The waiter was perfect with his timing. He delivered their dinner as I got up. I started strolling out of the dining room and Mutt and Jeff got up to make chase. I heard the pair complaining that they had to pay even though they were leaving. The waiter was great.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but we are in the middle of Suisun Bay and we don’t pull in until morning. What’s the rush?”
I ran as fast as I could to the pilothouse. Charlie was ready.
“We are ten minutes from Antioch. You got your pidgins ready to go?” Charlie asked.
“The two idiots ought to be up here looking for me in about a minute.”
It was funnier than a sideshow with two geeks. Mutt and Jeff were right behind me, they knew I came to this deck. There was a chain across the access to the stairs to the pilothouse. It said CREW ONLY. They went around the upper deck, clockwise, and looked around every corner. When they started to round the corner to go to the starboard side, I moved to the port side of the pilothouse. I timed the two idiots, who were very helpful. When they came around for the third time I went to the bottom of the stairs from the pilothouse, where there was a little alcove that went out on to the deck. Mutt and Jeff walked right by me, I came in right behind them with a .45.
“Evening, boys. Bring those hands out of the pockets real slow and turn around.” They did so in complete shock.
“Where did you come from?” Mutt said.
“I was behind you two the whole time.”
They looked at each other in amazement. I waved the gun to my left and motioned them to a bench right behind me.
“Put your hands on the wall, bring your feet way back and get on your toes,” I said. “Come on, lean into it. You two mugs know the drill.”
I patted them down. They each had a roscoe, wallet, deck of smokes, and a bad attitude. I told them to stand up, put their hands in their coat pockets, and lean against the rail. They did as they were told, and started sniping at each other.
The tall one started barking at the short fat guy. “Nice going, Frank. You really knew where this guy was all right.”
“Shut up, Karl, you moron. We screwed up. Leave it at that.”
I looked over the wallets. There was fifty bucks in each wallet: four tens and two fives apiece. I pulled the bills out and laid them on the bench. I looked over the IDs.
“Francis Flegger?” I gave him a puzzled look. “I got a sister named Francis.” It was a hot button, you could tell.
“It’s Frank, gumshoe.”
“Hey, if my name was Francis, I would go by Frank too. Francis is kind of feminine sounding, you know.”
“Keep riding me, flatfoot, and I’ll strangle you with your own necktie.” Francis was red and boiling now.
“Just to fill you in, Francis, I’m the one holding the gun. Shut your cake hole.”
“You are going to pay for this, peeper. I guarantee it.”
“Talk’s cheap, just like your mother, Francis.”
I looked over the second wallet, property of Karl Krieger. “Nice Kraut name.”
They were steaming, but they kept it shut. “By the way, how was dinner, boys?”
They both got a look on their face like the light just went on. I looked over the rods.
“Wow, a 1908 Parabellum Luger. I’m impressed, you don’t see many of these around. Over here, over there, that the Yanks are coming.” I threw it over their heads and into the river. It made a loud splash.
The tall guy was not happy. “I paid fifty bucks for that rod, pal.”
“Don’t worry. You have fifty bucks here to buy a new one, yegg. Well, you had fifty bucks.” I took the bills off the bench and folded them in half and put them in my left side suit pocket. “Dinner bucks for dates with the girlfriend. Thanks, boys.”
They were growing even more agitated. The tall one was starting to come unglued.
“You are a real coldhearted bastard, pal.”
“That’s what everybody keeps on telling me, pal. Wow, a Webley-Fosbery. Even rarer yet.” I threw the other gun over their heads again, and it made an even louder splash then the last one. That brought a response from the little guy.
“My mother gave me that roscoe.”
“My heart bleeds for you, Francis. All right, let’s get to brass tacks, boys. I don’t have all night. Who sent you to follow me?”
“Screw you. Figure it out for yourself, asshole.” Karl said.
“I know you boys work for Little Joey Patrone. Why does little Joey care about me?”
“You are such a know-it-all wise guy. Ask your slut girlfriend, maybe she knows.” He got a broad smile on his face.
I never took my eyes off the pair. I called up to Charlie and asked him to blow the whistle for ten seconds. He did.
I fired a round, right between the two of them while the whistle screamed into the pitch-black night. They jumped three feet in the air.
“Jesus Christ, you could have killed us.”
“If I wanted to put a round in you two, you’d be floating face down in the river. Last time I’ll ask: Why is Little Joey having you two follow me around?” I aimed the gun right at Karl.
“You are poking around some architect guy that owes him a lot of money. He thought you were muscle from somebody else. He wants to make sure he gets his dough first. We were supposed to scare you off.”
“Tell Little Joey that I was shaking in my shoes. All right, clowns, we are going down to the main deck, no trouble, don’t bother the passengers. You two are getting off the boat.” I called up to the pilothouse above.
“Hey, Charlie, how much time do I have?”
“I’m slowing down now, Sean. About three minutes.”
“All right, boys, let’s go, down the stairs, nice and quiet. You make any false moves and I’ll throw your bodies in the river just like the rods. Trust me, it’s better to walk off than swim off.” They went where they were told. We walked all the way up to the bow. The first mate was there and opened a gate that led to the bow and the capstan area.
The Delta Queen snugged right up to the pier. It appeared out of the darkness; there were no lights at all. The boat suddenly was suspended in its spot.
“Get off both, of you.” They did as they were told.
I threw them their wallets and smokes, with ten bucks each folded inside the cellophane cover. After all, they were in the middle of nowhere.
“I see you two mugs again, anywhere, anytime, and I’ll kill you right on the spot.” They said absolutely nothing.
Charlie was like a magician with the Delta Queen. All of a sudden, the paddlewheel went into reverse and we stated going sideways away from the pier. As we backed away, Charlie laid on the whistle for three short blasts. He spun the boat around on a dime and we returned to our intended course. It was ten o’clock by my watch. I felt a little sorry for Mutt and Jeff. OK, not really.
I ran to the bar and got two fresh cups of coffee and went to the pilothouse. Charlie was laughing.
“That was great, Sean. That whole thing couldn’t have been better timed.”
“Hey, Charlie, where did we dump them off at?”
“You’ll love this: a sewage treatment plant, ten miles from anything.”
The first mate, name of Logan, came in. “That was perfect boss, you timed it like a Swiss watch. Then he addressed me. “Hey pal, why did you give them their smokes and money back?”
“I gave them ten bucks each to get home on. I gave them their butts, but I kept a little something they might need right about now.”
I opened my mitt and showed them Mutt and Jeff’s matches. They were rolling in the pilothouse. Yep, I said to myself as I lit a butt, I am a real coldhearted bastard. The coffee and smoke tasted extra good tonight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Charlie was relieved of his watch at midnight. Since he was
off, and I was all keyed up, we went down to the bar for a nightcap.
“Thanks, Charlie, that worked out great.” I said.
“No problem, Sean. You have to do this kind of thing very often?”
“Most of the time I am sitting in a car, standing on some street corner, or standing in the freezing rain. It usually isn’t this much fun.”
We talked about life in the Navy, law school, women, the freedom of being in command in the pilothouse, baseball, and more about women. It was all laughs, most of it.
Charlie got quiet for a second. “They spent a fortune on these boats and now they’re building bridges all over the delta. A lot of people think these boats will be obsolete in a year or two. Then I guess it’s back to tug boat work for me.” He waved at the bartender for another. I asked for one too.
“What else could you do if this line of work went away?”
“I could do a lot of things for money, but I love doing this. I love working the river. I’ll tell you, Sean, it kind of scares me, all this bridge talk shutting the business down.”
We finished our drinks and went out on deck for fresh air.
“Charlie, give me a call if you ever need a reference or to point you in the direction of a job.” I handed him a card. “I know we are going to run into each other again, pal.”
Charlie shook my hand with great warmth. “Back at you, pal.” Away he went to catch a few winks. I did the same thing.
I woke up just as we were pulling in at five thirty. I got a shower, cleaned up and went below for eggs, sausage, and biscuits and gravy. Man, do I love biscuits and gravy, especially when the biscuits are light and fluffy, and these were. I had a couple of mugs of fresh coffee with that farm-fresh cream.
At six forty-five, I went to the purser’s office and asked if I could stay onboard for a few hours. I told them I had an appointment in town at eleven. He told me I could wait as long as I liked since I had a return ticket to San Francisco. I was in the forward lounge. I took a pair of stairs up one deck to the Texas deck, located right above the purser’s office. The bar there had a wraparound view of the city. Since we were docked bow in, I was in a position to see everything, including that sleazy little hotel and bar where I would find Little Joey Patrone.
The bar was closed, but coffee service was available and I took full advantage of that. I wasn’t here to follow Morehouse, as I knew he was sleeping it off at the fleabag. I was here to meet Little Joey, but I wanted Mutt and Jeff to come home before the visit.
I thought it would be a couple of hours, but I was wrong. I had read the entire Sacramento Bee and San Francisco Chronicle, even the obituaries. Several crew members asked if they could get anything for me. At noon, I asked a housekeeper to send up a waiter so I could order lunch. She told me they were closed, but they could rustle up a sandwich. At twelve thirty she brought me a great roast-beef sandwich on sourdough, macaroni salad and a pickle. She even brought me a cold bottle of Coke and a glass with ice. I was in heaven. She gave me a bill for sixty cents. I gave her three dollars and thanked her.
At one thirty, the purser came by to check on me. He asked if he could get me anything. I told him my appointment was a no-show so far and that I had run out of things to read. He said there were a couple of books left on board he would bring a few by. Ten minutes later he came with three books. One of them was an Ernest Hemingway book, The Fifth Column and 49 Short Stories. I grabbed that one and thanked him profusely. It was a San Francisco Library book. I guess I was going to have to read it, then return it to a certain librarian I know.
I skipped the play and went to the short stories. I was reading one called My Old Man, about a grumpy old man who was a horse trainer and his estranged jockey daughter. It was a pretty good read. That carried me to four thirty. I went to the head again and I was ready to sit down when an old battered truck stopped in front of Little Joey’s place. Out of the back of the bed crawled Mutt and Jeff. They looked like they were dragged all the way there. They dusted themselves off, put their hats on, and marched into the bar heads down. It was time for a short visit.
I left the Delta Queen and walked across the street and into the bar. I stood in the corner closest to the door, wanting to scan the place before I barged in. I ordered a beer. The bartender that was here the last time I was here was working. I asked him if Little Joey was in. He was indignant. “Who wants to know?”
“A guy that needs to see him about some business,” I said.
“Buzz off, copper.” He wiped the bar with a towel and walked away.
I threw a buck on the bar and walked toward the office door in the back. The bartender called me back.
“Hey, buddy. Why didn’t you tell me you were a private eye and not a cop?”
“How did you know I was private?” I asked.
“You paid for your beer. A cop would have walked without paying. Little Joey is in there, but be careful. He keeps a short-handled shotgun in a leather holster under the desk.”
“Does he have any other apes besides the two garbage men in there now?”
“One other, but he is out. If he comes, I’ll throw a glass against the wall to warn you.”
“Why would you do that?” I asked.
“Little Joey just beat that old woman Alice for no good reason. He did it for kicks, so I figure he is due a little payback.”
I thanked the guy and made my way to the office door. When I got there I drew both .45s and kicked the door in. The office was long and narrow, with thin windows at the top of the ceiling and a large desk at an angle in the right corner. Mutt and Jeff were in chairs to the left side of the desk. Little Joey Patrone was sitting behind the desk like a king. They froze when I blew the door open, and kicked it closed for privacy. With one .45 aimed at Mutt and Jeff, the other at Little Joey, I bull rushed in and butted the desk as hard as I could into the corner and against the wall. Little Joey squealed, squirming to get his pinned arms free.
“Anybody moves and I’ll paint your brains on the walls,” I said. “Not that there would be that much to get on the walls.”
They all sat there with not a whole lot to say.
“Hi, boys. How was the ride home?” I smiled broadly.
“Asshole,” was all Mutt said.
“All right, Little Joey, with your left hand bring that little shotgun out by the handle and drop it on the desk.” I pushed on the desk again and he squealed even louder.
“You only get one chance to get this right, fat boy.”
I let off on the desk and Little Joey slowly brought out the shotgun. He tossed onto the oak desktop and it bounced a couple of times. I picked it up and threw it through the open window; it made a loud splash when it hit the water.
“All right, boys. On your feet and up against this wall. You two should be experts at this by now.”
They did as they were told. It was a good thing I checked; they weren’t back for long, but they both had roscoes again.
“Well, Francis, it looks like Mommy went out this morning and bought you a new rod, how thoughtful.” Out the window the rods went.
“Put your hands in your suit pockets and sit down and shut up.” They obeyed like a pair of trained seals at the circus.
I heard a glass hit the wall and the door creak behind me. I put a .45 against Little Joey’s forehead. “He comes in, you all die.”
They all screamed in unison. “Bobby, get out and stay out, you are going to get us all killed.”
The door slammed shut. I took the .45 away from Little Joey’s head and sat down in front of the desk. “Why are these two hatchet men following me around, Little Joey?”
He was covered in sweat; his eyes were darting back and forth between me and the .45.
“Morehouse owes me a bundle of greenbacks. I thought you were horning in.” His upper lip was quivering.
“How much does he owe you?”
I said.
“What are you, his accountant?” Little Joey summoned a little indignant smile. I got up and hit him on the side of the head with the .45. He started bleeding.
“Jesus, O’Farrell, take it easy,” he screamed.
“How much, Little Joey?” I pressed the .45 harder into his forehead.
“Fifty-seven grand.” He turned and closed his eyes.
“FIFTY-SEVEN GRAND? How come you let him get that deep in the hole? No bookie would ever let a loser like Morehouse keep on gambling. Has he ever paid you?” I said.
Little Joey was looking at the gun.
“No, he has never paid me a thing. His partner Wheeler has been giving me a taste every week or so to keep the train rolling, so to speak.” He raised his eyebrows in a knowing way.
“And why would Wheeler do that?”
“Hey, O’Farrell, you’re the private detective. DETECT.”
I fired a round over Little Joey’s head. Mutt and Jeff jumped so high they nearly hit their heads.
“I kill you three and they will give me a public-service award for helping keep Sacramento clean of garbage. This is the last time I ask: Why would Wheeler do that?” I brought the .45 right under Little Joey’s nose.
“Wheeler is connected, for Christ sakes. He’s part of the mob in Chicago.” I moved the end of the barrel back and forth over his lip.
“Holy shit, watch it with the gun, O’Farrell. Wheeler has Morehouse by the short ones.”
“What does he want?” I screamed.
“I swear to God, I don’t know. But whatever it is, it worth a hell of a lot more than fifty large to these guys. They pay me five hundred a week to keep Morehouse drunk and losing.”
A thought came to mind. “How does the wife fit into this?”
“The good-looking doctor? Hell if I know where she fits in. She’s a cockhound, that’s for sure, and Wheeler is banging her every chance he gets.”
“Shit” was all I could say.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I stood there staring at Little Joey. What was there to say? I blasted more questions at him, but he was spent. It seemed that Wheeler ran the game at the St. Francis, the game on the Delta Queen, the backroom game at Little Joey’s, and he even had guys at Bay Meadows race track with markers on Morehouse. Morehouse was so deep in a hole he was never going to crawl out. The big question was: Where did Connie fit it with all this? Where did I?
The Halfway to Hell Club Page 14
