The Case

by Leopold Borstinski

  Then to the bedroom where there was a bed, of course, but also a wardrobe and a wooden chest of drawers, as well as a bedside cabinet with a snazzy Formica top. I opened every door and drawer and all I found were some women’s underwear and a couple of hangars. The bird had flown the coop, but I needed to figure out where the avian had gone.

  I slumped down in one of the easy chairs for a moment’s contemplation because unless I came up with something all bets would be off and there’d be a seriously displeased Don to deal with.

  Leaning forward, I covered my eyes with my hands, elbows resting on my lap. What to do? What to do?

  And then it struck me. Or rather, then it poked me in the thigh. Down the side of the chair, between the arm rest and the cushion, were a couple of pieces of paper, which had fallen between the cracks on some previous occasion. Both were information leaflets: one for the Wisconsin State Fair and the other for the Disneyland Resort. Neither were exactly a short walk away and they were in quite different directions. So I needed to figure out which one was Valdez’s destination.

  I yanked off the cushions from both chairs just in case there were other hidden gems to be found, but all I got was a large quantity of crumbs and balls of hair. Sleuthing is such a glamorous life, I don’t know why I ever stopped.

  AFTER I LEFT the apartment, I tried to close the door as best I could but the shards of wood on the floor prevented a real tight fit. Instead, I hammered on a couple of neighboring doors, but no-one was home or answering.

  I figured the best thing to do would be to check into a hotel and then come back to this block and do some old-fashioned house-to-house. Also, I reckoned I’d need to splash some cash to get some of these critters to spill, so I made a mental note to go to an ATM before I returned.

  Half a dozen blocks away was a Holiday Inn, which I’d spotted on the way in from the airport, so I walked over and paid for a room’s bed and breakfast. Then I grabbed a cab back to the airport to pick up my bag from a locker there and returned to the hotel. By the time I got back, it was near six and I had a hunger on me.

  Unpacked, I went down to the restaurant and ordered a chicken salad and fries, with a side of onion rings. And a cup of coffee. Munching through the pile of food brought in front of me, I pondered how Valdez had heard I was coming and why he had decided to go to one of two tourist destinations to hide.

  Someone must have told him the Don had sent out the goon squad, which meant there was an inside man - or woman. As for the tourist destination? Well, a great way to not be seen is to hide in plain sight among thousands of other people: makes you hard to spot.

  But he could have just gone downtown and hid in a casino. No windows, no clocks. A man could spend a week or a month in one of those caves and never be noticed by another human soul, even one you’ve sat next to for twelve straight hours with a poker hand in your mitts.

  There was more to the location than just fleeing and hiding. I reckoned there was a purpose to the place too, but I couldn’t think what that purpose could be. And did Valdez have a clue as to what was in the parcel? If he did, he might just be trying to sell it on to a third party before the Don’s tentacles reached him, in which case what better place for a transaction than surrounded by a bunch of tourists not giving no never mind.

  With no substantive conclusions drawn, but a whole load more thoughts whirling around my brain, I headed back to the apartment block because it was eight o’clock and anyone at home would be back by now.

  The elevator was still out of action and the same acrid scent permeated the lobby. The good news was the lights on the stairwell still worked and there was no-one shooting up on them. Must have been a public vacation in heroin city.

  I STARTED WITH 4D and 4H as they were right next to Valdez but neither answered - and I couldn’t hear any noise coming out of them so they were likely out. As luck would have it, I got a response from 4E opposite. A tired looking woman with a cigarette hanging out the corner of her mouth slouched against the door post as we talked. I’d flashed my PI badge and told her Valdez had come into some money. An old story that works with most people, because it feeds to their greed and desire for easy cash.

  Her eyes lit up slightly when I mentioned a lottery win and she asked if I’d be able to help her out remembering information about Valdez. She wasn’t that green.

  I smiled and said I’d be happy to help her make a donation to her favorite charity if she was able to help me get his winnings to Valdez. Now it was her turn to smile slightly, because she knew I had no lottery winnings to offer Valdez either.

  She was wearing house casual clothes: a pair of shorts and a loose-fitting tee shirt. I could see the curves of her breasts popping out the top of the low-hung neckline and could most definitely see her nipples poking through the material of the tee shirt. Vanessa watched me eyeing her up and reminded me that the information was inside her head, not her tits. I blushed and proceeded to keep my mind on the job at hand.

  I pulled out a Jackson and asked her when she’d last seen Valdez.

  “Baby, I ain’t seen him in a week.”

  “A week? Do you have any idea when he actually split this place?”

  “Nah, but it must have been the Monday or Tuesday, ’cause I saw’s him on the Sunday when I got back from church.”

  “You don’t say, Vanessa.”

  “Yes ‘n’ I do.

  “And did he say where he was planning to go? Or mention anything like that?”

  “No sir. I don’t think so. We talked a while and he asked about my girl,” at which point Vanessa opened the door to show me the inside of her apartment and there on the far side of the living area was a cot with a child in it, “and that was about all. Didn’t mention no traveling that I recall.”

  Her eyes were focused on the Jackson which I was holding, folded longwise, between my first and second fingers.

  “But it is so hard to remember details from a week or so ago, wouldn’t you say?”

  She was hustling me but she was my best witness, for the moment, so I put the twenty dollar bill between her breasts. We both knew what kind of church-going girl she was.

  “Well, now that I think about it,” and Vanessa took the bill out from her tee shirt and popped it into her shorts pocket, “Dakila did say something about a vacation.”

  “And what did he say?” I took out another Jackson from the roll in my pocket. This was going to be a long and expensive conversation.

  “Give me a moment to reflect, darling.”

  “Sure thing, babe.”

  I placed the second note in between those round breasts and her eyes lit up a bit more.

  “I got it! He said he was thinking of heading north to the Great Lakes.”

  “The Great Lakes, are you sure?”

  “Yeah, he said something about the cheese state, but I didn’t pay no never mind to that dairy talk.”

  “Wisconsin?”

  “Yeah, that was it, babe.”

  “Vanessa, you have been a very helpful young lady.”

  “Babe, you’re only as young as you feel and you can come inside and feel this young lady’s body if you’d like.”

  There was something about that black woman’s manner from the first moment she opened the door that made me think she might have been a hooker. And I wasn’t wrong.

  Despite myself, I nodded and went into her apartment. I hadn’t had any black ass in my life and I hadn’t had a woman for more years than I could remember. Why the fuck not, I thought.

  An hour and a further fifty bucks later, I was back in my Holiday inn room with a smile on my face. I was going to take a trip to Wisconsin; Disneyland was not for me.

  15

  AFTER A GOOD night’s sleep, I was ready for Wisconsin and I grabbed a taxi to the airport. When we got there, I went straight to the sales desk and asked for the first flight to Mitchell Airport. Trouble was there was no direct route and I decided to go to Chicago and drive from there. Even so, I had a three hour wait befo
re takeoff.

  I went to a bar, sat down in a booth and ordered a beer. Just the one - to kill the boredom and no more. I stared at the napkin, which the waitress had put down on the table in anticipation of the impending arrival of the Budweiser. And saw nothing but the paper serviette that the napkin was made of, because my thoughts extended no further than that.

  My plan when I arrived in Milwaukee was to head to the fair and make it up from there. It wasn’t the greatest scheme of all time, but it was literally all I had. With no photo, I’d need some way to find the Valdez needle in the tens of thousands of people haystack.

  I carried on staring at the napkin until the round beer bottle appeared and took up most of the space on the square napkin. I stared at the bottle instead, hoping some better idea would pop into my head because the current one was pretty rubbish.

  Briefly, I looked up as much to give my neck a rest and give myself a different distance to focus on as anything else. On the far side of the bar, in a booth by himself, was a face I thought I recognized. There were more wrinkles than when we’d first met, but I was sure it was the same man. I tried to catch his eye, but he too was staring into a napkin. Must be a bored traveler thing.

  I took a chance and, carrying my drink in my hand wrapped in its napkin, I walked over to get a better look and see if I was right. I was.

  Mumford only spotted me when I was right by his side, catching me in his peripheral vision.

  “Colonel Mumford, I presume,” I said and smiled.

  “Major-General nowadays. Hi Jake.” Mumford returned my smile, briefly, but the sadness I’d left him in all those years ago had not departed his shores.

  We shook hands and he invited me to sit down. I dropped my beer onto his table and went back for my bag. When I returned, he looked up at me as though he was pleased to see me - more than he looked a couple of minutes ago when I first appeared back in his life.

  “Long time no see.”

  “Yeah, how’re you keepin’?” I replied.

  “Fine, just fine.”

  “Yeah? Still in the same game?”

  “Retired. Retired quite a while ago.”

  “Oh, me too. Are you visiting family or friends? Or have you been playing the tables out here?” He smiled, because we both knew he was not a gambler. He had spent way too many years working in such a high risk environment, where he’d want to twist the odds in his favor, that there’s no way he’d let himself submit to the will of the randomness of the roulette wheel or to the turn of a card.

  “No, not the tables. What are you up to nowadays?”

  “Me?” Now it was my turn to smile.

  “I’m retired like I said, but I still dabble here and there and I have a golf handicap I’m trying to get in check.”

  “Really. Golf? You?”

  “And why not? It’s a pleasant walk in the park following a ball that’s too small to see from far away. It’s a great game.”

  “Can’t see the fuss myself.”

  “Me neither. I played once and it did nothing for me whatsoever.”

  “So no golf then?”

  “Nah, I was just messing with you. Yes, I’m retired but I don’t get up to much anymore.”

  “So what’ve you been doing in Atlantic City’s airport. Have you been playing the tables, then?”

  “Oh no. That’s a mug’s game. The house always wins. Once you understand that, there’s no point playing as far as I’m concerned.”

  “You got any family out here?”

  “No, no family. Never married, never divorced.”

  “Married once, divorced once. About a year after Sophia ...”

  His voice trailed off and I nodded because I completely understood and didn’t feel the need to force Mumford to open that painful wound up just so we could make small talk.

  “Let me save you further obfuscation, Jake.”

  I scrunched up my face because I had precisely zero idea what he had just said to me.

  “The Don sent me.”

  “Ah! Got it.”

  Made sense. The chance meeting had to be more than a coincidence and, if that was the case, then the only mutual connection we had was Lambretti.

  “He contacted me after he spoke with you and suggested that two heads would be better than one.”

  “Understood. And how the hell did you find me?”

  “I had the same address as you and I waited until you showed up and followed you. Followed you to Vanessa’s last night and then from the hotel today.”

  I blushed at the mention of Vanessa, but Mumford had the decency not to labor it or mention the incident again. What a gentleman.

  WE GRABBED OUR flight to O’Hare and settled in for a long journey: just short of three hours stuck in the plane and another two hours in a car, depending on traffic. We wouldn’t get there before dusk if we were lucky, but we talked and laughed and tried not to remember the image of his daughter spewing with blood in that Boston warehouse.

  The plane landed and we went straight to the car rental and chose a mid-sized saloon, so at least we’d have some space between us on the haul up to Wisconsin.

  I drove because Mumford’s British driving license might have aroused suspicion and, if not, then it might have been something noteworthy to be remembered if anyone was trying to follow our trail. I hadn’t thought about it, but Mumford was concerned about it and vocalized that thought. Me? I just wanted the case and to go home, so he got no argument from me.

  The car journey was as uneventful as you can imagine. We stopped once, not because of the length of the journey, but because Mumford wanted the rest room and I wanted a coffee. Apart from that it was plain sailing all the way.

  The only downside was the journey took ages and, by the time we reached West Allis, the fair was over and our chances of finding Valdez that night were slim to zilch. So instead, we found the nearest motel a couple of blocks away to rest our heads overnight.

  We checked into separate but adjacent rooms and headed there straight away. Adjacent? Even though the fare was on, this particular flea pit was none too busy so we were able to get next to each other. Not that it mattered though, but I thought I’d ask, anyway. It was like old times at the Hilton. Kinda.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, we spoke with the day receptionist, who also happened to be the owner and manager of the joint. Hugh kept himself upright on the reception desk by leaning both hands heavily with straight arms. Either he suffered from a leg disorder or he was still hammered from the night before. Or both. When we checked out, I found he had polio. Bad break.

  I asked him about any Philippine visitors he might have had the last few days and Hugh told me he couldn’t remember there being any, and he would know because he checked everyone into the Allis Motel.

  “Sure you do - apart from the people who arrive late at night like my friend and I did.”

  He was silent for a spell and swallowed hard, his cheeks reddening.

  “Yes’m. Apart from the late arrivals.”

  “And have there been any of them in the last week? I enquired calmly and without any need for the sarcasm that was welling within me.

  “Um... Just the one.”

  “Who was that?” I asked quietly, not wishing to make a big deal out of it.

  “Well, state law prevents me from sharing that information with you, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sure we can come to some arrangement ...” and I showed him yet another Jackson. Before I’d retired, I was finding that ten dollars doesn’t buy you shit, so I’d upped the allowance to tremendously positive effect.

  Hugh took the note from my hand and shoved it into his pants pocket. Then he rotated the guestbook one hundred and eighty so I could read it easily and tapped on one entry three times. Dakila Valdez, room three. He hadn’t even tried to use a false name.

  We were in rooms four and five, which meant he had been sleeping no more than a couple of feet away from us all last night.

  RUNNING BACK TO our rooms, I saw M
umford just leaving his hovel. I clicked my fingers at him to get his attention and then held my finger to my mouth to keep him quiet.

  I pointed at room three and we both hugged the wall in case Valdez looked out just when we wanted to burst in. Mumford was nearest to the door, so he mimed a countdown with his fingers. Three, two, one.

  He put his shoulder against the door and it swung open with little effort. Mumford pounced into the room and I followed. By the time I’d entered the bedroom area, Mumford was already in the bathroom. He walked out shaking his head.

  “Nothing. No-one.”

  “Do you think he’s flown the coop?” I asked, turning my head one way then the other to try to get some kind of scope on the room.

  The wardrobe door was closed so I looked inside. A couple of shirts and a pair of pants were hanging up.

  “Unlikely,” replied Mumford, looking at the clothes too, “unless he is in the habit of leaving his clothes across several states.”

  I nodded this would constitute quite strange behavior and proceeded to the inevitable desk and chair. There was a single drawer but it had nothing but envelopes and writing paper in it. Mumford checked the bedside table and the only thing inside was the predictable Gideon’s. No hotel room should be without one.

  “Reckon we’ve missed him.” I intoned.

  “For now,” added Mumford, who was proving himself to be a man of few words when he was working. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, just he was a lot more fun to be around when we were hanging out at airports and in planes.

  The good news was that we’d tracked down Valdez and he was close. Real close.

  So we put everything back in the room exactly as we found it and shut the door behind us. As my room was next to his, we staked the place out using my digs. One of us kept an ear on the shared wall at all times.