Small Town Taxi (Honey Walker Adventures Book 1)

by Harriet Rogers

  “Do you know how much paperwork this is taking? Do you know how hard it is to hold someone who doesn’t want to be detained? We let him go because we didn’t have any witnesses who would press charges. You both left and he sure as hell wasn’t talking. Sooner or later we’ll have to come up with charges against somebody or Scarpelli will charge us with harassment. My fellow officers were taking bets on how you two got him on his back.” He eyed me speculatively then looked at Belle.

  I turned to the computer.

  We stood around Baby with Lucille at the controls. I was having trouble thinking of a piece of plastic and metal as having a name. But then I thought about the variety of things we name. Lots of parts of the human anatomy, for instance. And cars. Willie had names for all the Cool Rides cars.

  “Where did you get this?” Jon leaned over. “Shit, what is this? Half of these guys are known felons and the other half are cops. Mostly Springfield.” Jon scrolled down the list. “Where the fuck did you get this?” He wasn’t yelling, really. His level of frustration at being out of our particular loop was showing.

  “Why, Jonny.” Lucille patted his hand. “Is this police business?”

  Before he had a chance to answer, I jumped in. “I think this is what Susan was after. Horace being killed might have been an accident. Belle’s friend heard the shot.”

  “Wait, wait.” Jon needed time to process and catch up. “We questioned everyone in the Heights. Just who was this witness?” He looked sharply at Belle.

  “I ain’t talking. She wouldn’t be around if there were cops around. Her business ain’t compatible with yours. Besides, she didn’t see the incident. She just heard some shots.”

  “And she didn’t bother to call the police?”

  “We talkin’ about the same Heights? You hear that sound, you don’t hang around.” Belle’s voice dripped scorn. “Duh, reality check.”

  I could see a tic starting in Jon’s jaw. He refocused on the computer screen. “I need to take this CD into evidence.”

  “How do you know it’s evidence you’d be interested in?” Belle was getting belligerent.

  “Duh, reality check,” Jon replied. His hand moved to pop the CD out of the computer.

  Belle slapped his hand away. “Wait a minute. Wait just a damn minute. I remember Horace talking about some of Scarpelli’s men being ready to jump ship. That the old man was getting a little fuzzy.”

  “Yeah, I heard that from one of the Springfield cops. They said he was getting ready for the leg breaker in the sky to take him away. They’re worried about the aftermath. No heir apparent,” said Jon.

  “So, maybe Susan was going to move in,” I said.

  “A woman? Scarpelli would never approve it. He has a real limited view about what a woman can do. Maybe he just didn’t know the right woman.” Jon glared at me.

  “Yeah, but Susan might not have cared. It isn’t your average father-daughter relationship.” Belle was back at the cookie plate.

  Lucille was staring at the screen. “I think this is a coup list,” Lucille murmured.

  “A what?” Jon leaned in closer.

  “It’s a list of people she could trust. Or people her father couldn’t trust. The cops are dirty. I’m sorry, Jonny, but I think they are. So blackmail may be involved.” Lucille’s face had developed an expression I hadn’t seen before.

  “If that’s what this is, maybe she didn’t want Daddy to know about it. He’d recognize it in a heartbeat. If he can recognize anything anymore,” I added.

  “She’d sure as tootin’ kill Horace for it. I wonder which side her husband was taking,” Belle said.

  “From his status in the morgue, I’d say it was in question, by both sides,” said Jon. He reached for the disc.

  “Just a damn minute.” Belle tried to slap his hand away again.

  He gave her his cop stare and slowly moved his hand to the disc. “This is not only evidence. It’s dangerous evidence.” He removed the disc. “You still don’t get it. Two people are dead, possibly because of this list.”

  Jon turned to me. “And you should have brought this into headquarters when you found it. You can’t just keep evidence until you feel like telling me about it.”

  “Yeah? And I found out Susan is a Scarpelli from Belle. When did you plan to tell me about that?” My voice was rising. “If I’d known, I might have been more careful when I went to her condo.” Knowing that probably wouldn’t have stopped me, but I could have slowed down to think about a more devious plan. Jon’s attitude was pushing my buttons. I should have been directing my anger toward Susan and her agenda. But Jon was an easy target. I stared at him for a few seconds and turned and stomped out of Lucille’s side of the house, next door and into my bedroom. Which was really Jon’s bedroom because it was Jon’s house. And that pissed me off even more.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning the kitchen was empty with a note from Belle on the counter telling me she would be at the Cool Rides office. I fiddled with the coffee maker and actually found the coffee, but I wasn’t sure enough of my culinary skills to go as far as making it. I opened a few cupboards and didn’t find anything appealing to my morning need for sugar and carbs. I decided to see if Lucille would provide the kind of breakfast I was craving. I slung my bag over my shoulder and knocked on her door.

  She opened it and I followed my nose to the breakfast platter.

  “Why, hello, dear. Won’t you join me?” Lucille said to my back.

  I had one cookie in my mouth, another in my hand and was stuffing one in my bag. Lucille was pouring coffee when we heard a car out in front of the house. We looked out the window together.

  A long black limo sat ominously at the curb.

  “Should I get my gun?” Lucille asked, holding the curtain aside.

  As we considered this, a very large man I didn’t recognize got out of the driver’s side. He raised a limp white, lacy square over his head and waved it in the direction of Jon’s front door, a slight smile sort of pushing the sides of his mouth up. The impression was of someone who felt he shouldn’t be smiling but couldn’t stop it. Sort of like laughing at a funeral when you didn’t like the deceased and found out he was wearing a peanut outfit and got trampled by a rogue elephant. Inappropriate, but justifiable—and right out of a Mary Tyler Moore show.

  “What is he doing?” Lucille moved to the door and opened it a crack.

  “Miss Walker?” The driver’s attention changed to Lucille’s door and he moved forward cautiously. “Don’t shoot. I got Mr. Scarpelli here. He wants to talk. If you could come out to the car.”

  “Don’t let him fool you for a minute,” Lucille said. She yelled at the driver, “You tell your boss if he wants to talk, get his ass in here. We women don’t get in cars with strangers. Besides, we have cookies.”

  Whatever her background, Lucille hadn’t sprung into life baking cookies. I realized she had a lot of characters in her FBI-jacket-wearing repertoire.

  The dark window of the limo glided down silently. A head full of white hair popped out. “Cookies? Who has cookies?”

  “Hey, he’s a hot one.” Lucille smiled.

  “Ah, I think that’s Mr. Scarpelli. Should we really let him in?”

  “You don’t think he would shoot us for chocolate chip cookies, do you? He doesn’t look like that kind of man.”

  “Probably not for the cookies,” I admitted. Lots of other possibilities, though.

  The driver opened the door and a cane emerged. Mr. Scarpelli leaned on it and hobbled up the walk. Lucille was right. He was stooped and moved slowly but he had piercing dark eyes and Mediterranean good looks. His eyes softened as he approached Lucille.

  “Why, what a lovely lady.” He took her hand gently in his and raised it to his lips. “And such a heavenly aroma.”

  “Oh, get over it. You can have a cookie. But don’t try to charm me into thinking you’re just some nice guy. I know who you are. Come on in and we’ll negotiate.” Lucille turned on
her heel and headed for the kitchen. I shrugged and followed. I didn’t know enough about the Scarpelli family to face him alone, so any help Lucille chose to give was welcome.

  Mr. Scarpelli had a slight smile on his face. The driver was now grinning openly.

  Lucille and Scarpelli sat down at the table. The driver/bodyguard stood behind his boss. I pulled the duct tape out of my bag, set it on the table and took a seat. Mr. Scarpelli kept smiling.

  “So, I hear you’ve met my daughter,” he said to me.

  “Numerous times,” I said. With varying results, I thought.

  Scarpelli devoured a cookie. His bodyguard watched the cookie disappear.

  “I got a problem,” Scarpelli said. I swallowed hard and had second thoughts about Lucille’s gun.

  “It isn’t you. It’s the daughter.” He snorted. “Kids. What can you do?” He shook his head in mocking self-defeat.

  Shoot her, I thought. Susan Scarpelli Young was a parent’s nightmare. Daddy wasn’t going to survive his daughter’s planned business merger. She was reversing the empty-nest syndrome, watching his nest like a vulture. If it didn’t empty, she would empty it. But I didn’t really know how he felt about her. Family can be dysfunctional and still have an amazing degree of loyalty.

  “Horace—God rest his soul—got some property back from her, for me. She should take more care with her possessions. I would like to know where this property of mine is and what’s on it. My daughter is quite determined in her pursuit of it. It might help settle some, ah, family differences if I could get hold of it.” Scarpelli stared at me with a tired expression. I reminded myself, again, he was the ruthless head of a small crime family. If he needed a report to tell him his daughter was a backstabbing bitch, maybe his level of awareness really was fading.

  “My estranged wife may have expressed different opinions about the nature of my business than I would have to my daughter. In any event, the daughter seems to have a view about her place in my life that is not very realistic.” He stared off into space and seemed to have lost his train of thought. After a few seconds, his focus drifted back.

  “She seems to have a somewhat unrealistic view about the whole world, come to think of it. She may be a bit unstable, actually. She doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer very well.” He said this to himself more than to me or Lucille. The bodyguard stared at the floor. “Maybe I shoulda let her run a job. But she don’t got the control, and I don’t see her learning it. I don’t disapprove of her goals, but her method just ain’t gonna work. She’s not a real good judge of character.” He paused again. “Whatever. I would still appreciate getting back what Horace had.”

  “Whatever it was, we don’t have it.” I stared back at him with less effect.

  “But you know where it is.” Scarpelli’s bodyguard moved closer. His looming presence was uncomfortable. The old man made a gesture and the ape backed up a step. “This thing may reveal other things that are interesting to the wrong people.”

  Lucille passed the cookie platter to the bodyguard. He took a handful and kept some distance between him and his boss.

  I was good at lying, sometimes—sometimes, not so much. Luckily, I knew this. Otherwise some people might have gotten testy. “It’s nowhere you can get it.”

  “Ah, you gave it to your friend from the police. Well, that won’t be a problem for me. A bit inconvenient, perhaps. There was some information on it that might help me sort out who considers me more important than my daughter to my humble organization. My daughter will have to get her own ass out of the fire.” He turned to Lucille. “Please forgive my language.”

  Lucille raised an eyebrow and nodded graciously.

  Scarpelli rose and was heading for the door when we heard a screech of tires outside. A car door slammed. Then Jon’s door opened.

  Mr. Scarpelli turned when he reached the door. “If you see my daughter, tell her bon voyage for me.”

  I heard him mumble as he stood at the door. It sounded like “complete nut-case.”

  He opened the door and stared straight into Lieutenant Jon Stevens’ gun. His bodyguard had one hand full of cookies, and the other one was groping for his own weapon.

  “Where is she?” Jon’s voice was barely a whisper. He grabbed the old man by the lapels and pressed the gun under his chin. Both Scarpelli and his bodyguard froze. I had never seen that look in Jon’s eyes. Hard, cold, scary. Beyond cop face.

  “I’m okay. And so is Lucille.” I moved to where Jon could see me.

  He looked at Scarpelli. “Don’t ever come near my house again. Ever.” He pulled the old man out the door and released his fist slowly. The bodyguard had seen some secret signal only those guys know and stopped trying to find his gun. Jon lowered his weapon. I blew out a deep breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

  “Cookies?” Lucille beamed and pushed the plate across the table. She had turned into everyone’s ditzy grandmother. I felt like I was back from Oz as she quietly returned the gun to the kitchen drawer. I hadn’t seen it come out.

  Scarpelli hobbled slowly to his car, his goon supporting his elbow. Jon stepped into the house, closed the door and sank into the chair recently vacated by Scarpelli.

  “What in God’s name were you thinking? I can’t believe you let him in.”

  “He wanted me to come out and get in his car. Lucille wouldn’t let me go. She lured him in with cookies.”

  “I’m glad you had the brains not to get in a car with him. I think.”

  “Jonny, he was very sweet,” Lucille said.

  “Sweet, my ass.” Jon frowned. “Are you going to tell me what he wanted?”

  “He wanted to know where the disc was. I didn’t exactly tell him. He guessed.”

  “Does he know what’s on it?”

  “I think so. He knew his daughter wanted it for something, probably illegal. Or maybe just illegal in his system of laws. He thinks his daughter is a bit unstable.”

  “Or maybe against his better interests. She might want to watch her back. Probably he should too.” Jon stood up. “I’m gotta get to work. We haven’t finished processing that disc.”

  “Jon?”

  “What?”

  “How did you know he was here?”

  “I’m a cop,” he said. And closed the door behind him.

  I considered my morning. I could move back to my now-clean apartment any time. Being there alone with Susan Scarpelli Young still on the loose might not be too smart. But that was only a temporary setback. I loved my apartment, no matter what either Scarpelli decided to do. Or what Jon decided to do. I needed my space.

  Lots of people lived with danger. Some people swam in rivers filled with crocodiles. Hell, we all shared the universe with millions of asteroids, comets, space dust. You needed to be careful. I wasn’t sure if Susan Scarpelli and her father were more or less as inevitable as an asteroid but I resented sharing my space with the danger created by their disagreement.

  Unfortunately, no matter what anyone else was doing, I still had to make the rent money. I had another breakfast cookie, thanked Lucille for her support, and went to work. I needed some normal fares and, hopefully, some good tips.

  Mona had sent Belle out in one of the other cars and was pacing the office, waiting for it to come home.

  “She should have been back at least five minutes ago. She’s only doing a local.”

  “If you’re worried someone might try to grab her again, I don’t think anyone has her on their agenda right now. They have too many family problems.”

  “Grab who?” Mona looked at me blankly.

  “Belle.”

  “Who cares about her? If that car comes back with so much as a scratch, I’ll have her hide. Or better, I’ll have the shoes she was wearing.”

  “Oh.” I fidgeted for a few seconds. “What were they?”

  Mona sighed. “Rhinestone high-heeled flip-flops. They would make me at least 4 inches taller.” Mona carried a fair amount of weight on a short frame but she carried i
t well and knew how to use it to intimidate as well as how to make it very sexy. The right shoes could do wonders for anyone of any size, shape, or gender.

  “Where did she get them? Did you get a source?” Unfortunately, to get the shoes, I had to drive some fares so knowing the source was only for future dreaming. I looked at the slip of paper in Mona’s hand. “What you got for me?”

  Mona smiled and I remembered that normal fare was a relative term in this business.

  “Wonder Bread man wants a ride home from the grocery store.” She grinned.

  I groaned.

  Wonder Bread was introduced in 1921 by the company that makes Twinkies, and you haven’t lived until you’ve had a deep-fried Twinkie. My fare knew his bread history, and anyone who picked him up knew it, too. I had heard that, before the heat of corporate stress baked his mind, he had been high up in the Wonder Bread company chain. Now he’s in subsidized housing, but he paid for a cab and if you listened to him, he tipped well. His real name was Tommy.

  Tommy stood in front of the mega-grocery with a shopping cart overflowing with the signature blue, yellow and red packages of Wonder Bread. There were a few Twinkies tucked in, filling the spaces between the loaves of bread. The load swayed and jiggled precariously, but he made it to the taxi without losing it and we off-loaded into the backseat. The bottom ones looked squashed, but isn’t that part of the appeal?

  He wore a black armband. His face sagged into a pile of unhappy wrinkles. He looked like a bloodhound that had lost the scent.

  “They’re gone!” he wailed. “Gone, gone, all gone.”

  If he was talking about Wonder Bread, it was because he had just bought the entire supply. I envisioned green bread mold erupting from his apartment and engulfing Northampton.

  “They stopped production. In 10 years, all this bread is going to be worth a fortune to the collectors.” Satisfaction mixed with some greed spread across his face like fluffernutter on cheap margarine.

  He asked me to help move his stash into the elevator and up to his room in the dismal gray cement smudge that is the city’s public housing. We loaded up an abandoned shopping cart that sat by the door and headed past senior citizens sitting outside sucking in nicotine. A few followed us in, trailing smoke.