I was home by this time, so I just went in and worked out for a while, then ordered a pizza for dinner, and spent the night watching reruns of old sitcoms. I wasn’t sure if that qualified as a fairly pathetic evening, and I didn’t want to know, anyway.
* * *
There were two goons waiting for me when I left the townhouse for my morning run the next day. They were both big, lots of overdeveloped muscle, both wearing slacks and open-necked shirts and sports coats. I spotted them right away as I walked down the steps. They were standing around near the big oak tree just up the street from my place. I usually head in that direction when I run, but this morning, I turned the other way and began to jog. It was then that I saw the other two goons, standing about thirty feet in front of me. So the goons weren’t as dumb as I’d thought. Before I had a chance to decide what to do, one of the guys in front of me pulled out a gun and held it down at this side.
“Hey,” he said, “don’t do nothin’ stupid, okay? We ain’t here to hurt you. If we were, you’d be hurt by now.”
I didn’t necessarily agree with that, but now was probably not the time to argue the point.
The guys behind me had walked up by now, and one of them said, “Somebody wants to talk with you.”
“Does somebody have a name?” I asked.
“Don’t be a wiseass,” he said, and then he motioned towards a black Cadillac limo that was parked across the street. “Let’s go.”
There were four of them, two with guns at their sides now. I thought about taking the gun away from the guy behind me, but there would still be the other gun. Besides, I believed them. If they’d wanted me dead, they’d have made their move by now. So I walked across the street, wearing my running clothes, and got into the limo. Two of the goons got in the front seat, and the other two stepped into the back with me. They sat on either side of me, opposite a guy who stared at me for a minute before speaking. I wasn’t too worried, since I didn’t figure this guy would want to shoot me and get blood all over his nice leather seats.
“I’m Manny,” he said, in a flat voice. “I don’t know you.”
“No need to be ashamed,” I told him. “You just need to get out more, is all.”
There was no reaction from him at all. He was about six feet tall and solidly built, very broad across the chest and shoulders. Dark eyes, more like slits in his face than like normal eyes, black hair slicked back over his head, deep tan, or maybe that was his natural complexion, I couldn’t tell. He was wearing a dark brown suit that fit him badly, and I could see that he had a shoulder holster under it.
“What you’re lookin’ into at the moment,” he said, “got nuthin’ to do with me, but there’s a chance that the way you’re muckin’ around, you could interfere with some of my business. That wouldn’t be good for you, you know?”
I assumed he meant the Pendleton murder, since it was the only case I had at the moment.
“Listen, Manny, I’m sure we can come to some agreement here.”
“We just did. Drop the thing you’re workin’ on.”
I gave him my boyish grin and said, “But it’s how I make a living.”
The grin was apparently lost on him.
“You don’t drop it, you ain’t gonna be living.”
“Look,” I told him, “how about if I keep on investigating the thing that I’m investigating, which has nothing to do with you, anyway, and if anyone mentions your name, I’ll just stick my fingers in my ears and shake my head. Whaddya say, Manny, does that work for you?”
His face suddenly contorted and got very red. He reached into his suit coat and pulled out a large pistol and pointed it directly at my head, his hand shaking slightly.
And then I saw it. Manny was a psychopath. I’d seen the look before. I knew he’d kill me in a second, nice leather seats or not. I took a deep breath and said, “Maybe I didn’t phrase that correctly. What I meant to say was that I need to reassess my current employment situation.”
If he heard me, he gave no notice. And the other occupants of the car didn’t move or speak. They just sat there. After a minute, Manny slowly lowered the gun, then put it away. His face lost some of the redness.
“You’re just a dickface private eye,” he said. “Get out. You been warned.”
I got out, and the limo pulled away. I checked the license number, but it probably wasn’t necessary. I was pretty sure Denny would be able to identify Manny for me, anyway. Manny seemed to be one of a kind.
Chapter 21
“Manny the Maniac. Oh, yeah, I know about Manny.”
Denny and I were in the Starbucks near my place. I’d called him after I’d done my five miles following the conversation with Manny. At first, I wasn’t going to do the run, but then I figured, what the heck, I was dressed for it, and I could certainly use the stress-reduction benefits. Now I was sitting across from Denny, at a little table by the window, watching the world go by while we discussed a madman.
“Manny Poston,” Denny said. “Been hanging around this city’s underbelly for most of his thirty-five or so years.”
“Does he work for someone?” I asked.
“Used to work for Timmy O’Rourke.”
“Didn’t O’Rourke used to be sort of the head of organized crime around here?”
“Well,” said Denny, “first off, you gotta remember that, in Pittsburgh, the term organized crime is pretty much of an oxymoron. For a while, Timmy was as much in charge of things as anyone else was, I guess. Mostly the usual stuff, prostitution, loan-sharking, protection payoffs, etc. But he went away a little over a year ago on a federal racketeering charge. That left a vacuum at the top.”
“And in stepped Manny?” I asked.
“Manny didn’t exactly step in,” said Denny. “When Timmy left on his all-expenses-paid federal vacation, there were three guys trying to position themselves for the top job. Manny, Larry Ricardo, and Dicky Willis. Everybody in the anti-crime unit downtown was trying to figure out who would forge which alliances with whom, and how long it would take before someone seemed to have the upper hand, and so forth, and within two days, Larry and Dicky disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Yep, just like that. No sign of them since.”
“Did we cast a suspicious eye on our boy Manny?”
“Oh, there’s no doubt he was responsible, but we couldn’t link him to the disappearances in any way. My guess is that, before anyone had a chance to make any plans or even think about protecting themselves, Manny just found each one of those guys and whacked him, probably dumped the bodies in one of the rivers.”
“Think he did it himself, huh?”
“Probably,” said Denny. “Manny’ll occasionally send some of the troops to do a job, but more often than not, he does it himself, partly because he’s trying to show what happens to anybody who crosses him, but mostly because he just flat out enjoys hurting people. Manny’s dumb as shit, JB, but he’s mean as hell, too. We haven’t been able to get him on anything yet, but we will. He’s too stupid not to get caught. I’ve told my people, anytime they’re investigating a crime and they see signs of residual stupidity, think Manny.”
“So how’d he end up on my doorstep?” I asked.
“Hard to tell,” said Denny. “Obviously, somebody, or something, brought you to his attention. You got any ideas?”
“Not off the top of my head. I mean, the list of people who know about me and this case is pretty short, and I can’t imagine what anyone has to gain by siccing Manny on me. Of course, it’s early in the game. Lots of stuff going on that I’m not aware of yet, I’m sure. Plus, it could be just what Manny said. Maybe I inadvertently stumbled close to some business he’s involved in, and that’s how I came to his attention.”
“Perhaps,” said Denny. “What if you had to name one person, someone who just hasn’t seemed right to you?”
Denny was playing cop now. It was something he was good at, and I didn’t mind playing along.
“Okay,
” I said, “Elias Chaney. There’s definitely something there that I’m not getting yet. On the surface, he appears to be cooperating with me, but then when I actually try to do my job, he manages to express his disapproval. Nothing overt, mind you, and never actually put into words, but I can tell that he’s not happy having me around.”
“All right,” said Denny, “I’ll see if I can find out anything about the firm for you. Meanwhile, I know you’re not going to drop the case, but at least be extra careful, and maybe start carrying your gun.”
“Not a bad idea,” I agreed.
After Denny left, I sat in the coffee shop a bit longer, trying to get some sort of handle on this thing. What had started out as a simple mugging had evolved into a possible murder of a philandering husband whose employer seemed to be lying to me, at least about some aspects of the case. Then, of course, you have to throw old Manny into the mix. As I thought about all this, I noticed a young squirrel climbing a bush right outside the window. The squirrel got too far out on one of the slender branches of the bush, and suddenly he fell the short distance to the ground. As soon as he hit the ground, the squirrel jumped up and spun around in circles a couple of times, then stopped and looked around with what I assumed was the rodent version of a dazed expression on his face.
“I know the feeling,” I told him.
Chapter 22
The Joker’s Wild was located on a back road in a rural area of Penn Hills, a Pittsburgh suburb. Back in the fifties and early sixties, not that many people lived in Penn Hills, but over the years, it experienced an almost explosive growth, to the point that its population now exceeds that of many cities in the state. I think I read recently that the township owns and operates more of those yellow school buses than any other district in Pennsylvania.
When I walked into the place at about nine o’clock that night, I observed, as I have before, that, due to the proliferation of non-smoking areas, bars often don’t have the same look and smell as they used to. As a non-smoker, this all works for me, but I have to admit that the ambience isn’t quite the same as the days when you were almost guaranteed a smoke-filled atmosphere, like in the classic movies from the thirties and forties. That’s not to say that the bar was devoid of any character at all. The lighting was low, and a country-western song played softly in the background. One couple was on a small dance floor in the corner, swaying more to their own music, I thought, than whatever Tammy Wynette was singing.
Thanks to the clear air, I had no trouble locating the bar, which was an L-shaped affair that began directly to my left. There were a few tables scattered around the floor in front of the bar, and I assumed that there would be at least one larger room somewhere in the back for receptions and private parties. I walked over to the bar and sat on one of several stools still available. Judging from the number of people in the joint, I decided that owning a tavern wasn’t necessarily the road to riches. Within a minute, the bartender, a beefy-looking guy with a slight limp, wandered my way.
“Evening,” he said. “I’m Jake, the owner.”
I put my hand out and said, “Jeremy Barnes, Jake,”
“What’ll ya have, Jeremy?”
Figuring he would have offered a wine list if the place had one, I said, “Just a Coke, please.”
He shrugged and said, “Sure,” and left to get it for me.
The only times I wished I liked beer are when I’m in bars. It seems somehow inappropriate to order a soft drink at a place called The Joker’s Wild. I could have asked for a whiskey sour, which I happen to like, but I was there on business, not pleasure. Besides, Simon told me once that whiskey sours are not manly drinks.
Jake returned with my Coke.
“That’ll be three bucks.”
I put a ten on the bar and asked him if Dee-Dee was around.
“You a friend?” he asked.
Sometimes I avoid telling people my occupation, sometimes I don’t. In this instance, Jake looked like an all-right guy, plus I was pretty sure he’d picked up on the shoulder holster under my sports coat. So I took a shot with honesty.
“No,” I told him. “Actually, I’m a private cop. I’d just like to ask her a couple questions about a case I’m working. I don’t think she’s involved in the case. I just need her to confirm some information for me.”
“You got any ID?”
I showed him my license, and he nodded and said, “Okay, thanks. Can’t be too sure, ya know. Somebody comes in packin’, I get a little suspicious. Dee-Dee’s in the back, working a party. I’ll ask her to step out when she gets a chance.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Just out of curiosity, how’d you make the gun so fast?”
“I was a cop out here for ten years,” he said. “Got shot a few years back, nothing too bad, but enough for a disability retirement. Opened this place, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“Getting rich, are you, Jake?”
He smiled and said, “Oh, yeah. Every day. Lemme get Dee-Dee for ya.”
As he went towards a doorway at the back of the room, I adjusted the shoulder holster. Ordinarily, I don’t like the idea of carrying a gun, but I like the idea of being dead even less, so I was taking Denny’s advice, at least for the time being.
A few minutes later, a woman who fit Cameron’s description of leggy and blonde walked through a door in the back and came toward me. In her early thirties, she was wearing a black miniskirt that had apparently been sprayed on, a long-sleeved, white, low-cut blouse, and black spiked heels. The heels accentuated what I guessed was already a very sexy walk. She slid onto the stool next to mine and held out her hand.
“Hi, I’m Deirdra Wilson, but everyone calls me Dee-Dee. Jake said you wanted to talk to me.”
“Jeremy Barnes, Dee-Dee. I’m a private investigator looking into the death of Terry Pendleton. You knew Terry, I believe.”
“Oh, sure,” she said. “But I thought the police said he was killed by a mugger. What’re you investigating?”
“There’s still some doubt about exactly why Terry was killed,” I said.
Before I could say anything else, a guy who could have been the poster child for steroids came over and stood beside us, too close. He was about my height, but he had me by at least fifty pounds, all of it muscle. He wore a T-shirt with “Jake’s” written on the front and M. Stevenson stenciled on the flap of the pocket.
“Need any help?” he asked Dee-Dee.
“No, everything’s cool, Marko,” she told him. “This is Jeremy Barnes. He’s a private eye, and he just wants to ask me some questions.”
“About what?” he asked, as he turned to me.
“A case I’m working on,” I said.
“Wanna try to be a little more specific?” Everything about this guy screamed aggression. I tried to keep calm.
“No,” I said. “Client confidentiality, you know.”
“Marko’s one of the bouncers,” explained Dee-Dee, “and sometimes he gets a little overprotective.” Giving him a look that expressed her disapproval, she added, “Way too overprotective.”
“Hey,” said Marko, “ask away, man.”
“Well,” I said, “the questions I have for Dee-Dee are of a somewhat personal nature. I’d rather not have anybody else around, if you don’t mind.”
“Tough shit, ‘cause I do mind.”
“Oh, Marko,” said Dee-Dee, “for God’s sake, just leave us alone for a minute.”
Marko put his hand on her arm, not all that hard, but still there.
“Listen, Babe, I tole you before, you gotta quit trustin’ every Tom, Dick and Harry who walks through that door.”
I stood up from my stool and said, “Hey, Marko, there’s no need for any trouble here. I’ll just take five minutes of the lady’s time and then be on my way.”
He took his hand off Dee-Dee’s arm and jabbed at my chest with one of his fingers. I hate that.
“Maybe you’ll take five seconds to get the hell out of here instead.”
“Do
n’t do that,” I told him, as he continued jabbing at my chest with his finger.
He jabbed harder. I grabbed his finger and turned it slightly.
“Ohhh, shit!” he said. He tried pulling out of my grasp, and when that didn’t work, he started to raise his other hand to hit me. I increased the pressure on his finger a little and pulled his arm up just a bit. His body had two choices: separate itself from the arm or fall to the floor. The body chose the floor, and when he hit the hardwood, I bent over so that my face was very close to his.
“Marko, I’m going to say this just once. You are much bigger and much stronger than I am, but this isn’t a weightlifting contest. This is a fight, and I am a hell of a lot more experienced at it than you are. I’m going to let go of your finger now, and if you come at me again, I will hurt you much worse.”
I let go. For a minute, I thought he was going to do the stupid thing, but then he looked over my shoulder and stayed down. I turned and saw Jake standing there, next to Dee-Dee.
“Marko,” Jake said, “you and me have talked about this kind of stuff before, right?”
Marko nodded and examined his finger, as though he were surprised to see it still there.
“So maybe,” continued Jake, “we need to have that conversation again. Go get some ice from behind the bar and put it on that finger, and then wait for me.”
After Marko got up, gave me a nasty look, and left, Jake turned to me.
“Sorry ‘bout that. Marko sees himself as some kind of guardian angel or something for the ladies here. Other than that, believe it or not, he’s a good bouncer. Never seen anyone he couldn’t handle . . . until just now. You ever looking to pick up a few extra bucks, give me a call, okay?”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” I told him. “Meanwhile, is there somewhere Dee-Dee and I can talk in private for a minute?”
Turning to Dee-Dee, he said, “Why don’t you two use my office?”
“C’mon, Mr. Barnes,” she said, as she turned and began walking towards another door in the back of the room. I followed, watching her hips closely. You never know where you’ll find a clue.
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