by Dana Fredsti
“I think she’s upstairs in the ladies room. Fixin’ her makeup, probably. She’s not having much luck today.” The twenty vanished. He refilled my glass.
“Thanks, pal. Where’s the stairs?”
The bartender waved toward a dark hallway on the right side of the dance floor. I got up, taking my glass with me and went down the corridor. I wanted to talk to Jackie in private, if possible. She’d always been kind of cagey where Lana was concerned, and she’d never been my biggest fan, either.
The stairs were at the far end of about ten feet of cracked and peeling hall—guess the decorator hadn’t made it past the main room. I didn’t have to do any climbing, though. Just as I set my foot on the bottom stair, a door opened at the top of the landing and Jackie started down.
She came at me in sections, losing more pieces than a jigsaw puzzle with every step. By the time she’d reached the bottom, little bits of her littered the staircase.
Jackie stopped when she saw me, recognition in her eyes. I didn’t trust her as far as I could throw her, and if I threw her, I didn’t think there’d be much left to question. When she spoke, it was in the kind of low, throaty voice that told me her vocal cords were in the last stages of decay.
“Well, if it ain’t Charles Tyrone,” she gurgled, pure dislike evident in what was left of her face. “Haven’t seen you around for awhile. I liked it that way.”
“The feeling’s mutual, sister.”
“Yeah? Then why don’t you take a hike, Tyrone?” she said. “I got work to do.”
I felt pity as I looked at her rapidly deteriorating form. I wondered what sort of shit she’d been into that would’ve caused her body to give up the ghost so fast. Of course, she’d been crawling with STDs when she was alive, not to mention snorting, shooting and drinking anything you could name. Jackie had never been strong in the brain department.
“The name’s T-Bone these days, sister.”
Jackie snorted, and a piece of her nostril fluttered to the ground.
“I ain’t here for small talk,” I continued, taking a step forward so she wouldn’t think of cutting and shambling. “I want information, and since I know you ain’t gonna do anything out of love for me, let’s just cut the crap and get down to business.” I pulled a couple hundred in greenbacks out of the wad in my wallet. Her eyes widened. “All I want to know is if you’ve seen Lana.”
I guess the sound coming from her throat was a laugh.
“You just don’t know when to quit, do you, Tyrone?” She laughed. “Lana played you for a sap and you fell for it. The happiest day of my life was when she told me she was gonna double-cross you. She was too good for a nickel-and-dime dick like you.”
“Thanks for the support, sister.” The reminder of Lana’s betrayal still hit me like a kick in the groin, but I wasn’t going to let Jackie see that. “You want the dough or not?”
“Oh, I’ll take the money,” she said. “And I’ll even tell you the truth, for all the good it’ll do you. I haven’t seen Lana since the night you picked her up at the hotel. She and Marco are probably holed up somewhere, screwing each other’s brains out.”
“I doubt Marco has any brains left to screw, seeing as how I ate them that same night.”
“You killed Marco? Too bad. Marco, now he was a class act.”
I let that one go by.
“Any ideas of where she’d go, what with both of her lover boys being dead?”
Jackie shook her head. A bad idea. One of her hoop earrings and the lobe it was attached to dropped off.
“She would’ve come back to the hotel. I was the only friend she trusted. I mean, even if she’d died, she would’ve at least come back to tell me. We was best friends.”
I doubted that, but didn’t have the heart to say so. Jackie was as loyal as a dog to Lana—as loyal as it was possible for a girl like her to be... but Lana wasn’t loyal to anyone but Lana.
Nevertheless, I had no doubt that she was telling me the truth. And she had a point. Lana would’ve probably gone back to the hotel, just out of convenience. It was beginning to look like she might be dead. Not undead, just plain dead.
I gave Jackie the money. I hoped she could spend it before she fell completely apart.
“Sorry I couldn’t help you, Tyrone.”
“Yeah.” And if sarcasm was maple syrup, you could’ve served me up at the IHOP. “See ya, sister.”
* * *
I left in a hurry. Jackie’s condition made me want to get back to the air-conditioned cab before I started falling apart at the seams. That was it—as soon as this job was finished, I was going to get myself embalmed.
As I walked back to the cab, I had the feeling I was being watched. I couldn’t spot anyone obvious, but when you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you learn to trust that sixth sense. And it would be completely in character for the Gionettis to put a tail on me.
The cabbie had managed to shoo away the squeegee patrol and was happily reading the Los Angeles Times in the front seat. When I got into the back, he put the paper away and started the engine.
“Where to now, Mac?”
Good question.
If Lana was dead, I might as well head back to my office. But something just didn’t seem right. Even though the likelihood was strong that Lana had become someone’s dinner months ago, I just didn’t—or couldn’t—believe that luscious body was permanently out of commission.
I told the cabbie to head west on Sunset, and settled back to think. There was some piece of the puzzle missing, something that’d been nagging at the back of my brain ever since the night I’d been iced.
But what?
Suddenly, a hunch lurched up my leg and chomped me on the ass.
Larry.
What had happened to Larry, after Marco and I played target practice with each other? When I’d been reborn, so to speak, Larry had been gone, along with Lana and the armored car. It was hard to believe I hadn’t seen the connection before now, but I guess I’d never really wanted to think about it.
I would’ve smacked myself in the head, if the example set by Jackie hadn’t been so fresh.
“Take the 10 to Venice,” I said. “You’ll take the Fouth Street exit and head south.”
“Got it.” Now that he had a destination, Cabbie stepped on the gas and roared around the corner of La Brea.
Time to visit Larry’s house in Venice. I needed to find out if he’d been seen since that fateful night. Or if he— like Lana—had disappeared. The answer to this question would dictate my next move.
“Check it out, Mac.” Cabbie jerked his head toward the left. “Looks like they’ve got some live ones.”
I looked out the windshield. Sure enough, a meat wagon drove towards us in the other lane, a handful of warm, breathing bodies in the back. Good to know the supply was still there. Prices on fresh meat rose every day, and the government loved to scare you with talks of a shortage.
* * *
It took about forty minutes to get to Venice in the prerush hour traffic. We drove down Fourth, turning right on Rose. We parked next to a Walgreens housed in a building topped by a giant clown in a tutu. Ugliest goddamn piece of sculpture I’d ever seen. If it ever came to life and starting walking the streets, I’d run for the hills.
Once again I instructed the cabbie to wait. He agreed and happily settled down to read his paper, this time unmolested by streeties.
Larry lived on Paloma Avenue, one of the little walk streets that ran perpendicular to the boardwalk, in a small Cape Cod-style cottage with a postage stamp yard. Toys were scattered all over the brown grass and I could hear the shrill screams of kids at play inside the house. I could also hear the even shriller screams of Larry’s wife, Ella, telling the kids to shut up.
I rang the buzzer on the front door a few times before one of the kids finally answered, a little snot with one arm gone below the elbow. He stared at me unblinkingly in that way kids have, especially those without eyelids.
“Is
your dad home?”
“Nope.”
“How about your mom?”
“Yup.”
“Be a pal and get her for me, okay, kid?”
“What’ll you give me?”
This brat began to get on my nerves.
“I’m gonna give you a crack in the chops and take your other arm if you don’t get her, pronto. Got it?”
It worked. The kid tilted his head and hollered for his mother with surprising lungpower, never taking his eyes off me. I heard a heavy tread as Ella lumbered out of the kitchen and came to the front door.
Larry’d always been a skinny guy. Ella, on the other hand, had always been a large woman, two hundred pounds or so, and she still possessed a considerable amount of her former bulk. They’d been the original Mr. and Mrs. Spratt.
Piggy little eyes stared at me suspiciously from a face that could have stopped a clock, back when it was pink and healthy. Now it could’ve taken out Big Ben.
“What do you want?” she snapped.
“The name’s T-Bone, ma’am.” No response. “You might have known me as Charles Tyrone,” I said. Still nothing. “I’m a pal of Larry’s.”
At the mention of his name, Ella’s expression grew even meaner, her eyes narrowing until they almost vanished into the folds of puffy blue-grey flesh that surrounded them.
“Larry!” She spat out his name like it was spoiled meat. “That no-good son-of-a-bitch! Running off and leaving me to take care of three brats, all on a waitress’s salary!”
“I take it you haven’t seen him lately?”
That was all it took to get Ella to spill her guts. What it boiled down to—after wading through the stream of venom that spilled out of her mouth—was that she hadn’t seen Larry since the night I died. I wasn’t surprised. If I’d been married to Ella, I’d have pulled a disappearing act, too.
I’d found out what I needed in order to plan my next move. I hurried back to the cab, not surprised to see a dark blue sedan parked down the block, two guys sitting inside. They were wearing black. I love it when the Mafia types try to be inconspicuous. I gave them a cheerful wave as I got into my cab.
Giving my office address to Cabbie, I added, “Step on it.” He did so, losing the sedan in no time. Yeah, the bozos probably knew where I worked and where I lived, but pissing them off was half the fun.
I tipped the cabbie big time when he dropped me off at my building.
“Make sure you keep that air conditioner running,” I said as I shut the door. Cabbie waved cheerfully as he pulled back onto Ventura Boulevard, rolling his window down as he did so. I shook my head. Some guys never learn.
Back in my nice Arctic office, I made a quick phone call to set up a rental car. I needed something that could take mountain roads at a decent speed, and preferably something the goons in the sedan wouldn’t recognize. My instinct was working double time, and it was telling me that I’d find Lana and Larry at that little mountain hideaway where I’d planned to take her. The one I’d told her all about.
The only supplies I needed were my bug spray, some jerky strips in case I got the munchies, and an ample supply of ammo for my .38. I also grabbed my bottle of Jack Daniels. If Larry were still alive, I’d give him a slug before I killed him. Just for old time’s sake.
CHAPTER THREE
It was dusk by the time I dropped off my car at the Avis rental office, but that was okay. I knew the route up into the San Bernardino Mountains like the back of my hand. Besides, I have great night vision—one of the many perks of being dead.
I knew I was being followed as I drove out of L.A. and wondered just what the Gionettis had in mind. I wouldn’t put it past them to let me do all the legwork finding Lana, and then have me offed so they wouldn’t have to pay the rest of my fee. Maybe Mrs. G didn’t trust me to keep my yap shut if I got questioned by the cops. Or maybe she figured I’d double-cross them. Whatever the reason, the Gionettis had made one mistake.
They’d made me mad.
It took a couple of hours careful driving before I hit the mountains. I made a little detour through the back streets of Hemet to see if I could throw off the goons in the sedan. I thought I’d lost them, but about ten minutes back on the main drag, and there they were—right back on my ass. I figured I’d let ’em follow, though. What the hell. If I couldn’t take care of a couple of cheap gunsels, I didn’t deserve my P.I. license, expired or not.
My rental handled the mountain roads okay. I drove cautiously around the blind curves, because an accident out here meant I could pretty much say “Sayonara” to life-after-death.
I almost missed the turn-off in the dark. It’d been a long time since I’d been up here and the road was overgrown with bushes and overhanging branches. It couldn’t even really be called a road, more like a dirt track. Of course, that’s the beauty of this place. If you don’t know it’s here, odds are you’ll never find it. Larry’d been up here with me a couple of times, for drinking weekends out with the boys.
About a mile up, I took another little turn-off, even narrower than the first one. This road wound uphill for about five miles and led to a small cabin, built back in the sixties by my old man. My family used to come up here every year for vacation, except for the year he’d actually sprung for Disneyland As far as I knew, there were no other cabins around for miles.
Looking back, I saw the headlights of my buddies in the sedan.
My guts started churning as the place came into view. Someone was definitely home—a light burned in the front room. When I saw the armored car parked around the side, my innards started doing gold-medal gymnastics.
I turned the lights off and parked in front of the cabin. Its inhabitants had to have heard me coming up the road, because I could hear the goons’ sedan and it was still a few miles back. I figured I had a couple of minutes to confront my ex-gal and ex-pal before I had to deal with the Gionettis’ ape-men.
Pulling my fedora firmly down on my head, I got out of the car and upholstered my .44.
“Hey, Larry!” I yelled. “Come say hi to an old drinking buddy!”
The sound of arguing came from behind the closed door. I recognized both the voices, and wondered if they’d recognized mine.
I heard a scuffle, then a thump, followed by a sharp squeak of feminine outrage. I smiled as the door slowly opened a crack and Larry looked out.
“Charley?” he said cautiously. “Is that you?”
“None other, pal.”
“Charley!” Larry flung the door wide-open, caution thrown to the wind. “Charley,” he repeated. “This is great! We thought you were dead, but...” Larry stopped as the light from the front room illuminated my face.
“You were right, pal.” I took a step forward, kinda touched at the reception. It was nice to know who your friends were. Only now Larry stumbled backwards into the cabin, falling into Lana, who’d been picking herself up off the floor. I looked at her, admiring the way her jeans and sweater clung to her ample curves like a second skin. “Hi, baby.”
“Ch... Ch... Charles?” Lana looked as green as a year-old zombie, her gorgeous blue orbs wide with disbelief. She really did look good enough to eat.
“It’s me, doll. Only now you can call me Chuck.” I stepped inside and shut the door, looking around. “Place looks great.” I grinned and they both winced.
Both of them started babbling at once, Larry going on about how it wasn’t what it looked like, Lana telling me she’d really always loved me, that Marco had made her double-cross me, blah blah blah.
“Forget it,” I said, cutting in sharply. “I’m not stupid like I was, baby, so save your breath. You needed a man to take care of you. Both Marco and I were out of the show, and Larry was there.” Turning to Larry, I added, “Just between you and me, pal, I can’t say I blame you. Why go home to sardines when you can have caviar?”
“Why... why are you here?” Larry tried to sound casual, and failed miserably.
“I’d like to say I’m here to chew over
old times, but this is strictly business.” I looked at Lana. “You know those Italians, baby. ‘Forgive and forget’ just ain’t their motto.”
Lana turned white.
“The Gionettis?” Her voice went up an octave. “You’re here to find me for them?”
I couldn’t believe it. This dame had led me on, gotten me killed, and now she had the nerve to sound all hurt and angry, just because I wasn’t here to kiss and make up. I started getting a little steamed.
“Baby, you’re out of your gourd if you think I owe you any loyalty.”
Larry cleared his throat. “Charley, you can’t do this. It’s not like you!”
The sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway saved him finding out how much his old pal had changed. I nodded toward the door.
“If these goons have their way, I won’t have to do anything,” I said. “They’ll do it for me.”
“Who’s that?” Lana clutched Larry’s arm as I switched off the light and moved to the window, gun held ready.
“Just another double-cross in the making, baby. But this time I’m ready for it.”
I opened the window as the two thugs, both big and ugly, got out of the car.
“You guys lost?” I called.
They whirled towards the window at the same time, guns out. It was like the move had been choreographed.
“That you, T-Bone?” The goon that spoke didn’t put his gun away.
“It’s me,” I replied, staying to the side of the window, tense and poised for action. “But you’re one up on me. I don’t know who the hell you are, and if you don’t give me a real good reason as to why you’ve been tailgating me all day, I’m gonna ventilate your brains. My guess is that you’re working for Don Roberto.”
“Good guess,” the other gunsel said in an attempt at joviality that was as fake as paste diamonds. “The Gionettis, they wanted to make sure you don’t have any trouble, see?”
“Yeah?” I smirked. “That’s real nice. So how come I don’t believe you?”
“Aw, hey, T-Bone,” the first one said. “You know the Gionettis don’t welsh on their deals.”