One Lost Soul More: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 1)

by M. Glenn Graves

  I fought the urge to say, “Nice shirt.” It would have been out of character for the current play. I hated the shirt and he probably would not have picked up my sarcasm.

  “Nice shirt,” Rosey said. I thought I detected a slight gleam in his eyes, but there was not trace of mischief around the mouth. It sounded complementary.

  “You a wise ass?” the shirt responded.

  “Not entirely. Shirt’s a shirt.”

  “My mother gave me this shirt.”

  I was dumbfounded. Good thing this was Rosey conversing with this lug-head.

  “Real Hawaiian?” Rosey said.

  “Naw. J.C. Penney. She never shops exotic.”

  This guy was priceless.

  There was a knock on the door and the J.C. Penney Hawaiian shirt moved over and opened the door. An old man came in walking gingerly. He was followed by Mr. Sunglasses who stopped just inside the door. I assumed the old man to be Craven Malone, astute detective that I am.

  Craven used a cane, but that appeared to be more for show than a real purpose. It barely touched the floor as he moved cautiously inside the room towards his desk. He was bald except for the temples. Craven Malone was a slight man, well under the average height, I guessed maybe 5’ 5” and around one hundred pounds. He sat down gently behind the desk.

  “Reno, Georgio… you can go. These people pose no threat to me. Wait outside the door. If you’re needed, I’ll call for you.”

  The two heavy weights left us alone with Mr. Craven Malone.

  “Now, Mr. Roosevelt Washington. What is this all about?”

  “Your son hired me to kill this woman, Clancy Evans.”

  He turned and stared at me for several seconds. His eyes never moved from my eyes. For an aging man, he seemed extremely alert to all around him. He opened the left-hand top drawer and took out a box of cigars.

  “Care to indulge?” he offered the box to Rosey.

  Rosey shook his head.

  “Mind if I smoke?” he asked me, not Rosey.

  “If you must,” I said.

  “Young lady, when you reach the age of 90, there are not many things in life that you must do. Smoking, drinking, gambling, and wild parties are simply options. I have a limited number of musts. If you prefer that I not smoke in your presence, I will simply wait until you are not present. Life is simple at my age.” His voice was powerful but strangely kind. It had a note of authority about it, like he had been used to giving orders in his company for a long time. None of his words or even the tone seemed to be forced. It was natural for him to speak the way he did.

  “Open a window and then light up,” I said.

  He smiled for the first time. Not a full smile, a kind of half-smile. He was amused at my approach.

  “If you would be so kind as to open the window,” he nodded at me and then to the window, “I will light up.” I opened the window that was directly behind his desk and he lit his cigar.

  “Joey wants you dead. What did you do to piss off my son?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Malone.”

  “Come now, Miss Evans. A woman of your directness, your straightforward approach, your skills, surely you can come up with some reason Joey would want to have you killed.”

  “I was investigating an old murder case and it led me to your son’s magazine. I found nothing in my investigation that directly tied the magazine to the murder. There could be some connection, but I have not found it as yet.”

  “So, Joey is trying to keep you from finding out something, or so you suspect.”

  “That would be the logical sequence here,” I said.

  “So you’re not taking up the case that DA in Detroit was working on years ago?”

  “No. I’m a private investigator. I’m trying to solve the murder of a county sheriff.”

  “Oh, I know what you do for a living, Miss Evans. I ran a check on you before I allowed you to enter my home. What does this old murder case have to do with you? Who cares about it?”

  “I do. The sheriff killed was my father.”

  “Ah. I see your vigilance at work. And so you opened a box that had been closed for a few decades. Out came a monster from hell.”

  “Beg your pardon?” I said.

  “Joey. My son, Joey. He’s an idiot at times. He doesn’t think. He is motivated by money. He has power, but no brains. I knew nothing of this contract. He acts, then he thinks. He listens to idiots, too. He is surrounded by idiots. I hate that damned magazine anyway. I am sorry about this. You say you have nothing on my son?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then I will talk with him. The contract will be dropped. You have my word.”

  “Why don’t you sell the magazine if you hate it so much?” I said.

  I caught Rosey’s lightning glance at me in my peripheral vision. I never took my eyes off of Craven Malone. Craven took a long, slow draw on his cigar and then turned in his chair to blow the smoke out of the window. The aroma of the cigar in the room was pleasant.

  “Brazen, but you speak you mind, don’t you?”

  “Father taught me to be candid.”

  “I would sell it, if it were up to me. You apparently know little about how large corporations are run these days. There is a Board of Directors and they make all of those decisions. I am a ninety-year old codger who they want to die yesterday. Except for the fact that I have the controlling shares, I would have been history decades back. I would like nothing better than to sell that sleazy piece of trash, sell it to my son even, get rid of the damn thing, but he doesn’t have sufficient funds to buy it. Besides, he makes a lot of damned money on that sleaze. The truth is that sleazy media trash keeps him out of my hair. Usually.”

  Rosey stood and extended his hand across the desk to Craven Malone.

  “Thank you for seeing us. I appreciate your help in this.”

  Craven shook his hand quickly without getting up from his desk chair.

  “An assassin with scruples. You’re a rarity, Mr. Washington.”

  Rosey nodded at him without speaking.

  “I doubt if you should accept that as a complement, Mr. Washington. I can end the contract on Miss Evans. She will be safe. You sir, well, you have not only lost a client, but have gained a mortal enemy. My son will not be pleased with your work here. You will have to deal with him on your own. But you already knew that when you walked through my doors.”

  Rosey smiled at him. “It is what it is.”

  Craven Malone stood up from his desk. He nodded at Rosey. Then he extended his hand across the desk to me. I shook it. Perhaps under different circumstances I would have liked this man.

  23

  “Am I safe now?” I said as we left Virginia Beach heading towards Norfolk and my apartment.

  “Until Craven Malone is dead.”

  “Joey that afraid of the old man?”

  “That’s the impression I get.”

  “Just an impression?” I lifted my dress and removed the holster from my thigh t so I could sit easier in the Jag. Lady like.

  “The old man is powerful. He could cut Joey off in a heartbeat, and would if Joey did something like have you killed. One thing I do know about Craven Malone.”

  “Yes?”

  “Man of his word. I have many sources on that one.”

  “Many?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “So, you think it is safe now to rejoin the land of the living?”

  “I think Joey is mad as hell right now, or as soon as he hears from his daddy in this manner. The contract has been terminated as we drive to your home.”

  “You think he will come after you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because you went over his head to the old man?”

  “Bingo.”

  “Would it do me any good to ask you what kind of job you did for Joey earlier in your career?”

  “No. Privileged information.”

  “Even with a dubious character like Joey Malone?”

  “Not h
is integrity on the line here.”

  “I can find out.”

  “Unlikely.”

  “Would it be important to me if I found out?”

  “No. Goes to character, nothing else.”

  “Yours or his?”

  “Both.”

  He parked the Jaguar in my parking space. It was after eight when we arrived. I knocked on the door so we wouldn’t frighten Margie by entering abruptly. She hugged me when I entered. The dogs seemed pleased to have me back as well.

  Margie went back to her apartment. The dogs settled down in their usual spots for the evening.

  “Coffee?” I said.

  “You have tea?”

  “Sure. Flavor?”

  “Surprise me.”

  I boiled some water and served him a mandarin orange flavor. I had a variety of spearmint with a hint of lemon. We drank our tea in silence. The dogs floated off to Never Land. Rosey and I sat on opposite ends of the room listening to the silence. The peace was wonderful.

  I changed into some slacks to get comfortable. Dresses were never my style of clothing.

  “I have more questions,” I said upon entering the room.

  “I bet you do.”

  “You don’t want to hear them?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Then tomorrow?”

  “If I am alive.”

  We finished our tea and sat in silence again for several minutes. The quiet was enjoyable. We had avoided a blood bath and needless deaths. Brains over brawn. Maybe we had just postponed it. We would wait and see.

  “You could stay here tonight.”

  “Temptation?”

  “Don’t think so. The couch makes a nice double bed. I sleep in there,” I pointed to the only bedroom in the apartment.

  “You sleep alone?”

  “Gentlemen don’t ask ladies such questions.”

  “Didn’t know we made that class.”

  “Sam sleeps in there with me. Blackie sleeps out here. Her call, not mine.”

  “He guards you and she guards the front door?” he said.

  “Something like that. Anyway, you’re welcome to stay. If you do, she’ll guard both you and the door.”

  “I need to get back to Washington.”

  “I’ll feel better if you would stay. Just because you trust Craven Malone, doesn’t mean I trust him. I can only hope that he is as good as his word.”

  “He is. But I’ll stay, because you asked nicely.”

  “And you’re tired to the bone.”

  “That too.”

  24

  “Found anything else for me?” I asked Rogers.

  “Not a smidgen, Honey.”

  “Now there’s a word you don’t hear everyday.”

  “My ever-growing extensive vocabulary. Comes from superior intellect.”

  “And great humility.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your extensive vocab doesn’t know that word?”

  “Human thing, I suspect. Machine that I am, albeit a unique one, crunches numbers and spews data.”

  “With an attitude.”

  “You made me what I am.”

  “Complicit with Uncle Walters. You think I’m a Dr. Frankenstein?”

  “Yeah, speaking of which, when are you going to fix it so I can walk around and get out of this place now and then?”

  “You think I could do that?”

  “You’ve gone further than most.”

  “Can’t do it. Even if I had the know-how. You know too much.”

  “Cursed by my own brilliance. ‘The sun for sorrow will not show its head.’”

  “Reading again.”

  “New library card. He was a fascinating writer.”

  “Whose branch did you hack into this time?”

  “Been roaming the stacks of the University of Kansas.”

  “But you already have access to the Ivy League’s elite, plus the Library of Congress.”

  “Wanted to see if a mid-western education would be different.”

  “And?”

  “They love basketball there.”

  “When you take a break from browsing the stacks, go back to a search of Lusty and its data base. Joey had two people killed in Michigan and then came after me. There has to be something here incriminating and he thinks I know it.”

  “Don’t you think old man Craven will pass along to little Joey that you know nothing?”

  “Sure. But I doubt if he believes dear old dad.”

  “But you were probably very sincere in your ignorance.”

  “With good reason. I know nothing. That’s where your job comes in.”

  “All work and no pay.”

  “I was thinking of upgrading your memory.”

  “I have tons of available space. Why don’t you build another computer? Install it next to my CPU, make it masculine, and then wire us so we can communicate with each other when you’re not around. Now that would be a gift, Honey Child. Some hunk to talk with in the lonely hours of the night. And, if you would, please creative miss, shape him like that hunk of yours.”

  “Rosey?” I said with some surprise.

  “Well, he is a looker.”

  “I need to talk with my dear uncle about you.”

  “I’m just saying. I get lonely here. Two dogs and me. Sometimes a neighbor with whom I cannot say a word.”

  “And this masculine machine I could build for you. Is this just communication you crave?”

  “Lamb chops, we computers are a cerebral lot. Communication can be ecstasy. Lots of ways to communicate.”

  “I’ll get back to you on that. Don’t hold your breath.”

  “You always say that.”

  Her voice trailed off with a definite hint of disappointment she so often used to manipulate me. I had to admit that I treated her more like a person than a machine. It was coming from our years of association with each other. I had programmed her with the personality of a sharp-tongued female, witty, and great at sarcasm. She was more like a twin sister than an alter ego.

  It was early afternoon by the time Rogers got back to me. Rosey had left much earlier that morning to return to Washington. He said something about reports to make and clients to see. Evidently the consulting business was booming.

  I gave some passing thoughts to getting out my 1936 61EL given to me by Uncle Walters. I had inherited my father’s Harley against my mother’s desires. It was a 1957 XL Sportster. Great machine. One of my adversaries blew it up hoping to kill me in the process. A friend of mine was riding at the time. He was seriously injured but survived. The XL did not.

  When I turned forty, Uncle Walters gave me a 1989 FXR Super Glide. I kept it in Clancyville. Since my mother hated motorcycles, I knew it would be safe to leave with her. I had only enough room in the city for one bike.

  I decided against riding since I was still a bit gun-shy from being the target of a mad man. In my business you trust no one. Hard way to live, but you stay alive most of the time. So far so good.

  “Come talk with me, Precious,” Rogers said with a slight hint of alarm.

  “What’s happening?”

  “I’ve been eavesdropping on the phones at Lusty and there have been some interesting exchanges between Nasty Joey and some man on the other end.”

  “And?”

  “No names spoken.”

  “Of course not.”

  “But the not-so-subtle hint of impropriety was thick along the airwaves.”

  “You’re so literary.”

  “I try hard. Style, lovely, style. Anyhow, Joey hired this thug to go to D.C. and … well … here, listen to the actual tape.”

  Rogers turned on her internal tape mechanism and played the short message for me: “Take care of that little matter we discussed last night.”

  “Not much to go on. Could be anything.”

  “Yeah, and it could be life threatening for Roosevelt Washington.”

  “You pick up anything else worth playing?” />
  “Not worth playing, but I did glean the fact that this man on the other end was in New York City. Joey is still in Detroit. I’ve been listening ever since you had your fiasco in Northern Michigan. It’s the first time D.C. has been mentioned in a phone conversation.”

  Rogers played the sound byte and I listened. The only thing specific was that the man Joey was hiring was in New York City.

  “Could be anything.”

  “Nothing else said?”

  “Nothing that I recognized as pertinent … something about rendezvousing with some other likely thugs in a place outside of D.C. called Sterling, Virginia. Day after tomorrow.”

  “Not good, Rogers.”

  “Why is that, my lady?”

  “That’s where Rosey lives.

  25

  I took a cab to the car rental agency. A late model Cadillac Seville was available, so I grabbed it and was on the road to D.C. in less than an hour. This time I brought my own guns.

  Instead of stopping in Sterling and trying to find his condo, I drove on into Washington. Surprise him at the office.

  Estelle appeared to be shuffling papers as if closing shop as I exited the elevator on her floor. She was wearing a short navy skirt and a white blouse. Her hair was pinned back today. All business.

  “Remember me?” I said in my most pleasant of voices.

  “Of course. You’re Bonnie Bush. He’s with a client. We’re about to close for the day. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

  Succinct.

  “Barbara, Estelle.”

  “Barbara who?” she looked puzzled.

  “Barbara Bush, the name I gave you.”

  “Oh. Your name. I get it. Yes. Not Bonnie. Barbara.”

  “Nailed it,” I said.

  “Well, Barbara, we’re closing. Please come back tomorrow.”

  “Estelle, go ahead and close. I’ll wait right here for him to emerge. I won’t be coming back tomorrow.”

  She veered at me with her most intimidating scowl. I was immune to such tactics. I took a seat across from her so I could see the wall clock behind her and the hallway that led to Rosey’s office.

  Soon I heard voices coming down the hallway. I recognized the deep resonance of one. He presently appeared alongside of a very slim and very attractive African-American woman who was at least ten years his junior. He spotted me but said nothing until the attractive woman was on the elevator and gone.