After my shower, I dressed and added my Detroit .357 just in case I had trouble with the waitress at breakfast. I had decided to enjoy some food downstairs in the lounge. It was one of those all-you-can-eat buffets that seem to be so popular among overweight Americans. Go figure. I had a bagel and fat-free cream cheese with orange juice and black coffee. Nourishment.
On my way to the elevator to return to my lavish suite, I spotted a man in a black and white checkered coat watching me from behind his newspaper. It was easy to see that he had his mind on something other than reading. The sports section was upside down. Clever detectives spot these things immediately.
I took the elevator to the floor above my suite and used the stairs to get down to my room level. I waited by the door to the stairs to see if Mr. Ace Tail would go to my floor. Cat and mouse. I was playing the cat this time.
Bingo. Ace got off the elevator on my floor and walked directly to my room door. He put his ear against the door. He turned and looked up and down the hallway. I was neatly hidden in the shadows. He appeared confused, and well he should have been. I have been eluding men rather expertly for years. This one was absolutely no challenge.
I waited for him to get back on the elevator. It never occurred to him that there might be stairs in this place. I followed him using another elevator. We were heading to the lobby.
The elevator doors opened and I eased out just in case he had developed some sense going down. I hated to give up my advantage so early in the game.
I should not have worried. Ace was walking out the front door of the Pontchartrain. I decided to tail him. I hadn’t anything else to do since Morland and Scarletti wanted me to lay low, like B’rer Rabbit. This could be fun.
It was easy staying behind him and not being seen. He never turned around to look. We walked a brisk pace for several blocks, then he turned the corner at 6th Street. I eased to the corner and craftily peeked around the corner. He was talking to Scarletti who was seated in a car. Ah, the bond of trust. ‘Tis so fragile.
After several minutes of meaningless dialogue, Ace got into the car and the two super detectives drove away. I’m guessing it was meaningless since Ace had nothing to report except his inability to stay with me. I’m sure that was wonderfully exciting news for Detective Scarletti.
I returned to my suite after I watched Scarletti and Ace drive away. My door was open, so I figured that the maid must be inside cleaning.
The room had my personal items thrown all over it. Everything was either on the floor or on my bed. Two men were standing close together at my bed looking in the briefcase that had brought me my Detroit weapons. They were admiring the 9mm that I had left.
My .357 was drawn and on them before they realized that I was in the room.
“We can do this easy or hard. Your call, boys. I prefer easy.”
They were stunned and speechless.
“Place the 9mm gently back in the case and move away from the bed.”
They didn’t move. Both were average height and wearing sport coats and khaki pants. One had a red, white and blue stripped coat. Patriotic. The other had something green with squares in it. Low budget shopping will do that for you.
I pulled the hammer back on the .357.
“So, you choose hard. This is certainly going to make a mess for the maid to clean up.”
“Wait a minute,” Mr. Green Squares said with a hint of anxiety. “Sammy, put the gun down.”
Mr. Patriotic awoke and placed the 9mm back inside the briefcase. They both stepped back away from the bed.
“Put your hands together behind your heads and face the other direction.”
They slowly obliged.
“If you move to scratch anything, I will shoot you. I’m sort of nervous having two men uninvited in my bedroom here. You’ll have to forgive me when I shoot you and I miss the spot I’m aiming at and kill you. Nerves.”
I walked up behind Mr. Patriotic and put the muzzle of my .357 against his left temple. Using my left hand, I found a .38 holstered on the left side of his waist under his July 4th coat. I tossed it onto the bed. I moved carefully to the far side of Mr. Green Squares. I placed my .357 against his right temple and found a .45 in the same spot where Patriotic had his. I backed away from them and tossed his weapon onto the bed.
“Now, guys, let’s talk about this.”
“Nothing to say,” Mr. Patriotic said.
“Not a good beginning.”
“We got nothing to say,” Green Squares added.
I immediately decided that the brains of this duo was Mr. Patriotic and that Green Squares was the weakest link here. I picked up the .45 and using the butt, I hit Patriotic across the bad of the head hard enough for him to groan. He crumpled to the floor, slightly out of it.
“What the hell are you doing, lady?” Mr. Green Squares said.
“I want to talk. Will you talk with me?”
“I ain’t got nothin’ to say.”
“I hope you have lots of aspirin.”
“Wait, wait. What do you want to know?”
This was going to be easier than I had imagined.
“Who sent you?”
“Tony Scarletti.”
39
After I discovered that the two clowns were looking for anything that their employer, Tony Scarletti, might use against me, I let Mr. Green Squares drag his semi-conscious partner out of my room. I then called the hotel manager to complain and he sent the hotel security to my room to check on me. I put the briefcase containing my 9mm out of sight before the security man arrived. I also placed the two guns I had acquired from the poorly dressed criminals inside the briefcase. I concluded that Michigan was a good place to acquire guns. So far so good.
The security man assured me that this sort of thing did not happen to their guests normally, and that it would not happen again. I smiled and thanked him.
I then called Rogers.
“Dig for information on Tony Scarletti. Either he doesn’t trust me, or he has something to hide. Anything yet on who is investigating me at the Detroit police department?”
“Scarletti. I found the original document, the request. Name at the bottom. Signed.”
“Did this info request come through the proper channels?”
“Don’t think so. It was a fax sent to a specific detective here in Norfolk. Someone named Tom Smith.”
“Must be a friend of Scarletti’s. So what did you tell Tom Smith about me?”
“You know me so well. Yes, Tom Smith found the document I managed to make available for his search and it was all good stuff. Nothing dubious whatsoever. You can relax. I mostly lied to your credit.”
“The Norfolk Police had some incriminating data on me?”
“Not really. They did have some personal info that I either deleted or altered. I hid the stuff that would allow them to know more than I thought they should know about you.”
“And the actual Norfolk file on me?”
“It’s still on their computers, just harder to find. They have computer gurus who will discover it when they really need it.”
“This Smith guy in Norfolk, he say anything in his fax to Scarletti that might be helpful to us?”
“Maybe. There was a personal note scribbled at the end of it that said, ‘give my love to my sister.’”
“Family all around. Okay, I need some info on Scarletti. Anything that you think might show that he is dirty. Even some hints of impropriety. Dig everywhere. I want to know everything I can about him. He sent some goons to my hotel room and they rummaged through my wardrobe. I don’t care for that. Find what you can. If he’s a dirty cop, then he’ll stop this charade. If he’s just being nosey, he’ll stop as well. I have four guns now.”
“Information is power, huh?”
“Bank on it.”
“I should get back to you this evening.”
I spent the afternoon cleaning my Detroit guns, dozing, and wondering. I toyed with the idea of ordering some exotic drink from the
bar downstairs, but I never liked mixing work with alcohol. Dulls the senses.
I must have finally fallen asleep because it was after five when I regained my awareness of time passing. I had been resting my eyes for over two hours by that point. I remember some stupid dream about being chased by timber wolves in downtown D.C., but weird dreams were a usual fare for me.
The phone rang. I figured it was a bit early for Rogers to be calling.
“Clancy, Morland here. We need to meet.”
“Supper?”
“Not this time. And we need to meet in some out of the way place.”
“Name the spot.”
“Lobby of Hotel Baronette. It’s out near the Twelve Oaks Mall. Just catch a cab and it’ll take you to the front door. Around ten o’clock.”
“Just you and me?”
“Two to tango.”
He hung up. No one liked to say good-bye on the phone anymore. Perhaps it was one of those cultural shifts, like the usage of thank you and please. Wasn’t too sure I enjoyed these cultural shifts.
I had plenty of time to eat before my clandestine meeting with Morland, but not much time before Rogers would ring. Having some ravenous craving for meat, I called room service and had them bring me a large hamburger with everything, including some fattening French fries. I also indulged in a chocolate milkshake. Might as well go full-bodied all the way.
Rogers called close to 7:15 and I was still munching on fries and savoring my last swallows of milkshake. I was falling in love with room service here at the Pontchartrain.
“Scarletti has been on the Detroit force for twenty-four years, two years longer than Morland. Yet, as you know, Morland is the senior man. Rank. Sounds to me like Mr. Scarletti hasn’t played the game squarely during his tenure.”
“Hmmm,” I said.
“Does that mean yes or that you don’t understand?”
“Probably means that something is amuck.”
“Seems that Morland was paired with Scarletti about five years ago, the result of some misbehavior on the part of Scarletti. Still, this is conjecture on my part. But, I’d say that I’m not far from the truth. Something happened when Scarletti was with his then partner, Tim Runyon. He and Runyon had been together for close to three years when Runyon was killed in the line of duty. I couldn’t find anything directly linking Scarletti to the shooting. At the time Runyon was killed, Scarletti was up for a promotion. He didn’t get the promotion.”
“So he was assigned to Morland following that.”
“One way or the other, Morland and Scarletti were paired.”
“Anything else in his file?”
“Nada.”
“Check Internal Affairs. Maybe they have something.”
“I’ll call when and if.”
“Call me late. I have an appointment at ten.”
“Young ladies should be in their rooms preparing for bed by that hour.”
“Go do your work and mind your own business.”
“Tsk, tsk.”
Maybe her attitude was a glitch in the system. Maybe it was a programming error. One of these days I will have to look into that and repair her dialogue chip. Or remove it.
40
Cabbie Marsha DeWinter dropped me at the front door of the Hotel Baronette. She was the kind of driver who gave away a mountain of Detroit trivia but seldom asked any questions. I learned more than I cared to know, but it was not an altogether unpleasant ride.
Morland was sitting in a chair by a lamp in the lobby strategically situated so that he could view the front door as well as the elevators and the front desk. I sat down on the sofa on the other side of the table and lamp where he was pretending to read the newspaper.
“Where’s your partner?” I said.
“Can’t say, but he’s the reason I’m here.”
“He send you or you two working some angle on me?”
“Whattaya mean?”
“Have you had any contact with him since we had supper last night?” I said.
“We worked today. Haven’t seen him since about eight or so. Why?”
“Scarletti’s been a busy man,” I said.
“Whattaya driving at?”
“He sent some goof-ball to spy on me, like I was some third grade investigator, and then he sent Mutt and Jeff to my room while I was trailing Mr. Goof-ball back to Scarletti himself. I spotted Goofy and Scarletti together, but they didn’t know I was there. He’s not too swift with subterfuge.”
“He’s contacted his brother-in-law on the Norfolk Police force to check into you.”
“Tom Smith. I know.”
“How could you possible know that?”
“I’m a shrewd investigator. I have my sources.”
“But he was using the precinct computer and there was no way this information was made public. We have our own server.”
“True, but you should know that nothing is safe on computers these days.”
“You hacked into the police records?”
“Moí? Never. But I know someone who did. I am, hopefully, one step ahead of Tony. What’s he after?”
“He didn’t want to do this thing with you. Said you’d just get in the way. Was adamant, even after we left last night. Says he doesn’t trust you.”
“Well, after sending those goons around to search my room, I can say that feeling is mutual. If he wants to know something, why doesn’t he just ask?”
“He wouldn’t believe you. He’s not used to people talking straight. Tony’s a good guy with some weaknesses. I think –,” he stopped and looked around the lobby.
I waited for him to continue. He studied the front desk and then the pathway to the elevators. Nothing seemed to be suspicious to him, or at least he showed no signs of alarm.
“Why are we meeting alone?” I said finally.
“I think Tony’s on the take. I think he’s on Big Bob LeFoy’s payroll.”
“Big Bob?”
“Hokie, I know, but that’s what he goes by. Has gambling interests, prostitution, and drugs. Rumored that he has some cops working for him, but IA’s been on this for years with no success. Big Bob is squeaky clean, at least by provable facts. Suspicions won’t get an indictment. So, tell me, is there anything he can find out about you that would force me to terminate our little arrangement?”
“Am I dirty?” I said with mock disdain.
“Something like that.”
“Unlikely. I know exactly what was sent to him, so unless he digs up my past and discovers that I used to lie to my mother, he’s got nothing but dead ends.”
“All the cops in Norfolk love you?”
“Didn’t say that exactly. If he gets his brother-in-law, Tom Smith, to do some leg work, he might find some bitterness here and there. I’ve irritated some administrators and some of my superiors, but I did good work as a cop. I still do good work.”
“Yeah,” he said and looked away to study the front door, then the elevators.
“You think Scarletti is suspicious of you?”
“Can’t take any chances. I think Tony had something to do with the death of Tim Runyon. Nothing provable. Still, I have a strong sense that he either set him up, or he pulled the trigger. I can’t take chances. I don’t want my death benefit to start prematurely for my family.”
“Better safe than dead.”
“Got that right.”
“How do we play this?”
“For starters, let’s do the basics. Let’s keep this between us. No confrontation with Scarletti about the man following you or the goons he sent to your room. By the way, they didn’t find anything, did they?”
“The butt of a borrowed .45 up against the head of the one wearing the patriotic coat.”
“I see you’re a wild woman when duty calls.”
“Not really my style, but sometimes situations dictate erratic behavior.”
“My hunch is that you are a straight shooter. It appears this is a situation for you to display that erratic behavior, and no
t say anything to Scarletti. Let’s see how this plays out.”
“Not a problem. We’ll play your rules until the game turns south.”
“Supper, tomorrow night?”
“Mario’s again?”
“Naw. This time let’s let Mr. Malone take us to the Rattlesnake Club.”
“Is that as dubious a place as it sounds?” I said.
“Naw. It’s an upscale dining spot with high priced steaks and lots of big shots playing the game of pretend.”
“Sounds like fun,” I said.
41
The days were beginning to run together for me. Too much of the same routine and not enough excitement. I was not making any progress on either case, so I decided it was time to take action and stop all of this waiting around.
It was 12:02 when my phone rang.
“Didn’t catch you napping or in harm’s way, did I?” Rogers began.
“Neither. Just sitting here making resolutions for tomorrow. Nothing is really happening, so I think I shall go rattle some cages or rustle some bushes.”
“You humans have some strange metaphors,” she said.
“Yeah, we do. But you get my gist.”
“I’ve worked with you long enough to say yes, I do. Maybe I can help you rattle or rustle something.”
“Give me something good.”
“Tim Runyon sent a note to Internal Affairs saying that he suspected something major coming down with Big Bob LeFoy. Heard that name yet?”
“Believe or not, it has surfaced.”
“Runyon thought his partner was in on it, or had something to do with it, but he had no proof. The note said he hopefully would have some proof in a day or two. That note was sent the day before he was shot.”
“Doesn’t make any sense to me. Why would Runyon be working with IA? Cops don’t help IA investigate cops generally.”
One Lost Soul More: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 1) Page 16