“There are a lot more disgusting things. By the way, at the store I was thinking, have you started getting your period yet?”
She stared at him, then ducked her head and stared again, like she couldn’t believe he would ask such a thing. It made her want to double down. “Of course. Why? You wanna knock me up?”
He said nothing for a second, and she knew this was making him very uncomfortable. “Yeah, maybe that’s your thing, knocking up little 12-year-olds.”
“Would you stop talking like that. I only asked because I thought maybe I should get you something to take care of that, in case, like Tampax or something.”
“Hey, you don’t have to worry. I had the curse last week. In fact if you do want to knock me up, this would be a good time.”
“I told you to stop talking like that.” Now he seemed embarrassed and angry. He moved to the large grocery bag sitting on the desk. “Are you hungry? I got you some of the things you said you like.”
She watched him remove items from the bag and place them on the desk. “Like what?”
“Like hot dogs, bologna and white bread and ketchup, potato chips, root beer.”
She made a face. “I hate that stuff! I’d rather eat dog food.”
“Then why did you lie to me and say you liked it?”
“Oh, it’s Mr. Morality! The question is, why did you kidnap me? And why am I suppose to like it enough to eat your stupid food while you’re trying to rip off my parents? Or whatever you’re trying to do.”
He stopped and stared at her. “Look, I know it’s not your fault that your father’s destroying the lives of thousands of young people in this city. But this is just the way it is right now.”
She stared back boldly for a few seconds then looked away. “You are sick,” she said slowly. “You are really sick.”
Chapter 64
Susan slouched low in one of the chairs in front of the scarred metal desk. Charlie’s demeanor behind it was similar, as if both were trying to slide under a thick gray cloud of frustration filling his office. She found herself staring at the framed photo behind his head, the one showing him and his partner with all the dope, the case that ended up causing him so much grief. Why would he have that picture up, a constant reminder of something good in his life that went so bad? She had never really thought about that before. A conversation for another day.
“Baby, I’m sorry, I’ve really got to get back to the office. I had only paperwork for the first couple hours, so I told them I had car trouble. But in 20 minutes I’m meeting with two families that desperately need help.”
He straightened up and leaned forward toward the tape recorder on his desk. “I know, and you’re great for coming by. But let’s listen one more time.”
Susan sat up in her chair as well. “Charles, you’ve been playing that tape for the past hour. Same thing, over and over. You’re not gonna find the guy just sitting here playing that tape.”
“Well, baby, I’ve hit a goddamn dead end. For once, I got a major league case, and it’s like the fucking needle in the fucking haystack.”
“I wish I could help you,” she said. “I wish I could think of what it is about this guy’s voice or what he’s saying that sounds familiar. But I just keep drawing blanks.”
“You think he’s black?” he asked for about the third time.
She shook her head. “I told you, I don’t know. It sounds more to me like some white guy trying to make his voice sound black.”
“Yeah, you said.”
Susan leaned forward and pointed to the recorder. “Okay, play it one more time. Just the last part of it. From where he talks about going on the TV news with DeFauw. Something in that part rings a bell.”
He pushed the rewind button, watched the counter, stopped the machine and pushed play. They listened again to the tape.
“...live this Friday evening with Frank DeFauw on the Channel 5 News at 5. On TV you will describe your own role in making narcotics a fucking plague on this city. You will also display your kilo of cocaine and announce that you will immediately turn yourself in to Drug Enforcement agents. All of this...”
She waved in disgust, giving up, and he turned off the recorder. “There is just something about that voice that sounds familiar. Or there’s something else in that part, but I’ll be damned if I can think what it is.”
“Well, if it comes to you, call me.”
“Obviously.”
“Meantime, maybe I should market this little tape.”
“What do you mean market?”
“I mean if this lands in the wrong hands, Monelli’s a dead man. No ifs, ands or buts.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So some of his people would probably pay big time to know what’s on this cassette. Or maybe I can get Monelli himself to shell out more, if I tell him I got the tape or let him know I know what’s on it.”
“Charlie, you do either one, and you’re the dead man.”
He cocked his head. “Maybe.”
“Guaranteed. Besides, then what happens to the little girl?”
“Probably nothin’ good.”
“Right, so he’s paying you good money to look for his daughter. And big money to find her. So do it and cash in.”
He nodded first, then shook his head. “Easier said than done, as someone once said.”
She said, “Really, I’m torn. Of course I want you to find the girl, but I’d also like to see her father burn.”
“Yeah, well, even if he does and goes down with his whole crew, it won’t make one damn bit of difference. There’s guys already lined up to take their place.”
She got to her feet. “I know, I know. There’s no hope. There’s nothing we can do. It’s too big. The city’s a lost cause, and so are it’s kids. But I’ll tell you one thing. Awful as this is for the little girl, this guy’s pretty damn inventive. I mean, the real question is, what kind of person would even dream up something like this, let alone actually try to do it.”
“Someone like you.”
“Someone like me? That’s crazy, Charlie. I would never do anything like this. And I could never dream it up.”
“No, I mean, someone like you, who really, deeply cares about all this, the narcotics shit, what it’s doing to kids. How it’s destroying the city. You think about it, the guy’s riskin’ his life, and he’s gettin’ nothing for his trouble but grief. Got to be somebody who’s desperate about it. And cares big time.”
She looked at the big, heavily muscled black man rising from behind his desk. “That’s good, Charlie. Really good.”
“Yeah, that and a buck twenty buys me a Starbucks.”
A glance at her watch. “I gotta go. I’ll call if I think of anything. In the meantime, drive carefully. These mob scumbags are vicious.”
Chapter 65
“Charlie, it’s me.” A pay phone receiver in hand, she stood at the edge of a small park with brown, burned-out grass and a broken swing set. Her Rabbit, still running, was at the curb a few feet away. “Something you said got me thinking.”
Holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder, he turned into the drive-up lane of a Burger King and rolled down his window. “Something I said?”
“Yeah, remember you were saying it’s got to be someone who cares and who’s desperate? Well, that started me thinking about Lissa Martin’s funeral. You know, the little girl who was killed by the kid at the dope house a couple months ago.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
A tinny voice came from the Burger King order box: “May I take your order please?”
He said, “Two Whoppers with cheese and a large diet coke.”
Susan rolled her eyes. “Charlie, why do you bother ordering a diet Coke with two Whoppers?”
“Because that’s what I want. So are you saying you remembered something about what sounded familiar?”
“Yeah, remember the guy I mentioned I met at that funeral?”
“No.”
“You know, when I told y
ou there were only three white people there, that news guy DeFauw, this strange blond and this young guy I talked to briefly who turned out to be Lissa’s teacher?”
“Yeah, I guess so. What about him?”
“Well, remember, I thought he really seemed to care about what was happening to his kids?”
“Baby, I don’t really know if I remember. Cut to the chase.”
“Well, anyway, the kidnapper on the tape used the same line this guy did at the funeral. He said something about narcotics being ‘a fucking plague on this city.’ That was the line I remembered: ‘...a fucking plague on this city.’”
Charlie shook his head as he moved up to the second window. “That’s it? That one line? That’s pretty flimsy, baby.”
“Well, I don’t know, there’s that and now I’m more and more thinkin’ it’s his voice, even though he was changing it. Anyway, what else do you have to go on? It wouldn’t take much to go over to the Lincoln Middle School and find out who Lissa’s home-room teacher was.”
“I suppose.”
“Hope it helps.”
Chapter 66
With only a few summer school classes in session, the principal’s office at Lincoln was quiet this Thursday afternoon. Sara Whitaker was alone in the outer office typing as Charlie walked in and stopped in front of the counter.
She looked up from the typewriter. “Can I help you?”
Charlie gave her a warm smile. “Oh, I hope so. I’m Charles Watts, and I’ve been asked by a family in the neighborhood to see if I can find a young man they would very much like to meet again.”
“What’s his name?”
“That’s just it. They don’t know his name. All they know is that he taught the eighth grade here this past year. And that he was the home-room teacher for that little girl who was shot doing her paper route a couple months ago.”
The secretary got up from her chair and moved to the counter, obviously more cautious now. “So what are you, a private detective or something?”
“Yeah.” He offered another smile, “A private investigator. See, a while back, this young man did a small kindness for this family. And recently they hit the lottery. Two point four million dollars.”
“Really?” She smiled for the first time.
“Yeah, and now the family would like to repay that kindness with a little something for the young man. But they don’t know who he is.”
Sara smiled again, reassured. “Well, that’s really nice. You know, some of those people who win the lottery seem real selfish and awful.”
“Right, I know what you mean. So I was hoping you could help me with the young man’s name and perhaps his address.”
She reached back to a desk behind her, picked up a printed newsletter and placed it on the counter in front of him. “I can do even better than that. Here’s a picture of him. His name is John Giordano. He was laid off this last term, but I’m sure we still have an address for him.”
Moving to a filing cabinet, she opened a drawer and began to search. “When you see him, please tell him Sara Whitaker says hello.”
“I sure will.” He picked up the newsletter and studied a head-and-shoulders photo of a young fellow with dark features. The heading was: John Giordano: Teacher of the Year. “Any chance I could keep this?”
“Oh, sure. Here it is, 1244 Mt. Morris, apartment 1B.” She wrote the name and address on a slip of paper, moved back to the counter and gave it to him. “That’s not very far from here. Of course, he may have moved since then.”
“Well, thanks very much. You’ve been a big help.”
He started for the door, but Sara spoke again, almost as if she were talking to herself. “The only place I ever heard about him going to or hanging out in was this bar—and this was really strange—this neighborhood, like, topless place. I mean he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would get off on some topless joint.”
“Yeah, well, you never know about guys. You remember the name?”
“Of the bar? Somebody told me once they saw him there. The Paradise or something like that, I think. It’s in the neighborhood, anyway.”
He headed out the door. “Well, thanks again.”
Chapter 67
Gazing back at the sidewalk above him, he knocked on the outside door of the basement apartment. Then he knocked again, louder, this time staring at the Free Press rolled in a rubber band and waiting on the doorstep. Still no response. Moving to a window a few feet away, he leaned close to the glass and peered in at a point where the curtains didn’t quite meet. The place was dark, and it looked like no one was home.
Glancing up at the sidewalk again, he moved back to the door and drew out of his pants pocket a small metal tool. After inserting its two thin prongs into the keyhole of the door lock and maneuvering them for several seconds, he opened the door.
Heading cautiously into the small, dingy apartment, he moved his gaze from side to side, his eyes adjusting to the low light. This one room combined kitchen, living room and bedroom. Walking to the open bathroom door, he glanced in and on the sink noted a toothbrush in a plastic cup. He felt the bristles and found them dry.
He spent several minutes looking through a big old bookcase next to sad-looking armchair. Many of the titles sounded familiar, but he himself wasn’t much of a reader, and he didn’t even know what the hell he was looking for. Rifling through a number of books, what did he think he would find? A scrap of paper with an address that would lead him right to the girl?
He moved back to the kitchenette and there spotted a magazine stuffed in a wastebasket. He pulled it out and found the cover had been ripped off. The bottom of a page said it was the May issue of Metropolitan. Thumbing through, he found several pages, perhaps a whole article, had been cut out. Tossing the magazine back in the wastebasket, he moved for the door.
Outside, after he had relocked it, he thought again about the magazine and decided he should have checked the table of contents to find out what had been cut out. Instead, he had been an impatient fool and moved too fast. On this job, of all jobs, he needed to be smarter, more efficient.
Still, rather than risk entering again, he knew he could check the May issue at the library.
Chapter 68
The mid-afternoon ne’er-do-wells were scattered thinly in the Oldies Paradise. The Pointer Sisters sang Neutron Dance as Doris did her buxom best to keep up with the high-energy number, her big tits bouncing all over the place. Half-way back in the bar Charlie sat at a table having a drink with a dancer named Sally.
“So maybe I know him,” she said. “And maybe he comes in here a lot. So what?”
He tried his quiet, mysterious grin, the one that almost always worked on women. “I told you, I’m looking for him, and he’s going to be real pleased with the information I have.”
She cocked her head one way and then the other. “Are you a cop? I bet you’re a cop. I can smell a cop a mile away.”
“You’ve got a great nose, Sally. I used to be a cop. Now I’m a private investigator.”
“A private dick.” The woman nodded with a self-satisfied smirk. “Well, I hate cops, and private dicks are right up there with ‘em on my shit list.”
“Honey, let’s not let our personal prejudices get in the way here. I’ve been hired by a family for whom John once did a small kindness. Now it so happened that fortune smiled on the family recently, and they hit the Lotto for two point four million dollars.”
“And now they want to repay Johnny G for his small kindness.”
“How’d you guess?”
“The whole thing sounds like a crock to me.” She downed the last of her drink.
“So I see you’ve been to charm school, Sally.”
“Yeah, right here in the bar, pal. Amazing what you can learn in a place like this.”
While they continued to fence, petite Tina walked through the front door in a sleeveless t-shirt and shorts and moved to a spot at the bar close enough to Sally and Charlie to hear much of their conver
sation.
“So that’s what you call him, Johnny G?” Charlie tried his grin again.
“Yeah, he’s kind of a mascot for the girls in here.”
“So tell me this. Did you ever hear him talk about a guy named Steven Monelli?”
She smirked again. “You tellin’ me Monelli was the family he did the kindness for?”
“Well...” said Charlie, and then Tina suddenly moved forward to interrupt.
“Sally, where’s Al? I need to talk to Al.”
Sally seemed surprised. “Tina, what are you doing here? Al’s in the back, but he ain’t gonna talk to you.”
Tina looked terrible—eyes watery, hair stringy, complexion a sickly pale. Her clothes were soiled and wrinkled, and there is a desperate quality to her voice and movements. Wheeling away from Sally, she headed for the back as Al, the bar manager, a huge, muscular man with extremely hairy arms, emerged from an office.
Tina rushed at him. “Al, you gotta give me my job back!”
Al held her at arm’s length. “I told you not to come back here, Tina.”
“But I’m popular here. Ask these guys. They all want to see me dance.” Everyone in the bar had turned to watch this scene. Even Doris on stage had slowed down.
“Nobody wants to see you do nothin’, Tina. Now get outta here.”
“Please, Al, you gotta give me another chance!”
“I don’t gotta do nothin’.” Al simply picked Tina up and tucked her under one big arm. She kicked and screamed to no avail as he carried her out the front door, where he put her down and shoved her away.
“Stay outta here, Tina. Next time I’ll call the cops, and we’ll talk about those tracks on your arms.”
Al closed the door and walked back through the bar, smiling and trading gibes with some of the regulars. Up on stage Doris started a much less frantic performance to Stevie Wonder’s “I Just Called to Say I Love You.” And Sally and Charlie were talking again.
Admission of Guilt (The detroit im dyin Trilogy, Book 2) (The Detroit Im Dying Trilogy) Page 16