by ML Gardner
The smart asses always take it with a shrug. “Better luck next time.”
Better luck for whom? Me, or the young girl they found stuffed behind a box in the alley?
For both, I supposed.
The truth was, when a person turned up missing if a ransom note didn’t show up pretty quickly, that person was by default, a homicide case. Or simply didn’t want to be found.
As far as the cop killer, everyone was on this case. Even the detectives with our well-earned warm offices thought of it constantly. Three cops in three months. It had given us all a reason to dread Mondays. Who would be the headline in August? More than eying each other, we were all looking over our shoulder.
I pulled out a file that had been bothering me. Nagging like a splinter, and while my ass was full of splinters, this name had crossed my mind more than usual lately. I cross referenced his arrest file. This guy had been a regular staple on the wrong side of the jail cell. I remembered his face.
At first I thought he had either abandoned his life of petty crime or had simply gotten smarter. Beat cops hadn’t dragged him in for a few weeks when some seedy looking woman came in and reported him missing. With bloodshot eyes and matted hair she said he hadn’t come home. Two nights being the minimum time before we’d take it seriously, she was waiting in my office first thing on a cold February morning.
His name was Daniel Bellamy. Home state, Georgia. A wanderer, for the most part. Looking at his rap sheet and the worn out cat scratched woman who begged me to find him, I was tempted to pass the file off to homicide right then and there. I had learned to trust my gut and my gut told me this guy was dead. But, until there was a body I couldn’t give it up. Truth was, I wouldn’t. Even after six months when the chances of finding this guy were zero to none, it was still an open case. And it would haunt me like all the rest.
I pulled out the three most recent cases as well. Ones with a chance. A wife, one Suzanna Marsh disappeared last Friday. That one was easy enough. When I had visited her husband, he was distraught. I didn’t consider him a suspect. He was a short homely man and when he showed me a picture of Suzanna, I did a double take. Only for money would a smokin’ dame like that marry a little mushroom of a man with a plaster personality. It was pretty obvious what had happened there.
The bank teller where the Marsh’s held their joint account said she had come in three days before her husband reported her missing. She withdrew a hundred grand and had a handsome young man with her. Looked half her age, even. Some young buck was getting lucky on both ends of this bargain.
My gut told me these two had laughed all the way from the bank and were ankle deep in Caribbean sands, enjoying life to the fullest. I tossed the file aside.
The next was a woman from the south side. Her sister reported her missing. She was a prostitute and like all the strung out hookers in Boston, she had found Jesus and was trying to get clean when she vanished. They’d find her in a dumpster or in the backseat of an abandoned car in the next few days with her throat slit and this file would go to homicide. I was sure of it. My gut told me so.
The third was a runaway. Sixteen year old with a boyfriend twice her age. Even before I sat in Kimberly Weiss’ parent’s living room I could have told you what happened.
She was in love and they didn’t approve. Her parents confirmed she had climbed out her window with a small bag in the middle of the night. They hadn’t seen or heard from her since. If they hadn’t left the state, I had half a chance of finding this one. Without access to money like Suzanna Marsh had, she would be dependent on her boyfriend.
According to Kimberly’s parents he was an out of work painter who drank too much. It would only be a matter of time before he put her on the street to provide an income. I decided to head over to the south side and see what I could see. I tucked her picture in the front pocket of my suit and slugged the last of my coffee.
I told Helen I’d be out all morning. She bobbed her head, nearly dislodging the phone wedged between it and her shoulder.
I stepped out onto the busy sidewalk. Going somewhere that might bring a lead that might make a difference felt good. It had been a long time since I had found anyone alive. Word was starting to go around that I was losing my touch. My intuition was fading and I knew Felix had his eye on my office. Well, damn if I was going to give it up.
***
It was like a sauna at only ten in the morning. I’d be soaked with sweat if I walked, so I hopped on a streetcar. The breeze was warm but it felt good. I eyed everyone on the train. Nothing particular about this train, I eyed everyone everywhere I went. I kept a catalog in my mind of all the open missings out there. And I looked at every face that went by.
***
The south side was a smelly hole full of rat infested tenements that I wished would burn to the ground. But then the rats would just run, wouldn’t they.
They’d run all the way to my house.
As I got off, I felt for my pistol. Tucked and hidden under my jacket, it was loaded and ready if I needed it. I had to remind myself that just because this was the beat of the latest cop who was picked off, that didn’t mean the cop killer was lurking behind every corner waiting for me. In fact, he was probably far from this place, if he had any brains at all.
I walked down to a known drug house that dealt in prostitutes and pure opium. The crowds parted like the Red Sea as if I were a leper. I supposed to them, I was. I started asking questions about Kimberly, pulling out her picture to anyone who would stand still long enough to look. Everyone had a legitimate reason for standing around. Nobody didn’t see anything and everyone didn’t know nobody. Figured.
I walked a few streets over. All the girls turned their heads when they saw me, but I got enough of a glimpse to rule them out.
I was looking for a young fresh face. And scared. This early in the game, she’d be terrified and clumsy as she paced the curb with an awkward strut. Everyone here was used up and worn out. No new faces.
I spent the rest of the morning walking…wandering really, talking to whoever didn’t run away.
One half dead looking gal was willing to talk. She was the type willing to do other things, too, to avoid being dragged downtown. I’d heard of cops who had taken advantage of the free milk, but I wasn’t one of them.
Even though I had lived the last few years walking around half cocked, I wasn’t that desperate. Looking over her scabbed arms, split lip and ragged nails, I knew I never would be.
She told me she’d seen Kimberly the day before. She described the man she was with. He was tall with dark hair and though it was sweltering he wore a long wool coat. Expensive, by the looks of it. Sal is the alias he went by. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
***
I stopped in a little dive diner with good sandwiches and bad coffee. I ordered milk. A couple regulars nodded at me and I nodded back. The waitress, with her frizzy hair and thick middle, asked about the cop killer.
“That’s not my department,” I told her. But that was a lie. When someone was picking off cops like clay disks at a skeet shoot, it was everyone’s department.
I sipped my milk and thought about leaving the job. I hadn’t been happy in years but I had no idea what I’d do for work if I did. For the most part, I had considered my job pretty secure, even after the stock market crash last fall.
But things were getting worse by the day and the city didn’t resemble anything I remembered just one year ago. Thievery and murder was a booming business and that’s the only reason I wasn’t in the breadlines myself.
It was depressing to think that paying my bills was dependent on the dregs of society doing what they did best.
I pulled out the picture of Kimberly and showed it to the waitress. I doubted she had seen her, but it didn’t hurt for her to see the face. She might wander in here. I had a hard time picturing a clean middle class girl like Kimberly sitting in a dive like this. But she wasn’t middle class now. She was his.
I flipped op
en my notebook and looked at the notes I had taken while talking to the walking dead prostitute. I’d pop in and talk to Harry, who handled a lot of the narcotics cases, and see if it rang any bells.
The waitress arrived with my sandwich and offered me coffee again. I had her refill my milk and dug into the sandwich.
***
When I got back to my office Helen had a stack of messages for me. I flipped through them, tossing most aside. None were urgent. I sat down, lit a cigarette and tried to justify the paycheck I was supposed to be earning. Mostly I shuffled papers around, wiped dust from the creases of the Tiffany lamp my wife bought for me as an anniversary gift and dreaded the next few weeks. I would have to spend a good amount of time on the south side looking out for Kimberly.
I heard a commotion at the front desk and stuck my head around the frosted glass of my door to see what the hell was going on.
Someone was being dragged, literally, through the front. Tony, a guy in homicide from down the hall, had the guy by the scruff of his neck.
“Got the cop killa! Got him right here!” The accused kicked and grunted, vehemently denying it. Of course he would. He wouldn’t admit it. It’d be the noose for him. While finding the guy that had us all on edge was a good thing, it didn’t brighten my day much beyond the fact that I wouldn’t have to look over my shoulder on the way home tonight. Not that this guy had it out for average detectives like me. He seemed to prefer beat cops. But still, one less thing to worry about.
“Excuse me.” A young man with a German accent touched Sloan’s shoulder, looking concerned. “Is everything alright, Sir?”
Sloan came up blinking hard, getting his bearings. He looked over to see Aryl asleep in the lounge chair beside him. “Yes, fine.” It was terribly bright and growing warmer. Passengers were standing about, staring.
“One of the guests reported that you hadn’t moved all morning. You or your companion. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, yes. We’re fine.” He reached over and nudged Aryl, who snorted as he came awake suddenly. “We were up very late last night catching up. I’m sorry, we must have fallen asleep.”
“Well, this is the deck for first class. Do you hold a first class ticket?” the man asked.
“Um, no. Sorry. We are…ah, second class. We must have wandered up here by mistake.”
“Well, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Of course.” Sloan looked over at Aryl, who was already standing with his bag.
They took the stairs leaving the knots of horrified first class passengers to their whispering.
***
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sailed first class,” Aryl said as he turned the knob to their room. “But I hope I was never as snooty as those people.” He shrugged. “I probably was.”
“Really? I thought you didn’t leave London until you came to France.”
“Before.” He slipped the strap of his bag over his head. “Actually, before, before.” He laughed.
“I’m not following,” Sloan said, catching the contagious smile.
He plopped down in a chair and kicked off his shoes. “I used to be filthy stinking rich. Probably had more money than a lot of those folks up there.”
“What happened?”
“Stock market crash wiped us out.”
“Just like that? It was all gone?”
“Just like that. But before that I was pretty average. Broke most of the time, even. So it wasn’t as hard on me as the others.”
“Your life has taken several sudden turns, hasn’t it?”
Aryl laughed again. “You could say that. I was always the kind looking for adventure. Be careful what you wish for, I suppose.”
“What you said to me before, about you and Claire having been through so much but this not being survivable. Can you elaborate?”
He looked physically uncomfortable. “I’ve been caught up with a woman named Gina. I didn’t know who I was, you have to remember that. I thought I loved her. Come to find out she just had me trained. I didn’t realize the game she was playing until I was already hooked.”
Sloan sat down and rested his elbows on his knees. He looked up with compassion. “On the opiates?”
Aryl stared at him. Of course he would know. He was trained to see things like this.
“To both,” he answered.
“I can fully understand how you would become addicted to something for pain. There was a flood of morphine addicts after the war. But I guess I can’t understand how you become addicted to a person.”
Aryl slid down in the chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. He folded his hands over his stomach. “It’s easy. You blur the line between the two.”
Chapter Eight
Double Vision
Gina knelt before me uttering words of encouragement. “You can do this, John. I know you can.”
“Why would you make me suffer like this?” I rocked back and forth on the side of the bed.
“Because Mickey wants to send you on another job soon.”
“No. I don’t want to.”
“Not like with Deek. Other stuff. Nothing bad. You’re going to need to stretch your doses and not show any signs when the cravings come. I know this is hard. Just another half an hour.”
I closed my eyes, hating her, hating the world. I should have run when I had the chance. Instead I sat shivering in this cold room trying to master my breathing, control my sweating and hand tremors. I tried to concentrate. She hadn’t said so yet, but I had a feeling Mickey would kill me if he found out I still needed medicine, same as he killed the former occupant of this room. “You’re doing good, John,” she whispered.
“How would you know?” I asked through gritted teeth. My insides had begun to twist.
“Because I was hooked on the stuff when Mickey found me.”
“Oh, yeah?” I asked. My tone said I couldn’t care less.
“Yeah, and he helped me off of it.” She put a hand on my arm and I knocked it off. Looking at her with rabid eyes, I nearly growled.
“You’re not trying to help me off of it. You’re trying to help me hide it.”
“I wasn’t using as much as you are, John. And I didn’t need it like you do.” She stood and walked to the window. “I probably should try to help you off of it. I’m a horrible person for letting it go on and on. And behind Mickey’s back, to boot!” She looked back at me with a pitiful smile. “I just hate to see you suffer, John. Else I would try to get you off it. Honest I would.”
“I don’t want that,” I growled.
“I know,” she said, her eyes growing sad. “I know, John.”
She kept one eye on the time, the other on me. With only ten minutes left until the promised dose, she nudged my arm.
“Get up and wash your face.”
“What?” I looked up at her with hollow, desperate eyes.
“Wash your face. We’re going for a walk.”
I would do anything she asked right then and she knew it.
We left my room. She reminded me to walk straight, hold my head up higher, steady my gait, open my eyes more.
“Where are we going?”
“On parade,” she said with a hint of a smile. “The big test.”
Before I could protest, we entered a large room in a part of the warehouse I hadn’t seen before.
A dozen men sat around playing cards at rickety tables. A few sat at a makeshift bar. Stacked crates held bottles of liquor. Someone in the corner played the piano, an upbeat little tune that ceased abruptly.
They all stopped, heads turning toward the doorway. Staring especially at me.
“Everyone, this is John.” All the faces remained hard, scrutinizing. No one welcomed or greeted me. “He works wi’ us now. I expect all of you to look out for ‘im, understand?” She got a few grunting acknowledgements and again I wondered about Gina’s role here. She walked me over to the bar made out of wooden crates and boxes. Sitting on a stool, she mo
tioned for me to sit next to her.
“They’re going to be skeptical of you at first. Don’t worry about it. They’ll get used to you. Don’t be too eager to make friends. But don’t close yourself off, either.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “And always watch your back.”
I nodded, glancing over my shoulder at the men, still staring at me. The piano started up again, slower and more somber this time. In honor of the stranger.
She turned on her stool to face me and watch the room at the same time.
“Over there is Trent. He’s a long time friend of Mickey’s. Tried to set up an operation like this but couldn’t seem to get it off the ground. Rumor has it Mickey threw every obstacle in his way. Trent never knew this of course. Just kept running into business troubles and couldn’t figure out why he was so lousy at it. Well, Mickey offered to bring ‘im on as a partner and Trent refused. Suddenly, Trent has two guys out to kill ‘im. Mickey stepped in and negotiated in return for Trent’s loyalty. Rumor also has it that Mickey’s the one who set up the two men to go after ‘im, just to get ‘im to bend.”
“Do you think he did?”
She shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past Mickey. When he wants somethin’, ain’t nothin’ gonna stop ‘im.”
The acting bartender poured us both a dram of whiskey. She took the bottle from him, setting it on the splintered counter in front of them.
“Bottoms up,” she said and after a hard swallow, stared at me. “It’ll help, John. It won’t fix it, but it’ll ease the pains.”
I drank.
“Don’t get too hooked on this,” she warned. “I can teach you how to hide your cravings but you can’t hide drunkenness.”
“Who’s that guy in the corner staring at us?”
Gina followed my eyes and she smiled. “Ah. That’s Kinsey. He’s hiding from the law, is all. Doesn’t want to go up the river. Mickey keeps him hidden—”