Searching for Harpies

by Charlie Vogel

  “To Dr. Hartford so he can check your eyes?”

  “Not with Harpies hunting us. I’m getting better by the minute. Let’s get away from here and find a place where I can rest until my full vision returns.”

  The Ferrari hummed to life. The acceleration force Lori demanded pinned my head against the seat. As she cut in and out of traffic, my sight slowly developed and I almost wished it hadn’t. I carefully put on my seatbelt and tightened it. The intermittent squeal of tires behind, right and left convinced me, if anyone attempted to follow, they would have needed a helicopter.

  I braced my hands against the dash at one close call and shouted, “Where in hell are we going?”

  “Bison Insurance.”

  I stared at her. The wind blew her hair back from a clamped jaw, lips twisted in anger and pinched eyes. Lori was a woman on a mission.

  “Are you crazy? We can’t get in. There’s a protection order and Harry’s not there now to let us in.”

  This time our tires squealed as the scene beyond the windshield spun clockwise. The car stopped against the curb. Horns from the threatened drivers sounded. Lori pounded the wheel with a fist. “Goddamn traffic. You know a faster way?”

  “No, but I’m not seeing 100% here. How in hell am I going to help?”

  “I can handle it. I’m sick of that bitch chasing us; we’re going after her! And, yes, I know Godfrey-the-bitch is Harpies. I just know it. So, shut up and close your eyes. Wait.” She looked back at on-coming traffic and gunned the Ferrari. “Shit, I’ll just drive through Turner Park. Hold on.”

  “You don’t have any real proof, Lori. Just your gut. What if she isn’t—”

  “She is. I want to end this. Now!”

  “Shit!” I clamped onto the dash again as the car bounced across the uneven ground of the park. Rubbing my eyes, “This is not a good idea. It’s not a Jeep, Lori!”

  “Dodge Street is just ahead.”

  “Watch out for the goddamn wino on the park bench!”

  She stomped on the brake and the little car slid to a stop. Letting the engine idle, she turned to me. “You saw him. How’s your eye sight?”

  “Everything’s beginning to focus.”

  “No lies, Fr. Dumb Ass. It’s put up or shut time for us. I’m tired of fucking people trying to kill us, people dying and-and cops running around like a bunch of numb nuts . . . And,” She glanced away then back. “I’m tired of cracking necks.” Tears rose and she chewed her lower lip then slammed her fist on the steering wheel. “Maybe we should just-just get the fuck out.”

  “What?”

  “Fox suggested South America.”

  I sighed and settled back in my seat, watching the wino amble away from the crazy people in the little red car. “Have you forgotten Fr. Manning? His trial is coming up. Roy said he will go to prison. This state still has the death penalty.”

  She dropped her forehead to the steering wheel. “Right now, I’m wondering if it would be easier to break Tommy out of jail than to fight Harpies. He could live with us in the jungle, couldn’t he?” She peeked sideways at me.

  I shook my head. “You have made me a believer in reality, not fairy tales.” She sat back, thought a moment and nodded, so I asked the question I didn’t want answered, “What are we going to do at Bison?”

  Lori took a lollipop from her purse and threw the wrapper out the window. “We walk in like we own the place—which you basically do—bypass the receptionist, hit the elevator and barge into Godfrey’s office. We act indignant that she didn’t attend Harry’s funeral. Then hit her with questions about Nelson trying to shoot us at Penny’s funeral. We corner her and force a reaction.”

  Suddenly, an answer collided within my brain cells like a bomb. I shouted out. “Lori, it’s got to be her. Her name’s Priscilla Eleanor Godfrey. Her initials are P.E.G. Goddamn it, we found Peg.” I grinned at the bug-splatters I could clearly see on windshield. “Let’s go see the bitch”

  Lori eased the low-slung car over the sidewalk, scraping the pan on the curb then waited as a line of cars passed us. “Not at Bison. That was an impulse idea. With Harry gone, she’s probably installed her fucking assassins all over the place. If we went in, we probably wouldn’t come out alive.”

  I rubbed my aching eyes. “Where’s that Short Time Gas and Fill Fox wanted us to light up?”

  “Not far. We can be there in five minutes.”

  “Well, let’s go. It’s a lot closer than the jungles in South America.”

  She floored it and whipped onto Dodge then exceeded the speed limit by at least 15 mph by cutting around the legal traffic. I closed my eyes when she made the right-hand turn at a heart-stopping slant. Thank God she tapped the brake pedal in the residential area, but the old trees and parallel-parked cars still streamed by. Four blocks and a couple more horns later, she stood the Ferrari on its nose against the Short Time’s classy recycled-tire bumper lining one side.

  As I focused on controlling my adrenalin with a soothing mantra, she threw her lollipop stick out the window and asked. “You want me to go in?”

  “No. You stay here and keep an eye on me inside.”

  “Sure, but how’re your eyes?”

  “Almost back to normal. A little wind-burned, though.”

  “What do you want? It’s a fucking convertible!” She placed a hand on my knee to get my attention. “Do me a favor?”

  “What?”

  “Be careful…and…ah, get me a pack of smokes?”

  “Really?”

  Her expression turned pleading. “This has not been the best damn time to quit, don’t’ you fucking agree?”

  Nodding, I planted my feet on the ground then lowered my voice to ask over my shoulder, “You are still carrying the Cougar, aren’t you?”

  “Well, mister,” she purred. “I do love a man with a gun. Maybe you should—”

  “No!” I almost shouted. “I don’t want to see any more bullet holes, let alone cause them.” When she looked hurt I quickly added, “Well, I don’t want to carry right now, anyway. Maybe I could stuff it in the waistband of my swim trunks later.”

  At least that made her grin. “Think you’ll need all the extra hardness you can get, huh?”

  My “Naw” brought on giggles. God, I need some “happy” right now.

  Lori slanted her head, the smile fading. “If you only really meant it.”

  Not knowing how to respond to her, I squared my shoulders and rounded the corner of the store to its cluttered front entry. The right-hand glass door swung shut behind me with a repeat of the entrance bell’s jangle. I stepped to the counter and craned my neck to search out the clerk.

  A middle-aged, unwashed kind of round man sat on a stool, leaning back against the cigarette display and reading a newspaper. His soiled and wrinkled black vest hung open over fat-filled trousers. Not taking my eyes off him, I dinged the bell below the hand-lettered sign “Ring for Service.”

  Slowly his bored, piggy eyes met mine. Our stare-down only lasted a couple of heart beats. Just as he broke to return to the paper, I blurted, “You have Carolina Thins?”

  His plump face again turned to me. The frown wrinkled his high forehead all the way to his imaginary hairline. “How many?”

  “One pack.”

  He eased his wide butt off the much narrower stool, turned and pulled a pack from the name brand slot in the middle of the back wall rack. He expertly tossed the pack onto the counter, mumbling, “A buck seventy five.”

  I put down two dollars. “A friend of mine told me you have other things for sale. You keep it under the counter?”

  The fat guy’s interest picked. He stared hard at me as he waddled to the counter. “I ain’t carryin’ rubbers or dirty magazines.”

  I waited until he put my bills in the register and dropped my quarter change in my hand. Holding his gaze, I lowered my voice. “Cocaine.”

  His pudgy lip curled in anger. “Get the hell out of my store. I don’t know what you’re talking about
.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t play stupid,” I read his name tag, “Bart. I know you keep drugs under there.”

  “You’re buyin’, huh?” He pulled a cell phone from his shirt pocket. “How about I introduce you to a cop?”

  “Go ahead. But be sure to call someone on the take. While you’re at it, you can call Peg.”

  His expression turned blank. “Who?”

  “You know. Harpies? P.E.G.? Or maybe you need some assistance in remembering?” I peeled two hundred dollar bills from my money clip.

  While frowning at the bills he didn’t reach for, he tapped numbers into the phone. “Hello. Sergeant?” He blinked rapidly and stared down at the counter instead of at me. His voice changed from belligerent to groveling. Interesting. “Yeah, I got an idiot in my store. He’s running off at the mouth about drugs and someone named Peg. He doesn’t want to leave.”

  This guy’s good at bluffing, but his eyes are a give-away. Wonder if he’s talking to the police or Harpies?

  I stuffed my money back in my pocket and held up a palm as if to stop him then palmed the cigarettes and headed for the door, hearing, “Wait. The son-of-a-bitch is leaving now. Thanks.”

  I pushed open the glass doors and walked around the store corner to where Lori waited.

  Beyond the cases of sale beer stacked against the store’s side window, Lori continued staring at the clerk as he returned to his stool. “What happened?”

  “Either we’re at the wrong store or this guy only deals with people he knows.”

  “Should I try?”

  “No. He made a call. I don’t know if it was to the police or the bitch.”

  Keeping the car out of the clerk’s sight, Lori left the lot and drove across the street to the weed-infested parking of a deserted grocery. I pointed to the overgrown bushes along the side where the car would be mostly hidden. We waited and watched

  A squad car arrived a couple of minutes later. A lanky officer went into the store but quickly returned and drove away. Lori’s cigarette smoke drifted around us as ten minutes passed. A cab pulled up to the front. A shapely young blonde in tight jeans and a plunging neckline stepped out and ran inside.

  “Do you think she’s one of Fox’s girls?”

  Lori opened her door. “I’ll go see.”

  “Be careful. You’ve got the gun, remember.”

  She flipped me off, patted her slouch bag with a grin then checked traffic before jogging across the street. I enjoyed the view of her black tee disappearing into those low-slung, form-fitting jeans and the side-to-side hip action of a woman on the prowl. She entered the store. I squinted to track her dark head moving toward the blonde and fat Bart at the counter. My nerves tingled. Spending hours on a painting was nothing compared to waiting for something to happen around Lori.

  I removed the keys from the ignition and stepped out. I angled across the street to the lot’s light pole where I tried to look like a drunk leaning against it. Keeping it between me and the Gas and Fill, I weaved a bit and glanced through the windows.

  It had just been minutes but seemed like an hour before the blonde returned to the waiting taxi. It didn’t pull away. The fat clerk pushed open the door, looked left then right. After checking his watch, he slid into the cab beside the young woman. After the cab drove away, I waited a few minutes. Lori didn’t show. I crossed the to the store front.

  Behind the counter, Lori talked on the store cell. I looked but found no other customers. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I found a new job.”

  “Okay. How? ”

  “When I walked in, I overheard fat ass telling someone on the phone his relief hadn’t shown. I remembered the chain supervisor Harry worked for so I just said George sent me. The next thing I knew, Bart threw me the keys. By the way, he gave Diane—knew her up close—a pack of coke in exchange for a fucking big wad of money. So, here I am, ready to deal.”

  “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  “Shit, yeah. I helped Harry out, about six years ago. Nothing looks different in this store.”

  “Who were you talking to on the phone?”

  “The person Bart was expecting. Guy called in sick. Sounded hung over to me.” Lori looked around me at the gas pumps then reached back to push a button that turned one on. She continued. “Ah, I think I know why you couldn’t get anywhere with Bart. Your picture is tacked down here behind the counter.”

  “Do you know how to operate a register and count change? I want to look around. You’ve got customers and know what you’re doing. I’ll search the place.”

  Logically, I started with the counter. As Lori ran a credit card for some guy’s gas, I dug around. It didn’t take long to find a dozen packs of cocaine in a cardboard box marked Candy. I also moved merchandise and found two slotted floor safes, one marked P.E.G. and the other Store. The slots allowed money to go in without messing with the combination lock. After the customer left Lori pulled a can of charcoal lighter fluid from the store shelves. She settled the slender nozzle into the slot of the P.E.G. safe. Smiling viciously, she squeezed and squeezed until the can was empty. Throwing it into the trash, she thumbed toward the far corner. “There’s an office behind the pop coolers.”

  I opened the door into the trash-filled office space. Despite emptying drawers and adding to the mess, I didn’t find any more drugs. In a binder notebook marked Price List, P.E.G. and a phone number had been penciled at the top of a list of phone numbers.

  Returning to the front of the store, I waited until Lori finished with a half dozen customers before showing her the page. I pointed to the notation. “This is not a Bison phone number.”

  She only glanced at it before turning on another gas pump. “Yeah, it sorta is. It goes to Harry’s office.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. It’s a private number. You remember Shannon? Harry’s secretary? She had it set up shortly after Harry got her the job.” Lori took the sheet from me. “Did you read the rest of the names on this list?”

  “No. Why?”

  She grunted. “These at the top are Fox’s girls. Here is Gary, our fucking switchman, and down here is our bitch-from-hell Godfrey’s name and number”

  I looked over her shoulder following her finger as it went down the page. My eyes returned to Shannon’s number. The naïve, giggling secretary Fr. Manning wanted Harry to hire was involved in this? “How much personnel information did Harry keep in his office?”

  “Security has to know basic contact information, in case of emergencies. They also need scheduling from all the departments to know when people are supposed to come and go in the building. Harry had to keep a lot of shit straight. He kept his personal planner open on his desk, too. Said he needed daily reminding about family events and things like your gallery biggee and . . . “Her head snapped up “your goddamn art show down in the Old Market. Fuck! Anybody with access to Harry’s office could find out where you would be.”

  “Well, Harry didn’t get advanced notice of our visit to the train yard or they would have been waiting for us. Good ol’ Gary had to call in the troops at the last minute.”

  Lori turned all the pumps off. She held another can of lighter fluid, her expression thoughtful and worried. “You think Ann and Harry’s girls are safe?”

  Through the window I watched the angry face of a teenager trying to pump gas. I turned off the store’s interior lights. He flipped a finger toward the store, got back in his car and drove off. “After the funeral Ann took them to stay with family in Kansas. They won’t be back for several weeks.”

  Lori upended the can and squeezed while she walked towards the coolers. I opened the fire exit door. Lori tossed me the store’s key ring. “Should we visit Shannon?”

  “Why? We already know . . . or think we know how she’s involved.” It took a couple of tries before I got the Propane storage open and pulled out a tank. I pictured The girl’s sweet face and her efficient ways that Harry had appreciated. She just didn
’t feel like one of Harpies’ minions.

  Lori pulled a lighter from her purse and flicked it as she thought. “Wouldn’t feel right accusing an innocent girl. Maybe she was manipulated by the fucking bitch or maybe she’s being black mailed.”

  “And you think she’ll just tell us if we ask? Oh, that’ll be proof enough.”

  “Screw you, Bob!”

  “Well, how much iron-clad, hold-up-in-court proof do we have against Godfrey?”

  Lori sighed heavily. “I guess we need to piss her off some more, huh? Make her come out of hiding.”

  I turned the tank’s valve open then tossed it through the doorway. Lori leaned down to put flame to the lighter fluid. Letting the door close, we walked by the Dumpster and into the alley. The explosion vibrated the ground under our feet. A heat wave flashed the back of my neck. “It’s getting a little warm out, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but I think the weather man said something about rain.”

  After walking around the block and seeing gawkers emerge from their homes, we circled back to join them just as sirens neared. We sat on the hood of a car parked on the street to watch the building being destroyed by the inferno. The fire department used foam and water to keep the heat from lighting up the gas pumps. Lori looked disappointed.

  She leaned to whisper in my ear, “What now?”

  “Got any marshmallows in that purse?”

  Lori raised her arms to seductively rake her fingers through her hair. Suddenly, she sat up straight. “I just thought of something.”

  “What?”

  “Since we have to bring Harpies out into the open and free Tommy from jail, I think I might have something that could work.”

  Chapter 14

  I stared at the steady green lights of the alarm panel and wondered how long Lori and I could continue locked in our homes to escape Harpies’ violence. My attention turned to Lori’s slender throat moving as she downed a glass of milk. After setting the glass in the sink, she crossed the kitchen floor barefooted.

  Harry’s voice whispered in my mind. “Even her feet turn you on? You are one desperate bastard.” Go away, Harry. I’m not rushing this. There’s too much shit going on.