The Lowdown in High Town: An R.R. Johnson Novel

by DK Williamson

  “Do you have identification on the two shooters?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” Labelle answered.

  “I’m guessing you had no eyewitness accounts?” I asked.

  “That’s about right. Most of the statements were worthless,” Blake said with disgust. “Then there were so-called witnesses that said they would say whatever we wanted if we paid them enough.”

  I smiled. This part of the Red Light was easy to predict how people would respond.

  “We’ve got your account and a statement from a student nurse who did what she could for Robert. She told us about the aftermath. You and she were the only two people that called emergency services as far as I know.”

  “She’s a stripper,” Labelle said with a surprised tone.

  “And you and the sergeant here are cops. I’m a PI. The stripper student nurse probably has the most honest profession among the four of us,” I said.

  Labelle started to say something, then stopped. Blake gave a crooked smile and humphed. I was starting to get the impression she humphed a lot.

  “Lieutenant Dickerson warned me about you,” Blake said. “You take some getting used to.”

  “I suppose I am an acquired taste, but I’m a little off my game.”

  “How did you get injured?”

  “It appears that I was beat up.”

  “You don’t know how you got beat up?” Blake asked.

  “No. I chased the guy down the alley like I told you. He ran in a building with me on his tail and then I got waylaid. I wake up several hours later all busted up, decide holistic is the way to go, and here I am,” I said with an innocent expression on my face.

  Blake glared at me. “That’s it? That’s the extent of your story?”

  “Yes. I was concussed. Concussions affect memory.”

  “Why didn’t you report that to the police?”

  “What good would that do? You’ve seen what we have for cops here. They’d file a report saying they have a street informant that swears I volunteered to be a piñata at somebody’s birthday party and I enjoyed it. There is nothing illegal about that, a guy having a good time at a birthday party, so no investigation.”

  Blake started to say something then turned away from me with her hands on her hips. Her left foot was tapping the concrete in an unconscious demonstration of frustration. She shook her head then turned back to me and sighed heavily. “You don’t want to report getting your ass kicked, fine. We buy your story about what happened here, and your call probably saved Robert’s life. I’ll get forensics back out here to get some pictures.”

  “You think Bartram was involved in this?” I said gesturing at the crime scene tape.

  “Of course I do. So do you. There’s no coincidence in this. We still need to get a statement about Bartram and the incident in your office. Will you come in tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Do you think you can actually hold him accountable this time?”

  “I do. I want to nail his ass. It’s personal, because of Robert, but we’ll get him clean and proper. Trust me, Bartram will go down this time.”

  “You’ll have to tie Bartram to this. I hope you can, but I’ve heard this before.”

  “Not from me,” she said. She was dead serious and I was sure she would give it her best, but Bartram had squirmed out of trouble so many times I imagine he didn’t even know the total.

  “I need to talk with Detective Labelle for a minute,” she said to me. “Would you wait by the car?”

  I nodded and walked across the street to lean against a wall in the shade. I watched them for a while and I was certain they weren’t talking about me. When they were finished, they crossed the street toward the car. I laughed softly when they got near.

  “What’s so funny, tough guy?” Blake asked, trying to sound chummy.

  “Nothing.” I shook my head. “You wouldn’t find it humorous.”

  “Try me.”

  “It occurred to me that Varuna and Fudge would make a hell of a good title for a vid cop show.”

  “And you thought that was funny?”

  “Yeah, that’s why I laughed. I did say you wouldn’t think it was funny.”

  “Keep your laughter and comments to yourself.” She gave me an angry look.

  “One is gastronomically-gifted, fighting his weight and crime at the same time,” I said dramatically. “The other’s good looks duel with her ability and brains for dominance as she searches for a sense of humor lost in the line of duty. Together they are Varuna and Fudge, IA!”

  She was pissed. Her eyes flashed for an instant. “What the fuck did I just say?” she spat, pointing a finger at me.

  “Not used to people not doing what you wish, huh?” I said with a smile. “You bat those long eyelashes, flash those blue eyes, or flip out that scary badge, and everyone does just what you want. You think you’ve got the world by the oysters.”

  “That’s ‘the world is my oyster,’ idiot.”

  “Is it? Think for a second and maybe you’ll get it,” I said with a grin and a condescending tone.

  “Fuck you,” she spat, her face reddening just slightly.

  I laughed. She glared at me briefly before she turned and stalked off in a huff. She stalked beautifully, it was a pleasure to watch.

  She grabbed Fudge by an arm and dragged him to their car. As they climbed in, Fudge looked at me with a smile and shrugged. Blake didn’t wait for him to get the door closed before she accelerated into a U-turn and drove off.

  I assumed they were finished with me. “It looks like I’m hoofing it,” I said to myself.

  I dragged out my phone and called Lieutenant Weaver as I walked. I told him about my injuries and said I was available if he needed any help in High Town.

  “Thanks, Johnson, but this case has gone in a whole new direction. Let us handle it,” he said.

  “What new direction?” I asked.

  “I don’t have time to explain. It’s ongoing. It’s on all the news services. The kidnappers put out a list of demands a little while ago. It looks like they are targeting BluCorp. I appreciate what you did for us and I won’t forget it. Thanks again,” he said, then he hung up.

  I knew something was off. Way off. Why would the kidnappers wait this long to make their demands? I was guessing that Weaver had to know this was all wrong. He had to be getting pressure from on high to see this thing through, and maybe Weaver just wanted to get the Savans back safe and deal with the rest later.

  Whatever was going down pushed me out of the loop, and I feared that made me seem a lot less valuable to the Harrisons. I called their representatives the first two days I was working for them to keep them somewhat up to speed on things, but I was still at Breedlove’s the last day and didn’t want to risk being located if I called.

  I checked my service and sure enough, there was a message from the talkative shyster that was in my office a few days before.

  “Mr. Johnson. I am calling on behalf of the Harrison family,” the message said. “We have decided, in light of recent developments, to no longer retain your services. We feel it best to let the police pursue the matter at this juncture. Please send us an itemized list of any expenses you may have accrued, with receipts, for reimbursement.”

  And with that I was no longer employed by the Harrisons, unless Beverly Savan counted. Technically, I was still working for her, and I was going to stay working until she and Charles were released. Twenty thousand creds were waiting.

  I was sure something stunk about the so-called kidnappers suddenly appearing. A smart guy might walk away and count himself fortunate he was ahead, but I’d come this far....

  I decided to nose around a little more, but first I had to call a lady.

  Lacey was at her club when I called her mobile phone. She told me the stakeout team hung them up and left yesterday. I told her I was coming over.

  I did a quick check of the street as I neared Lacey’s and went in after detecting no threats.

  Tim was behind the
bar. He didn’t look very happy to see me, but he told me to go on back to Lacey’s office then called her to tell her I was headed that way.

  I made a big mistake in coming to see her. I wasn’t nearly healed up enough to deal with her greeting. I think she broke at least one of my ribs when she hugged me and knocked out another tooth when she kissed me. It was nice to know that she cared, but a fellow can only take so much. She knew how to kiss.

  She apologized, then she got angry with me. “I hope whatever you are working on was worth getting so torn up,” she said sitting next to me on the sofa in her office. No more talking over the clutter on her desk.

  “It goes with the job sometimes,” I said. “It’s never worth it, but the stories I can tell, that helps make up for it.”

  The look on her face told me she didn’t fully appreciate what I said. “I’m glad to see you can be so flip about this,” she said acidly. “Maybe you don’t care about what happens to you, but there are some around here who do.”

  “I never said I didn’t care, doll. I was just trying to add a little levity. When somebody is bouncing my favorite brain around the inside of my skull, trust me, I care.”

  I guess that was not the proper response. She leapt to her feet and pointed at the door. She didn’t say a word, but even I could figure out what she meant.

  I walked out. Miss Nostalgia was on stage as I headed for the door, but the platinum blonde’s biggest fan wasn’t there. I figured maybe he was out of creds, or maybe he found out the spark he thought was there never existed in the first place. Or maybe I was projecting.

  I went back to my office and locked the door. R.R. Johnson, P.I. was closed for business for the remainder of the day. I flipped on the vid and went to a news channel to find out what the kidnappers were demanding.

  While I waited for the story to come up in the news cycle, I checked my safes.

  I had two of them, one in the floor under my desk chair, and the other in the floor under a filing cabinet in the back. Everything was in order. I pulled a grand in scrip out, put it in an envelope, and slid the envelope into a jacket pocket. I wasn’t hurting for money right then and I had plans for the dough, an old debt that needed to be paid.

  The story about the kidnapper’s demands came up and I listened to what the newsies had to say as I puttered around. The people on the vid had an amazing ability to say so much, but relay so little actual information considering the volume of blather. From what little information they provided, it still seemed off to me. I was tired and decided to try and sort it out later. Sometimes I liked to let my brain work on things by itself. It seemed to do better without my interference.

  I took a nap. I woke up angry and still tired so I went to Pete’s.

  The Café Texian was busy. Jim Whitlock was playing there again. He was between sets and sitting at a table by himself. He saw me and signaled that I should join him.

  “Pete said you got pounded on. He was right, man. You’ve... looked better,” he said when I sat down across from him.

  “I’ve felt better too.”

  “No doubt, man. I heard the young cop you was with is going to live.”

  “That’s what they say.”

  “You working the kidnapping I heard,” Whitlock said pausing briefly to sip from his drink. “What do you think about the demands those dudes are making?”

  “I think something is off, but I haven’t tried to pin it down yet. Why? You got a theory?”

  “Yeah, but nobody agrees with me. I think it’s BluCorp that done the kidnapping. Call it a conspiracy theory, but those demands are weird.”

  “Go on.”

  “They’re asking for BluCorp to shut down benevolent stuff, like education grants, scholarships, and charity stuff, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Then they also want to hurt BluCorp’s bottom line, or so they say. They talk about how much profit they turn, how much their stock price has gone up in the last decade. Never had a negative quarter that whole time. Stuff like that. You notice?”

  “Yeah.”

  “At first I’m thinking the kidnappers are like... mean, man. Almost made me feel bad for BluCorp. Then it came to me, it’s like a reverse psychology ad for BluCorp. They’re making me think the way they want me to think.”

  “Go on.”

  “If BluCorp is behind this deal, then they are using this as a big PR campaign. They tell folks not familiar with them that BluCorp does good things, that they’re the victims. Then they tell investors not to worry ‘cause they ain’t taking a hit on their shares ‘cause they been trending up for a decade.”

  “You may be on to something, Jim,” I said. “But why would they kidnap one of their own board members?”

  “I don’t know, man,” he said shrugging. “I just come up with the theories. Maybe they drew straws or flipped a coin to see who on the board gets kidnapped. That might be it! The winner is on vacation in the Monacan Federation or something.”

  The call to Foster took on a little more significance, I thought. Especially if Savan was going to spill the beans on whatever BluCorp was doing that prompted him to call Foster.

  Whitlock may have been right. Maybe not on everything, but I thought he might be on to something. Beverly Savan would not have hired me, and Charles would not have been snatched in such a public manner if it was a kidnapping lottery. But if Charles was thought to be going public with whatever he knew, then Jim’s theory might be sound. I’d like to believe I would have come up with something similar, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

  “Be careful who you talk to about that stuff,” I said. “It might be dangerous.”

  “You think so?”

  I nodded. “If this music thing doesn’t work out, you might think about the detective game.”

  He laughed. “I don’t want to end up looking like that, Rick,” he said pointing at my face. “I can’t take a punch like you. Besides, I’ve taken enough knocks just playing gigs.”

  Pete saw me with Jim and waved me over. I said goodbye to the singer and found a seat at the bar near the front door.

  “How is Lacey? You did call her, right?” Pete asked.

  “I went and saw her. Turns out she’s doing better than she was yesterday, she got rid of me.”

  “How the hell did you screw that up?” Pete said with a look of wonderment while throwing his hands up.

  “What can I say, Pete? I have skills.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “My life got simplified though. I got that going for me.”

  “Rick, you need to get good and drunk.”

  “Pete, you know better than that. I don’t get good and drunk, I get mean and drunk.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Get laid then.”

  “I’ve been laid. Never did anything for my attitude, but it did require me to take antibiotics once.”

  “You’re hopeless, Rick.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying all along.”

  Pete sighed and put his elbows on the bar. “Fine, have one on the house.”

  “Thanks, Pete.”

  “All along you said. Was that your plan?” Pete said as he poured the bourbon. “Make me feel sorry for you and give you free drinks? I don’t know which is worse, you being mean and hopeless, or me giving you free booze.”

  It was one of Pete’s most common spiels. Pete had a business to run and I put a tiny dent in his bottom line.

  “We both know the answer to that one. Free booze costs you a little bit of money.” Pete glared at me when I said that. “Okay quite a bit of money. But me? I have to live with this,” I said pointing at myself, “everyday.”

  “Yeah, yeah. One of these days, Rick, you’re going to hit it big. When that happens you better come up with some creds.”

  “Well, until that day...” I trailed off as I picked up the shot glass.

  Pete rolled his eyes and moved down the bar to wait on a customer. I pulled the envelope with the scrip in it out of my pocket and laid it
on the bar, then set the shot glass on top of it. I was still on painkillers so bourbon was out of the question.

  When it looked like Pete was finished with the customer, I slid off the barstool and headed for the door, waving a goodbye at my friend.

  As I got to the door he yelled. “Rick, you’re a real son of a bitch.”

  I turned and smiled. Pete was holding the envelope near his face waving it. Simultaneously we gestured with our middle fingers at each other. Then he drank my bourbon.

  I went back to my office and went to bed early.

  ~~~:{o}:~~~

  Chapter 8

  on the QT News Service - Local, High Town

  Questions about Cops Competence Causes Concern

  For the fourth time within a few days police investigators paid a visit to the site in the Red Light where Detective Robert Blanc was gunned down.

  First, Midtown detectives were on the scene with their usual level of professionalism, followed soon after by other detectives who brought in forensics when GCPD learned the Midtown dicks neglected to think it was necessary. On their heels came more cops, this time accompanied by the Red Light’s own private eye, R.R, Johnson, followed by another visit from forensics.

  They say persistence pays and it seems that since our dedicated girls and boys in blue cannot succeed they will try, try again. Feel confident and secure, dear readers, in the knowledge we have such faithful and competent protectors.

  on the QT - We turn secrets into news.

  ---o---

  The next morning I went to the police station to give a statement about Bartram’s antics in my office. Fudge Labelle was there so I didn’t have to worry about Blake wanting to kick my ass. Labelle said she would get over it eventually. I think he liked the idea of having a vid show based on him.