“What markers? What the hell are you talking about?”
“When Bellano died, you owed him forty-six thousand dollars.”
He pressed his lips together so hard they wrinkled.
“Who told you that?”
“I saw Bellano’s records.”
“Impossible. He’d never show anybody his records.”
“I’ve got a copy.”
“No way,” Overholser stated with utmost confidence. “The police took the only copies, and they were destroyed.”
“How do you know?”
“Because …” Again, the wrinkled lips.
“The cops are keeping that to themselves, Mitch. How did you find out?”
He said nothing.
“Or did you have something to do with it?”
He looked scared. Then smug. He slowly shook his head from side to side.
“Those records are gone forever,” he said.
“Forever, Mitch? Try ten seconds.”
Which was about how long it took me to remove the computer sheets from my coat, unfold them, and show him his. I’d brought them along for theatrical purposes. It worked. Overholser’s jaw dropped down to the orchestra pit. He reached for the sheet. I slapped his hand away.
“Maybe I’ll give this to Fat Paulie,” I said. “He can split with Angela Bellano whatever he squeezes out of you.”
I opened my door.
“Wait.”
He put his hand on my arm, and I shook it off. I climbed out. So did he. We faced each other across the roof of the Lincoln. He looked desperate.
“Look, I’ll buy that from you myself,” he said quickly. “Don’t take it to Fat Paulie.”
“Buy it with what, Mitch?”
“I’ll pay you whatever he would. Ten percent? Okay, twenty. That’d be about—”
“I don’t want money.”
“What, then?”
“Where’s Stephanie Bellano?”
“I don’t know. I swear.”
“Why did she run out of her father’s shop, Mitch?”
“I don’t—”
“Who was she afraid of?”
“I’m telling you I don’t know.”
I think I believed him. Which meant he was of no further use to me. Except …
“Who destroyed the cops’ copy of Bellano’s records?”
“I … don’t know.”
“Fine. You want these to go to Fat Paulie?” I held up the sheets.
“No, God, no. Look, I can raise the money. As much as you want. The whole forty-six. I just need some time, that’s all.”
“Tell Paulie.” I turned to leave.
“No, wait!”
I took a few more steps.
“Isenglass,” he said.
I turned and faced him.
“His name is Isenglass. He’s a property clerk for the cops. I paid him to wipe out Bellano’s computer disks.”
“Why?”
“So no one would get hold of my markers.”
“Like Fat Paulie.”
“Him or someone like him.”
“I see.” I started to leave.
“Wait. What about the sheets?”
“Oh, these? Maybe I’ll tear yours up.”
“Maybe? But you said—”
“Look, Mitch, I’m still pretty angry with you, you know.”
“Why? What’d I do?”
“You called my car a heap.”
CHAPTER 20
I DROVE EAST ON Colfax.
I felt certain Overholser didn’t know Stephanie’s whereabouts. If he did, he would’ve traded her for his markers—anything to avoid the attention of Fat Paulie DaNucci. After all, he’d hardly hesitated to trade his partner.
And now I was ready to do some trading—Overholser for information. I was sure Lieutenant MacArthur would be interested in Mitch Overholser. Particularly so if the cops were still working on the theory that whoever had destroyed Bellano’s records may have also destroyed Bellano. I put MacArthur on the top of my list of phone calls, just ahead of Gary Rivers’s secretary and Stan Fowler’s wife.
Colfax carried me past the Auraria campus, across Speer Boulevard and Cherry Creek, and into downtown.
As I passed Bannock Street, I glanced back to my right at the front steps of the City and County Building. They were assembling the traditional Christmas display, a conglomeration of lights and painted wooden figures. Angels and elves. Mary and Santa. Rudolph and Jesus.
Something for everyone.
I turned right on Broadway, heading for my office.
I hadn’t been up there in a week and a half. By design. It’s either too cold to take off your coat, or else the heating pipes bang so loudly you can’t think. By now there’d be bills and junk mail piled on the dusty floor, and the answering machine would be filled with sales pitches and wrong numbers.
I drove past without even glancing up at the windows.
When I got home, I phoned MacArthur. I asked him how the Bellano murder case was going.
“Slowly,” he said. He didn’t want to talk about it.
“Have you found out who destroyed Bellano’s records?”
“We’re down to two suspects. No surprise, they’re both property clerks. They’re also both scared, both claiming innocence, and both clamming up under advisement from their attorneys.”
“Is one clerk named Isenglass?”
He paused. “Why do you ask?”
I told him about Mitch Overholser. He asked me where to find him. I told him that, too.
“On another matter,” I said, “have you turned up any leads on Stephanie Bel—”
“What?” he said, away from the phone. Then, “Sorry, Jake, got to run. Thanks for the information.”
He hung up.
“You’re welcome.”
I started to call the office of KNWZ. There were a few questions I wanted to ask Gary Rivers’s secretary. But someone knocked before I got through. I put down the phone and went to the door.
Two men stood on the landing. The one with the gun was Johnny Toes Burke. The other one I’d never seen before. He looked as if he’d been abandoned by his parents and raised by gorillas.
“Can we come in?” Johnny Toes asked. He pointed the snout of his ugly black gun at my stomach.
I backed away from the door.
They stepped in. The big guy closed the door and locked it. There was something about him that was much scarier than Johnny Toes Burke, and he wasn’t even waving a gun. It wasn’t just his size, either, although his overcoat could’ve covered my Olds. It was his eyes. They were as emotionless as a shark’s.
“Who’s your girlfriend?” I asked Johnny Toes.
The big guy didn’t like that. He moved around Johnny Toes, much faster than I thought he could, and stiff-armed me in the chest with the palm of his hand. It knocked me back against the couch. I sat down.
“As you can see,” Johnny Toes said, limping over to the couch, “Bruno doesn’t like jokes.”
“His mother named him Bruno?”
“I mean it, Lomax, don’t screw around. Just hand them over and we’ll be on our way.” Johnny Toes looked nervous. He really did want to be on his way. I had a feeling he would never have come here alone, gun or no.
“Hand what over?”
“Bellano’s records,” Bruno said. His voice sounded as deep as a diesel. It rattled my teeth.
“What makes you think I have them?”
“A little birdy told us,” Bruno rumbled.
I wondered if it had been Mitch Overholser. He could’ve phoned Johnny Toes and struck a deal.
“She said you made a copy,” Johnny Toes said.
“She?”
“Angela Bellano. We went there yesterday and showed her a couple of badges. She let us search Joe’s den. Then she told us about you and your friend Zeno. We talked to Zeno last night. She didn’t believe we were cops, and she wasn’t too cooperative. At least at first. But then—”
I stood
up.
“What did you do to her?”
Johnny Toes stepped back and pointed the gun at my face. Bruno didn’t budge.
“We didn’t hurt her,” Johnny Toes said. “Just scared her a little bit. She told us about the records. We know you’ve got the only copy.”
“What’s so important about those records?”
“What do you think? Bellano’s markers are like money in the bank. All a guy’s got to do is go collect. That is, if he’s got enough muscle. Now let’s have them.”
“I’ll trade you.”
“You’re in no position to be cutting deals, Lomax.”
“What do you wanna trade for?” Bruno asked.
“See there, Johnny? A businessman. What I want is Stephanie Bellano.”
“Her again?” Johnny Toes said. “Didn’t you ask me about her before? And didn’t I tell you I don’t know nothing from nothing about her?”
“Where is she?”
Johnny Toes turned to Bruno. “This guy’s got a one-track mind.”
“Do you know where Bellano’s kid is?” Bruno asked him.
“Now you, for chrissake?”
“Do you?”
“Fuck, no.”
“He doesn’t know,” Bruno said to me. I believed he was right. “Give us the records.”
“Sure thing.”
I walked past Bruno toward the kitchen. He grabbed my shoulder to stop me before I got to the table. My .38 was lying on top in its holster. Beside it, draped over a chair, was my overcoat. What was left of Bellano’s records was stuffed in the pocket.
“Outside,” I said.
Bruno picked up my gun, emptied the shells in his pocket, and tossed the gun into the sink.
“Go ahead,” he said.
I led them out onto the high snowy balcony. It had snowed some more since I’d last been out here, so I had to dig down into the barbecue to get to the soggy ashes.
“Here you go,” I said, holding out a handful of gray mush.
Johnny Toes looked confused. Bruno looked pissed.
“I burned them,” I said.
“What?”
“They were of no further use to me. I thought they’d lead me to Stephanie, but they didn’t. So I destroyed them.”
“You’re lying.”
Johnny Toes’s finger was white on the trigger. I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from tension. Either way, I didn’t think he’d shoot me. At least not out here. There might be witnesses. The top balcony of this old house was visible to a score of apartment windows across the alley plus half a dozen backyards.
“Inside,” Johnny Toes said.
I closed the door behind us and invited them to search the apartment.
“You can even peek in my safe.”
“Where is it?”
“In the bedroom closet.”
Bruno went looking for the bedroom. Johnny Toes kept me company in the kitchen.
“What zoo did he escape from?” I asked.
“Who, Bruno?” He grinned from ear to ear. “Bruno’s handy to have around.”
“Yeah, well, you’d better not miss any of his feeding times, or he’ll have you for lunch.”
“I can handle Bruno,” he said seriously.
“Sure you can.”
Bruno returned.
“There’s a safe like he said. It’s locked.”
“You hear that, Johnny? I keep my safe locked.”
Bruno stepped over and tossed me against the wall as if I were a toy he no longer found amusing.
“Slow down, Bruno,” Johnny Toes told him.
Bruno stared at me with dead pig eyes.
“How’d you like to take a dive off that balcony?” he asked.
“Come on, Bruno.” Johnny Toes sounded scared.
“You know, Bruno, if you frighten me too much, I might forget the combination.”
“Open it,” he said;
“You heard him, Lomax,” Johnny Toes put in, as if he were still in charge.
I could’ve just pulled the remainder of Bellano’s records from my coat. Of course, that might not have satisfied them. Also, there was a principle involved: I didn’t like being forced. And I didn’t like the idea of handing the pathetic Mitch Overholser over to them; he had enough problems. But most of all, there was another gun in the safe.
They followed me into the bedroom. Bruno had yanked some of my clothes out of the closet looking for the safe, and they were scattered on the floor. The safe, a two-foot cube that weighed over a hundred pounds and that Bruno could’ve probably tucked under one arm and carried home, was wedged in the back corner of the closet. I bent down, spun the dial, and worked the combination. I pulled open the door and reached in.
Bruno yanked me back out of the way. Then he squatted before the safe while Johnny Toes kept his gun on me.
“Well, he’s got this …”
Bruno took out the .357 Magnum, ejected the shells in his hand, and skidded the gun under the bed. He dropped the shells in his pocket with those from the .38. He probably saved them for snacks. It would explain his disposition.
“… and an envelope with maybe a thousand bucks and some insurance papers and the title to his car.” He looked up at me. “You need a safe for this crap?”
“A guy can’t be too careful.”
“Where’s Bellano’s records?” Johnny Toes said, poking me in the back with his gun.
“He ain’t got ‘em,” Bruno said, rising to his feet and stuffing the envelope with my mad money in his coat, “or he would’ve had ’em in the safe.”
Bruno started toward the door.
“Maybe he hid them somewhere else,” Johnny Toes said.
“He wouldn’t hide ’em,” Bruno said, “not when he’s got a safe.”
“How do we know for sure? Why don’t we do like we did to the other two?”
Bruno turned and looked down on Johnny Toes. The small man didn’t know whether to point his gun at me or Bruno. He swallowed hard.
“We need to be sure,” he said nervously.
“I am sure,” Bruno said. “You want to be sure? Okay.” He looked at me. “Come here.”
I didn’t have much choice. I walked over to him.
“Turn around.”
I turned around and faced Johnny Toes. Bruno slugged me over the right kidney with such force that I dropped to my knees, gasping for breath.
“Did you have Bellano’s records?”
I managed to say, “Yes.”
Bruno picked me up from behind by the collar.
“And where are they now?” he asked politely.
“I burned them.”
He slugged me again, and down I went, this time on all fours.
“You what?”
“Burned” was all I could get out. He punched me again so hard I heard him grunt.
“Jesus,” Johnny Toes said.
I was on the floor now, curled up on my side.
“Where are they?” Bruno asked me kindly.
“… burned.”
He booted me in the tailbone. I nearly threw up on Johnny Toes’s Italian loafers.
“Jesus,” Johnny Toes said again. He didn’t have any more stomach for this than I did.
My face was pressed to the floor. I could see my empty Magnum under the bed with the dust balls. My second gun, also empty, was in the kitchen sink, about a hundred miles away. I didn’t have a third gun. Maybe I should give that some thought.
“Where are the records?” Bruno asked me once more.
Enough. The hell with Overholser and the hell with the records. “… burned … everything …” I was trying to tell him that I’d burned everything except the pages in my coat.
“Satisfied?” Bruno asked Johnny Toes.
“Jesus, yes. Let’s get out of here.”
They let themselves out the front door.
I pulled myself to my feet and managed to get all the way to the bathroom before I threw up. I felt only slightly worse than when Ken Hausom had
stomped me behind the Lion’s Lair.
However, there was a big difference between Ken and Bruno. With Ken, you could get even. He’d understand. He might not like it, but he’d understand. Bruno, no. With a guy like Bruno, you had two choices. Forget what he’d done and stay out of his way. Or kill him.
I flushed the toilet. Then I leaned on the sink with one hand and threw water in my face with the other. I rinsed out my mouth. Good as new.
I hobbled out to the kitchen. The lower half of my body trembled. It felt as if it’d been run over by a bus. I hoped Bruno hadn’t broken the tip of my spine. I carried Bellano’s records to the bedroom and locked them in the safe.
Then I got the .357 Magnum from under the bed.
I phoned MicroComp. Milton answered and told me Zeno was home sick. He sounded angry and upset.
“Just … leave her alone,” he said.
I drove to Zeno’s apartment. It hurt every time I lifted my foot to the brake pedal.
Zeno didn’t answer until I’d buzzed for several minutes.
“Who … who is it?” Her voice sounded small and scared through the speaker.
“Zeno, it’s me, Jake.”
“What … what do you want?”
“Are you all right?”
“Please, go away.”
“I’m not going away, Zeno. Let me in.”
Silence.
“Zeno?”
“Are … are you alone?”
“Yes, I’m alone. Do you want more people?”
The door buzzed, and I pulled it open. I went up the elevator and knocked on Zeno’s door. She opened it on the chain, then let me in.
She was wearing a ratty terry-cloth bathrobe and slippers. Her eyes looked puffy. Her hair was matted to one side of her head, as if she’d just gotten out of bed.
“Are you all right?”
She looked at the floor and shook her head no. I noticed a faint smell in the room. Metallic—familiar, yet totally out of place.
“Zeno, tell me what happened.”
She crossed her arms and hugged herself. A tear started down from each eye.
I put my arms around her. “It’s okay now, babe, you can tell me.”
“Oh, God, Jake.” She buried her face in my chest and began to sob. Her thin body shook beneath her robe like a small frightened animal. I had to shift my feet, because it hurt to stand. After a few minutes, Zeno pushed back from me and wiped her eyes with the cloth belt of her robe.
The Dead of Winter (The Jacob Lomax Mysteries Book 3) Page 15