She just sighed.
I said. “A date, huh?”
“Wha-?” She shook her head. “I knew you couldn’t hold it in very much longer. Yes, we were on a date, just a film.”
“A horror film? You hate horror films.” I said.
“Not today. I quite enjoyed myself, for a while, that is.” Her voice trailed off.
“And I heard maybe dinner and some drinks?”
She stopped dead in her tracks, forcing a group of people to push around us. “Leave it alone, Jimmy. I don’t meet many nice guys, and Eddie’s a nice guy.”
I lowered my voice. “You don’t really know Eddie like I do, sweetie.”
She folded her arms to her chest. “Meaning?”
“I can’t tell you, right now.”
“Why not?”
“ Because . . . “ I stammered. “I just can’t. He has . . . secrets.”
“Everyone has secrets.”
I laughed. “Not like Woody’s.”
“I don’t care, Jimmy. I like Eddie and he likes me. Whatever happens, happens and besides, it’s none of you business.”
She stomped off and I followed. I wanted to tell her about the sweaters and the skirts and the bras and panties, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Woody was my best friend and my sister, well, was my sister. Therefore, I let it go. She was right. It was none of my business.
We wandered past Clark Gable and I wished I was him or anybody but me: a shell-shocked, one legged ex-Marine. But that wasn’t reality. The wax museum was starting to depress me.
We strolled past Laurel and Hardy doing something funny and frozen in time, then entered the monster side of the museum. We checked out the crowd of onlookers as we went, praying we found Woody before Chen and her henchmen did.
I made it to Kathy’s side and gave her a pitiful shrug. The one I always gave her when I was beat down. She smiled the ‘I forgive you smile’ and took my arm. All was suddenly okay in Jimmy Egan’s world. Except for Chen and the Henchmen, chasing us and Woody marked for a public bloodletting.
We went deeper into the museum. The Wolfman displayed was the way Lon Chaney Jr. played him. The Hunchback of Notre Dame was Lon Chaney Senior and Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde could have been Fredric March but I wouldn’t swear to it.
Edward D. Wood Jr. stood next to Dracula as portrayed by Bela Lugosi in the 1931 film. He was smoking a cigarette (which is a big No- No in a wax museum) and appeared to be in an animated conversation with the wax figure.
Small groups of people were gathered watching at a safe distance from him. They seemed very amused. Kathy and I approached him very slowly.
I said casually, “Hey, buddy, been looking for you.”
His eyes seemed a little clearer, but I could still see he was still messed up by the way he swayed back and forth, barely hanging on to his balance.
“Hi . . . um . . . Jimbo.” He never called me Jimbo when he was in his right mind, because he knew I hated it. “Hi Katheeee. Let me introduce you,” he took a puff. “to my good friend Bela . . Luuuuu…gosi.” He waved a hand at the mannequin. “Bela is dead but he came back to do . . . another picture . . . (took another puff) with me. It’s called Ghouls of the Moon.”
Kathy smiled pleasantly at him and said, “Eddie, let’s go outside and you can tell me all about it.” She moved in to grab his arm but he pulled away.
Somebody in the crowd said, “Someone needs to call a cop, this guy is wasted.”
“Don’t be rude . . .” Eddie started to say, but I was up to my neck with his shit so I did the only thing I could do when a fellow Marine is in trouble. I took a step forward and clocked him hard in the jaw. He slumped into my arms. I managed to throw him over my shoulder, his weight made my prosthetic creak, and I prayed it would hold up until we got out of the building. The crowd watching clapped and we headed toward the back of the building. I was sure if we went in the other direction we would run into Chen and her minions. I didn’t need that when I was carrying Woody. With some luck on our side, we ran into Tor and Criswell on the way out. Tor was excited. “I saw Karloff. He looked so real, you think he was real?” the big man asked Criswell.
The psychic shook his head. “Be assured, my friend, he is made of wax. I don’t think the man is even dead yet.”
Tor looked disappointed.
Criswell said, “I wonder if I will have a wax figure done of me at the end of my life. Especially when my predictions become fruitful.” He seemed to ponder on that thought for a brief moment, cupping his hand around his chin.
“No time for this right now, guys,” I said, and quickly told them my plan.
All we had to do was go out the back way, around the building, hail a cab, and beat feet to home. It was a simple plan.
Yet it failed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As we busted out the back door, Chen and her henchmen stood there waiting. She glanced at the delicate watch on her wrist. It was dark now and the only good light came from a lone street lamp that bathed us all in a yellow tinge
“You cost much time, Egan. Give us Eddie now. I let you go.”
“Something is troubling me, Chen,” I said. “Why did you choose Eddie out of all the people in Hollywood?”
“I saw him at premiere of Bride of Atom. He had face full of evil, spouting his horrible film to possess the innocent.” Her jaw was tight as she spoke.
‘That’s it? You picked him out of a crowd?” I had been right at the Bronson caves when I said as much. She was nothing more than a God damn critic.
“No matter. Give him to me now!” she cried.
I carefully lowered Woody to the ground. “Don’t think so, sweetheart.” I said it like Bogie would have said it when he was about to give up Bridget O'Shaughnessy to the cops, or was her name Miss Wonderly?
Chen motioned for her men and I quickly pulled out my .45 that was tucked neatly into my waistband. “I will shoot you and this will all be over,” I said. “Or I will take my friends and walk away and this will all be over. You choose.”
I let my words hang in the air by invisible strings. Kathy slowly slipped out the .38. She knew she only had one shot, but I had seen her shoot before and one was all she would need. The henchmen shrugged, slowly turned and walked away. Chen was furious, she said something to them in Chinese but I had a feeling it wasn’t “Hey, see you guys later.” None of them turned around, they just kept walking.
The oriental frowned, and even with that twisted look on her face she was still one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Or maybe I just needed to get out more.
“This not over, Egan. It will never be over.” She didn’t pull out another gun (I still had hers in my front pocket), she didn’t protest any further, she just stood there watching as the three of us walked away, Tor carrying the unconscious Woody in his arms.
By now, my stump was throbbing something awful in the leather harness and way past the pins and needles stage.
We leisurely walked about a block in the dark, trying to avoid people traffic and onlookers who seemed curious about the large giant carrying the limp man in his arms. I hoped we didn’t run into a police cruiser. I just wanted to go home.
I managed to hail a Yellow Cab, and the driver, a middle-aged guy wearing a black cap, and a concerned disposition, seemed overly suspicious of our motley crew. He asked for some cash up front. Kathy smiled sweetly at him, tossed him a few fivers from her purse, and his suspicions melted away. He suddenly didn’t care. I sat in the back with Kathy and the unconscious Woody, Tor, and Criswell scooted in the front barely leaving room for the driver. Kathy gave him her address and the cabbie pushed down the meter arm.
As we were pulling away, I glanced behind us and saw Chen running after the cab, her shoes were gone and she was hotfooting it in bare feet. The street lamps were better here and I could clearly see a jagged dagger in her hand. I wondered where she had kept it hidden.
She ran right into the middle of the road.
&n
bsp; The truck that hit her did not even have time to slow down. I saw her body bounce under two of the big wheels.
The front and the back.
The vehicle skidded to a stop and two men wearing coveralls jumped out to look at the body. One man tossed his hands up in the air in dismay.
Kathy tried to see what I was looking at. “What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing.” I patted her on the leg and settled in for the ride. “Just a bump in the road.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When the cabbie dropped everyone off at my sister’s place, I had him run me to where I parked my Nash. This did cost me a few bucks but I needed my car. I had to pick up something before I returned home.
I did my errand as quickly as I could and by the time I got to my sister’s place and flipped on the light, I found a note on the kitchen table.
Dear Jimmy,
We went to retrieve Cris’ car. Then I’m taking Eddie to his house to help him recoup. Don’t wait up.
Love you, Kathy
I wasn’t sure how she did that, but I figured there had been another cab ride in store for her. It must have been quite a costly date.
When I got home, I was carrying a large cardboard box tucked under on arm. After reading the note, I sat the box on the floor and opened the flaps. Frankenstein happily jumped out and glanced around, sniffing the air.
I said, “It’s safe, Frankie. No dogs in sight. And it seems no sister, either. Make yourself at home.”
He meowed at me and padded off to sniff the place out. I figured if Chen lived, she would be in the hospital for quite some time. If she was dead, well, that would leave Frankenstein an orphan and I couldn’t have that. Chen’s place was all cleared out by the time I got there and there was no Milo tied to any chairs. That’s when I knew it was finally over. Case closed.
I was dog-tired (excuse the pun). I shuffled to the fridge, yanked it open, and pulled out a bottle of Schlitz. I rummaged in one of the top silverware drawers and scooped up an opener. I popped the top and let the cold liquid flow down my dry throat. I was instantly relaxed.
I needed a shower, a bite to eat and I couldn’t remember when I ate last or got some shut-eye. I wasn’t even sure what order my list would fall into, but I had an idea sleep would win out first. I flipped on the hall light and made it to my bedroom, still clutching onto my beer. When I hit the switch by the door, nothing happened. I flipped it on and off again, and wondered why people always did that when the lights were out.
A voice from somewhere in the darkness said, “Come on in, Gumshoe. Have a seat on the bed.” My eyes strained in the dimness of the room and thanks to the feeble light coming from the hallway, I saw the outline of someone standing near the closet. And I knew the voice. It belonged to Howie Bennett; for some reason he decided to stick around.
“I’m not a Gumshoe, Howie. I’m not a Peeper, I’m a private detective. Better yet, try using my name.” I tried not to act surprised.
“Didn’t see this coming did you, Flatfoot?”
“Flatfoots a cop, genius.”
“Don’t get smart, Shamus.”
I rolled my eyes but I doubted he could see that in this light. “Is there a point to all of this or were you just lonely because you can’t make any friends?”
“You’re done for, asshole. You’ll see your name in the obits by morning. Later, Gator.” His voice cracked some. I think he was losing his spinal column.
“How can I do that if I’m dead?” He didn’t answer. I just heard his heavy breathing. His ‘Gator’ remark told me who had broken into Woody’s place, wrote that idiotic note, and slashed the blue Angora sweater. “Tell me, Howie, were your parents related, as in brother and sister? That sure would explain a lot.”
“I ought to –.”
He didn’t get to finish because Frankie trotted in and all Howie saw was a shadow, he fired at the shadow and wasn’t even close to hitting the cat. I heaved the beer bottle at him as hard as I could. He cried out and I heard the gun hit the floor. In the semi darkness, I knew it would be hard for him to find it. I moved in as fast as my leg would let me and suddenly heard the click of a switchblade.
The blade. I forgot about the damn blade.
I bent down as low as I could get and felt a swoosh in the air just above my head. The blade missed its mark.
I swung blindly and hit him hard in the stomach, then we scuffled and fell to the floor. I grabbed his arm. I hoped it was the right arm because it was still too dark to see which hand the blade was in. I felt a pain in my shoulder as the knife slashed through my shirt. I switched and grabbed his other arm and smashed it against the hardwood floor. We were both grunting and sweating and I could feel drops of warm sweat splashing in my face.
Howie pushed away, got to his feet and ran for the open bedroom door. I clumsily pulled myself to my feet and as I did, I felt the bulge of the small gun in my front pocket. I had forgotten about Monica’s small caliber automatic. I pulled it out and resumed the chase. By then, Howie had made it to the front door, flung it open and ran as if the Devil was chewing on his heels. I made it through the door frame, took aim, and fired. The shot went wide and into the oak tree in the middle of the lawn.
I shot again.
Howie grabbed his ass and screamed in agony, but, by God, he kept running. He hobbled down the darkened street, still holding his ass cheek, until he was out of site.
I gave that bastard a wound he would remember forever or at least every time he sat down.
Glancing around I noticed the shots failed to rouse any of the neighbor’s curiosity enough to peek out their windows, or force them to switch on any porch lights. I limped back inside, closed, and locked the door behind me. I figured there wouldn’t be any more trouble tonight.
I went to the fridge and pulled out a fresh Schlitz, opened it and returned to the bedroom. I sat the beer on the nightstand next to the bed and lowered my tired aching body onto the soft patchwork quilt my sister had made. Then I closed my eyes. I didn’t bother tending to my wound or peeling off any clothing. The last thing I remember is Frankie making a soft spot on my chest, purring softly.
We stayed that way the rest of the night.
[]
COMING SOON!
THE KILLER
WAS A CROSSDRESSER
A Jimmy Egan Mystery
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
David Rowell Workman was born in 1956 on a rainy Saturday morning in Oregon, but now lives in Montana, where it actually rains about the same most of the time.
He is currently working the second Jimmy Egan Mystery, ‘The Killer was a Cross Dresser” and the thriller TUB OF SPIDERS with co-author Jennifer Patterson.
A Case of the Nasties: A Jimmy Egan Mystery Page 7