Slowly but surely, the fighting began to diminish until all were standing, facing the bandstand. Then one of the groomsmen began to cheer, and they all began to cheer.
I climbed to my feet and looked around for Boyce.
She and Elena were halfway up the stairs to the second landing. Sitting on the steps, they each had a glass of tequila. Their heads were together, and they were laughing.
Boyce saw me looking and raised her glass in a toast. Elena’s look wasn’t as friendly.
22
Blackhawk handed me the bottle of water I had asked for. We were above the bar in the apartment he and Elena shared. It was two in the morning. The party was over. Nacho was stretched out on the floor asleep. Elena and Boyce were in the back. They were still dressed in their wedding reception finery. Elena was having Boyce try on some shoes Elena was getting rid of. She had owned them so long she was tired of them. They were at least two months old.
Blackhawk fixed a single malt scotch on ice and brought it over. His first drink of the night. He stretched out on the oversized sofa and swirled the scotch over the ice. I was in the fat leather chair with the fat leather ottoman. I drank half the bottle of water.
“God, I’m glad that is over with,” Blackhawk said.
“How did you get wrangled into doing it in the first place?”
He turned his head to me and cocked an eyebrow.
I smiled, “Oh yeah.”
“How much longer you going to be messing with Paz?”
“Till we have him with his hand in the cookie jar.”
“Hard to do,” Blackhawk said. “He doesn’t get his hands dirty. That’s what those other guys are for.”
“I’ll think of something. I just have to earn a little more trust.”
“Hard to do while keeping your hands clean.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“So, you ready to get your hands dirty.”
“I think the reason Mendoza asked me to do this is because I’m willing to get my hands dirty.”
“True that.”
“I just have to find the right mud to wallow in.”
Boyce and Elena came back into the room. Boyce was carrying a pair of very sparkly high heels. She came over and sat on the arm of my chair. She kicked off her pumps and put on the new ones. She walked around the room, doing a couple of twirls.
“How do they look?” she said to no one in particular.
“They are sexy,” Elena said. She looked at me, “Don’t you think they are sexy, Jackson?”
“Oh, yeah. Very sexy,” I said.
Nacho lifted his head, “Sexy as hell,” he said. He rolled to his side and closed his eyes.
“Why don’t you get up and go home,” Elena said.
“I’m too tired,” Nacho said.
“Go home, Nacho,” Blackhawk said.
Nacho lumbered to his feet and stretched.
I got to my feet, “Time for me to go,” I said.
“Me too,” Boyce said.
Boyce hugged Elena and Blackhawk and I hugged Elena. She hugged me back and I felt I had escaped something. We followed Nacho down the stairs.
The outside air was warm. The parking lot was empty except for my Mustang sitting out by the street. Blackhawk’s Jag and Nacho’s Jeep were nosed up against the building.
Boyce hugged Nacho. He climbed into his Jeep, started it up, and drove away. I walked Boyce through the asphalt lot, then across the street to where her little Miata was parked. She beeped the door lock open.
She turned to look at me. There was a small twinkle in her eye.
“Helluva party,” she said.
“Hell of a party.”
“You going back to the boarding house?”
“Hell no. I’m going to the boat. I need a break.”
She stood there looking at me. The street lights softened her face and glinted off her dark hair.
“I could use a break myself,” she said.
She hugged me around the neck and held on a little longer than was necessary. She kissed me on the cheek. I held the door as she climbed in. She started the Miata and drove away.
The drive back to the boat seemed to take forever. I had the windows down, letting the wind blow through the car. The moon was up and late-night traffic was light. After what seemed like forever I pulled into the long entrance to the marina, past the parking lot for the tourists and down to my parking spot. My headlights picked up the Miata in my parking spot. I pulled up beside it and Boyce was leaning against her car. I turned the Mustang off and stepped out.
“Break time,” Boyce said.
23
By the time I came into the SanDunes there were just a few customers left. Only Little Joe and Wally Chen were sitting at the back. I had seen Peggy driving Paz away when I was still a half block away. As I slid up on my barstool, Wally Chen stood, then walked out past me without a glance. Little Joe came down and sat beside me. He signaled to Frank. Frank brought him a rock glass of whiskey. He set a beer in front of me.
Little Joe took a drink, then swiveled to look at me. He was a big guy. He would be a tussle.
“Paz thought you were pretty funny, shooting that cigarette.”
There was nothing to say to that, so I just smiled.
“Yeah, that was pretty funny,” he said. He took another sip of his drink. “Don’t get too cute with Paz. You get cute he’ll shoot you in the gut then have us clean it up.”
“Copy that,” I said. “But, I figured it was better to shoot the cigarette than that guy.”
He looked at me, “You have a problem shooting that guy?”
“Way above my pay grade.” I said. “You guys pay me to clean this bar, not to shoot your thieves.”
“You’d shoot him if we paid you right?”
“There is a whole lot of If in there.”
“You ever shoot anyone?”
“Probably, I think so. I shot at some guys, I must have hit one or two.”
He smiled, “In the Army?”
I nodded, “Marines.”
“Iraq?”
“Afghanistan.”
“Who were you with?”
This was the tricky part. Was he over there? Would he know one unit from another?
“Started with 1st Battalion,” I said taking a drink. “3rd Marines. Ended up with 66 Military Police Unit.” I looked at him, “Were you over there?”
“Naw. Shit, I don’t do soldier stuff. So, you were a cop?”
“Military cop.”
“How’d you end up in the Marines?”
I turned to look at the room, my back to the bar. “Barely made it through high school. When I got out I had a choice of working in a factory or joining up. Figured I wanted to see the world more than work in some old factory.”
“Did you see the world?”
“At first, yeah, guess so. Then the world turned out to be nothing but wide-open deserts with nothing but dirt, heat, rocks and little sand nits that would eat the hell out of you. Brown people that looked at you like you were lice.”
“That where you lost your foot?”
“Yeah. It’s still over there somewhere. Probably have a toenail left in Helmand Province. I was told they looked for it but never found it. Probably in tiny pieces.”
“Tough luck.”
“Tough luck was them that came back in a body bag.” I finished my beer. I lay it on its side so Frank wouldn’t bring me another one. I turned back around and looked at him. “You ever in the service.”
He laughed, “Hell no. I’ve been in my current profession since I was fourteen.”
“Current profession? Professional thug?”
He laughed again. “Pays better than that factory.”
He was looking at me now. Serious. “I think Paz likes you.”
This took me aback.
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or frightened.”
“You handled yourself pretty good.”
“I ain’t that tough. But I
did grow up in a tough neighborhood. You didn’t get tough enough, you got eaten alive.”
“Where was that?”
“Place in Illinois. Down state from Chicago. Town called Decatur. Factory town. Ended up in an orphanage there. Was on the streets early.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“Car wreck.”
“No brothers or sisters?”
“Nope.”
“Nobody?”
“Nope.”
“Tough.”
I shrugged. Old story. “How about you?”
His turn to shrug. “I’m a Phoenix native. Born at St. Joe’s. Grew up down around lower Buckeye. Tough neighborhood.”
“High school?”
“Dropped out when I realized I could make more money on the streets than the stiffs working 9 to 5.”
“How’d you meet Paz?”
He turned to signal Frank for another drink. “Just met him out there. I was dealing, he was my supplier. Took a liking to each other.”
“Buddies?”
He shrugged again. Frank set the drink in front of him. He took a light drink. “Working buddies,” he said. He looked at me, “Make no mistake. I work for Paz like everyone else. I cross him, he’ll shoot me as fast as anyone else. Or, feed me to Peggy.”
“You worried about Peggy?”
“Peggy’s a loon. He won’t just shoot you. He’ll shoot you in the legs, then kick you to death.”
I looked down at Frank. “How about old Frank there,” I said. “Was he dealing for Paz?”
He shook his head, “Naw. Frank owned this place. Paz made him an offer, and kept him on.” Again, he looked at me, “Frank went along with us the other night but that’s unusual. He normally sticks to the bar.”
“How about Wally? What’s his story?”
I could feel the change in him. He looked at me. “You ask too many questions.”
I shrugged, “Sorry. Just killing time till it’s time to clean.”
He tossed his drink back and slid off the stool. “Be sure to get the women’s toilet good. Women won’t come in here with a bad toilet.”
I saluted, “Will do boss.”
He waved at Frank and walked out.
24
It was getting muggy. Hot and muggy, a terrible combination. The TV in the bar had been predicting thunderstorms all week. With the wind picking up, I had hurriedly walked the five blocks to the closest grocery store, and bought a few items that I kept in my room. Mrs. Haggerty let me keep a couple of items in her refrigerator, but I was forbidden to mention this to the other tenants. After all, where would it end? When I got back to the boarding house there was a strange car backing out of the dirt driveway. There was a young man in a suit at the wheel. One of those slick guys, dark hair slicked straight back. Expensive suit. He had lit a cigarette. He didn’t seem to notice that I was even there. I had to stop walking to let him back down into the street. Without a look, he had driven away. It was a medium sized Buick. Very sterile, very functional. I had automatically clicked on his license plate.
I came down the front stairs with the creamer for the refrigerator. I also carried my oversized mug of coffee to pour it in. It was a large mug because I only made one mug at a time and the smaller cups didn’t get it. I really didn’t like powdered creamer, so I made the trek to the kitchen every day.
Mrs. Haggerty and Mrs. Eberly were at the dining table, their heads close together. They seemed unusually excited. I moved into the kitchen and poured the creamer into my coffee, then put it away in the frig. I could barely hear them but I did catch Mrs. Eberly say, in a conspiratorial tone, “I can’t believe he had that much money.”
I carried my mug back in, “Who had money? That kid that just left?” I said.
They looked up, flustered.
“I didn’t know you heard me,” Mrs. Eberly said, with a mild flush.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to eavesdrop. None of my business.”
Mrs. Haggerty patted Mrs. Eberle on the hand. “Tell Jack about it. He’s a good boy. He won’t say anything.”
“Don’t tell me anything unless you want to,” I said.
“Well, I would appreciate it if you don’t say anything, but that young man that just left is from the bank. It seems Mr. Eberle left an account behind that I knew nothing about.”
“And, it has a lot of money in it,” Mrs. Haggerty said, her eyes bright.
I pulled a chair out, and sat on it.
“How can it be you didn’t know about it?” I said, sipping the coffee.
“Mr. Burns, that young man, said it was an abandoned account. He says they were about to close it out because of how long it’s been without activity, and they couldn’t find anyone it might be attached to.”
“This is your bank?”
“Oh yes.”
“They didn’t know this was your husband?”
“Mr. Burns said he overheard the teller use my name the last time I was in, oh, when was that Mildred?”
“A week ago, Tuesday, we went to the mall that day,” Mrs. Haggerty said.
“Yes, over a week ago. He was working on some of the abandoned accounts and recognized the last name and heard my last name and remembered that one of the accounts had the same name.”
“Why couldn’t they identify you as the wife.”
She smiled sheepishly. She shook her head.
“My husband hated his name. He was born Elwood Merle Eberly. He hated it. So early on, I think he said in the second grade, he took the EL and MER and called himself Elmer. When he was eighteen he changed it legally. We had been married over forty years before he told me about his name. It was when his hometown courthouse burned down. He told me his birth certificate burned with it. You see,” she said, leaning toward me, “He had no family.”
“None?”
“No one. His parents died when he was in the service. His mother died and then two months later his father followed. He said his dad just didn’t want to go on. He had no brothers or sisters. Didn’t even have Uncles or Aunts or cousins, or anything. He had the account under Elwood Merle Eberly.”
“Why did he have this account?”
Now she actually flushed. The color running down her neck and into the patterned housedress she wore. She hesitated.
Mrs. Haggerty patted her hand again. “It’s okay honey. There’s nothing wrong with this. He was a good man.”
Again, Mrs. Eberly leaned toward me. She glanced around and lowered her voice. “Mr. Eberly liked to gamble. During the season, he was out betting on the ponies at Turf Paradise, just about every weekend. He always told me he broke even. He didn’t drink or smoke, so I always let him have this one little vice. We always got by okay, so I let him do this one thing.”
“He did better than break even,” Mrs. Haggerty said. “That young man said there was thirty thousand dollars in that account.”
“Holy cow!” I said. I always liked that exclamation. It worked in just about every situation. “So, this Mr. Burns figured out that Elwood Merle was your Elmer?”
“He said he suspected it. That’s when he came to see me. So, when I told him about Elmer’s real name he got so excited.”
“But, there was a problem,” I said
“Yes, there was,” said Mrs. Haggerty. “They have no way to prove that Eunice was married to Elwood Merle Eberly.”
“No way?”
“None,” said Mrs. Eberly. “Everything I have, everything we have in storage, just everything says my husband’s name was Elmer.”
“So, you can’t get the money?”
She smiled slyly. “Mr. Burns has figured out a way.”
Now I leaned forward. “That’s great,” I said. “How is he going to do that.”
“Well,” Mrs. Eberly said, drawing herself up, “I had a CD at the bank that had thirty thousand in it. So, Mr. Burns said that if I combined my money with Elmer’s, then the account automatically becomes a joint account.”
“You had a CD??”
“Well, yesterday I drew the money out, and Mr. Burns just now picked it up to take to the bank.”
I looked out the window, thinking. “Why did you draw it out? Why didn’t you just transfer it at the bank?”
“That’s what I asked,” Mrs. Haggerty said.
Mrs. Eberly said, “Mr. Burns said that even though everything is completely on the up and up, if we did anything other than a cash transaction, it would cause questions, and someone would stick their nose in, raise questions about my husband’s name. Like I said, I can’t prove I’m really married to Elwood Merle. And since there’s no way to prove that, it was just easier this way. It’s not like I’m taking someone else’s money,” she said firmly.
“You sure you can trust this Mr. Burns?”
“Oh, yes. I called the bank and they verified he was an officer of the bank.”
I had spied the business card lying on the table. I picked it up.
“Is this the bank number you called.”
“Yes. You see the address there,” she pointed at the bottom of the card. “That’s my branch.”
I set the card back on the table, then stood. I took the cup into the kitchen, poured out the remaining coffee, and rinsed the cup.
“Now, Jack,” Mrs. Haggerty said through the door. “This is nobody’s business but Eunice’s.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, moving through the dining room and started up the stairs. “Mum’s the word.”
I had memorized the bank number from the business card. When I got to my room, I called it. The number rang and rang, then notified me the party had not set up their voice mail box. I disconnected. I knew that by tomorrow the number would be out of service.
I called Mendoza. He answered on the first ring.
“I need you to run a license number for me,” I said without preliminaries.
“Why?” he said.
“There’s a guy grifting an old lady at my boarding house.” I explained it to him.
“I’ll give it to Vice.”
“No, I’ll take care of it. This is personal.”
“Everything with you is personal.”
“You ever felt that way?”
“Everyday. What’s the number?”
I gave it to him. He hung up.
The Bag Lady, the Boat Bum and the West Side King Page 9
