Streeter Box Set

by Michael Stone

  She didn’t respond at first. Then, “We’ll make good, Grover. I don’t suppose it would help if I said we had no idea it was your money. We never would have tried this move against you. We thought we were dealing with Fontana, for chrissakes.”

  “Whatever you were thinking, you did steal from me. I personally don’t give a good rat’s ass what you knew going in. But now it’s over and you’re coming back here. And I mean soon.” Grover nodded to the man with him.

  Sid leaned back in his chair and let out a quick hiccup. Then he moved closer again. “St. Louis,” he grunted, his voice sounding cocky. “St. Louis,” he repeated for emphasis.

  Grover nodded. “Yeah, right.” Then he said into the phone, “Look, you’re going to give me my money back along with all your copies of those files you stole. How much was in the case when you took it off Sid?”

  “I’ll have a complete accounting when we get back there,” she answered evenly. “Let’s just say it’s in the midrange of the usual pickup.”

  Grover considered that for a moment before speaking. “Damned right you’ll account for everything. There’s something else, too. You and Richie are going to eat a little shit to show me how sorry you are about this whole situation. To show me how much you regret what you did.”

  No one said anything for a while. Finally, Tina broke the silence. “Exactly what do you have in mind, Grover?”

  “I’ll tell you exactly.” He switched the phone to his other hand and other ear. “On the way here, you’re going to stop in St. Louis. I’ll give you the name and number for an associate of mine who has something for you to pick up and bring back to me. There’s six thousand Swiss Quaaludes out there that I’ve already paid for. The whole batch should fit in your trunk. When you get back here, you give me the ludes and the money and those files. All of them. That exact enough for you?”

  “Yes, it is.” She paused. “Richard and I have incurred some expenses along the way. We’ve spent some of your money but don’t worry. It’s only a few thousand and we plan on borrowing it from Richard’s uncle Marty. With that, you’ll be completely covered.”

  “I better be” was all he said.

  Tina spoke again, her voice low and soothing. “We get the message, Grover, and you’ll get your money and your Quaaludes, too. We’ll talk to Uncle Marty and call you tomorrow at the Cheetah with our travel plans.” She paused. “But there is one thing we definitely cannot agree to.”

  “What’s that?” Grover frowned into the receiver.

  “We keep the originals of those files tucked safely away so that you don’t get a wild hair and come after us later. It has to be that way or else I’d never get another good night’s sleep.” Her voice was firm enough to leave little room for discussion.

  Grover considered that for a moment, glancing at Sid. “We can talk about that last part when you get back here. Just call Rudy later and let him know when you’re leaving. Either me or him’ll give you the details about St. Louis then.” With that, he hung up. “Yeah, sure,” he said out loud to the basement in general. Then he turned to Sid. “We’ll talk about the files when they get back to Denver, all right. Where’d Rudy find that woman? She’s telling me what’s what like it’s her call. I tell you, Sid. They come home, they’re dead within a day or two. Tops. I know someone that’s going to help us with that. They’ll never know what hit them.”

  For her part, Tina hung up and flashed Richie a smile warmer than the Florida afternoon sun. “It’s going to work, baby,” she said. “I know it is. Let’s go back to our room and celebrate. Dad won’t be home for hours.”

  Richie couldn’t argue with that.

  THIRTEEN

  Constance studied the label on the bottle of dry herbs like she was splitting an atom. Frowning a deep V in her forehead, she nibbled the corner of her lower lip. For his part, Streeter scrutinized her shapely legs below the short black skirt with the same intensity. They stood there a few feet apart near the front of Alfalfa’s, a health-food supermarket in Denver’s Capitol Hill section. He didn’t like the place. The Generation Xers who worked there treated customers like annoying interruptions to their endless conversations with each other. If you were lucky enough to get their attention, they acted like you’d just pulled them away from sex. “May I help you?” they’d ask with a pain-in-the-ass deadpan that must have been part of their employee training. But Alfalfa’s was on the way to Marty Moats’s office, so Streeter stopped off late that Tuesday afternoon to pick up vitamins. His glance worked its way from Constance’s legs quickly up past the white blouse and to her face. Those killer almond-shaped eyes so deep in concentration. Her hair was lighter than he recalled, probably sun-bleached from the nice weather they’d been having.

  Suddenly she looked up and broke into a quick smile of recognition, even though she couldn’t place him at first. Within a couple of seconds, once she remembered him as the piano student with the bumper sticker, that familiar quizzical look shadowed her smile. He didn’t know what to make of it, but her round face stayed open and warm, and the laugh lines around her eyes betrayed a kindness she normally tried to hide. She looked pleased to see him. Streeter flashed on what he was told about her boyfriend’s leaving her and it made him feel a twinge of tenderness toward her.

  “If it isn’t the whale lover,” she said. “I didn’t peg you for an Alfalfa’s kind of guy.” She walked toward him to where they were only a couple of feet apart. “You look more like the type to get his groceries down at the Sizzler. Meat and potatoes all the way.”

  Streeter glanced around the store for a moment. “I get a healthy impulse now and then. But you’re right. This isn’t my kind of place. The employees are mostly condescending vegetarians with nose rings and purple lips. Order the chicken salad or anything with meat at the deli and they act like you’re asking them to slaughter a puppy. How about you? Come here often?” He immediately realized that it sounded like a bar pickup line.

  She nodded. “From time to time, Streeter. I don’t live far from here.”

  Now he smiled and leaned closer. As he did, he recognized her perfume as Donna Karan. A good fit for her. “You know my name. Have you been asking about me, Constance?”

  She shot one eyebrow up for a second. “You know my name, too.”

  “That must mean something.”

  “It means we both were checking each other out,” she responded.

  They stood there for a long moment in silence. Finally, he spoke. “You’ve given me the strangest look the last few times I’ve seen you. Ever since you commented on my bumper sticker. It’s almost like we’re sharing a joke together, only I don’t know it. Either that or maybe you’re laughing at me. What’s that about?”

  “I’m not sure, Streeter. For one thing, you sort of remind me of someone. Sort of. Plus, I don’t know what to make of you.” She glanced down at his hands. “A big guy like you. Shoulders a mile wide and hands like a foundry worker, and here you are struggling with classical music. And you dress nice enough, but then there’s that car of yours. I gather you’re not too image-conscious.” She flashed her big grin again. “I think that’s kind of…I don’t know. Sweet.”

  “Sweet? My Buick’s been called a lot of things, but never that.”

  “I don’t mean your car’s sweet. And forget the bumper art. I just mean it’s kind of endearing the way you come down to the studio every week in that old clunker, all serious, and work so hard at learning to play the piano.”

  He had to think about that for a moment. As he did, she frowned slightly. “You’re some kind of bounty hunter, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “Some kind.”

  “Do you find people?”

  “I do a fair amount of skip tracing.”

  Her smile reappeared. “Are you any good at it?”

  He nodded. “Why?”

  “Would you find someone for me?”

  “Who?”

  “A deadbeat former student of mine. The bum owes me over three hundred do
llars and I want to drag him into small-claims court. Trouble is, I have no idea where he is. All I ever had for him was a phone number and that’s been disconnected.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Ernie Lomeli. L-O-M-E-L-I. I think he lived way north, but I’m not sure.”

  “How old is he?”

  “About twenty-five, I guess.” She studied him, the quizzical grin working its way back on her face. “Think you can track him down, Streeter? I’ll take you out for a nice dinner if you do.”

  That set him back. “Dinner? Us? I usually charge by the hour.”

  Constance took a step back, about to leave. “What fun is that? As long as we’re checking up on each other, we may as well just go out sometime and ask our questions face-to-face.” With that, she nodded and turned to walk away. Then she paused. “Keep me posted on Mr. Lomeli. I don’t know anything else about him except that he plays a rotten guitar and that he’s going to pay for our dinner if you find him.” She smiled once more and then walked away.

  By the time Streeter left the store and got to Marty’s, it was almost six-thirty. Marty actually kept two offices. The first one was a small working facility in the rear of his largest store just off the 16th Street Mall. The second was located in an older row house near Washington Park, in the middle of town. It was barely an office and he didn’t keep a receptionist there. More like an elaborate den where he could get away from Marlene and the demands of business, and hoist a few in peace while working on his stamp collection. Judging by the rumpled condition of the side bedroom he spotted when he walked in, Streeter also assumed that stamp collecting wasn’t the only recreation that old Marty pursued there.

  Marty was in a good mood, holding a glass of what appeared to be bourbon and offering the bounty hunter a drink the minute he arrived. He did not, however, give a tour of the office suite and he casually shut the bedroom door before serving the Scotch.

  “Things are taking shape real nicely, son,” Marty said as he settled into a recliner and pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket. “I just got off the phone with Richie and his lady friend and they’re coming home. Probably leaving tomorrow. ’Course, it’ll cost me a few thousand bucks, but that’s to be expected. Not much that boy’s done in the past twenty years that doesn’t end up screwing with my P-and-L statement. But I told him this time it’s a loan.” He stared at Streeter for a moment. “You speak to Royals?”

  The bounty hunter nodded. “First off, this morning. He seems to want to get this thing over too, but I know he’s going to be trouble. Somehow that guy’s always trouble. I went to his house and I don’t think he likes me knowing where he lives. But I figure that’s all right.”

  “Good,” Marty said. “I’m glad that miserable son of a bitch understands that we know how to get to him. Gives him a little something to chew on before his head hits the pillow at night. I don’t like it that we’re the only ones on the defensive all the time. Just don’t get him all mad about it.”

  “I have to be careful around Grover. There’s some bad blood between us and he knows how to get me worked up.”

  Marty smiled. “It won’t hurt if you’re a little on edge. Keep you on your toes.”

  Streeter considered all that as he drained his Scotch. “So what now?”

  “In a nutshell? Tina and Richie come back to Denver and we give the money and everything else back to Royals.”

  “When I talked to Grover,” Streeter said, “he mentioned making Richie do penance or something like that.”

  “The boy didn’t say anything to me about it. I’ll leave that up to them to work out.” He stared at his guest for a long moment. “We’d like you to serve as the bagman here, Streeter. Richie and Tina shouldn’t even get in the same room with Royals and I’m too old for this kind of stuff. Think you’ll be able to do that?”

  Streeter nodded.

  Marty ran one hand thoughtfully along the side of his face. “Might be a wrinkle or two we have to iron out first.”

  “Such as?”

  “Apparently, Grover wants the originals and all copies of those stolen files. Tina and Richie don’t much care for that notion. Especially her. Me and her got into a big flap about it on the phone just now. She sees keeping the originals as protection against Grover coming after them down the road.”

  Streeter stared hard at him. “She’s right. Grover Royals’ll never be happy with what they’re giving him. Sooner or later, he’ll kill Tina and Richie unless they have something on him. They shouldn’t give up those files under any circumstances.”

  This seemed to bother Marty, as he frowned like his stomach hurt. “I told them just to do what Royals says and not piss him off any further. But Tina won’t hear of it and Lord knows Richie’ll do whatever that woman tells him to do. In my entire life I don’t believe I’ve never seen a man so pussy-whipped. Anyhow, they’ll be back soon and I have a place they can stay here in town where Royals won’t be able to find them. I also said that if they insist on keeping the original files, they can store them in my office safe.” He paused. “For now, just sit tight, Streeter. I’ll call you when we make all the arrangements.”

  “You seem awfully concerned about those files, Marty.”

  The old man shrugged and studied his drink. “Just trying to help, son. That’s all.”

  FOURTEEN

  Richie looked at the three fifty-pound iced wooden crates of fresh Florida stone crabs in the back of their rented minivan and shook his head. Stealing from Rudy was supposed to be the move that would rescue Stan and set him and Tina up financially. Instead, they’re hauling crabs and drugs around the country. Might as well strap live chickens to the van roof and hang a sign off the side saying IDIOT BANDITS ON BOARD.

  Tina’s father had given them the fresh crabs half an hour ago as a token of his gratitude for what they were trying to do for him. He said to take them to a fish market in Woodville, some backwater town off the freeway south of Tallahassee. It was only twenty minutes out of their way and the owner would give them seven hundred dollars for the three crates. Cash. Stan had gotten them free from a longtime customer who owed him a big favor. Take all the profits, he had told his daughter. Tina finally convinced him to let her wire half the money back to him. He needed it more than she did, but he wouldn’t hear of taking it all. Secretly, she planned to send it all anyway.

  It was almost noon that Wednesday as Stanley Gillis stood silently in front of his trailer watching Richie and Tina put their luggage into the green van. He was a balding, thick man of five foot nine, wearing his usual work clothes: bib blue-jean overalls with a gray T-shirt underneath. His skin looked like weather-beaten saddle leather and he appeared to be ten years older than he really was. The only physical trait he shared with his daughter was his long, though receding, red hair. Tina, wearing blue shorts and a T-shirt, approached from the driveway and Stan opened his arms to her.

  “I’m going to miss having you two here, baby,” he said as he circled his chunky arms around her. “Mostly you, but Richie was starting to grow on me, too.”

  Tina hugged him and then pulled back. He smelled of grouper, cigars, and Budweiser. She looked up and smiled. “We might be back sooner than you think. Richie loves it here and I’ve had about enough of Colorado myself.”

  “Sure,” he said with little conviction. He studied her for a moment. “You guys be careful up in Denver. If it gets rough, either call me or head back home. This isn’t right, you taking all the heat for trying to help your old man out.”

  “We’ll be fine.” She looked away. Tina had told Stan little about their situation other than that they had to return some of the money. He hadn’t heard about Grover and his threats or about their side trip to St. Louis. She certainly hadn’t mentioned her plan to skim part of the money and get more from Rudy. All Stan knew was that they had run into trouble with her ex-boss, who wanted his money back, and that Tina had arranged to keep fifty thousand dollars. “Take care of yourself and keep the drinking down.”
She studied his sad, dark eyes. “This is going to work out. The bank gave you time and I’ll send the money in about a week or so.”

  Stan smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know how you did it, baby, but then you always had a way with people.” Just then Richie walked up behind her. Stan spotted him over her shoulder. “You drive careful, mister.” Then he stepped back and looked at them. “Art’s expecting you tonight. It’s about seven hours up there and you should miss rush-hour traffic in St. Pete. Art’ll try and talk you down on the price for the crabs. He’s like that. He’ll bitch and moan some, but he’ll end up paying it.”

  Then he nodded, turned, and walked toward the house. As Tina watched him leave, she wondered if he’d ever open up more. That was about as much conversation as she could get from the man. She turned to Richie, her eyebrows shooting up for a second. “Let’s go. He never was much for long goodbyes.”

  They walked to the van and she glanced through the side window before getting in. Their two suitcases, all they left Denver with, were stacked on the back bench seat. “Where did you put the money briefcase?” She asked once she got inside.

  Richie motioned behind himself toward the backseat. “It’s way in the rear. Under the crabs.” He started the engine and they headed north.

  The afternoon drive along the Gulf Coast went fast. Tina particularly liked going through Sarasota, her favorite city in Florida. The highway runs right along the beach and with the tall, expensive condos on their right and the luxury boats bobbing in the bay to their left, the place looked like a postcard. They only stopped once, for gas and burgers, as they hit the Panhandle and headed west. By the time they approached Tallahassee, it was after seven. They turned off the freeway and moved south. Two miles down they stopped at a four-way intersection. An elderly man in a red windbreaker was leaning against the stop sign. He waved to them and moved toward the van.

  “You mind giving me a lift to Woodville?” he asked as he got to them. “It’s just down the road a few miles. My truck broke down back there.”