Searching for Harpies

by Charlie Vogel

  “He was arrested shortly after that picture was taken. Murder charge. Seems he killed a cop.”

  As I inspected the man’s face for Lori’s inherited features, a memory nagged me. “I think I’ve seen him, but I can’t remember where.”

  * * *

  Lori stepped on the gas the instant the light turned green. Pieces of mud, which had not fallen before, rumbled in the wheel wells. Woodmen Tower, a thirty story building, shaded the morning sun as Lori’s Thunderbird continued through the intersection at 17th and Douglas Streets. She slowed behind a bus then whipped into the next lane. A few inches from her rear bumper, a car horn blared.

  Sitting on the padding of a dry towel over my passenger seat, I glanced at Lori’s smiling face. “Feeling better, huh?”

  “Little bit. I’ll be really happy to get rid of Sgt. Dead Ass, though.”

  “Well, my day was made when Harry knew a friend with a tow truck. Don’t know why he had to come along, though. You know, Harry looked skeptical but I think the driver bought that the car slipped a gear and rolled into the yard.”

  “Harry knows I never take this car out. You noticed he didn’t say much.”

  “Yeah, he just looked real hard at us, trying to figure out what we weren’t telling him.”

  Lori and I had put back on the wet, muddy clothes to go along with our story of trying to dig the car out. The drying mud now dropped off her skin-tight jeans and littered the towel under her nice butt.

  “Shit. That’s great.” She snarled as a police car pulled in front of us.

  So much for her good mood. “Where are we going to dump him?”

  “I’m looking, damn it. It would have been better at night.”

  “Wait. Change lanes and pull over there. Across the street. I see a rental place.” A half-hour later, I had a dry seat. The size of the rental truck may have been more than needed, but it had a lift ramp and an enclosed cargo body. I followed Lori in her T-bird to the abandoned soap factory across the levees at the banks of the Missouri River.

  We drove slowly until I found one of the factory’s warehouses with an open door. I got out and looked around for both any homeless witnesses and a large discarded crate. I didn’t find the witnesses but did find a partially collapsed crate. My footsteps and the scrapping of the wood on the littered floor echoed in the old building. I had double-gloved to guard against tearing them on the crate surface. By the time I got it to the truck, Lori had backed her car through the doorway beside the lowered lift on the back of the truck. I kept her from opening the trunk until I made one quick walk around to check if anyone could see us from the river or from the surrounding abandoned buildings. Returning to the vehicles I let out a relieved sigh.

  “All we would need is some wino snitch flagging down a goddamn police car.”

  Her good mood returning, she snapped the cuff of one glove and cheerfully quipped, “Then let’s get this done and get the hell out of here.”

  With grunts and groans we had the body tipped into the crate on the lift. I scrounged for a few rusted nails. Lori took her precious car’s shiny, unused tire iron from me and handed over a filthy short piece of L-iron. I secured the crate’s frame then its lid, sealing in the cargo.

  When we dragged the crate from the lift into the truck’s interior, I spotted a clipboard left in a slot by the door with two shipping labels forgotten by the previous renters. The address already printed was to a furniture factory in Kansas City. I waved them at Lori. “Moore’s destination.”

  “Why in hell can’t we just leave him somewhere down here or dump him in the river?”

  “It would be our luck the crate would float and this area is motel central for winos. Didn’t you see all the bottles and smell the piss, Miss Street-Smart? If we get him out of town, it would be days before the cops find him. These shipping labels are made out in someone else’s handwriting. Can’t be traced back to us. And no fingerprints. I’ll take care of the shipping and you meet me at Jake’s in an hour.”

  After shopping at Goodwill for old clothing, I made a stop at Lori’s favorite uniform/costume shop. The young sales girl mentioned it was early for Halloween, but I assured her the mustache and heavy eyebrows were for a friend who was going to pull a prank.

  Two blocks from Husker Shipping and Storage, I pulled into an alley and slipped on the old clothing. Using the facial glue, I pressed the hair under my nose and above my eyes then settled my reading glasses on the tip of my nose.

  Moments later, I stood at the counter facing a middle-aged woman handing me a form to fill out. The form seemed simple but using my left hand not only disguised my handwriting but cramped my fingers. By repeating it before entering, I remembered the address glued to the shipping crate.

  After the lady assured me the box would be shipped that night, I returned to the truck to watch the men off load it. I prayed all the nails had been pounded in securely enough.

  With the lift back in place and the truck’s door closed, I let out a long breath as I climbed behind the steering wheel again. When I wiped my forehead, I then stared down at the eyebrow resting in my handkerchief. Before anyone there could see me, I had the truck pulling back into downtown traffic. I drove one-handed, picking at the second eyebrow so I wouldn’t look lopsided.

  My disguise went into a dumpster beside Jake’s. When I entered I spotted Lori waiting at a corner table. She looked worried. As I took a seat across from her, I murmured, “The box will ship in a couple of hours.”

  “A lot of trouble for such a fucked up mess.”

  “I think we got lucky this time. The lady at the shipping company said the furniture store in the address went out of business. I gave a phony name on the paper work and convinced her ‘Mark Jones’ has taken over the building and is expecting the box. I gave her a fifty dollar tip to hurry things along.”

  The waitress took our order of hamburgers and fries then turned to greet a group who just walked in.

  Lori took a sip of her ice water. “So the box will be, ah, laying around a long time before someone opens it?”

  “Probably.” I leaned toward her. “Now we have to find out why he wanted to kill you. I don’t think he saw me enter your house, so I really think he was after you. And I’m convinced it has something to do with Harpies. Is there anyone else on the street I haven’t met that you are still friends with?”

  “You were always so straight, Bob, I never introduced you around. And, yeah, I still remember lots of working girls. I haven’t talked to anyone lately and was never real close to most, not like I was with Penny. Shit, it’s been two years. Who knows how many are still in business. Once a person retires, they don’t hang around, not like Harriet, anyway. How many people do you talk with from that high school you taught at?”

  “You’re right. But, I think it’s worth a try to find some of your old co-workers.”

  “Really?” She cracked a smile. “Well, you better have some serious cash because my girls don’t talk cheap. Talk costs more than fucking, ya know.”

  “Like you keep pointing out, no, I don’t know but I’m willing to learn.”

  * * *

  Pressed back in the still damp seat of Lori’s Thunderbird, I took two more antacid tablets. Clutching the gears into third, she smiled, “Stomach problems?”

  “The grease in Jake’s food attaches to the stomach lining like flies on shit.”

  “Thought it was my driving.”

  She parked on the street two doors from the apartment we once shared while I was investigating Eileen’s murder. As she carefully applied more lipstick, Lori looked around then nodded. “There’s Candy waiting for a john. You want to start with her?”

  I considered the fact that Lori could squeeze information from the whores faster. My experience with the type began and ended with Lori. I knew what I wanted to ask, but not how to win their cooperation, not without them expecting me to use their other services.

  Lori studied me with an expectant smirk that irritated. Damn i
t, I’m older with more experience . . . kinda. I can do this.

  I yanked the door handle. “I’ll ask a few questions.” I hesitated. “But I’m not stupid and this is too important. If I raise a finger as if in over my head, you jump in. Alright?”

  She chuckled. “Okay, but be calm-like, easy going. Johns don’t demand because they want to be treated nice. Most of the time.” She shrugged. “Introduce yourself and ask how she’s doing. Don’t act like a stiff-necked married man or a cop. Ease into your questions.”

  “Got it. You coming?”

  “No. I’ll just watch for now. Candy works better one on one. Don’t say nothing about money up front. When she brings it up, jew her down. She’ll expect that.”

  Since I had a few Hebrew friends, the derogatory Jew remark was one more irritant. I shoved the thought to the back of my mind to lecture Lori about it later.

  Hitching my pants, I headed toward the woman leaning against the brick wall, her gaze scanning the street like a relaxed predator. Her right foot had been raised knee high and set against the building. With her leg bent, the black mini-skirt purposefully showed off white thong panties. The make-up on her face looked hurriedly smeared on. For a moment I wondered if she had to reapply it after every trick. My stomach clenched. A few strands of pale hair at her temple had escaped the matted and messy dark wig that probably needed to be washed. Rethinking if I wanted to “invest” in her, I walked on by. Almost hearing Lori’s chuckle over my cowardice, I forced myself to turn around and look her up and down.

  She melted into an enticing smile, “See something you like?”

  I waited for my mind to focus and find the words to go along with Lori’s coaching.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Bob.”

  “I’m Candy. You want to go someplace to, ah, talk?”

  “Eh, right here will do.”

  “Here? More like that alley behind you. You want the wife watching? Is that a turn-on?”

  “I’m not married.”

  “Sure. You got a ring. And there’s a lady eyeing us from your car.”

  “She’s just a friend, and I’m . . . widowed.”

  “Like ‘em young, do you? Maybe you want to prove yourself? How you want to do that, huh?”

  Did I appear as if I wanted to prove something? That scrambled my focus. “I-I would like your help in finding Harpies.”

  The smile disappeared. “Who?”

  “Do you know who I’m talking about?”

  She shrugged, one fist coming up to prop on her hip, her whole attitude changing from advertising to belligerent. “Does she work the street?”

  “I don’t know. Lots of people out here seem to know something about her. You’ve never heard the name?”

  I heard steps behind me then Candy shifted her attention over my shoulder.

  Her blue eyes turned to ice. “Hi, Lori. You back to work?”

  Lori stopped beside me. “I see you took my beat, bitch.”

  “You want it back?”

  “Making any business?”

  Candy stood on both feet and pulled her hem down. “A little. All the big spenders are across the river at the casinos. What’re you doing these days, if you’re not whoring? Maybe you’re now a live-in? Looks like he can afford it.” She looked directly at me.

  Lori slid her thumbs inside the waist of her still dirty, too tight jeans. “Maybe it’s about fucking time for you to look for other work . . . if you can’t make the bucks here. Your age might be hurting business.”

  “I make more than enough.”

  Lori tsk-ed. “That ain’t what Fox said. He’s thinking about replacing you.”

  Candy bit her upper lip, glanced around then between the two of us. “You working for him now?”

  “No. We talk. Like friends, ya know?”

  She drew herself up, the belligerence coming back. “You told him I should be replaced?”

  “I only said if you ain’t making five hundred a day, you ain’t worth his fucking time.”

  “Goddamn it, Lori!” Her expression reminded me of a mean dog about to leap. “You had no right to say that. We been like-like friends for years. Why did you tell him that? You tryin’ to get back in or maybe settin’ up your own business? I should tell him that. ”

  With a hint of a smile, Lori walked all the way around her. Candy didn’t turn, but snapped her head around to regain eye contact. Lori stopped when she stood between us.

  I barely heard her soft voice. “I see you ain’t carrying protection. Not a fucking thing. Are the streets safer now?”

  Candy’s chin lifted. “Damn cops took my blades. The next time I carry I can go to jail for twenty.”

  “Shit happens. Speaking of cops, you seen Moore?”

  She flicked a glance at me. “Not for awhile. No one’s worried about him, either. Shit, he shacks with most of us for a cut. I pay him the first of the month and he leaves me alone. Except when he needs his quota. It would look bad if he didn’t haul each of us in once in a while. Why you want to know about Fuzzy?”

  Lori chuckled. “He liked the girls calling him Fuzzy for the hair on his balls. I forgot. Where’s his girlfriend Marge working?”

  “Over on Harney”

  “Thanks. Okay, Bob, let’s go.”

  Candy caught her arm. “Who’s your boyfriend here?”

  “Just a john who pays me sixty grand a year.” She shook loose of the hand. “Like I said, you should make more money on this beat.”

  I slid back into the Thunderbird as Lori hopped over the trunk lid behind me. She dropped into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition.

  “You’ll dent your car doing that.”

  “It’s time for the body shop and a new paint job, anyway.”

  I continued studying her as she pulled into traffic. “Is that what you think of me, a john?”

  “Yeah.” She merely glanced at me. “All women treat their men as johns until they marry them. You haven’t learned that yet?”

  I crossed my arms and leaned back in thought. I considered the girls in high school then college and finally Eileen before we married. Damn! She’s right!

  “Okay, I’ll give you that one. Now, why is this Marge important?”

  “Fuzzy, ah, Moore had a note in his pocket to call her. Remember? When I worked the streets, he never hit on me, but I heard a lot about him. He was a crooked cop from day one and Marge was his steady bitch. He saw to her medical care and she made sure he didn’t bring the clap to her, know what I mean? Not everybody’s that considerate.”

  We passed the same office furniture store three times before Lori said, “There she is.”

  Double parking in front of Leland Wholesale, Lori remained seated and called out, “Hey, Marge! Over here.”

  The woman looked to be in her mid-thirties. She had combed her long, natural hair up into a ponytail. The white silk, see-through blouse hung over the waist of her low-riding blue jeans. When she stepped to side of the car I decided her face and body looked too thin, too used to be an interesting model.

  She rested her hands on the door and smiled broadly at Lori. “Hi there, baby! Long time no see.” She looked over the car then me like I was a piece of meat and she was a hungry dog. “Looks like you’re doing well, real well. You still working?”

  “What’ve you heard?”

  “That you met a rich man.” Her false eyelashes slowly blinked at me.

  “You been talking to Fox, eh?”

  When I didn’t react in any way, Marge turned off the street charm and relaxed. “Yeah. He mentions you every once in a while. What’s up?”

  “You seen Fuzzy?”

  She sighed heavily. “No, we broke up a while back. He took real good care of me for a long time. Now, I just see him in passing. He said he’d never bust me, you know.” I caught a glimpse of pain in her eyes. “Must still have feelings for me. Why’re you asking?”

  Lori watched her a long moment. “Don’t say shit to nob
ody, Marge. I’m sorry to tell you, but Fuzzy’s dead. Heard the only thing on him was a message to call you.”

  Her hand gripped the door harder. “He’s dead? When?”

  “Well, I don’t know. He was found in Kansas City.”

  “How’d you hear?”

  “Worm. But this is important. Why did you want Fuzzy to call you about somebody named Peg?”

  “I didn’t. Like I said, I ain’t talked to him for months. I have nothing to say to him.”

  “You bull shitting me?”

  “No, Lori. I’m serious.”

  Lori and I exchanged glances. “Okay, I believe you. But I’ve got to warn you. Something bad is happening on the streets lately. Fuzzy could have been part of it. If you tell anyone about him being dead, you could be joining him in hell. You hear me, girl?”

  She glanced around then rubbed her chest nervously. “You got my word, I won’t say shit.”

  “Stay clean and stay safe,” Lori said with sincerity then put the car in gear and left her behind us.

  “You trust her?”

  “After living on the streets, you learn there’s a bond that can’t be broken. She gave her word. I believe her.”

  “Anybody else you want to see?”

  “No.”

  Looking at the street ahead of us, I blurted, “Turn right at the next street.”

  “Where we going?”

  “Just be quiet. I think I have a surprise for you. Okay, now park in that lot to your left.”

  She stared at the sign a moment and asked, “Why are we going to the Burlington Diner? We just ate at Jake’s.”

  “Don’t ask questions. Just come with me.”

  I ushered her through the door of the railroad diner car which had been remodeled into a cramped little restaurant. The rail car wheels had been removed and the car set on a foundation. The place had the best breakfasts in Pecatonica.

  I motioned Lori ahead of me toward a booth. “You been here before?”

  “No,” she said as she sat. “It’s out of my territory. None of the girls wandered over here. This part of town is full of hard-working men who never cheat on their jobs or family. That was the word on the street, anyway. So what’s special about this place?”