To Find a Killer

by Charlie Vogel

  Abruptly he laughed, without humor. “Just look like that and act confused. You got a friggin’ concussion and almost lost an eye! Confusion he’ll believe! He has as much faith in your street-smarts as Lori and me, anyway! Quit trying to have all the answers! None of us are that lucky! Just act what you are! Confused!”

  I frowned at him. He walked to the kitchen and brought back one of the mild pain pills Dr. Burroughs had prescribed for my first few days home. I downed it with an imported beer chaser, then held up the bottle.

  “At least you had enough sympathy to buy me some good stuff!”

  He twitched a grin and left me to my TV watching.

  * * *

  Not long after Harry left for work, Lori arrived home with a sack full of Italian carry-out from Pappi’s. As the Linguine filled my mouth with rich herbs, garlic, and cheeses, I listened to Lori rattle on about the highs and lows of her day. From the enthusiasm in her face, I could tell she truly enjoyed this “legitimate employment,” as Henry would call it.

  Like a genie appearing, the phone rang and I listened to his nasal voice.

  “Just returned from my trip and found you had been discharged. A very expensive lesson, but worth it, I think, so I shall not take it out of your allowance.”

  “Damned generous of you.”

  “You obviously don’t believe that or you wouldn’t have said it in that tone of voice. Did I, ah, interrupt something?”

  “Dinner. Everything Italian tastes better cold, except for their women. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you Henry?”

  “Another attempt at humor, Robert, that is totally lost on me. I called to tell you of the memorial service for Charles. I’m including Maggie Gates in the service . . . just to expedite things and get on with life, so to speak. Formal invitations are in the mail. Feel free to bring your two friends. Since Charles spoke of them at the hospital and seemed to have some regard for them . . .”

  “You mean Lori and Harry?” I asked pointedly.

  “Yes, yes. Those two. And please make certain they dress appropriately. There will be some family and business associates who knew at lest one of the deceased. I don’t want your present . . . social status, I guess, to upset anyone.”

  “Your attention to details is . . . just heart-warming, Henry.”

  “Don’t push me, Robert. Do I need to remind you as well to dress appropriately?”

  I hung up on him. Lori poured more clam sauce over my drying pasta as I sat down.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Henry is throwing a going away party for Maggie and Chucky. We get to wear bib-overalls and t-shirts.”

  She glared at me.

  “What? What? You lost your sense of humor now?” I demanded.

  “Charles. His names was Charles.” She then carefully worked a noodle free, snaked it up to her mouth, and sucked it up. One arched eyebrow challenged me to correct her table manners, then she twisted in her chair. “Hear that?”

  “What?”

  “That’s your friggin’ car alarm. I hate that thing. You can hear it two stories up!”

  “Hey, because it was annoying it saved my life, right?”

  She shrugged. “So, are you going to go see what set it off this time?”

  “I suppose. You finish sucking up your noodles.”

  “No fun without you watching. And besides it gives me gas. I’ll go with you. Never know when I might have to rescue you.”

  “Ha, ha! Another not-so-funny crack!”

  The elevator doors opened to the dark, smelly underground garage. The low watt-lighting made it feel like a cave to me. We walked along the line of oil streaks between the twelve numbered parking slots. My Ferrari sat at the end, its alarm echoing off the garage walls and numbing my ear drums. I thumbed the remote. The blessed chirping silenced the alarm.

  As I reached for the door handle, my gaze caught the marks where dirt had been smeared across the oil on the pavement at my feet. Someone slid under my car. I wanted to jump away like a man avoiding a striking snake, then realized no one was under there . . . now.

  “Do you have a flashlight?”

  Lori held her arms straight out from her sides. “Do I look like I would have one? You’ve got one in the glove box. I’ll go around and get it.”

  “No! Don’t touch the car.” I pointed at the smears. “Someone’s been under it.”

  Lori knelt and almost laid her cheek against the filth. “Holy crap!” she whispered, then scrambled to her feet and stepped back.

  I copied her, staring at the car. “Was I right?”

  She nodded. “A box taped there. It has a digital clock. I think we have twelve minutes to do something.”

  “Twelve minutes?”

  “Maybe it’s twelve friggin’ hours. How do I know? Just don’t stand there, Mr. College Man. Do something!”

  For some reason I tip-toed back to the car then knelt and looked for myself. Black box, goddamn duct tape, long tube, and a clock. The number twelve glowed in the dark, with the seconds counting down. They read 1-9, so I concluded the twelve meant minutes.

  I stood up shaking my head. “Why would someone bomb my car?”

  “Who the fuck cares? Give me the keys and I’ll drive it out of here before it goes off!”

  I clenched the keys to my chest. “You start it and -boom- no twelve minutes. We have to call the police.”

  “A College Man says this? Haven’t you been listening to Harry and me! The police won’t get here in time.”

  I bit my lip and looked around. If it exploded here, the entire building would come down. Probably what was intended, Norris.

  “Go open the ramp door then get outside. Run toward the Tickled Pink. I’ll start the car and head toward the river. Maybe I can make it there before . . . well, before.”

  “Bull! I’m going with you.”

  “No! And there will be no discussion. Get the hell out of here, now! We’re wasting time.”

  A chop of her hand and the keys flew through the air. Before I could even move, she flicked the remote and unlocked the doors. My heart lurched. Nothing happened. Just as she opened the door, I grabbed her arm and swung her away. Again, nothing.

  The instant my butt hit the seat, she dived across me and into the passenger seat. As she straightened herself, those wide eyes defied me to kick her out.

  “Time’s a wastin,‘“ she quipped.

  “Goddamn you, Lori!”

  We stared hard into one another’s eyes as I keyed the ignition and the motor hummed. Lori punched the garage remote.

  “Let’s go, Norris!”

  Sunlight reflected off the cement valley outside. We stared at that as I hit the accelerator. I prayed if anyone was on the sidewalk they could jump out of the way, because I wasn’t stopping for anything. The slow-moving door scraped across the Ferrari’s top. Swerving into the street, I worked the clutch and gas like a race driver. Please live up to your reputation, you goddamn Ferrari!

  “How many minutes?” I shouted.

  “How the hell would I know?” Lori had fastened her seat belt, but one hand still braced against the dash and the other held the door handle.

  At the intersection ahead, my light turned red. I didn’t slow down.

  “Bus! A goddamn bus!” Lori yelled.

  I stood on the brake pedal. The little car went into a spin then stopped with a jarring impact. Metal screeched. I blinked at the parked car wrinkled against my window. Lori yanked my hands from the steering wheel then tugged me across the gear shift and out her open passenger door. The fall to my hands and knees on the pavement put my eyes at the same level as the Ferrari’s undercarriage. Reality returned. I jumped to my feet, pulling Lori with me. We ran back the way we had come.

  “Run! Back! Bomb!” I screamed at the people coming closer to gawk. The panicked crowd scattered.

  The instant I heard the explosion half a block behind us, I threw myself over Lori. She grunted as we hit the ground. I twisted to glance ba
ck. A large orange ball of fire billowed then drifted up, following its black smoke into the air.

  Chapter 15

  A week after my Ferrari destroyed two parked cars and made an extra big pothole, I still asked myself why, as well as who. With Turner gone, the options were cut to one. Skipper, whoever the hell that was.

  Roy called telling us the cops had chalked up the explosion to the collision, but I wasn’t going to be charged with reckless driving. Lori thought that was funny. Then Roy pressed us to move to a safer area of the city and Harry thought that was funny. The three of us decided to stay and face the enemy. It was Roy’s turn to laugh.

  Harry explained how we could watch one another’s backs most of the time. When anyone was alone, the tension was bad. Each day seemed worse. We had to work hard not to bite off one another’s head.

  Henry sent a “Care” package. Speechless, Lori carried the black crepe dress to her bedroom to try on. She looked incredible and very mature. Harry grunted at his tux, commenting he was surprised Henry didn’t send an artificial arm, too. I glared at mine and told them I preferred bib overalls.

  The day of the Joint Memorial service Henry’s new chauffeur, Peter, knocked at our door at one in the afternoon. Henry insisted we arrive in a style fitting the solemn occasion. I preferred roaring up his pretentious drive in Harry’s Mustang.

  The young, blond, muscular Peter cautiously drove through the slums then kept to the speed limit on the expressway. Lori kept peering over his shoulder at the speedometer then sighing heavily. Harry tried to strike up a conversation, but Peter stared straight ahead as if his passengers didn’t exist. I tried to think of something else, but my thoughts kept going back to the possibility that Peter did more than drive for Henry. I could almost hear Henry say, “How crude, Robert!” Lori kept asking me what I was grinning about, but I wouldn’t answer.

  The decorative, iron-barred gate opened as Peter swung the limo into the entrance. My friends gawked as we traveled the quarter mile driveway pass tennis courts, a putting green, a miniature lake complete with two swans, and the multi-car garage with a small yacht sitting on its trailer. I pointed out the barn and horse pasture, empty since Eileen’s high school days. Henry’s three story mansion stood at the crest of a gentle, sloping hill.

  I had always hated the place, not because Henry lived there, but because the imported-marble home and the over twenty acres of manicured Kentucky blue grass mocked the working class who stood outside the encircling iron-barred fence and stared in disbelief. Eileen had told me more than once that most of the sprawling homes around her father’s had second mortgages and the residents carried more plastic than cash. But not Henry. His fortress was secure from such menial concerns. He prided himself on protecting what was his.

  The twisting drive forced the limo to ten-miles an hour, so it seemed to take forever to reach the pink marble steps leading to the mansion’s front door. Lori and Harry craned their necks to take in the fountain and statues, the front columns and English ivy. We reached the front steps and, as if by magic, the double door opened. There stood Ben, formally called the House Manager, but a butler any where else. He led the way to the ballroom in the lower level. When my first tour years ago ended in that big open space, I blurted that it looked like a glorified rec room in somebody’s over-sized basement. Eileen had laughed; Henry didn’t.

  Lori and Harry spotted the long buffet table beneath the patio windows. The windows looked out over Henry’s backyard or rather his Victorian gardens. I dropped onto an empty sofa and waved to one of the many cute maids, all formally attired in black dresses and tasteful white aprons.

  “A beer, please.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Norris,” her small squeaky voice announced, “We have only a variety of wines, scotch, bourbon, and gin.”

  That voice reminded me of her name. “Tina, I know Ben keeps a cold case of beer in the kitchen.”

  She glanced around, then nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  She returned with a tray carrying a frosted glass, an inch of foam dripping down it’s side. Harry and Lori sat down beside me. Lori sipped her punch then balanced her loaded plate of food on her knees. The classic dress, her upswept hair, and the light make-up made her look like any of the other classy women wandering around close to their men. That irritated me, but I didn’t hang onto the thought. Harry, too expertly set his plate on his knees then drank from his punch cup. I had seen a few glances his way, usually the eyes honing in on his pinned up sleeve. That annoyed me too, but in a different way. Gonna be a long afternoon, Norris. I decided to just sip my beer so Tina wouldn’t have to take another trip to the kitchen. Norris, you still feel like a damn thief sneaking around here! What are you doing here? Pacifying Henry or trying to ease your conscience?

  “There’s a few guys here that I met before.” Lori commented. I tried not choke on the precious beer. “They’re pretending they don’t know me, probably because their wives are hanging all over them.”

  Harry choked on the cracker he had just put in his mouth. Since his punch was gone, I offered my beer. He only took a sip then cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’ve only seen some of these people on TV or in the newspaper. Funny to see them as more than names. Ah, Bob, this is kinda awkward. I mean, okay, we ate, we drank, they’re talking, but . . . when’s the real thing start? Or is this it?”

  “Henry likes his guests to enjoy themselves before he does anything planned, like make speeches or hit them up for money.”

  “He ain’t gonna ask for money is he? At a memorial service?” Lori looked horrified.

  “No, no. He does that for charities and politicians, that sort of crap. Eileen never got me to those events, believe me.”

  Harry snickered. “Yeah, you used to drop by the Stop-and-Go, instead.”

  “So what will he do here?” Lori asked, daintily wiping her fingers with the napkin. She almost jumped when an attentive maid took the empty plate from her knees.

  “The bullshitting is part of socializing, like giving the people time to talk about Chu . . . ah, Charles and Maggie. Henry will make an appearance. He’ll tell everyone Charles was a great guy, years of devoted service, that sort of crap. I haven’t the foggiest idea what he’ll say about Maggie. He didn’t even know her!”

  Lori frowned. “Then why is he having a memorial for her?”

  I shrugged and noticed my beer was just about gone. “She had been Eileen’s secretary for several years. Maybe he feels obligated. Hey, you two want to see the house? I can take you on the grand tour.”

  Another maid whisked the empty beer glass from my hand as I stood.

  “That’s spooky,” Lori whispered.

  We walked around several groups of elegant, stone-faced society people, obviously being solemn for the occasion. Harry and Lori resumed their stunned expressions when we found the carpeted, circular staircase. A classic Victorian crystal candelabra hung from the ceiling high overhead. At the top of the stairs, I led them down a long hallway to the library. I thought they would enjoy the floor to ceiling bookshelves. The door was locked.

  “It’s locked! Henry never locks these doors.”

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  All three of us jumped. Ben stood eyeing us suspiciously.

  “Hello, Ben. I was just . . .”

  “The services are being held downstairs, sir,” he interrupted me.

  “I know that. I just thought I would show my friends around.”

  “That is not permitted today, sir.”

  “Permitted?” I almost laughed. “Henry won’t mind and we won’t steal anything.” Ben didn’t laugh. “Okay, so where is he? I’ll ask him myself.”

  “He is preparing for his guests. Please follow me to the ballroom. He would be most unhappy if you were not there when he speaks.”

  “That’s fine, Ben Boy,” Lori piped up, “but where’s the little girls’ room? I need to powder myself, or whatever you people say when nature calls.”

  He still didn�
��t crack a smile. “We have a ladies’ room downstairs . . . or if you would be more comfortable, there is a servant’s bathroom off the kitchen.”

  I resisted punching him in the nose.

  Lori hadn’t missed his dig. She batted her eyelashes and assumed her most formal tone. “I’ll use the servant’s can. Don’t want to mess up the guest room. You know how it is after you eat burritos for breakfast. So where is the kitchen. I’m in a hurry.”

  Ben raised his chin. Harry touched my arm as I stiffened.

  Follow this hall to the servants’ stairs down to the kitchen. The staff will direct you. Gentlemen? Please follow me.”

  He did an about face the Marines would have appreciated. Harry and I followed him.

  Back in the ballroom, the scene hadn’t changed much. I didn’t spot Tina, so Harry and I wandered back to the punch bowl.

  “Harry, over there by the bar. That tall, balding man. That’s Dr. Welsh. Great reputation and Eileen really liked him as a person, too. He might be able to help you with your flashbacks.”

  Harry gulped his punch. “Heard of him at the VA, but he ain’t free and I can’t afford what he charges.”

  I remembered some of Eileen’s high praise for the man. “Maybe he’d work something out for you.”

  Harry lifted his glass as if to warn me.

  “No, no. Not charity, just a pro-rated thing. He might even be able to work a deal with someone to get you a good artificial arm.”

  “I may have my principles, Bob, but I’m not totally brain-damaged. Help, yes. Charity, no. I’ve gotten along so far.”

  “Damn it, Harry. I owe you now. You know it. I know it. If I can’t get the money, I’ll wring it out of Henry. Why should he have all the benefits of his money? Come on. Let’s go talk to Welsh.”

  An exchange of introductions prompted Welsh’s recollections of who I was to Henry. We agreed the weather had been fine, then I threw Harry’s condition into the conversation. Welsh was immediately interested. He tuned in to Harry’s pride and assured him a few minutes of chit-chat was not billable. I piped up that I would stand the bill from that point on. Despite Harry’s reluctance, the psychiatrist led him to a corner curved sofa.