The Harry Starke Series: Books 1-3: The Harry Starke Series Boxset

by Blair Howard

  Falk! Who killed Falk? Why? What did he do? What did he.... The gun... a nine millimeter. Gold has a nine!

  I sat up straight. It was time for another visit to Shady. I needed to get my hands on that gun. Kate needed to get her hands on it. It could provide an answer to who killed Falk. If it was a match for the one that killed Falk, we’d have him, and Tree, and maybe Harper, too, if Tree talked. If it wasn’t a match... well, no harm done. It would take a bit of figuring out, but either way, it was a win-win.

  I didn’t say anything to anyone in the office. What I was about to do could get me into some deep trouble, and not just with the law; I could get hurt, or worse.

  It was about four o’clock that afternoon when I arrived at the mall. The restaurant was closed, the gym was busy, and so was the cigar store. The two clothing outlets, not so much.

  I circled the block, cruised slowly through the parking lot on McCallie, from south to north, then swung around the block and did the same at the rear. There it was, outside what I knew must be the rear entrance to Shady’s office, the Beemer that had followed me on Saturday evening, after I’d left my father at the club.

  I hit the Bluetooth and called Kate. God only knew what kind of reception I would get. Maybe she wouldn’t even take the call.

  “What do you want, Harry? I’m busy.” Wow. Her voice was like ice.

  “Yeah, well. I think I have something that might interest you. I’m at the mall on McCallie. The other day, when I came by to get compensation from Shady for the injury to Mike’s nose—”

  “Robbed him at gunpoint, you mean.”

  “No, Kate. I never touched my gun.” It was a lie, but what the hell, I was in over my head in trouble with her anyway. One more little untruth wasn’t going to make it any worse.

  “No? Then you must have beat it out of him with that baton of yours?”

  “Whatever. I never touched him. Just listen to me for a minute, will you? While I was there, I did have occasion to subdue his cronies, Stimpy and Ren.”

  She almost giggled, but not quite. “So?”

  “Gold was wearing a rig with a nine in it.”

  Silence, then, “Did you get it?”

  “Err... no. I guess he still has it.”

  “Pity. I can’t touch it. Not without probable cause.”

  “You can’t, but I can.”

  “Harry, I don’t like where this is going.”

  “Look, Kate. If he threatens me with it, I can take it away from him, and then I can hand it over to you. I would be doing my duty as a good citizen, right?”

  “I don’t like it, Harry. I’d rather do it with a warrant, and I can’t get one without cause.”

  “Okay. How about this? Judge Strange owes me a favor. Suppose I get you cause? He would issue a warrant, right? Tell you what. You come on down to the mall and meet me outside.”

  “What, right now?”

  “You want the gun or not?”

  “Okay, I’m at Amnicola. Give me twenty.”

  “Great, if I’m not waiting for you outside, come on in and rescue me. I’ll leave the door open for you.”

  She disconnected. I grinned. Just like old times. Twenty, huh? So.... This has to be timed just right.

  I parked the car outside the front of Shady’s office and dumped the nine in the glove box. There was a newspaper on the back seat of the car. I folded it twice, looked at my watch, and waited exactly thirteen minutes. I figured I’d have just enough time to do what needed to be done before Kate arrived. Then I got out of the car, locked it, and headed for the front door, the newspaper held behind my back, and pushed the bell button.

  The door was opened by my fat friend from my previous visits. He took one look at me and turned and ran down the passageway to Shady’s office. So predictable.

  I bent down, put the newspaper against the bottom of the door jamb and allowed the door to close on it. It did, but not quite. There was a quarter-inch gap, just enough to get a finger inside and pull it open.

  To say they were surprised to see me was an understatement. Fat boy already had his back to the wall, just inside the door. Duvon and Gold both pulled their weapons. Tree ripped open his desk drawer and grabbed one of his own.

  “Whoa! Dammit, Shady. What kind of hello is that?” I had my hands held high, palms facing them, my coat open revealing the empty rig.

  “You son of a bitch. I told you never to come back here. I oughta to cap your ass. What the hell do you want this time? You bring my money back?”

  “I just have a couple of questions. We have three dead bodies, two of them homicides. I know you don’t go for murder, Shady, but Harper.... I need to know about you and Congressman Harper. What’s the connection, Shady?

  I thought he was going to bust. He could barely speak he was so angry.

  “You, you, you, piece o’ crap. I don’t have to tell you nothin’.”

  “Now, Shady....”

  “Shut the hell up, you piece o’ shit. You think you can waltz in here any time you want? Screw you, you... you.... Duvon, go smack him upside the head, hard.”

  “I’ll kill his ass.” Duvon took a step forward.

  “I said smack him Not kill him, you stupid, dumbass son of a bitch.”

  Duvon looked at him like he’d been smacked himself. I wasn’t surprised. I’m not quite as stupid as it might appear. I knew Shady was no killer, but his two idiot cronies? Maybe. Be that as it may, Duvon duly smacked me. At least he tried to. I knew it was coming and I held up my right arm. It took the blow, and it hurt like hell. I thought for a moment that he might have broken my wrist. He raised the gun for another try.

  “That’s enough. Drop ‘em. All of you.”

  Kate walked in, gun in hand, pointed right at Shady’s face. She was followed by Lonnie, who had that same goofy smile on his face.

  “Get out of here, Harry,” Kate said, without taking her eyes off the three amigos.

  “But....”

  “No buts. Out. Now.”

  I didn’t argue any further. I left. I waited outside, sitting on the hood of the Maxima.

  They came out about five minutes later, empty handed.

  “Well?”

  “No good, Harry. Gold’s gun was a three-eighty small-frame Ruger. Tree’s was a nine, a Smith and Wesson. Falk was killed with a Beretta. Duvon’s gun? A damned great forty-five, a cannon. All of their weapons are perfectly legal. The permits are all in order. Waste of time, Harry.”

  I rubbed my arm. It was going to be sore for a while. “Dammit.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Better luck next time, Harry.”

  Then she and Lonnie got into their car and drove away. No goodbye, nothing. I guess I’m still in the doghouse. What the hell do I do now?

  Chapter 26

  I was into the office early the following morning, Saturday, before eight. I did some routine chores, paperwork, made a couple of calls, and sat back with a cup of coffee. I was feeling kind of like a fish out of water. I wasn’t used to not having Kate around. So there I sat, alone with a cup of Dark Italian roast and my thoughts. My cell phone rang. It was ten o’clock.

  “Harry Starke.”

  “Ah, Mr. Starke. You’re there.”

  I sat bolt upright in my chair. She had my full attention.

  “Senator Michaels?”

  “Yes. Do you have a minute?”

  “I do. How can I help you?”

  “I think it’s more what I can do for you, at least for Mr. Starke Senior.”

  “Er... what do you mean?”

  “I think I might have something for him, but I wanted to run it by you first. Could you meet me, this evening, perhaps?”

  “Well, yes... of course, but wouldn’t it be better if you spoke directly to my father?”

  “It might, but I’d rather talk to you first, if you don’t mind, just to make sure that what I have in mind wouldn’t be a waste of his time. I’m sure you would know.”

  “Fine. What did you have in mind
?”

  “Why dinner, of course, at that nice little restaurant where we met the other day, my treat. Would that suit you?”

  I almost laughed out loud. “Yes, ma’am, that would suit me fine. What time would you like me to pick you up, and where?”

  “I took the liberty of making a reservation for ten o’clock. Is that too late?” She’s sure of herself. I’ll give her that.

  “Not at all. I’ll pick you up... where?”

  “I’m staying at the Read House. Shall we say nine o’clock? That will give us time for a drink before the meal.”

  “Nine o’clock it is.”

  “Good. I’ll be in the lobby. Goodbye, Mr. Starke.” She cut the connection, and I sat back in my chair and smiled. Something for my father, my ass!

  ---

  By eight o’clock that evening, I was ready to go, only an hour early. Dammit! I couldn’t stay still, not for a minute. I’d been that way all day. I couldn’t concentrate on anything but my impending date, if a date it was. I paced about the room, watched TV, and fidgeted. Yep, I was excited, and not a little apprehensive. After all, it’s not every day that we get to dine with a United States senator, now is it?

  It’s very rare that I bother to dress up, and by that, I mean a suit and tie. Don’t get the wrong idea. I dress well most of the time, but I prefer casual, usually lightweight pants, but sometimes jeans, and a golf shirt, maybe a nice sweater if it’s cold, and a leather jacket or sports coat. The grungy gear I wear mostly at night, when I’m trolling the nightclubs and bars. That way I blend in with the rest of the crowd. On rare occasions, though, I do make the effort; and this, I figured, was one of those occasions.

  I was wearing a navy blue two-piece suit by Paul Smith of London with a white, V-neck cashmere sweater by Thomas Maier — the idea being to show off my pendant — and a pair of Bruno Magli loafers with black socks. I felt like a damned turkey, cooked and dressed for the table. Oh well. Sometimes we all have to make sacrifices. I smiled at the thought. Some sacrifice.

  ---

  It was right on nine o’clock when I parked the car out front of the Read House and went inside.

  Now, before I go any further, you should know that I had done a little research on our good lady senator. She is fifty-two years old, hails from Boston, and is tipped to one-day make a run for the presidency. Yes, she’s that important, and when I walked through that door and saw her, I had no doubt she could win it. I have to admit, I was more than a little intimidated.

  She was waiting for me in the lobby. She couldn’t have been there long, because she was standing by the reception desk. She was taller than I’d thought, and she was wearing heels that had to be five inches. They lifted her close to six feet two. She didn’t look a day over forty. The glasses were gone. The skin was smooth. The work of a good plastic surgeon, perhaps. Her figure was well proportioned, and, so I assumed by the fit of her clothes, it needed no help from foundation garments. Her dark brown hair framed her face and covered her ears, and was cut so that it just brushed her shoulders. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the room — there were a couple more that, well, you know what I mean — but she was the most attractive, and she owned the room.

  She was wearing a black cocktail dress cut two inches above the knee. Over that, she wore a pale blue, waist-length satin jacket that shimmered under the lights. She carried a pale blue leather clutch, an exact match for the jacket.

  She walked confidently across the lobby to meet me, took my arm, and together we walked out into the night. She had not yet said a word. I was more than a little conscious of the looks we got as we left the hotel.

  I opened the car door for her, and she slid into the front seat. I closed the door and went around to the driver’s side, got in, and pushed the starter.

  “Good evening, Mr. Starke. You look... different.”

  I looked at her and smiled. “Please, call me Harry. Different?”

  “Yes. You look very nice. Shall we go?”

  We did.

  It was a Saturday night, so Ducat was quite busy, but she didn’t seemed perturbed. We were escorted to a table that had obviously been chosen for its seclusion. It was at the front, at the extreme right corner of the restaurant; she sat with her back to the room. The only view anyone would have of her was her hair and shoulders; the chairs had high backs. The good senator had obviously done this before. The maître d’ took the senator’s coat. I slipped him a twenty; he smiled, dipped his head, and left us alone.

  Okay, I said she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the Read House lobby, but in that restaurant? Oh yeah. The cocktail dress was strapless, and she filled it beautifully. We were seated opposite one another and I couldn’t help myself; I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

  “Harry,” she whispered with a smile. “It’s rude to stare.”

  “Yes, ma’am. It certainly is, and I’m sorry... no, no I’m not,” again the smile, “but you look a little different yourself. That’s quite a dress, and, if I may be so bold, Senator, that’s quite a woman inside it.”

  She laughed, quietly. “Well said, Harry, and thank you. It’s a rare thing to encounter a man with balls enough to say what’s on his mind, much less hand me a compliment, one that doesn’t have strings attached, that is. Please, Harry. My name is Linda. No more ma’am or senator, agreed?”

  Balls? Methinks that maybe the senator is no lady. If she is, she’s a damned tough one.

  I smiled back at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  That brought another low laugh.

  “Would you like to see the wine list, sir?”

  I looked up at the wine waiter and opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, she said, “No thank you, Louis. I’ll have a vodka tonic, my friend will have a gin and tonic, Bombay Sapphire with a small square of lime, and we’ll have a bottle of Opus One with the meal.”

  Louis nodded and backed away. I looked at her, the question on my face must have been obvious.

  “How did I know? Oh come on, Harry. You don’t think for one minute that I wouldn’t have you checked out, did you? I know exactly who you are, and what you do. In fact, I probably know more about you than you do. Hell, I even know what brand of toothpaste you use. Work for your father, my ass. You’re a private investigator, and a very good one, so I’m told., and, I might add, I need your word that everything said between us tonight stays between us. Do I have your word?”

  “Yes... yes, of course.”

  “Good, then let’s enjoy our meal and our time together. I need a damned break from the rabble I constantly find myself surrounded with, and I’m sure you do, too... and that brings me to the next item. How is that lovely young thing I saw you with the other day? A detective, isn’t she? Are you two an item?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. I couldn’t believe this woman. “She is, and we were, but not anymore. She’s fine, I think.”

  “Well, now you’re single. Isn’t that a turn up for the books?”

  She leaned back in her chair, sipped her drink, and smiled at me over the rim of the glass. I felt so out of my damned depth, so uncomfortable... and why wouldn’t I be? I was sitting in a restaurant, alone with one of the most powerful women in the world.

  “Harry, you look very uptight. You must learn to relax. You’ll spoil our evening together. We’ll have a nice meal, the chef here is amazing. Let’s unwind and enjoy ourselves. Agreed?”

  “Agreed, but I thought you wanted to talk business.”

  “I do, but later. For now.... Ah, here’s François.” Yep, she knows this place, well.

  “Good evening, Madam.” He picked up her napkin, slid it out of the silver band, shook it open, draped it over her lap, then took the menu from under his arm and handed it to her. She passed it over to me without looking at it. It was another set menu with two choices.

  “I’m going to have the Sole Bonne Femme, Harry. They serve it over wild rice. The sauce is delicious. You should try it.”

  Well... if it’s good enough
for her.

  “Sounds good. I’ll have that, too, please, François.”

  “Thank you, sir. Louis will bring your wine shortly. Would you like another cocktail before it arrives?”

  I looked at her. She shook her head.

  “No, thank you. We’ll wait for the wine.”

  All this time I had a strange feeling that I was performing a part in some sort of weird ritual. Kate and I had not been treated the way Linda and I were being treated. But then, the lady was a United States senator. Perhaps that’s the reason for the VIP treatment. She doesn’t seem to mind being seen with me in public. Then there’s that damned pendant, and where are the Secret Service? Surely they don’t let her loose on her own.

  “Linda.” I was having a tough time with that, too, using her first name. “I have to ask, where are the Secret Service? I can’t believe they let you out of their sight.”

  She smiled. “They don’t. Look. There.” She pointed through the slats of the blinds that covered the window, and there it was, a discreet, black four-door Cadillac. Now I really was intimidated, and it must have showed, because I was treated to another of the low laughs.

  “Oh, stop it, Harry. Of course I have protection, but there’s nothing to worry about. The three agents out there have been with me for a long time. I love them all. They know me very well, and they are very discreet.”

  Geeze, what the hell am I getting myself into?

  “Ah, here’s the pate. Do you like foie gras? Harry?”

  Thank God I know what the hell she’s talking about.

  The waiter placed a small plate in front of each of us. On it was a small, perfectly round portion of foie gras; it looked like it had been turned out of a mold, and it probably had. Each portion was accompanied by four fingers of warm, unbuttered toast folded in a white napkin.

  “Actually I do, but we don’t see it very often here in the South. Southern folk don’t like goose liver, or any other kind of liver. This looks wonderful.” And it was, and so was the sole; the fish was cooked to perfection, followed by a white chocolate crème brulee for dessert.