"That's outrageous."
"Maybe, maybe not. John Stampley did some digging and this is what he found."
"That name sounds vaguely familiar."
"He's the guy who was fired so that Paul could get the first violin position when he first arrived."
She nodded.
"If what you're saying is true, that's horrible. Paul might have had many faults, but what he wasn't was a racist."
"I think you mean anti-Semitic."
"Well, yes. But you know what I mean. He didn't hate anyone because of their color or religion."
"Saint Paul Klee," I said.
Stephanie chuckled.
"No, I'm not saying that, I'm just trying to give you a fair impression of him. What I'm saying is that I can't believe that Paul's family was involved in the holocaust."
"We don't know it was his whole family, just his grandfather. In any event, you don't have to be anti-Semitic to enjoy the spoils of hatred."
"I don't understand," she said.
"The Nazis were generally nasty and unpleasant. They did experiments on prisoners, and some of the knowledge obtained by that unethical behavior has proven useful. All I'm saying is that Paul doesn't need to be an anti-Semite in order to keep the violin if he knew his grandfather had obtained it as a result of theft."
"Yes, I suppose you're right. Though it sounds awful."
"That's because it is distasteful. People often find it easy to steal when they're removed from the victims directly."
Stephanie sipped on her tea some more and didn't say anything for a while.
"I don't know what to say about that. All Paul told me was that his grandfather had given him the violin and that it had originally been bought by the English poet, Alexander Pope."
"'What dire offense from am'rous causes springs, what mighty contests rise from trivial things,'"
Stephanie frowned again.
"Those are the first two opening lines of Alexander Popes' The Rape of the Lock," I said.
"I see. You really are quite odd for a PI," she said.
"I paint too," I replied.
She didn't say anything.
"The Rape of the Lock is perhaps a little intriguing regarding this violin that Paul had."
"You'll have to enlighten me," she said.
"The poem is a somewhat satirical recounting of a real event. A suitor of a woman back in the seventeen hundreds cut off a lock of her hair without her permission. It was a theft, plain and simple."
"Hmm, that is interesting. Do you make this stuff up?"
She smiled at me.
"I don't think you could make stuff like this up," I said.
"So there is some parallel in what you're saying. How the first owner of this violin wrote a poem about a theft and Paul's grandfather's theft of the violin itself."
"Well, Alexander Pope, from what I hear, wasn't really the first owner. I understand he bought it, but as a gift for his lover. I find it more ironic than anything else."
"Yes, Paul had told me that Pope had bought if for someone else."
"Martha Blount was her name, hence the violin being called the Blount Stradivarius."
"Right."
"Anyway, we're not here to wax poetical about violins. I don't particularly care to and I imagine you need to be going soon."
Stephanie nodded.
"So I take it then that you have no idea about who Paul used in order to obtain his coke or joints?"
"I do actually," she said. "It was one of his fellow musicians, Gary… Gary Johnson I think his name is."
I nodded.
"That's what I heard. Though Gary tells me that Paul made a deal with Gary's dealer to obtain a large amount of coke and he put his violin up as collateral."
Stephanie shook her head.
"I guess I should be so lucky that I got away from him when I did. Sounds like he became more restless these past few years."
"Sounds like it," I agreed.
"I can't understand why he'd do something like that. That violin meant the world to him. Not only because it was so valuable but because it was given to him by his grandfather. He always spoke well about his grandfather."
"Addicts will do odd things when their addiction is controlling them."
Stephanie looked down at her watch and then drank the last of her tea.
"I don't mean to be rude," she said, "but I need to get going in a minute. Donald will be getting home soon, and we always have dinner together."
I nodded at her.
"No, you've been very helpful," I lied. "I think you've answered everything that I can think of asking."
She picked up her handbag and stood up. I stood up with her. We shook hands.
"I hope you find out who did this," she said. "Paul didn't deserve it."
"That's the idea," I said.
I watched her walk out the coffee shop and then I doffed my fedora. It was a little after five and I needed a drink. Something to oil my thinking cap so I could try and figure out this mess.
FOURTEEN
Chapter 14
I figured Monday would be a good day to go shopping for drugs. It was the start of the week. A new day for more opportunities for those in the illicit trades. Sonia needed Terry so I was left to my own devices. I decided to make some inquiries around Central Park at some thugs who looked like they might know of a drug dealer or two.
JJ was reasonably well known, though I was assured you couldn't get to see him without an appointment. After some haggling and knocking of heads I got a broad address for him. He hung out mostly in northeast Harlem. That's all I had to go on and that's all I needed.
I was told to head towards some old vacated, crumbling buildings right on Harlem River Drive. That's where he'd likely be. I got a description of him too. I was looking for a short, skinny guy with a lot of tattoos. Sleeves of tattoos they told me. He likes to wear a few gold chains around his neck over his wife beater. He wears black cargo pants and black army boots. He had gold teeth. It's called a grill, so I was told, and he had long dreadlocks that fall to his shoulders.
I took a yellow cab down to the river. I got him to drop me off by some baseball diamonds on the west side of Harlem River Drive. I paid the cabbie and put on my fedora. It was warm so I was only wearing a white shirt and brown pants. In a corner, huddled like baseball players in a dugout were three black youths. They had the baggie clothes and snarling attitude of gangsters or wannabe gangsters.
I walked up to them full of smiles and warm wishes. Their clothes were baggy enough that they could have easily been carrying some bang bangs. The middle one had a brown bag over a bottle of some kind of liquor. Maybe it was just a big beer. He snarled at me as I came up to them.
His two chums stood up and looked down their noses at me. They could do that. At least the one guy could because he was taller than me. We stared at each other for a short while. All three of us. Then the middle one spoke.
"What you want, Crisco?"
"I want to talk to JJ."
More staring and eyeballing. We were in the shade so I didn't mind it too much. It wasn't hot. I grinned at them.
"You think this is funny coming out here to the hood?" the middle one asked.
"Pretty funny, yeah," I said.
"How so?"
"It's my first time in New York," I said, "and I never would have figured I'd be out in dog shit acres talking to some wannabe bangers."
The two guys standing on either side of me lifted up their sweaters a bit and revealed nice chrome pistols stuck into their pants.
"You haven't shot off your balls, have you?" I asked, looking at each of them.
"I think you better just fuck off, Crisco, go back to the city where you belong," said the middle one. I figured the other two for mutes.
"Can't do that," I said. "Not until I've spoken to my boy, JJ."
Like I said. Sometimes I can't help myself, my mouth gets me into trouble. The guy on my left turned to look at the middle guy still sitting d
own. I knew what was coming, so I decided to surprise them with my wit and charm.
I kneed the guy on my left as he was looking away. He turned back towards me, buckling under the pain of his Charlie horse. I took this opportunity to grab him around the neck and acquaint his nose with my knee. He dropped to his hands and knees as blood rained onto the dusty ground below him.
By this time his buddy on the right was fumbling with his. As he pulled it out I grabbed his wrist with both of my hands and walked right into his outstretched arm, holding it hard across my chest. Then I took my left hand and threw it as a bar up against his throat. My forearm made contact but it wasn't hard enough to break his windpipe. It was enough to lie him flat out on his back. He landed with a hard thump, knocking out whatever air was left in his lungs.
His pistol clattered on the dusty ground and I went to pick it up. I turned and pointed it back at the group. The middle one by this time had stood up. His hands were by his side.
"You packing?" I asked him.
He shook his head. He wasn't looking at me with a snarl anymore.
"Show me," I said.
He lifted up his sweater and there were no gun handles sticking out.
"Turn around."
He turned around and he was clean. Only his posse had been packing. I turned to look at the first guy, the bigger one, still on his hands and knees.
"Throw me your piece," I said to him.
He looked up at me with his nose still bleeding, still a little dazed. He sat back on his knees and pulled out his pistol and threw it in my direction. It was as shiny as the one in my hand that was pointed at his face. His was gold whereas the one I was holding was a shiny silver. I picked it up and slipped it in the back of my pants.
"Good," I said. "Now let's try this again. Where’s JJ?"
The second guy was still on the ground struggling to get air into his lungs like a fish out of water.
"He's just across the block."
The middle guy nodded to his left.
"Shit man, are you some kinda ninja?"
"Yeah, something like that," I said. "Now you guys behave."
I backed away from them.
"Can we have our gats back?" asked the middle one.
I shook my head. I walked east and across the road. I tucked the silver pistol into the back of my pants right next to the other one. Each handle pointing away from the other. I wasn't looking for a gun fight.
The next block over was the one with the abandoned building on it. It was reasonably deserted. But I saw my guy. JJ was leaning against the wall on the south side of the building overlooking Harlem River. He had a couple of big lads with him. The one guy was obese, the other was muscled. both were around six and change. Both wore tracksuits, the fat one was in white. I hear folks think it's slimming. It wasn't working for him. The muscle head was wearing a navy tracksuit.
I walked up to them nice and slow so they could see me coming a mile away. I held my hands out in a non-threatening manner. They watched me like steely-eyed hawks. The muscle head opened his jacket a bit to show me his gat. I nodded at him. At about ten to fifteen feet away I stopped in front of them.
"Are you JJ?" I asked. "Jamal Johnson."
The fat black guy dressed in white made a step towards me. JJ held out his hand and the guy relaxed back against the wall.
"Who wants to know?" JJ asked.
"My name's Anthony Carrick," I said. "I'm a friend of Paul Klee's."
JJ looked me up and down.
"Don't look like you're carrying my money. And if you ain't, you best keep on walking."
"That's the thing," I said. "I've come here to talk to you about what's owing."
JJ looked out and around the vicinity for a while. I think he was trying to figure out if I was a cop or not. I don't think he thought I was. Not dressed the way I was and not coming alone to a place like this.
"Paul knows what's owing," said JJ, "and he knows it's due by the end of the week. There's nothing to discuss."
"There is," I said. "Paul's not gonna be able to pay the rest."
That got JJ a little more focused. The muscle head started towards me, but JJ put up his hand to stop him. JJ shook his head at me.
"Man, what kind of fool comes here to tell me I ain't gonna get my money? I should just bust a cap in yo' ass to make a point. I'll get my money by the end of the week and tell Paul he now owes me forty five for this bullshit you've come with."
It sounded to me like JJ didn't know Paul was dead. He was concerned with one thing and one thing only. His money. If he'd killed Paul, I don't see how he could have pulled off this kind of conversation.
"There's only one problem with that," I said.
"Yeah, what's that?"
"Paul's dead."
JJ looked at me steadily for a while without blinking. Everyone was staring at me. I might as well have been a model on a catwalk in next to nothing. Though I didn't feel particularly sexy.
"Is that so?" said JJ.
I nodded.
"You're not fooling?"
I shook my head.
"How can I be sure?"
"Here's the thing," I said. "I'm here today. Maybe tomorrow the cops are going to come on by to have a word. And they're probably gonna come by and have a word because they'll figure that kilo, or whatever is left, of the coke they're gonna find in Paul's apartment looks suspiciously like the stuff you sell. That's not gonna help you, is it?"
JJ looked around. There wasn't much to see. I peered to my left, but I couldn't see the three black musketeers I'd left across the park by the baseball diamonds. Maybe they'd left or maybe they were sulking. I didn't care. Cars drove by on Harlem River Drive but none paid too much attention to us. Maybe because we were a hundred feet or so from them.
"What do you want?" asked JJ.
"I want to know if you did it."
"Did what?"
"Killed him," I said.
"Why do you care?"
"Because I've been hired by the Philharmonic to look into his disappearance. See, Paul disappeared on Friday. Never showed up for practice or the concert. I got a call on Friday evening. I came over from LA on Saturday morning, and I mean to find out what happened to him."
"And you think I'm gonna tell you what you want to know."
I nodded and grinned at him. JJ shook his head and laughed. He looked over at his two boys. They smiled at him.
"Man, you've got balls, I'll tell you that. But why shouldn't I just drop you right here?"
"Because it's easier if you tell me what happened than if you wait until the five oh show up."
"That makes no sense. I'll just have you disappeared and then disappear myself," he said.
"That would be a mistake. You see," I said, "New York's finest are waiting for me this afternoon. I've got a meeting with Detectives Cooper and Simms who are looking into Paul's homicide. If I don't show up they know who I was with. That's you."
I was hoping this wasn't going to turn sideways on me. I figured JJ didn't have anything to lose. At this stage I didn't think he was good for it. I just wanted to get his side of the story. It might shed some light in some dark corners about what's going on with this mess.
"Alright," he said. "I'm feeling magnanimous."
"That's a big word for a gangster," I said.
JJ smiled at me.
"I went to college. But this pays better than office work, and it's more exciting."
I nodded my head.
"So what can you tell me?" I asked.
"I can tell you I didn't have that punk killed."
"And yet he owed you forty large," I said.
JJ nodded. He had his one foot resting against the back of the wall. He pulled out a joint and lit it. He inhaled deeply and held the breath for a moment.
"Dead men don't pay no rent," he said. "Besides, he told me he had a violin that was insured for ten million."
"That's nice," I said. "But how were you gonna get that money?"
"You're
not a business man, so I'm gonna help you with this. He told me where he kept the violin. He said if he couldn't pay up I could keep the violin and he'd get the insurance money and we'd split it."
"And you believed him? Everyone else tells me he kept the violin with him at all times."
"And you're gonna tell me they were with him twenty-four seven?"
I shook my head.
"How did you know you could trust him?"
"Because we were in business together."
"Really? He buys fifty grand worth of coke off you and puts up a violin worth ten mil as collateral? I'm not buying it."
"That's because you ain't getting it, Crisco," said JJ.
"Then help me."
"This drug deal was just a front. A front for him to get a hold of that ten mil. He came to me with the idea a few weeks ago. Said he needed to start looking out for himself. He thought he was going to be fired from his musical job soon and he wanted to cash in before then."
"So he was going to pull an insurance fraud?"
JJ shook his head.
"I ain't saying that."
JJ was smart. He wasn't going to indict himself even if he knew I wasn't a cop.
"All I'm saying is that he had a situation he wanted my help with. It was going to be win win."
"Fifty fifty?" I asked.
JJ nodded and took another puff of his joint. He handed it over to the fat guy who took a puff.
"Fifty fifty seemed fair. He was gonna get five mil and he was gonna get to keep the violin."
"How's that?"
"I was gonna make it look like it was stolen and when all the dust settled he'd get it back."
"And he was gonna trust you?"
"He had no choice. I might deal in black market goods, but my word is solid."
"Why you?"
JJ took another toke and then passed it on to muscle head. He grinned at me like he was going to share a secret.
"Why not me?"
"Because I wouldn't trust you."
JJ laughed.
"I'll tell you why. Because that cracker didn't have nobody else to turn to, that's why. You think a white boy like that, all privileged and shit is gonna know folks like me. He's lucky because he knew me through Gary. Without me he wouldn't have any chance of pulling off something like this."
I nodded. It did make sense. It was risky, but I had the feeling that Paul being the spoiled kid he was didn't care about risk. He was probably arrogant about it.
Anthony Carrick Hardboiled Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3) Page 43