The Dog Who Ate The Flintlock

by Edward Coburn

  “Another tattoo artist said this is your work,” James said handing Jason the picture of Jenny’s tattoo.

  Jason examined the picture. “I saw this on the evening news. I don’t know who lied to you about this being my work, but they’re full of it. This tattoo is inferior and not at all up to my standards. Just look at some of the pictures in my portfolio.” He took a step to the counter and handed James a notebook containing samples of his work. James didn’t open it.

  “So you’re saying this is not your work.”

  Jason chuckled. “I hope you are kidding. Why that’s not even a real tattoo. Some punk drew it on her leg with a couple of ballpoint pens. Not only that, he did a rotten job of it. I could do better than that in my sleep even with ballpoint pens.”

  “How can you tell it’s not a traditional tattoo?” Peter asked.

  “Simple. Look closely at the edges of the stem and flower. See how it’s faded. A real tattoo doesn’t do that,” Jason held out the picture.

  “Any idea who might have done it?” James accepted the picture.

  “Any high school or college jokester who was definitely not an art major could have done it. As I said, it’s a crappy job.”

  Peter peered at James with disappointment written all over his face. “Well, in that case, I’m sorry we bothered you.” He handed Jason a card. “If you think of anything that might help or if you see someone with a similar tattoo, I’d appreciate a call.”

  Jason took the card and saluted. “Will do, Captain.”

  “Thanks for the promotion,” James said as he and Peter headed for the door.

  Chapter 21

  Phillip was leaving his office early in the day to follow up on a divorce case. As he pulled his car into traffic, he was still looking in his rear view mirror when he saw a vehicle pull out several cars behind. He didn’t think anything of it until he saw the same car make the same turns he did. Someone was following him. He hadn’t been a cop for as many years as he had without picking up a few tricks—one of them being how to spot a tail. He turned a few more corners that took him away from his intended path to verify the car was on his tail. Whenever he turned the car behind him did as well. The guy was staying a couple of car lengths back to try to camouflage what he was doing, but that wasn’t good enough to fool Phillip. Phillip thought about the cases he was currently working on but could think of nothing that would require someone to be surveilling him. The Archer grandchild case was the only thing he felt had even a remote chance, but why someone would be on him because of that case, he couldn’t imagine. Anybody after the money could follow the same course he had taken when he interviewed Richard Archer, but that only led him to Morgantown to question Detective Robert Drummond, Richard’s dead daughter’s husband. Neither of them was much help on the case because the case was twenty years old, so the few clues that still existed were ancient and had led to nothing at the time anyway. He had asked Robert about the name Varkot had given him but, according to Robert’s records, Harold Morgan had been a suspect in the murder and kidnapping, but he had died in a fire more than ten years ago. A dead end, literally.

  The car that had been burned to turn the daughter and her ex-boyfriend into little more than cinders had been stolen earlier that week and was another dead end. The coroner could tell both Molly and Rupert had been hit with something before they burned up, but that clue led them nowhere, and the car was much too severely burned to yield any prints or any other evidence although the CSI techs had tried. A red Toyota had been seen by someone when he first noticed the fire but the car was too far away for that person to get the license number and he didn’t see the driver, so that also led nowhere. They located one red Toyota that had been stolen, but CSI found nothing in that car when it finally turned up. So, whoever was following Phillip had to be after something else because thus far he’d gain no insight into the missing grandchild. However, what that something might be, he couldn’t fathom. The only way he would find out would be to stop and confront whoever was in the other car.

  Phillip pulled to the curb between two other cars and, as expected, his tail stopped as well. Phillip got out and walked to the other vehicle. He saw who it was when he was still ten feet from the car. Well, son of a gun, he thought, Varkot. Phillip continued to the car. Varkot sat there as if he hadn’t seen Phillip walk up. Phillip tapped on the driver’s side door, and Varkot acted as if he’d been startled. Phillip indicated that Varkot should roll his window down. Instead, Varkot got out of the car.

  “Why are you following me?” He thought about calling Varkot a scum bag but thought he’d let Varkot have his say first, although that wouldn’t change the fact that Varkot was scum.

  “I have some more information for you.”

  “About what?” Phillip wasn’t buying it. He had never known Varkot to give up anything without being paid or threatened. But, he had no idea what Varkot could want so he’d hear him out.

  “About the chick who was burned up in that car before.”

  “You mean Molly Archer?”

  “I guess that was her name, but I’m not real good at names.”

  Phillip couldn’t figure what Varkot was up to though he was sure Varkot didn’t follow him to pass on any information. It would be entirely out of character. “All right, I’ll bite. What do you have?”

  “Not here. Someone might overhear.”

  Phillip glanced around. They were alone. “There’s no one here, now give.”

  “Follow me if you want the info.”

  Phillip didn’t trust Varkot any farther than he could toss the Queen Mary but didn’t think he had anything to worry about. He was armed. He always was. It was a habit from his days on the force. He never left his office without his weapon. He followed Varkot into an alley between two four-story buildings. Once inside the alley, Varkot spotted a vagrant behind a dumpster. He turned toward the man. “Beat it,” he growled. The man hurried out of the alley clutching something in a small, brown, paper bag. When Varkot turned back, he was pointing a gun at Phillip.

  “What is this, Varkot? Just because your tip didn’t pan out, I’m not upset. At least you gave me a name and Morgan was a suspect in the murder and kidnapping. I just figured you didn’t know he was dead.”

  “I didn’t know he was dead because he’s not.”

  “He’s not dead?” This was indeed new information to Phillip. But he had no intention of dying to gain it.

  Varkot was standing sideways in the alley facing Phillip, so when a woman passed by the end of the alley, she saw the gun and screamed. Varkot instinctively turned her way, and Phillip took advantage of the distraction to sprint a zig-zag path toward the opposite end of the alley. Varkot turned and fired, but his shot was wide of the mark. Phillip dove behind a dumpster and pulled his Glock™ from its under-arm holster. When Phillip poked his head from behind the dumpster, he saw Varkot walking slowly and carefully toward him. Varkot must have seen Phillip’s head dart out because he fired again and his bullet ricocheted off the dumpster peppering Phillips face with metal shards. As Phillip lay on the ground poking his Glock out beside the wheel on the dumpster, he noticed a broom lying under the dumpster. He ignored that and turned to Varkot who was still coming toward him. He really wanted to shoot Varkot in the leg to bring him down, but his training had taught him to always aim for center mass, the chest area, to have the best chance for a hit. A shot in the leg was notoriously challenging regardless of what they showed in the movies and on TV. Fortunately, Varkot had his body turned so if Phillip made an unlikely wild shot, his bullet would safely bury itself in the brick of the building on the other side of the alley. He took careful aim and squeezed off one round. Varkot was still moving toward him which caused Phillip’s aim to be slightly off. He caught Varkot in the shoulder which caused his body to spin. He heard Varkot groan in pain.

  In the distance, Phillip heard a siren. Varkot must have heard it too for he shoved his gun into the waistband of his pants and started running down the a
lley. Phillip grabbed the broom and threw it like a javelin. It flew between Varkot’s legs causing him to stumble and go down on his shoulder. He screamed in pain and his gun clattered out of his grasp. Phillip got up as quickly as he could and ran over to Varkot. He kicked Varkot’s gun farther away and held his Glock on Varkot. At the end of the alley, Phillip saw two officers climb out of their squad car and pull their weapons. They ran into the alley, and one of them shouted, “Drop your weapon and get on the ground.”

  Phillip raised his arms in surrender and then leaned down to drop his gun on the ground.

  “On the ground,” the officer yelled again.

  Phillip complied. He figured he’d been on the ground behind the dumpster and the central part of the alley couldn’t be any dirtier.

  One of the officers went over to Varkot and, because he was wounded, called for an ambulance. He then went over and picked up Varkot’s gun. The other officer had Phillip explain what had taken place and then both of them interviewed Varkot. Varkot gave an entirely different story, so they handcuffed Phillip and all three waited by Varkot for the ambulance.

  When the ambulance arrived one of the EMTs examined the scratches on Phillip’s face and declared them to be superficial but put bandages on the bigger ones. Then they brought a gurney for Varkot, and one of the officers rode with him to the hospital while the other one transported Phillip to the police station.

  James’s eyes were slowly drifting shut as he was sifting through some paperwork with his feet on his desk when his phone startled him. He sat upright and picked up the receiver. “Detective Platt.”

  “Are you the one trying to figure out who the babe with the tattoo is?”

  “I am. Who are you?”

  “My name is unimportant. But I do know who drew that tattoo. I did.”

  “So you’re the artist.”

  “Artist would be a stretch. I only drew that tattoo as a gag. Jenny came to my party uninvited, so when she passed out, I drew the rose on her leg.”

  “So her first name is Jenny. Do you know her last name?”

  “I never caught her last name. But I do have some information you might find interesting.”

  “And what might that be,” James signaled to another detective to trace the call. The other detective nodded and started the process.

  “I was driving through one of the shadier parts of town the other day if you know what I mean, and I swear I saw Jenny standing on the street corner. I couldn’t believe it, so I drove around the block to make sure.”

  “What corner was she on?”

  The caller reported where he had seen Jenny, and then he hung up. James turned to the other detective who shook his head. “Not enough time.”

  James immediately got to his feet and went to the vice squad area of the squad room. “George,” James said.

  George glanced up from his paperwork. “What can I do for you, James?”

  “Have you ever busted a woman named Jenny?”

  “I don’t know. Where does she work?”

  “An anonymous caller claims he saw our baby kidnapper on the street and her name is Jenny. He’s also maintained he was the one who gave her the tattoo.” James gave him the corner of the cross streets given to him.

  “I don’t remember a Jenny. But you know they generally use an alias like Misty, Tami, Crystal, Venus, or the like. Jenny probably wasn’t her real name either. But let me check with the guys.” George turned to two other vice cops, mentioned the two cross streets, and asked them the same question he’d been asked. They both shook their head.

  “Guess not,” George said. “If you’ve got the time, we can go out there and ask around. You never know. Maybe Penelope will be there. She generally knows everything about everybody on the streets.”

  “For this case, I’ve definitely got the time. Let me go grab my gun.” Like most detectives, James didn’t carry his gun in the squad room. But it was handy in case he needed it. He was back at George’s desk in less than a minute. “Let’s go.”

  “Sounds good. Let’s take your car unless you have to sign one out.”

  James shook his head.

  “Good,” George said picking up his notepad and shoving it in his shirt pocket. “The one I got right now is a piece of crap.”

  Chapter 22

  James and George parked several blocks away from the intersection in question. When they approached, no one was standing on the corner. A woman in a red dress that was far too small for her bulk approached. She had a small scar on her right cheek, and she was missing two of her front teeth. James thought she was at least thirty though she appeared to be a lot older. Life on the street quickly aged women and men beyond their years. “Detective George Rippin as I live and breathe. What you doing down here honey? You looking for a little fun? And who’s your handsome friend?”

  “I’m Detective James Platt, and we’re looking for Jenny. We think maybe she works this corner.”

  “I don’t know no Jenny. Heather was working this corner but she ain’t been around for a while.”

  “Does Heather happen to have a tattoo of a rose on the back of her right leg, Pen?” George asked.

  Penelope bit her dirty fingernails while she pondered the question. “Now that you mention it, I think she does. But, as I said, she ain’t been around for a while.”

  “How long has it been?” James asked.

  “I don’t know. Who can keep track of days? I sure can’t. I guess it’s been a week or so. But I really don’t know.”

  “If you knew she had a rose tattoo, why didn’t you let us know? You do know we’re looking for a woman with a rose tattoo, don’t you? A woman with a rose tattoo kidnapped a baby from a hospital. It’s been all over the news.” James asked.

  “Do I look like I been sitting around watching the news. I ain’t even seen a TV in…I can’t even guess how long. And it ain’t like I got a subscription to a newspaper. They sometimes blow my way on the wind, but I don’t always have the time to pick ‘em up.”

  “Too bad,” George said. “The parents of the baby are offering a reward.”

  “Well, I told you about Heather. Doesn’t that earn me the reward?”

  George smiled at her naiveté “If we find her I’ll see that you get a little something. Do you have any idea where she hangs out when she’s not on her corner?”

  “Do I look like her keeper?” Penelope said in exasperation. “No, I don’t know. If she ain’t on the corner, she might be with a john. But I don’t know where she crashes.”

  “Where does she usually take her john’s?” James asked.

  “A lot of time around the corner in the alley. But if the john wants a little more privacy, the Sleepy Time Inn is a popular place. It’s pretty nice.”

  George was familiar with the Sleepy Time Inn and knew it was far from nice. It was a dump of the first order. But they did rent rooms by the hour which made it popular with people like Penelope especially since it was only a few blocks from their current location. “Okay Pen,” George took out his wallet and handed Penelope ten dollars. “We’ll check out the Inn to see if they’ve seen Heather.” He dug into his pocket and handed her his card and then fished a couple of quarters out of his pocket and gave them to her as well. “If you see Heather you should give me a call. I would really appreciate it, and I’d be more inclined to put you up for the reward.”

  Penelope snatched the card and the coins and hurried away when a car pulled to the curb near a couple of other girls. One of the girls immediately leaned in the open passenger window and started propositioning the potential customer.

  “Should we bust the john wanna-be or the girls?” George asked.

  “Nah,” James said. “We have bigger fish to fry. We need to find Heather or Jenny or whatever her name really is, and the paperwork for that kind of arrest would probably take us all afternoon.”

  George pulled out his notepad and wrote down the car’s license number. He smiled at James. “For later.”

 
; James nodded. “Let’s try the hotel.”

  George put his notebook back in his pocket and started down the street with James right behind him.

  Carlo Donati called his secretary. “I want to talk to Yarborough.”

  “Yes Sir, right away.”

  A minute later Carlo’s phone rang. “Roman Yarborough on the line sir.”

  “Roman,” Carlo said, “You’re still in Morgantown, aren’t you? He’d brought Roman into town to handle a dealer who was trying to muscle in on some of his territory.

  “I am. I wasn’t planning to leave until tomorrow.”

  “Good. I need you to do me another favor.”

  Yarborough knew what type of favor Donati would want. It would be the same sort of favor Yarborough did for Donati yesterday and had always done for Donati in the past. He liked working for Donati because Donati never tried to negotiate the price. He gave Donati his price and Donati always accepted it because Donati knew it would be a fair price. Donati also knew Yarborough never failed. “Happy to be of service, Mr. Donati.”

  “You know Anton Varkot, don’t you?”

  “I know the name, but I’ve never met him. What’s your problem with him?”

  “He screwed up, and when I sent him to clean up his mess, he got pinched instead. He’s now in lockup awaiting his hearing.”

  “When’s his hearing? And where is he being held?”

  “In two days, at South Central, in Morgantown,” Donati answered.

  “Good. I know a guy there who owes me one. I’m sure I can get put in the cell next to Varkot’s. That’ll make it easier.”

  “So you’ll take the job?”

  “Do I ever say no to you Mr. Donati?”

  “Not so far. How much?”

  Yarborough named his price and Donati agreed as always. “How will you get put in jail?”