Murder Made Legal: A Casey Alton Mystery

by Richard Wren

  “Thanks.” Smitty said to his retreating back. In a moment, he disappeared. They were alone in the clearing.

  “Who the hell was that?” Casey asked

  “Gats. Gats is just Gats. He was one of the original founders of the Devils, a real hell raiser. Tell you somethin’ about him. You don’t ever want to get on his bad side, ever. A few years ago he started acting a little strange, withdrew from the club, and located out here. He sure as hell’s got a few loose strings, but he remembers everything.”

  Smitty sat back down on his propped up bike and crossed one leg over the other.

  “I’ve been thinking on what he said. We might be in this a little over our heads. If there were politicos and gangs involved in the original cover up of a gangland kill like he said, and our Mrs. Lancaster was killed because we’re looking into the case, then…”

  Casey interrupted him. “I been thinking maybe you’re right after all. There’re just too many coincidences. So what do we do?”

  Slowly, Smitty responded. “I think we get Gus off the hook, that’s what I think. What about you?”

  “Totally. Come hell or high water, we save Gus.”

  Smitty raised his hand to high five Casey, and Casey responded, resoundingly.

  CHAPTER 18

  Josie and Casey were alone in the kitchen, drying dishes. Josie stuck to her questioning. “You think that somebody from way back there reached out and killed your lady friend in Denver? Really?” Josie was still skeptical.

  “I didn’t think so until your dad told me about how the Devils reach out to other branches in all parts of the country all the time to get something done. He said the gang’s fingers spread out all around the world. Like the tentacles on an octopus.”

  “Maybe, but murder?”

  Casey hesitated. How can I tell her what Smitty had inferred, without saying what Smitty had said?

  He carefully worded his answer, “He said that way back when, there’d been some idiots in the gang that he was sure had murdered guys that’d crossed them.”

  “Okay. I get that. Mom always told me not to dig too deep into Dad’s connections with the gang. Like I said before, she was actually afraid of some of those guys. But here we’re talking about a time span of over forty years.”

  “All it takes is some guy that was influential then and was in his thirties. He’d only be in his sixties now and probably totally secure in what he did, until he heard the case was being reopened. Or maybe it’s some guy’s son. Or, Smitty suggested it could be a gang. Like he said, gangs go on forever.”

  Slowly, Josie posed a question. “Originally, you two were going to work for me, be my bird dogs. So far, I don’t have diddly squat, and the D.A.’s blocking me at every turn. So maybe the thing is to follow up on what you’re getting?”

  Smitty took that moment to join them. “Any more coffee?”

  Josie poured each of them a cup, and Casey asked the next logical question. “What now? Where do we go from here?”

  Smitty was ready with a quick answer. “Shirl’s Bar for a beer. I figure if Elsie was pleased to find that Shirl’ remembered her she might be one of the one’s she called. It’s as good a place to start as anywhere, right?”

  The bar wasn’t exactly jumping, three guys playing pool, an old guy reading a newspaper and nursing a beer, plus Shirl at the back door talking to a beer truck driver.

  Both Smitty and Casey paid more attention to Shirl than they had the previous visit. Casey decided that the word chunky fit her. He noticed that she was tall enough to handle being behind the bar, five six or seven? he thought. And strong, he added as she hefted a case of beer.

  “You two again?” She greeted them in a friendly tone much different than the words themselves. “I got a phone call from Elsie thanks to you. She said she was coming down and might drop by. So I guess I owe you. How about a couple’a beers on the house,” she said as she drew and place, two beers in front of them.

  Casey and Smitty glanced at each other.

  “So she did call you after we talked to her?” Smitty asked.

  “That’s what I said, isn’t it?” She rested her hands on the back edge of the bar.

  Slowly, Smitty reached out and covered her hand with his huge paw. “Shirl, we got some awfully bad news for you. Elsie’s dead. She was murdered.” He glanced at Casey. “We think she might have been murdered because of the call she made to you.”

  She yanked her hand out from under Smitty’s. “She’s dead? Murdered? And you think I’m involved?”

  “No, no.” Smitty reassured her. He went on to recount everything that had happened since they had last visited her bar.

  “So you think somebody from the past arranged to get her killed?” she said disbelievingly.

  “Nothing else makes sense.”

  She stepped back, turned, and slowly walked to the bar’s end and stopped with her back to the two of them. After a moment, she returned to them and asked. “So you’re saying that she might have been killed because I gabbed to somebody? And you want to know what and who we talked about and who I might have mentioned it to, right?”

  “That’s it in a nutshell.”

  Partly to herself, she said. “Jesus, that puts me in a bind.”

  “It’s for Gus.” Smitty quietly said.

  She leaned over the bar and whispered in a quick jumble of words.

  “The only name she mentioned was Carl Peterson. She said she had mentioned him to you and she wanted to know if he was still around. I told her hell yes, he’s in here all the time, but I don’t remember him being involved in that case. She said oh yes, he was and was going to look him up with a lot of questions when she got here.”

  “And you mentioned the phone call to this guy, Peterson?”

  “I didn’t see any harm in it. He’s kind of an old friend and a nice guy. No way he’d do anyone any harm. Hell, you can go over and talk to him if you want. He’s the tall guy playing pool over there.”

  Smitty had already noticed the guy intently staring at them. The light outside the cone of light over the pool table wasn’t very bright, but Smitty had noticed a long scar from the guy’s forehead to below his ear.

  “That’s Carl Peterson, and he was a policeman back then?”

  “Detective. He’s been retired for years.”

  “C’mon, Casey, let’s talk to him.” They walked over as the three guys racked their cues and hoisted their rear ends on the edge of the pool table.

  “What’s goin’ on?” The one Shirl had identified as Peterson asked.

  “Nothin’. Why?”

  Peterson radiated a feeling of casualness, but Smitty could feel tension in the air. “We couldn’t help but notice you kept lookin’ over here all the time you were talkin’ to Shirl. ‘You askin’ about us?”

  “Nope, not at all. Fact is we came over to give her some bad news. A good friend of hers got murdered in Denver. She said you might have known her too. Elsie Lancaster?”

  Whatever else Peterson might have been, he was a lousy actor. He did a slow double-take while he obviously tried to formulate an answer. “Let’s see, Elsie who?”

  “Lancaster. She was a police dispatcher way back when.”

  Smitty refreshed his memory. “Shirl said she talked to you about Elsie trying to locate you and you remembered her.”

  Peterson cast a nervous eye at his two playing partners. “Oh, that Elsie. Guess I just forgot about her, right guys?” They both nodded in unison.

  Smitty decided it was time to get out and decide their next step now that Peterson had aroused their suspicions.

  “Well, if you don’t even remember her, I guess you can’t help us any.”

  “Help you?”

  “Yeah. We’re working for an attorney that’s investigating an old case. You’ve probably read about how they’re using DNA to re-open those old cases? We though Mrs. Lancaster might have some new evidence, but now that she’s dead,” he paused for a moment then threw out a red herring. “
I guess we’ll just go soldiering on and try to find out what really happened by ourselves.”

  Peterson suddenly developed itchy feet. “Hey, I just remembered, I gotta make a phone call.”

  It was obviously apparent to both Casey and Smitty that Peterson thought he’d successfully pulled the wool over their eyes.

  “Let’s go,” Smitty said. Casey expected him to make a beeline for the front door, but he lingered for a while talking to Shirl.

  Finally, as Casey opened the front door, Smitty whispered. “On your toes. I think Peterson might be waiting for us.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out two billiard balls, handing one to Casey. “Really good defensive weapon,” he chortled.

  As they reached their car, Peterson stepped out from the corner of the building, holding a cue reversed in his right hand. His two friends backed him up. Smitty didn’t hesitate, but threw the billiard ball with remarkable accuracy at Peterson’s face, giving him no time to dodge. The ball glanced off the side of his mouth, taking all the fight out of him. His two friends ran.

  “Thought so,” Smitty remarked. “I think we struck a nerve. Is he conscious?”

  “Just barely,” Casey observed in a shocked tone. “Jesus, his lips are squashed and there’s blood everywhere.” He glanced up at Smitty, “A little excessive?”

  Smitty looked at Casey a little derisively. “You ever been in a gang fight? Ever been clobbered by the butt end of a cue stick?” He paused. “Never mind, you’ll learn.”

  The guy was coughing, retching and spitting blood, making a lot of noise. Enough so that neither Smitty nor Casey were aware ofapproaching footsteps. The first inkling of company was when out of the corner of Casey’s eye he noticed the pointed end of a brightly polished cowboy boot just behind him. He whirled around, prepared to call out and warn Smitty, only to find himself facing two men, each armed with a gun pointing at them.

  He reminded himself that discretion was better than valor when facing armed men and gently whispered, “Smitty”.

  “What?”

  “We got company.”

  Smitty, busy propping Peterson up against the side of the building, slowly twisted his head around. Two men, each holding a gun trained on him. He immediately noticed how professional they were acting. The one behind Casey had kicked his feet apart and was standing about an arm’s length behind him while the other was a careful two yards behind him. Very professional, almost police like. Smitty slowly stood up letting Peterson slide back down to the ground.

  CHAPTER 19

  The farthest one wagged the muzzle of his gun threateningly at Smitty.

  “Pick him up, we’re going inside.”

  The near one gave Casey a shove and said, “Help him.”

  Between the two of them, they were able to get Peterson on his feet and help him stagger toward the door. The gunmen kept a safe distance behind them.

  “Get going, asshole” the first one commanded when Casey stumbled. “This parking lot isn’t going to stay empty forever.” He added to his partner.

  “Stop,” the smaller of the two commanded as they approached the door. “Peterson, can you walk by yourself?”

  “Yesh.” He painfully mumbled, blood still leaking from his mouth.

  “Okay, you two, one step to the side and no tricks.”

  Casey and Smitty did as told, leaving Peterson standing by himself.

  “Okay. Now go by yourself. Open the door and leave it wide open. Go! Then you two follow him one at a time. Don’t try to get cute; remember there’re two of us and no witnesses around.”

  Casey followed Peterson into the bar. Everything looked normal. The old guy had moved and was sitting at a table under a window, still reading the newspaper and nursing a beer. The beer truck driver was gone. Shirl was standing on a chair behind the bar polishing the huge mirror watching in the mirror as they entered. She was startled when Peterson’s bloody face suddenly appeared and immediately jumped to the floor.

  “Carl, what happened? You poor dear, your all over bloody.” She hustled to the end of the bar, trying to come to his aid.

  “Shut the fuck up you fat piece of lard!” he yelled at her. “Give me a clean bar rag and shut up!”

  Shirl was shocked dumb. “Carl?”

  “Do it!” Carl ordered.

  At that moment, the two gunmen came in, ostentatiously waving their guns.

  “Do it!” the gunman repeated. “Back behind the bar!” he added.

  Casey noted that one of them was consistently giving the orders. He was alarmed by the fact that neither of the men was hiding his face. Ideas and thoughts raced through his mind. No masks. Does that mean they intend to kill the two of us? Would they really shoot with Shirl and the old man as witnesses? Does Smitty have a plan of escape?” He wasn’t encouraged by the looks and manners of the two gunmen, particularly the one he deemed to be the leader. Older, small, thin, well dressed in a blue suit, his face was angular with sharp cheek bones and squinty eyes. In his mind, Casey started referring to him as Squinty. He caught Smitty’s eyes, and Smitty very slightly wagged his head in a negative fashion. He was telling him not to try anything.

  “You two!” he ordered Casey and Smitty. “On a bar stool at opposite ends.”

  They did it. Now that they were seated several stools apart, their captor seemed pleased with the arrangement. Casey noticed that the man reading the newspaper hadn’t seemed to notice anything.

  Squinty, as Casey referred to him, casually walked behind the bar and stood next to Shirl, his arm laid casually around her shoulders, bringing his gun next to her right cheek. She flinched.

  He was noticeably shorter than Shirl, maybe only five three, or maybe five four, and had to reach up to get his arm around her shoulder.

  “Now.” He announced. “I need some information. You told Carl that you’re working for an attorney on an old murder case. I need to know who the attorney is.”

  Casey stiffened. “Jesus Christ, they were going after Josie?”

  The gunman continued. “Carl said that the three of you were real chummy and all three of you have the info. The question is which one of you would be the easiest to get the information out of. I don’t think it would be either of you two,” he said swinging the gun barrel back and forth between Smitty and Casey.”

  Each time he swung the gun, it brushed Shirl’s cheek and lips. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she noticeably flinched each time the gun touched her.

  He continued. “So that leaves Shirl here, don’t it.”

  She shook her head negatively.

  “Are you telling me you don’t know anything?”

  She shook her head up and down.

  With no warning, the gunman reversed his gun and slammed it viciously into the side of her head, splitting the skin over her cheekbone. She screamed and fainted, blood streaming down her face.

  Smitty lunged forward. The gunman behind him yelled “that’s enough,” and jabbed his gun into Smitty’s back. At the same time “Squinty” leaned into Shirl’s frame to hold her up while flipping his gun in his hand and menacingly pointed it at Casey. He froze Casey with his eyes and gun barrel.

  Nobody moved until Shirl moaned and stirred. “You gonna let her bleed to death?” Casey took a chance speaking while looking down the barrel of a gun.

  The guy didn’t even glance at her. “She’ll be fine. Cover them both for me,” he directed the second gunman. “It’s time to see who’s behind that newspaper.” He walked across the bar room and jerked the paper out of the old guy’s hands.

  The guy looked fearfully up at him with rheumy eyes while reaching for a hearing aid sitting beside his beer. “What’s wrong?”

  Speaking unnaturally loud he asked him a question. “Didn’t you hear Shirl say she was closing the bar ‘cause she’s sick?”

  Gesturing at the hearing aid, he said, “Didn’t hear nothin’.”

  “Can I help you get out? She’s anxious to lock up and go home.”

  In a few minute
s, the guy gulped down the remainder of his beer, folded up his newspaper and was gone.

  While the gunman was taking care of the old man and the other gunman’s attention was partially diverted, Casey caught Smitty’s eye and squinting his own eyes, formed the word squinty.

  Smitty nodded his head in understanding. If an opportunity presented they could at least differentiate between the two gunmen.

  Helplessly, Smitty watched “Squinty” lock the door behind the old man and hang a closed sign in the window, then head back toward the bar and Shirl. As he walked past Caseyhe suddenly whirled and before Casey could react, backhanded him across his unprotected throat. It was a particularly vicious and effective Karate type blow. One that could paralyze or even kill a person. Casey fell to the floor gasping and clawing at his throat. His head hit the floor with a loud thud.

  Smitty spun off the bar stool toward Casey, only to be met with the gun muzzle zeroed in on him and a threat. “Don’t,” was all the gunman said, but the gun muzzle spoke volumes.

  “Tie him up. Hog tie’m,” he casually instructed the other gunman without wavering the gun the least bit.

  All Smitty could do was hope that the blow hadn’t crushed Casey’s windpipe and he’d survive the blow.

  Squinty continued on behind the bar and grabbed Shirl by her head of dyed blond hair. “Convinced?” he asked. She nodded her head up and down. “Your memory’s improving?” She nodded again.

  “Good, that’s real good.” He looked around the room, talking as if to himself. “Let’s see, one out of it and all tied up, the other covered by two guns, doors are closed and locked and a closed sign in the window, and--” turning to Shirl, “you ready to be real cooperative, right?”

  She nodded miserably.

  He glanced at the wall clock. “I’ll be damned. Eleven fifteen already. It’s amazing how time flies when you’re having fun.” He looked around and spread his arms expansively. “I always wanted to own a bar and now I got one all my own. I think it’s time for lunch, don’t you?” He smirked at Shirl then, turned his attention to Peterson.