by Jim Pascoe
I could feel the heat of his anger burning into my ear. “We’re coming down there, Drake. We’re coming down. You’d better not be there when we get there, or this time I’ll lock you up and forget where I put you.” He slammed the phone down.
I handed the receiver back to the lady behind the desk. “Hold the rest of my calls, will ya?”
I stood there, thinking. I couldn’t leave yet; I needed to talk to Walker. I had to find out what he knew. I didn’t expect him to sing for me, but I could exert a little pressure and take his pulse. Like I said, he struck me as the bragging type. But I couldn’t let Duke Wellington find me here either . . .
* * *
The next thing I knew I found myself standing in the affluent air of Jack Walker’s office, and despite my bravado from moments ago, I had no idea what my next play was going to be.
Walker, sitting behind his desk, looked up as his assistant scurried in behind me, apologizing profusely.
“Mr. Walker, I’m sorry . . .” she whined.
His two bodyguards, bigger than ever, started to come at me, expressions of what could only be joy at the promise of violence upon their faces. The whole office seemed to shake with their approach. Or maybe that was my heart pounding in my throat. Just as they were about to grab me, I blurted out, “Ball bearings were found at both crime scenes, Jack! What do you have to say about that?” As the sentence fell out of my mouth, I realized it was probably the dumbest thing I could have said. I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.
The giant closest to me was readying a fist; his twin was right behind him. I winced, expecting to feel a broad pain across my face, when Walker’s voice, quiet yet forceful, said, “Hold.”
Butch and Schultz stopped in their tracks, though they didn’t relax. Like trained attack dogs, they were just waiting for word from their master before moving in for the kill.
“I’m . . . I’m . . . so sorry, Mr. Walker, he just burst in,” the assistant stammered.
“It’s all right, Ellie. No harm done.” Walker smiled at me caustically. “I think we can handle Mr. Drake from here. You can go back to your desk.”
“Yes, Mr. Walker.” Her relief was visible. I guessed she’d fallen victim to Walker’s ire in the past. “Thank you.”
“Please close the door on your way out.”
“Yes, Mr. Walker.” She backed out of the office, closing the thick, leather-covered doors behind her with a soft thud.
I felt sweat begin to run under my arms and well up thickly under the brim of my hat.
Walker stared at me for a moment, then picked up his pipe from its stand, looked into the bowl, and frowned. He struck a match, put the pipe to his lips, and took a few puffs. When the tobacco was burning again, he blew out a few mouthfuls of smoke that rolled about the room like gentle, aromatic clouds.
“Ball bearings, you say?” Walker’s voice was thick with derision.
I nodded slowly. “That’s what I said.”
“Hmmmm.” He leaned back in his leather chair and peered thoughtfully at his ceiling. “And you think I had something to do with their presence?”
All I could do was stand there. A few responses popped into my head; they all sounded stupid. I certainly didn’t need any more help in that department.
“No snappy banter, Mr. Drake?” Another puff. “Let me tell you something. I run this ball bearing manufacturing plant. I oversee the production of millions of ball bearings each and every day, many of which end up right here in Testacy City. Do you expect me, just because of my position, to keep tabs on every one that comes out of here?
“Besides, I own the company, I don’t work in the factory. Do you for one minute think that I walk about the city committing murders with ball bearings in my pockets? The idea is,” he paused, choosing his words carefully, “well, ludicrous.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Irritation and fury began to rise up inside me. “But let me tell you, Walker, this case stinks. I know you’re mixed up in it somehow, and no one—not you, not your goons, and certainly not the cops—is going to stop me from finding out how!”
“I don’t know what you expected to find when you came here, and I don’t know if you found it, but I think it’s time that you be going. I’m a busy man.”
“You can’t dismiss me this easily!” I shouted, jabbing a finger at him.
“Oh, I can’t, can I?” Walker spat scorn. “I think you’re forgetting that you’re in my office, and in my office I can do whatever I wish. And I choose to dismiss you. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Now beat it. We don’t need any heroes here, Drake. You’d better stick to helping Suzi Biggs play her part of the widow in distress.”
I felt my face grow hot at his barb. “How dare you . . .” I started toward him, fists clenched.
I didn’t get too far. My anger had blinded me to Walker’s bodyguards, and for my carelessness I got a face full of fist. A small light exploded behind my eyes, and I staggered backward, just in time to take a blow to the gut that sucked the breath out of me and knocked me into the leather doors. Gasping, I slid down to a sitting position, lacking the energy to look up at the fist that careened off my chin. I slumped into a pile on the floor of Walker’s office.
I remember hearing the sound of his voice echo in my ears and being lifted up like a sack of potatoes before everything went black.
* * *
When I came to, I was sitting behind the wheel of my car. My head throbbed like someone was taking a mallet to my skull, and I felt a thick crust of dried blood in my nose. I fumbled with the rearview mirror until I got a good look at myself. Actually, it wasn’t good at all.
The face looking back at me was all lumpy. My left eye was almost swollen shut, and there was a deep gash on my right cheek. My teeth felt like they were hanging loosely in my jaw. A black-and-blue flower was blossoming on my chin.
On top of that I had no idea where I was.
I got out of the car and glanced around. After I took a moment to learn how to walk again, I found that I was parked just off an empty stretch of road.
The nice thing about the desert is that when you’re deep in its darkness, city lights are easy to spot—if you’re near any. Thankfully, I was—the lights of Testacy City shone brightly to the southeast.
The keys were in the ignition, so I started up the car and began to drive back to town. About twenty minutes later I passed the famous Welcome to Testacy City: Diamond of the Desert sign.
I stopped at the first liquor store I found and picked up a fifth of Old Grand-Dad. If I ever needed a drink, I needed one now.
I headed for home, thinking fondly of my bed and cursing myself for my stupidity with Jack Walker. I had let my anger get the best of me—and let me tell you, that’s the surest way to failure. The crack he made about Suzi still burned hot in my brain.
I was about halfway home when suddenly a crazy notion took over. I squealed a U-turn and sped back toward the highway.
I knew no one was answering the phone at the Biggs residence, but I was hoping that if I staked out the place I’d get a lead or two on what had happened to Suzi. It was too early for me to be jumping to conclusions, but I was doing it anyway. Rebecca’s paranoia must have been rubbing off on me.
I rolled past the gates into Victory Gardens and drove up to 300 Pine Lane. The small house looked positively sinister in the shadows of the night. I parked a little way down the street, in the dark space where the light from the streetlamps didn’t quite reach.
Suzi first gave the impression of a spoiled gold-digger with a sense of entitlement. Conceivably, she could have had an active hand in Joe’s murder, especially considering her indifference the day I met her. But with her visit to my apartment, I started to see through her act. Now, given the apparent foul play surrounding Iverson’s death—and, especially, Suzi’s current disappearance—it was possible that her involvement in this mess may have gotten her killed.
The thought of her turning up at the morgue made me shudder
. Too often I’ve befriended a person who later turns up dead. Seeing the cold body of someone you know is never easy. Even thinking about it isn’t easy.
This kind of thinking always made me thirsty. I tore the seal off my new bottle of bourbon and took a slug. It tasted good. It felt good. I took another.
I don’t know how long I sat there, but it was awhile. I didn’t see a thing. No lights came on in the little mansion, and I didn’t hear any sounds from inside.
When my bottle was more half-empty than half-full, I started up the car and drove home, smoking a cigar on the way. I don’t know how I made it without wrapping the Galaxie around a telephone pole. I was relieved when I turned off the ignition, still in one piece.
I was not relieved when I opened the door to my apartment and found Duke Wellington and Mark Weisnecki watching my television.
“Drake, you gotta get yourself a bigger TV,” Duke Wellington chided. “This thirteen-inch black-and-white is no good. If you’re gonna make us come to your house to roust you, least you can do is have a decent TV.”
I ignored him.
“And get cable, man,” he continued. “This late-night stuff is just crap. You need cable for some good TV.”
“You look like hell, Drake,” Weisnecki said.
“Observation skills get you that detective job, Weisnecki?” I slurred, leaning against the wall by the door. I needed it to stand.
“Cool it, wise guy.” Weisnecki raised his lips over his teeth like an angry dog. “You’re drunk, so I’ll be easy on ya. But another crack like that, I’m running you in.”
“Just get out of my place,” I said, trying to sound threatening.
“A night in the drunk tank might do you some good,” Weisnecki threatened back—his came out with the conviction mine lacked.
“Look, believe it or not, Drake, we’re here for your own good,” Duke Wellington explained, nodding his head. “That’s right, your own good.”
I snickered. “Sure. Like I believe that.”
“Really, Drake. Hear us out,” Wellington insisted. “Mark, tell him about it.”
“We’re here to warn you to lay off Jack Walker,” Weisnecki said. “For your own good.”
Again I had to snicker.
“Just look at you,” Weisnecki continued. “You’re a mess.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“A damn mess,” Duke Wellington emphasized. “A damn mess.”
“Look, I don’t need your help.”
“Yeah, you can get beat up all by yourself,” Weisnecki said.
They got up from their chairs and headed for the door.
“Stay away from Walker.” Duke Wellington stopped in front of me, accosting me with a thick finger. “Stay away, or you’re going to be in a world of trouble.”
“And lay off the booze,” Weisnecki added as he walked by me. “Get some help, Drake.”
I was glad they left so soon. I stumbled to my bedroom and collapsed on the bed. I fell asleep thinking that I was going to be damn sore the next morning.
Chapter Seventeen
Elizabeth’s Offer
I woke up slowly, fitfully from a dark dream. I dreamed of a schoolhouse on fire, a group of young girls running, their arms outstretched, toward me. They were crying and screaming. All I could make out was the distinct plea of “Help me!” I was just standing there, helpless, feeling like a ghost.
I didn’t wake suddenly; my swollen eyes merely opened themselves to the darkness of my small bedroom. My temples beat against my poor skull. I tried to think of absolutely nothing.
What crept into my head was a story I’d read somewhere about a guy who questioned whether we should pay attention to dreams and whether they could be interpreted. The response was that we should pay attention to everything, because everything can be interpreted. Well, the most important thing about interpretation is that you can resist it.
I had to get some coffee in me. This was the kind of morning when I actually thought about grabbing some hair of the dog. But I had that sticky taste of alcohol on my tongue, and I wanted it off.
My breaths came quick and heavy, my eyes were full of paste. When I walked into my kitchen, she scared the hell out of me.
For the second time, Suzi Biggs was waiting for me in my own apartment. My headache got worse.
“Jesus! What in hell are you doing here?” My mind attempted to catch up with what my eyes were seeing. Then I had a bad thought: “Please don’t tell me you’ve been here the whole time.”
“No, I haven’t. I’ve been hiding out. Ben, I’m afraid for my life,” she blurted out. She was hunched over my kitchen table. In her hands she clutched a paper cup of coffee from one of those gourmet joints.
“Still friendly with the landlord?” I guessed at her method of getting in here.
“No . . . I mean . . .” It took her a moment to figure out what I was really asking. “You left the door unlocked.” She tried a small smile. I could see a lot of the game had gone out of her.
“I don’t want to hear any more until I get some java in me. And then I want to hear it all.” I moved toward the coffee maker, then turned back to her, adding, “It’s a good thing I don’t sleep in the nude.” She didn’t get it. I didn’t expect her to.
After I got the Maxwell House brewing, I sat down across the table from her. Suzi wasn’t looking at me; she had her head down. I figured I’d give her a moment or two to begin.
She peered up at me and said, “Do you want a sip of my coffee, Ben, while you wait for the new pot?”
I don’t know what the hell I was thinking when I took her cup and put the fancy plastic lid to my lips. The moment the sickly sweet liquid hit my taste buds I knew that I should have known better.
“Aaaak, I thought you said this was coffee!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Ben, I forgot. I have this made special for me. It’s coffee that’s brewed with the same Indian spices they use to make chai. And then I have them put in condensed milk on top.”
She placed her hand over mine. I pulled it back.
“Is that what all the kids drink these days?”
“Is that what I am to you, a kid?” She looked hurt.
Actually, she looked pretty cute. She was wearing a black knit cap over her curly hair. She didn’t have nearly as much makeup on as she had the last couple of times I’d seen her. It made her seem younger.
I shook my head. It hadn’t stopped throbbing. I had to remember who I was dealing with. “Look, you’ve played me like one of your boy toys since I first came across you. You’ve lied to me, you’ve played dumb at me, you’ve tried your damn best to hide behind flickering eyelashes and those big red lips.” I felt I was losing my cool, but a hangover combined with a conniving woman in distress will do that to you.
I continued: “I’ve spent the last couple of days getting sucker-punched by bowlers, bodyguards, and coppers. I’m about through with your girl games. You’re going to start giving it to me straight, sister, and you’re going to start right now!”
Suzi stood up. She beat the table with her tiny fists. Tears were welling in her eyes. “You probably think I know who killed my husband. Well, I don’t!”
She ran to the other side of the kitchen and hid her face in the corner. I could hear her sobbing. Then she craned her head around to me. “I saw a big monstrous guy go into Jerry’s the night he was killed . . . Yes, I said killed. Jerry Iverson was murdered!”
“I already know that. And if you want the killer, you better come clean and tell me everything else I should know that you haven’t already told me. How about you start at the beginning.”
“Joe knew how to make me feel . . . I don’t know, really special. He adored me. And I loved him for it.” As she paused, her eyes darted around the room. “But I got bored with his bowling. Okay, I hate to admit it, but it’s bowling, for God’s sake! How can you take something like that serious? I mean, please don’t tell me you’re a bowler, Ben. Are you?”
“Ah,
no. I’m not a bowler. I’m a detective.”
“Of course you are, Ben. Of course you are.” She smiled, but I didn’t smile back. “So I started . . .” She was tracing little circles on my table with her finger. “I started seeing what kind of attention I could get. You know, from other boys . . .”
“How much attention could you get from Jerry Iverson?”
She laughed a playful, carefree laugh, but then quickly became ice cold. It was as if she suddenly remembered something—perhaps the fact that Iverson was dead.
Her brow was heavy, and she crinkled up her lips. She was thinking about something. A moment later a cute half-smile returned to her face. “I liked Jerry. Not ‘liked him’ liked him. I just liked flirting with him ’cause he was kinda cute and I could always break his cool.”
“The way he told it,” I countered, “made it seem like you were hot to get together with him and he had to cool you down.”
She laughed so hard I thought she was going to fall out of her chair. “Oh, Ben, Ben, Ben, you silly man. That’s such a guy thing to say. If he told you that, he didn’t want you to know that he never had a chance with me.”
“Is that why he was at your place that first day I met you? Is that why you were going to his apartment the night he was given a twenty-foot orange necktie?”
“He was at my place because, because he wanted to ask me something . . . Oh, Ben, I was in no mood to play with Jerry! He wanted something from me . . . and I had nothing to give!” She was getting worked up.
“Calm down.” I had little patience for hysterics, especially on a morning like this.
“And I went to see him the other night because . . . I didn’t know where to turn or who to go to. I tried to come to you, but you fell asleep. I told you I don’t know who killed Joe, but I think it’s pretty plain that it wasn’t an accident!” She wasn’t listening to me; in fact, she was up from the table waving her arms about like a madwoman. “I went to see Jerry because I . . . I think . . . maybe he . . .”
“Out with it,” I said, hoping for something with more meat than melodrama.