Looking for Henry Turner

by W. L. Liberman

  “They got off lucky,” I said. “Saved them from your little scam, not to mention the general nastiness of seeing you naked.”

  The other guy appeared genuinely puzzled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Oh, you mean, your buddy didn't tell you? About screwing the hookers in more ways than one? Then pulling rank so you wouldn't have to pay them?”

  I dropped the butt end and ground it out under my heel.

  “Like I said before, you got a big mouth, fella,” Blotchy Face said.

  Since training and fighting as a middle-weight in the army, I'd lost a few steps and gained a few pounds. Booze and fags didn't help but I'd kept up the training at Sully's Gym, a few blocks down from the office. Sully, a trim guy in his 50s, usually beat me into the canvas but he instilled what I call, motivation. I didn't have to look far for any tonight. I think Botchy Face and his pals had gone a little rogue on this one. Not that Tobin would have blinked about beating me up if it served his purpose. In this case, I figured Blotchy Face wanted back at me for needling him at the King Eddy.

  “Guess what, fatso? We're not hiding behind dark clothes and balaclavas. We're doing this above the line so if you want to run and cry to your boss, Tobin, you go right ahead.”

  Blotchy Face went blotchier. “Not necessary–after I clean the pavement with you…”

  “Phil, this is really not a good idea…” His pal practically whined now, thinking about his career going up in flames.

  “Shut up,” Blotchy Face snarled. “And whatever happens, you say nothing, understand?” The other guy went red up to his crew cut hairline. “Understand?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Birdie reached over and tapped the guy on the shoulder. “It's okay, man. You and me are just bystanders.” The guy's face flooded with relief just as Birdie flicked his hand out and the guy crumpled to the ground. “Guess I lied,” Birdie said.

  An alleyway opened up just behind us. I jerked my head and Blotchy Face, glancing nervously at his pal, nodded. Birdie blocked the view of any haphazard onlookers. We moved toward the alley, Blotchy Face, a few paces ahead. I watched the back of his shoulders and got ready. His meaty shoulders hunched. I stopped. As he whirled I had my hands up. He came around with a thick fist and a soaring overhand. I blocked it with my left forearm and hit him with a sharp jab to the gut sinking up to my wrist in flab. His eyes widened and his mouth opened like a hooked lake trout gasping for air.

  I let him flounder for a second. “It's different when it's one-on-one, isn't it? Don't worry, I'll make this quick.”

  Blotchy Face straightened up.

  “Come on,” he gasped and motioned. “You suckered me.”

  “Yeah, sure I did. Keep telling yourself that, fatso.”

  I knew he'd get the boots in. That's what they were for. He didn't sit around and polish them all day long for nothing. The color came back into his face, a natural shade of puce. He came forward flat-footed keeping his hands busy. I kept my arms up parrying his blows then gave him two shots to the ribs with my left. He dropped his right and I gave him two more to the ribs on his right and felt the satisfaction of feeling something crack. His right foot shot forward and I took it off my hip. It hurt like hell since I already had a dozen bruises there but it was worth it as I caught him with a toe to the groin and I didn't spare the horses. Puce turned to chartreuse as he doubled over but I hadn't finished yet. I held him up. He tried to bring his arms around me but I stepped away putting together a one-two to the jaw then hammered the bridge of his nose. The cartilage exploded. Blood splattered his face.

  The other guy had just shaken off Birdie's tap and stood up somewhat unsteadily. He choked out a hoarse yell. “Hey.”

  Birdie put a paw on his chest. “It ain't over yet.”

  Sure wasn't. Blotchy Face shook his head. He wheezed now and listed badly. Time to finish it. A straight left to the jaw, then a hard right hook that connected with his chin. I felt the concussion down my arm, through my elbow and up into the shoulder. Blotchy Face spun on his axis and like a slaughtered mastodon his knees went and he crumpled to the pavement. I shook my right hand. It hurt like hell.

  “Now it's over,” Birdie said and stepped away. The other guy moved slowly to Blotchy Face and rolled him on to his back. Birdie and I each took an arm and dragged him over to the side of the building and propped him up. He looked like a beached whale. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him. Maybe two moments.

  “Can't have him choke on his own blood even if he is a Fed,” Birdie said.

  The other guy straightened up putting his hands on his hips. He looked down at Botchy Face then looked over at us. “He had it coming,” he said. “For the record, I didn't partake of your beating, Gold. I was against it. I don't go along with that kind of crap and I didn't know about his little hooker scam either.”

  “Just a choir boy, is that it?” I sneered.

  The guy colored slightly. He nodded.

  “I look the other way. You know how it is. You don't and you can kiss the job goodbye.”

  “I'm crying,” I said.

  “Don't be such a hard case, Gold. We can help each other. The name's Jack Dunn. I know how to get in touch. In the meantime, I'll look after Philly boy here. Looks like he'll need a few days off.”

  “Tell your friends to keep looking over their shoulders,” I said.

  Jack Dunn grinned. “I'll pass the message on. Watch out for Tobin. That's all kinds of misery.”

  Birdie and I walked back to the Chevy. He glanced at my knuckles.

  “Better soak that in cold water before it swells too much.”

  23

  I knocked softly at her door. In one hand, a bunch of cut flowers and the other a mickey of Canadian Club. After a while, I heard some movement and then some fumbling with the chain. The door opened a crack and a blurry-eyed Evelyn peered out at me.

  “Mo? What you doing here so late–waking me up–I was fast asleep.”

  I stepped back and showed her the flowers and the mickey. I was too wired to sleep but not too tired to get into bed–if it was the right one. “Couldn't keep away, Evelyn. And I wanted to apologize for what I said before.”

  “You could have done that in the daytime not the middle of the night, Mo.”

  “Sorry. I was a little busy tonight.”

  Her eyes flicked to my swollen hand.

  “I can see you been busy. Up to no good more like it. That hand needs attending to.” She sighed and stepped back. I heard the chain lock slide through and the door opened. I handed her the flowers and she smiled almost shyly.

  “These are nice. I've got a vase, somewhere.”

  I stepped in and she closed the door behind me. Suddenly we were close together. I leaned in and kissed her and she kissed me back. The robe she wore was frilly and flimsy. She took my right hand, tsked and shook her head.

  “Let me get these in water. Both of them.”

  We sat in her tiny kitchen. I had my hand in a bowl of ice water. Some of the ice went into tumblers topped off with rye whiskey. I was nursing my second and felt the heat spread its joy.

  “Want to tell me about it?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “I returned the favour to one of the guys who beat me up.”

  “Then what happens?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mo, you know it ain't gonna stop there. What's round three?”

  “Maybe there won't be one,” I said.

  “Oh sure,” she said. “Didn't you get enough of that in the War?”

  “Apparently not.”

  Something in my tone made her snort and I was happy to see her mood lighten. For all kinds of reasons. She shook her head but she smiled. “You men,” she said and pointed to my swollen knuckles. “That's all you get out of it.”

  “There could be other compensations,” I said.

  She gave me an amused look. “Like what?”

  “Sympathy from a beautiful woman maybe.”

&nb
sp; “Oh yeah?” She leaned forward and the front of her robe billowed. She didn't move to close it.

  I shrugged. “A guy can hope, can't he?”

  “So you think some flowers and booze will be enough to get me into bed?” She reached out and took my good hand. She kissed the fingertips cold from holding the tumbler, then slid the hand inside her robe. “It should warm up in a second.”

  “Getting hot already,” I murmured.

  “I know,” she replied.

  I dried my hand on a dishtowel and she led me into the bedroom closing the door behind us. I untied her robe and slid my hands around her waist pulling her close. We kissed for a couple of years and there were all kinds of fires burning. I nibbled on her neck moving down to her nipples. They'd gone rigid. She moaned.

  “Let me help you, baby.” She undressed me like she knew what was doing. I'd never let a woman undress me before. I felt like a king with his courtier except that I doubt that courtiers did to their kings what Evelyn did to me that night. She swiveled lifting the back of her robe, backed in and began moving her high, firm buttocks against me. I felt every pulse and quiver in her strong limbs. She took my hands and placed them on her. As she writhed, I hung on for dear life cupping her swollen breasts, pinching her erect nipples. Every whimper and moan cracked like a whip. She ground into me in a frenzy rotating faster and harder until I felt like I was part of her, connected into her. Evelyn growled and moaned deep in her throat then dropped from her waist bracing herself on the bedpost urging, cajoling me to thrust deeper and deeper. Her limbs pulsed and shook and trembled and she clung to that bedpost like she was drowning. She slumped over. A long minute later, she straightened up and laid her cheek against mine. Her breath slowed from frantic gasps to mere panting and we stood there like that caressing each other. After, we got into her bed, she pulled the covers over.

  “Now it's just the two of us,” she breathed. I forgot my pain. Just disappeared into her dusky skin. This time she did what she wanted–and I let her.

  The next morning I awoke and when I could focus I saw that Evelyn was fully dressed and perched on the side of the bed. She wore a prim blouse and skirt, a double-breasted jacket and some sort of pointy hat on her head.

  “Good morning,” she said and smiled.

  “Good morning,” I croaked. “What's going on?”

  “It's Sunday, silly”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “I'm going to church. I go every Sunday.”

  “I see.”

  “Want to come?”

  I sighed. “Evelyn, I'm Jewish.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “How do you know?”

  She pulled back the covers and grabbed my crotch. “By this,” she said and kissed me there.

  “Hey,” I exclaimed going instantly stiff.

  “I know when a man's circumsized, Mo. I'm a nurse, remember?” She worked her hand a little bit. “How's that? Feel good?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Thought so.”

  “You better let go now or you can forget about singing in the choir.”

  She released me and covered me back up. “You gonna come with us?”

  “I don't think so. It would feel a bit strange–a man like me.”

  “Because you're Jewish or you're white?”

  “Take your pick.”

  “That's okay. I didn't think you were the religious type.”

  “Well, you know what they say….”

  “What?”

  “Even an atheist can find God in a foxhole.”

  She frowned for a second.

  “Mama, come on,” her little hellion screeched.

  “Okay, baby. I'm coming. Got to go,” she said and stood up.

  “You look nice, Evelyn.”

  “Why thank you, Mo.”

  “Listen, I got some things to do today so…”

  She waggled her finger. “I understand.”

  “No, really. Something I'm working on.”

  She sighed. “I'm not going to tie you up to me, Mo. You got to come on your own. I can't make you. I won't make you. I made that mistake before–too many times. But my door is only open for a short while, so you better make up your mind sooner than later.”

  “Have a good time at church.”

  “Mama…”

  “Got to go before little Missy explodes.”

  She wore clunky heels and moved awkwardly. She was tall, almost gangly. I had a hard time putting together the image of the church-goer with the woman who ravaged me repeatedly the night before.

  24

  “Where's Mrs. Turner?” I asked.

  Adele Rosewell smiled at me coolly. “Well, hello to you too, Mr. Gold.”

  “Sorry. Bad manners.”

  After leaving Evelyn's, I'd returned to my flat, tossed my clothes into the hamper and stood under boiling hot water for a short eon, scrubbed myself top and bottom and tried not to think too much about what I got up to the night before. I dried off, shaved twice and changed into a fresh suit. Now I was looking at Adele and felt a lurch in my gut.

  “Hello Miss Rosewell, nice to see you again.”

  “That's better, Mr. Gold. Please come in. My aunt is at church.”

  It was then I realized, in a sudden flash of insight that Aida Turner and Evelyn probably attended the same church. Maybe even knew each other. Gave myself a mental kick for not thinking of it sooner.

  “Of course. You don't partake?” I asked as I stepped into the narrow entrance.

  “Just Christmas Day and Easter, I'm afraid. Would you like some coffee?”

  “That'd be swell, thanks.”

  “Just put your hat anywhere and please have a seat.”

  “Sure.”

  “You're looking well after your–little adventure.”

  “Thank you.”

  She spotted the swollen knuckles on my right hand. “Although it appears as if you've been up to something new recently.”

  I grinned and dropped my hat on to a low side table and parked in a hard-backed chair. Adele pivoted to head into the kitchen. I dropped my eyes toward the floor and her pant cuffs. She stopped and caught my eye. She appraised me in an unhurried way. I almost felt like blushing. Today, she wore tailored grey trousers, a short-sleeved yellow cotton blouse and an onyx necklace with matching earrings.

  She folded her arms tapping her forefinger on her chin. “There's something different about you, Mr. Gold.”

  “And what might that be?”

  She shook her head and her glossy hair cascaded across her cheek. “I'm not quite sure. You look a bit like the cat who got the cream. Speaking of which?”

  “Just black, please.”

  “Coming right up.” I watched her go and she knew it.

  While she fixed the coffee, I wondered just who in the room was the feline. I knew it wasn't me. A moment later, she returned with a small carafe of coffee, two cups, a miniature jug of cream and a plate of chocolate biscuits. She set the tray down, settled herself and poured the coffee. “What did you want to see my aunt about?”

  “I wanted to brief her on our progress.”

  “Has there been any? Progress, I mean,” she asked handing over the steaming cup.

  “Not a lot,” I admitted.

  “Why don't you fill me in?” And took a demure sip. “Biscuit?”

  I shook my head while she helped herself. A smear of chocolate found its way to the corner of her mouth. She licked it with a flick of her tongue and I nearly tumbled off the chair.

  “Mr. Gold?” she prompted.

  “Mo.”

  “All right, Mo.”

  I brought her up-to-date which didn't take long. She listened carefully sipping the coffee intermittently. She wiped her lips then patted the corners of her mouth with a patterned napkin. “Where do you go from here?” she asked.

  I drained the cup. “We need to speak to the other joy riders and find out about this club and what went on there.”

  “Blacksto
nes?”

  “If that is the name, yes.”

  “And why is that important?”

  I shrugged. “It may not be but it's a loose end and loose ends need to be tied up. Perhaps Henry had been there. Maybe someone at the club is connected to his disappearance or the owners of the club might have a connection. We won't know until we take a look. We'll continue to run down any of Henry's work associates too.”

  “Sounds a bit, vague, Mr. Gold.”

  “Mo. And yes it does. A lot of our work involves chasing shadows, Adele. It's a little different from banking I imagine.”

  She laughed this time, full and throaty. “Oh, you'd be surprised at some of the phantoms we see at the bank, Mo. And I don't mean in a good way.”

  “Right.”

  “More coffee?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Is there anything else you want to tell me, Mo?” I felt like she was toying with me. She tilted her head slightly and again the subtle smile formed on her shapely lips. Mutely, I shook my head. “I'm so glad to see you have recovered.”

  “Thanks Adele.”

  “I'll share your information with my aunt.”

  “That'd be swell.”

  “You're sure there isn't anything else?”

  “There is one thing,” I said.

  “What's that?”

  “The box your aunt showed me. The one with the stuff she said Henry left for her.”

  “What about it?”

  “I'd like to look at it again, if you don't mind.”

  She seemed puzzled and amused. “Not at all. I'll fetch it.” And went off. I heard her rummage around in a closet. A moment later she was back. “Here it is.” She set it on the coffee table.

  “Thanks.” I pried off the lid. I hadn't really noticed before but the box was gold, battered and dirty now but once it contained something rather expensive. “This box,” I began.

  “What about it?”

  “What do you think it was used for?”

  Adele shrugged and assumed an expression that you see on orderlies in a mental institution when talking to the inmates. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Humor me.”