by Philip Depoy
‘Oh,’ he acknowledged. ‘That.’
‘The guy in the morgue?’ John Horse said.
He was standing right behind me, even though I hadn’t heard him come up.
‘You know who that is?’ I asked him, turning around.
He nodded. That’s all.
‘Are you going to tell me?’
He shook his head.
‘Why not?’ I asked.
‘Tribal matter,’ he said.
‘What?’ I stammered.
He whistled to everyone. Silence descended.
‘Let’s go,’ he told everyone softly. ‘Gather up Bear. We should be gone before the FBI men get here.’
With that the entire contingent of Seminoles, including Echu Matta and progeny, were gone.
I turned back to look at Pan Pan. ‘Tribal matter?’
TWENTY-FOUR
Pan Pan and I also managed to be gone before the FBI showed up, if they ever did. But as we were driving back to my place, my brain began to work the way it was supposed to.
‘The guy in the morgue,’ I said, eyes on the road, ‘was a Black Seminole.’
‘You said that,’ Pan Pan agreed.
‘That’s what John Horse meant when he said it was a tribal matter.’
‘Sounds right.’ Pan Pan nodded.
‘But, see, John Horse has what you’d call an expanded notion of the word tribe.’
Pan Pan looked at my profile. ‘I don’t follow.’
‘For example,’ I explained, ‘he considers the Jews a tribe. Which we kind of are.’
Pan Pan shrugged. ‘OK.’
‘And what’s a tribe, really, but an extended family, right?’
He nodded. ‘I guess.’
‘Which would make you and me,’ I said pointedly, ‘members of the same tribe.’
He didn’t have a retort to that.
We pulled into the parking lot at my apartment. I turned off the engine and sat there. Pan Pan didn’t move. He was waiting.
‘What did you think of the kid’s stories about the bear?’ I asked, staring straight ahead.
‘Spooky,’ he answered.
‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘Then let me tell you another one. What I think happened with Icepick, and why Bear thinks he killed you. It begins this way.’
Not long ago, I explained to Pan Pan, Bear Talmascy stood in the shadows in a corner of LaBracca Pizza. He had just proposed a crazy idea to equally crazy hoods. Take Seminole women from Florida to Oklahoma by census time, report the increase in the population, collect the government subsidy and then sell the women. Profits! He kept mum on the Social Security scam he also had in mind. That was his own personal gravy. The hoods were impressed. Not especially with the scheme, but with the cold-bloodedness of its progenitor. They didn’t know from Seminoles, they only knew that the Indians were like the blacks: disposable. Not a bad way to make money. So, they agreed to finance the operation, with the understanding that they would double or triple their expenditure for transport, gun support and connections for the ‘distribution’ of the women when the gig was done. Bear hooked up with Watkins, a partner in the scam, and they began rounding up the women. Only something happened. One of the Cherokee men working with Bear, or maybe with Pody Poe in Oklahoma, didn’t have a taste for the whole thing and got into it with Bear, or Poe, or some bigwig in New York. Whatever, that guy had to be taken care of, so they called on Sammy ‘Icepick’ Franks. The problem was Icepick. Even though he was a stone-cold killer, he had ethics. He did the job, iced the guy but he didn’t like it, and he wanted to make it right. After he bopped the guy, he somehow got Pan Pan Washington’s ID. He shoved it into the stiff’s pocket, snorted a couple of bags of coke and flew down the coast to Fry’s Bay. He knew that would get me involved and I’d set matters right, because that was my rep.
I concluded my little tale by turning to Pan Pan and staring a hole in his eyeballs.
‘How’d I do?’ I asked him.
He nodded. ‘Just about a hundred per cent.’
‘How’d Icepick get your ID?’
Pan Pan wouldn’t look at me. ‘He asked. He’s not a guy you tell no.’
‘He’s not,’ I agreed. ‘But there’s more to it than that.’
He nodded.
‘Are you going to tell me?’ I asked him.
‘I am,’ he said slowly, ‘but I don’t know how you’re going to take it.’
I sat back in my seat. ‘I’m pretty tired. I don’t really have the energy to beat it out of you.’
‘Like that would happen.’ He sniffed.
‘But you’re going to tell me anyway,’ I went on, looking past my apartment building at the ocean, ‘because that’s the reason you’re here. The real reason. To tell me something.’
‘Yeah.’ He let out a long, slow breath. ‘They want you back, Fog. The guys. The Organization. They want you back in Brooklyn.’
And there it was: the thunderbolt.
It took me a minute to get to my first question.
‘Why?’
‘I think maybe you got a whiff of the idea,’ he began, ‘when you visited LaBracca’s yourself. You didn’t sense a certain air of, maybe, respect?’
I thought about it. While I was thinking, he went on.
‘Some of these guys, including Eddie “Two Shoes” Hicks – they worked it with the cops. Your record is, like, erased.’
‘How do you mean?’ I still wouldn’t look at him.
‘OK, so why did you leave Brooklyn in the first place?’
‘You know why,’ I told him. ‘Corner of fifty-third and twelfth after midnight.’
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘The whole spiel.’
‘It was a 1967 Ford Mustang Fastback, red on red, with silver wheel wells,’ I said softly. ‘I mean, who parks a car like that on the street in that neighborhood? I pulled out the old rod and hook toolkit, and in no time I was sitting behind the wheel. I fired it up, I eased it into the street, I turned on the lights. Then came the yelling and the screaming and I saw, in the rearview, two people chasing me. I floored it and the Mustang flew away.’
‘But there was something in the back seat,’ he said.
I nodded slowly. ‘A kid, maybe a year old – he began bawling up a storm. Scared the hell out of me. I just jumped out of the car, left it in the middle of the street and beat it into the alley. Ended up in Prospect Park by the lake. I don’t remember much about the rest of that night.’
‘But a couple of days later, you heard the story.’
‘Yeah.’ I closed my eyes. ‘Some dame was cheating on her rich husband – with a deli clerk, no less. She left her fourteen-month-old kid in the Mustang. That was her and the clerk chasing after me. The cops found the car and the kid right away. The car was fine; the baby was asleep.’
‘That wasn’t the problem.’
Why was he making me say the whole story out loud?
‘No.’ I took in a deep breath. ‘The mother had a heart attack while she was chasing me down. She didn’t make it. And when the rich husband heard the whole story, including the deli clerk, he ditched the kid. Said it wasn’t his. Let the deli clerk take care of it.’
‘And the cops?’
‘Yeah,’ I concluded. ‘They put two and two together. Who else in that neighborhood would steal such a car but me? They stop me on my way home from Temple, and before I know it, I’m in handcuffs in the back of a squad car, headed for Grand Theft Auto, on account of the Mustang was a pricey item. The thing is, if you can pop a lock on a snazzy car, handcuffs don’t mean much, so I took them off, jimmied the back door of the squad car, and was out on the street before the cops could get through the first stoplight.’
‘And here is where you ended up. In Fry’s Bay.’
‘Yes, atoning for my sins by taking care of wayward children.’ I sighed. ‘Go ahead. Make fun.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not making fun. Not by a long shot. And neither are the guys in the Organization. That’s why I wanted you to tell y
our story. I wanted you to feel it again. I wanted you to understand that the guys in the Organization, they want you back. You’re some kind of hoodlum hero. You’re – I kid you not, Foggy. You’re good PR.’
Good PR. Funny to think of everything I’d done in Fry’s Bay as a publicity stunt.
‘Icepick wanted your ID,’ I nodded, ‘because it was a sure way to get me involved. He didn’t know that I’d already be involved because of the kids.’
‘Right.’
‘But he wanted me to be involved because of his ethics.’
‘Right.’
‘So, what’s in it for you?’ I asked Pan Pan.
His shoulders sagged a little, and I could see, out of the corner of my eye, his face turn sweet.
‘Are you kidding with that?’ He shook his head. ‘I get you back. Back with me in Brooklyn.’
‘So, it’s a win all around.’ I put my hand on the door. ‘The Organization gets good PR, Icepick feels like a hero, and you and me are you and me again.’
I climbed out of the car.
Pan Pan got out and followed me to my front door. ‘So?’ he wanted to know.
‘So … it’s a lot to think about,’ I told him.
‘What’s to think?’ he snapped. ‘Come home!’
I opened my front door. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I’ve been having a lot of conflicting feelings about just that idea lately.’
‘What idea?’
‘The idea of what’s home,’ I said, stepping into my apartment.
TWENTY-FIVE
I didn’t remember much after that. I was tired again, and the wound in my forearm was bothering me. The bullet had only grazed, but that’s not like you see in the movies. It really hurts, and it saps your energy. I patched it up, but then I passed out and didn’t get back up until the next day, mid-morning. I’d slept in my suit. It was a mess. I tossed it into my dry-cleaning bag and stumbled into the shower.
And all the time in the shower, something was bugging me. Something about Bear. Couldn’t quite get it clear. It was just outside the edge of my mind.
Robe and slippers, into the living room: Pan Pan was gone. I was alone in the apartment. Five eggs and half a loaf of toast later, I got into the light blue seersucker, the two-tone wingtips, and headed for the police station.
The station was overrun with strangers: FBI guys, I figured. Agent Rothschild was sitting at his old Brady desk. There was more noise and more activity in the room than I had ever seen. And not a local in the bunch.
Rothschild looked up. He hadn’t slept, and his clothes looked like the inside of a dumpster.
‘Where have you been?’ he asked me.
‘Unconscious. And what do you care?’
‘I have questions.’
‘What makes you think I have answers?’ I stared.
‘Then what are you doing here?’ he pressed.
‘Yeah.’ I looked around the familiar station house filled with unfamiliar faces. ‘What am I doing here?’
‘Well,’ he sighed, ‘the whole thing is pretty much settled. Bear Talmascy cooked up a scheme to make money off his own people, his own family, as I understand it. He got financial backing from some guys in New York. And I have a feeling you know the guys, because why else would this body of your friend turn up in the bay here in Podunk-Ville?’
‘You haven’t figured that out yet?’
‘Not my gig,’ he answered. ‘I’m here for the group kidnapping thing. Still, I am curious.’
‘As I understand it, curiosity can only do you harm,’ I told him. ‘But unfortunately, I also have questions.’
‘About?’
‘Bear Talmascy is a lot of things, but smart enough to figure all this out? That’s not one of them.’
‘You think someone else came up with the kidnapping/census/Social Security scheme?’ He nodded. ‘I’m afraid I agree. Certain people are talking about the guy. He thought that he was somehow going to get back together with his wife and kids. He’s half-crazy.’
‘You could say that.’
‘Yeah.’ He gave me the eye. ‘Any idea where he is?’
‘Part of it was the drugs,’ I said, ignoring his question. ‘He had a bad coke habit. But part of his crazy was that he thought he was a supernatural creature, which was reinforced by the fact that a lot of people in his family thought that too. But when I woke up this morning, I had a nagging feeling about Bear.’
He squinted. ‘Yeah. Me too. Wonder if it’s the same feeling.’
I shook my head. ‘I’m still adjusting to you being a good guy – and a Jew – instead of the khnyok you used to be.’
‘FBI training. Most people find it easier to play opposite of type, they say. Plus, it’s supposed to throw off suspicion.’
‘It certainly got you in with Watkins.’
‘That worthless piece of trash,’ he mumbled.
‘Where is he now?’
‘Oh, we got him,’ Rothschild said. ‘Since he’s a party to a federal crime, he and his bunch are on their way to Tallahassee. State Capital. Wait for trial there.’
‘And it’s your opinion,’ I guessed, ‘that he wasn’t the mastermind behind all this either.’
‘He couldn’t mastermind his own lunch order.’
‘Agreed. So, who?’
He stood up suddenly. ‘You want to go talk to Bear?’
‘What?’ I stared. ‘You got him?’
‘Found him near that dockside diner,’ he told me. ‘People said he set it on fire. He was shot up real good. Talking out of his head.’
I couldn’t figure why John Horse had done that – left Bear in town. But he had.
‘Where is he?’ I managed to ask. ‘Where’s Bear?’
‘He’s chained to a bed over at the hospital.’
Rothschild headed for the door. I followed.
The hospital was busier than usual. Maggie Redhawk rolled her eyes when she saw us coming and motored our way.
‘Somebody has to come in here and deal with that blister of a human being!’ she told us before she got to us.
‘Meaning Bear,’ I assumed.
‘If he’s not crying he’s singing,’ she went on. ‘At the top of his lungs! And chanting about – he scared away two candy-stripers. He told them to open the window because he was about to turn into an owl and fly away!’
‘So, you’re not among the faithful,’ I interrupted, ‘who believe that he can do that.’
‘Not in the middle of the day!’ Maggie snapped back. ‘Has to be moonlight.’
‘Give him a sedative,’ Rothschild suggested.
‘We did,’ she growled. ‘Twice the legal limit. And he’s still singing and crying.’
I nodded and headed for the room. ‘We’ll see what we can do.’
Rothschild followed.
When I got to the door, Bear tried to sit up. His left hand was handcuffed to the bedpost and his right arm was immobilized by a cast. His face was bruised and swollen. His head was bandaged.
‘Foggy?’ he mumbled. ‘Is that you?’
‘Mr Talmascy,’ Rothschild began.
‘I don’t want to talk to you!’ Bear roared. ‘You lied to me! You’re not a crooked cop at all. You’re an FBI!’
‘Bear,’ I said.
‘You gotta help me, Foggy,’ he told me, still trying to sit up. ‘You gotta tell my wife and kids: I just wanted to get them back. That’s all I was trying to do.’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ I said. ‘You were trying to make money.’
‘To get back my wife and kids!’
‘Topalargee told me two stories about the bear who didn’t deserve to get his family back. It wasn’t ever going to happen.’
‘The bear who let the skunk in the house,’ Bear said.
‘How long did you live in Oklahoma after you left Florida?’ I interrupted.
Bear relaxed. His head hit the pillow. ‘Five years, I guess.’
‘And in those five years you came to work for Pody Poe.’
; ‘Yeah.’
‘How long you work for him?’
‘Three.’
‘And you talked a lot about your family back in Florida.’ I shot a look to Rothschild. ‘And then one day, he started talking to you about this scheme with the women here in Florida.’
‘Not Poe,’ Bear said sleepily. ‘The other guy.’
He squeezed his eyes shut. It looked to me like the tranquilizers were finally beginning to take hold of him.
‘What other guy?’ I asked. ‘Someone from New York?’
‘There were guys from New York there, sure,’ he mumbled, eyes closed. ‘You know that one: Icepick.’
‘Icepick was there when you were talking about taking women from Florida for the Oklahoma census?’ Rothschild jumped in.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘But it wasn’t Icepick’s idea,’ I said.
‘No, I said: the other guy.’ Bear was almost asleep.
‘Some other guy from New York?’
‘The old man. The rich one. From Okla—’
And that was all we were going to get from the guy. He was out. Too bad. I still had questions about Icepick.
Rothschild stared down at the poor unconscious sap.
‘Somebody from Oklahoma came up with the thing?’ he finally asked.
I weighed my suspicions, thought about it twice and then let out a sigh.
‘I should have known,’ was all I said.
And then I headed for the door.
I was out on the sidewalk and headed back to my apartment before Rothschild caught up with me.
‘Where are we going?’ he wanted to know.
‘I’m going back to my apartment,’ I told him. ‘I don’t know where you’re going.’
‘You’re done for the day?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ I picked up my pace. ‘I walked to the police station this morning; I’m going to get my car.’
‘This afternoon,’ he corrected. ‘It’s afternoon already.’
‘OK, but I still need my car for where I’m going.’
‘Bear said something that … What did you mean when you said, “I should have known”?’