by Rick Polad
He laughed. “You gotta be kiddin’. You’ve never lost four hands in a row.”
I nodded. “Well, I suppose you’ll find out sooner or later.” I looked up at him to see if he had a clue. He didn’t. “You have been misinterpreting a few statements.”
“Hard to believe. I play a detective on TV.”
I didn’t smile.
He leaned forward. “Okay, I’m listening.”
I took another deep breath. “When Rosie said ‘it doesn’t matter’, she meant she was okay with my heart thing.” I paused. He just raised his eyebrows and I told him about the other meaning.
He leaned back in his chair and I waited for the lecture.
He just looked sad. He knew what it was like to lose someone he loved. Francine had died three years ago, and he still hadn’t changed anything in the house and preferred to sleep in his recliner.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Spencer. I know you had your reasons for not telling her, and I felt bad about nagging you about it, but I hoped you would…”
I held up my hand. “I know. I appreciate it. I was just a fool.”
“We’re all fools at some point. But it sounds like there is still hope.”
I shook my head. “Not much. She said she wants time, but I think she was just trying to let me down easy.”
“Hey, that’s been your M.O. Rosie tells it like it is. Just wait and see. Sounds like she’s still your friend. Remember, there’s no gem as precious as a good friend.”
“I know. Thanks, friend.” I tried a small smile.
He picked up the cards. “You wanna try and get your money back?”
“I think I’ll call it a night, Stosh. Thanks for the company. Always a pleasure.”
“Agreed. Don’t think too much about it, kid. The sun’ll still come up in the morning. Go find your missing persons and the rest will take care of itself. I’ll call the station in the morning about the father. Tell her to go in and file a report.”
“Will do.”
He walked me to my Mustang and I fought the urge to floor it after hitting the street. The chill in the air matched my mood, and I lay awake for a few hours trying not to think, but I wasn’t successful.
I eventually fell asleep to the soft patter of rain on the roof.
Chapter 13
Second night in a row without much sleep. I woke up a little before six to a clap of thunder. The wind had picked up and the western sky was gray. Early morning storms usually passed quickly and I hoped this was not an exception. I wanted to spend some time at the park. I went for a run and concentrated on my breathing to stop myself from thinking. I had spent the night thinking and gotten nowhere. Every breath helped a little.
A shower and some eggs and bacon left me ready to start thinking about Martin. The only plan I had besides waiting for something to happen was doing some more pot stirring at the park, and that would have to wait until noon. I wanted to be lost in the Saturday crowd.
The storm moved out by eight and left a fresh smell in the air and a fresher outlook in me. Everyone needs a good storm once in a while. I called Samantha, gave her a name at the station, and told her to go in and file a report. After turning down my offer to go along, she agreed to meet me at her apartment at eleven. I wanted to offer some support… I knew what it was like to feel alone.
The kid across the street was shooting baskets in the driveway, and his mother was working in the front row of rose bushes. I waved as I walked to my Mustang.
Mom would have spent the morning puttering in the garden on a day like today, and the afternoon trying to get Dad to go shopping. After he sprawled on the couch with the Cubs on the TV, she’d end up taking me. The lure of a triple ice cream cone was hard to resist.
Before I got into the car, I shrugged my shoulders to settle the shoulder holster that I didn’t like wearing. It was never comfortable. A few months back I had a sport coat custom made with a little extra room on the left side. Today a wind breaker covered the gun. Knowing that trouble could pop up anytime, I had decided I could handle myself pretty well without a gun, but there were times when additional peace of mind was worth it. How ironic that an amusement park would fit that category.
When I had decided to carry a gun, I’d spent many hours on the range trying different weapons and had chosen a Smith & Wesson snub-nosed .38 because of the small size, the powerful load, and my love of Smith & Wessons. I had Dad’s .357 Magnum with the blued steel barrel in a case at home. The snub nose wasn’t as accurate and took a lot of practice to shoot well, but I could put five shots in the center of a target in five seconds with either hand. It would serve the purpose. I had only needed it once and I hoped that would be the last time. But my theory has always been, if it comes down to him or me, it’s going to be him.
The sun was up over the buildings between me and the lake and the day promised to be warm. I took a short detour to pick up the posters. Samantha was just walking up to her apartment when I arrived. I told her I’d be back after I found a parking space. Street parking on the weekends was never easy. I got lucky—only a block away.
I had nothing to add to what she had done at the station. She told me they had an artist make a sketch and that they would distribute it and check with the hospitals and homeless shelters.
She made coffee and we sat on the worn couch that had come with the place.
With a worried, exhausted look, she asked, “What do you think, Spencer? I mean, what are the chances…?”
I patted her arm and tried to reassure her. “The police are good at this. They’ll find him.” I took a sip. “If someone asked him his name and where he lived would he be able to answer?”
“Depends. His mind wanders. Sometimes he is perfect and others he acts like he’s somewhere else… I have no idea what he’s talking about.”
“That must be hard. I’m so sorry.”
She just nodded.
I took another sip and watched the steam rise from the mug. “I have a question, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“No, of course not. You’re doing so much to help me. I can never…”
“Glad to help. I’ve been wondering why you moved up here, not knowing anyone. None of my business, so don’t…”
“No, it’s okay. My fault, I guess.” She turned toward me with a forlorn look. “I had to get out of a bad relationship and leaving town seemed like the best way of doing that—start a new life. I really don’t want to explain that.”
“That’s okay, Samantha.”
She smiled and continued. “We had no ties in Atlanta and no more family left. When my boss couldn’t talk me out of leaving he told me he had a friend in Chicago who would give me a job, and here we are.” She paused and took a drink. “But then it turned out the friend was only interested in me, and…”
I took a deep breath. “I don’t mean to butt in, but moving may have confused your dad.”
She looked like she was going to cry. “He wasn’t very bad in Atlanta. If I had known he would…” Her eyes filled with tears.
I reached out and put my hand on her knee. “I’m sorry, Samantha. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. You were just trying to make your life better. And you still took care of your father. Many wouldn’t have done that.”
She nodded, sniffed, and got up to get a Kleenex.
I stood with her and said I needed to get back to work.
“Going to the park?”
“Yup.”
“Do you have some theories?”
“Not really. Just going to nose around. I’ve been known to get people riled up who’d rather not have people nosing around.”
She returned my smile and gave me a hug. I returned it.
***
I stepped into a puddle as I got out of the car. Patches of blacktop were starting to dry as the sun evaporated the moisture. Not a cloud in the sky.
Stopping just inside the gate for a hot dog, I decided to make a circle of the park and then decide what to do next. Somew
here along the way I’d stop and see Mrs. Meyers and see if I could confirm where Martin worked. I ate as I walked and let the screams and laughter and screech of steel wheels on steel rails of the wooden coasters bring me back to when I was too short to go on most of the rides. The Tunnel of Love was taped off and a policeman stood just outside the tape. As I passed, two cops in plain clothes lifted the tape and went inside the tunnel.
I finished my hot dog as I walked up to the Bumper Cars, one of my favorite rides as a kid. My memories lured me in and I squeezed into the car. There were only two other riders and, for reasons beyond my understanding, they ganged up on me and I spent five minutes trying unsuccessfully to get away from them. So much for memories.
When I reached the river at the back of the park, I had to wait for a train to pass and decided to make four stops: another walk through Aladdin’s Castle; the ball-throw booth; Wonderland; and the chief’s office. Having no idea what I would do at any of those, I headed for the castle.
On the way, I stopped to watch the barker at the Freak Show. I loved listening to his patter. He was standing next to the tattooed lady… it was hard to find the lady under the tattoos. As I scanned the crowd, I saw a floppy hat with five brightly colored spikes standing up and then falling over with a bell at the end of each spike. Hard to miss a jester—even in a crowd. My friend Harvey was standing next to my buddy Walters. Wondering what the conversation was about, I decided it was hard to know whom to trust. I waited for Walters to leave and then walked up behind Harvey. His floppy hat blocked my view of the stage.
I was surprised by his remark: “If it isn’t my favorite private investigator.” He hadn’t even turned his head.
I walked up close behind him and examined his skull. No eyes in the back.
“Hi, Harvey. Nice trick. Something I’d expect inside the castle.”
He laughed and turned his head sideways as I walked alongside. “Eight years of jestering has left me with special powers.”
“Indeeeed.” I drew it out.
“Yes, like being able to see reflections in glass.” He nodded toward the panel above the ticket booth to our right. “I saw you come around the corner and picked you up in the glass.”
I was impressed. Finished with his spiel, the barker and the tattooed lady made their exit. The crowd dispersed, some to the ticket booth. Harvey and I walked across the train tracks and south along the Midway.
“Looks like you’d be better suited as a detective,” I suggested.
“Would I get to wear a snazzy suit like this?”
I had to double-step to avoid a kid running in front of me. “I’m thinkin’ not. We’re supposed to blend in with the crowd.”
“Then no dice.”
“Why aren’t you at Wonderland?”
“Every couple of hours I’m supposed to walk around and show off the goods. Not every day you can get paid for making a spectacle of yourself. And on a nice day like this, it’s a pleasure.”
I admired Harvey. He seemed entirely satisfied with his station in life.
“Are you here every day?”
He laughed. “No, I get two days off like every other working stiff.”
“Which two days?”
“Well, the park is closed on Monday, and the other day varies.”
I nodded. “How much farther are you walking?”
“Just back to Wonderland.”
That was just up around the bend at the south end of the park. He jingled as he walked.
“Mind if I ask a few questions while we walk?” Wonderland was on the way to the police station and from there I could continue on to Aladdin’s Castle.
“Not at all.”
“Can you think of anything you can tell me about Benny?”
He shook his head which set a few bells to ringing. “Nope. But Benny was a little odd. Always pretty nervous.”
“Any idea why?”
“Maybe the same reason as some of the others.”
When I didn’t respond, he continued.
“I’ve been here for eight years and seen a lot come and go. Aren’t many who have been here this long. Benny started just after me. Walters started at the end of the season, two years ago.”
We walked a bit before he continued.
“The feel of this place changed after Walters showed up.”
He paused, and we stopped and watched the Parachute Drop off ahead of us at the bend. The parachutes had reached the top at one hundred eighty feet and were about ready to fall. When it let go, I knew the people in the car were screaming, but I couldn’t hear them. They were too far away—like heat lightning.
“I could watch that every time,” Harvey said with longing.
“Do you go on the rides?” I asked.
“We’re not supposed to take the places of a paying customer.”
“Too bad.”
“Well, truth is that ride scares me to death. But I love watching.”
“So what about Benny?”
He took a deep breath as we continued walking. Before he could say anything a kid grabbed the edge of his coat and rang the bells. The kid ran off. Harvey just laughed.
“I think there was something going on between Walters and Benny,” he said.
“How so?”
“When Walters started, he insisted on doing all the hiring.”
“I was told that Belva does the hiring.”
“Same thing. The two are interchangeable.”
“Meaning?”
He shrugged. “Seems to me she’s the one who runs things over there. I think Walters had something on Benny.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Nothing in particular. Just a feeling. Benny was a different man when Walters was around.” Anticipating my question, after waiting for a roller coaster to scream past, he continued. “He would all of a sudden get nervous… kind of stuttered and paled. But to be honest, Benny wasn’t the only one Walters had that effect on.”
“Not hard to believe,” I said.
Wonderland was in sight, but we had to navigate around a group of Cub Scouts coming out of Kiddieland to get there. One of the boys spotted Harvey and he was quickly swarmed by wide-eyed kids who, when they discovered pulling various parts of his clothes rang bells, wouldn’t stop pulling. Harvey went into his Wonderland act and the kids ran on ahead with two moms trying desperately to herd them back into a group. Five minutes later we finally made it to the colorful front of Wonderland.
“Thanks for the company,” Harvey said.
“My pleasure,” I replied. “One more question. Was Belva here before Walters?”
Scrinching up his face, Harvey said, “She was—coupla years. Why do you ask?”
“Just something burrowing into my brain.”
To Harvey’s credit, he just nodded instead of asking what it was. I liked Harvey.
I turned to go but stopped for another question.
“You said you think Walters has something on a lot of the workers.”
“Yup. But don’t bet your house on it.”
“And he’s got nothing on you?” I asked.
“Nothing to get. Clean as a whistle.”
I thought for a few seconds. “Might be interesting if we gave him something.”
His eyes twinkled. “Might be. What do you have in mind?”
I shook my head. “Don’t know… just a thought. You seem to know everyone. Can you give me a list of the workers who have been hired since Walters got here and where they work?”
“Sure. Call the number on your card?”
He had kept my card. Amazing.
“How about I buy you breakfast Monday?”
“Never turn down free food! And the park is closed on Monday so no work. Got some place in mind?”
“Family diner called Molly’s on Fullerton about four blocks east of here. Eight?”
“See you then.”
We nodded at each other and he went back to work.
I took the long way around, passe
d the Tilt-a-Whirl and the Fireball rollercoaster, and stopped at the police station where Belva grudgingly confirmed that Martin did indeed work at the ball throw booth.
Chapter 14
Deciding to make another lap around the park, I got some popcorn and ate as I walked along the river at the back of the park, imagining the targets out there that Schmidt had set out in the early 1900s for his friends. Ten minutes later I was at the little park across from the police station. As I threw the bag in a trash barrel my heart jumped. Rosie was sitting at a table close to the concession stand with her back to me.
I didn’t know what to do. I had been wondering if I should call her, but didn’t want to be pushy. I had decided she’d get back to me if she wanted to. If she was here, that meant she wanted to. I was happy and relieved. Wondering how she knew I was going to be here, I walked over and started to sit down next to her. In a split second I realized it wasn’t Rosie and my heart sank. I stuttered an apology and found my own table. I thought I’d been successfully not thinking about her. I guess not.
I tried to lose myself in watching the crowd but wasn’t having much luck. I couldn’t get my mind off Rosie until about a half hour later when a familiar face walked into the police station. I hadn’t seen Joey “the Juicer” Mineo since a few winters ago when I was hired by a distraught husband to pay off his wife’s gambling debts. She had been into Joey for four grand and I was the delivery boy. The IOU for ten grand the cops had found in Benny’s room suddenly clicked into place.
Joey was on the payroll of Larry Maggio, the current head of organized crime in Chicago. Larry was the grandson of Johnny Torrio, who had started running moonshine in Chicago during prohibition and handed off the business to Al Capone. Larry and I had met a year ago because of some paintings.
Joey was the type who didn’t appreciate losing money that was owed him, and he had been known to teach lessons to deadbeats. He had very graciously accepted the four grand in cash and thanked me for helping him with his accounts. He had said he hated to have to deal with accounts receivable—bad for business. He had gone on to say he didn’t really want to hurt anyone—he’d much rather have his money. And he certainly didn’t want them dead… hard to collect. I could imagine that swinging a baseball bat hard enough to get a point across, but not hard enough to make it permanent, was an art. But Joey was good at it. He was still walking around in eight-hundred-dollar suits. And for ten grand, Joey really wasn’t going to be happy if someone else had swung the bat not so delicately. I sat staring at the door as it closed after him, wondering what business he had with Walters.