
Scott leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, “Any chance I can get some more of that sexual healing?”
I got up and climbed into his lap and kissed him, “Anytime, baby. Anytime.”
He smiled wanly and sighed, “If only… but I suppose we need to get on the stick.”
“Didn’t I just offer that?”
His smile was a little bigger this time, “Tease… I mean we need to get to work, sadly. I say we split up. I’ll go see O’Malley and you go see Bryce. Then we meet Foghorn for lunch. I should’ve asked if he wanted to get some stuffies.”
“Are you coming on to me?”
“Yup.”
“What’re stuffies?” I asked with a giggle.
“Stuffed quahogs. Big Rhode Island clams.”
I grinned at him, “I’ll give yiz a big Rhode Island clam.”
“Are you coming on to me?” he asked with a lopsided smile that was good to see.
“Oh, god yeah.”
He chuckled now, “Punkin’, there’s nothing big about your clam. Tighter than a jib sheet in a double reefed gale.”
I laughed, “I aim to please.”
Chapter 10
It was still a little weird going into the downtown police station. Even after three years, there was still a feeling of being home… and an equal feeling of strangeness. As if I’d never left and yet had been gone a million years.
There were a lot of new faces and a few I recognized. I saw Nick Calovanni, a transplanted New York detective who’d replaced me when I�
�d left. He was sitting at what had been my desk typing away on his computer.
“Can I help you?” A middle aged uniformed Sargent asked from the front desk. She had a pleasant round face that I didn’t recognize.
“Good morning Sergeant… Williams,” I charmed. “I’d like to see Captain O’Malley.”
“Is this regarding a crime or an ongoing case?” She asked.
“Yes,” I said. “An open case. If you could tell him Scott Jarvis is here, I think it’d be better to talk directly to him, considering the nature of the investigation.”
She frowned at that but lifted her phone and spoke into it for a moment. Her eyes went wide and she hung up and smiled at me, “Hell, why didn’t you say you were former OPD? Harry says to come on back.”
I shrugged, “I get mixed reviews when I let that out. Thanks, Sarg.”
Captain Harrison O’Malley was one of the most obvious stereotypes I’d ever seen in law enforcement. He was a big, broad shouldered Irish cop with red hair, green eyes and a wide and open face. He generally didn’t wear a suit jacket and while his tie was neatly affixed to his collar, his sleeves were rolled up over a set of boxer’s forearms.
He’d changed little in the three years since I’d quit the force. His hair had a little more gray in it, but that was the only noticeable change. I’d hardly even spoken to him in the intervening time. Although he’d been a mentor to me and a friend, my diverging path had separated us more than I’d have liked.
“Well I’ll be goddamned!” O’Malley said good-naturedly. “Look what the cat dragged in. How is Orlando’s most famous detective novelist these days?”
I shook his big hard hand vigorously, “Been better, Harry… been better. How about you?”
He seemed to sag ever so slightly, “yeah… I hear that. This Shade son of a bitch is gonna give me an ulcer.”
I must have looked surprised because O’Malley chuckled, “What, you’re surprised I’d mention Shade? Why the hell not, it’s hardly a secret anymore. Aside from the fact that Nolen and Jackson keep you tuned in, that prick posted a damned letter to the editor yesterday.”
“Any new word?” I asked. “Especially after… after last night.”
O’Malley sat behind his desk, “Take a seat. I heard about it. You were the one pulled them from the car. Criminal investigations has the vehicle now and are going over it. I was sure sorry to hear about Sheila… that’s a goddamned shame.”
I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, “Yeah… and Wayne’s still not out of the woods yet. Harry… I need whatever you’ve got.”
O’Malley sighed, “Scott, you know how it works around here. The last thing I need is for Rolon to come down on me for bringing an outsider into the fold. Even a guy who used to be one of us.”
Orlando’s chief of police was named Orlando Rolon. I always thought that was funny. Yet I knew how the department felt about sharing. OPD did a lot in the community, yet they were still a fraternal order. If you weren’t a brother or sister, you weren’t invited into the inner sanctum. Nothing unusual about that in any police department, but particularly galling in this case.
I harrumphed, “Harry… this guy is connected directly to me. Somehow. Or he’s interested in me. You read the papers lately? Specifically Tampa and Key West?”
“I heard about the Tampa thing,” O’Malley said. “Some gumshoe in the Saint Pete area got tagged for trafficking.”
“Yeah, and another gumshoe in the lower Keys had his house burnt down around him,” I added. “Both of those men were people with whom I dealt.”
“That Pickett guy?”
I was surprised, “You know the name?”
He grinned, “What, you don’t think I read your books? Don’t think I’ve kept track of my best man all this time?”
I frowned, “Then how come I never hear from you. You and Gail haven’t invited me for dinner since before I left.”
“Figured you’d moved on,” He admitted. “Haven’t heard from you either.”
I scoffed, “Yeah, because I bailed on you and you were pissed off.”
He chuckled, “I was pissed off about losing you, not at you. Christ, Scott… my plan was that in another year or two, you’d have this job and I’d be the Chief.”
“Sorry to derail your ambitions,” I teased.
He laughed, “I’m still gonna get there. Sure, I don’t have the same name as the damned town… but Orlando will move up eventually. Hell, the guy’s got his sights set on the mayor’s office.”
I laughed, “Yeah, like anybody can beat Buddy Dyer. Christ, the guy’s in his fifth consecutive term!”
“He’ll have to retire sometime,” O’Malley said with a grin.
“So do you guys have anything, Harry?”
He heaved a sigh and spread his hands, “Honestly, Scott… not a damned thing. Whoever this guy is, he’s really good at not leaving a trail. Who knows, maybe we’ll get something from Wayne’s car… but not yet. You?”
I chuffed, “Same. Although I did get a visit from some pudgy bastard named Lissard. Guy wants to offer me protection. A little strange. I’m meeting him for lunch.”
O’Malley winked, “That the guy you had Fuente look up?”
I cocked an eyebrow, not entirely surprised.
“Not a lot goes on around here I don’t find out about.”
“So why didn’t you put a stop to it?”
He grinned, “Because letting a few things slip to you is bound to get me results, that’s why. Officially, my hands are tied. For the record, I’m to tell you to keep your goddamned nose out of OPD business. If we wanted the services of a maverick shamus we’d hire us one…”
“Nice.”
He laughed, “From me to you and just between us… the lines of communication are open. I hope that goes both ways.”
I nodded.
“Then find out who this fuckin’ guy is,” O’Malley said with such vehement intensity I was taken aback. “This son of a bitch has attacked two cops! Yeah, Bryce isn’t any gem, but he’s still a cop, God dammit! And now poor Sheila is dead… such a nice girl who didn’t deserve that. And Wayne… I’m not so broken up about Pauli Franco’s goons, nor about his Jug joint being deprived of power for a night. But this Shade is dangerous and I want him stopped!”
I stood and met his gaze, “You and me both, Harry.”
It will no doubt come as a heart-stopping shock, but Thomas P. Lissard never showed up at Hamburger Mary’s. I doubted it was because of the heavy gay influence at the popular restaurant and cabaret location. It was partly that idea that made me choose the place. I just wanted to see Lissard’s face.
Besides, the food was great.
However, as Lisa and I sat at our table, our waiter, a slim young fashionably dressed young man named Collin approached us looking confused, “Is your name Scott Jarvis?”
I grinned, “Does he owe you money?”
Collin laughed and placed a hand to his chest, “That’s cute… no, this guy just gave me this note for you. Can I get you something to drink while you look it over?”
I felt my guts churn. I took the note and looked at Collin, “What’d he look like?”
Collin sucked his teeth in obvious disdain, “Big hairy biker lookin’ dude. Dressed all in leather and shit. I mean, seriously… who does that in August?”
I jumped to my feet and startled Colin, who took a step backward in alarm. I placed a hand on his shoulder, “Sorry, Collin… but how long ago?”
“Just now…” he said, a little flustered.
“Christ…” I hissed and began to run. “Bring me a Landshark!”
I ran out of the Station and looked east and west on Church Street. There was a pretty good crowd for a Saturday and it took me a minute to locate the big hairy biker lookin’ dude.
He was striding casually westward, almost to the I-4 overpass. I bit my lip and started running for all I was worth.
I had a feeling that he wasn’t Shade. It would be the heig
ht of stupidity to deliver a note in broad daylight. Either he’d have to wear a disguise, which would look odd even on Church Street or he’d have to risk coming as himself, thus allowing an observant person to describe him.
No, it was more likely that Shade had hired the big hairy biker lookin’ dude to deliver the note for him. That was assuming it was even Shade to begin with. The note could’ve been from Lissard. I hadn’t actually taken the time to read it.
In either case, though, I wanted to speak with the big hairy biker lookin’ dude.
It was hot. It was August, it was noon and there wasn’t enough of a breeze to stir a blade of grass, at least between the buildings on Church Street. I was already starting to sweat.
The biker turned left at the corner of Church and Hughey and must have seen me barreling toward him because he started to run as well. He looked to be about my size, a little on the skinny side and had a beard that ZZTop would be proud of.
I rounded the corner just in time to see him jump onto a big Harley, fire the engine up and kick it into gear. As he roared toward me, his long hair flying in the wind behind his unhelmeted head, he reached out his left hand and tossed me the bone.
“Fuck you, asshole!” he shouted with laughter and turned left to continue west on Church.
I stopped, sighed and started walking back toward the restaurant. By the time I arrived, I had a fine sheen of sweat on my face and my light blue Guayabera shirt was sticking to my back.
“How’d it go?” Lisa asked casually.
“Fabulous,” I grumped, reaching for the beer that had been set in front of my empty chair.
“They didn’t have any Shark, but I got you a Modello,” She said with a grin.
“Thanks… I didn’t get him.”
“Figured… you’re back too soon and there are no sirens.”
“It’s hot,” I said, mopping sweat from my face with a napkin.
“By the way, I think you should read this,” Lisa stated, passing me the note.
Dear Scott,
I know you may not believe this, but it wasn’t me. That was sloppy work last night and that girl’s death is shameful. We’ll just add it to the list of wrongs in this world, shall we?