Searching for Harpies

by Charlie Vogel

  “And this is Sister Mary Catherine, who you also met at the party. She was there to congratulate Ann on behalf of the school her children attend. She teaches there when . . . not serving the people of the streets.”

  His eyes rounded as he finally recognized Lori. “My goodness. Yes, well, Bob, you’ve surprised me.”

  I scowled at him. “No nick names, please. Father Dominic will do, under the circumstances. I’m sure you’ve been under too much stress. The reason we are here is I hope to have your charges cleared.” His eyes widened, but in hope this time. “Sister Mary Catherine and I know you are innocent.”

  He closed his eyes a moment and crossed himself. Lori leaned close to nudge me and we mimicked him.

  I glanced at the bored guard and lowered my voice a notch. “Father, I know about the DNA, so you must have had intercourse with Penny just prior to her murder.” He dropped his gaze and nodded once. “Can you tell me anything about it?”

  He glanced up his eyes a bit panicked. “How will that help clear me?”

  “I need more information about Penny. You’re probably the last to see her alive. Do you have any idea why someone would want to kill her?”

  “The man who killed her was the last to see her. Before I say any more, I want to know what’s going on. What right do you have to question me? Since you’re obviously not what you look like but were at Ann’s party, I am assuming you’re not a police officer. What credentials do you have for this . . . investigating?”

  I sympathized with his uncertainty. “Calm down. I understand. Harry would tell you I have nothing but good intentions. I’ve always hated false accusations. I mean soul-deep, Father. I’m asking you to trust me.”

  “Falsely claiming holy orders doesn’t give me much confidence.”

  “The costumes got us in here. Please, Father.”

  He stared a long moment. “Are you a private eye of some sort?”

  “No, but I have solved a murder not so long ago.”

  “Whose murder?”

  “My wife’s.”

  He studied me through the glass then nodded. “I’m sorry to push, but everything is so messed up. I don’t know who to trust.”

  “Start with me. Tell me what happened the night you visited Penny.”

  He sat a little straighter as if willing himself to be strong. “Five years ago my first assignment was as assistant parish priest at Saint Peter’s downtown. I sincerely wanted to save lost souls. It didn’t take long to discover the multitude of sinners in my neighborhood. Jesus preached to the rich and the poor and forgave the sins of all. I’m sure you read the story of our Lord casting out the seven demons of Mary Magdalene? Saint Peter’s parish seemed to be in the center of the city’s crime area. I traced a lot of the problems to the girls working the streets.” He flicked a glance at Lori then held my gaze.

  “I encountered several lost souls willing to listen to me and tried to counsel them to change their ways, but after a year, my own guard against Satan . . . and my own flesh weakened.” His voice over the phone softened. “I-I began to sleep with a few of the girls I tried to save and-and could never even confess my sinful acts to my monsignor. That was my supervisor and confessor.” His shoulders again slumped, his expression sad in obvious shame.

  I quickly asked, “How long did you know Penny?” Lori stood and leaned close to hear his end of the conversation.

  He swallowed. “A-a few months. I attempted to talk to her about her drug use. I found out she was also selling marijuana. Not as bad as other things, but still . . . That-that night I left her apartment, I noticed a woman in the dark hallway. When I got to the stairs, I heard Penny ask her if she had enough money for a dime bag. Instead of confronting Penny about her transgression, I went on down the stairs and didn’t hear any more.”

  Lori took the phone from me. “So you think Penny knew this woman?”

  Father Manning only glanced at her then looked at me. “She didn’t seem too friendly towards her.”

  “Tommy, did she call her by a name?”

  The poor man grimaced. I glanced at Lori as she bit her bottom lip. When I looked back at the priest his frown gradually changed to curiosity as he now studied Lori.

  “No, I didn’t hear a name, Lori, I mean, Sister.” He angled his head. “Now I know why I didn’t recognize you at first. Your face and eyes . . .You seem to have a new aura of peace. Excuse my imagination . . . but just this moment, you reminded me of a picture Bishop Dergan has above his desk. It’s a portrait of Saint Frances Cabrini.”

  “You’re putting me on.” Lori shakily whispered into the phone. “Shit, do you remember my last name is Saint?”

  Placing my hand on her shoulder to calm her, I glanced at the guard to see if he reacted to any of this. He hadn’t moved his gaze from the clock on the opposite wall. Unless the phones were bugged, I believed we had all been quiet enough. I gently took the phone back. “The woman who stood outside the door, Father, what did she look like?”

  Father Manning cleared his throat. “She dressed as if she lived in the late 40’s or early 50’s. A large kerchief covered her head. She wore a house dress and bedroom slippers. Basically, she looked like any other homeless person I had seen. And she appeared very thin. Yes, very thin. The hallway was dark. Most are in those cheap apartment buildings.”

  Restless, Lori shifted from foot to foot, her hands again hidden in the habit. At the jangle of the wooden beads I briefly thought of her praying. It didn’t fit. Shit! Wearing the outfits must be corrupting us somehow. I turned back to Father Manning determined to focus on our mission. “Did anyone else see you leave Penny’s place?”

  “Yeah, I stopped and talked to Mrs. Pierce. She lives in the first apartment at the bottom of the stairs. I’m sure she’s the witness the police mentioned.”

  “Mrs. Pierce doesn’t live on the same floor as Penny?”

  “No.”

  I thought a long moment. “Have you ever heard of Harpies?”

  Father Manning scowled at me. “That’s a mythical symbol, like a figure or character.” He rubbed his forehead in thought. “I studied ancient religions in seminary. We needed to understand comparison and contrast as we would find in the real world. Harpies is a figure from Greek mythology. She was portrayed with a woman’s body and bat wings. What a dreadful figure, more like a witch. Her purpose was to carry away the souls of the dead.”

  “Harpies carries away the souls of the dead, huh?” Lori dropped into the chair next to mine staring at my face with wide eyes. She felt it, too. We had something.

  Father Manning shrugged “I even wrote a paper on Harpies. My little sister liked it so much she borrowed it for her high school project.”

  I reached out and patted Lori’s fist clamped on her lap. “I don’t know a thing about mythology, Father, but Penny was supposedly killed by someone who used the name Harpies.”

  “How did you find that out?”

  “A pimp told me.”

  Father Manning grunted and shook his head. “A pimp? Are you sure you can prove me innocent of murder and gain my freedom?”

  “I think so if we can locate Harpies. I want to do that before you go to trial.”

  He looked doubtful.

  The guard called out, “Time’s up, Father . . . and Father.”

  Quickly Father Manning said, “Give Bob Norris and Lori Saint a message. I wish they wouldn’t blaspheme the Church with inappropriate attire . . . when they, ah, attend Mass.”

  I smiled. “If their intentions are good, God will over look it and maybe even protect them.” I made the sign of the cross as if blessing him. He closed his eyes and hung up the phone.

  A few minutes later, the taxi dropped us off near the lot where my Ferrari waited. I dug the magnet key box from under the wheel well’s compartment. Finally we settled our sweating, black clothed bodies into the even hotter black leather seats. I turned the key in the ignition and cranked up the fan and air-conditioning to high. By the time the vents blew cool
er air I had removed my collar and jacket and worked on the buttons under the black shirt’s front pleat.

  Lori had immediately peeled off her veil and cowl to run her fingers through her matted hair. I almost swallowed my tongue as she flipped up her skirts over her black stocking clad legs. Full blast cooler air finally blew from the vents as I pulled into traffic. When I glanced over at Lori I saw her holding her skirt up enough to catch the flow from the vents. She shrugged. “I ain’t wearing underwear, so I’m not taking anything else off until I’m home.”

  I had to clear my throat. “That has never stopped you before. Hm, I wondered what nuns wore underneath all that material.”

  * * *

  After I slipped on my ragged Grateful Dead tee shirt, I stepped into my sandals and took the path to Lori’s house. The patio door had been left unlocked. I tapped on the glass, slid the door back and crossed the threshold, calling out, “Lori?”

  “In the kitchen with Harry.”

  I settled into a dinette chair facing Harry. Lori placed a cold bottle of Belgium beer in front of me before parking her nice butt on the top of a nearby kitchen step stool. Her high-cut shorts and flimsy cut-off tee shirt didn’t hide much. I blocked the rush of gratitude. The beer’s carbonation tickled the back of my mouth. I swallowed before commenting, “That’s no way for Sister Mary Catherine to dress, even in her time off.”

  Harry laughed. “Lori was just telling me what you guys did today. The hair cut and beard was a big sacrifice, but I can’t believe you pulled it off.”

  I waved the beer at him. “It was your idea. Have you thought of how we are going to find Harpies?”

  “Hey, you’re the brains of this outfit. What’s your next move?”

  “Okay.” I took another long drink. “I have to talk to Fox and find out why Nelson wanted to kill him. I think there’s a connection somehow.”

  Harry thoughtfully rubbed his finger in the moisture running down his beer bottle. “I’ve already talked to him. He doesn’t know anything. Maybe Nelson had a bad scene with one of his whores?”

  “When did you see Fox?”

  “I called him on his cell this morning.”

  “Goddamn. Why is it everyone knows everyone’s phone numbers except me?”

  “You never ask. And you don’t use a goddamn cell phone, Father Dumb Ass.”

  Lori held up a finger, listening. “Excuse me. That’s my cell phone ringing.”

  I waited until she was out of ear shot, then leaned toward Harry. “I have to go slumming to ask some questions on the street. With Fox having his people out, too, we should find some leads if not the killer.”

  Harry grunted as he stood. In two long strides he reached where Lori bent away from us talking quietly into her cell. Harry reached around to take the phone from her hand. “Ann? It’s me, Harry. Did he give you a phone number?” He listened, mouthing the numbers like some damn mantra. “Thanks, I’ll call him right now.”

  He dialed, winked at Lori then shrugged at me. “Yes, Mr. Daley. Piston here.” He nodded sagely. “And when did she call you last?” He jerked with a frown then stood straight. “Hello? Hello, Mr. Daley? Daily, are you all right?” He listened intently. “Who is this? Answer me! Who’s on the phone? Hello?”

  Frustrated, he punched one button, looked on the cell phone screen for the menu of directory numbers then punched another number. He looked at Lori instead of at me. “Police? Have the dispatcher send someone to Elk Rest Estates on 138th and Fort. A man named Daley lives in apartment 26. I was on the phone with him and heard gun shots. The phone clattered like it was dropped. He didn’t come back on the line.”

  After answering a few routine questions to verify his identity and story, Harry calmly set the phone back on the counter. The expression on his deeply scarred and pitted face looked both worried and a bit afraid.

  “What’s going on?” I demanded.

  “A nice man that Daly.” He shook himself like a wet dog and regained his focus. “He said a woman had been stalking him and making threatening phone calls. I heard two gun shots before the phone hit the floor. I then heard something like someone trying to control fast breathing, like panting. Then the line went dead. His apartment’s only a block away from my house. I’ll stop by on my way home.”

  “Who is Daley?”

  Lori spoke as Harry downed the last of his beer, “He had an office next door to Nelson.”

  Harry started toward the kitchen entryway then detoured back to the counter to scoop up Lori’s cell. He tapped in a number then listened as if counting. Deep in thought, he cut off the call and set down the phone. “Hm, Ann’s not home. I wonder where she went?”

  Chapter 5

  Her voice came across clear and crisp through my headset. I adjusted the mouth piece at my chin and responded, “Yeah, Lori, I see him. Looks like he’s coming your way.”

  Her long, blonde wig concealed the device in her left ear. She had sewn the tiny speaker among the rhinestones and other decorative little objects on a wide black velvet choker. At this distance, it all made her head appear separated from the rest of her body. For once she hadn’t bitched about my ability to spend money on such high tech little toys.

  Leaning back in the driver’s seat of the rented ’85 Chevy Celebrity, I stared through the windshield. The lanky man in the white tee-shirt, blue jeans and cowboy boots walked by Lori.

  I yawned. “He must not be the one.”

  In a low voice, she cheerfully quipped, “Bet you a day of love making he’ll turn around.”

  “A day with me or him?”

  “Whoever can afford it.”

  I wondered how anyone could resist Lori’s exotic mass of living tissue. God had placed everything in accordance to Gray’s Anatomy but thought to sculpt it to perfection. In the back of her closet, she had found the streetwalker’s outfit worn when I first met her. The dark leather bikini top and matching mini-skirt hid yet displayed just the right amount of flesh. Why couldn’t I follow my instincts to take her up on her not-so-subtle offers? What would it be like to make hot maddening love to her? Shit! Maybe I needed to see a psychiatrist.

  The man turned around. I had to whisper, “You won the bet.”

  She giggled and covered her mouth to say, “You better get your bed made.”

  The tall man stopped in front of her. “Hey, pretty lady, you want to party?”

  Not missing a beat, Lori slid right back into her husky street voice. “Sure, what you have in mind?”

  “Just you and me.”

  “What you got for fun?”

  “It’s right between my legs, baby.”

  “You sure it’s gonna be worth my time?”

  “That depends on the price.”

  “How much you want to pay?”

  “Fifty bucks.”

  Heart pounding, I started the car. The Chevrolet’s valves clicked to the same beat of my pulse. A mini-van pulled across the street, blocking my view. Lori must have caught that because she walked a few steps back into my line of sight, her hips swaying and the john following. She turned to face me. One polished finger nail touched her lips as if correcting already perfect lipstick.

  She spoke as if bored.“Fifty can’t pay my rent.”

  The tall guy hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Bullshit, baby. That’s the going rate.”

  “No, no, big boy. You have to tell me exactly what you want me to do for the fifty, otherwise . . . go play with yourself.”

  “You know what I want.” Now his hands rubbed on his jeans.

  Lori flicked her finger once and I accelerated across the street onto the sidewalk in front of the frowning man. Lori propped one hand on a hip and looked disgusted. “Yeah, you want a collar. Don’t you, Sgt. Moore?”

  I stepped out and glared over the roof. Moore’s shaggy brown hair waved in the warm breeze. He looked from her to me and back. “What in hell’s going on here?”

  I tapped a hand on the car roof to get his attention. “A friend of yours asked us
to look you up. He said you could help us.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Who?”

  Lori walked toward the back seat passenger side. I motioned him to join her. “Get in and we’ll explain everything. If we spend much more time here, we’ll blow your cover.”

  Everyone in the car remained quiet as I drove onto Dodge Street and located a parking lot on the corner of Thirtieth. I pulled into a space next to the alley. A big van sat beside us, blocking the view from the street.

  Turning, I put my back to the driver’s door and met Moore’s narrowed eyes. “I promised not to drop any names, but I know a police officer who said for the past year you’ve been the best undercover cop working the whores. I didn’t want to waste time by going through the bullshit at the police station to find you, so Lori and I decided to catch you on the street.”

  He ran his gaze down then back up Lori’s fine body before a smile deepened the lines of his forty-year-old face. “And you did a right good job of finding me. This young lady has some experience. So . . .” He narrowed his eyes on me again, “What do you want?”

  “A girl was killed. Penny. We want to find the murderer.”

  “He’s in jail.”

  Lori sat up straight. “The screwed-up holy guy didn’t kill anyone. We’re looking for someone by the name of Harpies.”

  “I’ve heard of her. Who are you people, anyway?”

  “I’m Bob Norris and this is Lori Saint.”

  “Hm. I do remember something . . .” He snapped his fingers. “Of course, you solved your wife’s murder a couple of years ago. I worked under Sergeant Morten at the time. You did everyone a favor by killing off that dumb son-of-a-bitch. Ah, he was your father-in-law, right?”

  It was my turn for a stare down. When he blinked I continued, “Can you help us or not?”

  “I don’t know what you want from me. The priest has been arrested and—” He held up a hand stopping Lori’s comeback. “The evidence looks bad for him.”

  Drumming the fingers of my left hand on the steering wheel to ease the knot of frustration in my gut, I waited a beat. “Well, Sergeant, we don’t give a shit about that. Like I said, we want to find Harpies. Where can we start looking?”