The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 1: American Nightmares (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #1)

by Michael Panush

  “Easy, son,” I said, lowering my cannons. “I’m Morton Candle and this is my pal Weatherby Stein. Your old man sent us to get you back. Is there anyone else in there with you?”

  He nodded. “Papa sent you? I mean, my father, he sent you? Is he all right?” He called back into the hut. “It’s okay, Mrs. Le Croix! My father sent them. They’re friends.”

  A fat round Negro woman stepped outside and stood behind the boy. She was built like a walrus with a weight problem, and wrapped round in a white strapless dress. A white turban covered her hair, and a necklace and bracelets laden with charms clanked with her every movement. She carried a large walking stick topped with a snake’s head and used that to approach us. He stepped in front of Henry Wallace, almost like she was shielding him.

  “Are they, child?” she asked. “Or maybe they have come to get another piece of the action?”

  Weatherby stepped forward, and bowed his head. “My good woman, rest assured that we have no ill intentions concerning Henry Wallace. We merely seek to return him to the loving arms of his father.” He stood on his tiptoes, trying to look past the Black woman at Henry Wallace. “Your father is quite well, though sick with worry about you. But we’ll take you home, and he will be overjoyed.”

  I still looked at Henry Wallace’s captor. I recognized her, from the seedy back alleys and dingy curio shops of New Orleans. “Mama Le Croix,” I said. “You’re a long way from home. What are you doing here? And how the hell are you mixed up in this?” Mama Le Croix was a Voodoo mambo, a priestess who dabbled in black and white arts equally. She practically ruled the Gothic Quarter of New Orleans, and after the war, when I was drinking myself into a stupor in the countless saloons of the Big Easy, I had made her acquaintance.

  “We should tell them, Mrs. Le Croix,” Henry Wallace suggested. He stepped away from her and walked over to Weatherby. “That’s a really cool suit, Mr. Stein. Are you some kind of world traveling adventurer? I’d imagine only one of those would wear something like that.”

  Weatherby’s face reddened. “Well, I do travel the world, and I suppose I do have adventures. But it pleases me to no end that you have excellent taste in clothes. My father kept these clothes, inherited from his father, and going all the way back to the Stein line. In our great castle, deep in the Black Forest of Germany—”

  “You grew up in a castle? Holy cow!” Henry Wallace was clearly impressed.

  “Indeed, it was a fine place for a growing boy. I’ll tell you about it presently.” It was funny to see Weatherby dote on the child. I always imagined Weatherby had precisely two emotions – anger at the modern world for not speaking Latin properly and sadness for his family’s fate. But this was something else entirely. Weatherby patted Henry Wallace on the shoulder as he looked at Mama Le Croix. “Mrs. Le Croix, perhaps you could discuss your troubles and we might be able to assist you in some manner.”

  “Perhaps,” she said. “Come on in and get comfy. I’ll tell you the whole thing.”

  We followed her into the hut. It was a simple dwelling, with a few crates serving as stools, and numerous Voodoo charms hanging from the ceiling and walls. Mama Le Croix sat down and looked over at me. “You remember my son, Raymond?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Negro hoodlum with a knife scar. Toughest street fighter ever swung a blade.”

  She nodded. “My Raymond was a good boy, Mr. Candle. He worked hard to keep me in green – anyway he could. But a while ago, he got into a card game on one of those Mississippi riverboats with Sly Baum. I told him he shouldn’t have done it. I told him Papa Legba lays out the roads the way he does, and no amount of wishing is gonna help his luck. But he gambled everything away, and he lost it.”

  Henry Wallace Baum folded his hands and looked at his dirtied shoes. “You d-didn’t mention that, Mrs. Le Croix,” he said. “I’m sorry. My father, I think he’s a very good man. But when he’s, you know, gambling, he becomes someone else. I’ve never really seen him gamble, but I think he can be pretty unpleasant.”

  “And what happened to Raymond?” I asked Mama Le Croix. Things were starting to take shape, though there were plenty of gaps that needed to be filled in.

  “He got into the debt and needed to pay it, so he tried knocking over an armored car. Caught a shotgun blast square in the chest. The Loa of Graveyards has him now.” Mama Le Croix sighed. “I wanted Sly Baum to suffer like I suffered. I wanted him to know the terror – the absolute pain – of a parent who loses a son. So I found out where he was and I came here, to steal away his son. I located him, but I couldn’t do it alone.”

  “So you got the guerillas to help you,” I muttered. It made sense. They needed all the cash they could for their crusade against capitalism. But there were some other things that bothered me. “But that’s not all. The mob was in on it.”

  “Sly Baum had been ripping off the gang lords of this city for too long. Don Vizzini met with me when he heard I was moving against him. He had the funds necessary to gamble with Baum into his was out of luck – and deep in debt. It was the perfect vengeance – to make his love of games of chance destroy his son and himself.” Mama Le Croix sighed. “And there was more.”

  “The Central Intelligence Agency approached Sly Baum to help create a spy network that would limit the growing power of the communists in Cuba. Baum refused. The CIA was enraged. An agent named Bobby Belasco approached me. The guerillas found out where he was, Belasco made the kidnapping, and then handed the child off to me, while Don Vizzini and his mobsters kept up the pressure of their debts.”

  Henry Wallace’s thin frame looked deflated. He seemed small enough to pocket. “Oh,” he said. “I guess everyone hates my papa.”

  “Don’t take it personally, kid,” I told him. I knew Bobby Belasco hadn’t been giving me the straight truth. For a curveball like him, that wouldn’t make sense. He had fired on the rebels and gave away our position in an attempt to get us all killed. He probably figured he could weasel his way out of the guerillas’ gun sights. I hoped he had. I wanted to have a little chat with the spy myself. “So you got the whole thing working. Except I get the idea that you’re having second thoughts, seeing as the young Baum is still breathing.”

  Mama Le Croix came to her feet and stood next to Henry Wallace. “He has nothing to do with his father’s cruelties. He is polite and well-meaning, and with the naivety of one who believes in justice and the good things of the world. I could never hurt him. I will give him back to his father.”

  Weatherby nodded. “A brilliant decision, Mrs. Le Croix. You are as well skilled in ethics as you are in black magic.” He nodded to Henry Wallace. “Come this way, my boy. We’ll have you back in the warm arms of your proud papa by suppertime.”

  “Except we won’t,” I said. “Because the mob, the communist guerillas and the CIA ain’t gonna appreciate Mama Le Croix’s change of heart. Matter of fact, I got the feeling they’ll want her heart to stop beating altogether.” I pulled back my coat, revealing my shoulder-holsters. “Best get ready for some bloodshed before the day is out.”

  A gunshot cracked through the air after my words. We all exchanged a glance. I guessed it was gonna happen sooner rather than later. Carefully, I walked to the door of the hut. I peered outside. The beach was packed with the communist guerillas. They had a few jeeps with them, armed with heavy machine guns, all aimed at the hut. I peered outside and looked at the silent ranks of Escopeteros in olive green uniforms, their rifles and sub-guns aimed my way.

  Near the top of the beach, just where the hill sloped down, they had their prisoners. Bobby Belasco stood next to Miss Rosa. Their hands were bound and they had rifle muzzles to their heads. Belasco smiled at me. “Morty!” he cried. “Boy, I am glad to see you!”

  “You betrayed me to the Reds,” I said. “You betrayed your country by working with them to kidnap Baum.”

  “Yeah, but I just betrayed the Reds themselves, so it all works out.” Belasco shrugged. “Come on, Morton. I’ve played double agent, triple
agent, and been in cover so deep that I forget what side I’m on. I don’t even think it matters that much anyway.” He nodded to the guerillas. “They want to execute me and the native beauty here. How about joining us? Misery loves company, after all.”

  “Thanks but no thanks.” I ducked back into the hut and closed the door. The Cuban rebels were hoping to take us captive without a fight. That brought us precious seconds. “They’re outside,” I told Mama Le Croix, Weatherby and Henry Wallace. “Too many to fight, and loaded for bear.” I looked back at them. “I’m out of ideas. Got any?”

  Mama Le Croix put her hand on Henry Wallace’s shoulder. “We gonna get you home, child. But it’s gonna be real bad and noisy for a while. You gotta promise to stay with us and just look at me, and don’t you go looking back or looking around, cause you won’t like what you see. You promise me that?”

  Henry Wallace nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “What exactly are you going to do?”

  Mama Le Croix picked up a clay jar and carefully removed the lid. A thin gray dust was inside, a little bit lighter than gunpowder. “I’m gonna make the dead dance,” she said, holding it high. “Mr. Candle, you ready?”

  I drew out both of my automatics and Weatherby took out his large revolver. “Yup,” I said.

  “Good. May the Loas guide us.” Mama Le Croix kicked open the door and hurled out the clay jar.

  It shattered on the sand and the gray powder was caught up by a sea breeze. The rebels raised their rifles, trying to aim through the smoke. It sunk slowly down, falling like evening mist on the sand. Nobody moved. The Commie guards didn’t shoot, and though we were in the doorway and stepping out onto the beach, we didn’t move either. All of us seemed to be under Le Croix’s spell.

  And then it went into effect. More hands than I could count reached out of the sand. They were black and weathered, skinless and rotten, and grabbed for the Escopeteros like drowning men trying to get out of the water. Screams of terror ran through the Commie ranks, followed by a torrent of gunfire. If we waited for a better distraction, we’d be there until judgment day.

  “Get moving!” I shouted. I started firing as I dashed for the nearest jeep. More zombies came rearing out of the ground, tearing into the guerillas with everything they had. I pounded across the beach, Weatherby, Henry Wallace and Mama Le Croix close behind.

  The Cubans that weren’t fighting the zombies started tossing lead at us, and the sand was kicked up at my feet. The jeep drew nearer, and I raised my pistols as the gunner swung his .30 cal our way. He reached for his trigger as I pulled mine.

  He pitched backwards, a slug squarely planted in his upper chest. I ran to the jeep and got behind the wheel. Weatherby picked up Henry Wallace and deposited him in the back, then raised his revolver and emptied its six chambers. He missed six times. “What about Miss Rosa and the CIA man?” he asked, as I slammed on the gas.

  “We’ll get them,” I said. “Hang on.” I spun the wheel and sent the jeep squealing into the Cuban ranks. The rebels scattered. A zombie didn’t, and went under our wheels. Its skull cracked against our bumpers and sent rotten brains onto the windshield. I tried to look through it.

  I held the wheel with one hand and fired my pistol with the other as I neared the prisoners. Their captors went down and they started heading my way. “Rosa! Belasco!” I shouted. “Get moving!”

  They made their way through the zombies and rebels, kicking aside the dead heads at their heels. Belasco leapt into the back and looked up at me. “Howdy, howdy,” he said. “Thanks for the save.” Miss Rosa followed him, squeezing neatly into the rear seat next to Mama Le Croix.

  I slammed down the gas again and turned the jeep away from the beach. It was an all-terrain vehicle and I made the most of it. It sped up the hill, grass and dirt spraying from behind its wheels, and then I looked back at my passengers. They were a little cramped, but none of them were dead, and I think they were grateful for that. Behind us, the rebels finished off the attack zombies. I could hear gunshots echoing up the hillside, all the way until we reached a hillside road leading back to Havana.

  Henry Wallace looked around. “Are we all right?” he asked. “We made it, didn’t we?”

  “Sure did,” I said. “Mama Le Croix summoned some zombies and they provided a good distraction.”

  “Zombies? Wow. That’s swell. And now we can go back to see my dad, right?” Henry Wallace had all the optimism of a child.

  “Right,” I said. I looked at Bobby Belasco and nodded to Weatherby. He slid another round into his revolver and then placed the gun against Belasco’s temple. “But first, let’s get a little bit of the truth. Belasco, I suggest you come clean. Even Weatherby can’t miss at this range.”

  Belasco’s smile didn’t vanish. I guess he was used to having guns pointed at his head. “Come on, Morty,” he said. “It’s just part of the old game. I went over to Baum and asked him to help me out. A couple card rooms being bugged, a few games played wearing a wire, and we’d have vital info about the movers and shakers of Cuba. But he disagreed.”

  “So you arranged to have his ten-year-old son kidnapped by a bunch of bloodthirsty rebels so he’ll be killed by maniac mobsters?”

  “And the next idiot I approach won’t make the same bad decision. It’s simple tradecraft. And I’m on your side now, ain’t I?”

  Henry Wallace looked away. “I’ll be eleven next month, actually,” he pointed out, quietly correcting me.

  We drove on in silence. As much as I wanted to order Weatherby to blast out Belasco’s brains, he was right. His boneheaded play had pissed off the Commies and now he was on our side. He knew Cuba – and his precious tradecraft – better than a pig knows the sty he wallows in. I hoped he’d be useful.

  We drove on, back to Havana, to return a little boy to his loving father. For once in my life, I was looking forward to reaching my destination.

  We got there in the early evening. The sun was just setting over Havana, bathing everything in reddish gold. The streets were filled up with nightly revelers, as we drove under the palm trees and the neon glow of a thousand times, straight to the Poker Palace. I got the feeling we were being watched. Mixing with pink Cadillacs and silver Rolls Royces in a battered and bullet-ridden jeep, it would be hard to stay unseen.

  When we arrived at the Poker Palace, I stopped the jeep and stepped outside. Henry Wallace scrambled out of the truck and he and Weatherby moved inside at an excited dash. The rest of us followed, and walked in through the swinging doors to the empty casino floor. Sly Baum was there, embracing his son.

  “Oh, my boy, my boy,” he said, lifting Henry Wallace off of the ground and then kissing his forehead. “My beautiful boy. You’re all right.” He looked up at me and Weatherby as he motioned for one of the waiters to bring us and his son some water. “You’ve done an excellent job. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “It’s our pleasure, sir. Our absolute pleasure.” Weatherby was beaming. That was an expression I never expected him to make.

  Sly Baum noticed Miss Rosa was with us, and lowered his eyes. “Oh. You’re here.”

  “You don’t blame me?” she said.

  “There’s nothing to blame you for.” Baum was overjoyed, swimming in happiness and relief. He looked up at Belasco and Mama Le Croix. “And I don’t know who you are, but I thank you, from the bottom of my heart. With your help, everything worked out A-Okay.”

  And for just a second, I thought it had. We had returned the young Henry Wallace to his father. We had paid off Don Vizzini. It seemed like everything had worked itself out. And the very fact that I could think that told me that things were gonna get bad. I was right, but as usual, I wasn’t happy about it.

  A gunshot cracked into the window, turning it into a spider-web of glass. Sly ran to his son’s side and pulled him to the ground as another bullet cut through one of the card tables. I ran to the door as I drew my automatics. I looked outside and wished I hadn’t.

  Don Vizzini’s gangsters had su
rrounded the joint. They had parked their autos around the Poker Palace and were using them for cover. Sniper rifles in the back, tommy guns in the front meant that there was no outfighting them. I bet they had a couple of pineapple grenades and Molotov cocktails too. They’d be burning their way in soon enough. Joey Verona was leaning his back against one of the cars, and Don Vizzini stood with him.

  “Vizzini, you scum!” I shouted. “I paid you! Baum scraped together the sum to pay you and you took it!”

  “This is so.” Don Vizzini held up the envelope of money. Sly Baum came to my side and watched it. “But he has taken so much money from the Commission that the bosses have grown tired of losing. I am tired of losing. This isn’t about money any more, Mr. Candle.” He produced a lighter and flicked it open. The envelope of dough – a fortune in white paper – caught fire. “This is personal. Now come outside or die with him.”

  I didn’t want to hear any more. I stepped back and slammed the door, then looked at my friends. All of them had heard Don Vizzini’s ultimatum.

  Sly turned to face me. “You don’t got to do it, Mr. Candle. I’ve been pushing the buttons of the wiseguys for too long. Just take Henry Wallace with you.”

  “Call me an idiot, but I don’t feel like going through all that trouble to get you back together, only to walk outside and let the mob slaughter you.” I pointed upstairs. “That’s the most defensible position. We’ll head there, get any heaters you got in this joint, and hold them back there. And I don’t think we’ve got much time.”

  The mobsters outside had the same idea. They started firing away with everything they had, emptying their drum magazines into Poker Palace. The felt tables were turned to scrap. Decks of card fluttered through the air, and roulette tables rang and shattered. I hit the ground and started crawling for the stairs. Belasco and I were used to this kind of thing. Weatherby and the rest weren’t but they did okay. Mama Le Croix had a bit of trouble, but she made it to the stairs right after Baum and his boy did.