"Yeah, he's in here a lot. Big tipper. He's in every weekend. You'll catch him here Friday for sure."
"Why's that?"
"It's when the workin' boys do their strip thing," Jimmy laughed. "I gotta hand it to them, they ain't professionals, not like you and your guys, but they do their best and they draw a crowd."
"Because they're for sale after the show," I commented and gulped more beer. "It's more like a commercial than a strip show."
"Shhh, not so loud," Jimmy said, half serious. "You never know when one of the Liquor Control Board freaks are snoopin' around."
"You ask me, the LCB geeks want a piece of ass like everybody else." I said.
Jimmy chuckled.
"Otherwise you'd have been shut down a long time ago. Stella's serves a purpose for people in high places."
"Well, Friday Stella's is gonna be servin' up some little hotties. And Scanlan'll be there."
"Does Scanlan hang with anybody in particular?"
"Usually comes in with..."
A customer interrupted, asking for a drink. Jimmy served it up with a smile and was back talking to me.
"What was I tellin' you?"
"Your phone number and when you can meet me." I smiled. Innocence personified.
"You already have my number and I know you don't wanna meet me later." He looked at me, then did a small double take. "Or do you? Wanna meet me, I mean? You do?"
"You were gonna tell me something about Scanlan."
"I know. I was gonna tell you who Scanlan hangs with. It's more like, who don't he hang with?" Jimmy pointed to my empty beer bottle and looked at me.
"Yeah, gimme another one."
"Scanlan mostly hangs with the youngest guys, but he's friendly with everybody. Buys drinks for people, especially the hustlers. Likes bein' a big shot."
"Nobody special stands out? Must be some guys who are special."
"Yeah, there's this kid he drags in with him. Not one of the guys for sale. I got the impression Scanlan and the kid were connected sorta. He's kinda cute. But never looks comfortable. Haven't seen the kid for a while. At first he was always trailin' behind Scanlan. Then the kid got friendly with some low life types. Who knows why? Probably bored and needed somebody to talk to because Scanlan usually ignored him."
The kid he was talking about had to be Jared. When Jimmy described him, I knew for certain that's who he meant. I wondered aloud if Tony or Niko, by description not name, ever tagged along with Jared.
"I've seen him in here with a few hot guys. Guys that don't look like they belong here on either side of the fence, if you catch my drift."
"I understand," I said. "Any of those friends become regulars?"
"Occasionally I see one or two of them come in. Sometimes the dark haired guys would come in, usually for the strip nights."
"Interesting."
"I think guys like that come in for excitement. Y'know, those clean cut types. Guys with decent jobs or a little money. This is like living on the edge for them."
"World hasn't changed all that much. Guys like that have been slumming since who knows when. They never get enough excitement." Of course, not all of them were slumming, some had more sinister reasons for being in Stella's. Like making connections with people who'd do anything for a buck.
"You know it, man," Jimmy said while washing some glasses in hot soapy water behind the bar.
"What about Scanlan? You remember anybody he got really cozy with?"
"Like I said, he was friends with everybody." Jimmy waved to another customer, brought him a rum and coke without being asked. "Scanlan got chummy with a few of the really tough ones. Guys I knew were packin' and they scared even me. It was like he wanted to know trouble. Always looking for the worst of the worst. Scanlan used to take home some kid called Little B. A runt. But tough. I saw Little B knock out a guy once. Right over there. Him and Scanlan left together lots of times."
"Little B still come in?"
"Yeah, almost every night. Especially when he don't have a sugar daddy takin' care of him. Except I heard he had his face rearranged by one of the other boys."
"Tough place."
"Tough life these kids have. I feel sorry for 'em," Jimmy said. "That's what was nice about the guy Scanlan dragged in here. He was good to the boys. Didn't make them feel like trash. He was actually nice to 'em."
"You remember any of the ones he was friendly with?"
"I'd have to think about it. I can see their faces but I don't remember names. There are so many of 'em in here. Sometimes it depresses me."
I saw Jimmy in a new light. He'd been dancing with StripGuyz for a couple of years and I thought he was a hard ass. But he seemed genuinely moved by the kids who sold themselves to get by. He made me think about the kids down at The Haven. I'd have to make a special effort for them as soon as this case was over.
"I know what you mean, Jimmy." I picked up my beer. "I'm gonna take a spin around. You remember anything else, let me know. I'll be back."
I left Jimmy to do his work, Stella's was getting busier and I needed to nose around. Even though Stella's was a treasure trove of contacts for anything you wanted, you still had to know how to ask.
I headed to the downstairs bar. Subdued lighting hardly ate the darkness. A bar occupied the center of the room and was lit from below and from recessed lighting in the ceiling. All the bottles shimmered with green light from beneath the shelving. The bartender was a tough-looking man with a scar the size of the Mississippi River running from his scalp to his neck and beneath his collar. Gave me the chills just looking at it.
Patrons hung around the bar, stood against the wall, or circulated through darkened alcoves in the back. A small staging area for strip shows occupied one end of the room. There was nowhere for a stripper to escape if the crowd got too close or too hands on. I'd never let my guys work in conditions like that.
Glancing around I saw buyers and sellers melting into the inky darkness. Some of the young guys gave me come hither looks, part of their sales pitch and nothing more. Now and then, though, I saw a pair of eyes that held a longing for more than cold cash.
"What're you lookin' for, man?" The guy was short and peered up at me when he spoke. "Got time to talk?" He had a sweet face, olive complexion, and the longest eyelashes I'd ever seen.
"Love to but I'm meeting someone." I can't remember just how many times I'd used that line.
"If your guy don't show up, come find me. If I'm still here." He stood on his toes and planted a delicate kiss on my cheek. His lips felt cold and he looked tired.
"I'll do that," I said and moved toward the back.
It was more crowded than the upstairs. People pressed in on all sides. I felt for my wallet after a few guys came particularly close. It was still there. I wondered how many people they packed in here on strip show nights. The words "fire trap" came to mind.
Just for the hell of it I ambled through the pitch dark back area. Whispers and sighs floated through curtained alcoves. The smell of stale beer and disinfectant hung in the air.
There were more of the privacy cubicles than was at first apparent in the deceptively large room. The oppressive stuffiness drove me out and as I passed a curtained room I heard a familiar voice. "Naw, man." The next words were muzzy, then, "I got another gig, man. No can do." Suddenly there was silence. I had the feeling one of them in the cubicle sensed someone was listening.
Now only whispered murmurs wafted through the stale darkness. The hair at the back of my neck stood on end as I moved back into the bar. The crowd had grown thicker, more noisy.
I ordered bottled water at the bar. Scarface plunked down a four-dollar bottle of water. For a few cents more I could've bought a whole case at ShopRite. I sighed, twisted off the cap, and downed half the bottle. All the while taking in the crowd, doing my own, human, version of facial recognition software I'd seen in operation at casinos and high security facilities.
People exited the back room. A tall, slender man, frowned his
way to the bar and ordered bourbon and water. Behind him, a short guy ambled out wearing a baseball cap to shroud his face. He glanced around as if trying to find someone and, spotting an older man in a corner, shot over to him. Three other young guys walked out of the back room one at a time, all of them uniformed in tee shirts and jeans, two of them sporting baseball caps. None of them seemed to know the others. Once out they went separate ways, headed for different targets. Two older men plodded out, aimed for the bar. Then nothing. It was almost as if someone had rung a bell and told them to clear the back room. But I knew there had to be more guys back there from my earlier assessment.
I finished the water and took another turn around the floor. After being groped several times and getting a few more offers from hustlers wanting to score, I figured there was nothing left to learn at the downstairs bar that night. I decided to come back on Friday and corner Scanlan. He'd answer a few questions, I'd make sure of that.
Back on the first floor I headed for Jimmy who was busy with a load of patrons.
"Got anything else for me, Jimmy?"
"Another beer?" He laughed. "Yeah, actually I do remember something. There was one edgy guy who was real tight with Scanlan's boy. I don't know his name but he always wore a Phillies cap and a leather jacket that looked like it cost good money. Always looked kinda lost and real edgy. Whadda they call it? Attention-deficit malfunction? He musta had it. Always on edge except when he was talking to the boy who was nice to him. And Mister Phillies cap hung around him a lot."
The edgy description sounded familiar. Like the guy who was scoping out my apartment building and the video store. But a lot of these guys were edgy types, especially when they were trying to score a john.
"Anybody else?"
"He's the only one stands out. Scanlan's boy was friendly with a lot of the guys. But the Phillies cap was special."
"You're scheduled to work at Bubbles on Sunday. We'll talk then if you remember more."
"See ya then, Marco." He gave me a little salute and went back to his customers.
Leaving Stella's always felt like entering a different dimension. Some guys said they felt cleaner once they left Stella's. I always thought of it as an adventure in some exotic locale. You certainly never saw these types much anywhere else. My ears were ringing from the music and I felt cold.
I'd had enough of the exotic for one night and wanted to get home and sleep. I needed to be fresh in the morning.
When I put my hand into my jacket pocket, I felt something and pulled out what looked like a business card.
The front was scribbled over and crossed out. A Dr. Shubin would probably be mortified if he knew his business card was in the hands of someone from Stella's. On the other hand, he shouldn't have given his card to a street prostitute if he didn't want his peccadilloes known.
Turning it over I saw sloppy block letter printing. "Fontana, Meet me in 1 hour. 22nd and JFK. The Underpass. I got information."
It wasn't just another offer from a hustler. This guy knew my name. Sleep was a foreign country I'd have to visit another time. Right now I'd have to hoof it over to Twenty-second street.
Chapter 23
Arriving before whoever I was meeting was necessary for me to scope out the territory. The meeting place wasn't much traveled even in broad daylight. The underpass at Twenty-second was a sort of no man's land between Market Street and a newly gentrified area. During the day pedestrians didn't frequent that stretch of Twenty-second. After midnight, you had to wonder who might be lurking in the arched recesses of the underpass. It was a concrete nightmare.
Friends of mine lived three blocks away, so I knew the area. But the underpass held dead ends and dark hollows that could conceal just about anything. I suspected this might be a set up but I hoped I'd at least catch a look at him before he spotted me.
Several street lights were out on either end of the underpass creating deep shadows. I decided to circle around and double back onto Twenty-second to try and get the jump on him. Unless he was already waiting.
The air was brisk and before I knew it I was on Race and turning onto Twenty-second. I smelled burning leaves from off in the distance. The stillness in the air combined with the empty streets brought me to full alert.
I stopped half a block before the underpass. I waited as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. There were no houses, only a few shuttered businesses. A cold breeze kicked up and I peered ahead. The underpass was south of me. Beyond, a lonely stretch led from the underpass to Market Street. Like a gauntlet I'd have to get through. I was alone and unarmed. Not the smartest move I'd ever made.
The clock on my cell phone indicated it was time. I took a few steps in the direction of the underpass. In the distance, the traffic speeding by on Market was a blur of light and sound. I listened for footfall, a voice, something. Only the indistinct whirr and rumble of cars filled the air. I almost missed the sound in the emptiness north of me.
A soft rumble, as if someone started a car a block away. The engine purred. I turned in time to see a car pull onto Twenty-second traveling the wrong direction. Blinding headlights shattered the darkness. Screeching wheels carried two tons of steel at me like a runaway truck.
I ran, zigzagging from side to side and let the shadows of the underpass swallow me. I had to avoid getting trapped in a dead end. I ran close to the massive concrete stanchions supporting the overpass.
The car gained on me. Its cold white headlights picked me out of the darkness. I kept moving. The driver floored the pedal and bore down on me. Tires screaming with the effort.
Running in the open would give him an easy target. I needed a plan. I zagged again and bought myself a few seconds behind a stanchion. The car idled in the distance, waiting to make me roadkill.
Then it came to me. I darted from behind the concrete shield and decided to play chicken.
Illuminated by the headlights, I backed myself against the stanchion. There was no way he could miss me. He must have realized the same thing.
He revved the engine. Tons of metal, plastic, and glaring headlights were about to plaster my insides all over the concrete. I'd be a grotesque mural added to the collection of graffiti decorating the underpass.
The car barreled on. I wanted to run but forced myself to wait. The car loomed large, loud, angry. I almost felt the heat of the roaring engine.
At the last possible second, I leaped to the side. The car smashed into the stanchion with a horrendous shriek. Sparks flew like fireworks. Glass shattered. Metal twisted. The headlights splintered and died. The car's horn blared. It filled my head as I ran.
I sped toward Market Street and heard gears grinding. Glancing back, I saw him back the car out and head unsteadily for me again.
It was a dark pursuit. No headlights. No streetlamps. Just the guttural growl of the mangled engine bearing down. Like a tank, mean and vicious.
He wouldn't fall for the same trick twice but without headlights the playing field was more even. I zigzagged and heard him scrape the walls as he gained on me.
A few more yards and I'd be at Market. He'd have to give up or risk running me down in front of traffic on Market Street.
I strained with everything I had. One more kick and I'd be there.
The lights and traffic of Market Street were just ahead.
Behind me the car groaned and growled.
I reached the corner nearly out of breath. The car skidded to a stop somewhere behind me. I didn't turn to see. I wanted to put as much distance between me and the maniac as possible.
***
"What the hell happened?" Anton shut the door to my office at Bubbles and backed me into my chair.
I winced. I hadn't felt the bumps and bruises until I'd gotten to Bubbles.
"Sit down. Let me look at you." Anton gently took my jacket. "Take off your shirt."
"I'm all right, really." My breathing was back to normal but my heart raced. "I outran him and he gave up."
"This was not just a warning, like t
he last time," Anton said, continuing to check for more damage. "Look at that." He pointed to a long abrasion on my left arm from the wrist to the elbow. "And your back. Did he throw you on the ground and stomp on you?"
"You think I'm a weak-kneed little kid? Ouch! Stop that." I vainly attempted to move out of Anton's reach. "Those bruises are all from me bumping into stanchions and walls. He never laid a finger on me."
"These people are serious. Who are they?"
"Good question," I said. "Got a paper towel?"
Anton handed me some paper towels. I wiped the sweat from my face with them and covered my eyes with my hands for a few moments.
"Maybe I upset somebody at Stella's tonight."
"I told you that place was evil. Nobody decent ever goes there."
"That's not entirely true," I joked. "I was there."
"That's different. You were on business."
"So are most of the guys there."
"Your business was legitimate," Anton insisted. "They're all thugs."
"Believe me, I don't think a simple thug was behind this tonight. Thugs don't think like that."
"Well, somebody at Stella's does."
"I'm getting close to something. I can't figure out what but I definitely rattled somebody's world tonight."
"Playing hero will get you killed, Marco. Then what?"
"I'll take protection next time. Maybe Kevin."
"The bouncer. Great idea. He can handle himself. So can I. Take me, too."
"Nah, it's a bad idea all around. I'd just be putting you and him in danger. I've gotta do this myself. It'd be a distraction having you guys along. I'd be looking out for you and that's when things go wrong."
"Were you distracted tonight?"
"It won't happen again."
"I'd like to believe you. But you're reckless."
"Kent still a no show?" I changed the subject not so deftly.
"And Nando."
"I'll see if Luke can do some snooping around."
"Oh sure, Luke. He'll be on your side. If he finds them for you, I'll never know if I actually win the bet we made."
"Luke doesn't even know about the bet. And I won't tell him. That way, whatever he finds, he finds and the bet is still good."
Murder on Camac Page 24