Work at Odds

by Shane Chastain

  He didn’t argue, and tilted his head for me to follow.

  The upstairs was to be apartments, and small ones at that. Some walls were still just studs, while others had already been lathed. No doors. They were stacked along a central hall.

  “It’s like a hedge maze,” I complained.

  Dave shushed me, and passed between studs into one of the units. I suddenly developed a bad feeling about the whole pursuit, and went ahead and took my pistol from my pocket. Then I followed, creeping behind Dave as his keen eyes, despite his hair in the way, scanned every visible detail.

  We worked our way like that through four units, near as I could tell, with no sign of big Tony, so I started to feel better about it.

  “He must have stayed on the ground floor,” I reasoned. “What’s this room?”

  We’d come to a larger rectangular room that didn’t match the apartments in size, or in the fact that the far wall was missing, with just a makeshift railing preventing an accidental fall down to the store below.

  “John, look out!” Dave exclaimed, from about halfway in.

  I didn’t have time to ask him what I was looking for, as a pair of heavy hands batted down, knocking my gun out of my hand. Big Tony had been pressed up against a piece of nearly finished wall. The gun slid, spinning along the floor, and came to rest by a pile of lumber. Of course, I only found where it had gone afterwards, because the fight was on, right then.

  Big Tony’s first move after disarming me was to bring the heavy arms right back up, and into my head. I staggered back the way I’d came, but caught my balance on a wall stud, and pulled myself back into the big room.

  Dave had tried a tackle, and had just got the big man up against the wall again, but was shoved off as I returned. Tony squared up to Dave, ready to deliver another blow to his eye. That left his flank open, so I delivered my very best shot to his left kidney. No visible effect.

  He flailed with his left as if I were some large insect that he wanted rid of, and I thought enough of the gesture to put my block up. Realizing I was still buzzing around, he pivoted to face me, and sent a right hook my way. I ducked, and his fist burst clean through the lathing. While he was open, I fired a two shot combo into his belly. Again, to seemingly no effect.

  “Stand back, John,” Dave commanded. He didn’t have to tell me twice. There wasn’t as much room as I figured, and I could only press myself up against the wall, only just getting clear of the 2x4 that Dave was swinging.

  Tony took it across the face, breaking the board in half, and this time sending him back a step.

  “Hit him again!” I shouted.

  Dave choked down, to the very end of the now shorter piece, and swung it again. Tony caught it with his right, and jerked it from Dave’s hands. He slung the board at me, with what was surely lethal force. I let my legs go, and dropped clear to the floor, just as it smashed into the wall above my head.

  “Dammit, Dave, just shoot him!” I pleaded, but it wasn’t that simple.

  Tony had fired the board at me, and moved right for Dave. He kicked, like you would to take a door off its hinges, and Dave just managed to block it with his hands and a knee, but it moved him back a good way through the room, toward the railing.

  Tony took another step forward, and collected a fresh piece of lumber from a pair of sawhorses to his right, where Dave had gotten his.

  Something needed to happen, and fast. My eyes danced around the room, looking for anything that resembled a howitzer. No artillery, but they did spy that Dave was frantically going for his pistol. He just needed time, and from my seat on the floor, I only had one way to make him some.

  I lunged forward, and wrapped both arms tight around big Tony’s big trail foot, and held on for dear life. He swung the board at Dave, but was just out of range. Dave had his pistol in sight, and I was debating with myself whether I needed to add my teeth to the cause, when Tony jerked hard, and was free of me. My hands came loose, and I reached after him until I was flat on the floor.

  If I hadn’t seen him do it, I would have never believed him tell it. Tony got one of his massive paws on Dave’s .32, just as Dave got it at the ready. The trigger pulled, but the meaty fist jammed the works, so no bang. Then Dave fell on his backside, or at least that’s what I thought had happened at first.

  What he’d really done, was grab Tony’s arm, and pull him down and over. He balanced the giant on one knee, and pressed the both of them up with the other leg. That sent Tony, headfirst, over and through the railing, and crashing into the store below.

  He must have landed on something, because instead of a dead thud on concrete, he made a crunching crashing sound. I scrambled along the floor, and peered over the edge, to see how he had faired. Dave only needed to turn over, as the move had left his own head hanging over the precipice.

  Disparagingly, Tony’s fall had been broken by another set of sawhorses with plywood scraps on top. He rolled off the wreckage, got to his feet, and took off at a trot.

  “After him!” Dave urged.

  I couldn’t believe it. After the sort of punishment I’d just seen Big Tony withstand, him getting away from us, seemed like a win. However, Dave was on his feet and flying back toward the stair case, so I made a once over for my pistol, found it, and chased after him.

  We dove down the stairs, taking them three at a time, and raced past the stuff our man had fallen into. I had hoped to maybe see a little blood. Anything to prove the man was human, but no such luck there. I don’t think Dave even made a glance, because he put twenty feet on me, working through the store construction, even though I hadn’t actually stopped.

  Dave flew out of another back doorway, and I heard,

  “Stop! Police!” and then voices talking over each other.

  In another two seconds, I was outside with the voices. It was Sergeant Edwards who had given the command, and Dave had obeyed enough to argue about something on the ground in the loading bay that we were now standing in.

  “Who clocked Tony?” I wanted to know.

  The giant had apparently been slain during our brief absence. Big Tony was flat on his face, with the back of his head bashed into jelly, about two Tony sized strides outside of the door. Edwards tried to explain with what he knew.

  “That guy I yelled at. He went that way.” He gestured north. “Did you get a look at him?”

  Dave didn’t answer, and took off a few dozen yards in the direction Edwards had pointed. That brought him to a little intersection of pathways, and he turned his head each way a few times. I stayed and caught my breath, and looked over our fallen adversary. In a moment, Dave returned.

  “What happened here, Sergeant?” Dave inquired.

  Edwards had his pistol in hand with the hammer back. He reset it, as he explained.

  “I saw you and Trait run in there, and went to cover the back. When nobody ran right out, I went around the corner to check for other exits. Just as I made my way back around, I see a guy, about your size,” he gestured to me, “smash this man in the head with this piece of gas pipe.”

  He lifted a heavy length of black iron pipe that he’d been holding in his off hand. It was plain as day the murder weapon, because it was still wet with what had come from inside Big Tony.

  It had me at a loss for words. Just a minute ago Big Tony seemed invincible, and now he was gone. He might not have had any bearing on our case, but I still felt some sort of way about it. I just turned to Dave, who had his arms crossed and his head down for murder thinking, and asked,

  “Now, what?”

  Edwards answered.

  “We’re calling it in. Stevens is already on it.”

  “Officer Stevens witnessed this as well?” Dave fired.

  “No. I sent him to the call box right after everybody split.”

  “We’ll be in our car, if you need our statements. Come, John.”

  With that, Dave started around the outside of the building with me right on his heels. I figured Edwards would object, but may
be the abruptness of our departure had crossed his wires. Back at the car, Dave pumped the gas a couple times, taking a deep breath and holding it as he hit the starter. The old sedan fired up straight away, and he drove us away.

  4

  If you’re wondering whether or not I had anything to say about Dave skating on what would have surely been a riveting night of questioning, then maybe I’ve given the wrong impression of our cooperativeness. The CPD knew where to find us, and would likely have someone around to receive us bright and early. Right now, we still had a job to do.

  We trolled a few seedy streets and alleyways in the area for about an hour, until some rain started to fall, then we were sunk with dawn fast approaching. All the harlots had packed it in for the night, so we did likewise. Dave drove me to my apartment, and I went right in to hit the hay. He said he would want to get started early in the morning, and that I should expect him at six. I grumbled at my alarm while I tuned it for fifteen till, because it was a very near hour.

  After a blink the bells sounded, and I shut them up. I thought about an abbreviated shower, but a knock came at my door before I’d even swung my legs out from the covers.

  “Who is it?” I called.

  “It’s David DeGrabber, John. Are you prepared?”

  I pulled last nights pants on from off the floor, and wondered to myself as I made the two strides to the door handle, why Dave thought I wouldn’t recognize his voice.

  “You could have just said,‘It’s me,’ you know,” I reasoned, holding the door for him to enter. He just looked me up and down, and stepped in.

  My place is small. Just one room for sleeping, sitting, and cooking, a bathroom with standup shower, and a little closet on the side. I had to move Dave out of the way just to get the door shut again, and we shuffled around awkwardly as I dug for a shirt in my dresser, and got my other things together. I cut my morning routine painfully short, all the way down to just teeth brushing. I got dressed in the bathroom, which was abnormal for me, checked that my buttons were straight, and hurried to the door, holding it for Dave to precede me. He was looking around at nothing, feigning patience.

  We got in his car, where it waited running on the street, and drove off into the morning work traffic.

  “I don’t think we’re gonna find too many working girls at this time of day, Dave,” I said.

  “Likely not,” he admitted. “We will, instead, call on Mr. Barbingola himself this morning, and ask him about the move, as well as whether that was his man we faced last night.”

  I raised my eyebrows at the plan.

  “Is he the kind of man we can just drop in on?”

  Dave raised a hand from the wheel to brush off my worry.

  “He’s committed a reasonable sum of money to employ us. It would be in his interest to assist us, if he is able.”

  That settled it, and Dave drove us to Barbingola’s downtown office. I mostly just rubbed my eyes, trying to alert myself.

  The location and prominence of ‘Barbs’ Barbingola’s headquarters upset me. He had a suite on the tenth floor of a high rise, just off Printer’s Row, with a balcony overlooking the river’s south branch. I had imagined he ran things from a ground level hole in the wall, or maybe something even lower rent. Instead it was a nice place. If you didn’t know about the infamous tenant, then you would have missed that the door man, front desk clerks, and elevator operator, could have made up the Bears offensive line. They were as prompt and friendly as they were physically imposing. However, if you told the elevator man to take you to ten, and then dared to step off at the spot, like we had, you would have seen the point of all that heft, as we did.

  “Easy, fella!” I exclaimed.

  Dave and I had hardly got a foot out onto the carpeted landing area, when the elevator man shoved us both in our backs and into the receiving grasp of a couple of full-backs. They spun us around, pressed us up against a piece of dinged up looking wall, and patted us down, taking our guns, pocket knives, Dave’s lock picks, and both our wallets.

  Dave started to say something, to explain our visit, and it got him a hard poke in the ribs, so he dropped it. After another spin, and a better look at our front sides, the elevator man with one of our cards in hand, eyed us suspiciously, and said,

  “Which one of you is David Trait?”

  I rolled my eyes. Using his first name, and my last, had been Dave’s idea, because he thought it sounded better, but from time to time it caused these little misunderstandings. Dave took to setting the record straight, with the same line he always uses.

  “I am David DeGrabber, and this is my colleague John Trait. We have been engaged by your employer-”

  “By who?” the goon cut in.

  “By Mr. Barbingola.”

  “Nobody by that name here. You sure you’re not lost?”

  Dave narrowed his eyes at the man, prompting our handlers to each tighten their grips on our shoulders. He spoke impatiently.

  “Quite sure. We have been engaged to identify the man that slaughtered your confederates at the Padrona Mercato. As well as, possibly, another man just last night.”

  “Big Tony?” one of the handlers asked.

  Without turning to him, or offering a hint of sympathy, which I thought would have been good, Dave answered,

  “We believe so.”

  Things calmed down just for a moment, for Big Tony, until a wide door that looked like it went to the suite, opened up. A stout man in a good suit appeared, and our handlers jumped to action, drawing pistols, and leveling them at us.

  “They say downstairs that the elevator hasn’t come down yet. What’s going on out here?”

  The elevator operator explained.

  “These dicks say they come to see the boss about Big Tony.”

  “City dicks?” the new man asked with a face that twisted like he’d smelled something.

  “No, sir. Private.” He passed our card along, and the well suited man read it. He raised his eyes to the trio, and gave the smallest nod. The guns came down and were put away, and our wallets and card cases were returned to us.

  “Frank Fange. I’ll show you in,” said the new man.

  Fange held the door, and Dave went right inside.

  “How about the rest of our stuff?” I asked, trying to be delicate.

  Fange answered in the sort of voice he might have used to sale cars in another life.

  “We’ll have it all down at the desk for you when you leave, gentlemen.”

  After the pat downs and the stick up, I got the picture that things weren’t exactly negotiable, so I shut my trap and went on in.

  Our guide through Barbingola’s not so humble domicile showed us through two living rooms, one of which had a tiger skin rug on the floor, on through some double doors, and into a bedroom. Fange was dressed like he was ready to head out the door to a job on Wall Street, but there was something seedy about him despite the sharp look. I allow that the impression may have just been a product of his association to Barbingola.

  “These men,” Fange announced, “are here to see you about a matter pertaining to the loss of Big Tony, last night, sir.”

  I didn’t know what to do but divert my eyes and give a little wave. There on the bed, sat the mound of Barbingola, partially covered from the chest down by a thin satin sheet. On each side of him lay two women; completely uncovered. Over on a chair by an ornate vanity was a younger looking girl. She was either younger, by a couple of years, or at least had less time in the game than the other two. Her shoulders were covered by a little shawl, and she smoked a cigarette.

  “We apologize,” Dave began, “for calling on you so early, Mr. Barbingola, but we hope to solve your case as soon as possible.”

  Barbingola stuck a stogy in his teeth, and beckoned for a light. Fange produced one, and tossed it to his boss. Barbingola spoke as he lit the smoke.

  “It’s alright, DeGrabber. I was just getting around. What do you need?”

  Dave got right to it.

&
nbsp; “Last evening my colleague and I attempted to visit the Padrona Mercato, but found it not operational. Assuming that such an established business might not be suddenly, and completely, abandoned, we tried to find some of your associates, to discover the new location.”

  Dave took a breath, and Barbingola interjected.

  “I got word, late last night, about Tony. He didn’t talk to you?”

  “No, sir. He was,” Dave tilted his head slightly. “uncooperative. His demise, however, was not at our hand, and is now considered a factor in our investigation into your greater matter.”

  “You think whoever whacked the others got Tony too?”

  “We must assume that to be the case, for now.”

  Barbingola took a long drag, and let the smoke out. He kicked a leg too, which uncovered him some more, so I moved my eyes around to the more attractive features of the room, making sure not to stare at anyone. I didn’t really think those girls would care if I did stare, but for the sake of my own dignity I kept it moving.

  There was some staring goin on, however, and it wasn’t just from Fange, who had his eyes locked onto the brunette on his boss’s left. The girl on the stool kept eyeing me, and I admit I was flattered. Barbingola spoke again, just as I thought to return her look with a grin.

  “What did you want to do at the motel? We had all that cleaned, repainted, bleached, the works.”

  Dave answered.

  “I wished to talk to the women that had been there that night. I find it hard to believe, what with the comings and goings in a place such as that, that none of them saw or heard a group of assailants enter, subdue, and eliminate, all the male staff.”

  Barbingola frowned. I caught it out of the corner of my eye, because my eyes were on the girl on the stool again. Dave’s idea seemed to have had an affect on her, and that was one of uneasiness.

  “None of the women saw anything,” Barbingola assured. “Racheal, here,” He tilted his head to the blonde on his right, “was working that night, and Jewels too.” He tilted toward my admirer. “They’ve been intensely questioned on it.”

  It sat like that for a moment, while Dave worked out a new angle. Jewels, my admirer, decided to use the lull to come to life.