by Bill Bernico
“Oh, that,” he said. “I j-j-just ran into the overhead rack in back.” Eddie’s voice sounded a bit nervous.
Something told me that this kid’s story had a few leaks in it. Eddie’s face told a story by itself and I saw more than Eddie was telling. Not wanting to alarm the kid any more than necessary, I refrained from any further questions regarding those bruises. The kid might very well have walked into a clothes rack, but that doesn’t explain the bruise on the arm.
As Eddie turned away to pin the other half of the claim ticket to my jacket, I saw something in Eddie’s eyes that made him focus his attention on the back room. I thought I noticed an unusually lumpy curtain separating the counter area from the back room. Another quick glance at the floor revealed the tip of one brown shoe protruding from beneath the curtain.
Eddie turned back to me, holding the claim ticket in front of him. “There you are,” he said. “Three o’clock tomorrow, O.K.?”
“Sure, kid,” I said. “Take care of that cut now.”
I exited and walked up the five stairs to the street. Instead of going directly to my car, though, I quickly sidestepped out of view of the window and pressed my body flat against the building. Leaning over just enough to see in without being seen, I saw Eddie’s body being pulled into the back room with a jerk. Through the crack in the curtain I could see a big, hairy hand careen across Eddie’s face as the kid fell to the floor, knocking over a clothes rack.
I quickly ran around to the back of the building and found the alley entrance. The door wasn’t locked and I quietly sneaked in, pulling the door closed behind me. Once inside, I could make out a few words here and there, but decided that I’d better get closer if I wanted to piece it together.
From behind a rack of skirts, shirts and jackets, I could plainly see now why Eddie was so nervous. The huge hand that had laid Eddie’s face open belonged to a big, burly man dressed in black.
“Come on, kid,” he said. “What’d you do with the jacket?”
“I’m telling you the truth, mister. There’s nothing here like the one you described,” Eddie whimpered, still on the floor and rubbing his cheek. Then it struck him that this was the same jacket I asked for when I told him I didn’t have the ticket with me. Eddie was just about to blurt out this new information to the intruder when I stepped out from behind the clothes rack.
“Wanna try that move on someone a little more your own size?” I said. Without my jacket on to cover it up, my shoulder holster and .45 stuck out like a newcomer in a nudist colony.
“Now hold it, mister,” he said. “Let’s talk about this.” The words sounded peculiar coming out of a man who just minutes earlier seemed to be enjoying the art of inflicting pain.
“You all right, Eddie?” I said. “Come on over here.”
My words seemed like a reprieve to the frightened, shaking kid. Eddie got to his feet and quickly scampered over to my side. I bent over to survey Eddie’s wounds. As I examined Eddie’s face, a clothes rack fell to the floor where the intruder had been standing. When I looked up again, the man was gone. The curtains to the front of the shop waved and the bell over the door tinkled.
“What’s going on here, Eddie?” I said.
“That jacket you picked up here this morning, that wasn’t yours, was it?” Eddie’s voice showed signs of resentment for getting him involved in this mess.
“No, Eddie, it wasn’t,” I said. “I’m sorry you had to go through all this, but I’m on a case and the trail led me to this shop and to that jacket. I’d tell you more, but I really don’t know any more at this point.”
“A case?” he said. “What are you, a cop or something? You working on Mr. Marcheske’s case? Is that why you carry a gun? Can I help?” Eddie’s questions hit me like a barrage of gunfire.
“Hold it,” I said. “Not so fast, there. That’s a lot of questions for a kid. No, I’m not a cop. I’m a private investigator and…”
The words weren’t out of my mouth when Eddie cut in. “Wow, a private eye. Just like in the movies. Gee, that sounds exciting.” Eddie seemed to forget about his pain as he became entangled in wanting to know all about my business.
“Eddie, you’ve got to keep all this to yourself for now,” I said. “If the wrong people knew I was looking into this thing, well, just keep it to yourself, will you?”
“Sure thing,” Eddie said. “Hey, you know, I don’t even know your name. What do I call you?” Eddie spoke as though he and I were long time buddies.
“Cooper’s my name,” I said. “Matt Cooper. I gotta get going. You gonna be all right by yourself, Eddie?” I sounded more like a big brother than a private eye.
“Yeah, sure,” Eddie said. “I’ll be fine. Go on. If I can help anymore, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”
“Sure will, kid,” I said. “Take care.” I showed myself out the front door and out onto the street. This key was getting to be more trouble than it was worth, at least up until now. I still had no idea what the key fit or if it even had any importance to this case at all. All I knew was that Harry Marcheske died trying to hang onto it.
I drove home and parked the Olds in the driveway. My internal clock told me that it was past my lunchtime. I pressed my house key to the lock. Before I could get the key fully inserted, the door swung open from the weight of my hand on the knob.
I cautiously entered, my .45 already drawn and ready. The front room looked like it had been the scene of a tag team wrestling match. Cushions from the sofa were lying in a pile. The drawer from the end table was on the floor next to the console radio. My easy chair had been turned upside down, its bottom slit open like a fresh mackerel. My desk had been pried open and the contents of every drawer had been discarded on the floor nearby.
I stepped inside and continued toward the kitchen. Cautiously I looked around the corner to the counter space beneath the cupboards. All the cupboard doors were open and cups and dishes were lying in pieces on the floor. The refrigerator door was wide open, its light illuminating the floor. Several bottles of milk, ketchup and other items lay broken on the floor. The red and white liquid mess on the floor had footprints running though it.
Whoever did this didn’t care if he left clues and tracked his messy shoes into other parts of the house as well.
I pushed open my bedroom door, stuck my gun in and quickly followed. Waving the pistol from side to side, I edged further into the room. It was empty. The dresser drawers were all on the floor and emptied. The bedding had been ripped off the bed and the mattresses were uprighted, leaning against the west wall. They had been neatly slit open, their stuffing hanging out in clumps.
Still expecting to find an intruder, I swung open the closet door and quickly aimed the .45 inside. The room was empty. I holstered the gun and leaned against the doorframe with a sigh. I grabbed a spare jacket and exited the closet.
“Looks like I’ve got something somebody wants,” I said. “They’ve already turned this place upside down once. They won’t come looking here again.”
I withdrew the key from my jacket pocket and placed it on the inside upper ledge of the closet door, closing the door behind me.
I stepped over the mess and headed back out into the living room. I started to pick up a few things but seeing the enormous job ahead of me, I threw the items down again and shook my head. Forgetting my hunger, I made my way out the front door and locked it.
I climbed behind the wheel again, lighting up a cigarette and tossing the match out the window. I backed out down the driveway, the cigarette dangling from the corner of my mouth. As I pulled away and shifted into first gear, I glanced at the rear view mirror. There was a large sedan parked several spaces behind me.
I shifted into second and started down the street. The car pulled away from the curb and followed. Although my route was supposed to take me a few more blocks north, I decided to see if the sedan behind me was there by coincidence or if maybe I’d picked up a tail.
My tires squealed as the Olds rounded the
corner and headed east. A quick look at the mirror once more confirmed my suspicions. The sedan was still there following at a safe distance. In the middle of the block, I quickly jerked the wheel to the left and sped away up the alley. The sedan followed close behind. Any doubts as to the intentions of that driver were quickly erased as the driver closed the gap between them.
“Let’s see what this guy’s made of,” I said as I threw the cigarette out the window, downshifted, released the clutch and stepped on the accelerator. At the end of the alley, I jerked the wheel hard to the left and bounced back onto the street. At the next corner, I traveled about half way up the block and pulled into an underground garage and waited. Glancing back over the seat, I could see the pursuit vehicle flying by the garage. I’d managed to lose whoever it was that was so eager to meet me.
I pulled back on the shift lever and raised it to the reverse position. Releasing the clutch in a less than steady motion, I backed out onto the street and headed in the direction of my pursuers. Keeping a safe distance, I could see the huge sedan ahead about a block and a half. It had pulled into a service station and one of the occupants was out of the car, talking to the station attendant.
Leaving the Olds at the curb, I quickly walked to within half a block of the station. I could just make out the license number on the back of the car. I pulled out my note pad and pencil and began writing. “JTS-276, why does that sound familiar?” I thought as I inserted the pad back into my lapel pocket.
Deciding it was better to leave well enough alone for now, I walked back to my car, slid behind the wheel and sat there, thinking about the big sedan that was so eager to catch me.
“Someone’s definitely interested in what I’m doing,” I thought as I removed my hat and withdrew my handkerchief. Wiping my forehead, I looked into the hat and spied a corner of the picture I’d placed there the night before. Grabbing the dog-eared corner, I pulled at it and tried to make a connection between this woman and Harry Marcheske.
I knew that it wasn’t Mrs. Marcheske in the snapshot, since I’d seen her picture in the morning paper. “Hold on, just a minute here,” I thought, studying the photograph. I looked once again at the license plate of the car in the picture. I pulled out my note pad, opened it to the last page and held it next to the snapshot. “JTS-276. That’s where I know that number. Coincidence, my ass. I’ve got find out what Harry was up to and where this key fits.”
I placed the picture back in the inside rim of my hat and placed it back on my head. I reinserted the note pad in my lapel pocket and started the engine. “I think I know where I can get some answers. I just hope I’m wrong about what I’m thinking.”
Jimmy the snitch had always been a good source in the past when, as a detective, I wanted to know about what was going on in the city. I hoped I could still find him after all these months.
Lou’s Pool Hall had been Jimmy’s hangout in the past. Lou’s place was in the seedier section of Los Angeles. Police patrolmen were even apprehensive about walking these streets alone at night. They usually patrolled this section in pairs and never ventured into any confrontation without adequate backup.
I positioned the Olds at the curb and gave the engine a rest. The neon lights that Spelled out “Lou’s Pool Hall” on the facade of the building had all but burned out. All that remained lit was the “ou’s.” I looked up at the ragged sign and muttered to myself, “That sums it up pretty well.”
The inside of the pool hall looked pretty much like the outside—filthy and dimly lit. The single lamps over each table lit up a patch of green here and there, but you still had to take a good look to make out any figures that may be lurking inside.
There were three as far as I could make out—three grimy dirtballs in the whole place. One of the guys was hunched over the table, concentrating on his next shot. His face looked like someone had used it to wipe their dirty feet on before entering this joint. He had a tattoo of a snake wrapped around a spear on his right forearm. A short cigarette butt clung to his lower lip as the smoke curled upward toward the light.
The other two gentlemen of the evening were sitting on the bench alongside of the table area. One was smoking a short, stubby cigar and had a face that looked like it hadn’t seen a razor in days. The other sat poised with his pool cue in hand, waiting for the first fellow to miss so he could take up his position at the table.
Lou was standing there behind the counter shuffling through the evening paper, looking for race results. Lou was the kind of guy who never seemed to make it in the business world. He owned this dump, but he always managed to stay just one jump ahead of the bank and the bill collectors. Lou lived from hand to mouth with an occasional side trip to the racetrack. He had an insatiable appetite for gambling, an appetite that cost him his wife, friends and most of his assets over the years.
“Hey, Lou, you seen Jimmy around here lately?” I asked, only half expecting an answer.
Lou briefly looked up from his paper but said nothing. He just lowered his eyes toward the race results and pretended that he didn’t hear.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me, Lou,” I said. “I asked if Jimmy’s been around here lately. Now has he or hasn’t he?” Lou still ignored the question.
Lou had always cooperated in the past, at least he cooperated after I accidentally bumped into him two or three times. But that was when I was still on the force and carried some clout. Those tactics wouldn’t work, now that I was simply a private dick.
I reached into my left pants pocket and produced a five-dollar bill. Sliding it under Lou’s paper, I asked, “How’s your hearing now?”
“You know, Cooper, I never liked you much as a cop but I really ain’t got no use for you now so take your fin and blow.” Lou pushed the green note back and eyed his paper again.
With my left hand, I grabbed the dirty shirt just below Lou’s neck and lifted. Lou dropped his paper and looked at me with that scared look he always got. With my right hand in a clenched fist aimed at Lou’s nose, I said, “Maybe five isn’t enough, eh Lou? How about five more?” I cocked my arm and prepared to deliver my message.
“All right,” Lou said. “I seen him.” Lou’s memory suddenly improved. “He was in here about an hour ago with that skirt, you know, the one with the red hair and glasses…”
“You mean Rhonda?” I said, my fist still hovering in front of Lou’s face.
“Yeah, that’s the dame,” he said. “They was here about six o’clock but left around seven, seven thirty. I don’t remember exactly when.” Lou’s voice had that high-pitched squeak in it whenever he was nervous and I noticed it tonight.
“You better be on the level, Lou, or I’ll be back with another five and pay you in full. Got it?” I growled as I released Lou’s shirt, sending Lou tumbling backwards into a row of beer glasses that were stacked up behind him.
I looked at my hands and quickly wiped them on the front of my jacket. As I turned for the door, I could see the guy with the snake tattoo heading toward me with his pool cue still in hand. I quickly turned and sneered at the guy.
“Come on, you want some of this, too?” I said, holding up my fist in defiance.
The man stopped where he was and looked back at his two buddies on the bench. They held their palms toward the man in the pushing gesture and suddenly the confidence drained out of this would-be threat.
“Just what I thought,” I said and exited the grimy establishment.
I made a mental note of what Lou had volunteered and headed for my car. I climbed into the car and started the engine but didn’t pull away immediately. Something made me turn off the car and get out again.
Across the street from Lou’s, I could make out the figure of a man in the alley. The man was lying against the wall, partially hidden by two garbage cans. At first I thought it might be a bum sleeping it off, but as I approached I recognized that face. It was Jimmy the Snitch.
My slow walk turned to a brisk jog as I approached my old informant. “Jimmy? You all right? What
the hell happened?”
“They thought I had it, Matt,” Jimmy’s voice was weak and a stream of blood ran down the corner of his mouth. The pain of trying to talk showed with every word. “I didn’t have…” Jimmy’s head fell limp to one side and his chest heaved a final sigh and Jimmy was silent.
As I lowered Jimmy gently to the pavement, I heard a rattling sound, much like tin cans being dragged from the back of a wedding car. It was coming from the other end of the alley. I stood erect and cautiously stalked the noise, my hand full with the .45 automatic.
As I neared the end of the alley, I stopped and listened. There was nothing but silence. Dead silence. It was too quiet. The alley was dark and all I could make out was the shape of a cat bouncing from one garbage can to the next. I heaved a quick sigh and holstered my weapon.
I quickly walked back to where I had left Jimmy and knelt beside him. There was another noise, a closer noise, and I sprang to my feet again and reached inside my jacket.
I spun around just in time to feel the crack of a sap come down on my forehead. The lights went out and I fell to the pavement like a limp rag doll.
I crawled out of the black hole that had swallowed me and opened my eyes. There was a freight train steaming along inside my head and my ears were ringing. As I shook my head and squinted my eyes, I realized that my hands were bound tightly behind my body. I blinked a few more times and suddenly things were coming into view once again. I was seated on a hard, flat wooden chair and my legs were tied together at the ankles.
I looked around the room and stopped scanning as my eyes reached the window on the west wall. Directly beneath it there was another chair. Seated on that chair was the biggest, ugliest goon I’d ever laid eyes on. He looked as though his shoe size might surpass his I.Q. and his head looked like it might just be thick enough to batter down a door if need be.
There was something vaguely familiar about this brute. The monster of a man rose and walked past me, eyeing me up he went past. He walked over to the door, opened it just enough to stick his head through and said to someone on the other side, “He’s awake, boss.” He closed the door once again, lumbering over to the window and taking his place in the chair again.
