Ten minutes later I was sitting on the couch, ice pack on my head, when Detective Howard Malone strode in my door. He wore a brown suit, wrinkled from sitting at his desk too long, with a solid yellow tie, loosened at the neck. His fedora was dirty and he needed to shave. Some of the men didn’t think dressing up for the night shift earned them any bonus points.
I knew Malone from back in my days with the department. Ours was a relationship built on helloes in the hallways and the coffee room. We never worked a case together but he wished me well. And he never held what happened against me.
He took off his hat and held it by the brim. “So you got people shooting at you, Wade. Guess you turned out to be a decent PI after all. If they ain’t shooting at you, you ain’t doing your job. What was it? Jealous husband?”
“Ironically, I don’t rightly know.” I gave him a rueful smile.
“Case you’re working?”
“Probably.”
“Does it have a husband?”
“Yes, but not a jealous one. Has lots of chickens, however.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Chickens?”
“Yep.”
He glanced over at the contents on my kitchen table. He tried to read the stacks of paper and notes I had started making since my last case, the one about the Nazis here in Houston. “What’s this?”
“Nothing about this shooting.” I wished I had had more time to put those things away. I didn’t like having to explain my sudden preoccupation on finding Nazi sympathizers here in Houston.
You see, a few weeks ago, after the Lillian Saxton case, a fellow by the name of Dietrich proved to be the culprit. What struck me were his words as he was hauled away in cuffs. “Mr. Wade, you may have arrested me, but I assure you: there are many, many more who share my passions. You can't stop us because you don't even know who we are.”
Ever since then, I’d started doing some digging, maybe to find out if what the Nazi said was true. I hadn’t made much progress, but what I had made was lying there on my kitchen table.
“Damn Nazis. I look forward to the day we get in this goddamned war so we can kick Hitler’s ass.”
“You’re sure we’re getting in?”
He looked at me like I was from Mars. “Of course we are. It’s only a matter of time. The yellow isolationists are doing their damnedest to keep us out of it because they know everything will be changing after that. Ain’t no way we can stay out of it, one way or another.”
“FDR said America’s neutral.” I reminded him of the official policy.
“You think Mr. Roosevelt’s gonna sit idly by and watch Hitler chew up Europe? Highly unlikely.” He shook his head to clear it. “But that’s a discussion for a bar, not here in your house.” He took out a pad and pencil. “Why don’t you tell me the whole story?”
I laid out the gist of the attack, giving him a play-by-play description complete with my walking around the house, showing him angles and positions.
“You know, a man in your line of work ought to keep his gun on him all the time. You never know when a jealous husband might come calling.”
After that night, I gave it serious consideration.
I gave Malone all the pertinent details. The police photographers got all the pertinent images. Eve a couple of newspapermen arrived and got their thread. Would be interesting to see how it plays in the papers the next day. After about an hour, I had my house to myself. The quiet was both ominous and comforting. The ringing in my ears had faded away, but I kept hearing the sound of my own gunfire and the bellowing of the guy I hit him. I knew it was him or me, but I still didn’t like shooting a man.
There was a knock on my door. I flinched, then cursed myself for flinching. But seriously, why wouldn’t I?
Holding the gun in my grip, I opened the door. Gordon Gardner stood on my porch.
He gave me a funny look, then looked at me from head to foot.
“What are you doing?” I said.
“Looking for the holes. Glad I don’t see any new ones.”
I invited him in and closed the door behind me. He took one look at the gun in my hand. “Okay, Wade, you can put that away.”
I gripped it tighter. “I’m fine. I’m just a little jumpy.”
“Understandable.” Gardner took off his hat and tossed it on a chair. “I know a remedy for that.” He opened his suit and pulled out a flask of whiskey. He shook it and the brown liquid sloshed around. “Got some glasses?”
“Yeah.” I trundled off to the kitchen, coming back with a pair of highball glasses and a small bowl of ice. He poured a couple of fingers into each glass, giving me a bit more than him. We lofted the glasses.
“To life,” Gardner said.
“To life.” I drained half the liquid in one gulp. The whiskey burned my gullet but felt reassuringly great. I collapsed onto the couch that, an hour ago, was nearly my death bed.
Gardner moved his hat and took the chair opposite me. “So, what’s the real story?”
I told him everything. He listened carefully. Afterward, he said, “Who the hell would have thought chickens would be worth killing for?”
“It’s not the chickens.” I ran my fingers over the ice cubes. “It’s this.” I held up one of the ice cubes. Inside, clearly visible in the cube of frozen water, was the diamond.
“Holy Toledo! Is that real?”
“Absolutely, and definitely worth getting killed for. Or attacked.” I pointed to my head.
Gardner gulped down the rest of his whiskey. “So how does that fit in?”
I told him, giving him a chance to refill our glasses.
He whistled under his breath. “I’m not used to agreeing with Oliver Aldridge because, you know, he’s a lying, cheating son of a bitch, but I have to agree with you here. It’s his diamond, fair and square. Kruger’s just going to have to get over it.”
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning was rough. My feet hurt, my hands hurt, and my head hurt. I had forgotten to brush my teeth so my mouth felt like cotton and smelled like anything but cotton. The sunlight streaming in through my blinds woke me. I blinked away the night and sat up. I showered with very hot water and loosened my muscles enough to feel human. The cold water rinse helped me wake up. I toweled off and put on fresh clothes. With a new outlook on life, I considered making my own breakfast, but opted for a restaurant. I grabbed my keys and the gem and walked out to Max’s Restaurant.
I ordered eggs, bacon, biscuits, and black coffee. As I read the paper and enjoyed the meal. The more I thought about it, the more excited I became. With the diamond in hand, I had all I needed to get Teague to call off the slaughter and save my client’s chickens. I chuckled to myself. When you got right down to it, I was working for chickens. Wonder how I should represent that to future clients. Didn’t matter. All they would care about were results. And I was getting results.
I paid my tab and drove over to the health inspector’s office. I walked in and noticed Danielle and Clara both at their desks. I sauntered up to Clara and nodded to Danielle. “Teague in yet?”
“He is. You want me to tell him you’re here?”
“Nah. I like the element of surprise.”
Danielle gave me an unreadable look. “You look like you’re holding all the cards.”
“I am.” I grinned and tapped my pocket. “And I even have an ace up my sleeve. The ace that should win my client the lives of his chickens.”
The two of them exchanged glances, but I left them wondering. I rounded the desk and made my way back to the health inspector’s office. I heard his voice from behind his closed door and stopped to listen before I knocked. Most of the words were muffled. I was far from hearing the entire conversation, but a few words trickled into my ear, a key one being “Kruger.”
Wanting to see his face, I let myself in.
Teague turned to me with an angry look. He went ashen when he saw me. He stammered into the phone and then hung up.
“What are you doing in here? You�
��re not allowed, and you’re certainly not allowed after what you did yesterday.”
“Relax, Teague.” I pulled out and lighted a cigarette. “I’m just here to talk.”
“You were here to talk yesterday and you wanted me to do something I simply cannot do.”
I turned one of his chairs around and leaned on the back of it. “What if I told you the reason you were forced to order the slaughter of those chickens was now gone?”
“I’d say I don’t know what you’re talking about. We had a legitimate health concern raised in the proper procedure.”
I reached into my pocket and plucked out the diamond. I held it up with my index finger and thumb for him to see. The stone caught the light from the overhead bulb and the sun from the window and dazzled.
“This, Mr. Teague, is why you were told to slaughter the chickens. Someone you know lost the diamond in Mr. Smith’s chicken pen and wanted to kill each and every one of them to find it. I found it last night. In a pile of chicken shit. Not a fun job, but, then again, it’ll save the entire flock.”
Teague stared at the diamond, mouth slightly agape.
I snapped my fingers.
He blinked and shook his head. “I’ve never seen a diamond before,” he whispered.
I indicated the ring on his finger. “What, you not spring for one for the wife?”
He smiled wanly. “It’s a fake. We can’t afford one on a government salary.”
Something else clicked into place. “How much were you getting to do this job?”
“Already got two hundred. Was getting three more after the job was done. Seems a pale thing when you consider the price of the diamond.”
“Indeed.” I pocketed the gem. “Now, about that slaughter order, you cancel it right now and I’ll go back to my client and report success.”
Teague seemed to shake himself back to reality. “I can’t. I mean, it’s part of the legal system now.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Explain.”
“Well, you see, once a complaint is raised, it has to jump through all the hoops. You can’t just stop it. Just about anyone can initiate a challenge, but only top governmental people can stop an inspection.”
“What do you mean by ‘top’?”
He swallowed. “Well, higher up in the pay grade that I am.”
“So you’re saying you can’t just pick up the phone and make a call and cancel the inspection and the slaughter?” My heart was sinking into my stomach.
“No, I can’t.”
I sighed. What was plan B again? “Tell me one thing at least: what was the name of the man who came to see you the other night?”
“Marlowe.”
“Was he the thief or just the messenger?”
“I think he was the thief.”
“How’d he blackmail you into ordering the slaughter? What’s he got on you?”
Teague sank into his chair and put his head in his hands. “I can’t say anything. It’s part of the pact one takes when one joins.”
I leaned forward, knocking ash into his ashtray. “Join what?”
“I can’t say. I won’t say. I’m already in enough trouble. Suffice it to say, I’m a member of a group. Or, rather, an informal member. It’s a group that looks out for their own, no matter what.”
I put two and two together. “And this Marlowe guy is part of the group?”
He nodded.
I frowned. “What kind of group is it?”
He looked up at me, his hands still covering his mouth. “I can’t say. It’s not allowed. If you’re in, you know. If you’re out, you don’t.”
“So, you’re telling me Marlowe got you to order the slaughter because you’re both part of some secret group?”
“I can’t say one way or another.”
I sat there, cigarette burning down, thinking about things, what this case had brought to me. I thought about all the people involved, what they had said, what they had done. I ran through the time line in my head until something jarred loose.
“The night Marlowe came here, after hours,” I said, stubbing out the cigarette, “Clara worked late. She said Marlowe looked at her funny.” I gave Teague as intense a stare as I could muster. “Is Danielle a member of this group?”
His silence told me the answer.
I dashed back into the lobby. A few folks were waiting in line. Clara was helping them, but Danielle was gone.
“Where is she?” I said.
Clara stopped talking with an old woman at her desk. “She said she had to go to the ladies’ room.”
I sat at Danielle’s desk to wait. I gazed at her accouterments: desk pad, typewriter, pencil cup, desk calendar. I looked at all the notes on the calendar, with tasks to do and checkmarks beside most entries. There was one for today: “1:10 p.m. - Meeting.” I glanced at my watch. A quarter to ten.
“How often do y’all have meetings?”
“Whenever we need one.”
“You having one today?”
“No.”
I stared at the entry, mulling the time over in my mind. I checked my watch. “How long she been in there?”
Clara frowned. “She should have been back by now.”
I got up and strode toward the rear of the office building where the restrooms for the employees were situated. I put my ear to the ladies’ room door and heard nothing. I knocked softly. No response. Still a little apprehensive, I opened the door. “Hello?”
More silence.
I bent down and looked under the two stalls and saw no legs. Turning, I trotted back to the front lobby. “Where does she live?”
Clara turned to me. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“She’s gone and I’ve got to find her. Where does she live?”
“In an apartment over on Vine. Number three ten.”
I picked up the phone, then put it down again. I fumbled in my pockets for my notebook. Rapidly, I flipped pages until I found the one I needed. Smiling a little, I picked up the phone again and placed a call.
“Hello?” said the voice on the other end.
“This is Wade, the private detective. I’ve got a job to do, if you’re willing. And you need to bring your gun.”
Chapter Eighteen
The drive wasn’t terrible. I arrived at Danielle’s apartment ten minutes later. I stood and waited for about five minutes before someone came out of the complex. I doffed my hat to the young lady and held the gate for her as she left the premises. So trusting. So foolish.
I ascended the stairs, then approached Danielle’s room with caution. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Walking down the hallway, I hoped my shoes didn’t squeak or a floorboard didn’t give away my presence.
Putting my ear to her door, I listened. For a few moments, I heard nothing. Then, a shuffling of paper. Next, footsteps doing their best not to sound too loud. I reached into my jacket and verified my gun was secure in its shoulder holster. No need to go in like a cowboy. Perhaps we could just talk.
I reached out and grasped the handle. I gave it a gentle twist. Aha! Movement. Was she expecting someone? Probably, but not me.
Turning the knob all the way, I prayed that the door wouldn’t squeak. Carefully, I opened the door keeping my eyes peeled for anything. Through the sliver of space, I could see only the interior of Danielle’s room. I opened the door wider and saw the back of a figure hunched over a desk. I opened the door the rest of the way. Without another thought, I threw the door wide. It slammed into the wall.
The person hunched over the desk uttered a short gasp and dropped the sheaf of papers. She turned around and then gaped at me, open mouthed.
“Hello, Danielle. Going somewhere?”
She put a hand over her chest, trying to calm her breathing. “Mr. Wade, you scared me.”
“Was it me that scared you or the fact that I wasn’t someone else?”
She tried for a smile but it faltered on delivery. “Both, really.”
“You were expecting Marlowe? What are y’all plannin
g? A getaway?”
“Well,” she stammered.
“Don’t bother. Let me ask you a question: if you were in on it, how did you expect to get the real diamond?”
For the first time since I had met her, Danielle Bowie’s countenance changed. Gone was the sheepish, slightly flustered girl. In her place was a steely-eyed woman. “Because you were going to bring it to me.”
I paused, pondering the meaning of her words. “How do you mean?”
“You found the diamond last night.” A knowing smile crept into her features. “I’m just glad it was you and not me digging through all the chicken shit to find it.”
Not fully seeing the thread, I decided to bluff. “I don’t have the diamond. I think you’re mistaken.”
“Oh, I know you have it, Mr. Wade. You had it with you when you went to meet Teague an hour ago. You tapped your coat pocket. That’s all I needed to know. The only thing left is for you to give it to me.”
I cracked a smile. “Even if I did have it, how do you think you’ll make me give it to you?”
She reached over to the writing desk. From under a book, she pulled out a snub-nosed revolver. “Because I’ll shoot you if you don’t.”
Having guns pointed at me was becoming a common occurrence as a PI, much more so than when I was a cop. I made my smile widen.
Danielle frowned. “Why are you smiling? I’m willing to shoot you to get the diamond.”
“I still have an ace up my sleeve.” Over my shoulder, I said. “Now.”
Martha Weber came into Danielle’s apartment. In her two-handed grip, she held her own revolver aimed squarely at Danielle.
“You always this cavalier with your life, Mr. Wade?” Martha asked.
“Not usually. I just needed Danielle here to confirm she’s in on the heist.” I tilted my head at Danielle. “Thanks, by the way.” I walked over to Danielle and took the gun from her. I opened the cylinder and dropped all the bullets into my palm. I put the bullets in my pocket and tossed the gun across the room. “Have a seat.”
Danielle, wary of Martha’s gun which was trained on her, moved over to her couch and sat. “May I light a cigarette?”
All Chickens Must Die: A Benjamin Wade Mystery Page 8