Henry Wood Detective: Boxed Set (Books 1 - 4)

by Brian Meeks

  CHAPTER 14

  When Salvatore Milano was a kid, he was bigger than the other kids in the neighborhood. Teachers expected he would be slow, and he didn’t see an advantage in disappointing them. Easily bored, he usually had a book he could read while the teachers droned on. Sal was able to get passing marks with barely any effort at all.

  There were a few guys he hung out with in his teens, but he didn't care for them much. They really were stupid. His real friends were his books. They taught him things, got him out of the city, and showed him the country of his parents. Each book held secrets, which they seemed happy to share, and the books never judged him.

  When high school was over, he had two choices: join the army and maybe go to war overseas or join a gang and fight in the wars at home. He chose home as he didn't trust army food.

  His first job, not surprisingly, was collections. People seemed eager to pay when he came a-calling. Salvatore instilled both fear and a sense of urgency in the debtors. It was lonely work. People who thought you might break their legs didn’t line up to be buddies. It was much like his teen years; his peers - the other 'soldiers'- weren't very interesting to him. They all only seemed to be interested in chasing dames and getting drunk. They lacked imagination.

  After 14 months, he was given a driver, which meant he was to visit much bigger fish. His driver was an eager kid named Joey. Joey wasn’t large enough to intimidate but could muster a fierce look. Sal thought the kid had potential. Joey was only a year younger than Sal, but the two were miles apart in size and experience. The kid was respectful, followed orders, and looked up to Sal.

  Salvatore didn't mind beating a man or killing him. He had a very clear picture of good and evil. Taking a baseball bat to the shins of a scum bag was fine. Roughing up a 72-year-old grocery store owner for weekly protection money wasn't. Fortunately, the old ones didn't make trouble.

  Kid, as Salvatore called him, was eager to learn the ropes. Most of the other guys would've told him to shut up and drive. Sal didn't see the advantage in keeping someone stupid. The more the kid knew, the better he could watch Sal's back. One day Sal told him, “Most of the guys, they'd tell you to shut up and stop asking so many questions. They had to figure it out for themselves and are too lazy to help someone along. I think you have potential, though.”

  “Really? Thanks,” Joey said, trying not to sound too much like an eager puppy.

  “You gotta understand something, though...”

  “Yeah?”

  “This ain't a business where you advance by making waves. Sure, there are guys with lots of flash who make it through the ranks. But for every one of them, there are a hundred who earn an early grave.”

  The kid nodded, pulling the car into a gas station and telling the attendant to fill it up.

  “We gonna set up a few guidelines, you understand?”

  “Sure, anything you say.”

  “I have some ideas about how to get things done. If I tell you something, and you don't understand, you ask.”

  “I'll understand.”

  “If you don't, you ask. You know why?”

  The kid was caught between wanting to act tough and needing to be truthful. “No.” He looked ashamed.

  “Listen, Kid, this is what I am trying to get across. I don't expect you to know everything; there isn't any shame in asking. Or more accurately, there isn't any shame in asking me.”

  The kid smiled, “Thanks, Boss.” It was the first time he used that moniker.

  Salvatore smiled, “Best not call me that in front of the others. They might take offense.”

  The kid pulled out from the gas station. Salvatore continued, “The reason I want you to ask when you don't understand is that it saves time and headaches. It can also save your life. A lot of guys get killed because they don't really know what is going on. It is the fault of their leader for not explaining the plan well enough, and it is their fault for being too stupid to ask questions. Capice?”

  “Got it.”

  “There is one more thing. I tell you something, anything, it is between you and me.”

  Joey nodded.

  “You gonna talk about our business with your mom?”

  “No.”

  “You gonna talk about our business with your dame?”

  “No!”

  “You gonna talk about our business with the cops?”

  The kid gave him a dirty look. Sal laughed.

  CHAPTER 15

  Tommy was superstitious, partly from his religious beliefs, but more from his own paranoia. He would see a black cat, then look for something bad to happen. When it did, it would confirm his belief in curses and bad luck. He combated his fear of bad luck by sticking to routines which didn't seem to bring it about. Of course, being a creature of habit wasn’t a good thing for a gangster or anyone who made a lot of enemies. Every other Tuesday, he would go to Joe's Barbershop on 12th Avenue. Today, he had sat in the chair, his face covered in a warm towel.

  The man with the Tommy gun got out of a black sedan and looked around for the barbershop. It would have been easy to walk in and kill Tommy and his two men had he not been driven to a pet shop with the same address but on 12th Street. The shooter would have liked to pop the driver for getting it wrong, but he had a job to do. Twenty minutes later, they had the correct address, but, by the time they got there, an old man was sitting in the chair.

  One might say it was Tommy's lucky day were it not for the fact that he was known to have lunch at a small Italian restaurant after every hair cut. Tommy, clean-shaven, with perfect hair, sat with a couple of men and a friend who owned a car dealership. A bottle of red and a bottle of white wine were brought to the table just as the shooting started.

  Jake Holcomb, of Holcomb Cadillac, took three bullets with Tommy's name on them. It took but a second for Tommy to flip the table and find cover. He fired back, but it was too late. This was life in the jungle. As soon as there was a perceived weakness, predators would strike. He was lucky to have his big friend dining with him. Tommy would have liked to blame a black cat or a broken mirror, but he knew it was the journal that was the source of his curse.

  * * *

  Sal would think about the kid now and again. Kid was his first friend and, thus far, the only one. It had been a few years, but he remembered the sound of Tommy guns cracking in harmony with the crescendo of breaking glass and two soprano waitresses hitting the high note called terror. The kid was hit five times and likely died before he hit the floor. “A cost of doing business,” Tommy had said. It left a bad taste in Sal's mouth.

  He sat finishing his lunch. Three degenerate gamblers stopped in to drop off envelopes. The advertising had worked. Sal counted each envelope, carefully made a coded note on a piece of paper, and dismissed them. When he finished lunch, his current driver took him to drop off the cash.

  Sal walked into the office to hear Tommy screaming. The blonde secretary, wearing a tight pink sweater that accented her considerable secretarial skills, looked mortified. Tommy was prone to screaming, and she usually took it in stride. She could normally be found reading a magazine or doing her nails, but today she just sat stone-cold still. Sal saw her open her mouth, presumably to let him in on what was going on but then thought better of it. The sound of a bottle smashing against the wall said it all.

  Sal had, quite on his own, started using a specific knock: long, short, short. Then he would wait until Tommy told him to enter. It hadn't taken long before Tommy had started to recognize him and to call him by name. Sal was a thinker, and he imagined there might come a day, when Tommy, in a rage, would shoot somebody through the door expecting someone else. He was volatile like that. This was how Sal's brain worked, always planning, always asking 'what if.'

  CHAPTER 16

  Henry took a couple of photos of the cauls and told Luna he needed to head into his office. He made her promise not to leave the house before he left. She said she would read a book. Henry took the paper with him as he went to get ready
to go to the office. He turned on the shower, and only then did he read the 'Big News.'

  The headline read, 'Missing.'

  An accountant with the prominent Manhattan law firm of Smith, Havershome and Blickstein is missing, and the police commissioner, Jonathan O'Rourke, has indicated that the entire department is scouring the city. Mr. Alexander is wanted in connection with the racketeering and money laundering case against infamous mobster Tommy 'The Knife.' It is believed that he may possess crucial evidence in the case, and the commissioner has asked the entire community to be on the lookout for the missing accountant.

  The article went on to provide conjecture regarding the case, most of which wasn't at all accurate but did fill out a fairly thin story. At least Henry now knew which mobster was after Mr. Alexander. Tommy 'The Knife' was a ruthless thug who preferred a hunting knife to a gun. He had risen up through the ranks by collecting for the most powerful loan shark in the city and now ran a veritable army made up of the dregs of society. Henry took a shower and shaved. He told Luna that he was off to the office and again made her promise to stay inside. She agreed.

  It was no longer snowing. The streets were wet, but traffic was light as most people had taken off work and stayed home. The drive was easy, and Henry's thoughts turned to the case. What could be the next clue? He thought about the journal. He needed to get it to the DA, but he first wanted to go to the office and see if anyone had been around to see him. He needed to meet Miss Culberson as the journal appeared to have nothing to do with her father, and he wanted to find out who had put her up to hiring him.

  Henry parked his car in the alley down the street from his building. He rounded the corner and immediately saw the crowd gathered around the front of the charred building that used to hold his office. He didn't stop to ask what had happened. He knew the answer. Henry went to his apartment, which was only five blocks away. He kept the apartment in the city as his official residence. Henry made sure that he spent at least one night a week in the place just to keep up appearances.

  Feeling the need for caution, he used the back entrance. No one was around. The back stairs were empty, but Henry was extra careful. He listened for anything out of the ordinary. It was quiet, except for the baby crying in 5B. When he stepped onto the landing, nobody was waiting. Henry pressed his ear carefully against the door and there was only silence, not so much as a mouse in the house. It turned out there weren't any mice, only overgrown rats. Henry opened the door and walked in. The door was closed behind him.

  “Mr. Wood, you owe me two tires,” said a man with a very thick neck. He was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room.

  Before Henry could come up with a clever response, the man to his right welcomed him with a sock to the gut.

  “It seems you've been sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, Mr. Wood,” said the man in the chair.

  Henry was about to answer when he got another greeting to the midsection.

  “You tell your buddy Big Mike that he messed with the wrong guy. If he wants a war, then we will give him one.”

  The thug behind Henry brought something down on the back of Henry's head, and he dropped to the floor.

  The knocking at the door caused Henry to come to. He moaned and said, “Come in.”

  Mike walked in as Henry tried to sit up. He looked around the apartment. “They tossed your place pretty good, eh, buddy?”

  “I was thinking of having a decorator in anyway."

  “I told you that they're some bad guys,” Mike said as he helped his friend to his feet. “Maybe you best tell your buddy what you have been up to?”

  Henry and Mike turned the kitchen table back upright and got a couple of chairs. Henry grabbed the bottle of bourbon from the counter and two glasses. “Was anybody hurt in the fire?” Henry asked.

  “No, it must have started around 3 am; we don't know the cause yet. You think it was your new friends?” Mike asked.

  “I don't believe in coincidences.” Henry threw back a shot.

  “Now, what have you found out that has gotten Tommy's people on your back?” Mike asked as he poured Henry another one.

  Henry filled Mike in on the details, including the message they left for him. Mike promised to look into Miss Culberson for Henry. He told Mike about the journal and explained that he had it hidden and needed to get it to the DA. They each had another shot and sat without saying a word.

  CHAPTER 17

  Mike spoke up first. “Hey, buddy, I am going to need you to look around your office.” Shrugging, he added, “Or what's left of it.”

  “I saw the fire before I came up here to the welcome home party.” Henry set the bottle by the sink and said, “Yes, I suppose we should; let's get to it.”

  They took Mike's squad car and pulled up behind the fire chief's vehicle. There were still a few gawkers outside. The third floor windows of Henry's office were broken out, and the bricks were charred halfway up the 4th floor. It looks like the firefighters were able to stop the blaze from engulfing the entire building.

  The chief gave a nod to Mike, “What brings you around, Mike?”

  “Hey, Sparky, this is my pal Henry Wood,” Mike said, and Henry stuck out his hand.

  The fire chief and Big Mike had been friends for a long time. Mike had given him the nickname 'Sparky' when he emerged from his first fire, and sparks and flames gushed out behind him. The building was lost; the nickname stuck. “Good to meet you, Henry. What can I do for you?”

  Mike looked up at the building, “That third floor office was Henry's; we want to take a look.”

  “It looks like the fire started in a trash can. The French guy called it in,” Sparky said, motioning for Henry and Mike to follow him. Henry saw Francis who was standing across the street with the onlookers and talking to a short, round man with a small notebook. They walked up to the third floor. The chief explained that the fire had been contained to the one office, but the smoke had made quite a mess of neighboring offices, including Francis’.

  They trudged down the hallway, and the rancid smell of smoke and wet filled the air. The chief said, “Now, be careful, and don't touch anything; we are still investigating.”

  Henry looked down at the floor. The glass from his door was in several pieces with a couple of letters missing: “Henry Wood Detec e Ag n y.” He stepped over the glass, careful not disturb anything, and into the office. The filing cabinets were open and badly burned. The desk was mostly gone as was his trash can. It did look like the fire must have started in the trash can, and it also looked as if the office had been given the once over, though it wasn't turned upside down like his apartment. Henry looked around for another minute and walked out.

  Henry and Mike left the chief in the hallway since he was talking to one of his men and headed down to the street. Henry suggested they talk to Francis and see what he knew. He was still talking to the odd little man. When he saw Henry, he said, “Henry, it looks like we are going to have to move. My place is a mess, too.”

  "You ok, Francis?” Henry asked.

  “Oui, I smelled the smoke, called the fired department and got my butt outta there.”

  The little round man handed Henry a business card while saying, “I am Bobby Ward, and I am in the commercial real estate game. I have a place two blocks away if you are interested. It is a great place, and you could move in right away. I know you would love it.”

  Henry took the card and said, “Thanks,” hoping it would shut the little man up. It did not.

  “We could go now. I have the keys; we could go now, and you could check it out. Let's go, come on, Mr. Wood, I know you will love it.”

  Henry put the card in his pocket, “Now listen, Bobby, we are a little busy right now. I have your card; now scram.”

  With that, Bobby tipped his hat and said as he scurried away, “I wrote the address of the building on the card. It is office 309 on the third floor. Call me, and we can see it any time you like.”

  Henry, Mike, and Francis talked
for a while longer, then parted company. Mike took Henry back to his car. He offered his couch to Henry if he needed a place to stay. Henry declined and said he would just get a room. He wanted to be alone. Henry assured Mike that the journal was safe and that they could get it tomorrow. Mike promised Henry he wouldn't mention the journal to anyone, though he was a bit offended when Henry suggested there might be a mole in the police department.

  Henry drove back to the house, taking a long and circuitous route. When he got home, the smell of chocolate chip cookies filled his nose. It was the first good thing that had happened all day. Luna yelled from the kitchen, “Henry, the cookies are ready. I hope you don't mind.”

  “Not at all. It smells wonderful. I will try one in a minute,” he said, heading down to the basement. He went straight to the closet in hopes of finding something new. He opened the door, and there was a little grey box with the words Shop Fox on it. He opened it and there were 10 small brass bits of different sizes; two of them were marked 'locknut' while the others had different dimensions on them. He wasn't sure exactly what they were for, but he guessed they had something to do with his router. He put the little box with his router and went upstairs.

  CHAPTER 18

  The silk sheets were divine but provided little comfort. Some days seemed to weigh more than others. Sylvia remained in bed despite Winston's repeated attempts to roust her. She thought about cotton sheets, day-old bread, and her tiny room.