by M. Ravenel
I pulled my case book from my trench coat pocket and reviewed my notes. Mel—Curt’s henchman, Mr. Brown—had a slight limp. It seemed he and Curt were working together with Lu’s kidnapping. And they were planning to kill her. I sighed and put away my book.
“What is it?” Cheryl asked with a furrowed brow.
“I’m pretty confident about who the suspects might be and that they got the wrong girl. I don’t know where they would have taken Lu, but last time I encountered the suspects, they mentioned something about ‘smoking a broad.’”
Cheryl gaped. “Y-You mean…”
I held up my hand to silence her. “I’m not jumping to any conclusions just yet. My next priority is to find Limpy and his boss.”
Cheryl nodded slightly then gulped her drink. “I hope Darin found my message.”
“What message?”
“Before we all left my apartment, I left a note for him in my bedroom, letting him know that I was okay and where I was staying.”
I blinked. “You what?”
Cheryl looked at me, surprised. “After what you told me before about what was going on, I didn’t want Darin out there worrying about me, possibly getting himself in trouble.”
“Great. And what if the wrong people break into your apartment looking for you and find that note?”
“Hey, I didn’t know what else to do, all right? I just want to see Darin again.”
I deflated with a sigh. “Right. Well, there’s nothing we can do about that now, so let’s just hope, for your sake, we don’t get any unwanted visitors here.”
“So, what now? You don’t know where Lu or Darin are, and Alex and I are trapped down here like rats for hell knows how long.”
I tapped my temple as I began devising a plan. If Luanda was dead, then Curt wouldn’t have much bargaining power against Darin, especially if he didn’t know that Darin really loved Cheryl. Assuming Darin was still on the loose, Curt would be a dead man if Darin ever got his hands on him. Or maybe Curt wanted Darin to find him, and all of this could be one big trap for the unknowing boxing champion. “The guy you and Lu saw at the gym, the one who sent Lu to the cleaners, have you always seen him there at the gym?”
“Curt Zanetti…” Alex groaned.
“Huh?” I looked over my shoulder.
He rubbed his temple with his fingers. “His name…”
So it’s the same guy. I turned to the couch. “You know anything else about him?”
“Nah…” Creases appeared across his brow, and his face contorted with pain. “Darin didn’t… tell me much… But I almost always see Curt… hanging out all day at the gym.”
“You never talked to him?”
“Never had a reason to… Only recently did I find out Darin was… working with him.”
I blinked. “Why would Darin keep that information from you? I mean, you’re his trainer and friend, right?”
Alex groaned. “He said he had someone promoting him… didn’t go into details… I didn’t think much of it, honestly. I was just… concentrating on getting him ready for the fight… I don’t give two shits about the politics and business side of things.”
“Hmm. Really. Now that gives me a swell idea.”
“What are you going to do?” Cheryl asked.
“I’m gonna meet Curt at the gym as soon as it opens.”
“What! That guy’s obviously dangerous.”
“So am I.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Come back in one piece. And I hope the next time I see you, Darin and Lu are with you.”
“I can’t promise that. But will you two promise me you’ll stay here until all of this is over?”
Cheryl flicked her gaze at Alex, who rolled over on his side, turning his back to us. “Yeah, sure,” she said.
I left the room and headed back upstairs. Roy was no longer in his office, so I returned to the main lounge, which was ear-ringingly silent and devoid of patrons. The employees had also left, including Collins and Mitts. Roy sat alone at the bar, slouched over in his stool, nursing a drink. After over a full day of action, fatigue was starting to set in. I was half-tempted to leave Roy to wallow, but a niggling feeling gnawed at me. I supposed I could humor him for a little while before I headed home and tried to catch a few winks. I was halfway across the room when Roy suddenly lifted his head and looked toward me. He scrambled off his stool and steadied awkwardly on his feet.
“You ready to talk now?” he asked.
I sighed. What am I about to get myself into? “Five minutes.”
His face lit up. “Right on.” He brushed off the seat to his right and gestured for me to sit.
I glanced at the empty seat then, grinning coyly, planted myself on the seat to his left. I needed a bit of amusement after the previous hours’ worth of rollercoaster emotions.
He huffed. “You did that on purpose.”
“Did not. I like this seat better.”
“Whatever.” He headed behind the bar and began preparing a drink. “Look, I’m worried about you. The news is so depressing lately. Crime, murders, kidnappings… I don’t know what I would do if I ever lost you.”
I slumped over, resting my elbow on the bar, my cheek cradled in my palm. “You’ll be fine, Roy.”
He stopped pouring liquor from a bottle and glared at me. “You think I’m joking? Don’t you care about my feelings?”
“Of course I care. But you’re getting stressed over nothing. Besides, you’ve got plenty of bombshells out there for your choosing.”
“I don’t want a bombshell. I want you.”
I arched an eyebrow.
“I just wish you wouldn’t be so damned stubborn.” He mixed the contents in a shaker then transferred it to a tall glass with ice.
“Hey, I’m a professional, Roy. Business before pleasure.”
“Your problem is too much business and not enough pleasure.” He slid the glass to me. “Drink that.”
I looked at the glass’s light, frothy contents. “What is it? A milkshake?”
“No, I call it a Tootsie Roll Cocktail.”
I was tempted to take a sip but reluctantly resisted the urge. “You know I don’t drink while I’m working.”
“Oh, for crying out loud. You don’t drink, don’t smoke— hell, I don’t even think I’ve ever heard you curse. Maybe you should’ve joined a convent.”
I chuckled. “Nah, not my style.”
“Neither is this dangerous detective life you’ve gotten yourself into. When are you gonna finally settle down, huh?”
I shrugged. “When there’s no more crime to be had in this city.”
“You’re kidding, right? You’re almost thirty, beautiful, no husband, no children. How long are you gonna wait to finally change all that?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Who says I want to change anything?”
“I think you’ve been watching too much Mary Tyler Moore.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I actually like what I do?”
“Yeah? And what are you going to do when you’re too old to be a detective, huh?”
I grinned. “You’re never too old to solve a mystery.”
He rolled his eyes. “Somehow, I knew you’d say that. Seriously, though. You need to take a break from your wild-goose chase and live a little. Trust me.”
I hated to admit it, but he was probably right. With Luanda’s trail going cold, I wouldn’t be able to put my second plan into motion until later that morning. I finally swiped up the glass and sniffed the drink. It smelled like Roy really laid on more alcohol than I cared for. I was a lightweight, anyway. I took a small sip. As the smooth contents slid down my throat, I perked up a little. The familiar taste of Tootsie Rolls lingered on my tongue. Strangely, I could barely taste the alcohol. Hmm. Is it one of those ‘sneaky’ drinks? I wondered.
“You like it?” Roy asked.
I took another long sip. “It’s good. It kinda does taste like a Tootsie Roll.”
“Told ya.”
“What’s in it?”
“Creme de cacao, chocolate liqueur, and light cream. They make magic together.”
I drank about half and would’ve downed it all, but I stopped when a slight tipsy feeling hit me. I pushed the glass aside. “No more. I need my brain ready to get back to work later.”
Smiling, he pulled the glass in front of himself. “So, is this the only way I’m ever gonna be able to spend time with you? Loading you up on Tootsie Roll cocktails and chatting about your work stuff?”
I gave him a skeptical look as he polished off the rest of my drink. “Maybe. But you never cared about my ‘work stuff’ before, so why does it matter to you?”
“If it means sharing rare moments like these with you, then it matters everything to me.”
Groaning, I slid off my stool. “Look, I’m going home to try and get a quick nap in. Need to be awake again in a few hours.”
He zipped from around the counter. “Wait. Let me drive you home.”
I snorted, thinking about his rusty fourteen-year-old Corvair that miraculously still ran but had more problems than it was worth. “You’re not driving me anywhere in that beat-up hunk of junk.”
“Hey, it runs just fine.”
“When are you going to finally get rid of that thing and get a new car? You seem to be making some good bread around here to afford something better.”
His eyes widened. “Are you kidding? I ain’t getting a new car only to have it stripped down to its axles the next day. My Corvair is surviving the times just fine.”
“Yeah, even the car thieves know that jalopy ain’t worth its weight in parts.”
He bristled.
“I’m going to call a cab,” I said.
“When are we gonna be able to do this again?”
I shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe when this case is closed.”
“But…” He paused then took my hands in his.
I tensed. His touch was gentle, soft, and warm. His were hands that were best spent exploring one of the many delicate buxom brunettes that frequented this bar, instead of a rough-and-tumble girl from the street.
His Adam’s apple bobbed, and his gaze faltered from mine for a moment, as if he were thinking of the right words to say. For his sake, it had better not be a marriage proposal. I kept my hawk gaze on his knees, looking for the slightest signs of bending.
“Roy…” I warned.
He swallowed again. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…” He squeezed my hands. “I want to help you— with your case.”
I blinked several times. Surely, my ears were deceiving me. “Say what?”
“Mitts gave me the lowdown while you were downstairs. You guys practically drove all over the city looking for that missing woman. Well, save your cab fare. Let me drive you around instead.”
“Don’t you have a business to run?”
“I have a manager, y’know. I can afford to take time off to help you.”
“Why do you want to get involved with my work all of a sudden?”
He squeezed my hands again. “Because I care about you. I’m tired of only being able to see you once in a blue moon. So if this is the only way I can spend more time with you, then so be it.”
I yanked my hands away. “If you really care about me, then you would let me do this my own way.”
His gaze dulled. “‘Your way’ is liable to get you killed, especially these days. You can’t save the world.”
“No, but I’ll do what I can to make it a little better.”
“C’mon, Tootsie. You can still do your work. I’ll just drive. What’s the harm in that?”
I pursed my lips. Saving cab fare was always nice, but having to endure Roy’s corny jive talking was not. But Roy was stubborn. I daresay, as stubborn as me. I guessed that was one thing we had in common. I deflated with a huge sigh. “Fine. Eight a.m. My place. Don’t be late.”
Chapter 9
The obnoxious ringing of the telephone next to my futon jolted me awake. Groaning, I groped around for the receiver then dragged it to my ear. “Detective Carter speaking…” I slurred.
“Tootsie. Glad you’re awake,” Chief Lewis said, amusement in his voice.
I let out a huge sigh. “Ugh. C’mon, Chief. I just got to sleep.” I rolled over and glanced at the flip-clock radio. 7:04. I perked up. Wow, three hours goes by fast. “Or not.”
“Well, y’know, I’m just paying you back for waking me up at two in the morning to give me that ten-twenty-four report.”
“You’d rather I’d just left the old man’s corpse there?”
“Nah, you’re fine. The boys got things taken care of out there. Anyway, I have that information you asked for.”
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and scooted myself up on the pillow a little. “What information?”
“Damn, you really must’ve had a long night. Don’t you remember calling me again three hours ago? About the name lookup?”
Yawning, I glanced toward the window. Dark-blue light from the early-morning sky filtered in between the slats of the closed blinds. “Oh yeah… Curt What’s-His-Face…” I mumbled, finally remembering phoning the chief before plopping into bed.
“Zanetti,” the chief corrected. “I had Jim, the records clerk, come in an hour early to look him up in the files.”
I sat all the way up, fully awake. “Whatcha got?”
“Pretty interesting, actually. Back in ’68, he was indicted for fraud and got out on bail. Couple of years later, he was arrested for involvement in some racketeering activity, which had alleged loose connections with an organized crime syndicate. But there wasn’t enough evidence to put him away. He’d been off the radar ever since.”
I blinked several times. “What kind of crime syndicate are we talking here? Mafia-level? ’Cause I ain’t a G-man.”
“Nah, I don’t think so. Else we wouldn’t have closed the case on him. Pretty sure it was a much smaller group. Still, small ones grow into big ones, especially when they don’t have cops breathing down their backs. If you got something on Curt, we can bring him in and maybe find out where the rest of his rat friends are hiding.”
“I’m not sure if Curt is working with an organization or if he’s riding solo. Anything on his lackey, Mel?”
“Not much. His name is Melvin Beasley, a second-rate con man, with a couple of petty theft charges. Nothing substantial.”
I sighed. “Well, ain’t that helpful.”
“If you learn something new, let me know.”
“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll hear from me again real soon.”
“Good. And for the love of Saint Mary, please be careful out there.”
I smiled. Always like the protective big brother, he was. “You got it. Later, Chief.”
I hung up the telephone and slid out of bed. I had less than an hour to get ready before Roy showed up. After a quick shower and getting dressed, I fixed a bowl of instant oatmeal. It would be enough to hold me over until lunchtime. I wasn’t anticipating hanging out at the gym for too long, but then again, I was going out on a limb thinking Curt would show his face around there today.
Around ten till eight, the telephone rang again. I answered to Roy’s confused voice on the other end. I blinked. “Roy? You realize you have less than ten minutes to get your butt over here?”
“Sorry, Tootsie, but, uh… you need to come to the bar. Now.”
I blinked again. “What? Why? What’s going on?”
“You tell me. As I left the bar to head out your way, I was stopped by this man. He started asking me questions.”
“What man? What questions?”
Roy sighed. “Look, I can’t talk anymore. This guy’s giving me the stare-down, and I don’t need him making a mess of my bar. Just get over here, will you?”
“I’ll be right there.” Hanging up the telephone, I felt my chest tighten. Was Roy in trouble? Had Curt and his gang found out where Cheryl was hiding? There was no time to lose. I dialed the cab company and asked for Si
d, but his shift didn’t start for another two hours. I would have to take what I could get at this point.
I raced to the front door, grabbed my hat and coat off the rack, and slipped them on. As I opened the door, the pungent, musty odor of skunk and ash socked my senses. Apparently, Beth, my next-door neighbor was out and about with her usual early-morning ritual. Every morning when she woke up, she indulged in her pot, which she’d described as “lighting up a new day of hope and happiness.” Well, all that hope and happiness not only emanated from her clothes but also seeped out of her apartment and into the hallway. A stink like no other.
Dressed in a loose white chiffon top and a long, flowing, paisley-printed gypsy skirt, Beth stood barefoot on a stepstool and unhooked a sprig of dill herb hanging over her door. Beth was an interesting—to put it mildly—middle-aged woman. She owned a head shop and dabbled in what she called “mystical magic” that somehow, according to her, “kept her frozen in the universe of time.” Strangely enough, I was inclined to believe her. It was like she’d never left the Summer of Love, spewing old news and staying forever young in her outrageous, eclectic thoughts and mannerisms. But despite it all, she was harmless.
Humming a tune, she pulled out a fresh herb sprig from one of the front pockets of her skirt. Like every other morning, she tied the sprig with twine and secured it over her door. She’d once told me it was “evil eye repellent” to keep the bad spirits away. Maybe there was something to that ritual, because despite all the building’s attempted robberies, her little shop remained untouched. Then again, so was my place, but I always figured that was because we were fortunate to have smart robbers who knew better than to break into a private eye’s office.
I held my breath, but it didn’t take away the initial memory of the cannabis smell that clung to my nose. The headache-inducing stench would have made Pepé Le Pew jealous. Back then, while my peers were busy having fun getting high, I was working my way through the police academy—always the square, my party-heavy peers had often said. But Dick Tracy, my childhood hero, always kept his nose clean, so I felt obligated to do the same. Funny how things turned out.
I locked my office door, and as I was about to head down the hallway, Beth whipped her head to me, her waist-length braid swishing like a horse’s tail.