A Case of the Nasties: A Jimmy Egan Mystery

by David Workman

I put on a grim face. “Cooperated while they drained him to death. I hate these people.”

  I took the lead; Kathy dogged my steps with Criswell and Tor holding Eddie upright by his arms. At this pace, we weren’t going to get out of here very quickly. I readied my shotgun. I didn’t want to kill anybody but I would be damned if they were going to bleed out Woody on my watch.

  Not on my watch, Woody had once told me.

  As we headed back down the short tunnel, we nearly reached the end of it when a woman stepped out in front of us. She wore an oriental accented red robe that sport two large hand painted drawings of dragons accenting her small breasts. Behind her, at least six good sized, gray suited sentries waiting for her to bark out orders.

  “Hello, Mister Egan.” said Monica Chen.”You cannot leave until ceremony complete.”

  Woody held up a finger, then stared at it, then pointed at the upright finger with his other hand and said, “See?” He giggled, and then dropped his arms to his sides.

  I shook my head and returned my attention back to Chen. “Let me guess,” I said. “You’re not just their lawyer, you’re their leader too.”

  “That correct. I am leader for this Chapter of Universal Adjusters.” She said it proudly as if it meant something.

  I frowned. “This is 1955. You can’t just grab someone off the street and drain out their blood because you think they are the devil. It just isn’t done.”

  She ran a pained fingernail over her bottom lip. “You are wrong about many things, Egan. We have more connections in city than you know. People in high places, some here tonight. We mustn’t disappoint them. Give us the vessel.”

  “What did you say?” I took a step toward her.

  “Eddie Wood, the vessel of Caligastia.”

  I threw my head back and laughed. Chen’s demeanor went a shade darker.

  “Woody’s a lot of things, lady. He’s a drunk sometimes, a crappy writer, a shitty director, but he does have his charms.” I left out the part about his wearing of women’s clothing. “And he’s no devil.”

  “Caligastia!” she corrected. “Say it right!”

  “Whatever.” I waved her off. “Just get yourself another Caligastia. Now get out of the way.”

  “It pronounced Caligastia, idiot.” She said it in a whisper and I barely caught it. “You will all die.”

  “You really think you can kill all of us and the authorities will just ignore our deaths?” I raised my shotgun a smidge, to make sure it pointed at Chen’s slim legs, where one of those beautiful gams were peering out the slit of her robe. I pushed my mind away from the desire I felt below my belt.

  “We own police, stupid detective.” Her accent getting thicker the madder she got. She was definitely teed off. Her high cheekbones going all rosy. “That’s why we here. Now give us vessel.”

  Kathy pushed past me. It took a long time to light my sister’s fuse, but when pushed too far, even I was afraid of her wrath.

  “Listen, you bitch.” She spat out. “Get out of the damn way, or I’m going to . . . going to . . .”

  Chen crossed her arms and tilted her head to one side, her straight black hair spilling over one shoulder. She was breathtakingly beautiful. “Going to do what, little girl?”

  “This!” Lightning fast, Kathy yanked the shotgun from my sweaty hands, pointed it at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. The boom was deafening in the small space, a huge hole erupted in the ceiling above Chen and sandstone rained down over her and her henchmen. The kick of the Remington sent Kathy to the floor and the shotgun clattering onto the stone ground beneath her. I just stood there stunned. I looked down at my sister, and then at Chen, who had also been knocked down to the floor by the debris, as was several of her sentries. Chen slowly rose to her feet, her black hair looking brown from the dirt, she stumbled, caught her balance, shook her head as the dust cascaded from her body.

  To her henchmen he said, “Get up, you fools and KILL THEM!”

  Then all pandemonium broke out.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Kill them but don’t harm writer!” Monica screamed out. The henchmen produced some short black Billy clubs from somewhere behind their backs, pushed past their leader and proceeded to swing at us with as much energy as they could muster. Monica Chen faded into the background so her guards could do their worst to us.

  I sidestepped the first one who reached me (always keep moving), delivered two fast rounds into the soft flesh of his face, breaking his nose with the second punch, and as another guard tried to slip past me I swung around, striking him in the back of the head, then I moved onto the third sentry. I heard Kathy scream, alarmed I quickly turned to her, she was actually making those lessons in karate she took a few years ago, pay off. She screamed again as she delivered a blow to one of the henchman’s face. He flew backwards then hit the stone floor.

  Tor was being Tor, picking off any of the sentries that tried to take him out, and throwing them into the cave walls. None of them got back up. Criswell was standing behind Tor egging him on with, “Smack him in the head, tear his arms off, and break his damn back!”

  I blocked a punch to the face and delivered three rapid punches to my assailant. He fell to his knees and out of commission. Another thug kicked my wooden leg out from under me and grinned about it. I pulled him down to the ground and pummeled his face with a few quick blows. I heard a crunch and rolled away to give myself enough room to climb to my feet. Criswell suddenly helped me up.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He nodded.

  The rest of the sentries had scattered, leaving Monica Chen unguarded.

  Tor ran up to me saying, ‘I think he’s dead. I think I killed him.” I glanced behind him and saw one of the sentries sprawled out on the floor, his head cocked to one side at an odd angle.

  “No, he’s okay. He’s breathing,” I lied.

  Tor sighed with relief.

  “Eddie’s gone...” Criswell said to me in a loud whisper. “But I saw him slip out into the parking lot. He made off with a car that didn’t belong to him – it belonged to me.”

  I said, “We need to get away from here and catch him!”

  Monica moved in to view, a small silver automatic in her hand. “Not leave yet.” She said. “I need sacrifice, may as well be one of you.”

  Criswell said, “Does that work? Killing the non-possessed victim?”

  “It will work for crowd of follows.” Then she sunk to the ground dropping the gun. Kathy stood behind her holding a chunk of rock in her hand. She looked down at Chen.

  “You bitch.”

  I dusted myself off. “Remind me not to piss you off, sis.”

  Criswell interrupted with, “Must we hang around here? Eddie’s got a bit of a head start on us.” He absently pushed a curl out of his face.

  “Criswell is right,” I said. “Let’s commandeer a rig.”

  There were still a few stragglers making their way to the entrance. Further into the cave the voices of an impatient crowd could be heard. It looked as if the gathering would be a success or would have been, had we not had kept Woody from being drained of his blood. He headed out the entrance and into the filled parking lot.

  “Now what?” Kathy asked.

  An elderly couple, around sixty if they were a day rolled up in a large 1939 Plymouth. It was a sedan and would have more than enough room for all of us.

  I stepped up to old man as he climbed slowly from his vehicle, and tried on a pleasant smile. “I need your keys, I’m afraid.”

  “Excuse me, young man?” One side of his face sagged a bit and I could tell he had suffered a stroke at one time or another. Possibly two, so I didn’t want him to have a third. He looked at the four of us, all beat up, bruised and bloody, except for Criswell who still looked immaculate.

  “I need your car,” I repeated.

  “I don’t think so, son. I keep it in very good shape since I bought it in ’40,” the old man said. “I can’t just turn her over to the likes of yo
u.”

  “Walter, be careful,” his wife whispered, as she slipped out from the passenger side door. She wore a faded scarf that covered her head and a plain white sweater draped over her stooped shoulders. She gripped the sweater tightly around her neck.

  “Please, it’s a matter of life and death,” I urged.

  “Sorry. No can do.”

  I pulled out the .45.

  “Walter, he has a gun!” his wife called out to him, her voice cracking.

  The bigger the gun the better the chance of him cooperating, I thought. I held my hand out for the keys. “Why were you two here, anyway? You don’t seem like the types to watch a public killing.”

  “Young man, what are you talking about?” His face, flushed made me worry as if I pushed him into another stroke. He reached into his worn suit pocket and handed me a flyer folded in half. His liver spotted hands were shaking slightly but I didn’t think it was fear, he was just old. “It’s the Beltane Eve celebration with a huge bon fire and a mock sacrifice, they have one every year. Much better than live theater, isn’t that right, Maudie? It’s all in the flyer.”

  His wife nodded, still staring at my gun.

  I unfolded the paper and it said everything he had just told me.

  Strange Hollywood, sometimes.

  Then I have a best friend that writes and directs horror films in the daytime and dresses up as a dame at night.

  I reached over and took the keys from his hand. “Sorry, but I still have to help someone.” I motioned the others to get into the car and we drove off with the old couple staring after us.

  “I feel horrible.” Kathy admitted. “They were such a nice old couple.”

  I gunned it, swerved out of the parking lot, and onto the asphalt headed down Beachwood Canyon Drive the old couple growing smaller in the rear view mirror.

  Criswell said “Faster! Faster!

  Kathy said, “Slow down, Jimmy. You’ll kill us.”

  Tor just threw his head back and laughed.

  “Kathy,” I finally said. “Woody is driving a car and he’s doped up pretty bad, he can’t even drive when’s he’s not liquored up.”

  “Besides it’s my car and I love my car,” added Criswell.

  “What kind of rig is it?” I asked him.

  “A maroon two door convertible and in immaculate shape when it left, I may add.”

  Criswell, sitting in the back of the rig with Tor, leaned forward in his seat. “You mean to say all of this is fake?”

  I said, “I don’t think so. It may be disguised as fake but I believe Chen and her Universal Adjusters really do, or did, plan to do in Woody.”

  There was a loud bang and Kathy wrenched her head around, looking behind us. “I think it’s that bitch again. I should have hit her harder.”

  Another shot. This one took out the side mirror on the driver’s side.

  Criswell said. “Oh, dear. Walter is going to be pissed.”

  “Are we going to shoot back?” Kathy said, squirming in her seat.

  I swerved around a corner and everyone leaned sideways, Criswell hitting his head on the side window.

  I said sorry about that. “Criswell, you’re the expert on these things, what is Beltane Eve?”

  He was quiet for a moment than said, “Hmm. It is a clever cover, but I believe, it’s some sort of an Irish thing. Thousands of years ago, human sacrifices were used. Usually killed with arrows or burnt at the stake.” Criswell cleared his throat. “I’m only going by memory, but it had something to do with Druids. But now it is supposed to be, and I mean supposed to be symbolic.”

  I waved my hand in the air, “Okay. Okay. I get the drift. They’re pulling a fast one and using the festival to cover it up. Is tonight the last night they can do this?”

  “Once again, I believe so. Something about the day being in between the spring equinox and the summer solstice.”

  Another shot rang out. The other side mirror exploded into pieces, some fragments flying into the open window and spraying over Kathy.

  “Are you okay? Sis, answer me, are you hit?” I screamed.

  She brushed the fragments from her sweater and her hair. ‘I’m okay.”

  “Fuck this shit!” I spun the wheel and hit the brakes at the same time, the car nearly tipping over as it spun into a half circle. We were now facing the enemy. I gunned the gas and we sped off toward them.

  I pulled the gun from my holster, stuck it out the window, and took aim.

  CHAPTER FIFTHEEN

  We were having a modern version of the joust. On this side: The Good Guys (us), on the other side, barreling toward us: The Black Knight (actually the black Mercedes). I fired three consecutive shots, one hit their radiator, and the other hit the windscreen. The Mercedes kept coming. I fired again and missed.

  Kathy looked at me and frowned. “Really, Jimmy. You were a Marine, for God’s sakes.” She grabbed the wheel. “I’ll steer, you shoot.”

  I nodded, leaned out further in the window and fired. The front tire blew on the Black Knight and it swerved missing us by only two feet. I locked eyes with Monica Chen. She mouthed the words F U C K YOU and I think there was more, but their car went down the steep hill and out of sight.

  I tossed my gun to my sis and took control of the wheel again.

  “That’s got one shot left. Use it if you have too.” I told her. “Chen may rear her ugly head again.” I turned the car around and we continued chasing after Woody. Kathy smiled and patted my on the shoulder and slipped the gun into her purse. I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw Tor and Criswell, their mouths snapped shut tightly, their backs straight as if they were leaning against a stiff board.

  “You can breathe now, fellows.” I boasted. “We lost them.”

  “I have to take a piss,” said Tor.

  Criswell was frowning. “Unfortunately, we lost dear Eddie, too.”

  I stopped at the nearest crossroads.

  Kathy said, “Now which way?”

  Then a maroon 1950 Ford maroon convertible zipped past us. There in the driver’s seat was Woody. A big grin plastered across his face. He waved as he slipped by. He stayed in his lane but weaved a bit as if having trouble staying on his side of the road. We were all silent and amazed.

  Criswell stammered out, “T-that’s my car.”

  I said, “No shit?”

  I hit the gas and we played catch up for several miles.

  “How fast does that jalopy go?” I asked Criswell.

  “It’s hardly a jalopy and it goes very, very fast. Halo loves it when I go fast.”

  I was about to say something cynical like ‘I’ll just bet’ when Woody suddenly turned off.

  Everybody but me yelled, “There he goes!”

  We made it to the turn off and I looked at the sign.

  “Christ, he’s headed downtown,” somebody in the backseat said.

  So, I followed him.

  Woody led us in circles when we reached the city limits of Hollywood. We followed him two times around the Gower Street block, then again a couple of times on Vine and Cahuenga. We also watched him narrowly miss a truck unloading some freight and almost plow through some unsuspecting pedestrians.

  The sun was going down, dusk was setting in, and that combination, I was sure, would lead to disaster as long as Woody remained at the wheel.

  We lost him somewhere on Hollywood Blvd, but there was too much traffic and too many people out to go any faster.

  As we made it to the 6900 block, a small crowd gathered around a car. It was the maroon convertible. I double-parked the Plymouth, since it was too big to squeeze into a nearby parking spot and we all piled out. Criswell cried out, “My baby, my baby.” Steam rolled out from the front of the Ford. It had run into the back of a parked Chevy sedan. The psychic ran past us to his car. I moved into the crowd.

  “Anyone see where the driver went?” I hollered.

  Three witnesses pointed at a brick building behind me. I whipped around and saw the red sign with y
ellow script lettering that read: Madame Tussaud’s Hollywood Wax Museum and a star emblem under that.

  I grabbed Kathy by the hand and pulled her with me. A lean black man about fifty years old staffed the ticket booth.

  I quickly said, “Did you see a man come in here a few minutes . . .?”

  He didn’t let me finish. The bags under his eyes were just a tad smaller than a steamer trunk. He wore a large dark green uniform that clung to his small frame. “If ya want to come in, it’ll cost you two fifty.” He looked at Kathy standing behind me. “Each.” He added.

  Tor and a distraught Criswell joined in behind Kathy and the black man, whose nametag read: Mooney just stared blinked at us.

  “We just need to get my friend out, he’s in trouble,” I spilled out. “Can we just go in for few minutes?”

  A line of people started to form behind us and several voices spoke out, “What’s the hold up?”

  Mooney nodded. “You shore can, Mistah. Soon as you cough up two fifty . . . each. Then you can take yo’ time.”

  I sighed. Kathy started to dig into her purse for some cash and accidently pulled out the .38. She quickly dropped it back in again, but not quick enough. Mooney saw the gun and buzzed us in. We looked at each other and we all piled in before Mooney could give it another thought. I heard him say sadly, as we disappeared through the double glass doors. “Crazy white folks.”

  In the lobby, there were several couples, some with small children, leaving the museum. Some were coming in so I ushered my group into a corner.

  “We need to split up if we’re going to find Woody quickly.” I said in a low voice. “Tor you go with Criswell and head down that corridor, Kathy and I will go this way. When we meet one of us will have Woody.”

  I looked out through the double glass doors and saw Monica and a few of her henchmen standing impatiently in line.

  “Oh, just great!” I said, a bit too loud.

  Kathy said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Chen’s here, with back up.”

  “How’d she get here so fast?”

  “Probably caught a ride in time to follow us.” I said, guessing. “Let’s go.” Tor and Criswell disappeared down a corridor. Kathy and I slipped down the opposite one. It would have been nice to be just strolling through the museum like a bunch of innocent tourists, but my life is never like that. We wandered past Marlene Dietrich and Kathy stopped to admire her dress. I pulled her away. “Not now! We’re on a mission, sis. No time for sight-seeing.”