Tandem Demise

by Duffy Brown

  Curtis went inside the office and I waited until Angelo came out. I hooked my arm through his. “So, how was lunch?”

  Angelo had on a black polo and black pants, the outfit of choice for retired Detroit mob guys, if indeed they ever really retired. Angelo, his sister, and now nephew Luca had moved to the island when their Detroit family commandeered SeeFar, a cottage up on the East Bluff, from a guy who owed the Family a bundle in gambling debts. Angelo considered Mother a dish, treated her like a queen, and was just what Mother aka Carman needed after a Paris encounter of the feather kind. I put on my biggest toothy smile.

  “Uh oh. Now what?” Angelo let out a resigned sigh.

  “I need you to teach me now to pick a Yale lock, the heavy duty variety, and I need you to make it a crash course so I can figure out who killed the guy on the dock.”

  Chapter Seven

  Angelo shook his head and added another sigh. “I knew your mother and I should have stayed for another glass of wine at Millie’s.”

  “Did you get the whitefish chowder?” I asked Angelo.

  “I always get the chowder. Where’s this lock?”

  “It might be best if you didn’t know.”

  We stopped at the front door of the bike shop and Angelo ran his hand over his face, muttering something Italian that probably translated into why me. “If your mother finds out about this, she’ll skin me alive. Why are you getting involved? Did you know the dead guy?”

  “Dead guy not so much, but you and I know the head honcho at the police station and there’s a chance whoever knocked off the dead guy is now gunning for Sutter. Have you heard anything about our irritating local cop going undercover in Detroit as a mob boss a few years back?”

  Angelo gave me a you’re completely whacko look. “Not going to happen, kid. Nate’s no Paul Newman. He could never pass himself off as a mob anything.”

  “Paul Newman like in salad dressing? What does salad dressing have to do with any of this?”

  That got me another muttered why me followed by, “Look, all I’ve heard from the Motor City contingent of the Family is that there’s some funny business with expensive hooch, smuggling, and Canada.”

  “Al Capone and rum running.”

  “Reverse prohibition without Tommy guns. Canada’s got stiff liquor taxes these days. A decent Chianti here goes for around twenty-five bucks and the same bottle in Canada is double. That’s a hundred percent return on investment at retail, but better still, whoever’s heading up the smuggling operation is doing bulk wholesale. He’s got a plan that gets the goods past customs and that’s not so easy these days.”

  “The dead guy on the dock had a champagne bottle clutched in his cold, dead hands. Do you think there’s a connection?”

  Angelo let out a slow whistle. “Somebody’s sending a message to steer clear or else, you should take that real serious. Upsetting their smuggling applecart will not go over well. As for this lock you’re talking about...” Angelo stroked his chin. “Could be a static six pin Yale euro, that’s the lock of choice for the paranoid. With a regular pick set, every time you push a pin you’ll lose two and have to keep going back to the beginning to reset. The six pin is no paperclip and credit card operation. I’m thinking it’s a job for the DAMES.”

  “No time to call in friends. I need to get this done tonight.”

  “Kid, I live with these DAMES. The Defense Against Mechanism Entry Set is pick tools with attitude. I got a ‘em stashed under the pot of white gardenias in my upstairs hallway.” Angelo added a wink. “Need an extra hand? Always good to keep my skills up to speed. Like they say, use it or lose it.”

  “If things go south, Mother finagling one of us out of the slammer is enough drama to deal with. I’ll be fine.” “Sounds like something to put on a tombstone, Evie Bloomfield.” I watched Obi Wan Angelo cross Main Street and head for SeeFar. Because I’d risked life and limb to save Meatball —Angelo’s beloved bulldog who definitely fit his name — from sixteen thundering hooves headed his way, Angelo figured he was in my debt. While the debt had been paid off long ago, these days Angelo helped me mostly because the less time Mother spent getting me out of a jam, the more time she’d spend with Angelo. Deep down I suspected that, for Angelo, there was pride in passing on a well-honed family craft to the next generation. My nefarious intentions were all for the good, of course, at least that’s what I told myself every time I straightened two paper clips and set to work.

  “I should have been a dentist,” Mother panted as she stumbled into the bike shop two hours later. She rifled around under the workbench, yanked out a Coke - the real deal, none of that Zero stuff - popped the top, and slurped the whole thing in one giant gulp. Impressive!

  “I take it undoing prenups isn’t so easy.”

  “You know about that?”

  “Curtis needed a confidant.”

  Mother plopped down on the stool and swiped the back of her hand across her lips as Bambino and Cleveland jumped into her lap, purring like a furnace on a freezing winter day. “Not that I can tell you one way or the other with that lawyer-client privilege thing in effect. What I can say is that the antique Tiffany lamp Angelo gave me is smashed on the floor and Lord knows how I’m going to get it back together.”

  “He trashed your stained-glass dragonfly lamp?”

  “Along with my autographed picture of Adele and you know how I love Adele even if she does make me cry like a two year old with an ear ache. Signing an iron-clad contract that went into effect the moment Curtis slipped that big diamond on the love-of-his-life’s finger was not the smartest move the man’s ever made. That she did the horizontal hula with someone other than Curtis doesn’t make a speck of difference legally.”

  Mother stared at the Coke can and hiccupped. “One can of caffeinated bubbles and I’m all mouth.” She added a very un-lawyerlike burp. “Why is there a door lock on your workbench in the middle of all the bike stuff and is that a paint can with notes stuck to it?”

  “Uh, the old lock sticks and I need an upgrade, the paint can’s kind of colorful and I already knew what you told me about Curtis. You didn’t give any of that client stuff away. He’s not a happy camper?”

  “Godzilla on a bad day, but not as scaly. I’ll have a word with Nate tonight at Fiona’s party about keeping an eye on Crazy Curtis. The man isn’t himself at all. Or he is himself and that may not bode well for his round-heeled fiancée.” Mother deposited the kits on the pool table next to their new fave bowtie toy thanks to Curtis’ tantrum. She handed me the empty can to recycle and I handed her a lint roller to de-fur.

  “You are coming tonight, right?” Mother rolled the sticky tube over her navy dress with an adorable red jacket.

  I felt the DAMES heavy in the pocket of my capris. “I’ll be a little late. I just need to... figure out the lock.”

  “What you need is a professional, daughter dear.” Mother dropped the roller on the workbench and headed for the door. “But make it snappy. We’re all dying to meet Finn, except maybe Cal. We all feel bad for Cal.”

  “Everyone knows about Cal and Fiona?”

  “The only one who doesn’t know about Cal and Fiona is Fiona, except now there’s Fiona and Finn. I’m afraid Cal may have missed his chance.” Mother gave me a hard look. “Just like some other person in this room who we all know and love shall remain nameless but needs a big wakeup call in the romance department.”

  Mother added a sassy grin then closed the door behind her. With more customers trotting in, I didn’t have time to consider the missed chance comment that I’m sure was about Sutter and me. At one time maybe there was a chance for a Sutter and me, but lately it was more Sutter versus me.

  At seven I closed up shop, pulled out the DAMES, and tried to make sense of the seven picks in the black pouch. I jabbed in the long skinny one then the hooky thing and dug around like Angelo showed me, feeling the pins inside slide up then fall back into place. When Angelo did it the pins stayed put and the lock opened like magic.
No magic for me.

  “I’m never going to get this,” I said to feline one and two staring at me with you’re hopeless glints in their eyes. I slid the picks in my pocket, pulled on my fleece, and trudged off for the police station.

  A rainy mist settled over the island, giving the full moon an eerie yellow halo. The Mighty Mac Bridge connecting the Lower Peninsula with the Upper was totally socked in except for tiny pinpricks of light forming the outline. A foghorn echoed between the hills as fudgies meandered from shops to bars to restaurants. Clouds snaked off the lake, curling over the streets and sidewalks and around buildings.

  I turned down Astor, the courthouse/police station just ahead with its cupola lost in the haze. “Hi,” I said to Molly, moping at the desk and drawing little hearts on a speeding ticket pad since they weren’t used for much else around here. “No Luca?”

  “Would you believe he’s persona non grata?” Molly sighed. “Just because I filed my bologna sandwich in the B drawer and faxed the museum a memo on using their facility to store horse excrement when it should have gone to the sanitation department, Nate got his boxers in a bind and said I’m too distracted when Luca’s around. If you ask me, Nate’s the one who needs to get distracted once in a while. He’s a total grump these days.”

  Molly gave me a curious look. “What happened to you being his distraction? You’d be doing the whole island a big favor if you’d get on with it and why are you here two nights in a row? There are better places to be like the party over at the Stang with Frugal Fiona footing the bill. How in the heck did that ever happen?”

  “She’s in love.”

  “Aren’t we all. At least we should be.” I got another grouchy look followed by another sigh. “Night duty is soooooo boring without Luca. The only thing happening at this hour is a few drunks from over at Horns Bar or someone falling off the pier trying to get cell phone reception or maybe a—“

  “A missing dog!” Angelo yelped as he hobbled into the station, favoring his left leg and leaning heavily on a stick he’d obviously found on the ground. He plopped into the chair on the other side of desk and swiped perspiration that wasn’t there from his forehead. “Mamma Mia! My Meatball’s run off and I twisted my ankle going after him! You gotta help find him before he comes to a ruinous end.”

  Angelo stuck out his right foot. “And my lumbago, how can it be this bad. I hope the little rascal’s headed back to SeeFar and now that I think about it.” Angelo added a wink. “Luca’s got a pot of fantastico spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove if you happen to stop by.”

  Molly’s eyes widened and she licked her lips. “I love Luca’s sauce.”

  “It’s Bolognese with pork and beef and bacon. Bacon’s the secret. And he’s baking bread. Italian, all crusty on the outside and soft and warm on the inside. You know how that boy loves things soft and warm.”

  Molly grabbed a flashlight as big as her arm from the desk and said to Angelo, “Stay here and nurse your injury and answer the phones. If Nate calls tell him I can’t leave a little dog running around in this fog all alone, but don’t say anything about simmering spaghetti sauce.”

  She nodded to the desk. “There’s the two-way radio. You can get me on that thing if you need me. Don’t need me.”

  Humming and skipping, Molly closed the door behind her and I turned to Angelo. “Ruinous end? And have you ever said Mamma Mia before in your life?”

  “Ruinous end was forty-two down on the Times crossword today and Rosetta had Mamma Mia playing when I left the house, so sue me.”

  “Do you even know what lumbago is?”

  “I think that was fourteen across. This morning Luca brushed his teeth with sunscreen and ate Meatball’s kibble as breakfast cereal. I figured Molly’s brain was mush like Luca’s and I could pull off a Roving Rover - that’s grifter talk for lost dog decoy. What’s more innocent than an old man who’s lost his pooch?”

  “Old? Innocent? You! Were the comics next to that crossword?”

  Angelo leaned back in the desk chair. “Heard from a certain lawyer that you needed a professional to get things done tonight. I wore my black fedora and crepe sole shoes for the occasion. I’m ready for action, kid, so what’s the caper?”

  “B and E into a police station. You sure you want to get involved?”

  “I got more experience getting out of police stations than in, but change is good. Spill it.”

  “What I need is a picture from the evidence closet in Sutter’s office. I think it’s the person who did in the guy on the dock and is gunning for Sutter because of that mob boss thing I told you about. Sutter is not about to ask any of us for help, so we just have to jump in. After midnight, Molly closes the office and sets the alarm and 911 calls get forwarded, not that there’re many. I have no idea how to deal with an alarm system, so I’m here now.”

  Angelo pulled a deck of cards from his jacket pocket and started shuffling. “So we got ourselves a little situation,” he said over the chatter of cards. “Nate’s at the Stang for that party Fiona’s throwing.” Angelo did a fancy card fan across the desktop between the computer and the gilded picture of Luca with pink kissy lips smudging the glass. “If he calls here, one of us has to answer and give him the song and dance about Meatball lost and me all upset.”

  “You really think Sutter will buy that line?”

  “Not a chance, but by the time he shows up you’ll be gone with the picture and I’ll be playing solitaire.” Angelo stacked the cards in the middle of the desk and stood. “We’ll work in shifts. I’ll spring the locks then you get what you need and take off. The lost dog story’s pretty shaky even if that little rascal’s always getting out, but if you’re here too Nate’ll smell a rat for sure. A very cute rat, but he’ll know something’s up all the same.” Angelo held out his hand. “It’s show time, kid.”

  I handed Angelo the DAMES. “Just wondering, but have you bought any raffle tickets to be police chief for a day?”

  Angelo grinned ear to ear. “Wrote a nice fat check. The Detroit family’s gonna get a kick out of it when I win, I can tell you that. Me on the other side of the law will make for a terrific Christmas card photo, that’s for sure.”

  Angelo took off down the hall humming something Puccini as I watched the wall clock tick away my life and resisted the urge to hum March to the Gallows. I answered a phone call about how to get to the library for the evening lecture — amazing what people called the cops for around here - and gnawed my fingernails to the quick as sweat trickled down my back and between my boobs. I sucked as a grifter.

  “Your turn,” Angelo said from behind, making me jump a foot and bite my finger hard enough to leave marks. He handed me a flashlight. “Keep the lights in the office off and doors closed in case we get visitors.” He tossed me latex gloves. “Always clean up after yourself. Words of wisdom from grandpa Dominick who lived by the motto everyone gets paid, no one gets hurt, no one gets caught. I have to ask if Nate’s office is always that neat? Looks like Sunday brunch at the Grand Hotel in there.”

  “We figure Martha Stewart’s his long lost auntie or he got vaccinated with a boutonnière.” I made a low bow to Angelo, honoring his talent with a lock pick, and headed for the office with the old floorboards creaking as I went. Maybe I should ask for crepe sole shoes for Christmas? Maybe I should stop breaking into police stations!

  I slipped on the gloves, closed the office door behind me, clicked on the flashlight, and headed for the evidence closet. Shelves lined the wall, stacked with blue boxes arranged by date. John Bernard’s was right in front. The closet was cramped, so I took the box to Sutter’s desk and pulled off the lid to find sealed evidence bags and a brown envelope. I dumped out the envelope, scattering the knife, money clip, wallet, and watch across the desk. I took pictures of the swanky guy in the wallet and the date on the knife before dropping everything back in the envelope and closing the box. For a second I studied the guy in the photo. He wore a white dinner jacket with a red carnation and black-rimmed
glasses. He looked very gentrified, but more posed than relaxed. Having his picture taken was not this guy’s bag.

  I put the box in the closet, reset the lock, closed the evidence closet door, and pulled off the latex gloves just as Angelo’s booming voice carried from the front of the station. “Buona sera, Nate!” I clicked off the flashlight and froze. Dang! What happened to the phone ringing? What happened to giving Sutter the song and dance routine? Nate Sutter was here in the police station and I was here in his office and I had no idea how to not be here!

  “Heard Meatball’s gone missing.” Sutter didn’t sound one bit convinced. “Any idea where he is?”

  Angelo chuckled. It was very convincing, as if he lied to the police all the time. Go figure. “I think he’s sweet on that cute little Bichon over on Cadotte Street,” Angelo rattled on. “He probably took off for a late night rendezvous.”

  “Or maybe you cooked up a rendezvous between Luca and Molly and Meatball is snuggled up in your bedroom watching reruns of the Westminster Dog Show?”

  Angelo laughed. “Notte d’amore, my friend, a night for love. I’m just doing my part.”

  “Yeah, well, some of us have to work at night, so you need to go home and I need to get to my office. If you happen to see my sergeant, you might suggest she squeeze in a little police work around her love life.”

  Sutter and Angelo exchanged good-nights. I heard the front door close, followed by footsteps approaching. Sutter was headed for his office, heading for me and an unlocked door. Sutter always locked his office door so he would know someone was inside. Or... maybe with a little luck Sutter’s version of his office was guy code for the bathroom and he’d walk on by?

  I held my breath and said a little prayer to the gods of weak bladders as little dots of panic danced in front of my eyes. The doorknob turned, killing any hope of a guy code. I hunkered down so as not to be seen though the frosted glass.