“Man, I read about your latest gig. The Boa Murders, was really something. Have you found out who offed the barber?”
“No, that’s why I’m here.” I hesitated to ask if he did it for fear of being his next target.
“It wasn’t me. However, had I been in that alley, it would have been.”
This is an unusual situation for me. I’m face to face with a killer, and I’m not his target. I gulped down the first beer for enough courage to talk. “Have you any idea who might have offed Sudowsky?”
“No, I haven’t heard anything, not even a murmur. I know he had a lot of enemies, including me.” He leaned toward me and whispered. “Just between you and me, I was getting ready to bump him off, but somebody beat me to it. I don’t like that. He was my target.”
I finished all six of my beers and left. Draco hated to see me go.
Chapter Nine
This private detective cusses a lot when he has no clues. He also goes over the top with his drinking and smoking and ends up taking a nap at the Ramara Davie’s Pleasure House. Ramara and I ended up sleeping together. She’s gorgeous, soft, and warm. Years ago we had a fierce thing for each other. In a way we still do.
After a shower together and dressing each other, we sat down to bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs, and gallons of coffee. In between stuffing my face I asked questions about the offing of Sudowsky.
Ramara’s voice was a symphony to my ears. “None of my ladies have heard anybody bragging about his killing. I’m sorry. Would you like more coffee, along with more me?”
“Yes and yes.”
I finally pried myself away from Ramara the following day. Where to look next? I decided I needed a bar, so I went to Rumpott’s favorite watering hole. Rumpott wasn’t there. The last I heard of my old drinking buddy, he was still in Vietnam seeing to the grave of his murdered wife. It was lonely without him, but not for long. On my second Guinness, Irving joined me at my table. Now Irving owns a donut stand with his brother Matthew. I mooch donuts and coffee from them at least once a week. Am I now such a great non-paying customer that Irving has decided to start coming to me with a paper sack full of donuts? The answer is yes. He handed one to me, and I munched away and could not resist asking, “What’s the occasion?”
Irving frowned. “You’re hard to find. This is the sixth bar I’ve been to. The occasion, I’m not sure. Several hours ago there was a woman at our stand looking for you.”
“That’s not unusual. What about her?”
“She didn’t look right. She had a mean, wild look in her eyes, and her face was scary.”
“Describe her.”
Two minutes later Irving handed me another donut. I nibbled on it. “I know who she is.”
As Irving got up to leave, he shoved the package of donuts to me. “Enjoy them.” He face saddened. “I hope they’re not the last ones you mooch from us.”
I finished my beer and the donuts and left the bar. Irving had described Selena. Monk said she was going to kill me. Maybe he was right.
What to do next? Well, for one thing, I parked my car on Railroad Avenue, put a quarter in the parking meter, and used my legs for a long walk, hoping to bump into some of my squeals. It was not that kind of day. They were nowhere to be found. I stopped in front of an alley and phoned a PI named Sam who I’ve used as a reliable backup on several occasions.
“Hey, Blake, you miserable drunk, how are you?”
“Sober enough to pack you home. I need your help.”
“Not this time, old buddy. I’m right in the middle of a murder case. I might be able to help you in a few days. Is that soon enough?”
I went back to my office. I shouldn’t have. As I opened the door a familiar perfume scent attacked my nose. Selena was sitting at my desk with a gun in her right hand. She pointed it at my chest. “Come in, lover.”
I closed the door behind me. Selena stood up from my desk, walked around it, and came toward me. She got real close and stuck her gun in my belly button. She kissed my lips and whispered, “One last time, Thanet, be mine, and we’ll go hide somewhere, change our identities, and be happy forever. I killed Sudowsky for you.”
“And now you have the pleasure of killing me. Is that it, Selena?”
“Not if you come with me.”
I slapped her gun to one side. It went flying from her hand as I slapped her face real hard. She went down. Shock raked her face as I grabbed her gun from the floor and pointed it at her. “At one time I was real fond of you. But I’m not yours. I never have been. I never will be. You’re a killer. Stay down. If you get up, I won’t shoot you, but I’ll sure as hell pistol whip you. Damn you, Selena. You made Jennifer into a killer. Where is she? Damn you—tell me where she is.”
“I don’t know.”
I motioned with her gun, threatening to whack her.
“No, don’t. I don’t know where she’s at. I’d tell you if I knew.”
I phoned the police. Holt came. I handed him Selena’s gun. “It’s a thirty-eight and it’s the one that offed Sudowsky. You can also close some of the cases you have concerning the killing of rapists. She’s been offing them. Get her out of here.”
Chapter Ten
The bullets from Selena’s gun proved she killed Sudowsky. It was nighttime, and a warm rain soaked me as I walked Railroad Avenue. I was not looking for my squeals or anybody. I had been drinking all day, yet I was still thirsty. Why was I walking? I didn’t know. Captain Holt had Selena, but where was Jennifer?
I came to a street corner. There was a kid standing there with a wet sign that said the kid was hungry and needed money, any amount would help, and God bless you. I had two fives in my wallet. I gave the kid one and walked on.
“Thanet, please come back.”
It was the kid’s voice. I turn around and faced her. “How do you know my name?”
“I’m Jennifer.”
Her name was a joyful shot to my heart. I love the kid. She helped me solve two murders. Selena destroyed her, made her into a killer, but I love the kid. I grabbed her and steered her to the nearest bar. The bartender wanted to see her ID card. I told him to shut his mouth and bring us a pitcher of milk and two glasses.
The kid looked different. Her hair was black instead of the flaming red that was so neatly combed. Her face—Monk said it was plastic surgery—I didn’t recognize.
“Are you going to turn me over to the police? I’m tired. I want to give myself up.”
Monk, in one of his weak moments, had given me his cell phone number. I phoned him. Fifteen minutes went by before he arrived. The bartender brought a third glass to our table. We drank the pitcher dry.
“Why am I here, Blake?”
“How’s Godfather?”
“He’s halfway his old self, hopeful that you’ll find Selena and Jennifer.”
“Captain Holt has Selena.” I motioned at Jennifer. “You know who this is, don’t you?”
Monk nodded.
I stared at Jennifer. I have never seen a more downbeat human. I wanted to hug her, tell her how much I would love to have her as a kid sister. But at the moment, those words couldn’t be said.
“I want you to go with Monk. Godfather needs you. He’ll protect you, and you’ll cheer him up to where he’ll be his old self again.”
She looked at me. “Then you’re not going to turn me in to the police?”
“No. I know in my gut you won’t do what Selena talked you into doing anymore. If I turned you in, it would destroy you, and I would never forgive myself. You’re the kid sister I never had and would love to have had. I love you, and so does Godfather.”
As Jennifer and Monk left the bar, both were smiling. I was crying.
We’ll, that ends my case. So far, I haven’t done anything to calm Isis Jones down, and Starla is still missing. The landlord is making eviction threats, and I need a vacation.
About the Author
If you said Wayne Greenough writes lik
e he wanted to be a private detective, you could be right. When he reads it is usually a private detective story from the pulp era.
In real life he was a schoolteacher. Trying to decide what to teach on a daily basis for thirty-one years takes a certain amount of deduction. Doesn’t it?
Thanet Blake Page 3