Wicked Is the Whiskey: A Sean McClanahan Mystery (Sean McClanahan Mysteries Book 1)

by T. J. Purcell

  Terry and the three mercenaries were laughing as they pulled bills from their pockets and wagered on Tony taking me out.

  He lunged at me with a looping right. I ducked it and drove a hard right into his gut — hoping to compress the nerves in his solar plexus and knock the wind out of him.

  He fell back against the wall, barely able to breathe. His eyes showed sudden uncertainty — the only person who had ever hit him that hard before had just hit him that hard again.

  He came at me with another looping right. I jabbed him in the windpipe with a couple of quick lefts, then threw everything I had into another gut shot.

  The big dumb ones never learn. He fell against the wall choking for air.

  “Come on, Tony, we have money on you,” said Terry

  “Shut up,” said the Tony, as he pulled himself to his feet.

  “You fight dirty,” he said, growling.

  He picked up a folding chair and rushed at me with it as he raised it over his head. He moved fast for a man his size. I ducked but not before I took the brunt of his blow across my back and noggin and fell hard to the ground.

  He turned at came at me again. I faked a move to the right but ducked right. I miss the full impact, but it hurt like hell and knocked me down again.

  I got back to my feet and waved him toward me, a matador doing battle with a bull.

  He smiled, sensing he had the upper head and began charging me, the chair above his head. I threw my shoulder into his shins, causing a loud crack as he tripped and fell. The massive beast broke my left collarbone, rendering my left arm useless.

  “Dirty bastard fighter,” he said, pulling himself to his feet.

  I got to my feet, my left arm hanging to my side, my right hand waving him on. He charged me again and I ducked again, but he hit my left shoulder with the steel chair and I went down hard.

  I noticed his sport coat lying on the floor a few feet from me.

  I moaned in agony as I pushed myself toward his coat.

  He walked over to me and looked down at me lying there.

  “You cry like little girl,” he said. He kicked my left shoulder with his massive foot.

  I groaned in agony, as I moved on top of his sport coat.

  “Leave him alone,” shouted Erin.

  “Stop it, you monster,” said Elizabeth.

  Hall was laughing out loud.

  “Bravo! Bravo, Tony!” she said.

  He kicked me again and I moaned again. While he and the other thugs laughed, I was able to get my hand inside that coat pocket and locate what I’d hoped was still there.

  “Why don’t you let me get to my feet, so I can fight you like a man,” I said.

  “A man! He thinks he is man! Up then, Mister Sean!”

  I was barely able to steady myself when he began circling me. He was confident now — too confident.

  He came at me with a long looping that I ducked easily. As he went past me, I turned and gave him three rapid taps on the back of his skull with his blackjack.

  The floor rose up at his head like it was a freight elevator and his head clunked loudly when it hit.

  So, I fight a little dirty.

  He was out cold. The room was suddenly deadly silent. The little thug and the two mercenaries looked to Hall for instructions on what to do. For the first time since I’d met her, she was speechless.

  “You, move away from him over here with the ladies,” said Chief Sarafino, her shotgun pointed at me.

  I did as I was told.

  Five loud gun blasts sounded outside the building.

  “This is the Drug Enforcement Administration,” said Lou into a megaphone outside loudly enough for all of us to hear. He had been listening to my cell phone, which we had set to speaker before hiding it in my pants pocket.

  “We have shot out your security cameras,” said Lou. “You are blind and you are surrounded. Come out with your hands up or we are coming in. You have three minutes to come outside.”

  “Tony, you stay here,” said Hall. “You other two go see what they are doing out there.”

  Both mercenaries ran out the door down the hall toward the front of the building.

  Terry had his gun out. He bent down and tapped Tony on his shoulder.

  “Tony, you OK?”

  Tony groaned and began to come to.

  “What happened?” he said holding the back of his head.

  “Get on your feet you stupid oaf,” said Hall to Tony. “Give him his gun, Terry.”

  Terry helped him to his feet and gave him his gun.

  The three mercenaries ran back into the room.

  “There are two that we can see,” said one of the mercenaries. “We see no DEA vehicles, no SWAT. All we see are two older gentlemen and a woman. They are spread out on the hillside and behind vehicles.”

  “Well, go take them out,” said Hall, exasperated.

  The mercenaries checked their automatic rifles.

  “AK 47’s are prone to jam,” I said loudly enough for Lou to hear me. “And there’s only three of you. You don’t stand a chance.”

  “Shut up!” said one mercenary.

  The three men jogged out the door and down the hall toward the front.

  “Shall we ready the escape boat?” said Terry to Hall.

  “What do you mean ready it,” said Hall. “It damn well better be ready. And your hired men damn well better take care of the old men outside while we wait.”

  We heard the front door open as the two Russians ran outside firing — followed instantly by six fast shotgun blasts, then silence.

  I feared the worst.

  “Let’s try this one more time,” said Lou into the megaphone. “Come out with your hands up or we are coming in.”

  The big thug and little thug looked to Hall for instructions.

  “We’re taking the boat,” she said to them. “Now move.”

  Hall turned toward the chief.

  “Shoot all them now,” she said, heading toward the door. “There’ll be a nice bonus in it for you.”

  “Freeze,” said the chief, pulling the pump on her shotgun and pointing it at Hall, Tony and Terry. “Nobody move.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” said Hall turning. “Not another dumbass. Shoot her!”

  “Drop it,” the chief said to Terry.

  Terry raised his arm and fired at the chief and shot, hitting her in the thigh and torso. She returned fire with one blast, painting the wall with him.

  Then she fell to the floor, her shotgun sliding toward the back of the room.

  “Shoot them,” said Hall to Tony.

  He moved slowly, though.

  “Jesus, do I have to do everything around her myself?” she said.

  She grabbed his pistol and shot him in the stomach three times. He fell to the ground, had a small seizure then stopped breathing.

  “Now it’s just you three and me,” said Hall, relishing her power.

  “You witch,” said Elizabeth from the other side of the room. “You dirty rotten witch. You killed John.”

  Elizabeth charged Hall.

  “No,” I said, trying to head her off.

  Hall had her pistol raised and began firing.

  She shot me in the shoulder and gut. It hurt like hell but I kept rushing her. She shot me in the hip and thigh. As I grabbed Elizabeth, we both fell at Hall’s feet.

  “Are you OK?” said Elizabeth.

  “I’ve had better autumns,” I said. “Are you hit?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, Jesus, this is fun,” said Hall laughing aloud.

  Hall moved back a few steps and pointed her gun at Elizabeth’s head.

  “Like I said, McClanahan, I’m going to kill you last, so you can enjoy the rest of the show.”

  “Drop it,” said Erin, pumping Chief Sarafino’s shotgun. She pointed it at Hall’s torso and began walking toward her.

  Hall attempted to aim the 9 millimeter pistol at Erin and shoot, but she failed to do so befo
re a shotgun blast ricocheted across the walls.

  Erin stood in the back of the room holding Chief Sarafino’s shotgun, smoke rising out of the barrel.

  Hall was speechless for the first time in her life.

  There was a hole in her stomach so big, I could see through it to the wall.

  She dropped her gun, dumbfounded by her sudden turn of her luck.

  “You assclowns,” she said, then fell to the ground dead.

  Chapter #87

  Christmas came and went that year and the winter was particularly brutal. But the spring had finally arrived and the first sunny Saturday evening in May, we hosted a gathering of John Preston dignitaries at the pub.

  Our gathering included Erin, Elizabeth, Chief Sarafino, Lou, Morton, Wilson, Peter Hartley, Island Jim, Vinny, Mick and Maureen.

  Mick began tapping a wine glass with a spoon.

  “I'd like to propose a toast,” he said, standing.

  He looked around the table making eye contact with everyone there.

  “We thank the Good Lord for keeping everyone here alive and well throughout this ordeal, because God knows things could have turned out way differently. But I wish to also offer our prayers and blessings to John Miller and Rosie Perez — may God watch over them — and to Sean’s full return to full health!”

  “Cheers,” said everyone, clanking their wine and pint glasses.

  “I'd like to propose a toast,” I said, standing. “Here's to the finest group of crime fighters I've ever had the pleasure to work with.”

  I raised my glass and everyone cheered.

  Then I said: “And here's to you guys, too!”

  Everyone laughed aloud.

  “I'd like to also propose a toast,” said Elizabeth.

  Her words were a touch slurred. She looked deep into my eyes, then said, “To Sean, the cutest PI in the world!”

  “Somebody cut her off,” said Maureen and we all laughed aloud again.

  It was the first time I’d had a chance to talk with everyone involved in the Preston case all at once. The authorities had made so much progress since we’d resolved it in the autumn, we brought everyone up to speed on the latest key points.

  Lou explained how he, Morton and Wilson took down the two mercenaries. While Lou and Wilson sat up high on the hill, Morton moved down near the front door, hiding in the shrubs until the mercenaries came out firing. Morton’s steady shotgun took them out without incident.

  Chief Sarafino nearly died that day, but she survived and was on her way to a full recovery. She resigned her duty as police chief and fully cooperated with the federal investigators. Her investigation was an important component to pinpointing who did what. It may be the only time in police history in which a police chief was retired with honors, but placed on probation for pleading to obstruction of justice. Though Hall and her thugs were dead and gone, the chief’s excellent work helped put other mid-level associates away.

  Vinny, too, was instrumental in putting many bad guys away. Though his work surveillance work could not be entered in the court of law, he worked closely with Stanley Kowalski to build a strong case against several of Hall’s associates across a dozen northeastern states. Unfortunately, there was no legal way to recover the funds that had been transferred into Preston’s firm from a bank in the Caymans, as laws prevented U.S. agencies from accessing that information. For his cooperation, Stanley pleaded down to a sentence of probation and would go on to work with Vinny, finally finding a role model who could put his considerable skills to good use.

  Elizabeth, too, would come out of it all right. Thankfully, she didn’t get hit by a single Hall bullet. Her swift move that day saved our lives. Though she suffered public humiliation when the whole Preston story went public, there was one huge upside. Since Preston had been murdered, his insurance policy was whole. She not only received full payment of a $5 million, but she received an additional $5 million as a result of double indemnity, because murder is considered an accidental death.

  Elizabeth told me in confidence, however, that she didn’t feel she deserved all of that money. She offered half to Erin, since Erin was John Miller’s real wife, but Erin refused it. Elizabeth didn’t feel she deserved anything she had, including the old Heinz mansion, and her plan was to liquidate, donate the lion’s share to charity and keep just enough retire to a modest life out of the limelight. Without fanfare, she set up a fund for Rosie’s husband and children that would keep them financially secure for the rest of their lives.

  “I’d like to raise another toast to John and Rosie,” said Elizabeth. “I miss them both so much!”

  We clanked our glasses and drank.

  As for me, I was a wee bit banged up, but never felt so alive. I would eventually recover fully. And I had begun spending time with Erin, who was fast becoming one of my dearest friends.

  The only big mystery that remained was this: where did Hall stash all of her money? Vinny and Stanley determined that she’d profited more than $140 million. Forensic accountants were able to trace a fraction of the money being invested in the many different companies Hall had acquired and made profitable. To her credit, they were mostly legitimate entities and the many jobs she created in the Mon Valley would survive her — the only silver lining.

  But the money was what everyone wanted to talk about.

  “We have some of the finest minds working on cracking Hall’s ledger,” said Lou. “We brought Vinny in, too, but to date nobody has made much progress.”

  “It’s one of the most complicated hand-written ciphers I have seen,” said Vinny. “It may have been the most clever thing Hall did, in fact. But I’m determined to crack that code and we will celebrate here at this pub the day that I do.”

  “Cheers to that,” I said.

  Throughout our fine dinner, I was keenly aware of the lady sitting to my right — the same beautiful woman who had entered the pub doors on that Saturday afternoon several months before.

  I could feel her presence and it calmed me. I could feel her spirit and I longed for her. I longed to be with her and near her and I struggled to conceal my affection from her.

  I knew she'd been through so much in such a short period of time — that she'd need a lot of time to sort it all out. I knew the worst thing I could do would be to burden her with my own longings.

  She tapped me on the shoulder and whispered in my ear.

  “Perhaps one more toast?” she said.

  I nodded. She stood. She smiled and looked to everyone at the table.

  “I cannot begin to thank all of you for what you did — for what you did for John. For what you did to save his good name. And for what you did for me. But most of all I want to thank Sean for being so patient and courageous beginning the day a nutty woman named Erin Miller came walking into this pub!”

  We all laughed a hearty laugh. Erin looked upward.

  “John, I know you're up there somewhere. I miss you, but we've done you well. May you rest in peace. And may you hold in your heart the gratitude I feel for these people here today who helped bring the truth out about the fine man you really were.”

  “Cheers!” we all said, toasting the ceiling. “Cheers!”

  We commenced talking and laughing into the evening, the hearth popping, the smell of firewood, whiskey and fresh coffee filling the air.

  It was a fine night to be proprietor of McClanahan’s Irish Pub.

  Chapter #88

  Christmas came and went and the winter, though brutal, was also behind us. One overcast day in March Vinny invited me to join him for a couple of coffees in his office.

  “This thing has been driving me mad,” he said to me, as I sipped a fresh cup of his java. “In all my years of cracking codes, I have only come across one case that reminds me of it.”

  “What’s the story?”

  “By the end of World War II, cryptography had evolved well beyond pencil and paper. It had become mechanized using early forms of computers. Now the Cold War era was in high gear
and Russian spies in the U.S., just as U.S. spies in Russia, were all using mechanized cryptography to hide their secrets. In 1953 in the U.S., however, a hand-written cipher turned up in the U.S. that puzzled everyone. They refer to it still as the ‘Hollow Nickel Case.’”

  “What do you mean hollow nickel?” I said.

  “A paperboy received payment for a newspaper subscription from a woman, who turned out to be the wife of a Russian spy. The nickel seemed odd to the boy, so he threw it to the ground. It cracked open and there was a piece of microfilm inside, a snapshot of a handwritten cipher that had 10 columns of numbers. He handed it over to the FBI, who struggled for more than four years to decode it. It would become the most complex pen and paper cipher ever created.”

  “Why was it so complex?” I said.

  “Most hand ciphers are either substitution ciphers, in which the letters are substituted for either other letters or numbers. Transposition ciphers, in which the order of the letters is scrambled, were also common.”

  “OK.”

  “As cryptography became more advanced, however, cryptographers began to combine the two. They’d include both substitution of characters as well as transposition. It looked similar to Hall’s ledger — a checkerboard of seemingly unrelated numbers and characters. Though it all seems incredibly complicated, the person enciphering the text needs only to remember a simple keyword or phrase in order to record coded entries.”

  “So the FBI was able to crack the Hollow Nickel Case?”

  “With a lot of luck, they were able to crack it. A Russian spy wanted to defect to the U.S. He gave them the keyword that unlocked the code. It was ‘snowfall’ spelled in Russian.”

  “You mean all we have to do is come up with the code Hall used to mark her entries and the whole thing will open up?”

  “That would be my hunch,” said Vinny. “Do you have any ideas what kind of keyword or phrase Hall might use?”

  I smiled.

  “Why didn’t you ask?” I said.

  “You got something?”

  “I think I may,” I said.

  Chapter #89

  “I’ve been waiting for you to come, Mr. McClanahan,” said Sophia Mosconi, sitting behind her desk.