by Bill Bernico
I scanned the list and stopped on one name in particular. “Willy Logan,” I said out loud, handing the sheet back to Eric.
“What about him?” Eric asked.
“I’d like to finish out the rest of my life in peace,” I told Eric. “If I start poking into Logan’s business, you’ll be looking down at me on this slab before too long. No thanks. Find yourself another pigeon.” I turned and walked away. Eric tried to say something as I walked but I just held up one hand and kept walking. I’d heard enough to make an informed decision.
By the time I got back to the office my twenty-two year-old son Matt was sitting behind his desk getting familiar with his new surroundings. This was his first day on the job as my partner after his mother, my wife and former partner, Gloria retired. Matt had the distinction of becoming the fourth generation of Coopers to tackle the job of private investigator in the business his great-grandfather and namesake, Matt Cooper started shortly after World War II.
“What did you find out, Dad?” Matt said, looking up at me.
I sighed. “Eric wanted me to look into some dead guy’s past associations,” I told him.
“Great,” Matt said enthusiastically. “My first case. When do we start?” He stood, ready for an assignment.
“We don’t,” I said. “I didn’t take the case.”
Matt’s face dropped. “You didn’t take it? Why not?”
I explained the situation to Matt, ending with a list of those people I could remember who had once tried what Eric wanted me to do, and were now among the dead.
“Oh,” was all Matt could muster. “Now what?”
“I guess we wait for another client to come our way,” I said. “This isn’t like being a car salesman. You can’t cold call people and ask them if they’d like to hire a private eye. You just have to wait until they come to you.”
Later that afternoon I got a call from Eric. He just called to let me know he’d found another private eye who was willing to take the case. “Did you notify his next of kin?” I said sarcastically.
“Don’t be a wise guy,” Eric said. “I think Lester may actually get results.”
“Don’t tell me you hired Lester Bowman over at the Triple-A agency,” I said.
“And what’s wrong with Lester?” Eric asked.
“Nothing, if all you need is someone to tail a blind man,” I said. “Lester wouldn’t know how to be inconspicuous if his life depended on it, and from what you tell me, it just might. And didn’t you tell me that Lester had a bad ticker? This is all he doesn’t need.”
“Elliott,” Eric said, “I’m only calling you as a courtesy to keep you updated. I can respect that you didn’t want the job, but you don’t have to knock Lester until you see what he can do. Goodbye, Elliott.”
“Goodb…” I started to say, but the line was already buzzing. “…bye Eric.”
“I heard your part of the conversation,” Matt said. “What did Eric want?”
“I think he just wanted to get his digs in and let me know that he found someone else to look into Max Brewster’s death.”
“See,” Matt said, “Someone else is getting a job we could have had.”
“Trust me on this one, Matt,” I said. “Even Lester will wish he hadn’t taken the job before he’s finished.”
“I just hope you know what you’re doing, Dad.”
*****
William “Willy” Logan stood looking down at store owner Leo Lazslo, who was lying in a prone position inside the coffin. Lazslo looked up with terror in his eyes. A six-inch length of duct tape covered his mouth while oven mitts covered his hands. They had been duct taped to his wrists to prevent any damage to his hands once the coffin lid closed. Lazslo made the fatal mistake of telling one person too many about his extreme claustrophobia. That valuable information found its way back to Logan, who knew just how to use it to his best advantage.
Lazslo was scheduled to testify for the prosecution in a case involving Logan and one of his minions. It seems that Lazslo had seen Logan and his right-hand man, Sammy Solo kill one of Logan’ lifelong enemies, one Ralph Dugan. When Logan got wind that he had been seen, he knew he had to eliminate the one man who could send him to prison. But he was also smart enough to know that he’d be the prosecution’s prime suspect if Lazslo turned up dead by violent means. He’d have to be smarter than the authorities is he expected to beat this rap, and he knew just how to do it, too.
Before he closed the lid, Logan leaned down and spoke directly into Lazslo’s ear. “Imagine this, Leo,” Logan said. “After I close this lid, my boys are going to take this small, dark wooden box out back and lower it into that hole we dug. Oh, I imagine you might have enough air to last you thirty or forty minutes, but that’s not the bad news. No, for you, the bad news is that you can’t get out. You’ll just have to lay there in the dark with those oven mitts on your hands. You won’t be able to scratch your way out and no one will hear you scream.”
At that moment, Logan yanked the duct tape off Lazslo’s mouth and slowly closed the lid of the coffin. Lazslo’s screams were abruptly cut off when the lid came down. Logan slid the padlock into the hasp that had been attached to the lid and snapped it shut. He knew Lazslo could hear that much from inside. As Logan’ two men carried the makeshift coffin down the three steps to the back yard, it shook violently. Logan smiled at the thought of Lazslo fighting with all his might to escape from the enclosure. The shaking and kicking went on for a full minute and then stopped just as quickly as it had begun.
Logan gestured to his men to set the coffin on the ground while he fished the padlock key from his pants pocket. “Right there will be fine,” he said, slipping the key into the lock and twisting. The lock snapped open and Logan removed it, lifting the lid in the process. Leo Lazslo was lying there as still as the occupant of this particular box should. Logan pressed two fingers to Lazslo’s neck and waited. Nothing.
Logan turned to his enforcer, a guy named Sammy Solo. That wasn’t the name his mother gave him when he was an innocent little baby. Samuel Gollen had earned that name by taking care of Willy Logan’s hits by himself. “Get the mitts off him and straighten up his clothing,” Logan said to Sammy. “Brush his hair and make him look neat, like he would if he was just sitting reading the paper.”
Sammy and another of Logan’ men lifted Leo out of the coffin and prepared him as they were told. They loaded Leo into the back of their car and drove to a less populated part of MacArthur Park, propping him up on one of the park benches and laying a newspaper across his lap. Sammy tilted the hat on Leo’s head down to cover his eyes and then bent the head down, as if Leo was napping. It could take several hours before anyone suspected anything other than an old man napping on a park bench.
*****
I was returning to the office a few days later when Matt took a call from Lieutenant Anderson. He was just hanging up as I walked in. “Who was that?” I said, gesturing to the phone on Matt’s desk.
“That was Eric,” Matt said.
“Really. What did he want?”
“He just called to tell me to tell you that it looked like some guy named Willy Logan wouldn’t be going to trial after all,” Matt said. “What do you suppose he meant by that?”
“Willy the Shiv’s going to walk?” I said, surprised by the news. “I thought that one was a slam dunk. What happened?”
“Beats me,” Matt said. “Who’s this Willy the Shiv character, anyway?”
“That’s the nickname they hung on William Logan,” I explained.
“Why?”
“Two guesses and the first answer is not ‘gun’,” I said.
“He uses a switchblade,” Matt deduced.
“Bingo.”
“Eric said you could call him back to get the rest of the story,” Matt said, walking over to my desk and lifting one leg onto the edge.
I hung up my coat and settled in behind my desk, picking up my phone and pressing the speed dial button for Eric’s office. He picked up
on the first ring.
“Anderson,” he said.
“Eric, it’s Elliott,” I said. “Matt tells me that it looks like Logan is going to walk. What happened?”
“You remember Leo Lazslo?” Eric said.
“Lazslo, Lazslo,” I said, trying to scrape the back of my memory. “Doesn’t ring any bells. Who is he?”
“You mean who was he,” Eric explained. “Lazslo was set to testify against Willy the Shiv and one of his bodyguards. You remember Sammy Solo? Well, he and Willy thought no one saw them when they shot Ralph Dugan. They were wrong. Leo Lazslo caught their act and was set to testify next week for the prosecution.”
“They killed him?” I said.
“No,” Eric explained. “I mean, probably, but they were too clever to just kill him outright. They’d be the first ones we’d suspect. On the other hand, I refuse to believe in a coincidence like this one.”
“How’s that?”
“They found Lazslo on a bench in MacArthur Park late last night—dead.”
“And you’re not going to pick up Logan and this Solo character?” I said.
“Can’t,” Eric explained. “The medical examiner opened Lazslo up this morning and discovered that he’d died of a massive heart attack. Wasn’t that handy?”
“And you don’t believe Andy’s report?” I said.
“I have to,” Eric said. “Andy Reynolds has been the medical examiner since before I took over for Dean Hollister. He knows what he’s doing. I just can’t help but think that there’s more to this than meets the eye.”
“And you called me because…” I said.
“Listen,” Elliott,” Eric said. “Officially, I can’t touch Logan. The D.A. told me that his hands are tied and he’s not going to prosecute without any solid evidence and we just don’t have any.”
“I smell a ‘but’ coming up,” I said.
“I can’t pursue this, but you could.”
“Eric,” I said, “I told you before I didn’t want anything to do with this case. Logan and his boys play for keeps and I want to live long enough to dance at Matt’s wedding.”
“Matt’s getting married?” Eric said. “When did this happen?”
“It’s just a figure of speech, Eric,” I said. “Matt has no immediate plans but when he does, I want to be there. Besides, I thought you said Lester Bowman was on the case.”
“That’s the other thing,” Eric explained. “Lester’s missing. No one’s seen him for two days now and I’m starting to wonder if Logan got to him, too.”
I said nothing and just waited.
“Elliott? You still there?”
“I’m here, Eric.”
“I thought you private eyes stuck together and looked for each other,” Eric said. “Or am I thinking of some other fraternal order?”
“What do you want me to do about it?” I said. “I’ve got my own business to run and my own cases to follow.”
“You on a case at the moment?” Eric said.
“Well, not right at the moment,” I explained, “But someone could walk in here at any time and I’d have to take their case.”
“Elliott,” Eric said, a little more desperation in his voice. “Until your next case strolls in, couldn’t you just do some quick checking and see if you can find out what happened to Lester? I’m sure he’d do as much for you.”
I hesitated again, not sure what to do.
“Elliott?”
“Oh, all right,” I said, “But just until I get a case of my own, then it’ll be up to you to do the leg work on Lester. Agreed?”
“Thanks, Elliott. You’re a pal.”
“Yeah, right,” I said and hung up.
Matt waited eagerly until I set the phone back in its cradle and then started in with the questions. “Are we going to look for Lester Bowman, Dad?”
“We?” I said. “Who’s going to stick around here and answer the phone and handle the walk-ins?”
Matt pointed to a spot on his chest and his face became one big question mark.
“That’s right,” I said. “Besides, I don’t plan to be on this for long. Just a few quick inquires and I’ll be back before lunch. So do me a favor and stick around here, okay?”
“Oh, all right,” Matt said reluctantly. “Can I at least make a few calls from here to try to help you locate Lester?”
“I suppose,” I said. “Just don’t leave the office while I’m gone.”
“Got it,” Matt said, returning to his own desk.
*****
Willy Logan led the bound and blindfolded man into the abandoned warehouse, followed closely by Sammy Solo. When the three men got to the middle of the dark building, Sammy pulled the blindfold off Lester Bowman’s eyes. Lester blinked and squinted, trying to adjust to his barren surroundings. It took him just three seconds to realize the predicament he was in. He looked at Logan.
“Mr. Logan,” he pleaded. “Don’t do this, please. You don’t have to do this. I’m not going to say anything, I swear.”
“I know you’re not,” Logan said. “Never again, to anyone. Heh, heh, heh.” He gestured to Sammy, who pulled a .44 magnum from under his jacket and held it in front of Lester’s face for a second before walking the half circle to a spot directly behind his prisoner.
Sammy held the gun close to Lester’s ear and cocked the hammer, its familiar clicking sound echoing in the empty building. “Say your prayers, shamus,” Sammy said with a sneer.
“No,” Lester yelled as Sammy pointed the gun at the ceiling and fired. Lester lost control of his bodily functions and wet himself, but was genuinely surprised to find that he was still alive. He dropped to the floor like a rag doll, panting and gasping for breath. Logan untied the silk scarf from Lester’s hands. He had used the soft material so as not to leave any marks on Lester’s wrists. Lester’s right hand came around from behind and clamped over his heart. His face was turning ashen and he looked up at Logan and held his hand out.
“My pills,” Lester pleaded. “Please, I need my pills.”
“You mean these?” Logan said, holding out the small amber plastic bottle. He unscrewed the cap and dumped the pills on the floor, out of Armstrong’s reach and then turned to Sammy. “Finish him.”
Logan stepped back and Sammy took his place in front of Lester. He leveled his gun down at Lester’s head and pulled the hammer back again. The cylinder rotated into place and Sammy smiled a most unfriendly smile down at the man who lay clutching his chest. Sammy pulled the gun two feet to the right and fired. The .44 slug tore a hole in the cement floor.
Lester’s heart could stand no more strain and pumped one last trickle of blood through his heart before it stopped altogether. His breath came out all at once and he was silent. Logan held one hand up to keep Sammy from checking on Lester Bowman just yet.
“Give it a minute,” Logan said. After two minutes, Logan gestured to Lester and then turned to Sammy. “That should be long enough. Check him for a pulse.”
Sammy knelt down next to Lester and pressed two fingers into his neck. He waited a few seconds and then laid his ear on Lester’s chest and listened for a few more seconds. He looked up at Logan and smiled. “He’s had it.”
“Bring the car around,” Logan said.
*****
Matt was still on the phone trying to locate Lester Bowman when I walked in the following morning.
“Thanks anyway,” Matt said and hung up his phone. He looked up at me. “Looks like no one’s seen Lester, or if they have, they’re not saying. I don’t know where to look next.”
“But I do,” I told Matt.
Matt looked surprised. “What? How’d you find him already? Where’d he turn up?”
“Lieutenant Anderson’s men found Lester on Western Avenue early this morning,” I explained. “He was sitting at the bus stop. The bus driver pulled up to the stop and opened the door but Lester just kept sitting there so the driver closed the door again and pulled away. The next bus driver suspected something was wron
g and took the time to check on the man sitting on the bench.”
“Dead?”
“Yeah,” I said, surprised at Matt’s intuition. “How’d you know?”
“It was a hunch,” Matt said. “Let me guess—heart attack, right?”
I nodded. “I’m not an insurance man with an actuarial table, but I’ll give you odds that this many heart attacks is not normal within this area and time frame. There’s more to this than anyone knows about.”
“And we’re going to look into it?” Matt said eagerly.
“Absolutely not,” I told my son. “So far three people are dead and that means someone out there is playing for keeps. No, we’re staying out of this and letting the police handle things. I can’t have either of us ending up dead for something that doesn’t concern us.”
Matt looked disappointed but nodded in agreement. “I suppose you’re right.” Matt turned his attentions back to his computer and pecked away at the keyboard. After a couple minutes of web surfing, Matt stopped on one page in particular. I’d returned to the chair behind my desk when Matt looked up at me. “Dad, I think you might like to take a look at this.”
“What is it?” I said, rising from my chair. I stood behind Matt and looked over his shoulder at the computer screen.
Matt pointed to a section of the screen that showed several paragraphs relating to heart attacks. “Right here,” he said, pointing to the third paragraph. “It says one of the ways heart attacks can occur is from the victim literally being scared to death.”
“Let me see that,” I said. Matt stood and let me have his chair. I read the rest of the article. When I finished the last paragraph I sighed and turned to Matt. “I think you may be on to something here, Matt.
“Very interesting,” I said. “It would all tie together with each of the three victims. They were all in the target age range and Lester had a bad heart to begin with. I don’t know about the other two, but I’m betting that once Eric looks into their lives a little closer, he’ll probably find something about each of them that will point to something they were deathly afraid of.”