Work at Odds

by Shane Chastain

  We sat for a few minutes in silence. I can’t speak for Dave, but I was perplexed about a few things, and decided to do some of my thinking out loud.

  “Barbingola said the police looked into the guy on the street, and the two in the alleyway.” Dave didn’t offer anything, and that’s the way it had been told to us, so I went on. “I guess I just thought, they must have shown up to the motel too. Right?”

  He wanted quiet, but I didn’t care, he answered,

  “Yes, John.”

  “I mean, I get the part about there not being any gunshots fired in the motel one, or the pair in the alley, but you’d figure somebody would have made it out and called the law. Don’t you think?”

  “Possibly.”

  “I notice you left out Barbingola’s three personal investigators getting done, but we know that aftermath was cleaned up internally. Fifteen stiffs.” I shook my head, and would have kept rambling, but Dave had moved.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  He adjusted his jacket collar, since the low seated stewing had disarranged it, and dug into his deep side desk drawer. Finding his .32 automatic, he released the magazine and checked that it had rounds. I took the hint, and patted my own sidearm, to make sure it was still where I’d put it for our outlaw visitors. It was, and I asked again, as I got to my feet.

  “Where to, Boss?”

  Dave had crossed clear to the door, and held it opened as I put the extra chair along the wall with the rest of our little set for clients. Finally he deigned me a response.

  “To the Padrona Mercato Motel.”

  That seemed like as good a starting place as any, so I made no protest and we went down in the elevator, then around back of the building, to where Dave keeps his sedan parked. Our one company vehicle, Dave’s blue sedan, is very nearly a jalopy, and took two buzzes on the starter to come to life, but did, and we rolled out into the sparse nighttime traffic.

  I looked at my watch as we passed beneath a streetlight, and observed it to be ten past midnight. If that seems like too late an hour to begin a new investigation, then you sorely underestimate my desire to get it over with. That's to say nothing of Dave’s particular eccentricities. He might have started the case at midnight if it had been to find a lemonade stand.

  Dave didn’t need my help with the driving, or the navigating, so I turned my mind to our new case and its particulars. You’ve got a lot of it now, but humor me while I get it together for myself.

  The first sign of trouble, according to Barbingola, came just west of the corner of Division and Milwaukee, a month and a half ago. One of the Don’s men, ‘Big Daddy’ Paige, had been policing the action around the corners, where some of the Don’s female staff plied their trade. It was a Monday night, and no muscle was called for that evening, so none of the girls, or anybody else, noticed Paige missing. He was found by a passerby the next morning, hung by his neck about ten feet off the ground on a fire ladder. The Police were called, and cut him down. According to Barbingola, an investigation was carried out in earnest until Paige’s identity and position were discovered, at which point progress stopped, and an attitude of, ’Serves him right,’ was adopted. So, that’s how the first of the fifteen went.

  The second incident took place not too far from the first, and only ten days later. This time behind a little pasta joint in Little Italy, where the Don sometimes dines. The victims here were the Consola brothers. A couple of unrelated cats that had carved out a little recruitment business for themselves. They weren’t exactly getting sign ups for the guard though. More like volunteers for Big Daddy Paige to have watched over. Anyhow, their remains had been discovered, still warm, by a boy on the morning crew at the restaurant. The place wasn’t supposed to be the law calling type, but the kid was spooked and called anyway. This time the Police recognized the Consolas, and didn’t bother to do much more than take the trash out. Barbingola shared no further details on that one.

  Then we get to the party piece. The storming of the Padrona Mercato. Like Detective Scott rightly said, it is a whorehouse, and to hear Barbingola tell it, a damn busy one at that. Two weeks ago, on a Thursday night, the entire male staff were systematically subdued and executed, presumably by a group of highly trained individuals. No alarm was ever sounded, until one of the working girls on a lower floor finished a session and led her john into the hall. Story is that she collected her payment, even made some change, and went into a powder room. That’s when she discovered the first victim. By the time the joint was alert, the trail of silent destruction went all the way up to the fifth floor, leaving nine stiffs in all.

  On that last one, the girls knew not to call the cops, and instead brought the Don’s head man in on it, and he brought in the Don, and an internal investigation was started. You might think we’d be keen to speak to those investigators, but, if you’ve kept count, then you know we’re only to a dozen and need three more bodies.

  Those would be the investigators; done one at a time, at locations unknown. Over the last two weeks what was left of them had been dumped out in front of Barbingola’s various properties. One was strangled, another beaten, and one shot. The last one had shown up on the Don’s very balcony, just this morning. Their progress, if there had been any, seemed to have died with them, and so Barbingola decided he might try us out.

  “Is this it?” I asked, snapping out of it.

  I turned in the passenger seat to find a street sign, and saw that we were in fact where we were supposed to be, but it didn’t look right.

  “This is the address,” Dave assured.

  He didn’t look sure, though. The brick faced square building we’d pulled in front of didn’t seem like a good time just now, and if not around midnight, then when.

  Dave rolled to the corner and parked on the street, and we got out and approached the place.

  “It looks like they’ve closed up shop for the night,” I stated, observing that there wasn’t a single light visible anywhere.

  Dave grumbled, and tugged on the front door. It was locked, so he tried the one next to it. Locked, also. He stared at his reflection in the dark glass and tapped his foot impatiently. I watched him for a few seconds, and decided to take a look around. Something caught my eye, right away.

  “Let’s see if they know why the market’s closed,” I said to Dave, and checked both ways before crossing the street to a parked car. I tapped on the passenger’s window, and waved at the men inside. They made a little effort to ignore me, but it was no good, and just as I went to tap some more, the glass came down.

  “Beat it,” said the driver.

  “A little lower, thanks.” The officer in the passenger seat let the window down the rest of the way, so I could lean my elbows on it. The driver was new to me, but the passenger was little Officer Stevens, of the CPD. They move him around often, I think because they’re trying to find something he’s good at.

  “You should really ditch the uniform when you’re on a stake out,” I advised.

  “I said, beat it, Trait,” the driver said again.

  “Who’s your chauffeur, Stevens?”

  “This is Sergeant Edwards, sir. He’s with vice.”

  “Quiet, Stevens,” Edwards ordered.

  Sergeant Edwards didn’t look much older than Stevens, and he’s only twenty. He didn’t have a hat on, and with his kind of flattop and sideburns, probably never did. His nose was a little too pointy, in profile, but he aimed it at me, so it wasn’t so bad. He spoke up.

  “Take off, Trait. And take DeGrabber with you. We don’t need the two of you muddling up our investigation.”

  I grinned, making it as smug as I could muster, and breezed,

  “Edwards, I’d hate to muddle your case up. Especially since you’ve been working so hard at it.” I tilted my head toward the hood of their car. “I can still hear the block ticking. How long have you two been at it? Five, ten minutes, maybe?”

  “Roll the window up, Stevens. That’s an order.”

&nb
sp; Stevens did as he was told, but mouthed to me that he was sorry to have to put me out. I didn’t mind, and just waved goodbye to my fellow dicks, and went back across to Dave.

  “What did they have to say?” he asked, as he looked over a buzzer and its directory.

  “Mainly just that I should kick rocks. Other than that, they know less than we do. I figure Scott told them to sit on this spot after he left us. If we’d been allowed to speed, like them, we probably would have beat them here.”

  Dave looked a little downtrodden by this early setback, so I offered a thought.

  “You know, this seems like a big operation just to do away with. They must have relocated.”

  He gave me his eye, but folded his arms, to try not to look excited.

  “You suggest we seek out the new site?”

  “I do.”

  “How do you propose we do that?” he wondered.

  I started back across the street again, toward my new friend, and answered back behind me.

  “All we have to do is find a block with some hookers on it, and I’ve got a new friend who’s a vice cop.”

  Halfway across the street I noticed that Stevens’ window was cracked. They must have been listening to us most intently, because now their car fired up and clunked into gear.

  “Let’s go, Dave!” I called, and we dashed to his sedan.

  Dave slid in, and pumped the gas to help prime the start. He turned the key, and it came straight to life. Edwards had only made it just beyond our nose, and was stuck behind another car at the right turn. We were able to ease out behind them, and followed safely down the road.

  3

  I was glad that Edwards hadn’t wanted to lose us, as I don't have a whole lot of faith in Dave’s abilities behind the wheel. He does alright around town, but if he had any race car driver in him, then he’d so far kept it from me. The old sedan wouldn’t have appreciated any pace either, and Edwards’ plain clothes style squad car surely could have provided some. Like I said though, no race.

  In fact, Edwards didn’t seem too sure of where he was going by the way he hunched over the wheel and cornered so gingerly. Dave had us right on his bumper, and I commented,

  “How do you like that? A vice cop that can’t find a working girl.”

  “He might have asked for assistance,” Dave said dryly.

  “From who? Not me. You must have some catalogue of knowledge that I don’t.”

  He had nothing to say on the point, and whipped the car into a spot behind Edwards. The pair had stopped. Dave and I hopped out fast, and I leaned on Stevens’ door before he could open it. Dave stood too close on the driver’s side, but Edwards got out anyway, and was standing nose to nose with Dave, looking furious.

  “What are you meddling for, DeGrabber?” he snapped under his breath, since our quarry was just a little ways up the block at the corner.

  I answered, and braced against the car door as Stevens tried to move it with his whole hundred and ten.

  “You should let us handle this, Sergeant.”

  He spun on the spot, and brought the angry look to me.

  “Why should we?”

  Dave took that one, and Edwards twirled again.

  “As we are engaged in this matter, by these young lady’s employers, John and I may face less resistance in our efforts to find the house’s new location.”

  Edwards impressed me with his restraint right then. Rather than push Dave out into the street, he reasoned,

  “What makes you think we’d face any resistance?”

  I absorbed what must have been a kick to the door, and fielded that one.

  “Take it easy in there, will ya?” I said to my captive. Then to Edwards, “For one thing, your partner’s in uniform. That’s before those girls josh him about if he’s even old enough to drink, and God knows what else they might want to know.”

  Edwards was calming down, and had only made a half turn to listen to me. He rubbed his chin and thought for a moment.

  “You’ve got a point, Trait. But I was told not to offer any help to the two of you, whatsoever.”

  I cut him off.

  “We’re not asking for any. Just buzz off.”

  He stifled something that would have been loud, and poked his head back down into the car. I heard him tell Stevens to keep an eye on it. He came back up, and shifted his eyes from me to Dave. After a moment, he offered,

  “We’ll all three go. That way, I get whatever you get.” Dave and I started shaking our heads on instinct, and he tacked on, “Take the deal, boys. It’s the only one you’re getting.”

  “Very well, Sergeant,” Dave said with a shrug of his shoulders.

  It was good enough for Edwards, and he dipped into the car, and repeated his orders to Stevens. With all that settled, he shut his door and gestured for Dave to lead the way.

  We walked up on two blondes, across the street on the diagonal from three more. The air was chilly, and they all looked like they could have used a blanket and a hot cup of soup. Once we stopped and looked like we might want to talk, the two women shared a look, made faces, and started to mosey off.

  I extended a hand, and just got a fingertip on the near one’s shoulder, and used my most gentle voice.

  “Easy, girls. We just need to talk to you about something.”

  They stopped, and followed my finger all the way up my arm and down to the rest of me. Then they looked over Dave and Edwards with the same suspicions. The girl I’d touched smacked some gum, and said, more loudly than I had expected,

  “We don’t really do talking, here.”

  Nobody spoke up, so I kept driving.

  “Look, girls. It’s nothing tough. Me and the fellas, here, are looking for a good time. We went down to our usual spot, but they were closed up for the night. We just thought you might know where we could find something like that. Do you?” I finished it with a hopeful grin, but she didn’t seem to buy it.

  She had a bubble going with the gum, and let it pop. She gathered it back up, and said,

  “You guys don’t really look like the fun type, to me.”

  Edwards decided to contribute.

  “What makes you think that, doll?”

  “Well, you’re cops, for one.”

  Her friend giggled, and Edwards and I started laughing. Dave got a shot in the ribs to get his laugher started. He tried to play along then, but it was tragic.

  “Whatever gave you the impression that we are police?” Dave asked.

  The first girl pointed over my shoulder, and said,

  “Your boy’s uniform was a giveaway.”

  We whirled, and right there, not but five strides behind us, stood Officer Stevens looking visibly uncomfortable.

  “Didn’t I tell you to stay in the car?” Edwards shouted.

  “I saw a suspicious man heading this way,” he explained.

  “Who? Where?” Edwards wanted to know.

  Stevens took his hat off, looked around, and rubbed his head, and said,

  “Sir, I guess I lost him. I must have took too long to decide to leave my post or not.”

  Edwards raked his fingers over his face, glaring at his little partner. The girls giggled some more, and tried to take off again. This time I got a hold of an arm, and said,

  “Oh, no you don’t.”

  You’d have thought that I’d tried to take all her money, or throw her in the back of a van.

  “Tony! Tony! He’s hurting me, Tony!” she screamed.

  Both women clawed at me, though I let go immediately. With the alarm sounded, the three women from the other side of the street ran over to join in the pelting, but were intercepted by Dave and the Sergeant. We held that bit of sidewalk for a solid fifteen seconds without resorting to waylaying any of the girls, because even hookers are ladies in their own way.

  “Just take it easy, will ya,” I pleaded.

  “That’s the man!”

  It was Stevens saying that from a few feet back and out of the melee. Our lit
tle action scene became a still life as a new combatant entered the field.

  Dave turned, straightened the collar on his old blue jacket, and stuck a hand out to a mountain of a man, saying,

  “Mr. Tony, I presume,” and got clocked squarely in the face.

  I admit, I made an exclamation of outright shock, but thinking back, we probably should have all seen it coming.

  The blow sent Dave reeling back toward Edwards and I. We still had a couple girls each within scratching range, and so cleared them out to receive the new threat. First we caught Dave staggering back, gathered him, and stood him fully upright. I got my dukes up, ready to go, but Dave extended a hand back for me to stand down.

  “I’ll handle this, John,” he said plainly.

  “Nope!” Edwards disagreed.

  Then we all covered our ears. Edwards lit into his police whistle with enough air to fill a beach ball. The girls shot off in every direction, and Tony turned and beat it too. I was ready to watch Edwards make a night of work for himself, calling in backup, and rounding everyone up, but Dave had different ideas. He kicked off after the fleeing man, so I lit out after the both of them.

  Big Tony was faster than I’d have put money on, and Dave’s long strides had me at my limit to keep up as we dashed between two low rise buildings. Needless to say, by the sort of things you could find on the street corners, we weren’t among the most prime Chicago real estate.

  Our man had a bit of a lead on Dave, and stopped to jiggle a back door handle. It was locked, but must have felt loose enough, because he laid a shoulder into the door, and went right through. Dave and I followed.

  The inside was in the midst of some major renovations. The walls were unfinished, and saw horses, tarps, and other signs of construction lay all around. Dave stopped a few feet in, and listened for our target, with what looked like the beginnings of a bodega to our left, and a staircase going up, to our right.

  “I’ll take the stairs,” Dave indicated. He started for them, but I caught his elbow.

  “Dave, that guy’s a two man job and you know it.”