Scarlet Fever

by David Stever

I got out of my car. “I made the news again, Tony.”

  “You must have a lot of enemies.”

  “Son of a bitch, Tony. What are you doing?” His face turned red and he moved around his car, headed my way. He couldn’t catch me but if he did, I doubt I’d stand a chance.

  “You accusing me?”

  “Somebody sent me a message today.”

  “You and me have always been cool. This is all because you got my name from something that was thirty years ago? Doesn’t sit well.”

  “I understand that, but you’re the only one who knows what happened way back when.”

  “I told you what happened. Nothing.”

  “Then why does Bocci kill himself? Why did somebody try to torch my bar?”

  “Coincidence.”

  “I’m not buying it.”

  “Ask your client. She’s the one who wants to dig up the past. Do you really think I set your bar on fire?” He was in my face now, breathing cigar breath at me.

  “Take a step back.” Something told me I needed to keep Tony on my side. Deep down, I knew he didn’t take a shot at me last night. He didn’t move, though. “Tony?”

  He stepped back. “I don’t need this.”

  “I don’t either. But I got a dead body on my hands, plus one torched bar. Tell me more about Dixon and Rosso.”

  “I have an appointment. Move your car.”

  “What about Rosso?”

  “Donny got whacked, he cut and run. That’s it. Now move.” He opened his car door.

  “Never heard from him?”

  “Nope.”

  “And you never put him with the money.”

  “He wasn’t smart enough to pull that off. Now if you don’t move your car, I’ll make sure you end up like Jackie Aletto.” He got into his car, closed the door and started the engine.

  “Tony, what did you just say?” I went up to his car door. “Tony?” He lowered his window.

  “What?”

  “Jackie Aletto—what did you mean?”

  “You don’t know?” I shrugged. A smile crept across his face. “She had an accident. Got both legs broke. Surprised your client didn’t tell you.”

  “An accident?” He put up his window and revved the Mustang’s engine. He pulled his car forward a few feet, giving him room enough to back up, cut the wheel, and pull forward to squeeze between my car and the fence. He stopped as he got to the road, then floored it and spun out of the lot, throwing dust and stones at me and my car.

  Chapter

  14

  Claire arrived at seven and turned every head in the bar. She wore a dark-blue knit number that hugged every curve of her body and stopped a few inches above her knee. Her auburn hair fell around her in a fire-burst of color against the dark of the dress. Her heels boosted her to five-ten, a striking presence in any room. I stood behind the bar, and she came over.

  “Hi, Johnny.”

  “Want a drink? We can go to the back booth.”

  “Sure. Red wine?”

  “Meet you in back.” I poured her a cabernet and a bourbon for me. Mike was serving the tables tonight, so I motioned to him as I headed to the back. I slid into the booth opposite her.

  “I’m sorry again about what happened here. Do you think that has anything to do with my case?”

  “I’m hoping you’ll tell me.”

  “How so?”

  “Do you think the money exists?”

  “My mother always said—”

  “Not your mother. You.”

  She sipped her wine and took a deep breath. “I believe my mother. It sounds far-fetched…the silly fantasies of an old woman. She talked about this money ever since I can remember. Something happened way back when. She believed it, and so do I.”

  “Tell me about Donny Dixon.”

  “My father?” She swirled the wine around the glass. “I don’t know much. Only what Mother told me. I was four when they killed him.”

  “Aletto?”

  “I guess.”

  “Aletto thought Donny skimmed money?”

  “That was the rumor, but Mother always said my father didn’t do it.”

  “Somebody took it. Or else we wouldn’t be here.”

  “You’re right, but she maintained my father’s innocence until the end.”

  “Jimmy Rosso? Did your mother ever talk about him?”

  “A little. Only that he was one of the guys.”

  “And he disappeared?”

  “According to my mother, after they pulled my father’s body from the harbor, he left town, scared for his own life.”

  I took a drink of the bourbon. “Are you hungry? Want a menu?”

  “No thanks, I’m fine.”

  “I need to check the bar. I’ll be right back.” I wanted her to sit and think for a while. I wanted it to be awkward for her. I went behind the bar and talked to Mike for a minute. About nothing. He asked whether she added anything new and I told him she rehashed what we already had.

  “She’s driving the Audi. Parked up the street,” he said. “Make her squirm.”

  “Exactly.”

  I went back to the booth. “Claire, Bocci is dead. Someone threw a fire-bomb at our bar. You need to give me more. What else would your mother say about their life?”

  “They got into arguments about my father going straight. Even though she grew up in the life, she always feared the worst. And the worst happened.”

  “Did your mother think her own father had her husband killed?”

  She shrugged. “Not sure what to say about that.”

  “He suspected Donny?”

  “Sure.” She uncrossed and crossed her legs. Shifted in the booth. “My father told my mother that money disappeared but he didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Then who?”

  “My mother always said Tony.”

  “Tony denies it, I believe him. That leaves Rosso.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who split when all this went down?”

  “Also yes.”

  “Claire—I need to be sure what we’re looking for is real.”

  “I believe my mother. I believe it’s somewhere. You sure about Tony?”

  “If he knew there was money, he would’ve searched long ago. Might’ve even found it.”

  “I really thought Mr. Bocci would have the answer.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about your mother’s legs?”

  She had the wine glass to her lips. “You know?” I nodded. She set the glass down. “Didn’t think it mattered at this point.”

  I leaned forward in the booth. “Everything matters. Bocci’s dead and my building was torched since you walked in these doors. If you want me to do this, you can’t hold anything back anymore.”

  She shifted in her seat. I could feel her temperature go up from my side of the booth. She took a deep breath.

  “They thought my father gave the money to my mother.”

  “Who is they?”

  “The guys, the mob. Tony. Any of those lowlifes.” She paused, irritated. Ran her hand back through her hair. I stayed quiet. “After my father was murdered, they came after her. My mother—who had nothing to do with this. But they were convinced she did, and when she didn’t have any answers…” Her face turned as red as her hair. “They broke her legs.” Tears filled her eyes. “They pulled her out of her bed, broke one leg with a baseball bat, pushed her down the stairs, broke the other leg. Then, while she lay on the floor, they smashed her knees and hips with the bat. Spent the rest of her life in a wheel-chair.” She took tissue from her purse and dried her eyes. “She was a dancer before she married my father.”

  “Were you there?”

  “Hidden away in my bedroom. I can still hear her screams.”

  I gave
her a second and she sipped the wine. “Did she blame her father for Donny’s death?”

  “If she did, she never said. She would never side against her father. She was loyal to the family.”

  “Your grandfather didn’t go after the guys who put his own daughter in a wheelchair?”

  “He started to, that’s when Rosso left town. Then, a short time after that, my grandfather was murdered. Nobody left to avenge what happened to my mother.”

  “She went through a terrible ordeal.”

  “These men are scum. That’s why you—we—have to be careful.” She reached across the table and put her hand on mine. “Okay?” She gave my hand a squeeze, then pulled away.

  “I’m always careful. But I don’t like surprises. That’s why I need as much information from you as possible. At first, I was skeptical about any money at all, but after Bocci and the fire bomb, it must be more than family legend.”

  “I know it is. Trust me.”

  “What did your mother do for income?”

  “Inheritance kept us comfortable. Plus she received some disability. I went to public school and got scholarships and grants for college.”

  “Did you get a degree?”

  “Criminal justice. Pre-law.” She smiled.

  “Any man in your life?”

  “No. Spent the years since college taking care of my mom.”

  “Noble. Was she bitter? About what they did to her?”

  “I’m sure. She put up a brave face for me, but as she got older, it was all she talked about. It became harder to take care of her but I’m glad I did. Yes, I sacrificed, but she’s my mother. If I could prove her right about the money being real, I’ll be justified.”

  I nodded but didn’t believe a word. Cop instincts kicked in. Something didn’t seem right. “Why didn’t you give me this at our first meeting?”

  “I worried you wouldn’t take the case. The whole thing sounds crazy, so I tried to be coy. Drop a big retainer, get you hooked. Never did I think what happened with Mr. Bocci would happen.”

  “Yeah, losing Bocci hurt.”

  “What’s next?”

  “I do some research. Talk to some guys who were around way back when. See who remembers what.”

  “I just wait?”

  “Yep—and keep your phone on.”

  “Okay.” She pulled her purse to her lap. “Johnny—you have kind eyes.”

  I didn’t expect that. I blushed, much to my regret. “Oh?”

  “Yes, kind eyes. Warm. You’re the man in my life—at least for now.” She smiled and got out of the booth. I followed and she gave me a hug and held it for a moment longer than I expected. I saw Mike watching with raised eyebrows. “Thank you again.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” I said. She left and I went behind the bar.

  “Got yourself a girlfriend, huh?” Mike said, with a nudge to my arm.

  “I’m not sure what I have,” I said. “But I’m not getting the whole truth and nothing but the truth, either. She’s sold on the money, though.”

  “And…?”

  “I need to go back in time. Thirty years back in time.”

  Chapter

  15

  I made coffee, opened the balcony door to let in the morning air, and fired up my laptop to check email. After deleting spam, there was only one email of any importance. It was from my ex-wife, Kelly. We’d been divorced for ten years but still co-own a beach cottage on Crescent Beach. We bought the property twelve years ago in a subconscious effort to save our relationship. We only used it one summer before placing it with a management company as a vacation rental. We never talked about it, but having the cottage kept us connected—avoiding the inevitable finality of the relationship—until now.

  Kelly was marrying a suburban endodontist, and it did not sit well with him that she still owned property with me. She wanted to either sell the cottage or wanted me to buy out her half. Now that Claire dropped some dough on me, my first thought was to figure a way to buy it. I responded, asking for a day or two to think about it.

  I opened the case file on my kitchen table and worked through my notes. I compiled a list of the banks in town, plus stockbrokerage firms, investment firms, and any other financial institution capable of holding onto two million dollars. I wrote out a timeline starting with Dixon’s death up through Aletto’s death. I studied the names over and over, imagining different scenarios, different relationships. I kept moving the pieces around and around in my head. I worked for two hours and put on another pot of coffee when Mike called, asking me to come down to the bar. He said it was urgent.

  Mike was behind the bar. “What?” I said. He nodded to the back booth. For the second time in less than a week, an unidentified female appeared in my office-booth. “Who is it?”

  “Hell if I know.” This time it was blonde hair cascading down and as I approached the booth, a feeling of familiarity set in.

  “Mr. Delarosa!” Katie Pitts jumped up and threw her arms around me.

  “Hey, wow, this is a surprise.” She unwrapped herself from me and slid into the booth as I sat on my side. If I ran into her on the street I don’t think I would recognize her, though. Instead of the black streaks on her face and the dirty, matted hair, today she was the all-American girl from the Heights—not that I could complain. She wore a short black skirt and a green blouse unbuttoned to reveal just enough cleavage to catch the eye. Her long hair fell around her, curled in flowing waves and she had it pulled back from her face by two small braids that tied in the back, revealing sparkling ice-blue eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  Her purse was on the bench beside her and she folded her hands in front of her on the table. “Well, I came to thank you.”

  “You didn’t have to. Your father tell you where to find me?”

  “Mr. Delarosa, I need to say thank you again. I can’t stop thinking about how you saved me. And, of course he did.”

  “It’s just, I like to keep things quiet…”

  “Oh, I know. He told me. You’re a very private investigator.”

  “Something like that.”

  She smiled, revealing a perfect line of straight, Hollywood-white teeth. I’m sure they were the work of the best orthodontist in town.

  Mike appeared beside the booth and had that twinkle in his eye that I knew so well. He was loving this. “Excuse me, can I get you a drink?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said.

  “Mike,” I said. “This is Katie Pitts from the job we had a few nights ago.”

  “Oh, nice to meet you.” Mike shook her hand. “Glad to see you’re doing okay. I hope those bastards get what they deserve, excuse my language.”

  “No, they are bastards,” she said. “And I got a few shots in, thanks to Mr. Delarosa.” She slammed her hand on the table. “The little pricks. Excuse my language.”

  “Excused,” Mike said. “You have every right to feel that way. You know what we used to do? When we were on the job. To send the little gang-bangers a message?”

  “No, what?” Her eyes grew big with rapt attention. He sat down beside her and leaned in close, probably peeking down her shirt, knowing Mike.

  “They all wear those chains they attach their wallet to their belt loop. Know what I mean?” She nodded. “We would rip off the chain, yank down their jeans, bend them over a table, then wrap the chain—”.

  “Mike!” Their heads snapped towards me. “Get her a drink.”

  “Yeah, okay. Maybe later.” He stood. “What’ll you have?”

  “Vodka tonic. With a twist of lemon.”

  “Vodka tonic it is. Mister Delarosa, how about you?”

  “My usual is fine, Mike, thank you,” I said dryly.

  Katie looked at me, enthralled. “Wait a minute. You guys worked together?”

  “Partners on PCPD for fourteen years. Now
we co-own this.”

  “Oh, freakin’ cool. This is like crazy Raymond Chandler stuff.”

  “You read Chandler?”

  “English major. Spent one year into old detective fiction. The Big Sleep, Farewell My Lovely. Read Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer books, all that.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “I love the genre.” In her best deep radio announcer voice, she said, “When the men were tough—and the women just got in the way.” I laughed, but I kept going back to when I took her out of the warehouse. I still had the vision of her in her underwear stuck in my head. “I do have a question, though.” She straightened, folded her hands in front of her again.

  “I came here to thank you for what you did, but I’ve been thinking.” She paused, and then leveled her gaze at me. “I want to work with you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I want to do this. The private investigator thing.”

  “Oh…oh, no. That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not? I think I would do a great job.”

  “I work alone.”

  “Then you need help. Think about it. Think how I can help you,” she said.

  “I prefer to work alone.”

  “Mr. Delarosa, please. Hear me out. I understand I can’t walk in and think you’ll give me a job. I want to prove myself. I’ll do anything. And money is not important—I mean, I need money but I’m not desperate. Daddy, and all…”

  “Katie…”

  “Don’t say no, not yet.”

  Mike came back with our drinks. “Here ya go. Vodka tonic and a bourbon, no ice.”

  “She wants a job.” I took a healthy sip of the bourbon.

  “Oh, yeah?” He turned his attention to Katie and I knew what his warped mind was thinking. “I could use an extra hand on Friday and Saturday nights. Ever tend bar?” We did not need an extra hand.

  “A job as a PI,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  Katie jumped in. “Yes, as a PI. I asked Mr. Delarosa if he would consider bringing me on. I realize you might not be hiring, but I’m willing to learn, work hard, and take low pay to start.”

  Mike looked at me. What the hell was happening?