Thanet Blake

by Wayne Greenough

  “What? You’re joking.”

  “I certainly am not. She went undercover for Holt as a Boa streetwalker hoping to trap Sudowsky.”

  “Well, that explains a lot. But that’s crazy. She could have been killed. Why would she take such a chance?”

  “Three members of our family have been murdered by serial killers. All were young women. Starla started to look for that type of homicidal killer, to assist the police in bringing them to justice. She’s been doing that for ten years.”

  “And so have you?”

  Isis nodded.

  “Why didn’t Starla tell me?”

  “She’s undercover. That means no one is to know what she’s doing.”

  “I see, with one exception being the one and only Captain Holt. So tell me, Miss Detective, where is Starla? I would like to see her.”

  “I don’t know where she’s at. Do you?”

  “Would I have asked you for her whereabouts if I knew?”

  “Maybe you would. I don’t know enough about you to trust you. You could be a real badass.”

  “And so could you, lady.”

  I took a hard look at Isis. Something about her face implied she actually was in the dark about Starla’s location. Well, now what? “Look, Isis. The last time I saw your cousin, she was hiding at my mother’s house. They were friends, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know. Tell me about your mother.”

  “She has one child. He’s a real loony.”

  We finished our lunch and parted company. I went back to my office for booze, gaspers, and thinking. I have no idea where Isis went. My gut feeling told me something about her just wasn’t on the up and up. Where was she from? Why was she here? Was she really looking for Starla? Was she on a case? Oh hell, Thanet, go out and get drunk.

  “I know nothing about her, Blake. What did you say her name was?”

  Holt had the look of a three dollar bill on his face, real phony. I played his game. “Her name is Jones, Isis Jones.”

  Holt shrugged. “Where’s she from?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. She didn’t say.”

  I got sneered at.

  “Well, aren’t you the basketful of information? Okay, Blake, I’ll have our computer guys do some checking. You’re looking real bilious today. That expression tells me some questions are rattling around in your thinker. Inform me.”

  “All right, you asked for it. First off, you’re lying to me. The Jones dame said she stopped in here for a chat with you. She said you had Starla do some undercover work for you.”

  That took the cigar out of his mouth. He also coughed while squinting in my direction. “I’ll be damned.”

  “You probably will be. So how did Jonesy find that out, unless she’s also working for you? Is she?”

  “Do you think I would really tell you?”

  “You just did. Relax, Holt. I’m not a rotten newspaper reporter. I keep secrets. Another thing that puzzles me about the Boa Murder case. You threatened to jail me if I didn’t drop out of it. Why?”

  Holt mouthed his cigar. “Oh, hell, your mother talked me into that.”

  That comment damn nearly made me pass water. Holt smiled at my expression. “During the Boa Murders, do you remember the night I drove your mother home?”

  “Yeah, I was in the bone factory with a knot on my head. What about it?”

  “Well, we stopped for coffee. Your mother’s a real convincer. Talked me in to making sure you dropped the case.”

  I laughed for all of a minute. Holt had been bested by my mother.

  Chapter Six

  “I’m glad to see you, Sonny. Why are you here? Is something wrong?”

  “You could say so. You talked Holt into trying to get me off the Boa Case. And you protected Starla. Your ever-loving son, that’s me, wants to know why.”

  “Come into the kitchen for some cake and ice cream, Sonny.”

  I know what you’re thinking. Thanet Blake’s mother calls him Sonny. So what? What does your mother call you? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.

  Over ice cream and cake, she started the conversation. “You’re brimming over with questions. Start asking.”

  “All right, why were you hiding Starla?”

  “I wasn’t. She came to visit me.”

  “Come on, mother, this is your idiot son you’re tossing baloney at. Starla sapped me on the head and came here to hide. I’ll bet she told you why she cold conked me.”

  “Yes, she did. It was because you were interfering with what she was attempting to do. She also said you would be all right.”

  “Yeah, sure, it was just a little knot on my noggin. Mother, I looked everywhere for Starla that night before it dawned on me to look where she couldn’t possibly be. She was here. Now, do me a favor by giving me the straight skinny. You protected her, and I want to know why.”

  “Because I knew she was innocent of anything you would be accusing her of. She’s also a very dear friend of mine and yours. I know how you feel about her.”

  “Yeah, I’m nuts about her. But I can’t allow that to interfere with my investigation. Mother, stop and think. Somebody offed the serial killer, Sudowsky. He deserved what he got. But whoever did the offing committed a crime that gets lots of jail time. It wasn’t me that finalized him, but it might have been Starla. Until proven otherwise, she is my number one suspect. You can’t know for certain that she is innocent.”

  Mother sighed. “Yes, I can. Sonny, of all the jobs you could have had, you turned them all down and became a detective. What you are is wrecking you, making you think everybody is guilty. Is that what you want for Starla? You want her guilty of murder? Is she your only suspect?”

  Yes, you’re right. Mother is smarter than me. As a last resort, I asked her if she knew Starla’s location. She’s an expert at looking innocent when she says no.

  I went to Monk’s favorite watering hole. He was there, looking pathetic and ready to weep in his beer.

  “Go away, Blake. You’re the lousiest of all lousy company.”

  “I know. That’s been said about me more than a few times. I just might be that for a fact. Before I go away, I’m going to ask you some questions. First one being how’s Godfather?”

  “He’s perked up a little seeing as how you told him you’d look for Selena and Jennifer. You are going to, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I am. I also have to find out who offed Sudowsky.”

  “Why? The guy was a homicidal maniac. He deserved to be knocked off.”

  “I agree. But the police want to know who did it. Captain Holt wants me to find the offer. Monk, level with me. Did one of Godfather’s boys do it?”

  Monk sipped his beer while eyeballing me for all of a minute. He’s damn good at staring people into losing sand in their spine. I finally yelled, “Say something, Monk, before I decide to pee in your beer.”

  He almost smiled. “I’m curious, Blake. If and when you catch the offer, what then? Would you turn the person over to the cops or let them go?”

  “Damn you, Monk. Did you have to ask that?”

  “Hell, yes, I did. Think about it.”

  “Damn you, damn you, damn you. You want me to say I’d let the offer go.”

  “You got that right. Would you? The offer doesn’t deserve jail time. Answer my question.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I thought so. No, none of the Godfather’s boys offed Sudowsky. I didn’t either.” From a front pocket, he pushed a card at me. “This guy was Godfather’s number one boy until he became a hit man. Look him up. He might know something you can use.”

  “Now wait just a minute, Monk. This guys a hit man? Where do I find him, in prison?”

  “He’s never been nailed for up the river time. He’s smart, and he’s stopped practicing his profession. Go ask him a few questions. Now get lost. You’re spoiling my drinking time.”

  “All right, Monk, I’ll go. Look,
if you find out anything…”

  “I’ll let you know. Now why am I still seeing you?”

  Chapter Seven

  The guy’s name was Sylvester, with no last name. His house was Tudor brick and expensive. I rang the doorbell. A butler-thug-type with a beat-up face attached to a gorilla’s body opened the door. A tiger growl was his voice.

  “What is it?”

  “Monk sent me.”

  “What for, wise guy?”

  Folks, have you ever felt like you’re going to soil your underwear? “I’m Thanet Blake…”

  “You’re that stupid dick who was mixed up with that murdering bastard Sudowsky.”

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “Come in. The boss is busy watching the arena, but he’s been expecting you.”

  A hit man was expecting me?

  Sylvester was at least twelve inches shorter than six feet, and Godfather’s age. Blue-eyed, and white-haired, he was dressed in black. His voice was non-commanding. He was watching a wall-to-wall television set and never turned around to face me.

  “I know why you’re here, Mr. Blake. Have a seat and pour yourself a scotch.”

  I sat and sipped.

  He talked. “Tell me, Mr. Blake, what does the word entertainment mean to you?”

  What is this guy, hard up for conversation? Oh, hell, give him an answer. “Well, entertainment to me would be doing something I enjoy, like watching my Western collection or reading my old time comic books.”

  “You’re behind the times. In this century we have a television arena that shows us Roman spectators a daily dosage of bloody murders, sex scenes, and hideous tortures of women and sometimes men. And it’s considered to be entertainment by the moron producers who grind out such repulsive shit.”

  Oh, boy, this guy is a real wacko. Say something. “You’re probably right. My set isn’t hooked up to cable or a dish. I use it to watch my Westerns, so I’ve never thought about it as being an arena.”

  “Well, you should think about it. When you watch your cowboy shows, do you enjoy seeing the bad guy being gunned down by the hero?”

  “In Westerns, bad guys deserve to be finalized. I wouldn’t like the Western if they remained alive.”

  “Welcome to the arena, Mr. Thanet Roman Blake.”

  Oh, boy. Thanks Monk, for sending me to this nutcase. I’ll get even.

  Still facing the television, he began talking about Sudowsky. “The no-longer-living-barber knew a lot of people who wanted him dead, including me. However, I’m not the person that did him in. I’m retired.”

  “Do you know who did off him?”

  When he faced me, his smile chilled my back. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. But you’ll have to discover who the guilty person is without my help. Call it honor among hit people. We don’t squeal on one another.”

  “I see. I suppose that’s commendable. You said honor among hit people. Does that also mean female hit people?”

  “Yes, it does.” He smiled again. “You do have a certain amount of cleverness about you, Mr. Blake. Analyze my words. Perhaps I inadvertently gave you a clue as to who killed Sudowsky. I must warn you of one thing. If I find the hit person before you, that person will not be turned over to you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah, any interference from me might cause you to come out of retirement.”

  “You are wise in spite of your youth, Mr. Blake. My bodyguard will show you to your vehicle. Do try to have a nice day.”

  I drove off feeling that seeing Sylvester had been a waste of my time. Or had it been? Could Sudowsky’s killer have been a woman? Worse yet, was Starla more than just a suspect? Was she actually his killer? That thought made me angry.

  I went back to my office. Isis was there with her cowboy boots parked on my desk top. “Hello, love, where have you been? I’ve been waiting an hour for you. I drank some of your rye, a really cheap brand that will rot your gut.”

  “It’s all I can afford. Who said you could have some?”

  “Well, aren’t you in a wonderful mood?”

  “You got that right. Get your damned oversized clod hoppers off my desk.”

  “I don’t have big feet. Be nice to me if you like your nose in the shape it’s in right now.”

  “All right, all right, why are you here, instead of in your shooting gallery office?”

  “I thought we should get better acquainted. Don’t you think we should?”

  All right, so Isis is a knock-out dame. So I’m not interested. “Isis, we already know each other. Accept that as being enough.”

  Her voice hardened a little. “Starla really has you by the balls, doesn’t she?”

  “Yeah, she does. So what’s it to you?”

  “You’re still not being nice to me. Thanet, we could work as a team to find her for you.”

  “I work alone. My last name is Blake. Call me that.”

  With that, Isis Jones stomped her way out my door. She slammed it. All right, I know I was a nasty bastard to her. Is there any law that says I shouldn’t have been?

  Chapter Eight

  When I don’t know what in the hell to do next, I sit at my desk drinking rye and smoking gaspers. No, that doesn’t make me think. It makes me semi-drunk and smelling like an ashtray. I was clueless. Sylvester said Sudowsky had lots of enemies that wanted him dead. So who were they? Where were they located in this cesspool city? Would they be slurping up suds in all the bars? Why not?

  I know lots of ways to get myself killed. Here’s a dandy one. “I’d like to talk to anyone who hated barber Sudowsky enough to kill him.”

  Everybody in the bar eyed the table I was standing on and me. Some stood, picking up drinks in their left hand, while their right hand reached for weapons. I stepped down from the table, grabbed a chair, and became encircled by six of the meanest, steroid-muscled sons-of-bitches I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.

  “Hi, guys, would you like a drink? I’m buying.”

  All six slammed weapons on to the table top. One ordered a pitcher of milk and six glasses. Yes, milk. Are there any rules that say you can’t drink milk in a sleazy waterhole tavern?

  The toughest-looking one talked from the right side of his mouth at me. “The name’s Sam. What’s yours?”

  “Thanet Blake.”

  “You’re that dumbass shamus we’ve heard about?”

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  Sam’s grin showed several teeth missing. “All of us wanted to kill Sudowsky.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Take a look at our heads. Shit, he wasn’t a barber. He was a hair butcher.” He eyed my head and laughed. “I can tell he worked on you. You should wear a hat to hide his lack of artistry.”

  “Okay, Sam, I know what you mean. So, which one of you knocked him off?”

  A steroid to my left talked at me. “I’m Jacob. None of us stiffed him.”

  I finished my beer in one gulp and got up to leave without thanking the steroids. One grabbed my arm and jerked me back into my chair. “The name’s Pete. I saw how the barber got his. I was in that alley and heard Sudowsky and you bullshitting each other.”

  My pulse quickened. Sweat coated me. I asked the man upstairs to not let the killer be Starla as I eyeballed Pete. “So who offed the guy?”

  “Hell, Blake, I don’t know. For a few seconds I thought you did it, until I realized the flash from the killer’s gun came from where you weren’t.”

  Lord, these guys were no help at all. I paid for the pitcher of milk and mumbled a goodbye.

  “Wait a minute, Blake.”

  The guy said his name was Philip. “Draco hangs out at Smoky Renaldo’s joint. He knows every alley in this city. It’s rumored that he’s responsible for several killings. Be nice to him. He’s packs a fifty caliber Desert Eagle.”

  Smoky Renaldo is beauty personified. We’ve had a thing for each other since our college days together. We both know said
thing will never blossom. So color me crazy. The average guy would swim in a volcano for her.

  Smoky was mixing drinks for three guys dripping saliva on the bar as they stared at her voluptuousness and inhaled her scent. She saw me and flashed a smile that heated my frame up several degrees. Smoky is terrific. I love everything about her.

  The three guys reluctantly left the bar, and I bellied up to it. With a frown that made her face even lovelier, she scolded me. “It’s great to see you, you gorgeous hunk, but you never show up here unless trouble is brewing, and you’re investigating, right?”

  “Right, I understand Draco hangs out here.”

  “He does.”

  “Is he here?”

  “Yes. What do you want him for?”

  “I’m not sure. He might know something about a murder I’m investigating.”

  Smoky motioned with her head to the left. “He’s the lone guy. Be careful. That’s a real badass gun he has on the table.”

  Draco could have fit right in with the Hollywood gangster type. You know what I mean, big scar on his right cheek, beady, black eyes that stared at you, and a face that never smiled. Yeah, all that, and he was dressed in black.

  With his right hand he grabbed his Desert Eagle and gave it a spin. It stopped with its barrel pointing at me.

  “Bang, you’re dead. I learned that trick by watching Hollywood gangster movies. Pretty neat, huh?” His voice was soft, but definitely sinister. “You better have a good reason for sitting down at my table. I don’t like people. Who are you?”

  Oh, boy. Talk about an introduction to another nutcase. “I’m a private investigator.”

  “There’s more than one in this city. What’s your handle?”

  “Thanet Blake.”

  Did I say his face was one that never smiled? I was wrong. It smiled, and he hollered.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re that inept PI I’ve read about. Hey, you’re all right, my kind of guy. Smoky, bring Mr. Blake a half dozen beers.”

  Folks, I’m not kidding you. The guy was excited about me. He even put his gun away. So how had Draco read about me? I have a biographer who writes all kinds of lies about yours truly, Thanet Blake, and my biographer has a publisher.