Die Laughing: 5 Comic Crime Novels

by Steve Brewer

  When they reached the second floor, Zinn stopped. Two apartment doors faced each other across the short hall.

  “Now what?” Shamu whispered.

  “I knock on the door and she lets me in,” Zinn said. “But look, you don’t need her. Whatever your beef is—”

  “Shut up.”

  His head hanging, Zinn led them to the door.

  “Go ahead and knock.”

  Shamu let go of the man’s arm so he could obey. Zinn banged on the wooden door with his knuckles, three loud raps, then they waited.

  Nothing.

  “What’s the deal?” Rex said.

  “I don’t know,” Zinn said. “Maybe she didn’t hear.”

  He banged on the door some more, louder now. Nothing.

  “You trying to pull something, boy?” Rex said.

  “I don’t understand. She’s got to be in there. She just buzzed us in.”

  Shooting nervous glances at Shamu, Zinn pounded the door with the flat of his hand.

  “Eve!” he shouted. “Open up!”

  Rex shushed him, but Zinn yelled again, “Come on, Eve! Open the damn door!”

  Chapter 38

  Eve wiped her damp hands on her blue jeans as she hurried from the kitchen to check the commotion in the hall. Had Tony forgotten his keys? She checked the shallow basket by the door where he usually kept his keys. Empty. She froze with her hand on the doorknob.

  More knocking from the hallway, but not on their door. What the hell?

  Eve peered through the peephole and saw Tony standing at the door of the vacant apartment across the hall. He had a grocery sack in his arms – the wine he’d gone out to buy – and two men were with him. One was huge, and for a second Eve thought it was Angie, but this man was even wider than Angie and had dense black hair. The other man wore a cowboy hat and a brown suit. His back was to her, but when he turned to check the stairs, she got a glimpse of the pistol he held against Tony’s ribcage.

  Oh, my God.

  Eve threw open a drawer in the key-catcher table. Inside, wrapped in a flannel cloth, was the little Beretta they kept there. She fumbled it out of the drawer and racked the slide.

  More knocking from the hall.

  She took another peek. The men were getting fidgety, but their backs were still to her. She gently turned the doorknob and swung open the door.

  Eve took one step forward and pressed the Beretta’s muzzle into the cowboy’s sunburned neck.

  “Drop the gun,”

  He looked over his shoulder, eyes wide. “Now listen here—”

  Eve jabbed him with the pistol, and he got the message. He unwrapped his fingers and let the revolver fall to the carpeted floor.

  The giant spun toward her, his thick hands reaching for her like claws, his bare teeth bright in his brown face. Eve flinched away. The cowboy threw himself to the floor, and his hat went flying.

  Before she could shoot, Tony whirled, his hand coming up out of the paper sack, holding the neck of a bottle of wine. He clubbed the giant on the side of the head. The bottle didn’t shatter like you see in movies. The stunned man staggered backward a couple of steps.

  Tony hauled off and hit him again, thunk on the forehead right between his eyebrows, and the giant collapsed to the floor.

  The cowboy scrambled on hands and knees, headed for the stairs, but Eve stomped on his lower leg to slow him. He howled.

  She danced to the side, keeping the pistol pointed at the cowboy’s balding head.

  “Be still.”

  He pressed his face to the floor.

  Tony stooped and set down his paper sack. He picked up the cowboy’s revolver.

  “I’ve got ‘em covered,” he said. “Go get your lockpicks.”

  Eve hurried back into the apartment and retrieved the leather pouch from a drawer in their bedroom. When she returned to the hall, she saw that Tony had moved between the downed men and the stairs. The giant was still unconscious.

  “Who are these guys, Tony?”

  “We’ll find out in a second. But I want to get out of sight first. We’ll put them in this apartment.”

  “Why not in ours?”

  “I don’t want to make a mess on our carpets.”

  The cowboy whimpered.

  Eve struggled with the lock. It had seemed so easy before, but now her sweaty hands shook. Finally, the tumblers clicked and she swung open the door and flicked on a light inside.

  The place smelled like latex paint. Canvas dropcloths covered the floor. Panels of Sheetrock stood against two sawhorses in the center of the room, amid toolboxes and paint buckets.

  “Get up,” Tony said. “Drag your partner in there.”

  Trembling, the cowboy got to his feet. He grabbed the big man’s bare ankles and, though it was all he could do to budge him, slowly dragged him through the doorway. By the time they were inside, his sweaty face was bright red.

  “Stand over against the wall,” Tony commanded. The gasping cowboy did as he was told.

  The giant moaned.

  “Here,” Tony said, and handed Eve the revolver.

  She pointed a gun at each of their captives while Tony rummaged through a toolbox. He came up with a spool of shiny wire and a set of wire-cutters.

  “These’ll do.”

  Tony lifted the big man’s limp arms and wound the wire around and around the crossed wrists. He snipped the wire and twisted it tight.

  “Now you,” Tony said to the other man, who still stood by the far wall.

  “Listen,” the cowboy said. “There’s no need to do this. If you’d only—”

  “Shoot him, Eve.”

  She pointed the revolver at the cowboy’s face. He said, “Okay, okay. All right already. Here.”

  He thrust his hands forward so Tony could tie him up. Once his wrists were secure, Tony ordered him to sit on the floor.

  The big man stirred, and Tony hurried to tie his ankles together with the wire. He reminded Eve of a calf roper at a rodeo.

  Once he was done, he stepped back and held out a hand toward Eve. She put the revolver in it.

  “Hon,” he said, slightly out of breath. “You want to clean up in the hallway? Put that wine away? We don’t want the neighbors getting curious.”

  She quickly put the grocery sack in their apartment and pulled the door closed. The only other sign of what had occurred in the hall was the cowboy’s runaway hat, which she carried into the vacant apartment.

  The dark giant was struggling to sit up. He looked glassy-eyed and dazed.

  The cowboy’s boots were wired together now, and Tony was knotting a paint-smeared bandana around his mouth.

  “Shouldn’t we ask him some questions?” she said.

  “He already told me what I need to know. They’re from Fowler. They got our address from Leo.”

  Tony pointed at the big man. “Remember him? We saw him in the parade. He was driving the truck that pulled the guy on the stuffed palomino.”

  “He works for the guy on the dead horse?”

  “Big Jim Kelton. Apparently, he’s taken an interest in us, and he sent these numbskulls to find us.”

  The cowboy tried to say something through the gag.

  “Quiet,” Tony said. “I’m trying to think.”

  While he was thinking, he used another rag on the giant, who’d recovered enough to twist his head back and forth, attempting to avoid the gag. Tony tied it extra tight.

  The giant squirmed, straining against the wire around his wrists, but only managed to draw blood as it dug into his flesh.

  Tony looked around the room, frowning. Eve saw what he was thinking.

  “Use the sawhorse,” she suggested.

  “Right.”

  He dragged a wooden sawhorse across the room and tipped it over so it stood on one end, its crosspiece flush against the sitting man’s back. Tony wrapped wire around and around his thick chest, strapping him to the sawhorse like a papoose to a board.

  “That’ll keep him from rolling
around,” Tony said. “Now let’s get out of here. Go throw a few things in a bag. Overnight stuff for both of us.”

  Eve stuck her head into the hall to make sure no neighbors had come to investigate the noise. Empty. She scurried across the hall and into their bedroom, where she put clothes and toiletries and a brick of cash into a duffel bag. On her way back to the door, she snagged a bottle of wine out of the paper sack and stuck it in the duffel. She dead-bolted their door, then slipped back to where Tony waited with the men.

  The giant was fully awake now, growling through his gag. Tony kept a gun pointed at him. The skinny cowboy lay on the canvas-covered floor, blinking at the ceiling.

  Tony took the duffel from her, and they backed out of the apartment, tucking the guns into their belts. They stood listening for a few seconds after he closed the door. The men grunted and thumped inside, but could barely be heard in the hall.

  “They’ll wear out in a little while,” Tony said.

  “They’re quieter than all that hammering.”

  Chapter 39

  Tony Zinn felt sick as they raced across town. Leo Berg was a tough old bird. He wouldn’t have given up their names without a fight.

  After he blew through a yellow light, Eve said, “You okay?”

  “I’m worried about what we’ll find at Leo’s place.”

  “Maybe nothing. The pawnshop closed hours ago. Any idea where he lives?”

  “Not a clue. I’ve never seen him anywhere but in that dusty old shop.”

  “He must have an apartment or something,” she said. “Maybe we can track it down.”

  “Maybe. Call that number again, see if you can raise him.”

  Tony wheeled his Toyota onto a one-way street in the Tenderloin. Winos and hookers prowled the shadowy sidewalks. Shabby residential hotels loomed over steel-gated storefronts. Windows with crooked blinds looked down at the street like sleepy junkie eyes.

  Eve snapped the phone shut. “No answer.”

  “The shop’s around the corner. I’ll pull up front, see if any lights are on.”

  He stopped in the bus lane, right in front of the dark pawnshop. The security grille hadn’t been rolled down for the night. In the glow from the corner streetlight, they could see that the front door stood open a couple of inches.

  “Shit,” Tony said. “We’ve got to check this out.”

  “Call the cops. Let them do it.”

  “What if he’s hurt in there?”

  Tony reached across her knees and popped open the glove compartment. Pulled out a slim black flashlight.

  “You wait here,” he said.

  “Like hell.”

  They got out of the car and crossed the sidewalk. At the pawnshop door, they pulled their pistols and Tony flicked on the flashlight.

  “Go ahead,” he whispered.

  Eve pushed open the heavy door. Tony stepped through, pointing the Colt and the beam of light.

  “Look out!” shouted a voice from the floor, and Tony and Eve drew down on an old black tramp lying on a piece of cardboard on the concrete floor.

  “Just sleeping here!” he shouted. “I didn’t steal nothing!”

  Tony flashed the light around the room, saw that the steel grates were intact over the counter and the front windows. The reinforced door next to the counter was shut.

  “Find some other place to sleep.”

  “You can’t just—”

  “Police business,” Tony said. “Don’t make us run you in.”

  The man got to his feet and shuffled out, muttering and dragging his cardboard behind him. As soon as he was out the door, Tony shouted, “Leo? You back there?”

  Nothing.

  “Leo!”

  The name echoed around the shop.

  Tony turned to Eve. “You bring those lockpicks?”

  “In my pocket.”

  “Have at it.”

  He put the flashlight beam on the lock of the steel-mesh door, and she went to work.

  “That locksmith class was the best investment you ever made,” he said.

  Eve, bent over the lock, said, “Shhh.”

  After a minute, the tumblers clicked and she twisted the knob.

  Tony went through first, pointing the flashlight at stacks of boxes and dangling guitars and jumbled shelves. Eve covered his back as they tiptoed through the canyon of clutter to the back room.

  Leo sat in a metal folding chair, his head thrown back and his mouth open, as if thirsty for rain. Blood freckled his face and his body looked lumpy under his thin shirt. His steel pincers were flattened and scarred, hammered into the table. A raw red wound curved on his neck, looked like teeth marks.

  Tony said hoarsely, “Goddamn it. “

  Behind him, Eve said, “Jesus.”

  “Back out of here. You don’t need to see this.”

  “Too late.”

  He felt the old man’s neck for a pulse. Nothing.

  “They really worked him over,” she said. “Do you think he talked?”

  “I think he told them everything he knew.” Tony took a deep breath. “We need to call the boys.”

  “And the cops.”

  “Right. In that order.”

  They slipped to the front of the pawnshop, the flashlight pointed at the floor. Tony used his shirttail to wipe prints off the interior door, then checked the sidewalk outside. No one there except the mumbling wino, still towing his strip of cardboard down the block.

  Tony and Eve kept their guns close to their bodies as they hurried to the Toyota. He cranked up the engine and pulled away, turning toward Market Street.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “To the garage. Call Ross and Don and tell them we’ll meet them there.”

  “What about Angie?”

  “He should gather his wife and kids and get out of town. Take a vacation or something. Until we’re sure it’s safe.”

  They drove in silence for a minute, following Market as it angled past the Castro District and up into the hills.

  “I was worried you were going back to our place,” she said.

  “To pop those guys? After seeing what they did to Leo? It crossed my mind.”

  He glanced over at her, but she was staring out the window, her head leaning on her hand, her dark hair loose around her neck. In the flickering streetlight, she looked pale and fragile.

  “Call the boys.”

  She flipped open the cell phone and hit the speed dial.

  Chapter 40

  Ross Cooper felt his face flush as Tony described the ambush by the Nevada guys. It was cool in the garage’s small office, and the lights were low. He and the others were clustered close around the banged-up old desk, and Ross’ voice was husky as he said, “Let’s go over there right now and finish ‘em off.”

  “Ross!” Eve cried.

  “None of us need a murder rap hanging over us,” Tony said. “But there’s no reason to think this is done, either. Those guys will try again. Eve and I can’t go home until we get this resolved.”

  “You can stay with us,” Ross said.

  Don grinned. “You’ve done it before. Remember when you came back to town after being in stir? Slept right here in this garage for three weeks.”

  “Had to sneak out early every morning before your old man showed up. I’ve never spent so much time in coffee shops.”

  Ross laughed, remembering, and some of the heat left him.

  “Tony got his first apartment with the money he made when we hijacked a truckload of vodka from the waterfront. First job Don ever did with us.”

  “I know the story,” she said.

  “Don put it in reverse! Nearly drove us into the bay.”

  Eve rolled her eyes.

  Don blushed, still embarrassed after all these years. “I was seventeen!”

  Tony wearily rubbed a hand over his face, and Ross cut out the kidding.

  “I’ll go over to Fowler,” Tony said. “Talk to our inside man. See if I can figure out what thi
s is all about.”

  “Why don’t you just call him?” Eve said. “It’s clearly not safe—”

  “I want to take a look around, see what’s what. The rest of you stay under wraps until you hear from me.”

  Ross leaned across the desk toward him. “You’re joking, right? Think we’ll let you go alone?”

  “I don’t want to make a big production,” Tony said. “I’ll slip in, slip out.”

  “I’m going,” Ross insisted. “I’ll drive. I’ll stay in the car while you have your meetings, if that’s what you want. But I’m not gonna sit by the phone while someone gets the jump on you in Fowler fucking Nevada.”

  “But I—”

  “Take him with you, Tony,” Eve said.

  “Okay, okay.” He got to his feet and stretched. “Get your gear together.”

  “You want me to go, too?” Don asked.

  “No, I want you and Eve to stay at your apartment tonight and watch each other’s backs. Tomorrow, drive by our place and check it out, but be careful. Those guys might still be hanging around. Or somebody might’ve called the cops.”

  Don nodded.

  “If they’re gone, Eve can get some more clothes and go back to your place. Just to be on the safe side. Shouldn’t be more than a day or two. She should be able to stand it for that long.”

  “Hey,” Don said, grinning, “for Eve, I’ll even pick up the dirty clothes off the floor.”

  “Don’t go to any trouble,” she deadpanned.

  “I’ll call from Fowler,” Tony said. “This shouldn’t take long.”

  Chapter 41

  Morning sunlight was streaming through the apartment’s bare windows when Rex Mangrum pissed himself.

  Shamu’s face was mooshed against the canvas-covered floor and Rex was out of sight behind him, but there was no mistaking what had happened. Rex moaned, and the scent of hot urine filled the air. Now they’d get to smell it until somebody found them.

  Shamu thinking: Rex better pray that puddle soaks into the paint-stiff dropcloths and doesn’t spread this way. I get piss on me, and I’ll tear his goddamn head off.

  Wrestling against the wires during the night, Shamu had tipped over onto his left side. The angled legs of the wooden sawhorse prevented him from rolling over. He squirmed all night, trying to sit up, as the wire cut deeply into his tattooed chest. Son of a bitch. His tats were ruined. Another reason Tony Zinn must pay.