Border City Blues 3-Book Bundle

by Michael Januska

  “Yes?”

  “Well, we already mentioned the cuts, I mean, that it looked like they were done with some degree of expertise.”

  “Yes.”

  “Not butchered, axed, or sawn. No marks from a toothed blade and little to no bone fragment. The cuts were very clean.”

  “What then?”

  “A single, powerful blow.”

  “With?”

  Laforet took another drag from his iced tea and leaned against the counter next to the oven. “Something like a machete.”

  “A machete?”

  “My best guess. Does that tell you anything? Or are you faking some kind of incredulity?”

  Campbell set his glass down on the galley and paced one and then two laps around. “I’ve gone back to thinking that the victims were intended to live, that they were intended to carry this with them, so to speak. And they are still walking among us.”

  “A cruel and unusual punishment.”

  Campbell turned to the doctor. “There’s that word again.”

  “Which?”

  “Unusual.”

  “We live in unusual times,” said Laforet.

  “Is there nothing else about them — the victims, that is — that you can tell me?”

  “All roughly the same age — young. I measured the length of the arms and can safely say the men were relatively small in stature, slim but fit. I looked at the fingers, their hands … they worked hard for their living. Oh, and all three had blood type B.”

  “Wasn’t there anything that set them apart?”

  Laforet took another sip from his iced tea. “I was getting to that. There are needle marks inside one of the elbows — not fresh — and on another arm little red splotches that start on the hand and go up just past the wrist, some old and some new”

  “A rash of some sort?” asked Campbell.

  “Burns, and not from a splash of boiling water but rather hot grease splatter. I’ve seen it before.”

  “From a kitchen, possibly a restaurant kitchen.”

  “Do you know of anyone missing their fry cook?”

  “I’ll check the help wanted ads. Anything else?”

  “No, not right now,” said Laforet. “I need more time.”

  “And some more sleep by the looks of you. One last thing: we spoke in the alleyway that night about the crate perhaps having meant to be found. I’m still playing with that, but maybe we weren’t the ones meant to find it.” He turned to Laforet. “Perhaps we happened to stumble upon it first.”

  “Or perhaps it didn’t matter who stumbled upon it first, so long as it was found — and soon, obviously. I’m assuming you took note of the businesses that back onto the location.”

  Campbell set his glass down on the galley. “I did, but I couldn’t see any kind of possible connection. I’ll have to look again.”

  Laforet was getting back to his canards. “Are you sure you won’t stay?”

  Campbell knew Laforet was just being polite. “No, thank you. I’d like to get right back to this.”

  “Very well. Can you show yourself out? I’m keeping an eye on the blast furnace.”

  “Of course. Thanks for the tea.”

  Campbell made his way back through the house. Through the dining room window he could see Eugenie still attempting to tame the wisteria. He stepped outside.

  “Trés belle,” said Campbell.

  “Thank you. She looks for much attention.”

  He paused, thinking he had something more to say, but instead simply replaced his hat, wished Eugenie a good day, and tried to remember where he had parked his car.

  “Au revoir.”

  — Chapter 10 —

  I HAD AN OCCASION TO VISIT

  Campbell started chasing McCloskey down with various phone numbers. After he went through all of them once he went through them again.

  The man is a moving target, thought the detective. It’s intentional.

  At the start of the third go-round he finally caught up with him. McCloskey was at his office now, on the Drive. That’s right where Campbell wanted him, where this conversation had to take place because it had to be all above board, not in the darkened corner booth of a diner, a dodgy wrecking yard, or an alleyway. It had to be here. This was the closest thing to McCloskey’s public face, and Campbell had to be seen entering the address. It could be a difficult relationship to manage sometimes; the detective often wondered how long they could make it work. In the end it wouldn’t be up to the both of them, but up to only one, the one who would finally make the decision.

  Campbell resisted looking over his shoulder before opening the door to the building. What he did first, for effect, was pull his notepad out of his inside coat pocket, step back to the curb, look up at the window of McCloskey’s office, and fake taking notes.

  Coffee … cigarettes … light bulbs.

  He then proceeded through the entrance and ascended the stairs. On the frosted glass of the only door on the first landing was BORDER CITY EXCHANGE, the name of McCloskey’s umbrella organization. Campbell knocked. He could hear someone inside, cursing and slamming desk drawers.

  “Yeah,” bellowed McCloskey, “c’mon in.”

  The detective entered and, ever the gentleman, removed his homburg.

  McCloskey looked up. “Campbell,” he said. He was sitting behind his expansive oak desk, shuffling papers. “Do you know any good lawyers?”

  “Is that a trick question?”

  “Have a seat and tell me what it’s all about. Oh — can I get you anything?”

  Campbell sat himself in one of the two chairs McCloskey salvaged from his old boss Lieutenant Green’s office. “No, thanks.”

  “Okay, so?”

  Campbell got down to it. “One of our constables found something in the alley behind Pitt, a few doors east of Ferry.”

  “You could find just about anything there.” McCloskey leaned back in this chair. “What was it?”

  “A wooden crate, with ‘Border Cities Wrecking and Salvage’ stenciled on it.”

  “Really? I hear I’m missing some pistons.”

  “These weren’t auto parts, McCloskey. They were body parts.”

  McCloskey leaned forward and, folding his hands together, said, “What?”

  “Three male left arms,” said Campbell, and then he paused. “You know I have to ask.”

  “I don’t know anything about it, Campbell. And you know that’s not my style.”

  “Maybe not yours personally.”

  “I know what you’re suggesting, but none of my boys would do anything like … why would anyone do something like that?” Another pause. “Are you telling me there are three guys walking around the Border Cities missing an arm?”

  “You know how many veterans are probably walking around the Border Cities right now missing an arm?”

  “True,” said McCloskey.

  “And I don’t even know if they’re alive or dead.”

  McCloskey leaned back again. “Three arms?”

  Campbell reached in his pocket for the half-dozen photographs that Laforet had printed for him, and slid them one at a time across the desk towards McCloskey. While he did that he tried to read anything he could off the paperwork on McCloskey’s desk. He couldn’t resist.

  “This one shows the side of the crate with ‘Wrecking and Salvage’ stenciled on it.”

  “Yeah, like I said, that’s us.”

  “And that one shows Hong’s address label. The crate must have originally come from one of the exporters he deals with.”

  “Hm.” McCloskey examined the images, and without looking up, said, “What else can you tell me about the arms?”

  “I can tell you they were very clean cuts, done with some skill. Laforet is still conducting his examination.”

  “Why leave them in the alley like that? Why not just dump them in the river?”

  “Our thinking is that maybe they were supposed to be found.”

  McCloskey gathered the photos a
nd handed them back to Campbell. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got nothing for you. If it has our markings on it that means the crate was already sent to its destination. We don’t have them lying around the shop, ready to go. It’s order-to-order. And what happens to it when it leaves the yard, well, how would I know? It could have been intercepted. And believe me, no one’s going to report that.”

  “Agreed,” said Campbell. “Would you be able to tell if it was destined for a local address or a Detroit address?”

  “Possibly.”

  “This is the point where I remind you that I’m not interested in any of your other … activities.”

  “And this is the point where I tell you that I have no idea to what you might be referring.”

  That sounds a bit rehearsed, thought Campbell.

  The two paused to shuffle the playing cards around in their heads.

  “You say you might be missing some parts?” said Campbell.

  “It’s hard to keep track of things when you’re really not supposed to be keeping track of things.”

  “You don’t need a lawyer, McCloskey, you need a shipping clerk.”

  “Sounds like Hong does, too.”

  Another pause.

  “Can I ask you something, off the record?” said McCloskey. “It’s something that might interest you.”

  Campbell leaned forward, balancing his homburg on his knee. “Go ahead.”

  “The other night I had occasion to visit the back room at Hong’s dry goods place. It was their poker night. Morrison was at the table. Is he up to something or does he just like cards? I mean he looked a little out of place, for a lotta reasons.”

  “On the record or off, I still can’t comment in case it happened to be official police business.”

  McCloskey set his elbows on the arms of his chair, staring at Campbell.

  “Was it?” said McCloskey.

  Campbell looked about the room, wondering why he didn’t have an office half as nice and well equipped as this one. “He’s up to something,” he said, “and I have no idea what. That’s the truth.” He was a little embarrassed to admit it.

  “Have your conversation with Hong,” said McCloskey, “and then tell me anything you think I need to know. Maybe we can piece something together. So Laforet has the crate?”

  “At the hospital. And it’s evidence.”

  “Gotcha. Are we done?”

  Campbell looked at this man and wondered how long before, like it or not, he was running the Border Cities. Campbell had the feeling that, now more than ever, his day would be made of life-changing choices and decisions.

  “We’re done.” Campbell pocketed the photos, stood, and showed himself to the door. He took his time down the stairs, going over everything in his mind, filing it, making sure he didn’t lose any of it.

  Back on the street, he looked up and down the Drive and checked the skies. The wind was changing and the cloud cover was breaking up.

  — Chapter 11 —

  HOUSE CALLS

  “Goddamn squirrels.”

  “You didn’t,” said Linc.

  Jefferson was at the wheel. “I missed.”

  “You were aiming for it?”

  “How can you possibly aim at something like that?” said Jefferson. “That thing doesn’t even know what direction it’s going.”

  “So you weren’t aiming?” said Linc.

  “’Course not. What do you think I am?”

  “What if you ran over it?”

  “You gonna hold a dead squirrel against me?” said Jefferson.

  “I might.” Linc returned to his notes. “Says ‘Tuppy.’ The address is 34 1/2.”

  “Who lives at ‘a half’? I never understand that,” said Jefferson.

  “Yeah, ’cause you’re living your life to the fullest.”

  “That I am.”

  “Stealing headlights and rear-view mirrors?” said Linc.

  “Why you riding me like this?”

  Linc had his elbow on the open window frame, drum-rolling the edge of it with his fingertips. “Me and Moll had a fight last night.”

  This was something new. Jefferson glanced between his partner in crime and the road, looking out for squirrels. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He paused. “She says I don’t take her out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She says her girlfriends … their boyfriends take them out every weekend. Sometimes even during the week.”

  Jefferson wasn’t in a relationship, at least not a steady one. “So you never take her out?”

  “I didn’t say never … she did. Sometimes I take her out, regular times.”

  Jefferson was hoping to glean something out of all of this, something that might enable him to understand women. “So why not more often?”

  “Maybe I don’t like going out so much. Maybe I like staying in at the end of the day.”

  “So take her back to our place.”

  Linc took his arm off the window frame. “Our place?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Well, for one thing,” said Linc, “you’re there.”

  “I could make myself scarce.”

  “And for another thing, have you seen our place? It looks like it got rolled down a hill.”

  When Jefferson was finished checking addresses he said, “So take her to the pictures.”

  “Maybe I’m waiting for something I might wanna see.”

  “Geez you’re tough to please sometimes. Maybe it won’t be something you want to see.”

  Linc was shaking his head. “I get pleased just fine.”

  “Keep telling yourself that. I maybe don’t know as much about women as you, but I do know that you don’t know pleasure until you’ve learned how to please someone else.”

  “Can we drop it?” said Linc.

  “Give and take, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  “What was the model again?” asked Jefferson.

  Linc went back to his notes. “A 1918 Studebaker Type 19, a Model HS Light Four.”

  “This is lighting you up, isn’t it? What, you got the collector’s card?”

  “Wait for it.” Linc smiled, holding up his finger.

  “What?” said Jefferson. It was indeed lighting him up.

  “That’s not all.”

  “What? What?”

  “Open … touring.”

  “Shut up. Hey, isn’t that it?” Linc was pointing to a house on his side of the street.

  “Yeah,” said Jefferson, as he pulled over. “You grab the blowtorch and I’ll grab the saws and the tool bag.”

  They shuffled to the front door and Linc gave it a knock.

  “You want them folks out back,” said the woman who caught their drift. And then the boys caught hers: a stained and tattered housecoat, and a host of houseflies buzzing all around her. Jefferson almost wished he had something to share. Linc casually pressed the back of his hand against his mouth. “They’re the ones with the vehicle,” she said.

  “Tuppy?”

  “Yes,” said the woman.

  Jefferson touched his hat. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, handing the woman his business card.

  She studied it. “I don’t know from no auto vehicles.”

  “Well,” said Jefferson, “keep that in case you see a stray you need taken down.”

  Linc glanced over. He thought Jefferson needed to work on his pitch. “Out back, you say?”

  “Yeah, out back.”

  The boys touched their hats again and went around the corner. They spotted the Studebaker. It had been turned into a four-wheeled planter, the centrepiece of the back garden and spilling over with perennials. Their jaws dropped. Linc almost dropped the toolbox. Behind them, a screen door squeaked open.

  “I see you found her.”

  How could anyone miss? thought Linc. Someone please explain white folks to me.

  “Sir,” said Jefferson, “what exactly did you want us to d
o? I mean —”

  “She’s all yours, so long as you take her away — all of her. Just make quick work of it.”

  Tuppy was standing on the back steps in his undergarments, holding a bowl of puffed rice, mashing a spoonful between his gums, milk dribbling down his chin.

  “What about the … well, it’s got a garden growing out of it,” said Linc.

  “That was the miss’s. She passed on in the springtime, bless her soul. I’m not much of a gardener. Take what you want of the foliage.”

  “And the rest?” said Jefferson, still slightly confused.

  “Well,” said the man, “I guess just put the loose dirt in the yard, and everything else — the combustibles, that is — can go in those oil barrels.”

  The boys turned to look at where he was gesturing with his spoon. Two oil barrels that looked accustomed to seeing smoldering rubbish while being gazed upon by the master of the house and his drinking buddies.

  “We’ll get to it, sir,” said Linc.

  The man saluted them and returned inside to finish his puffed rice and what Jefferson guessed was a rye chaser.

  “Okay,” said Jefferson, “let’s chop her up and get out of here.”

  “The wheels are half in the ground,” said Linc. “Did you see a shovel anywhere?”

  Jefferson pointed to a vegetable patch. Rows of carrots, radishes, kale, and parsnips.

  “That’s some strange salad.”

  The boys got to work.

  “Hey … we bring any buckets or pails?” asked Linc.

  “Yeah, two buckets. Why?”

  “Some of these flowers look real nice. What’s that one?”

  “Yellow and gold … Black-eyed Susans,” said Jefferson. “Where you gonna plant them? In the bathtub?”

  Linc was too busy to answer, already distributing the Studebaker’s dirt along the garden beds and replanting some of the flowers. He took a moment to lean on his shovel. “What did Tuppy say? His wife passed on in the spring … and he was no gardener?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Nice-looking garden.”

  “So? Let’s get to chopping,” said Linc.

  “Do we want the whole thing?”

  “Yeah. Why not? He’s offering it up. You start on the engine and I’ll work on the body.”