Searching for Harpies

by Charlie Vogel

  * * *

  The next month passed slowly. The pain on simply breathing hung around for two weeks. Then, the dull ache and the sharp pang with sudden moves persisted for another week. Early on Lori acted my nurse but refused to give me a bed bath when Dr. Hartford told her the moist steam of a hot shower would help my breathing. The only part of me she could rub was my feet. Harry seemed to think that was funny. I did not laugh.

  Dr. Hartford made my confinement as comfortable as any hospital could have. He had a hospital bed delivered the day after I arrived. When I wanted to pay for it he explained he planned to study more about prostrate cancer and had proposed converting several rooms in his house for patients. My room was the beginning, completed with a couch that made into a bed for family like Lori, emergency, respiratory and IV administration equipment. Each bedroom had its own small bathroom in glass block and marble. I concluded Hartford may not spend much money on his clothes and hung out at the lowly Tickle Pink, but he didn’t spare the coin when it came to his home.

  My house happened to be a short distance up the street, so I could still see the lake. Under cover of dark, Lori could run home for personal supplies, including my sketch books and art supply box.

  From the window of my room I could even see the lower half of her backyard, the bedroom door leading to her patio deck and the angled one into her living room.

  Besides giving me the nursing care I needed, like shaving around the stitches in my jaw and the mandatory foot rubs, she kept me entertained supplying books, magazines and sarcastic commentary on TV news shows. When I had nothing to say in response, she pointed out that there had been no more prostitute murders.

  I knew I was getting better when I had to fight a hard-on while sketching several pages of Lori, clothes on in respect for Dr. Hartford. Finally I said something about her slow but continued weight loss. She agreed to Hartford giving her a complete physical. The lab work showed her many weeks of anxiety had created a loss of appetite. He ordered her to start sharing the great meals his cook provided me. I asked how he hid our identities on the lab work and he explained that he a pathologist friend who knew how to keep his mouth shut.

  Harry notified my brother what was going on. Donald took over payment of routine bills for both Lori and me, so it would seem we had totally disappeared. Harry then sent a disposable cell phone so no one could trace his three-times a day calls to Hartford’s house. He stayed away in fear of someone following him. The conversations became stagnant and we caught ourselves repeating things we had said the day before. His exaggerated concern for my welfare seemed important, almost as if he felt guilty.

  Rain pounded against the window. I relaxed on the elevated half of the bed, a book written by a new mystery writer keeping my mind off Lori

  The disposable phone shook with its loud ring tone. Lori lowered her magazine and picked it up. “Yeah, it’s me.” Her expression darkened. She tapped a long fingernail against the enamel of a front tooth. “Yeah, okay. I’ll tell him.”

  When she sat staring out onto the rain after ending the call, I snapped, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Damn it! What in hell did Harry say?”

  “Roy’s been shot.”

  My breath caught. “No. Is he. . . Is he . . . .”

  “He was just upgraded from critical to serious. Once he can be moved, Harry’s taking him to a hospital out of town.”

  “How’d it happen?”

  “He doesn’t know all the details. It had something to do with a large drug shipment.”

  “Let’s get dressed. We have to see Roy.”

  “Doc said you can’t be running around for at least another two days.”

  “What the hell does he know? I feel fine. I’ve been jailed here long enough.”

  She hesitated, “Okay, but, we have two bags. One is our good clothes and the other is the Goodwill stuff. Which are we wearing?”

  “Bring both. We’ll decide in the car. I just feel . . . we need to hurry.”

  “We sneaking home for your car?”

  “We’ll use Doc’s old car. He bragged about souping up the engine. We can get into it and leave from his garage. While I’m shaving, you fancy-up that blonde wig.”

  Because Hartford’s small practice was in an office fifteen minutes away, we decided not tell him of our departure and risk him rushing home to stop us. After setting the security alarm from the garage, we used the remote to open and close the garage door.

  * * *

  Two uniformed police officers stood at the half-open hospital room door and blocked us from entering.

  Lori went into a rattled-Southern female voice and sniffed, “I’m sure Roy Honey would want to see us. Why, I can’t wait a minute more.”

  The veteran cop shifted his gun belt around his beer gut, trying to look unimpressed. “No one’s seeing him except family.”

  Roy’s voice echoed from the dimly lit room. “They are family. My cousin and her husband. Let them in.”

  “Okay, Sarge, but they ain’t on the list.”

  “The only list you should be concerned with is my shit list. Now, get out of their way.”

  Side-stepping around the gray-haired, six foot, no-personality asshole, I followed Lori to the foot of the bed. Roy’s upper body had been wrapped with bandages and he rested in an awkward sitting position. He looked odd, out of place without his denim vest and Desert Eagle. A smile shone through his beard. “It hasn’t been too long ago I seen you just like this.”

  Lori closed the door on the too interested cops.

  “What happened?” I demanded.

  “I was staking out this creep when a car pulled up. Someone started shooting. My contact hit the ground. I got it in the chest.”

  Roy’s motioned for me to step closer then bend down. I leaned until my ear nearly touching his lips. He whispered, “I don’t know if they’ve got fucking listening devices, so keep it right here. Got me?” I nodded. “Before this went down the drug peddler told me a shipment will be in tomorrow night. It’s hidden in a train’s boxcar. On the side of the car there will be spray painted letters P.E.G. surrounded by gang type graffiti. He died before I could get the amount of the drugs and its exact location.”

  I pointed to the controller and Lori flipped on the TV. I turned to talk into Roy’s ear. “Why are you telling me? Shouldn’t you tell someone in the department, narcotics, vice, someone like that?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t found out who the good guys are yet. You know how that goes. Besides, I believe this shipment will lead you to Harpies.”

  “Is this one of your wild hunches?”

  “Screw you! My hunches haven’t failed me yet.”

  “Who have you told?”

  “You’re it. If I wasn’t in this goddamn bed, I’d be out getting more information.”

  “Shit, there’s two large train yards I know of. One is the Union Pacific and the other’s the Burlington. Plus, doesn’t each company have several smaller yards that run along the tracks where they can hold their cars? It would take weeks to find that boxcar. You didn’t get an identification number for it?”

  “No. Look, I’ve worked with the both of you and I know Harry. I’m sure, between the three of you, someone can find the right one.”

  I rubbed my bare face. “Okay, if you hadn’t got shot, where would you look?”

  “I’m sure the coke will come on a west bound. Check and see what freights are arriving tomorrow night.”

  “Why a west bound?”

  “Most cocaine comes in from Jamaica to Florida and flows up the east-coast then heads west. Well, shit, I guess there’s a slim possibility it could come in from California.”

  “Oh, that’s great. You’re not helping much.”

  He smiled. “I don’t know much.”

  * * *

  Lori and I quickly returned to Doc’s old Charger. He hadn’t gotten to the body work, but we could feel its power. I was glad I hadn’t taken my Fer
rari. It would have stood out like a high class call girl standing in front of the Pullman.

  Leaving a twin set of skid marks on the parking lot just because I could, I joined the moderate traffic east bound on Dodge. The wipers swept the windshield smoothly in the pulse mode. The rain turned to an irritating drizzle. Lori reached for her purse then caught herself and returned to staring out the window.

  I asked, “Need a cigarette?”

  “Fuck you.”

  My crotch reminded me that I was practically 100 percent again. “No time now.”

  “Bob, you’re not funny. Where we going?”

  “To find a bar where railroad people hang out.”

  “Try the Shoofly. It’s near the Gibson Yards.”

  “You been there?”

  The stare said, “Duh.”

  Fifteen minutes of silence from Lori forced my mind into a battlefield of conflicting details. How do I approach a trainman in a bar? I know nothing about railroads. I slowed the car as I approached a rail crossing. Lori’s somber instructions took me over several more steel tracks. The pothole-filled street turned into totally crumbling asphalt then gravel.

  I parked in a dirt lot next to an aging brick building. Opening the car door, I smelled the diesel of passing locomotives mixed with the burnt grease drippings of wheel bearings. The cheap booze from the Shoofly’s smeared an almost pleasant layer over the railroad odors.

  Placing my arm possessively around her waist, I escorted Lori towards the bar. “You recognize anyone standing outside?”

  The hammering of steel against steel announced the humping of cars in making a train. At a brief break in the loud bumping, she leaned intimately toward my ear with, “Maybe.”

  I appreciated her tight, short leopard skirt and the filmy black top that hugged her breasts as she pretended to be coy and moved away while holding my hand. I let her lead me through the doorway into the shadowy room. We found a corner table directly under a black velvet painting of a steam engine running off the rails at high speed. A young woman in blue striped, railroad bib-overalls over a tee shirt stopped before us and asked, “What would you like?”

  Startled, Lori looked up at the red head, her full lips in a broad smile. “Goddamn it, Casey. Did you forget me?”

  “Ah─Lo-Lori? Well, shit. It’s been a few years and you were never a blonde. What in hell you been doing?”

  “Got myself a man and doing the dirty legally.”

  “Is this him?” She ran appreciative eyes over me. “Damn, you’re lucky, baby girl. I haven’t heard shit about you since Alabama got shot. So, you’re out of the business, eh?”

  “Yup, for two years now.”

  “I see you’re doing okay.” Her expression turned soft as she studied Lori. “But, are you happy?”

  “Very happy. How about you?”

  “Oh, I took on a brakeman. He’s on the road and dumped me with a little girl. The last I heard he’s hauling coal out of Wyoming.” She shrugged, her face hardening as I had seen too many do.

  Lori squeezed my hand but didn’t look away from Casey. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “What brings you to the yards, besides wanting to show off your fine man?”

  Lori folded her fingers within her palms, her expression changing to serious business. She leaned forward, her gaze searching the shadows and the corners. “We’re looking for a boxcar. It’s coming in tomorrow night.”

  “A special one, huh? You might talk to the Yardmaster. You got the numbers?”

  “No.” Lori crooked a finger and Casey bent forward so red hair and blonde hair almost touched. “It’s loaded with shit.”

  The girl stiffened but didn’t pull away. “I didn’t think you were that type.”

  Lori rolled her eyes. “Don’t get stupid. I’m not. It’s for a friend who can’t make it.”

  Casey shrugged. “You always had too big a heart, girl. You sure it’s coming here? We got a lot of car knockers walking about and most of them are assholes.”

  “I don’t know where it’s going to be. Have you heard any talk about it?”

  Casey pulled out two tattered, slender menus from her front bib pocket and handed them to us. “Bartender’s watching.” She pointed to items on the menu. “I hear shit all the time. Since I’ve been off drugs for my baby, I don’t pay much attention to what they say. Wait a minute, I did hear Gary talk about something last night. He’s a pin-puller. He’ll be off work shortly and always stops for a beer.”

  “Yeah, we’ll start with two beers,” I said loud enough to carry to the bar as the door opened and more customers entered.

  Casey winked then walked to the beer taps. As she filled two glasses, I studied Lori’s dark eyes. “You think this Gary will talk?”

  “I’m sure he won’t want to.”

  “How should we approach him?”

  “Guess we’ll find out. I think Casey’s bringing him over to us.”

  The young woman placed our beers in front of us and made a quick introduction then left to get Gary the beer I ordered for him.

  I considered the short man as he took the chair across from me. His striped bib-overalls and a long-sleeved work shirt were streaked with a hard day’s dirt and grease. He removed his red baseball cap, letting his shoulder length dark hair fan out then nervously pulled at his short beard as he leaned back in his chair. “Casey said you’re looking for a boxcar.”

  Lori touched my hand to indicate she would talk. She cleared her throat to get his attention. “We want to buy some coke.”

  He didn’t react in any way, just sat there looking at us in a long moment of silence. “What makes you think I have any or even know about any?”

  “We’re not looking for dime bags. We got a lot of geeks lined up and some coca-bucks to give you a happy life. Can you fill our crack house or do I look for another hustler?”

  “You two could be a couple of pigs looking for a steerer. Your partner looks nothing like a Barnes man.”

  “He’s got pictures of every goddamn president that’s been printed in green. He pays and I supply the druggies. I got someone crawling on his fucking knees that needed nose candy yesterday. We will pay top dollar, so what have you got?”

  “Who said I could help you?”

  “Harpies.”

  A cold light leapt into the man’s eyes. He worked his jaw hard enough that his beard moved. Sweat popped out on his forehead.

  Lori smiled like I imagined a cat would as it toyed with a mouse.

  Gary’s lips moved slowly, “Who sent you?”

  “Fuzzy.”

  “Meet me tomorrow night at ten. I’ll be in the receiving yard at switch two.”

  Chapter 12

  Candy wore the same dirty wig I’d seen her in before. The big difference in her appearance seemed to be the miniskirt. She had changed into an unorthodox pink. It looked like something bought off the rack at our favorite Goodwill. The halter-top could have been more appropriate on a twelve-year-old., similar to Lori’s favorites. Shit, did Lori and Candy hang out that much together? I wanted to ask Lori if Candy had implant surgery, because if she did, the operation had lifted her boobs to an unnaturally high position.

  Rubbing the curb, I shoved the old Charger’s gear into park. Lori leaned back in the passenger’s seat. With her tongue, she moved the lollipop stick to the corner of her mouth. I swallowed a groan.

  Through the bug spotted windshield, I instead focused on the well-lit parking lot attached to the Short Time Gas and Fill, where Candy walked in runway fashion, head high, hips abnormally gyrating. She flipped a cigarette onto the oil-stained asphalt and walked inside the convenience store.

  Lori opened her door. “It’s time to go. She shouldn’t be long.”

  “Wait, I’ll go with you. I don’t see any place else to park. I can approach her from the front of the store.”

  Crossing the street, we stood behind a Chevy sedan. The store’s glass doors faced us a few yards away. Bugs flew in clouds under the br
ight lights. Something crawled in my hair. I slapped at the flying pest. I leaned toward Lori’s ear, “Don’t you think we’re too close?”

  “She’s too goddamn stoned to know who we are. She’s going after her money now.”

  I watched Candy’s hand reaching under the elastic of her miniskirt. She turned and faced the counter. The haystack shaped roll of green backs fell inside the extra penny bowl. The clerk took it and replaced it with what appeared to be a pack of cigarettes.

  “Expensive smokes.” I said, shoving my hands into the front pockets of my Goodwill blue jeans.

  “I bet you she picked up enough coke for a week of nightly johns. Let her get out of the light before we take her.”

  “Okay. There she goes. Give me a minute or two and then you take over.”

  “Damn it, hurry, Bob. Stop her in front of the third house. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Pacing myself at a near run, I matched Candy’s steps about two yards behind. I called out. “Candy. I want to talk to you.”

  She stopped, almost lost her balance then turned with a false smile. “Hello there, mister. Whatcha up for? Ah, haven’t we met before?”

  “Yeah, a few weeks ago.”

  “You back for more?”

  “I could be. What do you have to offer?”

  “You have to excuse my being stupid, but I can’t remember what you liked.”

  “Just a couple hits of coke.”

  She widened her stance to keep her balance. “I’m, ah, sorry, but I don’t remember selling you any shit. You sure you got the right person?”

  “That’s because you’re stoned.” The voice behind her turned her frown into a smile. “Just give me the shit, Candy.”

  More alert, Candy held my stare but didn’t turn around. She chewed her lip anxiously. “And if I don’t, you’ll take it from me, right?”

  “That’s right”

  “What do you want with it?”

  “I might know a buyer.”

  The hooker slowly faced Lori. “Please. Please don’t take it. They’ll kill me if I ain’t got the money.”

  I stepped around her and stood at Lori’s side.