Mike had heard that one before. He had an answer down pat. “Sure, pal, we’re all good people. Now tell me who owns this place.”
“I don’t know for sure. A Mr. Riley runs the place. I’ve never met the owner. I just take my pay and go home at night.”
“That’s not what I heard. I heard you run numbers here.”
“Only small time, for Mr. Riley, he kicks up my book. I don’t touch it.”
Mike nodded. “You call me at The Richelieu Hotel next time they show.” Mike took his right hand from his pocket, palm up and empty. He showed it to Roger hoping to reassure him.
“I’ll call. Sure thing.” Roger nodded. He had one eye on the back door, but he wasn’t as scared as he was greedy. He mustered a weak. “What’s in it for me?”
“You’ll get what’s coming to you.” Mike moved his hand from the door.
Roger breathed a little easier. “When I call the hotel, who do I ask for?”
“Ask for Mike.”
“Got it, Mike. Don’t you worry. ” Roger shifted from one foot to the other.
Mike stepped back from the door and Roger didn’t hesitate. He opened it and disappeared inside. As it closed behind him, Mike lit another smoke and thought about Tino. Chances are that Roger’s book got kicked up to this Riley character, then got sent offshore. There was big trouble for them on that gambling boat, despite all the fast talk about bygones be bygones.
When he finished his smoke, Mike went back into the Polar Palace and made his way through the shoe changing area past the benches where parents cooed like morons over their children. Mike saw Jack and Roger behind the concession stand watching him. He nodded at them and they flashed nervous smiles.
“Chiselers.” Mike muttered.
He turned to watch the skaters. The crowd was a mass of bodies to him until a little girl in the center of the rink caught his eye. She wore a pink dress with long white cotton leggings. She had a blue ribbon in her hair and she spun around and around until she got blurry. It made him dizzy to watch her and he turned away and put his hand to his head. He squeezed his temples hard between his thumb and fore-finger. That didn’t help, so he sat down on a nearby bench until he could pull himself together.
When he looked up from rubbing his temples, he glimpsed a Panama hat drifting along above the crowd on the other side of the rink. Mike pulled himself together and did his best to track the hat. His hand went to his right coat pocket and gripped his gun. His palms were sweaty and slippery against the cold steal of his convincer.
The Panama hat got closer and closer, until it broke out of the crowd and the fat man from the ship sidled up to where Mike sat. Panama wore a threadbare black suit and carried ice skates by the laces in his left hand. When he saw Mike, a thin smile crossed his lips and he sat down next to him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Mike spoke through clenched teeth. The dizzy spell had worn off and anger took its place. “Are you following me?”
“I didn’t come down here after you. I’m here for him.” Panama jerked his head toward the front door. A man in a grey suit lingered by the entrance.
“Who’s he?” Mike asked.
“Him?” Panama nodded in the man’s direction, then took a cigar from his pocket. He rolled it around in his fingers for a bit, then plopped it in his mouth and suckled it. After a few seconds, he took it out and rolled it around in his fingers some more. “He’s from Colorado.” He finally answered.
“Oh yeah, no kidding, what’s he doing here?”
“He’s looking for you.” Panama put the cigar back in his mouth, struck a match, and lit it. He puffed a cloud of smoke in Mike’s direction.
“He get help finding me?” Mike shifted his balance on the bench. He readied himself to move.
“We’re not as dumb as we look, grifter. Tony got word about the boys from Denver before you did.”
“He got word?” Mike sneered. “Sure he didn’t call them himself?”
“To be honest, I don’t know.” Panama ashed on the floor.
“Well, I don’t expect it makes much difference.” Mike shrugged.
“Nope.” Panama sounded wistful. “If you ask me, this whole thing’s been headed in the wrong direction since it started.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Mike kept his eyes on the man in the Grey Suit.
Grey Suit glanced over at them, then shifted his eyes to the ground like he dropped something. Then he started moving. He headed right for them, shuffling alongside the rink and staying close by its low wall. He kept his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“Here he comes.” Panama stood up and vanished into the crowd. He left his skates on the bench next to Mike.
Mike didn’t expect the fat man to stick around, but he was surprised by how fast he disappeared. Mike turned his attention back to Grey Suit. The man was tall and thin and getting closer. His eyes burned bright in deep dark sockets and he swaggered through the crowd unwavering, like a man who had done this many times before.
Mike grabbed the skates, sprang up off the bench, and headed for the back exit. On his way, a woman tying a child‘s laces blocked his path. He shoved her aside. She protested and came after him. Mike smacked her across the face and she went down hard.
He stepped over her and burst out the exit into the alley. He saw a dim light flickering over the door and smashed it with the skates. The alley got dark and Mike hid in the shadows he made. Seconds later, Grey Suit opened the door and scanned the alley with the help of the weak lightspill from the interior. He moved like a professional, but he saw nothing. He crept out into the alley and let the door close behind him.
Mike shifted on his feet and Grey Suit spun toward the sound, leading with his pistol. Mike grabbed the tall man’s gun arm with one hand and swung the skates with the other. He caught Grey Suit in the face. The rough metal skate sank an inch deep into his chin. Mike tried to pull it out and swing again, but it was stuck.
Grey Suit staggered back and gurgled blood. His fingers clenched and pulled the trigger of his piece. Mike had control of the pistol. The shots ricocheted harmlessly around the alley. Mike wrenched the skate again with all his might. This time, he freed it from the man’s jawbone. Grey Suit clutched at his throat with one hand and tried to block Mike from hitting him again with the other. Mike swung again. This time the metal tore through the man’s cheek and shattered his jaw. Teeth fell from his mouth like sailors from a sinking ship. The blow knocked Grey Suit out, but a quirk of balance kept him upright on his knees.
Mike caught his breathe and gathered his strength to hit the man again. Before he did, he looked over at the back door to the Polar Palace. Roger stood there gawking with a cigarette dangling in his lips. Mike ignored him. He turned back to Grey Suit and finished him with another hard blow to the head. This time the man fell forward and his body twitched in seizure. He was dead.
Mike dropped the skate and chased his breathe. When he caught it, he straightened his suit and brushed himself off. Roger stared from the doorway with his mouth so agape that the cigarette fell out of it and sparked cinders on the ground.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mike walked out of the alley, but didn’t go back to the car. Instead he turned away from it and went down Van Ness. He drew his coat tight, pulled his hat brim low, and stayed in the shadows. He felt alive and breathed steady. He kept up a brisk pace all the way down the block until he got to Wilshire, where he turned east toward Benny’s and slowed down a bit. On the boulevard, the foot traffic picked up and the street lights got brighter and he started seeing the patrol cars. The first sped by quick with its lights and sirens -- the cops had found Grey Suit in the alley. The second and third cars prowled slow. Now the cops were looking for whoever put Grey Suit in a pile of alley trash.
Mike had blood on his hands, so he kept them jammed deep in his pockets. Still he couldn’t do anything about the dark stains on his coat and he couldn’t ditch it. There was even more blood on the white shirt he wore underneath. At
the next corner, there was a large well lit restaurant with the name Perino’s over the entrance. A crowd mingled in front of it, coming and going from the cabstand. Mike weaved through them and slipped inside.
Music blared at him from a back room when he walked in. He stood in the foyer and checked the scene. A trio of tuxedoed hosts stood behind a tall podium and touted the people as they came in, sorting those to be seated immediately from those who got to feel small. Mike ignored these hustlers and edged past into the restaurant. No one mustered the courage to stop him. They didn’t want the trouble. Neither did Mike, he kept his head down and made a beeline for the men’s room. He sliced between the waiters and the patrons and they barely noticed him. He used brashness to make himself invisible.
When he got to the washroom, the attendant greeted him with a big smile. He was a handsome old gentleman. His pressed uniform was flawless. Mike nodded back at him and handed the old man a ten spot. The attendant was confused for a second. He usually got the tip afterward. He watched Mike check the stalls to see if they were empty and clued himself in to what Mike was up to. When Mike came to a stall that was occupied, he stopped and looked over at the attendant. The guy didn’t meet his gaze. He pocketed the ten and walked out.
Mike waited until the door closed, then he peered over the top of the stall at the man inside. The fellow was seated and looking down. He was close to Mike’s size, so Mike stepped back and kicked the door open. The man inside jumped up with his pants around his ankles, but there was nothing he could do. Mike shoved him back into the wall and the man’s skull cracked the tile with a loud popping sound and he was out. Mike caught him as he fell and stripped him of shirt and jacket, then he folded him over and dumped him next to the toilet. Mike took off his own coat and shirt and dumped them on top of his victim, then he put the man’s clothes on. They fit perfectly.
Mike patted the pockets of the coat as he headed out. He found the man’s wallet and pilfered the coat check ticket from it and the cash. On his way out, he left some money on the counter for the attendant and dropped the wallet in the trash. The attendant came in as Mike was leaving. He smiled, took the money off the counter, and slid it into his shoe. The old man didn’t bend down to do it. He brought his foot up to his hand with the agility of a dancer.
Mike left the men’s wash room in a hurry. He headed to the coat check where a pretty blonde girl dressed up like a French maid in a chateau somewhere waited behind the counter. Mike sidled up and slid her the ticket with a wink. She winked back, then turned and got the coat. It was a long heavy wool number in Navy blue. Mike dropped a couple of bucks on her and took the coat.
When he got close to the front door, he saw a squad car parked out front. A heavyset cop leaned on it and talked to one of the hosts that touted at the front door. As an old drunk stumbled by the restaurant, two younger cops appeared from out of nowhere and braced him. Mike turned around and headed for the back. The coat check girl picked up on his maneuver and showed him the way with a nod and a smile. She was a stand-up kid. She wouldn’t give him away.
Mike headed back through the restaurant. As he passed the men’s washroom, his shirtless victim stumbled out clutching his skull and screaming. The restaurant erupted into chaos. It was the perfect distraction. Mike darted into the kitchen. The cooks and dishwashers gave him an odd look, but they didn’t stare. They were caught up in helping the beaten man.
Mike exited Perino’s and found himself in another the alley. He lit a smoke and started away from the restaurant. At the end of the block, his luck changed. A squad car pulled up and sprayed him with the spotlight. Mike froze and raised his hands slowly. He tried to hide the weight of the Red 9 in his pocket. A young big toothed cop hopped out of the squad car and approached him. His partner stayed in the car and kept the light on Mike’s face.
“What you doin’ in the alley?” Big toothed cop asked the question with his right hand resting on the butt of his gun.
“Her brother-in-law came in. Place got a little too crowded for me.” Mike kept his raised hands at shoulder level. He judged the space between himself and the cop in front of him and his buddy in the car. It would be tough to get both of them.
“You been in there all night?” the cop asked.
“Most of it.” Mike answered.
The cop gave him the once over. “Open your coat.”
“No.” Mike said.
“Excuse me.” The cop wavered. “I said open your coat.”
“How old are you?”
“Open your coat.” The cop didn’t give up, but he was rattled.
“Maybe 26?” Mike asked him cold
“What?” The cop couldn’t wrap his mind around it.
Mike glowered and talked low so only the kid could hear him. “This is a mistake. Do this and that’ll be it. Look at me. You know it. I can get to you before you get that gun out. I will snap your neck. Maybe your friend in the car gets me after that. Maybe he doesn’t. It won’t make any difference to you.”
The cop in the car chimed in. “There a problem?”
It was quiet for a long time. The big toothed cop didn’t answer right away. Mike stared him down. The kid broke. He moved his hand away from his gun and backed off.
“Everything’s fine. This guy’s all right.” He answered his partner in the car. “Move along, sir.” The cop said it loud and tough.
Mike didn’t answer. He turned, lowered his hands and walked away. At the corner, a taxi slowed down for him and Mike hopped in back.
The cab took him the rest of the way back to Benny’s. In the back seat, Mike’s mind started to slow down and his hands started to ache. Killing Grey Suit with the skates and beating the man in the bathroom had taken a toll on his hands. Mike took a long look at them. The left didn’t trouble him much, but the swelling on the edge of his right palm was not good. He had to box in a few days and he had to go at least a couple of rounds to pull off the hustle. He couldn’t fake his way through. He had to throw punches and wrangle. The deal was getting tricky enough with the Judge in town. Mike kicked himself for making it worse.
Mike paid the hack generously when they got to Benny’s. Mike got out and stood by the curb, clenching and unclenching his fists. He hoped that would make them feel better. It didn’t. Mike walked through the parking lot toward the Bar. Normally it was hectic at this hour, but tonight there were only a few cars and they were leaving.
Mike didn’t like the look of it, so he turned away from the front door and headed down a narrow alleyway beside the saloon to the back. When he got to there, the door was locked and Mike had to hammer on it for some time before a young shirtless Chinese man opened it. There was a thin layer of sweat glistening on his body and a sweet perfume clung to him.
“Lo.” Mike nodded.
“Mike.” Lo had a thick Cantonese accent.
Mike stepped inside a back room that was darker than normal. To his right, a wood-slat staircase disappeared into an even darker second floor. Music came from the front of the bar, but the rumbling ambient noise of a crowded saloon was absent.
Benny’s voice floated down from the second floor. “I’ll be right with you. Take a seat in the kitchen. Lo or one of the girls can grill something up if you’re hungry.”
Lo shook his head when he heard Benny’s offer and his face darkened. He walked past Mike into the kitchen. Lo caught sight of Mike’s bloody hand as he walked past. Mike raised his fist so Lo could get a better look at his injuries.
“You wanna fix it for me?” Mike cracked a grin when he said it.
“Go fuck yourself.” Lo turned away and went into the kitchen.
Mike watched him go. His shoulders looked a little hunched and Mike wanted to kick him in the ass to straighten him out. He didn’t, because Benny liked Lo and because the man was rail thin and tiny. Mike couldn’t gauge how hard to hit him. And he knew if he broke him by accident, Benny might get upset.
Mike followed Lo into the kitchen, but stopped at a small round table ne
ar the wall and sat down. Lo went to the stove and clattered some pots and pans around. It sounded loud because the bar was so quiet. Mike leaned forward and peered through the doorway that led to the saloon. Only three wobbly old souses remained loyal to their drinks. Lo grunted at Mike and showed him two eggs.
Mike answered. “Yeah. Over easy.”
Lo went back to the stove. Mike took out his smokes, lit one, and tossed the pack on the table.
“Where is everybody?” Mike asked.
Lo didn’t answer. He banged the pan hard on the burner and glared over his shoulder at Mike.
“Benny gettin’ ready for trouble?” Mike talked loud like he was throwing bricks at the back of Lo’s head.
Lo didn’t crack. He kept his mouth shut and spatulated the butter around like he was trying to kill it.
“You aren’t much for talking, are you fella?” Mike kept up his chatter. He wasn’t very good at it. His words all had the tone of a threat.
“Yeah, sometimes I talk. To people.” Lo cracked the eggs into the pan. They sizzled and the grease popped.
Mike got wound up and edged forward on his seat, but before he could talk harder at Lo, Benny appeared in the doorway with his hair greased up and slicked back.
“Coffee.” Benny commanded Lo without looking at him. His eyes were on Mike. Benny strolled over and picked up the pack of smokes that his big friend had left on the table. “What’re you doing here?” Benny popped a cigarette in his mouth.
Mike shrugged. “Eating breakfast.”
Benny sat down across from Mike and leaned back in the chair. He had his thumbs in his waist band and he puffed deeply on the cig. He didn’t exhale. He let the smoke drift out of his mouth and a big cloud gathered around his head. A noise in the next room drew their attention. The three drunks stumbled toward the door with two waitresses close on their heels and cursing them in Cantonese. When the door slammed behind them, the bar went silent. The only sound left was Lo finishing up the food.
Fixed Fight (Mike Chance series Book 2) Page 6
