The Dark Side of Town

by Sasscer Hill

“What’s up?” I asked.

  Before she could answer, Javier poked his head out of Dodger’s stall. “Fay. You’re late. I already pulled the tack off Dodger. You need to walk him!”

  “Sorry,” I said, and hurried to the stall.

  Once I got the horse walking on the shedrow, I urged him into a faster pace to close the distance between us and Becky Joe. By the time I caught up with her, we’d reached the short end of the rectangular barn. The walls here were solid—no stall openings, no people.

  “Becky Joe,” I called, “what’s up with Stevie and Mars?”

  “I’m thinking that sumabitch Mars is squeezing the kid, again.”

  “Bionic’s race?”

  Becky Joe glanced back. “Could be Rico’s decided the horse shouldn’t win.”

  “He controls Mars?” I already knew the answer to that.

  “Money and influence, Fay. Man’s got connections.”

  I closed my eyes in frustration. Gunny had asked for a court order to bug Marzio Pizutti’s office, but hadn’t been able to get a judge to sign off on it. Not enough probable cause. Opening my eyes, I looked down at the bits of hay and straw passing beneath my boots. As far as helping Stevie went, I felt as useful as the dirt beneath my feet.

  Stevie’s face, when I saw him, would tell me if he was being pressured. The kid was easy to read, and if he was upset, maybe I could get him talking. Since Agent Turner had already approached him about giving evidence, perhaps I could push the kid in Turner’s direction by suggesting it was past time for Stevie to get help. And that wouldn’t blow my cover.

  When Dodger and I finished our first turn around the barn, we passed Pizutti’s office. The door was still closed. I slowed and listened, but heard nothing from inside. On our next turn, Stevie had emerged and was walking away from me down the shedrow.

  “Hey, Stevie,” I called, forcing my lips into a smile.

  When he turned, the tight, pale skin on his face spoke volumes. “I gotta get Wiggly Wabbit out,” was all he said before hurrying into the horse’s stall.

  I walked toward him, stopping Dodger outside outside Wabbit’s stall. “Everything okay?”

  “I can’t talk to you, Fay. I don’t have time.” He had his back to me and wouldn’t turn around. “Don’t you got work to do? You should keep that horse moving.”

  He’d never spoken to me so sharply. In my peripheral vision I could see one of Maggie Bourne’s grooms behind me leading another horse, so I had to hustle forward.

  When I finished with Dodger, Stevie was already off Wabbit. Javier handed me the hot horse, and I had to keep moving. When I got Wabbit cooled out and settled in her stall, I glanced around for Stevie but didn’t see him. His yellow bicycle was leaning against a tree, so he must still be around.

  The sound of chain saws and wood chippers accompanied me as I finished my chores. The sweet-and-sour smell of sawn wood permeated the air, along with the tang of raw pine, liniment, and sweet feed. When I was finished topping off the water buckets, I saw Stevie walking toward me, eating an apple. He spotted me and stopped abruptly.

  “Hey,” I said, hurrying toward him before he could scamper off. “How are you today?”

  His eyes slid left and right as if looking for a way out. Then he looked at his feet.

  “I’m fine. I don’t have time to talk, Fay.”

  He spurted forward and tried to sidestep me, but I grabbed his arm and saw fear in his eyes. His hands were shaky.

  “Stevie, wait. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing! Now leave me alone before you make it worse.”

  “Make what worse? Is it Lila?”

  “Fay, I’m asking you nicely. Leave me alone.” He jerked his arm from my grasp, ran to his bike, and wheeled quickly away.

  If he threw Bionic’s race, this time the stewards would fine him severely. He might not be able to ride the rest of the meet, not to mention he’d get a bad rep that would follow him throughout his career. If he still had one.

  I decided to pay a visit to Stevie’s apartment later, but first I wanted to talk to Calixto.

  I found him lounging in Maggie Bourne’s office chair behind her desk. He wore jeans and a black sleeveless T-shirt. Seeing his trim, muscular arms, so pumped with blood that the veins stood out, sent a little thrill to my gut. Steady, Fia.

  “You’re looking unusually casual this morning,” I said, before noticing the bits of sawdust clinging to his cotton T-shirt. “Been using a chain saw?”

  “You are very observant. Have you thought about becoming a detective?”

  “Too dangerous,” I said.

  “Es verdad.” His glance slid past the shoulder straps and grommets of my corsetlike top and continued down my jeans. “So, what brings my lovely Goth here this morning?”

  While trying to ignore his penetrating stare, I relayed my concerns about Stevie and Bionic’s race, and when I was finished, Calixto frowned.

  “I fear history is about to repeat itself.”

  “Not if I can help it. I’m going to his apartment this afternoon to, try and talk some sense into him before he throws his career away.” I told Calixto my hope of steering Stevie toward Agent Turner.

  “Don’t tip your hand, Fia.”

  “No chance,” I said as my cell chirped with an incoming message. I read the text telling me to check for a message from Brian at the TRPB. I called into the TRPB, using my passcode and read his encrypted message: “Connection between Gorman and Savarine found.”

  I showed the new text to Calixto, who leaned forward in Maggie’s office chair. “Call him, Fia. Maggie already left for the day and most of the help is gone. It is safe.” He stood and came around the desk, standing close so he could hear the conversation.

  Brian answered immediately. “This is interesting, Fia. Richard Gorman has used a shell company to purchase a large number of shares in Savarine’s SEA fund.”

  “What’s he hiding?” I asked. “If he wanted a part of SEA, why not buy openly?”

  “A good question,” Calixto said.

  “Oh, you’re both there,” Brian said. “Good. Gorman’s shell company bought in for two hundred thousand dollars.”

  Did Joan know about this? “That’s a big stake,” I said. “What are most people paying?”

  “Ten, twenty-five, as much as fifty thousand. Next to Savarine, Fia’s stepfather will be the biggest shareholder.”

  Did Rich really think he’d get his money back out?

  “I believe we need Fia to work her magic and find out what Gorman is up to,” Calixto said. “This fund is beginning to have an unpleasant odor.”

  “Yep,” Brian said, “that’s exactly what Gunny wants her to do.”

  “Hello,” I said. “I’m still here.” It really annoyed me when the male agents talked about me like I wasn’t there.

  “Sorry, Fia,” Brian said. “And I wish I had more for you. I have one last lead to pursue and if it pans out, you’ll be the first to know.”

  I thanked him and ended the call.

  “Time for you to visit the Gormans,” Calixto said.

  “I know that.” I couldn’t help frowning at him. “But first, I’m going to talk to Stevie.”

  With that pronouncement, I left Calixto and made tracks for my side of the barn. This was one more reason not to get involved with him. He had seniority over me, and if I were foolish enough to sleep with him, what was currently only a small annoyance could snowball into major resentment. Unless, of course, we both fell madly in love and lived happily ever after.

  Yeah, like that was going to happen.

  18

  After grabbing a tuna salad sandwich at the track kitchen, I drove back to the side street off Lake Avenue to the brick ranch owned by the old man with the Jack Russell terriers. I parked the Mini out front, and walked behind the house to Stevie’s garage apartment. His yellow Motobecane wasn’t in sight, but I walked up the stairs and knocked on his door anyway, thinking as long as I was there, I could check on Lila.
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  No one came to the door, so I knocked again, listening for any human noise from within. There was no sound and the apartment felt deserted. Maybe Stevie had taken Lila somewhere on his bicycle, or the old man had driven them to go grocery shopping. I trod back down the wooden staircase, walked to the brick ranch, and rang the bell to see if the old guy was home.

  Barking immediately erupted from inside, and I could hear the slow footsteps of Stevie’s landlord.

  “Hi,” I said, when he opened his door. His body had sagged since I’d last seen him and his hands rubbed together repeatedly. I had to raise my voice so he could hear me over the dog chorus. “I’m the gal that came to visit Stevie last week. I was hoping I could find him?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I remember you. Raymond, shut up!” he shouted. “Bosco, you, too. Damn dogs.” His gaze came back to me and he took a breath as if steeling himself. “Stevie ain’t here,” he finally said.

  I leaned over and let the dogs sniff my hand. They both shivered happily and Bosco fell over for a belly rub. I obliged, and he wriggled in ecstasy. My attention stopped their barking.

  “I don’t think I introduced myself last time,” I said. “Fay Mason.”

  He extended a gnarled hand to grasp mine. “Lou Powzalski.”

  Raymond lifted his brown and white head and gave a low, plaintive moan.

  “Cut that out,” Lou said. “Dog hasn’t stopped doing that since—” He sucked in another breath. “Since they took Lila outta here last night.”

  “What?” Fear coiled tightly inside me. “What do you mean, took Lila?”

  Lou’s rheumy blue eyes narrowed. “There was two toughs came by last night, see? Made her leave with ’em.” He shook his head at the memory. “I told Stevie we had to call the cops, but the boy wasn’t having any of that. Said it would only make it worse.”

  Where had I heard that before?

  “So I ask him what’s going on, and he just clams up and won’t say nothing.”

  “Lou, what did these two guys look like?”

  “Trashy Italians.” He pronounced it “eye-tallions.” “One young guy, tough-looking, like a hoodlum. The other one was older. Had a ball cap, sunglasses.”

  “At night?”

  “Yeah, like maybe he was in disguise. Had a big old mustache, too. Coulda been fake.”

  “Did they say anything?”

  “I was in the TV room, looking out the window. I seen ’em drive up in this car, so I was keeping an eye on ’em. I saw them take her away from Stevie. Right off the landing. Dragged her down the steps. Terrible to see, but I couldn’t hear nothing, and by the time I got outside they was driving off with her.”

  Jesus Christ, had to be Rico’s people. “What did the car look like?”

  “Was one of those SUVs. Kind of a blue-green, I think.”

  “Lou, where is Stevie now?”

  “I don’t know. He left early this morning and never came back. I don’t like this one bit. I called the cops, but they said a family member had to report the girl missing, and then it had to be after she was missing twenty-four hours.”

  “But she was abducted! That’s kidnapping. We could call the FBI!”

  “Look, I’m ninety years old and I sound like it on the phone. I had to tell ’em I never heard what those thugs said. And you, you ain’t even a witness, Miss Mason. Cops won’t pay us no mind. They need to hear it from Stevie, and he ain’t talking.”

  “Do you have any idea where Stevie might have gone?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry.”

  The urgency in our voices had the two dogs following our words back and forth like they were watching a Ping-Pong match played with dog bones.

  “Lou, I’d really like to see Stevie’s apartment. See if he left any indication as to where he’s gone. Maybe those thugs left a clue behind that might tell us something. If you have a key to the apartment, would you let me use it?”

  He stared at me a moment, then seemed to make up his mind. He nodded. “I got a key, but I gotta go up there with you. I ain’t letting nobody snoop in my tenant’s residence without me being present.”

  “Fair enough,” I said.

  Lou went to small table near his front door, pulled out a creaky drawer, and held up a steel key. “Here it is.”

  With the two dogs bouncing alongside, we did a slow walk to the back and an even slower climb up the stairs to Stevie’s apartment. Lou had to stop twice on the stairs to catch his breath. I tried not to feel guilty.

  As soon as we got the door open, Raymond whined anxiously and bolted inside. The dog rushed past the battered couch and TV into a room. I followed him and found him sitting on what had to be Lila’s bed. A big clue was the pink stuffed horse on the pillows. The flowered bedspread and ruffles at the hem were pretty good indications as well. The room had a small white dresser and a desk with hand-painted flowers on its legs. A poster of some tweeny pop star I didn’t recognize was taped to the wall over Lila’s bed. Raymond sniffed the pink horse and pillowcases and whined piteously.

  “Dog’s just about moved in with the girl,” Lou said. “He’s been over here every night. Lila told me he sleeps with her on that bed.” His lips pressed tightly together as he shook his head. “This ain’t right.”

  “No. It’s not.” I left Lila’s room and walked around the rest of the apartment, feeling intrusive as I checked Stevie’s bedroom. It was austere, with a single bed and the only adornment a framed picture of Lila. Judging from her appearance, it had been taken maybe two years earlier. She didn’t look as happy. Strain showed in her eyes, and I knew it was a good thing Stevie had gotten her away from their parents. A good thing until now.

  As I searched Stevie’s dresser and desk, I could feel Lou’s eyes on me, making sure I didn’t do anything that would upset Stevie. The kids were lucky to have the old man.

  I searched the entire apartment for something that could tell me where Lila or Stevie might be. I discovered no notes, maps, crumpled business cards, or telling matchbook covers. I sighed and my shoulders slumped.

  Lou cocked his head to one side. “That was a real thorough search you just did, missy. If I didn’t know better, I might think you were a thief.”

  “I was a patrol officer with the Baltimore Police Department,” I said, hoping to allay his concerns.

  “You don’t say?”

  I nodded. “Not that it’s doing me any good now. We might as well leave.”

  Raymond was still sitting on Lila’s bed, and refused to abandon it. Lou finally picked the little dog up and after closing the apartment’s door, carried him down the stairs before setting him on the ground.

  I don’t carry a business card when undercover, so when we reached the house, I dug around in my purse, found a pen, and tore a piece of paper from my tuna sandwich receipt. I scribbled my number on the scrap and handed it to Lou.

  “If you hear anything, will you call me?

  “Sure thing,” he said.

  We shook hands, and I left, driving back to the track where I picked up a copy of the overnight. It listed the entries that would run in two days. I scoured the sheet and saw Bionic listed in the seventh race, going a mile-and-an-eighth, with Stevie named as jockey. I had to find Lila. But how? I crumpled the overnight into a tight ball and threw it into a nearby trash can. Damn everything.

  * * *

  When the afternoon chores were finished, I called the Adelphi and asked to speak to the Gormans. As I’d hoped, the desk manager told me they’d already checked out. Rather than call Joan and have her fob me off, I climbed into my Mini and drove north to her house.

  Joan’s red Maserati brightened the driveway, and the waxed paint of a silver caterer’s van reflected rays from the late-afternoon sun. I assumed staff had come to finish cleaning up the mess from the party, probably accessing the kitchen through the open garage door. Rich’s black Mercedes was absent. Perfect.

  I rang the bell and a moment later I heard Joan’s heels clacking across the stone
foyer inside. The door opened partway.

  Her face was drawn, her eyes half-closed with exhaustion. She appeared to have aged overnight. After producing a weak smile, she gestured in the direction of her kitchen.

  “The caterers are here cleaning up, and I’m very tired, Fia. I don’t really have time for a visit. You should have called.”

  “I wanted to see how you were. How ’bout I just come in for a few minutes.”

  Joan pulled the door wider. Her sigh was impatient. “All right.” In old jeans and a much worn sweatshirt, she walked away from me.

  “Could we sit in the living room?” I asked, noting the house smelled faintly of garbage.

  “Let me check on these people first.” She headed for the kitchen where a man was dragging a trash bag so stuffed it looked ready to split open. “Those stupid police! Forcing us to leave the shrimp shells and crab legs sitting in the kitchen. Now, the whole house stinks. The backyard is worse. This stuff should have been cleaned up by midnight!”

  I bit my tongue not to say, “A man was murdered!” Instead, I said, “I’m sorry all this has happened to you.”

  Two women worked at the kitchen sink hand-washing and drying glasses.

  “Those go in the upper right-hand cabinet. No, the upper right hand,” Joan said. “Are you deaf?”

  The man with the trash bag was struggling to wiggle his burden through the door to the garage. He glared at Joan, and tugged harder on his bag.

  “Stop!” she yelled at him. “There’s a hole. That stinking seafood crap is leaking on my kitchen floor!”

  One of the women said, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Gorman. We’ll clean everything up and mop the floor. It will be like we were never here.”

  “I doubt that,” Joan said. “Come on, Fia, let’s go to the living room before I have a nervous breakdown.”

  She marched into her living room, made a beeline for the bar, and poured herself a few fingers of bourbon. “Fia?”

  “No, thanks.”

  She took her glass and collapsed on the damask love seat. I took one of the velvet couches. The bronze statue of Behold the King stared at us from the credenza.

  “How is Rich holding up?” I asked, tracing my fingers on the velvet and watching the beige color darken as I stroked the nap in a different direction.