“Norman, I don’t know if you can hear me or not, but I came here to say a few things.” I looked at his face, but nothing in it had changed. “I’m going to get the guy that shot you. I got a hunch who it was, and I’m pretty sure I’m gonna see him tonight. Braun’s gonna be there too though, and he doesn’t like me too much.” I chuckled at that. “I guess most people don’t like me too much. Not you though; for some reason, you stick around. That’s probably just a symptom of your idiocy ...”
“Kissy.” His eyes opened and he gave my hand a squeeze.
“Hey, Norman.”
“I got shot.”
“Yeah.”
“No, I mean I got shot, and you’re still calling me an idiot. You’re always so nice to me.” He smiled, weakly, and his eyelids drooped for a moment. “Who’s been knocking you around?”
“Heloise Kendall.”
He coughed out a laugh. “That broad really doesn’t want to go home, does she?”
“No.” I laughed with him. “She really doesn’t. I think she’s a lost cause.”
“Be sure to bill her mother for your medical expenses. Oh, she paid you off already. I forgot.”
I frowned. “Yeah, she did. I still don’t know why.”
He sighed and closed his eyes. “She wanted you out of the way, that’s why.” His breathing sank into a deep, even rhythm.
“I think you’re right. But why?” I looked at my wristwatch, quarter till nine. I gave Norman’s hand another squeeze. “Hang in there, pal.” He didn’t reply.
The door opened and a man in a white coat stepped into the room and flipped on the light. He didn’t seem to notice me for a few minutes as he fussed with the bottles of fluid above Norman’s head. Then he must have seen me out of the corner of his eye, because he introduced himself. “Hello, I’m Dr. Evans.”
“Nice to meet you.” I didn’t feel like giving him my name.
He raised his eyes and when he finally got a good look at me, he gasped. “My God! What happened to you?”
“People keep asking me that. I ran into a door.”
He lifted my chin and examined my puffed-up mug. “Must have been one mean door.”
“Meanest one I’ve ever met.”
He prodded beneath my eyes with his fingertips, gentle but persistent. “Does that hurt?”
“Well, it’s not exactly gonna make me burst into song, doc, but I can live with it.”
“Hmm. I don’t think anything’s broken.” He jerked a thumb at Norman. “This guy the one that’s been popping you in the eye sockets? No wonder you shot him.”
I had to laugh. Norman couldn’t beat up a sickly puppy. “No, doc, I got that one tamed about right. Would you believe me if I told you a girl did this to me?”
He whistled and shook his head. “I hope whatever you were fighting for was worth it.”
“Probably not.” I jerked a thumb toward Norman. “How is he? He woke up, but only for a few minutes.”
“I think he’s through the worst of it now. He’s been awake off-and-on for a couple of hours now. We pulled the lead out of him, did a debridement of the wound, and patched him up. We’re using the newest penicillin treatment to stave off any infection, and we’re keeping him hydrated. All told, we’re optimistic he’ll eventually make a complete recovery.”
I exhaled a blast of pent-up air and sat back in my chair. Relief washed over me until I thought I might drown in it. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done for him, doc.”
“Well, try to not let him get shot again, okay? How did that happen, anyway? Robbery?”
“No, a Nazi shot him.”
Dr. Evans’ brow furrowed. “We’re a long way from the front.”
“Maybe we’re not as far away from the front as you think, doc. There are all kinds of big shots in this worn-out burg. All of them are crooks, some of them are murderers, and a few of them are Nazis. Any one of them would jump at the opportunity to fill you full of bullet holes just as soon as look at you. Welcome to Cincinnati, home of big shots and bullet holes.” I tried to shake the disgust out of my skull, but it must have liked it in there because it hung on. “In just the last few days I’ve found two guys shot dead and watched another one get blown to hell by a Tommy gun in front of his own daughter.”
“Jesus.”
“No, doc, the war is right here, in this town. When this started, I thought it was about high-minded ideals, you know, democracy versus fascism, that sort of thing. But I found out that it’s not. It’s just about money. Isn’t everything about money? Want to hear the really sad part? I think it relieves me to find out that it all comes down to money. I understand money.”
“Who are you, lady?”
I took off my hat and ran a hand through my hair. “I don’t really know, doc. I haven’t known for five years, but if I ever find out, I’ll be sure to let you know.” I put my hat on my head again and stood up. I gave Norman’s hand a farewell squeeze. “Take care of him, will ya?”
The doctor had a puzzled expression on his face, but he nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
“That’s good enough for me.” I gave him a jaunty salute and left the room.
I tugged at my lip as I rode the elevator to the ground floor. What Norman had said about Mrs. Kendall kept rattling through my brain. By the time I made it to my car, I’d decided to pay a visit to Mrs. Marian Kendall. Since I figured I’d probably catch some lead with my lungs later in the evening, I decided to go to Kendall’s place right away.
I fished my grubby little notebook out of my pocket, checked Kendall’s address, then aimed my car toward the Fairview neighborhood. The rain hadn’t let up while I’d gone visiting in the hospital; it still tumbled from the sky in five-gallon buckets and turned the gutters into raging torrents. My headlights couldn’t pierce the wall of raindrops, so I had to slow to a pace that would set a tortoise to laughing, but eventually I got there. I parked across the street and sat watching the house. Light poured from a bay window, illuminating a porch and tidy front yard. I lit a smoke and savored the taste as I shivered in my wet clothes. The relentless rain didn’t seem interested in letting up, so once I’d sucked the life out of my Camel, I opened the door and splashed through the wall of water to the relatively dry patch of Kendall’s porch.
I peeked in the window and saw the crevasses of the old woman’s puckered face. My knuckles had almost made it to the wood of the door when I heard voices from behind it. I pressed my ear to it, but I couldn’t make out anything intelligible. The old lady’s throaty rasp made her easily identifiable, while the second voice sounded higher. Younger. I risked another peek through the bay window, and then I pulled the .38 out of my pocket.
Heloise Kendall sat eating cake in the chair next to her mother.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I knocked on the door and stepped to the side, out of view. I heard voices inside, then the clicking of a turning lock. The inner door opened followed by the screen door. As Heloise Kendall took a step out of the house, I pressed the snub-nose of the .38 into her face, dimpling her skin. She froze.
“Good evening, Miss Heloise.”
Her eyes rolled toward me, but she didn’t move otherwise. “What do you want?”
“We have some fat that needs chewed.” I moved to face her, dragging the gun’s barrel across her cheek until it rested on the tip of her nose. Her eyes came together as she tried to focus on the blue steel, making her look cross-eyed. “Back into the house, just don’t get in a hurry. Move.” She held her hands in front of her and backed away from the door, I kept pace with her, the .38 still poked into her snoot. I steered her toward the sofa and gave her a shove when she got close enough. She went down like she had no bones.
I turned to face the mummy-fleshed face of Marian Kendall. “Fancy meeting you here, ma’am.”
Kendall offered up a generous helping of her puckered frown. “You. Some private eye you are! I paid you, so what do you want?”
“Yeah, I know you did. That’s why
I’m here. Who told you to pay me off? Come on, I’m due to be shot to death later and I’d rather not be late, so spill it.”
She extended her talon and snatched a snipe from a pack of Luckies on the end table next to her. She lit it and took a long drag, spouting smoke toward me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I snatched off my hat and leaned toward her, stopping when our noses were within whispering distance. “I’m not in the mood to stand here bumping gums with you all night, sister. Look at my face. Your baby girl did this to me and I’ve been in a real pisser of a mood ever since, so unless you want me to slap the skin right off your face, you’d better figure out what I’m talking about.”
“It was Gottlieb!”
I turned to Heloise. “Gottlieb? Spill it, all of it.”
“You told him that you were looking for me, so he had me call Mother to arrange for you to be paid off. He gave her the money.” She started weeping, the pitiable weeping of a little girl. “He just needed you to go away.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. He just talked to someone on the telephone, and after that he needed you to go away.”
I sat in an easy chair that faced the sofa. “What did he talk about when he was on the telephone?”
“The money.”
I tugged at my lip; my brain felt like it was trying to open a locked door. “The money?”
“Yeah.” She pulled a hanky out of her bosom and honked her nose into it. “He said he got a better deal.”
A better deal? I show up, and suddenly Gottlieb gets a better deal? I frowned for a moment. Why would that be? Then it hit me, and I felt almost as stupid as Norman on a bad day. I, Kissy Lisbon, had nothing to do with anything. Eva Weber’s sudden appearance, however, had changed everything for Gottlieb. Suddenly the daughter of a high-ranking Bund member had shown up in Cincinnati just when Gottlieb and Braun were planning to sell their halves of the list. With the specter of an increased Bund presence in town, they could conceivably demand a greater payout from their mysterious buyer. The only downside: if the Bund or the buyer found out I wasn’t really Weber before the payout, the whole thing could fall apart, so I had to go. Gottlieb tried to buy me off, Braun tried to pop a handful of slugs between my ears.
I motioned to Kendall to pass me one of her cigarettes and I lit it with one of her matches. I sucked in the tobacco’s ghost and held it for a few seconds. I turned back to Heloise. “How much more did he get?”
“Double.”
That set me to coughing. “Double?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s gotta be a record, even for me. The half-million dollar lie.” I laughed, but neither of them did. “What’s your cut?”
Heloise licked her lips and shot a glance at her mother. “Joe and me get a hundred thousand.”
“Still gonna marry him?”
She nodded like her head was on a spring. “Yes, absolutely.” Her mother’s scowl deepened until I thought her desiccated skin might crack and fall off her face.
“Best wishes.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Now, tell me about Richter.”
“Who’s Richter?”
“The dead guy in Shultz’s house.”
She chewed her lower lip and gave her mother another sly glance. The elder Kendall made a disgusted noise in her throat and fired up another smoke.
“I’m waiting.” I spun the cylinder of the .38 idly, making it click ominously.
Heloise took the hint. “I went to have my measurements taken for my wedding dress, but I got done early. When I got back to Joe’s house I heard shouting inside, so I took off my shoes and tiptoed inside. Joe kept his revolver behind the radio, so I picked it up.” She honked into her hanky again, which had to have been full by that time. “The guy, Richter? He had a gun pointed at Joe, and he shouted at him in German. I thought he meant to shoot Joe, so I shot him first. In the back.”
“Twice?”
She nodded, blubbering by then. “Joe called his uncle, and Gottlieb came right away. We all thought the guy was dead, but as we stood there trying to decide what to do with him, he started coughing, so Gottlieb pulled out his gun and shot him in the head.” Heloise couldn’t talk anymore, she just sat there heaving great moist sobs. Her mother had finished her cigarette and huffed her way through another while her daughter spun out her story.
I mashed out the nub of my own cigarette. “So, you just left him there and told Braun it was Shultz?”
She nodded.
“How did the marker end up on the floor? Did Gottlieb get it from Hirsch?”
“No.” She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Richter had it.”
I scratched my head. “Why did Richter have it?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
I spat out a sigh. “I hate loose ends. All right, so the three of you slink away from the scene like spineless slugs, then what?”
“Joe called Braun and arranged for a ride, so Braun would be with Gottlieb when they find the body.”
“Why bother?”
“Richter was Braun’s friend.”
“And he didn’t recognize his dead friend on the floor?” I raised an eyebrow. “Come on now. That doesn’t seem likely.”
She surprised me with a smile. “Gottlieb couldn’t believe his luck either. It turns out Braun doesn’t like seeing dead people, so he didn’t get too close. He just accepted it when Gottlieb said it was Shultz.”
“A killer with a weak stomach? Who’d have thought?” The memory of Braun shooting Wexler ran like a newsreel through my mind. “He doesn’t have a problem slinging lead though, does he?”
“No, he’s killed all kinds of people. Joe told me to stay away from him. I think he’s afraid of him.”
“Did you see the list before Gottlieb sold it to Martingdale?”
“It was just a piece of paper. I didn’t get a good look at it.”
“Dammit.” I hissed out a breath and gingerly rubbed my eyes.
“Who killed John Martingdale?” She’d shut down the waterworks and now she wrung her soggy hanky between her fingers. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know who pulled the trigger, not for sure anyway. But as for who got him killed, that I can explain. You did. And Gottlieb. And your precious Joe Shultz or Joe Ruger or whoever he is today. All of you got John Martingdale killed, because you played a dangerous game with dangerous people, the kind of game where somebody always winds up in the boneyard eventually. Did any of you ever take into consideration that we’re at war? Tell a few lies to Germany and get paid. Tell a few lies to Uncle Sam and get paid. How many soldiers have painted the ground red with their life’s blood so you could get paid? How much money is a soldier’s life worth to you? You sit there and weep for John Martingdale because he was your friend, but how many wives weep for husbands they’ll never see again because you got them killed? His death is as much your fault as the guy who shot him. I hope you never forget that.”
Heloise stared at me, stunned, and I briefly wondered if I’d gone a bit too far. Sure, she disgusted me, but I really didn’t have any proof that the misinformation Martingdale fed the Bund had gotten anybody killed, and if it did, they were probably Germans. They were the enemy of the moment, but it still didn’t seem right to condemn rank-and-file soldiers to death for a payout, even if they were Nazis.
“Where is Joe anyway?”
“He went to pick up the money from the train station.”
I shot a glance over at Heloise’s mother, who regarded me with an odd expression that seemed half contempt and half admiration. Her lips had quirked up just a little in what could almost be described as a smile.
I smiled at her. “I take it you are still opposed to their marriage?”
“Very much so.”
“Well, I’m sure everything will work out in the end.” I stood up and tucked my heater away in my jacket pocket again. “I’ve got to run along now. I’d recommend staying away fro
m the Bund, for obvious reasons, and stay away from the police too. They might not look too kindly on someone who shot a man in the back, even if you had a good reason. It’ll lead to some very uncomfortable questions at the very least. As a matter of fact, you probably shouldn’t talk to anybody ever again.”
Heloise sniffed. “Joe and I are leaving as soon as he gets back with the money.”
I grinned. “I hope you don’t have to wait too long.” If Paolo’s men did their job, Joe would already be on his way to a nice comfortable cell downtown. “Goodbye, ladies, have a wonderful time spending your ill-gotten gains.” I put my hat on my noggin and opened the door. I paused and looked right at the old lady. “By the way, I found your daughter, and she’s home. So, now my arrangement with you has ended. I’d mail you a receipt, but I think we’d both rather keep this off the books.”
“She’s still marrying the kraut.”
I chuckled. “Is she? Tell you what, I’ll refund all of your money on their wedding day, how’s that sound?”
Heloise suddenly stood up. “Go to hell!”
“Oh, I’ve made reservations for that trip. Made them a long time ago.” I took one last glance at Marian Kendall, who gave me one of her mummy-scowls, as I left through the front door.
The rain had slowed somewhat, from a monsoon to a mere downpour. I pulled my hat low over my eyes, raised my jacket collar, and made a run for the car. I splashed away from the curb and parsed what I’d learned through my brain. The size of the web of deceit that Gottlieb had woven would impress liars and spiders alike.
I drove toward the river, toward the probable scene of my murder. The guy who shot Norman wanted Braun’s half of the list, so I figured he’d show up to get it. If he didn’t, well maybe Braun and me could just play pinochle for an hour or so, and part as friends.
That seemed about as likely as finding a square-dancing polar bear serving drinks in the Bahamas. No, tonight someone had an appointment with the great hereafter. I just hoped that someone wasn’t me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Ohio River surged, a swollen silver worm, wriggling past the drowned-rat façade of downtown. Rain still fell by the gallon, steadily pounding on the windshield of my Chrysler. The wipers labored to push the water out of my field of vision, but only succeeded in making the blur a little less blurry. I drove past the Fritz Brothers’ garage, a tumbledown brick number with a rusty tin roof. Three mammoth garage doors stretched across the side of the building, one of which looked to be open enough for light to escape from within.
Big Shots and Bullet Holes Page 17