Bourbon & Blood: A Crime Fiction Novel (Bill Conlin Thriller)

by Garrard Hayes

  He held up his glass. “Here's to killing those fuckers, every single one of them,” Jimmy said.

  We clinked glasses and knocked back our shots. The Scotch had a nice long oak finish, warming my chest and hanging on my breath for a few seconds. I picked up the bottle, poured another jigger into each glass, and we knocked back another round. I could feel the burn all the way down, and I relaxed a bit.

  I called Patrick. “The dry cleaning has been picked up,” I said.

  “Good. Come by. We need to chat.”

  “Okay.”

  “And Bill, come alone this time,” Patrick said, firm and short.

  I paused trying to think why. “Okay, sir. On my way,” I said and he ended the call.

  “He wants to speak to me alone.”

  “I guess he doesn't like me much,” Jimmy said.

  “Let’s lock up the place and I’ll drop you at your apartment. Oh, one other thing. Find out if the Mexicans are still looking for me.”

  “It’s been a pretty long time. They probably think you’re dead or in hiding, but I’ll ask around,” Jimmy said.

  “Don’t let anyone know I’m back yet.”

  I took out the gun from my waistband, pressed the magazine release button, and it ejected into my hand. It was a double stack magazine and I checked the bullet count. It was full. Pointing the gun barrel towards the floor, I pushed the magazine back into the gun and heard it click home.

  Jimmy watched me the whole time. When I finished we locked eyes and he nodded, cigarette ash dropping to the floor.

  “C’mon, man, we just cleaned this place up and Patrick will be coming back soon.”

  “Wow, I didn't know you were such a clean freak.”

  “First impressions will go a long way with our new boss. Clean that shit up,” I said, visibly annoyed.

  Jimmy stepped on the ash and shuffled it around with his feet.

  “How’s that? Clean enough?” he asked, a thin, crooked smile crossing his face.

  “That’s just great. You’re a real piece of work,” I replied sarcastically.

  “Thanks, brother. Let’s go,” he said, and walked towards the back door, leaving the bottle and glasses on the bar.

  “Put this shit away,” I barked.

  “Okay, orders, orders,” Jimmy said.

  I sighed. Jimmy was starting to get back to his old self.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I dropped Jimmy off, headed over to the hospital, and waited by Francis Sullivan’s private room. Patrick came out, a toothpick in his mouth. He sat down next to me.

  “There’s a package waiting for you downtown. Go to the address on this card, and ask for Eddie Cohagen. Your instructions are in the package. Call me after you’re done.”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied.

  I left the hospital and drove down to 20th and Eighth. The address on the card was the exact address of the police station where the FBI had held me. I parked a few blocks away and headed over.

  Stepping through the main doors, I headed up two short sets of stairs and spoke to the officer at the front desk. He looked annoyed, but studied me for a few seconds. “What’s going on?” he asked finally.

  “I'd like to speak to Eddie Cohagen,” I said.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “I’m Bill.”

  “You got a last name, Bill?”

  “Conlin,” I replied.

  “Okay Mr. Conlin, have a seat. I’ll check if he’s available,” he answered, narrowing his eyes.

  He wrote in a journal on the desk and picked up a phone. “Yeah, there’s a guy down at the front desk named Bill. Yeah, uh-huh right, got it.” He hung up and looked at me like he was going to say something, but he didn’t. He went back to writing in his journal.

  The lobby of the precinct was closed off on both sides with metal doors. A square window with a metal mesh at eye level was the only way to see in or out. The doors had black scuffmarks all over the bottom half. I stared at the doors and noticed that they had been painted over many times; they were peeling, the old color showing through in spots.

  My head was down and I was looking at my hands when a pair of black shoes appeared before me. I looked up to find a heavy-set man looking down at me. His head was buzzed close and his face unshaven. He wore a wrinkled gray suit.

  “I’m Detective Cohagen. You wanna get some coffee?” he asked in a husky voice.

  “Sure.”

  We strolled around the corner. I hoped for Starbucks, but Cohagen went into a small Indian deli and ordered two regular coffees.

  He turned to me, and said, “So I hear you’re a big war hero.”

  “Yeah, I saw some action,” I said. “I don’t know about the hero stuff.”

  “You’re a very humble guy. I like that,” he said, and handed me a coffee.

  “Thank you.”

  “The sugar is over there,” he said, and gestured to the right with his coffee cup.

  I took a few steps, ripped open three packets of sugar, poured them in, stirred the coffee, and put the lid back on.

  “Hey Julian, is it okay if I use the back room for a few minutes?” he asked the cashier.

  “Sure, Eddie.”

  “C’mon, kid. Let’s go have us a quick chat.”

  I followed Cohagen into the back of the deli to a refrigerated storage area behind the beverage cases. He sipped his coffee. “Sully asked me to dig up some info on that Mexican bitch, Angel. I’m trying not to get involved in this one cause the FBI is all over her ass. You can be sure that wherever she’s going, they’re watching. Someone left a package downtown and Sully wants you to pick it up.”

  He handed me a ticket.

  “Bring this ticket to J.D.’s Pawn Shop on Canal Street. You’ll pick up a black case with specific instructions inside. Don’t come back to speak to me again and follow up with Sully after. The code to unlock the case is 711. Remember, you’re gonna have to be real slick to pull this off with the way they’re watching that bitch. She has some balls trying to kill Sully Senior.”

  He took another sip. “One other thing. Don’t drag your ass on this cause there’s this meeting tomorrow and Sully wants this all tied up fast.”

  “I understand, but what’s your deal?” I asked.

  “Sully and me go way back. We grew up together. I would do anything for him, but not this. It’s way too hot. Be careful, kid. Anyone on the front of this one is likely to go down hard,” he said, trailing off.

  “I gave my name to the front desk officer when I came to speak to you. Is that gonna be a problem?” I asked.

  “Nah, don’t worry,” Cohagen replied.

  “Well, that desk cop wrote it down in a book. I saw him do it.” “Not a problem, I’ll take care of it. Those journals have a funny way of getting misplaced over time.” He patted my back. “You pull this off and you’re moving up, kid. Good luck.”

  We exited the deli. Cohagen went left and I went right. I got back in the Lincoln and drove down to Chinatown. I was hungry and couldn't pass up a chance to eat at an old favorite restaurant, 69 Bayard Street. The place had no curb appeal or atmosphere inside, just a bunch of small round tables, wooden chairs, and incredibly delicious food. I had pork fried rice and roast pork with tea.

  When I finished, I headed out to the pawnshop. Peering in through the big glass windows, I expected to see gold on display, but all the shelves were empty. The main counter was unmanned so I tried to push open the door, but it was locked. Pulling back a step I noticed a doorbell and pressed it. I waited as dozens of people walked by me in both directions. An old Asian man appeared behind the counter and buzzed me in.

  “What you want?” he asked as I stepped inside.

  “I’m picking something up,” I said, handing him the ticket.

  He snatched the ticket from my hand and went into a back room. A few minutes later he emerged with a black leather brief case. He put on reading glasses to check that the ticket matched and cut off a tag. He slammed the
case on the counter and shoved it in front of me. He stared into my face for a few beats. I reached into my pocket for some cash, but he waved me off.

  “You leave now, we finished,” he blurted, annoyed and agitated.

  “Do I need to pay or sign anything?” I asked.

  “No, too many questions. You just leave now.”

  The whole transaction was done in less than five minutes. The case was heavier than I expected. Curiosity definitely had me, but with so many people around I’d have to wait to look inside.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I pulled into the garage of the uptown apartment and parked in the underground lot. It seemed odd that no one was in the garage, at the front door, or in the lobby. I got into the elevator and took it up to my floor.

  When I got to my apartment, I found the door was open. I had an uneasy feeling that something was wrong. Putting the case down, I took out the Beretta from my waistband and switched off the safety. I moved the slide back and loaded a bullet into the chamber. The mechanism made a loud series of clicks in the dead silence. Fear gripped me, as beads of sweat formed on my forehead, and started dripping down my face.

  I crept into the living room and glanced quickly down the hallway, the Beretta held out in front of me as I searched each room. Moonlight came through the front windows and made it possible to barely make out the shapes of the furniture in the room.

  The last room I checked was the small bathroom off the hallway. What I discovered was a gruesome scene. Jackie lay in the tub, her throat cut. Dark red blood had poured down her neck and chest. Her crystal blue eyes stared lifeless at the ceiling.

  All of a sudden I felt sick, my legs shaking beneath me. Leaning over the sink, I vomited. I wiped my mouth, lifted my head to look in the mirror, and noticed my face was white as a ghost. I splashed my face and neck with cold water.

  Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Mikhail rushing at me, a thin wire wrapped around his hands. I stuck up my left hand just in time to block him from strangling me. It didn’t stop him from pinning my hand to my face, and I dropped the gun to the floor as I started to lose my balance. Using all my force, I swung a series of elbows into his mid section. Mikhail gritted his teeth, squeezing harder, and continued to hold on as I bucked. The wire started to cut into the side of my neck, and I could feel blood dripping onto my collarbone.

  I spun around to face him and kneed him in the balls. Mikhail let out a big sour breath of air with a grunt, and then dropped to the floor coughing, taking me with him. Still unwilling to let go, Mikhail continued pulling the wire tighter, cutting deeper into my neck and pinned hand.

  The room started to grow dark. Multi-colored spots appeared in my vision. Time was running out. Struggling to get my right hand into my pocket, I pulled out my keys and plunged one into his eye. Mikhail screamed and released the wire as he grabbed for his impaled eye. He yanked out the keys and rolled on the floor howling in pain.

  Crawling back into the bathroom I went for the gun. I picked it up, turned and fired at Mikhail. He scrambled on the floor, heading for the door. Bullets bounced off the doorframe and exploded with splinters as my shots went wide. I staggered out of the bathroom and squeezed off three quick shots. Mikhail crumpled to the floor, groaning and gasping for air, blood pouring out of his wounds.

  After a few breaths he rolled over onto his back, let out a final breath, and was still. His right eye oozed blood and eye jelly down the side of his face. I slid against the wall and down to the floor, panting and soaked with sweat. Putting my hand to my throat, I felt the cuts around my neck. My hands came away wet with blood. No cut veins or arteries, but dangerously close.

  I called Patrick Sullivan. “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but I have a situation at my apartment. The neighbors have probably already called the police.”

  “Say no more and stay put,” he said, and ended the call.

  Thirty minutes later a knock came at the door. “Police, open up. We’ve received a call,” the officer said through the door.

  “I’m coming,” I shouted, and took a deep breath wondering if I was going to jail.

  I looked through the peephole and saw a police badge. Sighing I unlocked the door and opened it. To my surprise Detective Eddie Cohagen walked into the room alone. He closed and locked the door behind him. Disgust and displeasure was written all over his face.

  “It seems that I’m gonna have to work with you against my better judgment,” he said, taking off his sunglasses.

  He stepped over Mikhail’s corpse. “How can I be of service, kid?” he asked.

  “Check out the bathroom,” I said.

  He strolled down the hallway avoiding the dark, pooling blood.

  “Now that’s a damn shame, wasting a pretty lady like that. Some people have no appreciation for beauty,” he said.

  “It’s a total waste of life and for what? All this was just to get back at me,” I said, trying to hide my sadness and exhaustion.

  “I guess you know the reason for this aggression,” Cohagen said.

  “Kenny Shea sold me out to gangs that wanted me dead. He’s in with the Russians and the Mexicans,” I said, through clenched teeth.

  “Yeah, I’ve been hearing that name a lot lately. It seems he’s pissed off a bunch of people, but it won’t matter.”

  “Why?”

  “That, my friend, is because, he is way up the FBI’s ass. The brass downtown ordered hands off on Kenny Shea. He’s an informant on some big sex-trafficking ring up from Mexico,” he replied now nervous, his eyes darting around the room.

  “So you mean to tell me we can’t do a thing? Even though he tipped off the Mexicans so they could get to Sullivan?” “Look, kid, you and I are soldiers and we do whatever we’re told. It’s that simple, just follow orders and stay alive.”

  “That is fucking balls,” I barked, frustrated.

  “Of course there is one problem,” he said, scratching his beard.

  “What’s that?”

  “Sully will pull your plug if you don’t follow orders and the police brass won’t,” he said.

  “Now I feel a whole lot better,” I said, sarcastically.

  “Okay kid, here’s the deal. I’ll take reports from the neighbors and squash this as a robbery attempt. You call the cleaners and get back on track for our meeting tomorrow.”

  “Our meeting? I thought this was too hot for you?”

  “It appears that Sully wants me in, and he doesn’t give a shit how I feel about it. I’ll give you a call in the morning. Here’s my card, the number is on the back. I already have your cell number.”

  Cohagen put his sunglasses on, smiled, and stepped over Mikhail again on his way out. As he left he looked back and shook his head before closing the door. “Damn shame, fucking foreigners are ruining our country.” I went into the kitchen, took out a glass and the bottle of Knob Creek, then poured three fingers worth. I swallowed too big of a gulp and coughed as the bourbon burned all the way down.

  I thought about Jackie. What a waste. It saddened me that I caused so many deaths. Anger and rage welled up from a dark place in the pit of my stomach and I squeezed my fists tight trying to ease the tension. My knuckles cracked, the sound bringing me back. I released my grip and the tension eased as the bourbon finally kicked in.

  Could I let Kenny and Dana go on and live happily ever after?

  Not a chance.

  Did Viktor suffer enough for what he did to me?

  Not even close.

  Viktor and Kenny destroyed my life, and now it was my turn to destroy them.

  I called Mrs. Goldberg and asked to have two suits picked up. I took out my lighter, lit up a cig, and blew the smoke out through my nostrils slowly. After a few more sips of bourbon I tried to relax, but I became agitated and decided to let out my rage on Mikhail’s lifeless body. I kicked his corpse in the ribs, making a sickening thud each time. After three kicks my anger subsided.

  A loud bang at the door snapped me out of my drunken tho
ughts. “Yeah, who is it!” I yelled, not bothering to get up off the floor.

  “It’s the cleaners.”

  I stumbled over to the door. Looking through the peephole I recognized one of the guys that had cleaned McKenzie’s. Opening the door I walked back into the kitchen and picked up the bottle off the floor.

  The larger guy came in first, barreling into the apartment with a very large case on wheels.

  “You could definitely fit two bodies in that,” I said, under my breath.

  “Excuse me?” he said as he turned around to help his partner in with the rest of the supplies.

  “Forget it,” I said, taking a swig from the bottle and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

  “Wait out in da hallway. We’ll let you know when you can come back in,” he said.

  I left the apartment and the door was quickly shut and locked behind me. Leaning against the wall I slid down to the floor and took another big swallow from the bottle. The hallway was quiet and empty.

  An electrical buzzing sound like a coffee grinder came from behind the door. The thought of what they were doing made me want to throw up. Covering my ears with both hands, I hoped to block the sound, but it crept past. It started to drive me crazy, so I got up and paced the hallway. After two hours the door opened and the cleaners left, pushing the giant case down the hallway and into the elevators.

  When I entered the apartment, the aroma of pine was heavy just like at McKenzie’s. The bodies, blood, and gore were all gone. They even cleaned my ashtray, which sat shiny and empty on the counter. The black leather case waited where I left it, untouched. Picking up the case, I walked into the kitchen and dropped the empty bourbon bottle into the sink. I collapsed onto the couch, put the case on the coffee table, turned on the TV, and passed out cold.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Sunlight coming through the windows woke me up. I opened my eyes and tried to remember where I was. The memories of Jackie in the tub, her throat cut, and fighting Mikhail to keep him from strangling me rushed through my mind.