by Larry Flewin
That's when Mother Nature took over. She wasn't very patient either, especially with this old doughboy. Every once in a while, the old girl got it into her head to do something about me, and that usually meant something drastic. This was one of those times, I could feel it, a slow burn in my gut that getting hotter by the second. Everything from the waist up had decided it was time to leave the way it had come.
One thing about my office, everything was close at hand, including the sink. Didn't have to go too far to do what I had to do, but it didn’t leave much room for privacy either. I'd always thought that was a good joke, a private eye with no privacy. Well, Ma Nature wasn't in a joking mood, what followed wasn't pretty and I didn't care.
A cold-water wash snapped me awake enough to start seeing single again. I never had any hot, the laundry next door always seemed to get there first. I took a good look at myself in the mirror, didn’t like what I saw, and more importantly, didn’t recognise. Was that thinning, baggy-eyed thing really me, was I really getting too old for all this?
There was something about being a PI that seemed to suck the life out of a guy. Especially this one. Time was I could go round the clock for days on end, with nothing more than a pack of Luckies and a mickey to keep me going. Now I was lucky if I didn’t fall asleep on a stakeout or run out of gas after a three-block chase. Shook my head to snap myself out of it and kick my brain into gear.
As I towelled off, I snapped a glance her way, hoping to see she’d taken a powder. Who could blame her? I wasn't exactly Errol Flynn, and my sink trick was bound to make her sick herself. But no such luck. When I turned around, the hair and the eyes had been joined by a mouth and nose. The mystery woman spoke.
"Why did you count the money, it's all there. Take it, it's yours." The voice was very soft, and very smooth, too polished for a secretary, or some streetwise orphan. There was class sitting over there, I could just smell it. Somebody's wife with time on her hands, or daddy's loaded little girl. Either way she was trouble, the expensive and dangerous kind, the kind you get into when you're bored, loaded, and lazy. And she was doubly in Dutch with Michael.
CHAPTER TWO
Long about dawn I lit up my last Lucky Strike and inhaled its sweet perfume. Smoke rings drifted lazily across the room while I stretched uncomfortably in my chair. I’d whiled away the wee hours pondering life and counting cash, all two grand of it. This was more dough than I’d seen in a month of Sundays, so how did I rate this kind of generosity. I wasn’t looking forward to her story, not if Michael had a part in it.
It spoke, a voice lost in the blue haze of dawn.
"The money's all there, I counted it before I came to find you. Isn’t it enough?"
"Well, you found me alright, but I don't quite follow, sister. If this is your way of paying me back for getting shot at last night, forget it. Those two knuckleheads are always taking pot shots at me. Maybe someday they'll get lucky and actually hit something."
"You know them?" The face above the blanket looked like death warmed over, pale and sickly. She spoke gently.
"Yeah. Coupla wise guys working for a friend of mine. Name of Michael Panychkin. Mean anything to you?"
"Should it?"
"Don't see why not. That was his car parked out front, and those two goombahs weren't here because they like playing in the rain. So, what's the story, doll."
She took a deep breath, as if waking from a really deep sleep. "I don't know what you mean. Those two men just appeared from out of nowhere and grabbed me. I was lucky you came along when you did, otherwise who knows what might have happened. I can't remember if I thanked you but thank you again. You saved my life.”
An interesting voice, it clipped along with a nice finishing school polish. And not from any of the ones around here, it was too distinct for that.
"And you were just walking along, minding your own business," I said, not believing any of it.
"Yes. Is that against the law?" she asked, her face a question.
"Not that I know of, but two G's ain't exactly walking around money, either. So, Mrs. Innocent, what brings you to my humble little home."
"I need you."
"No kidding.”
"No, I am not kidding. That money was, or rather, is yours. It's payment in advance for whatever you have to do."
"And that is."
"Find a friend of mine. An old friend. We haven't seen each other for years, but it is very important that I speak with him as soon as possible. It's a matter of life and death."
"Yours or his."
She stared at me for a moment, as if debating which it really was. "It's important that I talk to him. Will you find him for me?”
The last of the smoke rings drifted lazily over her head while I thought it over. This was five hundred bucks and ten minutes’ work for any tin star in town, so what was the other fifteen hundred for. I sucked back the last half-inch and flicked the butt over her head into the corner. She ducked as it sailed by, clutching the blanket tight to her chest.
My gut told me I’d been down this road before. There was no long-lost buddy or misplaced uncle, this was probably some high society type went looking for a little action on a lonely Saturday night, and hey presto, woke up somewhere else with someone else. Guilt, fear, or a jealous hubby had her scared and I was the payoff guy she’d picked. Find him, pay him to shut it, and forget I ever saw either of them. Or maybe she was just a bad poker player.
“I’ll think about it.”
“What? There’s no time for that! You must get started, right now!” she said, leaning towards me, her voice a mixture of anger and anxiety.
“No I don’t.”
“Yes you do. I told you, the money is yours. You know what you have to do. Find him and there is more, a lot more.”
“Listen honey…”
“No, you listen …. oooohhhh.” And with that she leaped up, threw my blanket at me, and stormed out.
Just like that. No hugs, no kisses, no teary goodbyes. I thought about chasing after her, but since she’d left the money behind, she’d be back. Meantime, my current condition picked me up and led me over to the window. It had a clear view of the only way in or out, so whichever way little miss snooty went I could follow up on it later.
Turned out to be the kind of day I hated the most, bright and sunny. Opening the blinds was like staring into a searchlight, so I turned away in favour of getting some breakfast in a nice shady booth. I’d learned that trying to figure out women was a complete waste. They were never ready to talk when you were, and never gave you a moment’s peace once they opened up. She’d find me again when she was ready.
When I turned around to pick up my coat and leave, the dough still sitting on my desk, all neatly piled by denomination, called out to me. I smiled, no toast for Tony boy today, Stella was going to fry me a river of all things hot and greasy and like it. I stuffed a handful of fives and tens into my pocket, pausing to consider what to do with the rest of it.
Took a sec but I remembered I had a vault, the floorboard behind the door. Only two feet long, it rested peacefully under my laundry, and gratefully accepted donations. Especially cash. It was better than any safe deposit box, whatever else was in there was no one’s concern but mine.
The siren call of a hot breakfast, a rare event for me, and the look on Stella’s face when I showed up for it, rushed me out the door and down the hall. Imagine my surprise when who should I bump into but my brown-haired banshee. She was sitting in the stairwell, part way down, holding onto the handrail like it was going to run off without her. Okay, I can handle two mysteries in one day. I sat down beside her and gave her a gentle nudge.
"Hey, you forgot to tell me something, honey."
"Go away."
“Can’t do that. I’m on the clock, remember? I’m supposed to be looking for somebody.” So, I was committed, what else did I have to do. And she was paying in cash.
"Go...away."
�
�Listen, it’s your clock. You sure you want me to do that?”
"I will be alright. I just need to rest a minute."
"So, what gives. What am I supposed to with all that dough, besides count it?”
“No…. but…. look…. just…go, okay? I’ll come back later.”
Her overcoat hung open, showing off a white silk blouse, and brown tailored pants. I thought I smelled class.
"Say, sister, when's the last time you ate something."
"Ummm, I don’t know, two, three days ago, I think."
"Three days? What is it with you? First you try to get me killed, then you throw a pile of dough at me, and now you won't eat. You in love with me or something?" A bad joke and she didn’t bite.
"No. The money I gave you is all yours. Mine ran out three days ago. I had to hide, make sure they weren't still following me. It was in a boxcar in a railway yard near here, I think. It was empty but it may have transported potatoes. You can't imagine how I felt, the smell of food, and not being able to eat anything. I have to go."
And with that she tried to get up, but without much success. She collapsed into my arms like the sack of potatoes she'd just been talking about. So, I wondered, what was a high society dame like her doing with two grand in her purse, and a posse on her tail. And just how dumb did she think I really was. Maybe she hadn't eaten for a while, but she was too well dressed, and well spoken, to be riding the rails. Little missy wanted something, and the sooner I got it out of her the better, for the both of us
Two grand was a decent enough lure so I wasn’t about to queer the deal by asking why me too loudly. Right now, my stomach and I couldn't afford to lose out. Hiring a private eye with this kinda dough didn’t say much about her street smarts, but it was her dough and her call. I didn’t always make such a good first impression, but she seemed happy with my services so far, so what the hell.
I took her by the arm, lugged her down the stairs, and half-carried half-dragged her to Stella's. We literally staggered in and took a seat in a booth at the back. The fat one hustled right over and took twenty off me, only after which my new partner got the once over, and some coffee. The china was a little shaky going up, but it brought some life back to her cheeks.
The conversation was just as shaky, as in there wasn't any. All she did was go for the brown stuff and shoot it down, cup after cup, holding on tight with both hands. Across the table, Stella scribbled furiously while I dictated, not saying a word either, and then she was off to wake up Freddie, the cook. She knew enough not to give me the gears when I had clients in tow.
A dozen minutes later, two sizzling breakfasts landed on the table, still smoking from the grill. I smiled hard, nothing beat a Five Star breakfast. It was hot, greasy, and there was plenty of it. Freddie didn’t speak English too well, and he made more noise than a brass band once he got started, but he sure knew how to treat an old doughboy. I grabbed up my knife and fork and started sawing away.
My partner, on the other hand, demolished her steak and eggs in no time flat, and would probably have eaten the plate, if Stella hadn't wandered over with a refill on the coffee. While my new client was stuffing her face with a second plateful, I tried to pry more information out of her. She acknowledged my request with a wave of her fork and tried to spit it out between mouthfuls.
She began by adding to the mystery.
"Here", she said, “this is for you also. I almost forgot about it." She calmly reached down the front of her shirt and began to give herself a physical. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. Stella didn’t need to see this; a lot of things went on in her back rooms that even I turned a blind eye to, but the front room, the diner, was her pride and joy. I didn’t need to cheese her off, too.
"Hey, what're you doing,” I hissed. "Are you nuts? This ain't no strip joint! If you were cold, why didn't you say so. Geez Louise."
She continued the struggle for a few more seconds, before proudly displaying the fruits of her labours. A key. A big, shiny, brass thing attached to a thin gold-coloured chain. I gave it a quick look and returned to my knife and fork.
"So it's a key. Big deal." I groused. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that I was a whole lot more interested now. This was turning out to be the kind of proposition I liked, a dame who couldn’t lie to save her life, cash in large quantities, and maybe another shot at my old friend Michael Panychkin.
My lack of interest didn't sit too well with my breakfast buddy. It became obvious to her, as she continued to hold up the key, that I was more interested in pleasing my stomach than pleasing her. She finally gave up in disgust and tossed the thing onto my plate. Then she crossed her arms and sat staring out the window, every inch the woman scorned.
"Hey, watch it will ya”, I growled, fishing it out of the gravy. I grabbed another deck of smokes from the rack by the cash register, got all comfy in my pew again and lit up. No smoke rings this time, just smoke. And I gave her a cloud of it. She ignored that, too.
"So, what's with the key” I asked, graciously.
All I got was a nasty, tight-lipped, glare.
"Nothing."
Things were looking up.
"Look, doll, you came to me so don’t get all huffy. You want me to find someone, no problem. The dough I got is a little less than my usual fee, but I can live with that. So, tell me exactly who it is I’m supposed to be looking for and I’ll be on my merry way.
“There is nothing else. The key is all there is.”
“Aw c’mon, there’s gotta be more than that. How big is this guy, how old is he, does he have a limp? Speak German? What.”
“No, no, and no.”
“You’re not making this easy, honey, it’s gonna take a little time. Might make it easier for both of us if you tell me everything.” Who was she kidding, people don’t get found unless they want to. I needed more than nothing to find this guy. I was good but miracles weren’t the order of the day,
“There is nothing else I can tell you. I haven’t seen him in years, but something happened a while ago and I need to see him about it right away. I know he’s in town, or at least I think I do. His last letter to me was postmarked here.”
“And I don’t suppose you have the letter, do you.”
“No, I forgot it.”
“And it’s been so long you’ve forgotten how tall or short he is, limps or not, fat, thin, all those good things?”
“Exactly.”
“Really? You must think I’m a magician or something. I gotta find this guy on your say so and that’s it? How will I know I got the right guy, assuming I find him in the first place? That’s not exactly how it works.”
“Look,” she said, exasperated. “There are plenty of others who would jump at the chance to take my money. Why are you making this so hard?”
“You seem to have a lot of faith in my talent, and we’ve never even met. Tell me why I should.” I sat back in the booth and lit another smoke.
“Someone I know recommended you. Said you were the best of a bad lot. That I’d be wasting my time trying to find you, and if I did I’d be lucky if you were sober, and if you were, maybe, just maybe, you could do this and do it quickly.”
“I’m impressed. So who was it.” I smiled, knowing she was full of it. No one in this town would ever recommend me for anything unless it involved a bullet or a cell.
“Does it really matter? All I want is for you to find someone for me. That key will tell you who. And since you still have the money, I can only assume that we have a deal. So what is the problem, more money?”
She wasn't yelling. Dames like her don't, but there was a definite edge to her voice. Angry, or frightened, it was hard to say. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Stella staring at us. We were disturbing the sanctity of her diner, and she wasn’t too impressed.
"Will you pipe down!" I said, leaning across the table. "No, I don't want any more money. Hell, I don't even want the money I already got
. Yeah, I can do the job, but you aren’t making it easy.” Whoever he was she wanted him found real bad, but it wasn’t someone she knew, was it. She was fronting for someone, some kind of family thing, sister hunting brother? Been there, done that and it hadn’t ended well for ether one. Murder is still murder, family or not.
Maybe I was last on the hire list, but what got me thinking was that she was of interest to Michael. He wouldn’t send Happy and Ollie out on a rainy night just on a whim, there was something about her that had his attention. I had to hand it to the guy, life was never dull with him around. Not that I was dying to find out what the big man was up to, but I was in the mix now, I’m sure he’d be thrilled when he found out. Where she fit in was the mystery of the day, but that would make itself known soon enough.
She sat back in the booth, a wicked smile on her lips. "They were right about you."
"No kidding. Who’s they."
"They said you were a hard case, if that's the correct expression, a man who doesn't care about anyone or anything. All we, I, want from you is to find someone for me, let me talk to him. That’s it. You have, so I was told, a certain reputation for getting things done and not asking too many questions.” Wasn't that the truth. But the only thing I was getting done at the moment was burning up shoe leather, trying to stay one step ahead of certain individuals who wanted some investments repaid. Two grand would buy me a nice new pair of brogans and open a whole lot of closed doors.
"He is a friend, as I said. We were in business together, and it went bad for us. He has something that belongs to me, and I want it back. What that might be is not important. Let's just say that he is important to me, alive. As for your services, two thousand Canadian dollars, in advance, all that money you so nicely counted for me last night. The key will tell you where to look, and when you find him, your work is done. So, do we have a deal?”
