I put the phone in my pocket and lay back on the bed. I was dozing when the phone vibrated, jolting me awake. It was Mendoza.
“It’s a rental,” he said.
“Can we find out who rented it?”
“I called them.”
“And?”
“The clerk told me it was privileged information, and she couldn’t divulge it over the phone.”
“Did you explain you are a Captain?”
“Yeah, for some reason that didn’t persuade her. It didn’t persuade her boss either.”
“How do we get the guy’s name?”
“I sent a car out to talk with them.”
“That’ll do it?”
“Yep.”
“How do you know?”
“The guy I sent has been a street cop for twenty-years. He’ll get the info.”
“You sure?”
“I’m a Captain. I’m always sure.”
25
The weather was rapidly turning. Flash flood warnings were out for all of Maricopa County. I decided to run out to the boat to make sure it was secure. By the time I got the Mustang on the road the wind was whipping sideways with rain drops the size of quarters.
When I pulled into my reserved parking spot, the rain was pouring. Thank God Danny was running the shuttle. All dressed in yellow foul weather gear, including the plastic cover for his cowboy hat. He dropped me at the gate to my dock. I gave him a five for his troubles. By the time I stepped on board, and disconnected the alarm, I was soaked.
I had turned the air off while I was at the boarding house, and the inside was steamy. I turned the air all the way to high, turned on the galley lights, then stepped back out into the storm. I checked the mooring, loosening the mooring lines so that the bouncing swells didn’t strain the brackets. I checked the bumpers. I climbed to topside and made sure all the lounge chairs and cushions were fastened down, or stored in the large lockers.
Satisfied, I went back into the lounge and dripped on the carpet. I pulled the blackout curtains back so I could watch the storm. Storms like this are so unusual here, they are fascinating. I stepped out of my sodden clothes, wadded them into a ball, and threw them into the stacked washer. I threw in a pod of laundry soap and fired it up. I toweled off, put on dry clothes, and fixed a drink.
I was in the master stateroom, watching the waves of rain punish the lake when my phone rang. It was Mendoza.
“I’m sending you a text with an attachment. We got a copy of his driver’s license with his address.
“Thanks,” I said, but he had already disconnected.
I felt the boat shift. I stood very still. It shifted again. I reached behind the bedside table and lifted the Ruger from the magnet that held it. I moved into the galley, holding the gun next to my leg.
Out on the bow was a wet Pete Dunn unsuccessfully hiding under an umbrella. I lay the Ruger behind the toaster, and opened the front sliding door. He came in, turning to shake the umbrella and collapsing it.
“Saw your lights, hope it’s okay if I come over.”
“It’s not a fit night out for man nor beast.”
“Hey, W.C. Fields. I’d have thought you would be too young for that.”
“Old movies and TV shows were the only things we were allowed to watch when I was a kid at the home. Come on in.”
“I feel like a wet dog.”
We went into the galley where the floor was linoleum. I took the umbrella and lay it on the counter. “I’ve already fixed a drink; would you like one?”
“Love it. I was starting to go stir crazy, so when I saw your light, I took a chance you wouldn’t mind company.”
“Happy to have you, what would you like?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
I fixed the drink and as I was handing it to him my phone buzzed. I looked at it and saw it was the text from Mendoza. I clicked it open. It had a driver’s license attached. Clyde Slick who said his name was Burns was really Grover Hilland. The address on the license was in Scottsdale. I held it out to show Pete.
“This is a real, honest to God, grifter.”
He took the phone and studied it.
“Who’s he grifting?”
I told him the story.
“Sounds like a variation of the old fashion pigeon drop. These women are really naive.”
“That and greedy. That’s what guys like him count on. I’m surprised you know what a pigeon drop is.”
“You learn a lot in Hollywood.”
The pigeon drop was an old scam that utilized what every scam utilizes, greed. The grifter arranges it so he and the mark come upon a wallet stuffed with money at the same time. There is no identification. They agree to each put up a large sum of good faith money while they wait for it to be claimed. They include their money with the found money, and wait three days for the true owner to announce themselves. If the owner doesn’t show, they’ll split the money. The grifter wraps it all up with lots of tape, makes a big deal of signing across the tape, and gives it to the mark to hold. They agree to meet back at the same place in three days. Of course, whenever the mark opens the package, he will find nothing but newspaper, and the grifter is long gone.
“You think this guy still has their money?”
“Yeah I do. Where, is the question.”
“Are you going to take it back?”
“Forcibly taking it back would be hard to do. He’s probably got it in a bank by now. I’m going to go one better. I’m going to get their money back, and a chunk of his.”
“How?”
“I’ll figure it out. Nobody is greedier than a grifter.”
“Can I help.”
I took a drink and looked at him.
“I’m really bored,” he said.
I thought about it.
Finally I said, “I’m going to need to know everything I can find out about this guy. I’m working on that other thing right now, so it would be difficult for me to get away and do the digging. I’ll need someone computer savvy who could get into this guy’s social media. Find out what kind of dirt bag he really is. Then follow this guy around for a week. Figure out his habits.”
“Pete Dunn, private eye,” he said with a grin.
“If you get caught, it might get hairy.”
“I won’t get caught.”
Again, I looked at him for a long moment. Then I smiled, “Do you have a fedora and a trench coat?”
26
Over the next few days, Paz sent me out with the guys three times. I didn’t do anything but stand around while they did their thing. Usually, collecting money. It didn’t seem to change my pay grade. I still cleaned the toilets at night. I still met Boyce by the garbage bins and told her what I knew, which was not much. She still smelled bad.
This night I was sitting at my barstool waiting for Frank to close the place. There were only a couple of customers. At the other end of the bar, Wally Chen and Peggy were playing cards with Little Joe watching. Vanilla came in and went straight to the back. The other three just glanced at him. A moment later he and Paz came from the back. Paz glanced my way, then they sat at the table with the other three. Paz spoke softly, and I couldn’t hear what was said. The four men leaned in, hanging on every word. A thrill of alarm went through me when Wally Chen looked up, directly at me. After a brief discussion, Little Joe and Chen stood and came down the bar to me.
“I’ve got an errand to run,” Little Joe said. “Paz wants you to come with me.”
“I’m supposed to clean,” I said.
“It’ll keep till tomorrow,” he said. I felt relieved. This sounded like I would have a tomorrow. I swallowed the last of the beer I’d been nursing and followed them out. We took Little Joe’s car. Little Joe climbed in the driver’s seat, with Chen in the back. I took the front passenger seat. I didn’t like having Chen behind me, but not much to do about it.
We drove east until we hit I 17 then we went south for a while.
I knew it would be natural
for me to ask, so I asked, “Where we going?”
Neither of them said anything, so I lapsed into silence. Little Joe finally pulled off the Freeway and traveled south. I could have thrown a rock and hit the El Patron, but we continued on south. Then suddenly I knew where we were going. Into Bono Pike’s territory.
Of course, I was not supposed to know this, so I just serenely gazed out the window. When we reached the industrial park where Pike had his headquarters, Little Joe slowed, and as we drove past, both Little Joe and Chen studied the place intently. The place was dark and the streets were deserted. Everyone that worked in the industrial park were long gone home. There were no lights at Pike’s except for street lights. As we passed I could see security lights at the back of the deserted parking lot. Little Joe went two more blocks then did a U-turn and pulled into a deserted parking lot. He drove to the back and came to a halt beside some large dumpsters. He angled the car under a security light. He and Chen climbed out, so I followed.
Little Joe went to the back of the car and popped the trunk open. He reached in and brought out an AR-15 and handed it to Chen. Then he brought out another and handed it to me.
“You know what this is?” Little Joe said.
“Sure, AR-15,” I said.
“You were in the Army, just like a M-16,” Chen said.
“Marines,” I said. “But no, it’s not. The hammer and trigger are designed differently. And, some of it is milled differently so the parts aren’t interchangeable.”
Little Joe smiled, Chen didn’t. Little Joe looked at Chen, “He knows his guns.” He shut the trunk lid and went back to the driver’s side. “Climb in back with Wally,” he said, then slid into the driver’s seat.
I went around and climbed in back.
Little Joe drove us back to Pike’s place. He pulled into the empty parking lot and slowly cruised around to the back. The security lights mounted above the large rolling door illuminated the back area. The door was the size of a double car garage. Little Joe kept the car back away from the building as far as he could get. He backed and filled until we were pointed back the way we had come. He stopped, and he and Chen climbed out. I followed, not sure what we were doing.
Without looking at me, Little Joe said, “Paz wanted to send a message.” Now he looked across the top of the car at me. “Remember those assholes that tried to blow us up? This is where they hang out.” He nodded to Chen.
Chen opened fire, raking bullets across the back of the building, ricocheting off the metal door, sending sparks across the back. Chen kept firing until his clip was empty. I just stood there.
With the explosions still ringing in my ears, Little Joe pointed at me, “Go ahead. Shoot.”
“I told you, it’s above my pay grade.”
“Consider yourself promoted. Go ahead, light it up.”
I racked the round in and began raking fire across the building. The rifle pulled up and to the right. I compensated and took out the two lights that Chen had left. I stopped before I had used up all my rounds. I knew they couldn’t tell. Nobody counts automatic fire rounds.
Little Joe was grinning. Suddenly, the back door flew open and a dark figure came out, firing a pistol as he came. The rounds slammed into Little Joe’s car, hitting one of the headlights. Little Joe yelped and ducked down. Chen was reaching for his hip pistol. The man took a shooters stance and was aiming at Little Joe. I had no choice, I shot him. He went down. I had tried to hit him in the legs, but I couldn’t tell.
All three of us scrambled back into the car, and Little Joe left an inch of rubber all the way through the parking lot. He missed the driveway and banged over the curb. I was looking out the back. Two more dark figures came running out, shooting at us. But, in a second, we were gone.
No one said anything as we sped through the night.
Finally, Little Joe said, “Goddammit, no one was supposed to be there.”
“Vanilla said they had all left,” Chen said. “Their cars must have been inside.”
“I’m going to kick his ass myself,” Little Joe said. Then he began to laugh, “Hey, that was kinda fun.” He looked over his shoulder, back at me, “You did good, kid.”
“Saved your ass,” Chen said, looking out his window.
Little Joe didn’t reply to that. He drove the back roads back to the bar. No sense getting stopped for missing a headlight with bullet holes in the car. No one spoke all the way back.
Paz, Vanilla and Peggy were at the bar, waiting. Frank was gone. Little Joe stormed in the bar and went straight to Vanilla. He grabbed him by the lapels and slung him against the pool table.
“You son of a bitch, you said no one would be there.”
Vanilla held his hands up and out, as if to ward the big man off. “There wasn’t anyone there, I swear it.”
“The hell you say. They shot the shit out of my car. Almost got me.”
“Would have, if it hadn’t been for Jack,” Wally Chen said quietly.
“What happened?” Paz said.
Little Joe was calming down. “We did what you said. Wally and Jack used the AK’s to shoot the place up, but next thing you know those assholes came out shooting. They jacked my car good.”
“They get a look at you?” Paz asked.
Little Joe looked at the floor. Wally Chen averted his eyes.
Paz turned to me, “They get a look at you?”
I nodded, “Yeah, they got a look at us.”
Paz looked at Little Joe, “Well, shit. You can’t do something simple?”
As the words came out of his mouth, we all heard the screeching of multiple cars piling into the SanDunes parking lot. We all turned and looked toward the door. I heard a car door slam and I yelled, “Get down!”
I vaulted the bar as the others scrambled for cover. Immediately, the bar exploded into a non-stop barrage of gunfire. Bullets raked through the door and walls and chewed up everything in sight. Bottles exploded, and the mirror came crashing down. Barstools were knocked on their sides. I made myself as small as possible. Then as suddenly as it had started, it finished. A moment later I could hear cars roaring off into the night.
I was covered with shards of glass. Still down low, and out of sight, I picked up one of the larger pieces and nicked my forehead about an inch above my eyebrows. The blood immediately began to flow. It was an old Carny trick. When the Carny strongman wanted it to look as if the local tough guy was really giving him a beating, he would nick himself with a hidden razor blade, and it would appear the local guy was beating him bloody. That’s when the other Carny’s would up the betting odds.
I stood, brushing the broken glass off of me. Slowly, the others stood, they all held a pistol except me. No one seemed hurt, but the bar was a mess.
“Make sure they’re gone,” Paz said to no one in particular. Peggy lumbered to the broken door and cautiously stepped outside. A moment later he was back.
“They’re gone,” he said.
Paz looked at me. “Jesus Christ, you been shot?”
I wiped my hand across my face. It came away bloody. “I’m okay,” I said.
“Well, you look like hell.” Paz looked at Little Joe, “Get someone in here tomorrow. Get this place fixed up.”
27
It turned out it took three days to repair the damage to SanDunes, so Paz closed the bar for the duration. I took the opportunity to go back to the boat. The sun was setting and Blackhawk, Pete Dunn and I were sitting up top drinking Dos Equis.
“So, they followed you back to SanDunes?” Pete said.
“Didn’t have to follow,” Blackhawk said. “They already knew who and where they were.” He took a drink and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Smart to counterpunch so fast. None of you were ready for that.”
“No, we weren’t,” I said. “But, the good thing is that it was so fast, we didn’t have a chance to fight back.”
“Meaning, no one got hurt?” Pete said.
“Meaning just that.” I looked at Pete. “So,
have you found anything out about our thief?”
“Guy’s a hot dog. A real ladies man. Drives a Dodge Challenger like a maniac. He trolls older women on Facebook. Takes them out, gets them drunk, goes back to their place. I’m guessing he knocks them out with some kind of date drug, then robs them. One night I staked him out…”
“Staked him out,” Blackhawk smiled.
“Yeah, sounds cool doesn’t it,” Pete grinned. “Anyway, I sat across the street after he had taken the woman back to her place. About a half an hour later the lights started going on all over the house, and a half hour after that he left. Leaving the lights on.”
I was watching some late water skiers, out across the water. The boat didn’t have the proper lights for night running. I glanced over to the buoy that I normally swam to. I hadn’t been swimming much and I was feeling sluggish. “Just the older gals? No sweet young things?”
“He saves that for the weekend.”
I looked at him, he had my attention.
Pete seemed pleased with himself. “Every weekend he goes clubbing, and he always scores. He’s pretty sly.”
“Sly?” Blackhawk said.
“He likes the young hook-up joints in Scottsdale on the weekends.”
“Hook up joints?” I said. I looked at Blackhawk, “You know any hook up joints?”
“Elena won’t let me,” he said.
“Places like The Vig, or the Devil’s Martini. Dance clubs like Axis/Radius,” Pete continued.
“You ever heard of those?” I asked Blackhawk.
“Elena won’t let me,” he said.
“So, what’s the sly part?” I asked.
“Both times I went in behind him,” he glanced at me, “don’t worry, I waited a good twenty minutes and each time I looked different. He goes in later, after everyone else has had plenty to drink. Each time he walks out with a girl. The sly part is that he would target a group of girls, usually co-eds out on the night.”
“What’s sly about that.”
“Nothing, except he always targeted the one girl that no one else was hitting on. These are dance clubs. And, the girls are there to dance. But, there is always one girl in a group that doesn’t get the attention, and that’s the one he would hit on. Worked every time.”
The Bag Lady, the Boat Bum and the West Side King Page 10
