The Bag Lady, the Boat Bum and the West Side King

by Sam Lee Jackson

  “Easy for you to say. Is that why you are here? To tell me to go back in?”

  “No. Detective Boyce told me you were in there together when Vanilla brought a punk in.”

  “Yeah, a jitterbug with a blue Mohawk,” I said.

  “Found him in a Walmart dumpster on the west side. Two to the back of his head. All the blood was in the dumpster, so they made him climb in there before they did him.”

  “Man, that is cold. Why’d they do it?”

  He shrugged. “Any number of reasons. He must have broken one of the rules.”

  “One way to get the message across,” Blackhawk said.

  “ME said he died somewhere between six and ten last night. Were you at the SanDunes then?”

  I nodded.

  “Who else was there?”

  “Don’t know who was in the back. Peggy, Little Joe and Wally Chen were out front. Guy named Frank is the bartender. Regulars came and went. I’d probably be looking at Vanilla.”

  “Golly, you think so? That’s great advice.” Mendoza leaned back slightly, looking at me, “What are you doing here anyway?”

  “Recruiting,” I said.

  “Recruiting?” he said.

  “Yeah, recruiting Blackhawk and maybe Nacho.”

  Now Blackhawk was looking at me. “Do tell.”

  Mendoza waited.

  “I want Blackhawk and Nacho to take a run at Paz.”

  Blackhawk smiled, “No problem.”

  My turn to smile, “But I want you to fail.”

  Blackhawk shook his head slightly, “I never fail.”

  “Yeah, there is that. But, I want you to fail this time, so I can be the hero.”

  “You’ll be there to save Paz.”

  “Yeah. You got it.”

  I could see Mendoza thinking. “Who are they supposed to be, and why do they take a run at Paz?” he said.

  “They work for Bono Pike.”

  Mendoza nodded slowly, “Yeah that might work. How’s Paz going to know they come from Pike?”

  I finished my coffee, “I’m working on that part.”

  9

  I was sitting with Nacho, in Nacho’s Jeep, in a wide parking lot in south Phoenix. The lot was between two large one-story industrial buildings that housed a row of small businesses. The front of the building had nice shrubbery and attractive glass windows on either side of the private entrance for each business. At the back, each business had a regular door next to a roll up door wide enough for truck deliveries.

  We had positioned the Jeep in the back row of the lot where we could see down the back-access area of the building. There was a dumpster by each door. Nacho had done the reconnoitering for me, and said the entrance to watch was the third one down. The air was warm, and the roll-up door was up. Occasionally, someone would step out and stand beside the dumpster to smoke.

  We’d been there an hour when two men came out. The shorter one had massive biceps and a sleeve of tattoos on each bare arm. He wore a Diamondbacks ball cap. Backwards. The other man was tall and slender. He had thick, gleaming black hair, and was dressed in a bright red silk shirt and dark trousers. His shoes had long pointy toes and were glossy with polish. He put a cigarette in his mouth and the other man lit it.

  “The dandy is Bono Pike,” Nacho said.

  We sat and watched. The two men didn’t talk much. When the cigarette was finished, Pike flipped it into the open dumpster.

  “Could start a fire like that,” Nacho said. I glanced at him. He was serious. The two men disappeared back into the building.

  I sat a moment and studied the back. The driving lane behind the building was curbed with a twenty-foot retention area behind it. The retention butted up against a seven-foot block wall. I turned and studied the parking lot.

  “Take me around to the front,” I said.

  Nacho started the engine, and put the Jeep in gear.

  “Go slow,” I said.

  When we got to the street entrance I said, “Pull over here.” There were handicapped and reserved parking signs in the first few parking slots.

  He pulled over to the side.

  I studied the front, looking both ways down the street. There was a bus stop on the street in front of the building. I looked across the street. There were identical buildings there. They also had a parking lot between them.

  “Take me back to Blackhawk’s, then come back here and park in that lot across the street. I want you to watch the front here. I need to know if Pike uses the front entrance.”

  Nacho put the Jeep in gear and we rolled out onto the street.

  “Why do you want to know that?”

  “I want to know what his daily habits are.”

  “I’m supposed to be working. You’ll have to have Blackhawk tell me it’s okay.”

  I nodded, “I’ll have Blackhawk tell you.”

  Blackhawk told him it would be okay.

  I took the Mustang back to its parking lot. I carefully covered it and took my foot off. I put it in a plastic grocery sack and using the crutch, worked my way back to the boarding house. It looked as if I’d just came from a store. I went upstairs and lay on the bed and waited for it to be time to go to the bar.

  I dozed off. When I awoke, it was dark out. I almost talked myself out of walking to the bar, but I didn’t. The traffic was light, and the air was cooling down. My usual stool was empty, so I slid up on it, leaning the crutch against the wall. I lay some bills up on the bar and Frank brought my beer, and left the change. Bernie was halfway down the bar with a new fellow. I watched the room in the mirror. I watched as the guy left his stool to go to the men’s room. He left his jacket behind. As soon as he was out of sight, Bernie went through the pockets. When she saw Frank watching her, she straightened the jacket, and placed it back on the stool. Just being helpful.

  Tonight, the time seemed to crawl by. Every second on the clock seemed to take ten. Just about when I couldn’t take it anymore, Little Joe came up to me.

  “The boss wants to see you.”

  A thrill of warning went up my back.

  “What about?”

  “He didn’t say. Come on” He turned walked to the back, expecting me to follow. I grabbed the crutch and followed.

  Peggy was cleaning his fingernails with a pocket knife. He didn’t look up as I followed Little Joe into the back room. Wally Chen’s inscrutable eyes never left me. On the side of the short hallway was a door to a storeroom, at the end was Paz’s closed door. Little Joe rapped on it, then opened it, and went through. I followed.

  Cicero Paz was seated behind a large desk. There was a couch on the right wall. On the left wall were two formal looking chairs, one on either side of a table lamp. The walls were bare. Behind Paz was a wall safe. Paz was a short man. A wide man. He wore a tailored suit that appeared to cost more than most cars I have owned. There was a large, flashy ring on the little finger of his right hand. His hair was black and combed straight back. It glistened with some kind of hair oil. He was clean shaven and there was a faint odor of expensive cologne. He was studying some documents. Little Joe moved to the couch and sat. As he moved I could see the outline of a pistol on his right hip. I didn’t sit.

  After a long moment, Paz set the papers aside and looked up at me. His expression was non-committal. I had no idea why I was here.

  I took in the room without appearing to be furtive. I figured he would have a piece in one of the desk drawers. I could see he was right handed by the way he handled the papers which meant the piece was probably in the top right-hand drawer. If the balloon went up, I would launch across the desk, and go for the gun while getting Paz between me and Little Joe. I was figuring that even if Little Joe was fast, he wouldn’t shoot if there was a chance of hitting Paz.

  “What’s your name, again?” Paz said.

  “Jack,” I said.

  “Frank says you are looking for work.”

  I nodded.

  “Frank’s a good bartender but he ain’t for shit at cleani
ng, and he bitches if he has to do it. Someone needs to do it. I need a swamper. I’ll pay you a dollar over minimum wage. We usually close at one. You can clean after that until you’re done. You keep track of your own hours.” He leaned back and studied me. “I find you cheating on your hours, I’ll feed your other foot to Peggy.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said. “No need to worry. I don’t cheat.”

  Paz almost smiled, “Everyone cheats.”

  Little Joe stood, “That it?” he asked Paz.

  Paz made a small wave of the hand, and went back to the papers he had been studying.

  Little Joe waved me to the door, and I went back out into the bar.

  Wally Chen’s eyes were on me as soon as I was back out into the main room and never left me till I was back on my stool.

  10

  It changed my routine. Now I walked to the bar later, usually around nine or ten. I would sit and sip beer until closing. Closing was less than routine. Closing was whenever Frank decided to leave. He never closed if Paz was still there. Once Paz and the boys left, and if Frank felt like it, he would shut it down. It didn’t matter how many customers were still there. Okay by me. The bottom line profitability of the place didn’t seem to be much of an issue.

  Paz kept his office door locked. It would have been no obstacle, but I decided to play it straight. I was told that once a week Paz would have me come into his office to clean, usually as soon as I arrived at the bar. He and Little Joe stood and watched me until I was done. I didn’t attempt to talk, and that seemed to be just fine with them.

  After a while, I developed a routine. The last thing I did at night was to bag the garbage, and the recycles, and carry them out to the dumpster. The dumpster was at the rear of the building. At the roof line, in the back, on each corner there were flood lights, but neither one had worked since I’d been there. I told Frank, and he said he would get bulbs, but never did. The back was lined with a thick line of oleanders, so it was dark with the only illumination the ambient light from the side parking.

  Tonight, with a bag in each hand, and the crutch awkwardly under my arm, I made my way through the door and around the building. I set the garbage down and was raising the lid of the dumpster when a dark figure stepped away from the wall. I dropped the lid with a bang, dropped the bag of bottles with a crash, and took a step backward, raising the crutch for defense.

  “Whoa, cowboy,” Boyce laughed. “It’s just me.”

  “Jesus, Boyce!”

  She was still laughing.

  She always has this uncanny ability to irritate me. I had to smile.

  “You wouldn’t be laughing if I hadn’t kept my highly trained instincts in check.”

  This made her laugh harder. Then I laughed. “Damn girl.” Then we were both laughing.

  Finally, I said, “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought I’d check on you.”

  She was dressed like the bag lady, and still carried the faint aroma of dead chicken.

  “God, you still stink.”

  She grinned, “Cool, huh?” She stepped back into the shadow. “Paz and his assholes gone?”

  “Yeah, they left an hour ago. Just what are we doing here? If these guys are breaking the law, they’re doing it someplace else.”

  “Oh, they’re breaking the law.”

  “Well, it sure as hell isn’t in front of me.”

  “You’re not one of them yet, and you are a civilian, so if they did, it probably wouldn’t matter. Not legally. Mendoza says it’s going to take time.”

  I shook my head, “Well, hell, I’ve got nothing else to do.”

  “Yeah, we counted on that.”

  I put the bags into the dumpster, “You stay out here all night?”

  “No, a patrol car will come by, a couple blocks from here, and pick me up. They take me home.”

  “They let you in their car smelling like that?”

  She laughed, “They don’t like it. They bitch every time, but Mendoza says do it, they do it.”

  “At least you get a shower and some rack time.”

  “Not much. I’m usually back out here at dawn.”

  “Have you seen anything at all?”

  “I keep track of everyone that goes in or out. Tonight was unusual.”

  “How so?”

  She cocked her head, looking at me. She smiled. She shouldn’t do that as the bag lady, it ruined the entire charade.

  “Well I could swear that I saw two guys sitting down the street in a rented Ford Camry.

  “Two guys?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How’d you know it was rented?”

  “Called it in. And, you know what?”

  I knew what was coming.

  “What?”

  “I got closer and they remind me of a couple of guys I know.”

  I waited.

  I out-waited her. She couldn’t resist.

  “Looked a lot like Blackhawk and Nacho.”

  “Could be a coincidence.”

  “Yea, right.”

  We both heard the crunch of tires as a car pulled into the parking lot. I looked around the corner. It was the Camry.

  “You better get out of here,” I said.

  I watched a flicker of light as a match was lit. Then as that light grew bigger, the match lit the rag that was stuffed into the bottle. In this light I could see Nacho’s face. And, to the side of Nacho I could see Blackhawk. He had a red bandanna on his head. Hidee ho Cochise. I had to talk him into this. He thought it undignified. I had explained there was a reason for it, so he begrudgingly agreed to it.

  Nacho slung the bottle out of the car window, and a fire ball exploded.

  I looked over my shoulder and Boyce was gone. The Ford spun out of the parking lot and roared down the street. As much as a Camry can roar. I took off toward the front, making long strides with my good foot and the crutch. At the front, the smell of gasoline was strong. The flames were all on one side of the door. The cocktail had broken on the asphalt, not the building and was quickly burning itself out. The stucco wasn’t catching, just as we had planned. I had left the door propped open. I went through it and grabbed the extinguisher from behind the bar. I took my time going back out. I stood watching the flames. Waiting until there was just the right amount of damage, then pulling the pin on the extinguisher, I knocked the fire down.

  I moved away from the building, toward the street, and studied the damage. The fire was out, but there was enough soot and glowing embers to make the damage look bad.

  I went back inside and called Frank.

  11

  I don’t know what I expected, but what I got wasn’t it. I thought Frank would show up all agitated, but what happened was that Paz and Little Joe showed up, and they weren’t agitated at all. They pulled up in the black Chrysler 300 Paz used sometimes, the one with the 5.7 liter engine and eight cylinders, and the eight speed transmission. They got out and stood there. Just glancing at the burn spots on the building, but looking at the street. Up and down the street.

  I stood there, standing like the stumblebum barfly I was supposed to be, and they stood there with their hands in their pockets, looking around, like they expected something. As absolutely difficult as it was, I tried to look dumb.

  Finally, Paz turned to me.

  “Any damage inside?”

  “No sir,” I said.

  “Let’s look,” he said.

  I followed him in, and Little Joe followed me. When I was here I always tried to make the crutch look more awkward than it really was. I banged it against a stool as I placed it against the wall. I hopped to the nearest stool and climbed up.

  Paz didn’t look around the interior, like I expected. Instead he walked straight back to his office, and unlocked the door. He went in, Little Joe stayed with me. He was the one that looked around. He even stepped back outside to inspect the damage some more. When he came back in, he stood to one side and leaned against the wall, not looking at me. I waited.
>
  A few minutes later Paz came back out. He came toward us.

  “Everything okay, boss?” Little Joe said.

  Paz nodded.

  When he reached me, he finally looked at me. “What’s your name again?”

  “Jack,” I said.

  He dug a wad of bills out of his pocket, he peeled off several and handed them to me.

  “You did good,” he said.

  I took the bills and he went by me and out the door. Little Joe followed.

  I sat on the stool holding the wad of bills.

  After a while I counted it. It was five one hundred dollar bills. I went around the bar and poured a shot of Wild Turkey into a shot glass, and knocked it back.

  “Not a bad nights work for a one-footed barfly,” I said out loud. I cleaned the glass and put it back.

  The next night I started to the bar with my foot.

  It was becoming dusk later in the day now. When I stepped out on the porch, Mrs. Haggerty and Mrs. Eberly were still sitting, their empty tea cups beside them.

  “Good evening, ladies,” I said.

  “Good evening, Jack,” Mrs. Haggerty said. She glanced down at my foot. “My goodness, young man. You have a foot.”

  I lifted it and wiggled it. They both smiled.

  “I have a job now. I got paid.”

  “How wonderful,” she said. “Where is your job?”

  “There’s a bar on Dunlap, called the SanDunes. I clean it every night.”

  Mrs. Eberly looked very disapproving. “Be very careful,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, not sure about what she thought I should be careful of.

  “Mr. Eberly was a drinker,” she continued. “But I put a stop to that.”

  “I’m sure you did,” I said.

  “The road to Hades is lined with whiskey bottles,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.” It was hard not to smile. “I think I’m okay, I just swamp the place out every night. You ladies have a good night. It’s been a while since I’ve walked any distance on the foot, so I’m starting a little early tonight.”

  I stepped down off the porch and Mrs. Eberly said, “You mind what I said, young man.”