Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Rick Cantelli, P.I. Book II:
Deadly Liaisons
by
Bernard Lee DeLeo
*****
PUBLISHED BY:
Bernard Lee DeLeo
And
RJ Parker Publishing
Rick Cantelli, P.I. Book II: Deadly Liaisons
Copyright © 2013 by Bernard Lee DeLeo
*****
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. Please respect the author’s work. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real life persons, events, or places is purely coincidental.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.
Chapter One
Unintended Consequences
I pretended to be sulking at the bar, my head down, hands clutched around my shot glass. Frank and Lois sat in one of the booths, laughing and drinking. T-bone sat further down the bar, contemplating his own drink. I saw him grin out of the corner of my eye at the next song that played on the jukebox: House of the Rising Sun. He knows that’s my favorite. Then, Jim Pernel came in the door… finally. We had been waiting for the asshole for nearly an hour. Staking out a bond jumping prick like Pernel wears on you. We had set up at three different locations when we got a tip, and we were less than enthused. Pernel’s arrival made it a whole lot less boring. I got up and stumbled into Pernel’s path. He reached out to push me aside. I clapped one handcuff on his wrist, twisted into him while drawing it back behind him. In seconds I had Pernel with his wrists handcuffed behind his back. T-bone intercepted the guy he was meeting with ease. Lo wasted no time firing her Taser into Pernel’s companion who tried to interfere. She cranked up the juice, and moved in to plastic tie his wrists behind him.
The guy trying to get around T-bone was getting loud. Now, our man T-bone doesn’t have to move much to block your path, but he has a short temper we’re still working on. I kicked Pernel’s legs out from under him, steering his fall toward Lois, who knew what I was trying to prevent. I knew she had Pernel. I jumped into the middle of T-bone, and this idiot who didn’t know when to just pull back. I had my ID out to wave in the guy’s face. He was about six feet, three with attitude. He didn’t know it yet, but T-bone had more. I didn’t want him to find out.
“Calm down, Sir. We represent Madigan and Cantelli Investigations. James Pernel has missed his court date. We will be taking him in. If you would like to post bail for him, please contact the San Diego police or courts.”
“You asshole Nazis can kiss my ass! Jim’s a standup guy! Let him the fuck go, or-”
“Or what, Sir? You won’t be doing anything other than possibly getting a jolt of juice you will not like.”
T-bone was smiling, holding his Taser up for the guy to see. We had been coaching our newest employee on less physical ways to get things done in our business. Then our potential nobody sucker punched me. Yeah, I had thought T-bone’s show of force would change this guy’s attitude. Instead, he clips me upside the head. I go with the punch while grasping the swinging arm. I then break it, holding on to the wrist, while jamming my shoulder up into his appendage.
T-bone starts laughing while the guy drops to the floor, screaming bloody murder. “Good one, Rick! So, this is how I’m supposed to show restraint, huh?”
Ratshit! Lois is already laughing her ass off at my upbraiding by T-bone. Now, I have an aching head, an emergency room candidate, and nowhere to hide. This seventh decade stuff was starting off on the wrong foot. Damn it!
* * *
I was not in a good mood. I’d told Lois to forget about calling the lawyer, or springing me. One look at my face, and she corralled her husband Frank and T-bone away from me. I had issues. It had nothing to do with age or my inability to prevent my habitual arrests whenever I went out on a job. It all had to do with some kind of goofy control issues I couldn’t determine. For some reason, sitting here in the tank with drunks, gangbangers, petty thieves, and assault suspects felt like coming home. Maybe I’d hit the celebrity self-destruction mode with my recent past notoriety. Hell, even I was in awe of it. Between the killings by my hand, and the new restaurant enterprise where I sauntered around like Rick from Casablanca, I might just be losing touch with reality. Then reality poked me.
“Hey,” one of the gangbangers seated opposite me points, “ain’t you that Cantelli guy what guards movie stars and shit?”
I raise my hand. “Yep… that’s me… Rick Cantelli, private eye to the stars. Most times though… I’m here in the drunk tank. Go figure.”
That got some loud laughter from my cell cohorts. There’s not much entertainment in the overnight tank, so we take pleasure and laughs where we can. It’s an easy audience. The gangbanger’s too stupid to know the joke’s on me and not him. He stands up, and so do I. He apparently thinks my innocent remark needs a physical confrontation. Such is life if you spend moments of it in the tank.
“Stay where you are, kid,” I told him. “There’s no use taking offense where none is given. We’re all here in the same crappy circumstances. Don’t make them any worse.”
Wrong approach. He immediately strides toward me, gesturing and hollering.
“You don’t order me, old man! I take your fuckin’ head off! I…”
I put my hand out in the universal stop motion. “That’s far enough, kid. Come any closer and I’ll figure you want a date… and I don’t roll that way.”
I already mentioned my penchant for not being real smart lately. This was not a bad decision on my part. I’m in the tank with other sharks. Pleading with them won’t get an iota of compassion. I check my side vision either way for thug sympathizers - then I get ready for blowhard. He didn’t like me getting ready to take him on. He starts jiving, not a good look for him. His snickering and pointing at me doesn’t impress the silent cell.
“What, old man, you ready to rumble?” He snickers some more.
“It’s worse than that, kid. When we go for it, I’m going to kill you, and no one in here’s going to stop me.”
His eyes widen at that statement. “Oh… you think you bad, huh?”
“No use talkin’ about it. Let’s get ‘er done.”
The gray hair had fooled him. The determination and look on my face didn’t. I could tell he’d seen killers before. He shut up. That was good enough for me, because my seventh decade blackness kicked in, and I knew if this idiot moved on me, I planned on following through. I pointed at him. “Maybe you’re not as dumb as you look. Go sit down, keep your mouth shut, and you live through the night. Deal?”
To his credit, the kid looked around at the silent cell, nodded, and sat down. No one else was i
n the mood for entertainment. We all had our own bad times buzzing around in our heads. Quiet and peaceful is the way to spend time in the tank. Keep the hell to yourself, and one eye open if you doze off. I took a deep breath, and sat down without shooting my mouth off anymore either. I have to get over this new trait of mine for doing penance for the weird crap my recent notoriety has caused. I’m more short tempered, more violent, and a hell of a lot less compassionate now… and that’s a bad thing. The last new fault in my syndrome bothers me a little more, because I used to be able to steer around my cynical side. Now, I’m inclined not to even consider it.
Morning in the tank comes amidst many unanswerable questions. We’re all still here, so it becomes a solidarity of sorts. Facing the dark, sometimes blasphemous reasons we’re all here together acts as a cleansing. Guys, who looked at each other with speculative violence when incarcerated, remember that none of what we’ve done has anything to do with the guy next to him, or across from him. Morning brings the dread recognition of why we’re here – we’re here because of what we’ve done. We’re companions in the tank, simply coexisting on an unannounced plain of acceptance. Yep, we’re all in the same boat, and the life jackets are missing.
The kid who’d given me trouble stumbles over when he wakes up, looks around, and figures out quickly where he is and what he’s done. “Ah… sorry about last night, Cantelli.”
I looked up and smiled. “It’s all good, kid. We’re both still alive. If you want some advice: get the hell clear of this mess you’re in, and go join the service. It takes you away from your circumstances, and lands you in another world of opportunity.”
He smiled. “You did that, but here you are.”
I laughed at that one. “You’re right kid, but I’m into my seventh decade. Hanging around where you are right now will maybe get you into next week if you’re lucky.”
Again to his credit, the kid laughed. He held out his hand, and I shook it. He had a good grip instead of a dead fish.
“Thanks, old man. What do you suggest… the Marine Corps?”
“Whatever strikes your fancy. I joined the Navy.”
“Yeah… I read that. You were in the Seals.”
I stood up and patted his shoulder with a friendly acknowledgement. “It doesn’t matter what branch you serve this great nation, kid… only that you serve. It will change your perspective. What’s your name?”
He looks around, like he’s embarrassed. “They call me Strike, because I have a short temper, but my given name is Donald Blanco.”
I fish around in my jacket and came up with one of my cards. I hand it to him. “If you want to talk, or get some crappy advice, call me before doing something that ends with you in prison for life.”
Donald smiled and took the card. “Thanks. I sure have crapped my way into one bad time after another. You really know those movie stars they clip your name to in the paper?”
“Yeah. Somehow, many months ago a weird ass convergence happened in my life, where everything I do ends up with me killing people, garnering headlines for movie star gigs, and being an idiot. Most of what I do seems to land me back here in the tank.”
Donald laughed and nodded. “I admit it. I’ve read a bunch of what’s gone down with you lately. That’s why I recognized you. I know about the restaurant deal where you play a shadowy guy from an old movie for the customers.”
“What landed you in here last night?”
He stayed silent, looking around at the other lost and lonely denizens of our cell in hell. He met my gaze with a grinning one of his own. “Mostly, my big mouth. I got stopped by the PD, and pulled the ‘driving while black’ card on them.”
Heh… heh, yeah, the PD loves that one. “How’d that work out for you?”
“Not well. The guy who was talkin’ to me smiled and called out to his partner. She was black. Next thing I know, all my parking tickets, failure to appears, gangbanger misdemeanor arrests, and out of date registration got me the ‘go straight to jail’ card pulled on me along with my car getting towed.”
“It would seem you need a change of scenery, kid. The service can do that for you, but even the volunteer force wants their recruits to clean up their act before enlisting.”
“I didn’t make you kill me last night, old man. I figure you owe me.”
Yeah, he got me on that one. I laughed. Maybe a damn good deed would change my streak of being an idiot. “Tell you what, when I get sprung, I’ll get my shark to spring you, and we’ll work on cleaning up your act. One second chance only though. You screw it up, and your name will be Third Strike.”
“That’s tight, Rick! What you want me to do first?”
“Pull your damn pants up, kid. You’re lucky you didn’t get corn-holed in here wearin’ ‘em down over your butt like that. Believe it or not, there’s a dress code for being successful.”
He couldn’t help it. He looked down at his pants, and back up at me. I waited for the sullen universal gangbanger response, but instead, he looked embarrassed. Good start.
“I walked right into that one.”
Now for the tough part – if Donald was living in the middle of gangbanger central, all the second chances in the world wouldn’t help him. “Do you have a place to live away from who you’re bangin’ with?”
“My Grandma said if I ever got a decent job, I could stay with her. You have anything for me?”
“I might, but it would require you to be drug free, and willing to work your ass off for minimum wage plus tips. If the hard work, cleaned up appearance, and a respectful attitude at all times bothers you, say so now.”
“I can do it. I’m sick of this shit.”
I held out my hand and he shook it. “I’m sick of this shit too. Maybe when I figure a way for you to stay out of the tank, I’ll work on finding my own way of avoiding it.”
“Old dogs… new tricks?”
“You’re beginning to annoy me again, kid.”
Donald laughed.
* * *
I’m going over with the kid what he knows how to do other than gang-bangin’ when Bill Staley arrives. He’s smiling at me, while gesturing with his finger. I turn to the kid. “It looks like I’m leaving. Stay cool, and I’ll get the wheels of justice spinning, or in your case rolling backward.”
“See, Rick, that’s the smartass mouth what got you in here.”
I nodded, as our cellmates who heard the exchange laughed. “Good one, kid.”
Detective Staley eyeballed me in inappropriate fashion for a few moments after springing me. “You are without doubt the luckiest asshole on the planet. The guy that you did the alteration on his arm last night is wanted for murder up in San Francisco. You being my official confidential informant, I may have mentioned we had heard about this Gilroy Hodgins being in the bar last night, and I authorized you to work undercover on it.”
“I’ll take it, Bill. Anything I don’t have to get that ambulance chasing prick Cleaver involved in is aces with me.”
“Are you and the Cleaver not best friends anymore?”
“He remembers each and every time he’s ever done his damn job and sprung me, but conveniently forgets the myriad favors Lois and I have done for him. Hey… wait a minute… Cleaver’s a lot like you.”
Bill chuckled. “That Seal hit you pulled on the LA gangsters moving in on San Diego cost me a few points on your C.I. meter. Don’t get that look on your face either, you prick. I knew you took out Teddy Alvarez and those three thugs in his crew with the sniper rifle from the beach the moment I saw the scene.”
Did not. Well… yeah… I did, but Bill will never know it, or prove it, if he’s dumb enough to follow up on what was an LA gang attempted coup. “I thought you were past that bullshit, Bill. I’ll cut you a little slack on continuing to make amends with your superiors; but it had better stay on track with the fact I was over with Lois and Frank, when the unfortunate demise of Teddy and his crew happened.”
Staley shrugged. “It’s over in my head, Ri
ck. I wish you trusted me enough to level with me about it.”
Ah boo-hoo. Yeah, I’m going to level with a Detective Captain Staley of the San Diego Police Force about putting fifty caliber rounds through the heads of suspected gangsters from a La Jolla beach in a clandestine type sanction. “If you’re all done whining about not pinning a gangster killing on me, we can talk about this new bonanza of catching a murderer through your ever faithful C.I. or we can talk about a slight thing I’d like in return for making you look good.”
Staley’s eyes furrowed as we reached his office. After a moment, he continued in and took a seat at his desk, indicating I should do the same. “What can I do for you, Rick?”
“You have a former gangbanger in custody for parking tickets, no shows, and outdated car registration. Can we make that go away if I pay his fees?”
Bill looked more than confused. “I can take a look. What the hell do you care? Is he a relative or something?”
“Nope. He’s just a kid I’d like to help out. I was talking to him when you came to get me. How good is this unexpected murder bust going to be?”
“Real good by the looks of it. Okay… I’ll take a look. You stay right here. I’m not done with you. What’s his name?”
I laughed. “Donald Blanco. Where the hell do you think I could go, Bill?”
“I don’t know. I figure you could find some way to get into trouble at a moment’s notice even from my office.”
“I’ll be right here, Bill. Thank you.”
Staley left for about fifteen minutes. Tomorrow night was our scheduled Casablanca night, where I played the Humphrey Bogart roll of Rick at the restaurant Madigan and Cantelli Security and Investigations owned a piece of. This added drama crap bled away some of my enthusiasm for role playing. It was all business though, and we made big bucks on Casablanca night. Even Staley and his wife attended… partly because we comped their meal, but he was family. I had gone up into LA and brought back his recalcitrant teenage daughter one time when he was on his last nerve as a parent.”
He walked back in all smiles, so I figured his inquiries had gone well. “All done, Rick. It will only cost you about fifteen hundred dollars.”
Rick Cantelli, P.I. Deadly Liaisons (Rick Cantelli, P.I. Detectives Book 2) Page 1