by Blair Howard
That’s even more damned distracting than it was before.
“You’ll have to do better than that, Jessica,” I said, trying hard not to look down. “Your cell phone put you there until a little after five. What were you two doing?”
“Dammit, Starke,” she said angrily, “it’s none of your damn business. I didn’t kill him. I wasn’t there that night. If you check my goddamn cell records, as you seem so fond of doing, you’ll see I was here, at home.”
“I did check them, and you’re right. Your phone was here, but I’m not so sure you were here with it. Now, maybe you didn’t kill him, but I need to know what you were doing there all afternoon. It’s important. For all we know, you and he were stealing that 350 mil.”
She took a huge breath, and her chest rose like an inflated balloon. She looked down at the tabletop, crossed her legs, and thus removed the distraction.
“Oh what the hell,” she said. “What can it matter now?” She sighed, looked me in the eye, and said. “Okay.” She took another deep breath. “No, we weren’t stealing the money. I was screwing him. We spent the afternoon in bed. It wasn’t something we did often, just once in a while, when... well, you know... when there was a need. I left just after five o’clock. I was home by six. I was here that night, all night. I can’t prove it, but I was. Look, I wouldn’t have hurt Tom for the world. He was, in some ways, a baby, a bit naive, but he was a nice guy, not much of a lover, but I liked him, a lot.”
“So,” Kate said. “You left at five o’clock? Who else was in the house?”
“No one. We were alone all afternoon. I showered, dressed, and left. There was no one else there.”
“Okay,” I said. “You say you were here, but you can’t prove it. We’ll let it go at that, for now. Kate? Anything you want to add?”
Kate stood up, pushed back her chair, and looked down at Steiner. “No, but you have no alibi, Ms. Steiner. I’m not sure about motive... yet, but if you had one, we’ll figure it out. In the meantime, do you own a gun?”
“Yes, but–”
“Oh, it’s okay. I’m not about to accuse you of anything. I was just going to suggest you keep it handy, and keep your doors locked. The gate is great for stopping a vehicle, but it won’t stop an intruder. Someone made a real mess of Marty Cassell. I wouldn’t want the same thing to happen to you.” She turned to me. “Let’s go, Harry. I think Ms. Steiner has some thinking to do.”
She dropped one of her cards on the table in front of Steiner. “If you do manage to remember anything, please give me or Harry a call.” Then she walked away, skirting the pool, and the house, leaving me alone with her.
“Come alone next time, Harry. I didn’t like the way she kept staring at me. You, however.... Go. She’ll be wondering what you’re doing.”
“Next time,” I said. “Answer your damned phone.”
She was right. Kate was in the car, angrily gripping the wheel, tapping her fingers impatiently on the rim.
Damn, she’s in a rare mood. What now?
“What was that all about, Harry?” she demanded when I closed the car door.
“What was what all about?”
“All that naked shit? What was she trying to prove, flaunting herself like that?”
“Well, yes. I understand what you mean. The first time I was up here, she was by the pool, and she wasn’t wearing a whole lot more than she was today. I suggested she put something on then, but she as good as told me to go to hell, that I was the trespasser and if I didn’t like what I saw I could leave. I guess it’s just the way she thinks, feels. Anyway, what the hell were you doing, staring at her like that?”
For a moment, she didn’t answer, concentrated on the road down the mountain, then said, “I have to admit, she is one very beautiful woman.”
“Kate... you’re not....”
“No, goddamnit, I’m not. I just appreciate beauty when I see it. Now drop it. When are you going to see De Luca?”
I looked at my watch. It was almost four o’clock.
Were we there only forty-five minutes? Hell, it seemed like hours. Must have been distracted, or something. I grinned at the thought. Hahaha. I wonder what?
“Well?” Kate said.
“Take me back to the office. I’ll grab Bob and a couple of items, then I’ll go see him, today, now.”
I punched the speed dial number for my office. “Is Bob in, Jack? Okay, good. Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. I need him. I should be there in twenty minutes, or so.”
Chapter 20
Kate parked her car in the lot outside my office, and I could tell she intended to accompany me inside. That would never do.
“Kate,” I said, as I closed the door. “I don’t think you need to come inside. I need to explain things to Bob, and you don’t need to know what I’m planning to do.”
She stared hard at me for what seemed like several minutes, but it could only have been a few seconds, then she nodded.
“Okay, but be careful, and don’t kill anyone. Please?”
I smiled at her. The way she said ‘please’ brought so many fond memories flooding back.
“You got it, Kate. I.... Oh, never mind.”
“What, Harry? What?”
“Nothing. I need to go. I’ll call you when I get finished. Say, would you like to come over tonight? I could cook?”
“Are you kidding me? I thought we’d been over all that.” She looked me in the eye and smiled. “I’ll think about it. I will need a statement about what happens at Sal’s.”
“No statement, Kate, but I will tell you all about it. So you’ll come?”
“I said I’ll think about it. Now go do your thing, and for God’s sake don’t get hurt.”
For some reason, when I entered the office, I felt like I was walking on air.
“Hey, Bob. Grab a coffee, and one for me, too. I’ll be in my office.”
Two minutes later, we were seated together, on either side of my desk, sipping coffee.
Bob Ryan is my lead investigator. He’s a year older than me and has been with me almost since the day I first opened the agency. He, too, is an ex-cop – Chicago PD. He’s also an ex-marine. He stands six feet two and weighs in at 240 pounds – all of it solid muscle – and he has a fondness for ball bats. He’s quiet, dedicated, and not someone you want to screw around with.
“Bob,” I began. “I’m going to ask you to do something you may not want to do. If that’s the case, fine; no hard feelings. I’ll do it by myself.”
“What do you need? You know I’m in, whatever it is.”
I nodded. Bob’s voice is deep, almost a growl, menacing even when he’s being nice, which he rarely ever is.
“I knew that.” I grinned at him. “You still keep that short bat handy?”
He smiled and nodded.
“Okay, you’re going to need it. This is what we’re going to do....”
When we were done talking, Bob went out to his desk and then to his car, to ‘get a few things together,’ so he said. While he was gone, I changed clothes. It had been a warm day, and I’d dressed lightly that morning: lightweight tan slacks and a white polo shirt. When I’d finished dressing, I had on a pair of black jeans, a black tee, and black Bruno Magli Infano shoes. I love those thick, soft soles; they’re quiet, too.
I slipped my arms through the straps of the DeSantis shoulder rig, nestled the nine securely inside the worn leather holster, climbed into my black leather jacket, and slipped my Talon expandable baton into the left-hand pocket. I was dressed and ready for action. Bob walked back into my office a couple of moments later. He was similarly dressed. We must have looked like a couple of bikers.
We ignored the questioning looks from the rest of the staff and walked out of the side door into the parking lot, climbed into my Maxima. We headed for MLK, Il Sapore Roma and, hopefully, a few quiet words with Sal De Luca.
Ten minutes later, at five o’clock, I pulled the car to a stop on the street outside the restaurant. I reached into t
he glove box, took out a pair of black leather gloves and pulled them on. I pulled the nine, jacked a shell into the chamber, replaced it in its holster, and we got out of the car. I locked the doors, looked at Bob over the roof, and nodded. He also nodded, and walked around the front of the car to join me. He was holding a shortened baseball bat in his gloved right hand. I grinned at him and we walked to the front door of the restaurant. There was a closed sign on the door, but it wasn’t locked, so we walked right on in. Bob closed the door behind him and slipped the latch, locking the door.
The place was all but in darkness. Only the lights above the bar at the far end were on. The place didn’t open until seven o’clock. We had plenty of time for what we needed to do.
As always, Sal De Luca was seated at the bar, drink in hand, his back to the room.
That’s kinda foolish of him. Never know who might walk up behind you.
“Hello, Sal,” I said. “How’s it hangin’?”
“Starke,” he said. He sat upright, turned and looked at us. “What the hell are you doin’ here? Who’s the gorilla? Where’s your lady friend? You know the one. The cop.”
“Sal, meet Bob Ryan. He works for me. Bob, meet Sal De Luca, all around no good sack o’ shit. How did you know Kate was a cop, Sal?”
“Gimme a break, dumbass. You think I’m stupid? You think I didn’t know she was a cop? Phuurrt.” That last was a sound he made with his lips. It sounded like something between a raspberry and a pig breaking wind.
I nodded. “She took the night off, Sal. She doesn’t have the stomach for blood and violence that I do.”
By now, Bob was slapping the palm of his hand with the bat. Even I was unnerved.
“Violence? Blood? What you talking about, Starke? Ain’t no one here gonna hurt you,” he said, with a grin a barracuda would have been proud of.
“Not me, Sal. You, and your two boys. Where are Beavis and Butt-Head by the way? It’s not like you to be sitting here all alone.”
“Oh, I ain’t alone, Starke. I have Mr. Colt here with me.” He laid his left hand on the bar top. Grasped in his fist was a Colt 1911 .45 semi-automatic, and the hammer was cocked.
“Now, shithead,” he said, amiably. “Tell me what the hell you want and get outa here before I blow your goddamn balls off. You, Daisy,” he said to Bob. “You stay goddamn still. You move so much as your little finger and I’ll deprive you of your cojones, too.”
That was his big mistake, calling Bob, Daisy. With a flip of the wrist, Bob sent the bat spinning the ten feet across the top of the bar. De Luca didn’t see it coming. The rounded, heavy end hit Sal in the center of his forehead, just above the bridge of his nose. His head snapped back, his eyes slammed shut, and he fell backward off the stool and landed in a heap on the floor. I looked down at him shaking my head; he was out like a light.
“Dammit, Bob. I wanted to talk to him,” I said, picking up the huge Colt and tossing it to him.
“No problem,” Bob said. He took a couple of steps forward, lifted a large jug of water from the bar, and poured its contents over the seemingly sleeping Sal De Luca. Then he picked up the bat and resumed slapping his gloved palm.
Sal came round slowly. Not like you see it in the movies, spluttering and gasping. He just came slowly to, and sat up, shaking his head.
“You crazy bastard son of a bitch,” he said. “You’ll pay for that.”
“Hmmm, maybe,” I said, “but before I do, I’d like answers to a few questions. Capiche?”
I think he did, because he clawed at the stool he’d so recently vacated and hauled himself up and leaned over the bar. A huge knot was rising on his forehead. Sal would have a nasty headache for the next several days.
“I asked you where Gino and Tony are,” I said.
“They ain’t here.”
“I can see that, Sal. Where are they?”
“They’ve gone on a job, for me.”
“Oh dear. If they’ve gone where I think they’ve gone, not only are they in deep, deep shit, so are you. If they’ve gone looking for either Jessica Steiner or James Westwood, you’d better grab a phone and call it off... NOW!”
He was so startled, he jumped almost a foot in the air. He did, however, pull a cell phone out of his pocket and hit the speed dial.
“It’s off,” he said into the instrument. “Come on back.” He cut the connection and slipped the phone back in his pocket.
“Now, let’s talk about Marty Cassell,” I said.
“Cassell? Why him?” He asked the question, but his heart wasn’t in it. He already knew the answer.
“You know why. He’s in the hospital, Sal. Your boys almost killed him.”
“What are you talking about, Starke?” he said, as he gently touched the knot on his head. “I haven’t seen that piece of garbage since my money went missing last week.”
“Not you, Sal; those two psychos of yours. They busted his nose, lips, and cut his goddamn ears off. Hey! Wake up! Are you still with me?”
Sal nodded, but I wasn’t sure he was hearing me. His eyes were kinda glazed.
“Here’s how it’s going to go. Hey! Are you listening to me?” I shouted in his ear.
He just sat there and stared at me, the fingers of his right hand gently massaging his forehead.
“No more, Sal. You’re going to leave Steiner and Westwood alone. If you don’t, I’ll be back, and it won’t be pretty.”
Again, nothing. He simply sat there staring at me, his eyes watering, filled with hate.
“Okay, I’ll make it plain for you.”
My right hand was already in my jacket pocket. With my left hand, I grabbed his right hand and slammed it down on the countertop, his fingers spread wide. I whipped the Talon out of my pocket, twitched my wrist, flipped it open, and then pounded it down hard on his outstretched fingers. It wasn’t a particularly good shot; he resisted, tried to pull back. I was a little off target. I intended to hit the back of his hand, but the steel baton caught only his little finger and the two middle ones next to it. I could tell by the ‘crack’ that the little one had snapped.
He screamed, came up off the stool as if his ass had caught fire, and backhanded me a good one with the injured hand. The heel of his palm hammered into my jaw, knocking me sideways; the Talon spun out of my hand. Bob took a step forward, but it was too late. De Luca, howling at the top of his voice, was already staggering toward the kitchen door. He burst through it, slammed it shut behind him, and we heard the bar drop into place on the far side, effectively locking us out.
I shook my head, somewhat stunned. The blow to my jaw had been a hard one, and had taken me by surprise.
Damn. I must be getting old.
“You all right, Harry?” Bob said, placing his hand on my shoulder.
“Yeah. He’s a big fella, is Sal. That was a good one. Rattled my damned teeth.” I worked my jaw, massaging it with my hand. “No harm done. Wow. Shit. Whew!”
“Let’s get out of here, Harry. He may just call the cops.”
“Nah, I don’t think so. He doesn’t want cops anywhere near him. Do you think he got the message?”
“Oh yeah. He got the message all right. That hand will be in splints for months.”
“I dunno. He’s a tough son of a bitch. Maybe we should go round the back and make sure.”
“No, Harry. He got it. We need to get out of here. If his buddies get back before we do, there could be a real ruckus; someone could get killed.”
Reluctantly, I nodded. “Maybe you’re right, but I dunno. Sal won’t forget either of us in a hurry, and he’s likely to come after us, or send his two goons. Hey, nice shot with the bat, by the way.”
He grinned as he unlocked the restaurant door and we walked out into what was going to be a lovely evening. The sun was already low over the brow of Lookout Mountain, turning what few clouds there were into golden pillows against a deep blue sky.
A beautiful evening, a nice dinner, a bottle of wine, and Kate. Oh yeah!
I dr
opped Bob off at his car and made the call.
“Kate. It’s Harry. We’re out of there. No... no... no harm done. Well, not much. I took a bit of a shot to the chin, but you should see the other guy.” I was smiling as I said it, even though I knew she couldn’t see me. “Look, I’m on my way home. You’re coming over tonight, right?”
“Harry, I’m sorry. I can’t. Lieutenant Conway is off sick. I have to fill in for him. Raincheck?”
“Sure,” I said. I shook my head. I should have known better.
“So tell me,” she said. “What happened? Am I likely to hear about it through official channels?”
“I doubt it. Only Sal was there. I warned him off the two partners, and we got out of there.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
“What’s to tell? I warned him to leave Steiner and Westwood alone. Bob whacked him with his bat. I whacked him with the baton. He locked himself in the kitchen, and we left. No big deal.”
“Did he take it seriously, the warning?”
I laughed at that. “He’ll remember it. That’s for sure. Whether he took it seriously or not, only time will tell.”
“Okay, Harry. Good job, but I gotta go. I’m on ‘till midnight. See you tomorrow?”
“Sure. Call me first thing... you sure....”
“Yes. I’m sure. See you tomorrow.” She hung up.
Well... damn. What the hell am I going to do now? I sure as hell don’t want to spend the night home alone.
Chapter 21
It was a little after ten o’clock when I arrived at the Sorbonne, part of Chattanooga’s ‘night life.’ It's one of the city’s sleaziest bars, not a nightclub. Back in the day, when I was a cop, I spent many a long night there, watching, listening. Even these days, I frequent the place more often than I probably should, mostly to keep an eye on the lowlifes that inhabit the sleazy dump, but more than that. Every now and then I like to have a chat with the bar’s owner, Benny Hinkle. Benny... he likes it not so much.