False Ransom (Mike Chance series Book 1)

by Ivan Infante

  The large domed lobby was empty except for a clerk in a grimy blue-grey uniform who slumped behind his counter fast asleep. Mike walked through the lobby and down the passageway that led to the platforms. As he entered the passageway, he passed a kid kneeling to unlock the small wooden doors to the newsstand so he could get out the periodicals and open for business. The Los Angeles editions of the daily papers were stacked around him.

  Mike kept walking. He went under a low grimy arch and out onto the first platform. He spotted trouble right away. Mike only glanced, so he couldn’t be sure what he was dealing with, but there were a couple of wide-boys with bulges in their jackets slumping on a bench against the wall. They saw Mike. He could feel their eyes on his neck. He could feel the violence stirring in the back of his head. Then he remembered the money and he kept his mind on business.

  Mike turned around and walked back toward the lobby. He passed the kid at the newsstand again. By now, the Newsie had finished putting out papers. He manned the stand with ambivalence, but he cast a hopeful look at Mike. The glare he got back said ‘no sale.’ Mike ambled into the lobby. The uniform clerk in the ticket booth still slept. Mike looked around until he found the sign for the washroom. He headed for it.

  Inside, he checked the stalls. They were all empty. He walked over to the mirror and spent a second in front of it. He liked what he saw. He had slept well. The new suit made a difference. He reached into his coat pocket and gripped the Savage. He had the right tool for the job. His thoughts were cut short when the door opened. A fat sweaty guy in overalls came in. He had the name Al on a tag over his chest. He spoke loud.

  “Morning.” He beamed.

  Mike was about to dismiss him as an idiot until Al brushed up against the sink. Something metal clanged heavy against the porcelain. Mike thought about asking in a gruff voice what Al had in his pocket and then not waiting for an answer. Mike knew he could put Al down and stash him in one of the stalls in seconds. Mike didn’t even have to make noise with the pistol. He had the razor in his pocket. He could cut Al’s throat. Then it wouldn’t matter what Al had clanging around in his pocket. Mike considered the risk of getting blood stains on his clothes, but he could wash himself in the sink or the toilet if necessary.

  Al leaned over the sink and washed his hands. Mike backed away and angled behind him. Al didn’t seem to notice. If he was here for trouble, he wasn’t acting like it. Mike slid his hand into his pocket and gripped the razor, but the Newsie darted in before Mike could pull it. The kid headed straight for the can. Al looked up from the sink and saw Mike standing behind him. Mike took his hand out of his pocket without the razor. He was disappointed. He had looked forward to seeing how fast he could do it. Al was oblivious, he just gave another smile and strolled out. Mike stuck right behind him.

  Mike trailed Al back to the lobby. The mechanic lumbered for the exit. Mike glided through the empty space behind him. Behind the ticket counter, the clerk had woken up. He slouched in his chair and shuffled paperwork like a man well accustomed to wasting time. He looked up at Mike and flinched a little. His eyes lingered. Mike didn’t glance back. He headed out to Santa Fe Avenue to wait.

  Mike lit a cigarette and ambled down the street to where a couple of cabs were idling. One of the drivers was asleep. The other, a grizzled pro, paid Mike no attention. He knew in a second that Mike wasn’t looking for a ride. A song played on a radio somewhere nearby. It came from the direction of the pharmacy where they had robbed the poker game. Mike strained his ears to hear it, but he couldn’t make out the tune.

  Mike turned and headed back toward the station. There was no sign of Doug. Mike considered bracing the clerk, but that was pointless. Nothing mattered until the money got here. Mike checked his watch and started looking for a good place to sit and watch the front of the building. He found a low stone wall near the corner and took up his position.

  Time passed. Mike waited. Occasionally, his mind wandered and he found himself staring into the traffic coming down the street toward him. A fog settled and it got harder to see and there was still no sign of Doug. Mike lit another cigarette. He looked across the street at Benny’s Ford Tudor, but the fog made it impossible to see if Benny was still behind the wheel.

  About an hour before dawn, Mike ran out of cigarettes and rose from his spot on the low stone wall. He stretched and rolled his neck. His head felt all right. Mike had built a pile of butts at his feet overnight and he kicked it over before he headed across the street toward Benny.

  When Mike reached Benny’s car, he found his friend squirming behind the wheel. Benny hadn’t slept either and he looked worse than Mike. Usually, Benny stayed calm in the worst situations, if he knew the angle. Ignorance made him jumpy.

  “Where the hell is he?” Benny threw the question up at Mike.

  “How should I know?” Mike leaned down and rested his right arm on the door frame.

  “You think he just glommed it? Why even tell us if he was gonna glom it? Who does that?”

  “Who knows what he was thinking? Maybe she was onto him? She might have been waiting for him somewhere. Maybe he brakes to long at a stop sign and she steps out of the shadows and drops him and rolls his body into a ditch.”

  Benny’s eyes got wide. “You think she could drop him like that?”

  Mike sneered. “She’d drop him like trash. Remember who her father is. The apple doesn’t falls far from the tree.” Mike pushed himself away from the car and stood up. He scanned the street one more time: no Doug, no girl, no money.

  “You’re not wrong about any of that.” Benny murmured. “We shoulda killed him.”

  “You didn’t want to, remember.” Mike threw words over his shoulder as he made his way to his Tudor. “Let’s take the cars back, get some breakfast at your place, and wait it out. Something’s gonna break, better or worse.”

  Mike slid behind the wheel of his Tudor and started it up. By the time he pulled away from the curb, Benny was already turning left down the street in front of him. Mike sped up to stay close to him.

  They drove west down Wilshire. Mike had Benny in front of him and the sun behind him. Every now and then, the sun reflected off the glass storefronts or the mirrors of the cars and blinded him for a second. He kept pulling down the brim of his hat to protect himself, but it didn’t help. By the time he got back to the Ashton, his eyes were locked in a permanent squint.

  Mike pulled into the garage and parked the car in the same spot where he had gotten it. He left the keys in the ignition and got out. Mike could here Moses clanging around somewhere nearby, but he didn’t take the time to look for him. Moses was a stand up kid, but Mike wasn’t in the mood for a big happy smile

  Benny and Mike walked out of the garage. They turned right on Rampart Boulevard and headed toward Wilshire. When they got to Wilshire, Benny stopped and looked up and down the street, “They call this the 5th Avenue of the West.”

  Mike paused for a second and took in his surroundings, “They don’t know what they’re talking about.” Mike headed for Benny’s place. Benny fell in line next to him.

  “I really thought this was an easy one.” Benny murmured to himself.

  “Nothing’s easy, but don’t waste a second feeling bad about this, just think it through. I’ve been pondering it all night and I think we dodged a bullet on this one. Hell, I’m sure of it. Think on it good. We woulda been stealing from the organization. You know the old man would’ve come after his money as soon as he knew his daughter was safe. And fat Doug? One look at his mug and any chump coulda figured what he was up to. That Tino would’ve figured it for sure and he’d come to take the old man’s money back. I guarantee it, you see, we dodged something here. We almost made a big mistake.” Mike slapped his friend on the back.

  Benny flinched under the blow. “I hear you, but do me a favor, pal. Don’t call it a mistake. I don’t make mistakes. Let’s just call it a thing we stumbled on. I mean, here comes a fat guy, what’s he got with him? Let’s talk to him. Let
’s listen. Let’s take a look-see. Let’s see if it pans out. So we do. We take a look-see and it doesn’t pan. Don’t call that a mistake. That’s part of the hustle. Now we put the whole thing down and move on to the next thing. You don’t have to call it a mistake. You don’t have to have an opinion about it. You don’t have to judge it. You’ll get tired of having opinions, Mike. You’ll get tired of judging, you’ll see.” Benny washed his hands in the air and showed them to Mike. “My record’s still clean.”

  Mike stopped in his tracks. He reached out and put a big hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Let’s be smarter from now on. Let’s not pick up anything else that we stumble on. Let’s plan the next move. There are plenty of grifts we can run on the road, out of town. Let’s keep our backyard clean.” Mike squeezed Benny’s shoulder for emphasis. He did it so hard he hurt him.

  “Damn.” Benny spun out of Mike’s grasp. “I hear you. You’re done with Doug.”

  “We’re done with him.” Mike started walking. Benny hurried to keep up. When Mike looked over, Benny smiled back like nothing bad had ever happened between them ever. That was another thing Mike liked about his partner. Benny had the good sense to let money go when it was obvious it had to travel.

  By the time they got to Benny’s place, the sun had risen over the top of the buildings across the street. The pepper trees in the parking lot had long shadows. Benny and Mike avoided the front. They headed down the side of the building and into the alley. When they got to the back door, Benny opened it in one smooth motion. Once inside, Benny headed for the stairs.

  “I’m going to shower and sleep. Help yourself to the kitchen. I got a phone installed in there. If it rings, answer it. Doug has the number.” When he finished, Benny climbed up the wooden stairs and disappeared into the dark.

  Mike didn’t answer him. He strolled through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. The place was spotless. The Chinese had left it spic-and-span. There were a few flies buzzing around, but even they seemed clean – like they had suits on. Mike felt nauseous at the thought of food. Instead, he decided on a drink and walked under the arch that led into the bar.

  The bar was the place’s best feature. It was a heavy, dark wood affair with brass knobs and a long polished railing along the front. The bar was older than the building. It had thrived in a speakeasy all through prohibition. When the constitution got amended, the bar got dismantled and moved over to Benny’s place where it saw less action despite being legal. Mike slid behind the bar and searched for a good bottle of whiskey. It was hard to find, but after a while he settled on a bottle of White Horse. It would have to do. He uncorked the bottle and poured himself a drink. Before he finished it, the phone rang. It had a loud, harsh jangle.

  Mike picked it up and answered with a gruff. “Hello.” The line stayed silent. “Hello.” He said again. This time, he tried to sound nicer. In response, the phone went dead. Mike hung up and poured himself another drink. He downed it quick and made himself another. He repeated the process until the day got older and the sun rose over the trees and shined through the bar’s big front window. He turned away from this glare and headed into the kitchen.

  Mike sopped up the last of his eggs with a damp piece of toast. He pushed the bread around his plate with his thumb and forefinger. Noise form the next room got his attention. It was Benny coming downstairs. His footsteps had improved from a few hours ago. There was more bounce in them. When Benny strolled into the kitchen, he looked better too. In fact, his eyes glinted like he’d thought of something. Mike popped the last piece of toast in his mouth, pushed away his plate, and sat up. He looked forward to hearing what Benny was smiling about. Before Benny could say good morning, a loud knock came from the back door.

  “Who’s that?” Benny stopped in his tracks.

  Mike whispered. “It’s your place. You tell me.”

  “It’s too early. There’s no deliveries until the afternoon after the boys get here.” Benny took a knife from a block on the counter.

  “Could the boys be early?” Mike stood up.

  “They’re always on time, never late and never early.” Benny answered. “You stay behind me.” Benny said. He gripped the knife so it was ready for stabbing and moved toward the back door. The knocking persisted.

  “We can put them in the basement.” Mike pulled the Savage from his pocket. He held it loosely in his right hand. He didn’t want to use it. He would let Benny work the knife because it was quiet. He kept the pistol ready just in case.

  Benny glanced over his shoulder at Mike. “Nah, can’t do that. I’ve got some down there already. That graveyard is full.”

  When they reached the back door, the banging had subsided. Benny looked over his shoulder to make sure Mike had him covered. Mike nodded. He was ready. Benny kept the knife hidden behind his back and opened the door.

  Doug stood outside with a shocked look on his face. Fresh blood ran down the front of his shirt. It was so thick it looked like he was wearing a large red bib. Doug swayed backward when the door opened, then pitched forward and collapsed on the threshold. Benny had to move fast to avoid getting caught underneath him.

  “Get the door.” Mike leapt past Benny, grabbed Doug, and dragged the fat man inside and clear of the doorway. He paid no attention to his condition.

  Benny slammed the door as soon as the body was clear. Then he turned and knelt down next to Doug.

  “He’s not gonna make it.” Mike stayed standing. He lit a cigarette and started thinking about what to do with the body. “He’s dead.”

  Benny ignored Mike. He leaned in close. He took Doug’s head in his hands and tried to force him to make eye contact. “What happened?”

  Doug gurgled some words. “AmIldyi.”

  “What?” Benny shook him a little. “Where’s the money? Did someone take it from you? Was it the girl?”

  “Am I dying?” Doug spoke the words clearly.

  Benny didn’t answer. He just stared at Doug until the fat man’s eyes rolled back in his head. It was over.

  “Thanks for nothing, fatso.” Mike tossed his cigarette aside in disgust. “He’s gonna be quite the load to carry. You sure he can’t go in the basement?”

  “Jesus, Mike. I’m sure.” Benny got up. His new clothes were bloody. “He probably drove here. There’s gotta be a car around.”

  “He got keys on him?” Mike asked.

  “I don’t know.” Benny hesitated like he wanted Mike to check the body himself.

  “I don’t have a change of clothes.” Mike said.

  “You’re gonna get it on you anyway when you help me move him.” Benny sounded like he wasn’t quite sure Mike would help him.

  “Sure, I’ll get bloody. After I’ve tracked down the car.” Mike held out his hand and waited for the keys. After a sigh, Benny knelt back down.

  “Check for a gun, too.” Mike took a few steps back as he spoke. A pool of blood had started spreading across the floor and he didn’t want any of it on his shoes.

  Benny opened Doug’s coat. The white shirt underneath was a frothy blood-red disaster. Benny took a look at the wounds. Bullet holes along the left side of the body. Flesh still dribbled out of them. “Looks like they came up to the driver’s side and let him have it. You think they got it from him? You don’t think it’s in the car on the seat or something?”

  “It’s the first thing I’m looking for.” The pool of blood kept spreading. Mike took another step back.

  Benny checked the body. He was methodical at stripping the dead. Mike watched closely even though he’d seen Benny perform this routine many times. Benny told Mike he’d learned the skill back home. Mike had no idea where Benny called home, but he never wanted to collapse in the street there. Even his shoes would be gone before he hit the ground.

  Benny finished and looked up at Mike. “No keys. They’re probably in the car. It’s gotta be parked nearby.”

  “Well, we can’t move him until tonight.” Mike said as he stepped toward the door. “When
I find the car, I’ll clean it up and put it out of sight.”

  On his way out, Mike couldn’t avoid the pool of blood, so he trudged right through it. He left bloody foot prints.

  “What am I supposed to do with him in the meantime?” Benny stood up. He’d found Doug’s wallet and stripped it of its contents. He handed half the money to Mike who pocketed it without a word.

  “Hide him in the basement.” Mike opened the door and stepped out into the alley.

  Once outside, it took Mike no time to find the car. He could see it from the back stoop. It had rolled through a row of garbage cans, scattering them like bowling pins, and slammed into the back wall of the building across the way. It was a 1938 Ford Woodie and it was brand new. It had the factory shine all over it.

  Mike picked his way across the trash-strewn alley and around the back of the car to the driver’s side. The driver’s side door was pockmarked with too many bullet holes to count and the window was shattered. The glass left in place was jagged and broken. Mike opened the door and looked in. Glass littered the seat and blood soaked it. Mike turned away from the car and looked for something in the piles of trash. After a while, he found a thick piece of discarded canvas. He returned to the Woodie and used the canvas to wipe away the shards of glass on the seat. When he was done, he threw the canvas on the bloody seat and slid behind the wheel. He found the key in the ignition. When he turned it, his hand came away bloody.

  Mike backed the Woodie away from the wall and drove it out of the alley around to the parking lot in front. He pulled up close to the building with the driver’s side door against the wall. Then he got out, took the canvas off the seat and covered his fist with it. His hand protected, he broke out the rest of the window so no jagged glass remained. When he was done, he put the canvas back over the front seat so it covered the blood stain completely. Then he leaned against the building and lit a Chesterfield. Blood from his hands stained the cigarette. It made the smoke taste like metal.