Twice As Dead: A Lukas Boston Mystery

by G. M. Hague

  The dogs left, giving him warning looks as they passed. She closed the door after them. Lukas almost thanked her and stopped himself in time, his dignity shaken but not completely in tatters.

  ‘Scotch?’ she asked, going to a cupboard.

  ‘Sure, I guess,’ Lukas said. One of his flaws, he was useless at refusing a free drink.

  Julie poured two hefty slugs in some tumblers, then stood very close to Lukas as she handed one to him. She said quietly, ‘Here’s the deal. You find out everything you can on your own and if nothing new comes up, I’ll think about revealing some of our inside information as a last resort, agreed?’

  Something else was treacherously coming up for Lukas. Those amazing breasts were almost touching his chest. He said weakly, ‘We can try that, I suppose.’

  ‘Should we shake on it?’

  ‘If you like.’

  Julie grabbed a handful of Lukas’ crotch and gave it a long squeeze. ‘I like a firm handshake,’ she said breathily.

  ‘You can tell a lot about a person from their... ah, handshake,’ Lukas nodded.

  ‘Just a few more details to go through, okay?’

  ‘Right, of course... what sort of details?’

  Letting go of him and moving back, Julie took off her top to reveal a lace, black brassiere with serious responsibilities. ‘It’s all in the fine print.’

  ‘Fine print – yes, they are very fine... ah, prints. Look, Julie this may not be the best idea here,’ Lukas tried, hardly believing what he was saying. A small voice of reason, rapidly drowning in a sea of natural impulses, was trying to tell Lukas that sex with a notorious mob boss’s daughter – okay, a dead mob boss, but that was being pedantic – wasn’t a smart move.

  ‘Is this a better idea?’ Julie said, taking off the bra. Lukas couldn’t help noting how it sort of sprang away from her body as two of the most beautiful things he’d seen in his life, or at least during the last twenty four hours, were set free.

  ‘It’s got merit,’ he said, needing to clear his throat. ‘Still, it occurs to me that any kind of business relationship needs to stay on a professional level and–’

  She stopped him, holding up a finger to her lips. Lukas used the moment to gulp down most of the scotch and nearly choked.

  ‘Let’s try this, then,’ Julie said, unzipping her jeans.

  Lukas could only stare as she bent over, peeling the tight denim off her shapely legs. Only the smallest pair of panties was left. She stood in front of him calmly, letting him look.

  ‘Good idea now?’ she said.

  ‘It might work, now that I see what you’re offering – well, mostly,’ Lukas croaked.

  ‘You’re right, I’m not making myself entirely clear,’ Julie said, slipping off the panties and tossing them into a corner. Then she turned around, leaned over onto the bed and waggled her very shapely bottom at Lukas.

  Julie said over her shoulder, ‘I always prefer slapping deals together quickly, don’t you? Mind you, don’t sign off on our agreement too quickly or I’ll have the boys smash both your knee-caps and throw you in the harbour. Do we understand each other?’

  Lukas said nervously, undoing his pants. ‘I’ll try not to rush anything. It’s too cold to go swimming without any knee-caps.’

  *****

  Max and his two cohorts dropped Lukas off in front of his apartment. They had given him back his shirt, jacket and surprisingly even his gun. The whole trip was done in silence and Lukas wondered if they all knew, and maybe resented, what had happened in Julie’s flat. He got out of the car without saying a word and as he walked away the passenger side window dropped down.

  ‘Are you going to invite us in for a fucking beer or not?’ Max’s unpleasant face asked.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘It’d be the right thing to do, don’t you reckon?’

  ‘No, I don’t!’

  ‘Greedy prick.’ The window closed and the car pulled away.

  Lukas felt bone-tired and half collapsed in the elevator, before tramping along the outer balcony to his door. Halfway there a sing-song voice was impossible to ignore.

  ‘Mr Boston, do you have a minute?’

  Groaning inside, plastering a smile on his face, Lukas turned to the open door. ‘Hello, Irene. What can I do for you?’

  She bustled out, her bulk trapping him in the narrow space. ‘Well, I’m not one to complain as you know, but someone has raised an issue with me I simply must discuss with you, if I’m to take my responsibilities as Owners Standards Committee chairperson seriously.’

  ‘Of course, Irene,’ Lukas sighed. It didn’t matter, Irene was immune to sighs.

  ‘Somebody has mentioned that one of your... late night guests drove away with a great deal of noise last night.’

  ‘Really? What sort of noise?’ She wasn’t screaming her name by any chance?

  ‘A lot of engine revving and squealing tyres, Mr Boston. Anybody would think our quiet little street had been turned into a speedway circuit.’

  ‘Hmm... but how do you know it was someone from my place?’

  ‘No one else has guests leaving in the middle of the night, Mr Boston.’ She eyed him up and down disapprovingly. ‘We are all beyond that sort of tomfoolery now.’

  Fighting an urge to loudly explain it was sex, not tomfoolery, Lukas said, ‘I’ll ask my guests to be more considerate, Irene.’ He risked leaning closer and whispered, ‘I think it was some kind of emergency. She’s a doctor. Lots of rushing around and saving people’s lives.’

  ‘Then perhaps she should be sleeping at home, not in some strange man’s apartment?’

  Lukas gave up. ‘I’m sorry, I really have to get inside. Things to do, I’m sure you understand?’ I’ve been abducted, tortured and seduced by a girl who weighs less than your left leg. I need a shower.

  ‘Of course I understand, Mr Boston, and I hope my message is delivered, too?’ Irene moved back smiling, letting him pass.

  ‘Crystal clear, Irene,’ Lukas said, pressing past her. It was like forcing a way around a half-inflated weather balloon.

  At his door Lukas squinted to find the right key. He was just so dog-tired his eyes wouldn’t focus. As he shoved the key in someone knocked once on the door.

  That was confusing. A single knock. People normally knocked on the outside asking to get in. Lukas was already there and plainly nobody was knocking on anything. Okay, so perhaps someone was inside, knocking to get out?

  A silly idea. This detective shit was hard, when you’re absolutely knackered.

  Then Lukas saw the fresh hole in the woodwork. It might have been from termites, but it would have to be a rare type of 7.62mm high velocity termite.

  ‘Oh shit,’ Lukas said, dropping down behind the balcony wall.

  ‘Mr Boston, are you all right?’ Irene chirped from her doorway. She was glaring at him with ill-concealed disgust. No doubt, she equated falling to the ground for no apparent good reason as a result of poor hygiene and sleeping with thin women.

  ‘I’m fine! Please don’t bother yourself,’ Lukas waved at her to stay there. Fleetingly, he considered that Irene wouldn’t be the worst collateral damage, if she came closer and accidentally copped the sniper’s next bullet. But it would complicate all kinds of paperwork. His best move had to be getting inside the apartment unscathed.

  He reached up and twisted the key, pushing the door open. Lukas scuttled through like a crab and slammed it closed. A neat beam of sunlight pierced the gloom. The bullet had gone through the woodwork.

  ‘I always wanted a spy-hole,’ Lukas muttered.

  Things were going to get very difficult, if this sniper ever learned to shoot straight.

  The bedroom blinds were still closed from that morning. Lukas went around and pulled all the other drapes and flicked on lights. He wasn’t too concerned. Again, the lack of hearing any shot confirmed the sniper was using a silencer and that still meant professional resources. The pro’s didn’t pot random slugs through curtains. As lon
g as he didn’t present an easy target he should be safe.

  ‘But who the fuck are you?’ he asked a bottle of Jameson, pouring a stiff slug.

  ‘Why don’t you ask the right questions?’ someone said from in the room.

  Lukas whirled around spraying the whisky in an arc.

  The ghost of Charles “Chuckles” Monroe was sitting in Lukas’ favourite armchair and staring at him expectantly.

  ‘Oh, this just gets better,’ Lukas snapped. ‘What the hell are you doing here? Look what you’ve done! For Christ’s sake, this shit costs nearly fifty bucks a bottle—’ Then he remembered what had occurred a few hours earlier and panicked that Chuckles, in his current spiritual state, had somehow witnessed Lukas’ naked athletics with Julie –with his daughter being the vaulting horse. ‘Have you been... ah, waiting here all the time?’

  ‘Negotiations are on-going,’ Chuckles told him. And disappeared.

  ‘Great, you’re a ghostly cliche of yourself,’ Lukas said, inspecting the chair for God-knows-what. An indentation? What was that sticky crap that spirits were supposed to leave behind... plasma? Or is that the television stuff?

  There wasn’t a trace of any ghost. No dent, no warm spot, nothing glowed or came up as an app on his phone.

  Lukas went back to the Jameson bottle.

  He perched on the two-seater sofa, turned on the TV and ignored the chatter of commercials and talk-show hosts while he sipped the scotch. Lukas thought things through better with background noise blocking out the rest of the world.

  Chuckle’s ghost had only mimicked a well-known Charles Monroe quotation. It had been Chuckle’s euphemistic thing for saying someone was getting the crap beaten out of them or even being killed. Monroe’s version of sleeping with the fishes or make him an offer he can’t refuse. Some underworld, gangland shit that frankly had gotten a little tired. Negotiations are on-going. Yeah... whatever. It was silly. Unless, obviously, you were the person being negotiated to the bottom of the ocean with an engine block tied to your ankles.

  All Lukas cared about was that Chuckle’s ghost hadn’t been talking directly to him. The voice could have simply been another echo from the past. Still, it was pointless to continue denying everything was connected. Hucknall’s ghostly appearances had followed his real resurrection, stepping out of the shadows after being thought dead for five years. He really was dead now, although only Lukas seemed to know that – apart from Hucknall’s killer, assuming he had been murdered... Now bloody Chuckles was dropping by for a chat. It was all Lukas needed.

  Things were difficult enough.

  ‘Damn it,’ Lukas muttered, suddenly remembering Barbara’s missing cat. He stared at his phone, thought about calling her. ‘Nope,’ he decided, tossing the phone aside. Lukas could imagine trying to explain why Birdy Curran had answered his phone when Barbara called. I was a bit tied up. Damned clown. Still, it was pretty funny. Now.

  Back to brain-storming.

  Hucknall’s brief return had stirred up a five year old pot of trouble and somebody believed that Lukas could make sense of it. So much sense that it was worth shooting him to prevent an outcome that wasn’t possible during the original investigation. What the hell could he discover now that wasn’t to be found five years ago, when a dozen detectives were looking under every drug dealer’s bed in town? It was also worth asking, why did someone even think Lukas was going to discover it? He wasn’t even a policeman anymore, let alone still on the case.

  Lukas stared at his glass of whiskey, glanced at the bottle and thought about working his way to the bottom of it, then resigned himself to the fact that if he wanted to talk to Hucknall’s sister, there was no better time than now. At night.

  After a long shower and a strong coffee Lukas felt half-ready to face the outside world again. He stepped out the front door from sheer habit, checking it was locked behind him, before he remembered the sniper. He froze, believing this would be his last, fatal mistake.

  Nothing happened.

  ‘Lucky bastard’s at home with his feet up and drinking a cold beer,’ Lukas said enviously.

  *****

  Lukas found Shannon Hucknall leaning against the wall in an alley beside the Black Cat nightclub. Music thudded through the wall. The alley stank of urine, vomit and rotting rubbish. It was also slick with water, because somebody had washed out a trash bin somewhere. The neon lights from the nearby street flickered off the puddles.

  Despite the cold Shannon wore a revealing singlet. However, her skirt was longer than most girls in her trade wore. One shapely leg propped her up.

  ‘Business okay, Shannon?’ Lukas asked, offering a cigarette.

  She looked at him as if they’d last seen each other only the day before, although it had been five years. Shannon took a cigarette, saying, ‘A bit early for cripples. They need a gut full of piss, before they find some courage.’

  ‘But you’re doing all right?’

  ‘Some bastard ran his wheelchair over my toes last night. Hurt like hell. They’re the only ones I got.’

  ‘You should wear boots – well, one boot anyway.’

  Shannon was a one-legged hooker who specialised in servicing clients who likewise weren’t entirely in one piece, one way or another. Most of the local prostitutes weren’t picky about their customers, but with her own amputation Shannon had a niche market. Lukas was surprised she still plied her trade in places like this. He knew she had a good list of regulars.

  ‘Give me a break, Lukas,’ she said. ‘Pay three hundred bucks for a pair of boots and I only get to wear one?’

  ‘Can’t you find a friend who’s got a right leg? And... ah, the same size foot?’ Lukas added lamely.

  She sighed. ‘Are you paying, pretending or just pissing about? A cigarette doesn’t get you nothing, you know – but hey, look at this,’ she said with sudden enthusiasm. Shannon took out a mobile phone and showed him a screen. ‘I can take credit cards right here. Modern technology, isn’t it fucking awesome?’

  Lukas peered at the phone. ‘Even American Express?’

  Shannon frowned. ‘Yeah, I know — the thieving bastards take three percent.’

  ‘You need to change banks.’

  She nodded seriously at the phone, agreeing. ‘So are you up for something? I’ll give you a discount to make up for the Amex fee. Can’t believe you’re coming to me though, a nice-looking bloke like yourself.’ She peered at him a closely. ‘You haven’t got anything... wrong with you? I don’t do communicable diseases, you know. Just cripples and chronic conditions.’

  ‘I’m fine, Shannon,’ Lukas said quickly. ‘I’m after something else. Seen your brother lately?’

  Lukas watched her defenses go up as Shannon put the phone away. She said warily, ‘That’s why you’ve come out of the woodwork? I suppose you already know, since you’ve come here asking questions?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Lukas lied, thinking that he wouldn’t go to hell for not being completely honest with a one-legged prostitute.

  ‘What do you want with Gavin?’

  ‘Not much, don’t worry. I’m more interested in anything he might have told you.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like, where he’s been for the last five years for a start.’

  She shook her head. ‘He only wanted to see I was doing okay. I didn’t pry, it’s none of my business. We had a few beers and talked over old times, and that was it. Funny seeing him with no hair though.’

  Lukas remembered Grace Chadwick had mentioned this. It felt somehow significant, but he couldn’t think why.

  ‘Okay, when did you see him?’

  ‘Only last week.’

  The same time-frame. Lukas wasn’t learning anything new.

  ‘He didn’t say anything that might give us a clue where he’s been hiding?’

  ‘Nope, I told you.’

  A group of youths walked across the alley entrance seeing Lukas and Shannon as they passed. One of them yelled out, ‘Buying a dose of the pox,
mate? Your mother’s going to be so disappointed.’

  ‘Don’t worry, he’s a regular,’ Shannon said, before Lukas could react. ‘He just says shit like that so his friends don’t know.’

  ‘What sort of condition has he got?’ Lukas scowled after them, tempted to shove his fist down the guy’s throat.

  ‘He’s a chronic fucking idiot.’

  ‘Okay, I guess that’s not contagious, so he qualifies.’ Lukas took fifty dollars out of his wallet. ‘Look, thanks for talking to me. I appreciate it.’ He wasn’t just being charitable. Fifty dollars wasn’t much, and it bought him a friendly set of eyes and ears on the street. That could be invaluable.

  Shannon looked at the money without taking it. She said, ‘I’ve got a better idea.’

  ‘Really, I’m fine in that department. I took a very nice girl home just the other–’

  She cut him off. ‘I need a favour instead of money. Nothing much, but you’re the perfect guy.’

  Lukas was struck by the sudden vulnerability in Shannon’s face. She was normally hard and uncompromising, accepting no pity.

  ‘Sure, if I can,’ Lukas shrugged.

  ‘My landlord’s a little prick. He won’t fix the elevator in our block, because he wants to get rid of me. Reckons forcing me and my clients to use the stairs will drive me out. It’s killing my business... and it’s killing me,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘Four floors in a shitty stairwell on crutches is hell.’ It explained why she was back on the street.

  ‘You want me to talk to him?’

  ‘I’d really appreciate it, Lukas. I’ll owe you heaps. Maybe Gavin coming back was an omen bringing you here? I don’t know anyone else who hasn’t got brittle bones, or is too short of breath – or has enough legs to kick the bastard properly.’

  ‘Consider it done,’ Lukas said, a small catch in his throat. The world had been cruel enough to people like Shannon.

  ‘He’s always home. Never leaves. He’s one of those computer geeks who plays games and shit all day and night. Ground floor flat, number one.’

  ‘Tomorrow, it’s a promise.’

  A rattling sound came from the head of the alley. Lukas saw the silhouette of a figure in a wheelchair. It stopped, uncertain. Lukas gave a half-wave that was meant to convey he was leaving.