Streeter Box Set

by Michael Stone

  By this time, Streeter had parked the car and made it to the front lobby, where Alphonse sat panting on one of the huge over-stuffed couches. “Is the boy okay?” Streeter asked.

  The Cheese Man just nodded a couple of times and waved broadly with his left hand, apparently indicating that he needed breathing room.

  Streeter studied the old man. “I think you should get examined by one of the doctors yourself. You’re not looking very good, Al.”

  Alphonse gulped air and glanced up at him. “Give me a break, okay? I come running down here thinking the kid’s all but dead and then I find out he’s upstairs eating Jell-O and playing Nintendo or whatever. A regular roller-coaster is what I been on here. You can see that.” He paused and sucked in some more air. “I tell you one thing, that daughter a mine shows her face down here, she’ll be the one needs an ER.”

  “Is that right, Daddy?” Sheri’s voice came from behind Streeter. Both Alphonse and he spun around in her direction. “Here I think I did you a favor by waiting to call and this is the thanks I get?”

  The old man’s head continued to move back and forth as he breathed loudly through his mouth and stared at her. Streeter’s face said nothing and he stepped off to the side to let her approach her father.

  “You want thanks?” Alphonse asked in a deep wheeze. “Scare the living crap out a me and you want thanks?” He glanced off in confusion. Suddenly, he looked back up at her and asked sharply, “Was this Bosco and the D. again?”

  Sheri studied him for a long moment and finally shook her head. “Nicky said he was drinking Jack Daniel’s with this little girl he’s been running around with. She broke out the Demerol and they went for some downer cocktails. They were at the girl’s apartment, and the only thing that saved them was that her roommate came home for lunch and found them. Everyone’s okay, but they’re both sicker than all hell.”

  The Cheese Man nodded slowly. “It’s like he’s trying to kill himself.” He leaned forward as if he was going to stand up. “Is all this drug garbage supposed to be fun? Nearly kill yourself for kicks. What’s he thinking about anyhow?”

  “Why don’t you go ask him?” Sheri nodded her head to the side, toward the elevators. “He’s conscious and he’s been asking for you.”

  Alphonse stood up.

  “One good thing might have come out of all this,” Sheri said before he moved any farther. “Nicky told me he’ll go to Hazelden. Right away, before his next trial. The court should let him do that. He wants the whole sixty-day inpatient treatment. That’s the first time he ever said that he’d go to rehab. He’s leaving right away, tomorrow morning.”

  The old man considered that and then broke into a weak smile. He and Sheri had investigated the drug-and-alcohol rehabilitation center in Minnesota, but every time they mentioned it to Nicholas, he would either yell at them or withdraw. “Then this wasn’t so bad, after all,” he told Sheri. With that he headed for the elevators.

  Sheri and Streeter watched him get into one and then just stood there silently in the large lobby. After a while, she turned and faced Streeter, who was standing about four feet away, looking calm, his hands in his back pockets.

  “How’d you get dragged into this?” she asked him.

  “I was having dinner with Al when you called.” He took his hands out of his pockets and stepped up to her. Sheri wasn’t wearing much makeup, and she looked more tired and older than he’d ever seen her. “So you don’t think Nicholas was trying to kill himself.”

  “No more than usual. Do you want to get a cup of coffee? There’s a cafeteria just over there a ways.”

  “I’m pretty coffeed up right now, but I’ll sit with you for a bit.”

  They headed down a wide hall. Sheri was wearing tight jeans and a white T-shirt. Tired or not, she had the figure of a woman a solid ten years younger. One who worked out, at that. Her hair was longer and darker than Streeter recalled, and she smelled faintly like body lotion. When they arrived, he got a table in the corner and she went for coffee. The room tried to disguise itself with subdued lighting and art prints, but it still felt like a hospital. Faintly antiseptic, full of hushed conversations.

  “This is a blessing in disguise,” Sheri said when she sat down across from him. She stirred her coffee and looked up at him. “Nicky going for inpatient rehab. I guess having your stomach pumped can change your outlook. Between that and the car business Saturday, Nicky’s getting the message that he can’t dodge the bullet forever.”

  Her eyes looked sad and she didn’t have any edge in her voice.

  Streeter began, “Why do you think he’s so…”

  “Fucked up?” she interrupted. “I don’t mean to sound vulgar, but let’s not beat around the bush.” She paused. “I might not be mother of the year, but I tried to do the best I could for him. And Lord knows his grandmother gave him enough love. But when he was little, his useless father and I were pretty caught up in the whole drug thing ourselves. Pot, pills, and partying. Nicky got used to being ignored, and when his father left, well, it tore him up. Nicky worshiped the man. I think he’s trying to get back at me for driving him off.” She took a long drink from her coffee. “That’s the best I can come up with, anyhow. Do you have any kids, Streeter?”

  “No.”

  “Never been married, huh?”

  He broke into a grin. “I’ve just never been married long enough to start a family.”

  “That’s a shame.” Sheri waved one hand casually around the room. “See what you’re missing?” Her eyes bored in on his. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  The bounty hunter leaned back in his chair and frowned. “Not at the moment.”

  “How long has ‘the moment’ been?”

  “Why?”

  “Just curious.” Sheri smiled. “You’re very appealing and I assume you’re straight, so I was just wondering why you’re not attached.”

  “Well, the moment’s been a few months, but let’s change the subject.”

  Sheri nodded, leaned into the table, and yawned. “I’ll be leaving with Nicky in the morning, too. I’ll get him settled in at Hazelden, and then I’m driving over to stay with Mom in Milwaukee. It’s about a six-hour drive, so I can go visit Nicky from time to time.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.” Streeter shifted his weight in his seat. “I just hope it doesn’t take us sixty days to get Disanto and Bosco in line. I don’t think your father could stand that much pressure and suspense. Not to mention being away from your mother for that long.”

  “Then hurry up and take care of Freddy. Okay, Streeter?” There was no humor in her voice.

  TWENTY-THREE

  “So, Danny says he’ll play ball with us?” Streeter asked Frank. He’d just finished telling him and Ronnie about his night at the hospital. He was sitting casually on the bondsman’s credenza that Tuesday morning, his legs dangling in front of him. Frank relaxed, swiveling in his huge chair; Ronnie sat upright in one of the visitors’ chairs across the desk, staring at both of them.

  “Turns out he’d be happy to give us a hand with this bozo,” Frank finally responded. “He tells me that old Ted Kostas is a royal pain in the neck. Comes in practically every night drunk, nurses a cheap beer for hours, never tips Danny’s girls, and generally makes a pest of himself. Half the time the bouncers end up telling him to leave. Danny says the only reason he doesn’t bar the guy for life is because he sometimes brings in friends and he never gets violent. Danny’ll help us, for sure.”

  “Good.” Streeter got off the credenza and stood up. “We’ve got to get something out of Ted, and I figure the best way to do that is through his weakness for women of the strip-club variety. If Danny’ll let us put a woman on the inside, maybe we can get Kostas to open up a little.”

  Frank leaned forward in his chair and put his elbows on his knees. “That could work, Street. But we’ll have to use a lady with a lot of sizzle. One who’s hot and still can keep her wits about her. She’ll have to have raw nerve, too. Danny
’s place is pretty down and dirty. I’ve been there a few times and it’s definitely not for the fainthearted. Not to mention that this is pretty much of a long shot, even if we had someone like that available.”

  Streeter nodded. “That it is. If you’ve got a better plan, I’d love to hear it.” He walked around the desk toward Ronnie. “But I already know the woman for the job.”

  Ronnie turned herself in her chair to watch him. “I’ll just bet you do, Streeter.”

  “We’re back to ‘Streeter’ again.” His eyes got all wide and innocent. “Anyhow, you’re perfect for this, Ronnie. All that training in Chicago at getting lonely men to open up. This is the role you were born to play.”

  She looked at Frank and shook her head, although she didn’t appear to be mad. “Whores for hire, that’s me. The more down and dirty, the better.”

  The bondsman sat up and looked at both of them. “You’re thinking Miss Ronnie here, huh? This is pretty far beyond the call of duty and you know it.”

  “Not that far,” Streeter said softly, moving between Ronnie and the desk, and then staring down straight into her eyes. “If this was Disanto or maybe even Bosco, I’d say it was too risky. But Kostas is fairly harmless.” He paused. “Anyhow, if you don’t want to do it, Ronnie, I’ll understand. But we’ll keep an eye on you the whole time. Just pretend Kostas is a wayward husband and you’re nailing down the goods. You were the one who wanted to get into the PI business. Sometimes we have to do pretense work like this.”

  “That’s a nice way to put it.” Ronnie stood up and nodded. She was wearing a loose black sweatshirt over tight washed-out jeans. “You know there’s no way I’d turn you down, don’t you?”

  “That was my assumption. Plus, Danny’s isn’t all that seedy.”

  “I can just imagine,” she said. “It’s probably fun for the whole family—right, Street?”

  He shot her a wink. “I’m glad we’re back to ‘Street’ again.”

  “How we going to wire it?” Frank asked.

  Streeter turned to his partner. “You call Danny Fisk and tell him he’s got a new waitress for tonight. Or tomorrow night, or whenever he thinks Kostas’s likely to come into his place next. Tell him that she’s experienced and she’ll work cheap. Free, in fact. Think he’ll go for that?”

  Frank nodded. “Probably. He owes me a favor or two, and when I tell him about Miss Ronnie here”—he nodded at her—“Big Danny’ll jump at the offer.”

  Streeter then turned back to Ronnie. “Dress up in your best stray-husband clothes and plan on spending some time working the tables. Frank will have Danny point out Kostas to you, and then you go wait on him. Get him interested in you, which shouldn’t be all that difficult. I want you to get him to ask you to sit down for a drink. Better still, if he comes on to you, tell him you get off soon and you’ll meet him somewhere else. Somewhere quiet for a drink. Make it a public place, like an appropriate bar where you can have a little privacy and still be seen at all times. Charlie Brown’s in Capitol Hill could work. It’s never too crowded and it should suit Kostas.” He turned to Frank again. “Maybe Danny can use you as a bartender at his place, too, so you can keep an eye on them while they’re inside.” Then, back to Ronnie: “I’ll be out in the car and I’ll follow you to Charlie Brown’s. He knows what I look like, so I can’t be in the room with you two. But I can wait outside in the car to make sure you’re not getting in over your head.”

  “What if he wants to go somewhere real quiet?” Ronnie asked. “Like, say, his apartment.”

  “You can’t let that happen.” Streeter studied her. “Insist on meeting him at a public bar and I’m sure he’ll be so thrilled at the offer that he won’t complain. Take your own car to Charlie Brown’s and tell him you’ll follow him there. If he gets weird about it, the whole thing’s off. No way I’m putting you in that kind of a spot. You don’t go to his place alone with him under any circumstances.”

  Ronnie looked at Streeter like she had another question. Then she nodded. “I hear you, boss. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were getting jealous on me.”

  Streeter frowned. “Yeah, right. I’ve seen this guy, and if he’s your type, I won’t stand in the way of your happiness.”

  “How you going to handle him?” Frank asked her.

  “The same way I’d handle any other guy, only more so.” Ronnie sat back down in the chair and ran a hand through her hair. “Smile, show him some cleavage, and act like what he says is important. Butter up his ego. I’ll just play it out for all it’s worth. I know what we’re looking for and I can be very subtle and persistent at the same time.”

  “Sounds good,” Streeter said. “We’ll go over the details more if and when we set this up.” Then he turned to Frank. “You better get on the horn to Danny as soon as possible. Let him know we won’t cause him any problems and he’ll get free help for part of the night.”

  The bondsman nodded. “He’ll go along with us.”

  “Good.” Streeter moved away from the desk. “Ronnie, how’d you make out at the secretary of state’s office yesterday on Disanto & Associates?”

  She picked up her notebook from the desk and studied it. “I don’t know if I did you much good. For the corporate officers, the articles of incorporation listed just Disanto and a woman’s name, Angie Disanto, who I assume is his wife or daughter. They both have the same address. The registered agent is an attorney down on 17th, but he probably doesn’t know anything about Freddy’s activities.

  “There’s also a Niles Macmillan listed on the papers as a corporate officer. Vice-president, no less. His address is a P.O. box in Scottsdale.” She looked up at Streeter. “No phone number or anything else for Niles, so I went to the library and got a Phoenix phone book. They don’t have a listing for his residence. I also called Directory Assistance for Macmillan’s home phone, but it’s unlisted. But there was a Macmillan Development Company in the directory.” She pointed to the notebook. “The number’s written out there.”

  “Good work.”

  “Very thorough, Miss Ronnie,” Frank put in. “Lots of initiative there.”

  “She’ll need it when she works Kostas,” Streeter said, moving toward the door. “Look, I’ve got some errands to run downtown this morning. Get ahold of Danny as soon as you can. Okay, Frank?”

  Frank nodded.

  “You seem to be more hurried than usual about this thing,” Ronnie said.

  “I keep thinking of old Al last night.” Streeter’s voice was softer now. “He’s not going to hold up all that much longer with Disanto on his tail and Maria out of town. And his family’s on me to take care of this mess. I want us to get to Kostas and get to him fast. Then I want to call Niles what’s-his-name in Arizona and see if he knows what the D. is doing up here with Alphonse.”

  “And what if he does?” Ronnie asked.

  “Then I’ll give him the same line I gave Disanto about going to the cops with it. Someone, somewhere along the line, has to break down and call off Freddy and Mitch.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Ronnie Taggert was dressed so hot that Wednesday night that in less than two hours of waiting tables she made over a hundred fifty dollars in tips. In the first hour, a few of the regular waitresses were getting jealous, and by nine-thirty, almost all of them were visibly upset with her. She was even getting more attention than most of the dancers. Big Danny Fisk offered her a full-time job on the spot. Frank, seeing that she was just playing a role and enjoying it, beamed at her from behind the bar. And Streeter, well, he flat-out had no idea what to make of her. When she pulled up to the church in her Celica to follow him to the strip club on South Federal Boulevard, he only saw her head, face, and upper body. That was provocative enough. Her hair teased up, heavy makeup, and a red Danskin top tight enough to threaten suffocation.

  But it was when she parked behind the club and got out of her car that Streeter really had to stop and think. Black skirt high and snug. At first, he thought it was her belt. Fishne
t stockings with heels so tall and skinny she seemed to be teetering on swizzle sticks. And the look on her face really shook him: her eyes moody and her mouth pouting. Plus, her head seemed to sway ever so slightly, as if she was enjoying a private fantasy with whomever she was looking at.

  Ted Kostas didn’t have a chance. He arrived at Big Danny’s shortly after ten—slightly plastered and frisky, as Danny had described. When Ronnie dipped at his table to serve him his beer, she threw him a come-on grin that almost melted his metal Zippo lighter. He nodded, came back with his own version of a smile, and then threw an extra seventy-five cents on her tray. A real stretch for the fat man.

  “You new here, honey?” Ted asked her before she left his table. He was wearing a soiled tan-and-gray flannel shirt that sagged over his belt with the weight of his thick and lumpy stomach. Old blue jeans and work boots completed his ensemble, and even from a few feet away, he smelled like a used ashtray. “I never seen you around before.” He batted his bloodshot gray eyes, which seemed to drift around with a mind of their own.

  Ronnie’s eyes widened for a second as she put the change in her tip tray. Then she winked. “I’m new, but this isn’t my first night. Thanks, Big Time.” With that, she turned away.

  “Hold on there, honey,” Ted said, reaching up and grabbing her by the elbow. He gave it a quick but firm tug and held it. “No need to be in such a big hurry to rush off like that. I’m what you might call a preferred customer around here.”