La Donna Detroit

by Jon A. Jackson

  “I’d like to go to bed with you.”

  That’s what she heard—at first. But then she realized he’d said, “Do you have a bed I can use?”

  She had a bed, in a guest room, for when her parents visited. But Joe told her he preferred her bed. “Don’t get excited,” he said, “I don’t have any amatory plans. I just think I’d like you close by. Anyway, the last time I got amorous I ended up in the hospital. I think I’m going to have to ease into that.”

  When they were lying chastely, side by side but not touching, he said, “What happened with Echeverria?”

  She explained that the fire had quickly engulfed the ambulance. Echeverria hadn’t had a chance. It was a fluke. The driver of the ambulance had thought he was protecting the patient by driving around the plane. He’d thought the danger was from the guard shooting. But then, seeing the plane on fire, he’d panicked and fled. Nobody blamed him. Perhaps the attendants could have dragged Echeverria out, but…. Nobody was blamed.

  “How about me?” Joe said. “Do they connect me with it?”

  “Not so far,” she said. “The cops might have, if they’d gotten hold of the truck you abandoned. But one of our guys spotted it and just hopped in and drove it away. Good thing you left the keys.”

  Joe didn’t comment. He was asleep, but with his arm flung over her body. Presumably, he just wanted to make sure she didn’t get up without him knowing, but she couldn’t help hoping there was more to it. She lay there for a long time, willing him to wake up. They could talk, maybe make love. Then she drifted off.

  In the morning, she woke to the sound of the shower. Joe came out shortly. He was naked, toweling himself dry. She looked up at him and tossed the covers back, frankly invitational. She was naked, too. Joe looked down at her and smiled. She looked a lot better naked. He admired that kind of lean, hard fitness. He sat down on the bed and laid his hand on her hip. She was very warm. She shifted lazily, her thighs opening. She laid her hand on his penis. It grew.

  Joe was tempted. He had the desire, he was sure it would be satisfying, maybe even thrilling, and he didn’t want to disappoint her … but he wasn’t ready to trust her. He didn’t want her to see that, however, so he opted for lameness. He leaned over the bed and kissed her cheek.

  “Not today,” he said.

  “Scared?” she teased.

  “You bet.” He stood up and took his stiff cock in his left hand. “When this gets like this”—he shook his cock, while tapping his head with the forefinger of his right hand—“it’s like the circuits get overloaded. Sometimes, fuses blow.”

  “It looks like it’s functioning all right,” she said. “Maybe a little exercise would be good for it.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe later.”

  He dressed and went to make coffee for them. “Now tell me again,” he said, as they sat at the kitchen table, “how you’re going to pay me.”

  “Pay you?” She shook her head. “You got paid, for this one. We got you out. Maybe another time, another scenario, there’ll be some money. You can keep what you find.”

  “You mean the scenario where I knock off some dope dealers?”

  “Something like that,” she said.

  “Well, how about that,” Joe said, disgustedly. “I bust my buns for you, I’m on the run, and you guys say ‘Thanks, your country is grateful, but …’ You are grateful, aren’t you?”

  “I said we were grateful, last night. And we’ve got more plans. Don’t get so uptight. Of course, we can provide you with some money, a little, if you need it. But it’s not like you’re making a big score, you know. I explained all this from the start.”

  “You painted a rosier picture in the hospital,” Joe said. He considered the situation briefly, then decided. “All right, this one’s gratis. I’d have gotten out anyway, but you helped, you made it easier. So what’s next? Do we fry another dope dealer?”

  “First, the others have to meet you. It’s absolutely essential,” she said.

  “What if I don’t want to meet them?”

  “Joe.” She sighed. “Don’t be this way. Don’t force me to use pressure.”

  “You mean blow my cover?” He laughed. “And then I’d blow your operation. But you figure that A, I wouldn’t do that, and B, who would believe me?”

  “Something like that,” she said. “But it’s more, ‘Why should you do that?’ Your old role with the mob is blown, pretty much. You need something to do. This is a good job for you.”

  “You mean lots of kicks, fighting the war against drugs, Our Nation’s enemies, that sort of thing?” he said. He paused and eyed her thoughtfully. “You said, ‘pretty much.’ What does that mean?”

  “You caught that, did you? It means that we don’t think you’re completely blown with the mob. You’ve still got friends there.”

  Joe nodded slowly. He saw it. They figured he still had a connection. With Helen. So she must have been taken back under Humphrey’s wing. And maybe they thought that Joe could still approach Humphrey himself. He wasn’t so sure. But if it were so, what would be the point? Then he got it.

  “You want me to hit Humphrey,” he said.

  “Gosh, what an idea! It’s so crazy, it just might work!”

  Joe was surprised. It wasn’t like Schwind to joke. His amazement sobered her.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to make light of it. Actually, we weren’t thinking of that, particularly.”

  “Any more than you were thinking Echeverria should get toasted,” he said.

  “No, really. It’s just…. Here’s the situation.” She explained that recently they had become aware of a change in activity in Detroit. Humphrey seemed to be pulling back, or at least realigning his enterprises, changing his focus. People were being shuffled around, Humphrey wasn’t making his normal appearances, money was being shifted. These phenomena were more felt than strictly observed. But the overall picture was getting distorted, hard to see.

  “Something is happening,” Joe prompted, with a musical lilt in his voice, “but you don’t know what it is.”

  “Yes,” she said. “We had an agent in there, a very good man. But he disappeared. A little while back, his body floated up, without a head. We think Humphrey tumbled to him and had him killed. We want to know what happened, and what’s happening now. We think you could find out.”

  “And what’s my end?”

  “Your end?” She sighed. “You know, over the years I’ve had my hands on … oh, I’d guess about ten or twenty million bucks. Contraband, confiscated loot. I never took a penny, although in many cases there was not another person who could have said that I had, or even noticed, really. I was never even tempted, Joe. It wasn’t my money. I couldn’t have said, in most cases, whose money it was. Maybe it was no one’s. But it wasn’t mine. If you want money, Joe, I’m sure we can supply you with money, from those sources. It wouldn’t bother me. Just because I don’t take it, that doesn’t mean that you can’t … assuming, of course, that it isn’t otherwise accounted for.”

  “That’s nice to hear,” Joe said, “but it’s kind of iffy. I don’t work on those terms. I like to know what I’m putting my ass on the line for. And,” he continued, carefully emphasizing each word, “I want to collect. You see, that’s what started all this: Carmine hired me to do a job, but then he didn’t want to pay off.”

  “Okay, we’ll pay you,” she said.

  “Pay me what? You keep saying that, but you don’t mention figures. I’m just a simple guy, Dinah. I don’t go in for philosophy. What’s the payoff?”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want immunity. Freedom. Money. A new car. Time to myself. Better movies. Let’s see …”

  “I see,” she said. “Immunity is the problem. You’re in the system now, Joe. You have a number of charges pending against you. In order to get any of them dropped, to obtain official protection, we’d have to employ you. We’d have to be able to say what you were going to do for us. And we can’t do
that. But …” She pondered for a minute. “There may be something. I’ll have to confer with the others. Possibly … I’m just thinking out loud, now … we could get you some kind of protection, get your name removed from the wanted computers, give you some kind of cover. But I think you’d still be vulnerable to arrest and detention, and prosecution, if some obstinate cop or prosecutor or judge insisted. I’ll try, if you’re content with that.”

  “It’ll do for now,” Joe said. “It just means being careful. But then, I’m always careful. The guy I have to watch out for is Mulheisen.”

  “The Detroit cop?” Schwind was surprised.

  “I guess you don’t know Mulheisen,” Joe said.

  “I’ve met him. He wasn’t impressive. Seemed a little dense, even, a time server. I mean, the guy is a little long in the tooth to still be a sergeant of detectives, isn’t he?”

  “What is that, a joke? Look, I don’t care what his rank is. The guy is a force of nature, or something. Water flows downhill, at thirty-two degrees it turns to ice, at two twelve it turns to steam. Mulheisen keeps looking. He probably doesn’t even know why he does it. You’ve heard the story of the fox and the goose?”

  “The fox wants a ride across the river?” Schwind said. “Is it like the scorpion and the frog?”

  “I think so,” Joe said. “The fox pleads mutual self-interest, but then he bites the goose’s neck in midstream—”

  “They’re both going down and the goose cries out, ‘Why?’”

  “And the fox says, ‘It’s my nature.’ Well, enough of fables, go ahead, find out from your pals.” Joe gestured at the telephone. She seemed reluctant. He said, “I’ll leave.”

  The next time she heard from him he was in Detroit and he wanted a boat.

  12

  Kiss and Make Up

  Humphrey seemed a little uneasy. Helen hardly noticed, she was so excited about seeing Joe again. But she did notice, finally, when they were motoring out of the slip onto the lake, aboard Kiddle-Dee-Divey. Humphrey was running the boat, only the two of them aboard. Joe was supposed to meet them at Peach Island, in the Detroit River. Once again, it was pleasant weather, though not as sunny as on their last boating jaunt. It was the familiar high, thin overcast, quite bright out—they both wore sunglasses—but a little breezy. The lake was gray and choppy.

  “What are you worried about?” Helen asked.

  Humphrey shrugged. He looked very fit and nautical today, wearing a navy blue cashmere turtleneck under a windbreaker but, as always, no hat. If Humphrey had any vanity, it was about his hair, which was still dark and thick. He didn’t like hats. He ran the boat with confidence, no fussing.

  “I’m not sure about Joe,” Humphrey confessed. Helen looked surprised, and he went on: “Joe can be difficult. Hell, he usually is difficult. But usually it’s a put-on. Lotta swagger, the perennial wise guy. Most a the time, he had a legitimate beef—about Carmine. You know,” he said, thoughtfully, “I ain’t seen the guy in—what? A year? Not since before he split for Montana with you. I talked to him, a couple times, but we didn’t meet. I’m not sure of him, and I know he ain’t sure of me. I’m countin’ on you to make it good between us.”

  “Well, of course,” she said, as if it were all agreed. “Can’t we go a little faster?”

  Humphrey looked at his watch. “We got plenty of time. I don’t wanta get there before Joe. I don’t want him thinkin’ we’re settin’ something up.”

  A downbound freighter was looming in the eastern approach to the Fleming Channel. There was little other traffic out today, a few sailboats, a handful of motorcraft. Humphrey took the sleek cabin cruiser across the channel well ahead of the freighter and throttled back as they approached the upbound channel along the Canadian shore. They were still well east of Peach Island.

  “Setting something up?” Helen said. “Why should he think that? He called us. I thought this was all for his security. I mean, he’s the fugitive. He must feel pretty secure or he wouldn’t have agreed to this boat business.”

  “Oh, I don’t think Joe’s too worried about being spotted by anyone,” Humphrey said. “It’s just … well, there’s something a little funny here. You remember that plane that got blown up in Salt Lake City last week?”

  Helen didn’t. She hadn’t noticed.

  “You remember that guy, Echeverria?”

  Helen remembered him all right. She had almost taken a plane ride with him, up in Montana.

  “That was his plane,” Humphrey said. “And Joe walked out of that hospital in Denver just a few days before. There was something about that, made me think of Joe. Vetch got torched in that plane hit. Now, I know it ain’t like Joe to go around torchin’ guys just ’cause they caused him a little trouble, but … I don’t know, there was something about it. And now, a few days later, Joe calls. So, I set this up. This way, Joe can see it’s just me and you, and we can see it’s just Joe.”

  “So what do we do? Pull alongside? There could be people below. Or do we stand off, like in Moby-Dick, and shout at each other through megaphones?”

  “We both pull up and anchor off the island. Actually, it’s very shallow there, a couple feet. We can run right in and wade ashore, maybe even jump ashore. These boats don’t have much draft. We’ll probably get a little wet, but it ain’t that cold.”

  They ran down toward the island. Helen pursued the question of Joe’s activities. “You think he’s working for someone?” she asked. “Like Mitch? The eastern organization?”

  “I doubt he’s workin’ for Mitch,” Humphrey said. “Those guys are still pissed he’s out walkin’ around. No, I don’t know what the deal is. Joe don’t like to work with other people, much, but he likes money. It took a little help to get out of that hospital, but maybe he just charmed his way out. Maybe he just misses us—you, anyways. Then again, maybe he’s wacko. Maybe he’s flipped out. I don’t know. Do you?”

  Helen had to admit that she’d had some thoughts along those lines herself. A man who has been shot in the head, seemingly recovered, but then had some kind of relapse…. Who could say?

  “Could be he’s on some psycho vendetta,” Humphrey said. “But he’s always been a kind of bold guy who did things different, so maybe this is just normal—for Joe.” He tapped his forehead with a finger. “Could be, he’s got some new clients. Well, we’ll see. There he is.”

  They had swung around the head of the island, on the Canadian side, and there was the little sixteen-foot powerboat with an open cockpit, with Joe Service sitting jauntily on the gunwale. He was not in cowboy gear, but more like an outdoor-catalog version of what the sporty yachtsman wears: colorful windbreaker, light sweater, rainproof pants, bare feet in deck shoes. No hat, of course. But wraparound shades. Helen thought he looked terrific, but she didn’t care for the closely clipped beard and mustache. She felt it hid his finely chiseled chin and emphasized his sensual lips too much. But she soon forgot that.

  There was no uneasiness now. They pulled alongside and she leaped onto the deck, embracing Joe. They laughed and hugged, even kissed. Humphrey beamed and stepped across, a little more carefully than Helen, but still quite agilely. He too embraced Joe. Helen stood back for a moment, grinning at them. They were all clearly delighted to be reunited, though Helen noticed that Humphrey, for all his jovial exuberance, made sure to hug Joe thoroughly and practically pat him down.

  Joe noticed it too, but he joked: “Hey, Slim, take it easy! I’m not wired. I’m not packing.” It was clear, though, that he had made sure of Humphrey’s lack of weaponry in their embrace. But now that formality was over. They were just glad.

  “My god,” Joe said, stepping back to look Humphrey over, “they said you were slimmed down, but this is amazing. You look like a fashion model.” He laughed, and Humphrey laughed too.

  “Actually, I gained back a few pounds, lately,” Humphrey said. “Gee, it’s good to see ya, Joe.”

  They all agreed, it was great to see each other. They quickly moved to the more comf
ortable boat, the Kiddle-Dee-Divey. They were standing in the well of the open rear cockpit, still delightedly patting each other’s backs, when Humphrey looked over at Joe’s speedboat and said, “Helluva nice little rig, Joe. How’d you get hold of her?”

  “Ah, the Feds got it for me,” Joe tossed off.

  Humphrey and Helen both turned to stare at him, not quite with open mouths but clearly waiting for the punch line. “The Feds?” Helen said, after a while.

  “Yeah, I’m working for the government these days,” Joe answered innocently. “Hey, don’t look at me! A guy’s gotta make his car payments.”

  “You’re working for the Feds?” Humphrey sounded disbelieving.

  “Sorta,” Joe said. “I get the feeling I’m still kind of on probation. But they like my work, so far.”

  “So far,” Humphrey said. “You mean the Salt Lake City job.”

  Joe nodded. “They helped me walk, in Denver. I felt I had to return the favor. I got a new assignment, now.” He waited. They waited. Finally, he said, looking at Humphrey: “You.”

  There was a silence in which the gentle slapping of wavelets against the boat’s hull could be heard. It seemed longer than it was. Then Humphrey smiled. “How can I help?” he said.

  They all laughed.

  The ensuing discussion lasted for at least a couple hours. Fortunately, Humphrey had arranged for a lunch to be put aboard, of cold roast beef, fresh sourdough bread, three excellent cheeses, and a hot chili stew. He explained that this wasn’t chili, per se, but a pork stew with root vegetables and chilis. They ate it all.

  They ate and laughed and kidded each other, and Helen was pleased to see that Humphrey didn’t seem at all disturbed by her obvious physical closeness to Joe. The two of them sat side by side on the banquette in the cabin and she stroked his hands, or his cheek, even kissed him a couple of times. Humphrey seemed easy with this. He smiled and nodded, almost like a real uncle.

  Joe told them about Agent Schwind and her friends. He hadn’t met the friends yet, but he was pretty sure he knew who was the chief, a guy who went by the name of Colonel Vernon Tucker, presumably a retired Air Force officer, now a federal agent of some kind. Helen was mildly amazed. She remembered the colonel from the incident at her rented house in Salt Lake City. She was curious about the colonel’s attitude toward her, naturally. He had actually witnessed the attack by the hit woman Heather, in which Helen had managed to blast the killer.