by M. Ravenel
Not taking his eyes off the unconscious man, Mitts ran his thumb across his own bottom lip, swiping up blood. He looked at his thumb for a moment then blew a raspberry. “Aww, c’mon. That it? I was just having fun. You dragged me out here for this, Tootsie?”
I turned to Cheryl, who was curled up in a ball against the back of the couch. “Hey, you okay?”
Cheryl looked up with big, soft eyes. She had light-brown skin and a tiny mole on her jawline. She was the kind of pretty that tended to look good even without makeup. Still shaken, she didn’t seem hurt.
“Look, whatever you want, take it. Just leave me alone. Please!” Cheryl held up her hands in surrender.
“Hey, chill out. We’re not here to hurt you,” I said.
She looked at Mitts and me warily then pushed herself up. As she moved around to the front of the couch, I followed. She sank down onto the cushions and groped her shaky hand around the side table until she found a pack of cigarettes. She tried to steady her hand as she fought to stick one of the bogeys in her mouth.
I retrieved the lighter from the side table, whipped up a flame with a flick of my thumb, and touched the tip of her cig.
“Thanks.” She leaned back against the pillows, taking a drag, then exhaled a steady stream of smoke.
“I hope we don’t get any visits from the neighbors.” I grimaced.
Cheryl blew a raspberry. “The neighbors don’t care. Shit far worse than this happens all the time somewhere in this building. People know not to nose around or snitch.”
“Right…”
“So, you’re not here to kill me. Who are you?”
“Of course we’re not here to kill you. My name is Tootsie Carter. I’m a private detective. The big bear over there is my friend Mitts.”
Mitts reached down and held the unconscious man up by two fistfuls of his shirt collar. “No wonder he fell so easily. This ain’t Darin.”
Cheryl turned her doe eyes on Mitts for a moment then looked back at me. “What do you want with Darin?”
“I’m actually looking for Luanda,” I said.
Cheryl froze, the cigarette dangling from between her fingers. “Lu…”
“Her husband’s worried sick about her. I’ve reason to believe she’s with Darin or at least that he knows where she is.”
Shaking her head, Cheryl took another drag. “I-I don’t think she’s with Darin.”
I whipped out my notepad. “Why?”
“’Cause I just know, all right? She’s my friend.” Cheryl glared.
Mitts went to the door and fiddled with it, trying to shut it despite its damaged hinges.
“So, where do you think she is?” I asked Cheryl.
“I don’t know… Look. What do you want from me? I haven’t done anything wrong. Unlike my neighbors, I got nothing illegal going on.”
“I need your cooperation. Luanda might be in trouble, and I’m trying to find her.”
Cheryl looked at me long and hard then sighed. Her gaze averted to the floor. “He’s going to kill her if I say anything,” she said, just above a whisper.
I raised my eyebrows. “Who’s going to kill her?”
Cheryl shrugged and shook her head. “Some guy Lu and I met at the gym Monday night. He seemed straight. Lu talked to him for a bit while I flirted with Darin. Next thing I know, she tells me she has to pick up something from the cleaners, leaves the gym, and that’s the last I see of her.”
I scribbled some notes. “Do you know which cleaners she went to?”
She spat out a stream of smoke. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be sitting here, worrying about my friend, now would I?”
“Fair enough. You remember what this guy looked like?”
“Yeah. Italian cat about yea tall. Average build. Dressed like a high roller.”
“His name wouldn’t happen to be Curt, would it?”
She shrugged. “No idea. He never said his name.”
I wonder… My throat tightened as I jotted down notes, fearing the worst for Lu. What kind of mess has she gotten mixed up in? I thought.
The glowing tip of Cheryl’s cigarette pulsated steadily. Her face went pale. “Look, I’ve said enough. Don’t snitch to the cops. Please. I don’t want my friend hurt.”
“Don’t worry. This is my case. The cops won’t know anything until after I’ve solved it.”
“Good. Because it’s bad enough Alex is here. I’m worried about Lu.”
“Alex?”
“Darin’s trainer. That guy your boyfriend just clobbered.” She jabbed her cig at Towel Guy snoozing on the floor.
I blinked several times. “T-Trainer?”
“Trainer?” Mitts echoed, looking at the both of us wide-eyed. “Geez, Darin must really be desperate for a comeback to hire this cat as a trainer.”
“Alex is a swell guy,” Cheryl said. “He and Darin are also close friends. Apparently, Darin told him to keep an eye on me tonight.”
I guess Darin already knew something was about to go down. I approached Alex. I slapped his cheeks a few times, and he stirred briefly, but his eyes still didn’t open. I definitely wasn’t going to get anything out of him anytime soon. Sighing, I returned to Cheryl.
“Ehh… I won’t tell Darin I knocked out his trainer if you don’t.” Mitts rubbed the back of his head, grimacing.
“Is he gonna be all right?” Cheryl asked me.
“He’ll be fine. I was hoping to ask him some questions about Darin.”
Cheryl stabbed the butt of her finished cigarette into a glass ashtray sitting on the side table. “He doesn’t know where Darin is. Trust me. I already asked. He doesn’t know about Lu either.”
“Great…” I rubbed my chin. “Say, you know anything about Darin’s girlfriend?”
Her eyes widened a moment, then her face went rigid. “No? Is he seeing someone? Did you see her?”
“No, but she’s apparently in big trouble…”
“He told me he wasn’t seeing anyone. He told me he loved me, and…” Scowling, she balled her fists. “If that bastard lied to me, I swear, I’ll—”
“So, you’re his girlfriend?”
“I thought I was. But if he’s playing around, I ain’t gonna stand for it.”
“Where’s this gym that you and Lu met Darin at?”
“Primo’s Boxing Club, down in Hunt’s Point.”
“Oh, I know that place,” Mitts said. “A lot of the heavy hitters hang out there.”
I wrote the info in my notebook. “In any event, I don’t think it’s safe for you guys to stay here. There are some bad people who probably know where you live, and it’s nothing for them to send some of their friends here to hurt you, or worse.”
“Where the hell am I supposed to go?” She paused then perked up. “Maybe Alex can take me to Philly. That’s where he and Darin are from.”
“No. I don’t want you guys to leave town. I might need you around in case I have more questions.” I rubbed my chin. “I have a friend who owns a bar in Queens—Kronos Lounge. Ever heard of it?”
She looked thoughtful. “Sounds familiar. Haven’t been out to Queens in a while.”
“I’ll give you the address. You guys go there and ask for Roy Ellison, the owner. Tell him Tootsie sent you and that you need a place to stay for a while. He’ll set you up.”
“Oh boy.” Mitts rubbed the back of his head. “Roy ain’t gonna like this, Tootsie.”
“He won’t, but it’s necessary in order for me to solve this case. I’ll talk to him about it later.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Roy Ellison? You sure he’ll believe me?”
“He better. And if he doesn’t, he’ll have to answer to me.” I shook my fist. “And you can tell him I said that too.”
“All right. I’ll go. What about you?”
“I need to find Lu.”
“I wish I knew where she was…” Cheryl sighed.
“You and me both. I’ll find her. And I’ll find Darin too.” I wrote down the lounge a
ddress and handed it to Cheryl. “Pack light and leave as soon as you can.”
She took the paper, stared at it a moment, then gave a slow nod. “I still don’t know what the hell’s going on, but okay.” She got up from the couch and headed to her bedroom.
“So, any idea where we might find Darin?” Mitts asked.
“Looks like we might need to try Hunt’s Point next.” I sighed.
His face lit up as though he’d just won the lottery. “Sweet. My old playground.”
“Your old playground? It’s one of the most dangerous places in the city!”
“Exactly.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right. Well, I’m sure you’ll find yourself a nice mugger to rough up.”
“Heh. There’re far worse things than muggers out there.” His grin broadened. “Sure beats standing outside a door all night, bored as hell.”
“You mean, this wasn’t enough action for you already?” I teased.
He snorted. “I’m just barely warmed up.”
Cheryl came out of her room, her brown leather overnight bag slung over her shoulder. She looked at me expectantly.
“All packed? Good. Time to get outta here, now. We’ll talk again later.” I nudged Mitts. “Grab Alex, will you?”
“I’ll go get us a cab,” Cheryl said, heading to the apartment’s exit. She stopped in front of the battered door, shook her head, and sighed.
“Um… sorry about your door,” I said.
“Meh, I’ve had worse.” She tossed me the key. “Try to lock it on your way out, will you?”
After Cheryl left, Mitts hefted Alex over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Mitts grunted as he straightened, and he lumbered out the doorway. I followed and locked the door behind me. Thankfully, that was still functional.
Cheryl was waiting in the cab by the time Mitts and I got outside. Mitts dropped Alex in the backseat with Cheryl. I returned her key and shut the door. The cab zoomed off. After they were gone, I turned to Mitts. “Time for us to take a joyride downtown.”
Grinning, Mitts cracked his knuckles. “I’m ready.”
I located the nearest pay phone and gave Sid a call.
Chapter 7
It was almost one in the morning when we arrived at Hunt’s Point. Sid brought the cab to a stop along the curb in front of a run-down three-story residential brick building with boarded-up windows.
“Hey, I really appreciate you helping me out like this,” I said.
“Y’know I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to drive you around, li’l lady.” Sid laughed then shut off the meter.
Sid was technically supposed to be off the clock, but when he’d learned my call had come in through the dispatch office, he’d practically begged his boss to work extra. Thankfully, his boss was swell, because Sid had zoomed my way not long after I’d hung up the phone.
Mitts paid the fare and gave me a funny look. “You getting sweet on the old man, Tootsie?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Where’d you get that idea from?”
“Well, you know…”
“’Ey!” Sid barked, glaring at Mitts from the rearview mirror. “Ms. Carter is a respectable young lady. You better treat her like one, or else.” The way he said that, it sounded like he would probably follow through with his threat. And knowing a guy like Sid, he probably would too.
Pale faced, Mitts looked at him then gulped. “Y-Yes, sir.”
My jaw dropped. Wow. If Sid could tame a wild beast like Mitts, then he was certainly the real deal.
Sid’s forehead wrinkled. “By the way, Ms. Carter. If y’don’t mind me askin’, why’d you wanna come here at this hour? I mean, this place ain’t called Street Walker’s Paradise for nothin’.”
I smiled reassuringly. “I’m on a case.”
“A… case?”
“I’m a private detective.”
His eyes went wider than saucers. “A detective… like… like Dick Tracy?”
I started. It was the last thing I’d expected to hear, especially from Sid. “Why… yes. Yes, actually.”
Groaning, Mitts opened the door. “Please don’t get her started on Dick Tracy.”
“You got a problem with Dick Tracy, chump?” Sid glared at him again.
“N-No, sir,” he muttered then slid out of the cab.
I smiled back at Sid. “You’ve got good taste. We’ll have to talk later.”
“Right on, doll. Y’know, I was five years old when the first strip came out in the papers, and I’ve been a fan ever since.”
My jaw dropped. The first strip? Wow, he must be a walking encyclopedia of all things Dick Tracy. I inhaled a deep breath to calm my excited nerves and focused on the task at hand. Just having the opportunity to pick his brain made me all the more anxious to solve this case as fast as I could. I slid out of the cab.
“Hey, Sid, you wouldn’t happen to know of any garment cleaners’ places around this area, would you?” I asked, before closing the door.
He rubbed his chin a moment then perked up. “Let’s see. There’s Chester’s Cleaners over on Bryant Avenue, Five-Star Cleaners just two blocks over on the corner of Randall and Faile, and then there’s Clean as a Whistle on East 156th and Truxton.”
I slid him a five-dollar tip through the bulletproof partition. “Thanks again. You’ve been a big help.”
He took the money with a big grin. “Anytime, doll. By the way, if that chump over there ever gives you a hard time, you just let me know, eh?” He made a small head gesture to Mitts. “I’ll show ’im why I was called Smashin’ Sid back in my ol’ boxing days.”
I chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind. Catch you later.”
After Sid sped off, Mitts exhaled a deep sigh.
“You all right?” I asked. “I’ve never seen you that spooked before.”
“Yeah. That guy is a bulldog. I saw the look in his eyes. Let’s just say that anyone from the street knows not to mess with guys like him.”
“He’s almost fifty.”
“The older they are, the tougher they get.”
I decided to leave it at that, but I couldn’t help but imagine Sid clocking Mitts the same way Mitts had Alex. My, that would be some sight.
Mitts sneered. “What are you smiling about?”
I cleared my throat. “Nothing. Come on, there’s work to do.”
Primo’s Boxing Club was tucked into an old, shabby building, one of the few structurally sound buildings remaining on the street. A graffiti-covered steel door covered the gym’s entrance. A flimsy plastic sign hung from a wrought-iron holder that was attached above the security door. I turned and assessed the rest of the area. A lone streetlamp above a doorless abandoned car across the street threw a meager amber glow, but its light barely illuminated the street signs and building numbers. Occasional shadowy passersby skulked and sauntered along the sidewalk. Sirens echoed in the distance.
I whipped out my notebook from my trench coat pocket and reviewed my case notes. “So, let’s see. Cheryl said Lu left the gym to pick up something from the cleaners. Sid said the closest one is Five-Star Cleaners, which is two blocks from here on Randall and Faile. I’m guessing she probably went to that one. If we trace her steps, we might find a clue.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Mitts nodded.
We headed up the dark, narrow street. Mitts, in his full-on bodyguard mode, walked a few paces behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. His eyes scanned the area. There was plenty for him to look at.
A group of women dressed in barely there miniskirts and halter tops stood along the curb, smoking cigarettes, chatting, and idling about like they were waiting for a cab. Most of the women ignored me and Mitts, save for one who looked old enough to be my great-great-grandma. She eyed Mitts and blew kisses at him, but thankfully, he ignored the cringe-worthy attention.
A frazzled, middle-aged man in a dirty, hole-ridden sweatshirt and ripped jeans huddled near the brick wall of a building, his knees drawn to his chest. He rocked back and forth nervously, muttering so
mething incoherent. He looked in my direction. His pale, wrinkled face was caved in and almost skeletal. The whites of his eyes became more prominent as he cast me a blank stare. I grimaced. I’d busted enough junkies to know that look all too well.
The man’s attention flicked to Mitts, and he stopped rocking, holding himself tighter. The man stopped mumbling, and his bottom lip quivered. Either that guy knew Mitts, or Mitts was just that intimidating. I pressed on with longer strides and faster steps. I was starting to wonder if Luanda had ever reached the cleaners at all.
The continuous wailing of emergency sirens echoed from several blocks away. The dark sky pulsated a faint eerie orange glow. Another building was burning somewhere. Not a day went by without news of arson or some other fire-related emergency happening around the city.
We reached Randall Avenue. Rusty stripped cars sat abandoned along the curb of the wide street. Remnants of buildings lay in heaps of rubble in long-forgotten lots. This place looked like a war zone. Could Luanda really have gone this way?
“Heeey, foxy mama, where ya off ta so early dis fine mornin’?” a man’s voice slurred.
We were a block away from Faile Street. An older man in a tattered trench coat sat against the base of a streetlight in front of a condemned three-story building. He chugged from something concealed in a brown paper bag. Mitts’s presence loomed behind me, and I could sense his tension.
I gave the mysterious man a cautious stare then continued on my way without saying a word.
“Mighty pretty lady, ya are. Yessir,” the man said, following me with his gaze. He grinned crookedly, revealing several missing teeth.
I focused my eyes ahead but kept the stranger in my peripheral vision.
“Ey, back off, old man. She’s my girlfriend, you dig?” Mitts said.