There Was a Crooked Man

by K. J. Larsen

  I gasped. It’s just as well she was in the backseat. I couldn’t reach her neck.

  “You broke into my house?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did.” Saleen laughed.

  I stammered.” B-but I have a premium platinum alarm system.”

  “Then you were screwed. If it makes you feel better, your house was a bit of a challenge.”

  “A little. You must have mad skills.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You might as well sit up front with me.”

  “Just drive. We’re not friends.

  “I figured that out when you tied me up.”

  “After you ganked my necklace.”

  “After you snagged it from Rob. I returned it to him.”

  She gave a hard laugh. “As if he’s not the biggest ferret of all.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What? Do I have to spell it out for you? Just drive.”

  I studied her face in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were swollen and she’d missed a mascara tear.

  “Buckle up.” I started the engine and took Canal Street toward Chinatown. I usually enjoy the drive, but today was garbage day. The tireless procession of bins and black plastic bags was a bit off-putting.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to Marcus.”

  Her lips parted in surprise.

  “I saw you at the Dreamscape. Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

  She shrugged. “I saw you there. Tell me what happened.”

  “The police are in the early stages of the investigation. But they’re treating it as a homicide. We’ll know more after the autopsy.”

  “I talked to a maid. She said she found him.” She shuddered. “Poor Marco.”

  “Do you know if he had enemies? Someone who would want to hurt him?”

  “No way. He was a really good person, ya know? Everyone liked him.” Her brow furrowed. “I suppose it could’ve been…Red light!”

  My right foot pounded the floor. “No brakes!”

  “Stop!”

  “Hang on!”

  I sped through the red light, horns blaring, and whizzed past the sickening crush of metal.

  Saleen slapped my shoulder. “Stop the car!”

  I was powerless. We seemed to be flying and the traffic ahead was stopped at the light.

  She slapped my head. “Red light!”

  “Hang on!”

  I steered onto the sidewalk and piled through the long line of garbage. I grabbed Inga and held her tight.

  Bam! Crash! Pow! It sounded like a cheesy Batman episode.

  The impact of bins slowed or cut our velocity but two hefty dumpsters finished the job. My airbag exploded. I punched it out of my face and checked Inga. She smelled like bacon and she was fine.

  “Saleen, are you okay?”

  “Are we dead yet?”

  “We’re fine.”

  She took a deep breath. If she was counting to ten, she only made it to three.

  “You’re a maniac!” She slapped my shoulder.

  “Stop hitting me.”

  “I will never ride with you again.”

  “Who asked you?”

  I shoved my door open and stepped tentatively onto the pavement. Something whacked me from behind.

  “Ow!” whirled around.

  A very old and fierce Asian grandmother waved her flowery purse at me. “Look what you do! Garbage everywhere! Who clean this mess?”

  I looked behind me and cringed. Chinatown could’ve been ravaged by a tornado. It wasn’t noon yet. I had a feeling this was going to be a very bad day.

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop the car. My insurance will arrange for a clean-up.”

  Her purse twitched. “Do not hit me again,” I said.

  She took a step back. She may have seen the crazy in my eyes. “I call police.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You go to jail.”

  “Fabulous.”

  She stomped away muttering something that sounded as if she put a curse on me.

  “Too late!” I said.

  “I’m alive!” The rear door opened and Saleen climbed cautiously out of the car. “You! You are a maniac.”

  “The next person who hits me, gets tased. I am just sayin’.”

  “You’re a freaking whack-job. I’m outta here.” She tromped off, a little unsteadily at first, dodging garbage and talking trash.

  “Saleen, wait! You should get checked out at the hospital. I’ll pay for your cab home.”

  “You’ve done enough!”

  “You were going to tell me who killed Marcus.”

  A woman watching from her porch hurried her children inside.

  Saleen didn’t look back. She answered me with a finger.

  I walked around Jack’s car and assessed the damage. The car’s front end was scrunched like an accordion.

  “Oh, Marion,” I said. “Crap. Crap. Crap.”

  I braced myself and called my mechanic. He picked up on the first ring.

  “Jack’s Auto Repair.

  “Hi, Jack. It’s Cat.”

  “Caterina! I ordered the window for your Accord. You can have it back this afternoon.”

  “Fabulous.”

  “How’s Marion?”

  “Not as good as we’d hope. Here’s the thing to remember.”

  “What thing?”

  “Actually two things. First, I’m okay. No one was hurt. And Marion is with Dorothy now.”

  Jack choked. If there were words behind his choking gasps, they were indiscernible.

  “The second most important thing to remember is that it wasn’t my fault.”

  Jack yelped like a madman. I jerked the phone away and rubbed my ear. He has a thundering loud potty-mouth.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not saying it’s your fault. But there may have been something wrong with Marion’s brakes.”

  A new torrent of creative curses came across the line.

  “Okay, Jack. Those are very bad words. I’m not even sure what some of them mean.”

  Click.

  “Jack?”

  Suddenly the adrenaline crashed and I was a mess. My knees were rubber. I tried to punch Rocco’s number on my cell and my fingers felt like wet noodles. I sat in Marion and held Inga. We listened to the wail of approaching sirens. The cops closed in. As the first flash of blue appeared, my phone bleeped. It was Max.

  “Can I buy you lunch?” he said.

  I opened my mouth and one shaky word came out. “Help.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  These cops were from the Twelfth Precinct. They didn’t know me. They liked me almost as much as the Asian woman with her flowery bag.

  I hugged my partner. “Toto, we aren’t in Bridgeport anymore,” I said.

  The cops took one look at the long splatter of stinky garbage and demanded a sobriety test. I refused. Mostly because I didn’t trust my legs to walk a straight line. But also because they were jerks.

  The stocky cop with the square jaw took my license, registration, and Jack’s insurance information.

  “Caterina DeLuca,” he said. “Is this your address in Bridgeport?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you related to…?”

  “Yes.”

  “And…?”

  “Yes. All of them.”

  He didn’t mention a sobriety test after that. Maybe he still thought I was stinking drunk. It didn’t matter. Cops protect each other’s own.

  Max tore up in his new Jag and pushed through the yellow police tape. The patrols didn’t challenge. Special Forces training and sheer size gave Max an aura of authority. He pulled me up to my feet and held me against his chest.

  “Kitten, are you alr
ight?”

  “I’m fine, really. Inga too. We were lucky.”

  “You made a helluva mess.” He petted my partner. “What happened?”

  “I lost my brakes.”

  “How bad?”

  “Totally. They’re gone. Zilch. Nada. Zip.”

  Max plucked the keys from his pocket and switched on a small flashlight attached to his keychain. Then he dropped to the ground and bent under the car. His hard muscular thighs and booty flexed, as he bent to adjust the angle of his flashlight. That man could fill a pair of jeans. Right then I knew I would be fine.

  “Caught ya looking,” he said.

  My face warmed. “Was not.”

  He laughed softly.

  It took less than five minutes. I heard him swear under his breath.

  “Alright, Kitten, who’d you piss off this time?” he said.

  “Nobody.”

  “Right.”

  He reappeared and scrambled to his feet. His jaw was tight.

  “It’s been cut.”

  “Cut?”

  “The brake line.”

  “That’s creepy.”

  “It’s a message. Someone wants you dead.”

  “That’s a helluva message.”

  “Can I take you to the hospital?”

  “I just want to go home.”

  “Let me check your pupils for a concussion.”

  I opened my eyes wide.

  “Hmmm. Your eyes are very green.”

  “Stop.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Is it a concussion?”

  “No. But I can tell you were looking.”

  I pushed him away and he laughed. “The tow truck will drop Marion off at the garage. I’ll talk to Jack. You might want to stay away from him for a while.”

  “I’d like to apologize.”

  “Send flowers. First we’ll swing by my place and you can take my Hummer.”

  “I was thinking more like the Jag.”

  “You’re adorkable.”

  “It’s a faster getaway.”

  “The Hummer is safer, Kitten. You piss people off. You want to be in a tank when they start shooting.”

  ***

  I didn’t intend to follow Cam Stewart when he passed me heading north on Morgan Street. I was driving home in Max’s Hummer, sporting Ray-Bans, and feeling almost bulletproof. I had a bag of Swedish Fish and two pints of Ben & Jerry’s in the back—both of the decadent chocolate family. It had been a rough few days. I wanted to be home and I wanted my fluffy comforter to swallow me up and I wanted to take Inga and my two favorite guys to bed with me.

  And yet, there I was, three cars behind Cam’s BMW. I was chasing after him like a crazed stalker. The fact is I had no good reason to follow the ex-cop, apart from the fact that I don’t like him. I don’t trust him. And I suspect he twists the heads off kittens.

  And with every skulking mile, Ben & Jerry were melting in the back.

  Maybe Captain Bob was right. I need therapy.

  Cam exited on Thirty-Second Avenue and picked up a six-pack at a corner Ma and Pa’s, He locked the beer in his car and jogged across the street to a trendy café and sat at the counter. I parked in the grocer’s parking lot and switched the cool shades for spy-eyes.

  Cam drank coffee and ate a Danish. His glance strayed to a wall clock and the door. He was waiting for someone. My spy-eyes were smooshed to my face and I didn’t see the late-model red sedan park across the street. But I felt the driver’s squinty eyes and I dropped the binoculars in my lap.

  Awkward.

  He was beefy and bald and well dressed. He opened his door and Gucci stepped onto the street. He strolled into the diner and took the stool beside Cam. He whispered something in Cam’s ear and when he cocked his head my way, I melted into my seat like my ice cream.

  Their exchange was brief. The beefsteak dropped a fat envelope on the counter and exited the diner. I hid my face in yesterday’s paper until I heard him drive away.

  Cam opened the envelope and thumbed the contents before slipping it in an inside jacket pocket. He reached for the bill, and my partner and I bailed.

  “One quick stop before we go home,” I told her.

  I dropped by the church and lit a candle for Ponytail.

  While I was there, I said a prayer for Saleen’s mama. It was a wish for forty g’s to come her way.

  ***

  By the time I got home, my neck felt sore from my big kiss with the airbag and my muscles were stiffening. I drained the melted B&J down the sink, and recycled the containers. I brewed a soothing pot of herbal tea and gave Inga a sausage. After I banished the hair dryer from the bathroom, I drew a hot, lavender bath.

  The jets made lots of bubbles and the swirling water eased the tension in my back and neck. I tried not to think about Ponytail’s pruny toes and fingers. I thought about the white van and the blue bird and wondered if my friend Felix was a little nuts. I thought about the man in the black hat and the fat envelope he slipped Cam. And mostly I wondered what happened to the gold lion with emerald eyes and a mane of canary diamonds.

  Rob said the medallion had belonged to Daniel’s grandfather whom he was named after. It had been a gift for the grandfather’s bar mitzvah and then for Danny’s. I guessed the medallion referenced the story of Daniel in the lion’s den.

  I scooted out of the tub before my toes were pruny. I nuked the leftover Chinese and shared it with Inga by the fire. When I figured Saleen had found her way home from Chinatown, I drove to The Flower Cottage on Thirty-first Street and bought a bright blue and yellow bouquet. Then I parked in front of the big yellow house and tromped to the door with my flowers.

  The doorbell played a chime. There were heavy steps and a man with thick gray hair and matching gray eyes smiled at me. It had to be Pops.

  “May I help you?”

  I shoved the flowers in Pop’s hand. “Hi. My name is Cat DeLuca and…”

  Saleen shot behind him. “It’s her! Close the door! She tried to kill me.”

  I ducked under Pop’s arm and pushed my way inside. I placed the flowers on a table and planted my bum on a soft comfy couch.

  The gray eyes smoked. “If you tried to hurt my daughter, you’d best leave. Now.”

  “I did no such thing. Someone cut my brake line. I avoided a collision and kept her safe.”

  “Is that true?”

  Saleen grumbled under her breath.

  “I apologize for my daughter. This is a stressful time for us.”

  “I shouldn’t have barged in like this. I was hoping for a moment of your time.”

  “Don’t say anything,” Saleen said. “She’s got a wire.”

  I popped up and raised my arms. Pops wandered into the kitchen and Saleen gave me a ridiculously thorough search. I giggled when she poked under my arms.

  “Enough already,” I said. “I come in peace.”

  “She’s clean,” she called, and Pop returned with three glasses of iced tea. The ice cubes made a musical clink when he walked.

  Saleen’s green eyes flashed. “Tea? Are you serious? This woman forced her way in. We could shoot her.”

  “We don’t have a gun.”

  The tea was delicious. “Is the mint from your garden?”

  “Yours is hemlock,” Saleen said.

  A frail voice called from the top of the stairs. “Saleen, is something wrong?”

  “One of those religious freaks, Mother. She has to tell us we’re going to hell.”

  “I didn’t raise my daughter to be rude. Soften your tone and offer her a cool drink. It’s warm outside.”

  I figured I’d probably never meet Pop’s wife. But she was just about the nicest woman in Bridgeport.

  “I’ll help her back to bed,” Pop said. “We can talk in
the kitchen where we won’t disturb her.”

  Pop climbed the steps to his wife. Saleen and I carried our drinks to the kitchen table and Saleen put the flowers in a vase. When Pops rejoined us, he looked weary.

  “Why are you here, Cat?”

  “I want to express my sympathy for the loss of your friend. I only met Marcus once. He was nice.”

  “Thank you. He was a good friend.”

  I paused a beat. “I know you and he were two of the three men who staged the bogus Baumgarten Jewelry heist.”

  “Get out,” Pops said.

  “You realize the statute of limitations was up a long time ago. If you play nice and help us get the guy who killed Marcus, the captain won’t charge you with dog-napping or blackmail.”

  A hollow, bitter laugh burst from Pop’s throat. “He wouldn’t dare.”

  “You’re wrong about Bob. He didn’t take the medallion. Someone else got it. You can help me figure out who.”

  “You mean like a witness or a medic. I suppose it could’ve been somebody else. But it wasn’t, was it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your captain didn’t argue when I demanded money. If he didn’t take it, he would have said so.”

  I couldn’t tell Pops the captain didn’t know they were talking about jewelry. Bob was guilty of an unconfessed transgression and it wasn’t stealing gold off a dying man. I had the dreaded feeling it was much worse.

  “Is Sam okay?” Pops said.

  “He’s fine. You took good care of him.”

  “I love that little guy. If Bob ever needs…”

  “That’s probably not going to happen.”

  “I suppose not.” He stared into his tea.

  “Saleen said you never got caught. Just lucky?”

  “I suppose my luck would’ve worn out. But I’ll be honest with you. I haven’t done a job in ages. Bad knees. I’m too old to climb through windows and outrun the cops. I got me a job driving a school bus during the week. I do a little security work nights.”

  “That’s putting the fox in the chicken house. Tell me what happened the day Danny died.”

  “Don’t say anything,” Saleen said.

  He threw her a look and she passed it on to me.

  “We went back to collect what was owed us. Clive was hot. We get there and the no-good son wasn’t around. Just the old man. We said the robbery was a con. His no-good son owed us our cut. You could see the old man wasn’t in on it. He was pissed. He couldda spit tacks. And hurt, ya know? That his son betrayed him that way.”