The Dog Who Ate The Flintlock

by Edward Coburn

  “I don’t know for sure yet, but I have several ideas.”

  “Okay. When he’s taken care of, we’ll arrange payment in the usual way.”

  “I’ll call you when I’ve been released from jail.”

  Brad was reading a comic book with his feet on the counter when George and James entered the office. He instantly recognized George and although he didn’t know James he knew he’d have to be a cop too. He thought he’d have some fun with them. “You two want a room?”

  “Not at all funny,” George growled. Brad had reluctantly cooperated in the past only when George applied some kind of pressure, and he wasn’t about to put up with Brad’s smart mouth. He was sure James wouldn’t either. “Hey slimeball, this is Detective James Platt and James, this is Brad, a real slimeball.

  “Now is that nice,” Brad said sitting up. “What do you want or are you just here to bust my chops?”

  “If you don’t tell us what you know I just might do that,” George said shaking his fist in Brad’s face. “Have you see Heather lately?”

  “Heather…Heather…hmm, let’s see. I don’t believe I know a Heather.” Brad stared George directly in the eyes without flinching. James could tell these two had fought this battle of wills before.

  “Heather is her street name, but you might know her as Jenny.” James calmly interjected.

  Brad contemplated the ceiling as if there might be something of interest written there. “No. I’m sorry. I don’t know a Jenny either. What has she done?”

  “I presume you heard about the kidnapping from the hospital,” George said.

  Brad sat up a little bit straighter and grew a bit more serious. “I may have heard something about that. Are you saying Heather had something to do with that? I heard there’s a reward.”

  “All we know so far is that Jenny or Heather or whatever name she’s going by now might be a person of interest,” James said with a straight face.

  “I thought you didn’t know a Heather,” George snarled. “You do know we’re not playing around here.”

  Brad ignored George’s comments. “Heather hasn’t brought a customer here for at least a week. I just figured she found somewhere else to transact her business.”

  “Have you ever noticed if Heather has a rose tattoo on her right leg?” James asked.

  “I haven’t. That’s not the part of the girl’s anatomy I’m interested in,” he moved his hands up in front of his chest, “If you know what I mean.” He grinned.

  “You really are a slimeball,” George said.

  “Do you know where she might have moved her business?” James asked.

  “Pick any one of the fleabags around here. There’s no shortage of either hotels or those who use them an hour at a time.”

  “Let’s go,” George said. “We’re not going to get anything from this worthless puke.”

  James pulled out a card and handed it to Brad. “If Heather comes in I’d really appreciate a call.”

  “And what’s in it for me?”

  “I’ll see if I can round up some CI money for you if anything you tell us pans out.” George did have a limited amount of money that he and the other vice officers could use to pay their confidential informants. He turned toward the door, and James followed him out.

  “Can you and your squad check out the other hotels in the area and see if they know anything?” James asked.

  “Sure can. And we can ask some of the other girls if they know anything. We can also check with the pimps that run girls in the area. I doubt if we’ll get anything, but it’s worth a try—especially if I can dangle the possibility of a reward in front of them.”

  “Good. Do what you can.”

  Paul was dozing in his chair when he heard one of the inmates in the jail holler. He grunted in annoyance as he rose from his chair and sighed heavily. He’d just come in to cover his shift and didn’t want any trouble so early in the morning. He didn’t relish problems any time of the day but especially not in the morning. He hadn’t even had his coffee yet. He’d take care of whatever this was quickly so he could get back to his nap. “All right, Jimmy,” he said walking into the hallway where the twelve cells housed some of the worst the streets had to offer. “Quit your hollering.”

  “But I think he’s dead,” the inmate named Jimmy Spargus said.

  “Who’s dead?”

  “Anton, that’s who. He’s on the floor and he ain’t moved in a while.”

  Paul walked over to the cell and was about to tell Anton to get up off the floor when he noticed the pool of blood under Anton’s body. His prone body was perpendicular to the bars of the cell next to his, and his feet rested against the bars. Varkot was the only one in that cell because he was due for a hearing soon. “Oh God,” Paul muttered. “That’s all I need.” The thought of all the paperwork made him cringe. There went his nap and maybe his lunch as well. He consoled himself with the fact that whatever happened didn’t happen on his watch. He pulled his ring of keys from his belt and opened the cell. He checked Anton’s carotid pulse and shook his head. “Son of a…”

  “Is he dead?” Jimmy asked.

  Paul nodded. “He’s dead. Who did it?”

  “How should I know? I didn’t see nothin’,” he said as he quickly glanced over his shoulder.

  As Paul walked to the other side of the aisle to awaken and question the other inmates, he saw a toothbrush laying in the aisle several cells farther down. He walked up to it and noticed that the end away from the bristles was sharpened to a point and there was blood on the pointed end. A typical hand-made knife known as a shiv. He studied the aisle and saw a trail of blood drops starting at the cell closest to Varkot’s cell. He left the toothbrush right where it was and walked back to Varkot’s cell being careful to avoid the drops of blood. He did notice he had stepped on one of the drops when he walked to where the toothbrush lay. He ran his baton along the bars of Jimmy’s cell like a kid banging a stick against the slats of a picket fence. “All right,” he yelled, “up.”

  The other men in that cell and several other cells roused themselves grumbling and stretching as they got to their feet. “What you yellin’ ‘bout,” one of the meaner ones said.

  “Which one of you worthless pieces of garbage shoved that shiv into Varkot?” He pointed to the toothbrush.

  “You call us names and then expect us to help you?” another sneered.

  “If you expect me to ever do anything for you, one of you had better tell me something.”

  “I saw…” Jimmy started to say, but a look from two of his cellmates stopped him short.

  “What did you see?” Paul asked while casting an angry glace from one man to another until everyone in the cell had experienced what he thought of as his best withering gaze. None of them were affected in the least except Jimmy. However, it wasn’t Paul’s gaze that terrified Jimmy. “Talk to me,” Paul spit the words with as much venom as he could muster.

  “I…I…” Jimmy stuttered and then peeked at Yarborough who glared back malevolently.

  Paul knew instantly that Roman Yarborough was the guilty party but also knew no one would rat on him. No one who valued their life, that is. Everybody knew Yarborough was an enforcer for Carlo Donati. He’d gotten thrown in jail last night for getting in a bar fight. He’d beaten another man half to death, but Paul knew the other man, who was now in the hospital, would never press charges whether he started the fight or Yarborough did. He would know better. The beating was the least of his worries. Maybe the bartender would press charges, but he doubted it.

  Yarborough was a big, scary guy. It was rumored that he’d killed at least six people if the rumors could be believed. He stood at least six-foot-six and had huge hands that easily fit around someone’s throat. Paul had heard he’d used those hands for two of his six rumored victims.

  Yarborough had always had large hands. When he was young kids taunted him with the nicknames Sasquatch or just Squatch or Yeti because of his big hands. That is, they teased him un
til his body caught up with his hands. Over the summer between his fourth and fifth year in school, he grew six inches and spent several hours each day lifting the weights his father had bought him because his father didn’t want to be known for spawning a wimp. When Yarborough went back to school he’d beaten up several of his antagonists, once two at the same time and the taunting stopped. Then he became the bully of the school, and his former tormentors became his followers. That continued into high school where, as a freshman, he beat up the senior quarterback of the football team when he made the mistake of getting fresh with Roman’s sister. Now he had taken bullying to the next level.

  No one would dare stand up against Yarborough. Paul knew it, and everyone else familiar with Yarborough couldn’t argue with that sensible, life-preserving logic. Paul shook his head in resignation. He gave up and went back to his desk where he called the sergeant.

  Chapter 23

  “Frisk,” the homicide sergeant said when he answered Paul’s call.

  “Sarge, this is Paul Hill. We’ve got an issue here.”

  “Specify,” the sergeant never said two words when one would do.

  “Anton Varkot was booked a while back for attempted murder and was awaiting arraignment. Well, someone shanked him sometime last night. I wasn’t in yet. I found him when Spargus raised a ruckus.” It was important that the sergeant didn’t think it was his fault. He didn’t care who took the heat, but he didn’t want it to be him.

  “With what?”

  “A sharpened toothbrush. It’s still in the aisle between the cells.”

  “Who?”

  “I think it was probably Roman Yarborough. He’s in the cell next to Varkot’s cell. Spargus looked right at him when I gave him the evil eye.” Paul kidded himself that his stare had done the trick. However, he was versed enough in the realities of the part of the world he lived in day-in and day-out not to actually believe it. “But you know neither Spargus nor anyone else would ever tell us it was Yarborough. They know how he is and who he works for most of the time. They also know who Varkot worked for and that Donati doesn’t put up with screw-ups.”

  “Keep everybody out of there until I get CSI there. Everybody. Understand?”

  “Right, Sarge.”

  As expected there were no prints on the toothbrush and the blood on it as well as the drops in the aisle were Varkot’s. The sergeant and his lieutenant grilled Spargus for hours. He stuck to his story that he didn’t see who killed Varkot, but neither the sergeant nor the lieutenant was buying it. They said they knew Yarborough did it and they only need his corroboration, but he held fast to his story. They interviewed everyone else in Spargus’s cell and several other surrounding cells, but no one would give up Yarborough as the killer. They finally had to give up, and Yarborough walked later that week because, as expected, the guy in the hospital wouldn’t press charges. They tried to get the bartender at the bar where the fight occurred to press charges but found out he received enough money to pay for any damages as well as his silence, so, ultimately, the police had no proof against Yarborough.

  Ronald had found out that Jenny’s pimp, Javier, had allowed her to set herself up in an apartment to receive her clients rather than walk the streets as long as she agreed to always give him his share whether he sent them to her or she found them on her own. Jenny agreed because she knew Javier would always be able to find her enough clients to keep her busy and at least she wouldn’t have to be on the street anymore. Almost anything was better than being on the street. She really would have preferred to get out of the life entirely, but she knew ten thousand dollars wouldn’t go very far when she had tuition to pay and books to buy. So, she had to keep working until Ronald found another job for her as he promised he would. A few more paydays like the one she got for stealing the baby, and maybe she could actually afford to go back to school. All she could do at this point was hope Ronald would come through.

  Ronald knocked on Jenny’s door before lowering his umbrella. He swore loudly when a sudden gust of wind blew rainwater from the apartment’s roof into his face. He took out a handkerchief to wipe the rain from his face messing up the makeup he so carefully put on every morning. He figured it really didn’t matter as Jenny was the only one who was going to see him. Javier had promised him she wasn’t currently with a client that he’d arranged, so Ronald felt reasonably confident he wouldn’t be interrupting anything, and there wouldn’t be any witnesses to see him or what he intended to do. Jenny answered the door in a tight dress that revealed ample cleavage. If she was surprised to see Ronald she didn’t let it show. Even though she noticed the beginning of the scar and a small bit of the birthmark where the rain had washed off the makeup, she thought better of asking about it. She was afraid he’d take anything she could say or ask as derogatory.

  “You got another job for me?”

  “No, and we need to talk about the baby job.”

  “What about it? Wasn’t the baby what you wanted? You assured me he was.” She swallowed hard hoping he didn’t want to talk about the tattoo knowing that was probably exactly what he wanted.

  “The baby was just fine—it’s you that’s the problem.”

  Jenny was suddenly overwhelmed with a strong sense of foreboding. Naturally, she knew about the tattoo, and she had wondered before she went into the hospital if it was going to be a problem. But Ronald had warned her she’d regret it if she didn’t steal the baby since he’d already divulged his plan to her. Therefore, Ronald had left her with no alternative. She had intended on wearing dark pantyhose to cover up the tattoo, but when she tried to put them on that morning, her hose had torn right where the tattoo showed. After they’d torn, she worked for over an hour to wash the tattoo off, but she didn’t have any more luck than she’d had the other times she had tried to wash it off. If she could ever figure out who’d drawn the tattoo on her leg, she’d tattoo his face with her fist. But she had to survive this confrontation with Ronald before that was even a possibility.

  “What do you mean I’m the problem? I have no idea what you’re getting at.” She hoped she was convincing but she starting backing away from Ronald in case she wasn’t. She might have a way out of this dilemma if she could only reach it.

  Ronald saw her take a few steps back and thought the motion showed a healthy respect for his power over her. He would have loved to use her for other jobs but knew he didn’t dare do that. She hadn’t informed him about the tattoo, so Jenny had to go. “Are you telling me you don’t know about your tattoo?”

  “No. I wouldn’t try to lie to you about that. But why is it a problem?”

  “Haven’t you seen the news? The cops are all over it, and I’m sure they have a dragnet out now to scoop you up. My only question to you is why didn’t you tell me about the tattoo?”

  She took two more backward steps toward the dresser. “Because you didn’t leave me any choice. You described your plan before I had a chance to tell you I couldn’t do it and then you threatened to hurt me if I refused.”

  Ronald smiled evilly. “I did didn’t I, and now I’m going to have to do it anyway.” He reached into his jacket pocket, and Jenny instinctively knew he was reaching for a gun. Without hesitating, she twirled and picked up the stun gun from atop the dresser, and in one quick motion, she pivoted and lunged toward him. She pressed the stun gun to his chest and fired before he had gotten his gun pulled from his jacket pocket. He spasmed violently before collapsing to the floor unconscious.

  Jenny stared at him for a moment before she broke into frantic movement. She had to get packed and far away from here before he woke up. She had no idea how long he would be out. The guy where she bought the stun gun said her attacker would be out anywhere from five to sixty minutes. She needed more than five minutes, so she stunned Ronald again to make sure he stayed out longer. The clerk had promised her she could do no permanent damage with the stun gun, not that she really cared. It wouldn’t break her heart if Ronald never woke up.

  After she was pa
cked, she took a few moments to wipe off all the makeup covering Ronald’s scar and birthmark. It was apparent to her at least partially trained eyes that whoever sewed up Ronald’s face did a poor job which was why the scar was so prominent. She felt sorry about his deformities and thought maybe they explained Ronald’s cruel demeanor. But there wasn’t anything she could do about his attitude. All she could do was get as far away from him as possible. Fortunately, the ten thousand dollars he’d given her would help her do that. She still had most of it left.

  As she finished packing her beat-up suitcase, she retrieved the money from its hiding place and put it in the suitcase as well. She hurried out the door and down the short flight of stairs where she shoved the suitcase in the trunk of the car Ronald had lent her. She was on her way only ten minutes after Ronald had knocked on her door.

  As she packed, she came up with a plan. She would go to Colorado Springs, Colorado and ask to stay with Amy, a friend from high school. She had kept in touch with Amy after Amy moved from LA with her parents and Amy had invited Jenny to come stay with her for a while every time they talked on the phone. Jenny had confided in Amy about her parents dying, about having to quit school, and how she was now surviving on the streets any way she could. Jenny had heard Amy’s emotional reaction on the phone and Amy had offered to send Jenny money, but Jenny didn’t feel right imposing on her friend that way. But she wouldn’t feel quite as guilty about staying with Amy as she had been invited innumerable times. Besides, at the moment, she didn’t know what else to do. She could give Amy some of her money to help with rent and whatever food she ate. She was sure Amy would happily allow her to stay for at least a few days.

  Unlike Jenny, who had to leave school, Amy had completed a two-year program at a technical school and was now gainfully employed as a computer programmer. Jenny remembered Amy had always been a computer nerd. When Jenny was curing the imaginary ills of her dolls, Amy was reading computer manuals and writing programs on the computer her father had bought her. Amy was constantly showing Jenny some new program she had written, and Jenny feigned as much interest as she could manage. Amy ignored Jenny’s wandering eyes because she knew what Jenny considered important and that wasn’t programming, financial news, or politics.