Houseboat

by Paul Shadinger

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up. On my God, now it all made sense. I said to Sakol, “Price was the one who killed Slim Rockingham.”

  Sakol looked at me as if I was crazy. “How you know? You said not possible. Remember right hand, left hand?” He was dropping back into his old cop routine.

  “My old war friend, the one who told me about Price, also said Price was amazing with a knife. He told me it didn’t matter to Price, either left or right hand, he was just as good with either one. Anyway, I met a kid the other day and he was like a shirttail relative of Slim’s and he sounded exactly like Jersey described. Like nose ring, black fingernails and all. The punk was the one who hired Price and Hollis.”

  “What punk name?”

  “Dudley. Just a second,” The silence grew as I tried to remember that day in Richard’s office. “Shit! I can’t remember his last name. Anyway, Rockingham’s stepsister’s nephew looks just like your description. This Jersey character told you all this?”

  “Yes.” The way Sakol said that word left me to understand there was more to the story but I was not going to hear it. “What Dudley last name?”

  “Sorry, it was a very intense morning with all the lawyers and Jennifer. The only reason I even remember the kid’s first name is when I heard it I thought Dudley really fit him; the kid really looks like a dud.” I paused for a moment and then wondered if Richard would know the kid’s name. “Do you know the lawyer Richard Silversmith?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “He was at the meeting with the kid and I have his cell number. We’re friends.”

  “Please call.”

  There was a sign on the wall in the hospital asking people to step outside when making cell phone calls. I obliged, stepped outside, and called Richard. I didn’t realize how early it was until I heard the sleep in his voice. “Oh God, Richard, I am so sorry. I didn’t realize how early it was.”

  “What do you want, Matt? What kind of trouble are you in now?” His voice was still sleepy, but I could tell he was listening to me carefully. This was great, I call him at the wrong time of day, and his very first thought was I’m in trouble.

  “Do you remember the kid that was with Bottomsley the other day?”

  “Yeah,” Pause, “why?”

  “Word on the street is he hired a hit man. I haven’t heard for sure who the person was he wanted killed, but I’ll give you one free guess.”

  The sleep was gone from his voice. “Are you fucking kidding me? How sure are you of the information?”

  “Someone shot my friend, Lt. Jeff L Davenport this evening.” At that moment, I happened to look at my watch and saw it was now 4:30 AM, so I said, “excuse me, last night. I’m at the hospital now and I was talking to his partner, telling him how I got the information on the John Doe killed in my back yard. A fellow I served with in Nam told me the name of the JD, Dennis Price and his best friend, and sometimes lover, whose name is Hayward Hollis. The rumor on the street is that someone hired Price to kill someone here in town. A drug dealer described the person who hired Price and the description fits Bottomsley’s nephew perfectly. The police want to have a talk with the kid, and all I can remember was his first name was Dudley. Do you remember his last?”

  There was a moment of silence, and then, “Bell. Dudley Bell.”

  “Yes! That’s right, thanks Richard, and I owe you.”

  “Your payment is telling me how this turns out.”

  “Deal!” I went back into emergency and found Sakol talking to the same doctor I’d seen him with before. Then both stopped talking when I walked up. “Is everything all right?” I asked.

  The doctor responded, “He’s doing much better than we could have hoped for. It looks now as if he will pull through and be okay.”

  Both Sakol and I breathed a deep sigh of relief. I stuck out my hand to the doctor, and when he took it, I thanked him, several times. Sakol and I walked out into the early morning, pleased with the good news. Sakol turned to me, “Thank you for phoning in and staying there until help had arrived.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.

  Sakol winked at me, “I talked to the two officers who showed up at the warehouse. They were a bit pissed you left, but I squared it. They saw the tattoo on your shoulder, and when they described it and you, well, you are easy to remember. And I knew who it was. Thank you for sticking around after you called it in. I know you didn’t have to do that. That’s going to go a long way with Frank, and with me.” He put out his hand.

  As I shook it, I had to laugh, “What funny?” He asked, lapsing into his broken English.

  “You’re a character. Your English is perfect. You almost have an English accent when you speak normally.”

  “What normally? I speak normally all time. You speak funny.” We both laughed.

  “I got the name you wanted. The name is Dudley Bell, and I believe he lives with his aunt. Her name is Audrey Bottomsley, I don’t know her address, but her lawyer is Don Green and he would know where to find both of them.”

  Sakol scowled, “Green is asshole. He give lawyers bad name. I make phone call.” Sakol pulled his cell phone out and started punching in numbers. I heard him instruct whoever was on the phone to go to Green’s house and get Bottomsley’s address, then call him back. He looked at me and with a grin, “I not supposed to do this, but come with me.”

  “Are you taking me in?” I asked.

  “No, we going drug dealer hunting. Promise me you will not get hurt. Frank will kill me if he finds out I am taking you along.”

  I could see no reason to point out to Sakol that I was going to kill him myself if I got hurt.

  CHAPTER 33

  You don’t have to think too hard to figure out why cities have varied and different kinds of neighborhoods. Perhaps the reasons are economic or social, or both. Most parts of a city play to the people who make up those parts. Some parts of a city are ritzy, and others not so much. Invariably, there are those parts in large cities that become less desirable. Some are actually dangerous to live in. Those places people would call the ghettos. Usually these rundown areas are something left over from some well-intentioned government project that’s gone awry, and, sad to say, Seattle is no different. Seattle has a ghetto.

  Sakol and I were deep inside the projects. This area consisted of boarded up old buildings, rundown apartment houses, empty storefronts and filthy streets. We cruised slowly down back streets until Sakol finally turned in to a long, dark alley. This alley was in the heart of what people would define as ghetto territory. I’ll admit, I’d never been to this area before, and had I not been with Sakol, I would not be there this morning. As we slowly cruised down the alley, Sakol sat with his left hand resting on the steering wheel looking back and forth until we reached the end. Sakol pulled in behind a dumpster, turned off the motor, and glanced over.

  “Come,” was his instruction, so I got out of the car and followed him down the street. “Stay close,” he said. I thought for a moment about some smart assed quip, but I kept my mouth shut.

  The morning was cool and a slight fog hung over the streets, blurring the building outlines. We had been the only two people in the alley and we were still alone on the street after we left it. We walked down a trash strewn, deserted street, the sounds of our shoes echoing off the surrounding brick walls. Finally we came to two sets of stairs in the middle of the block where Sakol stopped and looked both ways. One set of stairs that went up towards the building entrance, and another set which went down. We took the stairs going down and reached the building’s basement. As Sakol opened the door at the bottom of the stairs, he turned, and again he advised me, “Stick close.”

  His comment almost made me giggle aloud. Telling me to stick close was not something he needed to say twice. The truth be told, he didn’t even have to say it the first time. The area at the bottom of the sta
irs didn’t have proper lighting. It appeared to be lit with a 25-watt bulb. There was trash scattered everywhere, and I figured it was just as well I couldn’t see much.

  Sakol opened a door, and we passed through into a room that was almost pitch dark. As my eyes slowly adapted to the diminished light, I could see we were in a very large room with chairs and beds scattered around the perimeter. There were a couple of tables in the middle of the room which had candles burning on them, giving off some very feeble light. I thought I saw forms in some of the beds, but I didn’t want to stare. What I found the most difficult to deal with was the stench of unwashed bodies, urine, and old smoke. It was unbelievable. How anybody could spend more than a few minutes in the room was beyond me. My main thought was how quickly we could do what we had to do and get out of there.

  Sakol seemed to know where he was going, so I followed him as he started walking directly towards the back of the room. I wanted to ask him if we really needed to be here but thought better of it. I’d lived my entire life in Seattle, and I’d never imagined there was anything like this room in my town. Without a doubt, this was a true drug den. This was like something out of a horror film. As hip as I thought I was, I felt like some naive kid from the sticks as we walked through the room. Up to this point in my life, I’d suffered through the horrors of SE Asia, and I’d witnessed many things I’d just prefer to forget. But this room was something I couldn’t grasp.

  If Sakol hadn’t reached out to open the door at the back of the room I never would have known there was a door or even a knob there. Once Sakol’s hand touched the doorknob to open it, a massive man stepped out of a shadow and grabbed Sakol’s hand. It was so dark all I could see was a large black shadow.

  “What do you want?” A deep rumbling voice asked.

  In a whisper, Sakol told him, “You have two seconds to remove your hand, or I’ll break it off and hand it to you.” The giant looked down at Sakol for a moment, and then pulled his hand back.

  “What do you want back here?” The large man asked again. I stood there trying to make out his features. About the only thing I could tell for sure was he was a black man. The other thing was that considering I am around 6’4”, this man had to be well over seven feet tall.

  “I’m here to see Mouse.”

  “Does he expect you?”

  “Mouse and I go way back. He always expects me.” Sakol paused for a moment, and then continued, “And the longer you keep me out here, the worse it will be for you when I finally see him.” The giant thought a moment, and then nodded. “Go ahead.”

  After the depressing room we were leaving, the next room we entered was even more unreal. The room we just left was like something from a nightmare, this room was something from a dream. Soft lighting concealed around the edge of the coffered ceiling lit the room. The walls were oak paneled and the carpet underfoot was thick and soft. In addition, one end of the room had expensive leather furniture, while the other side held a large executive table. There was a fireplace with a fire going, surrounded by a large mantelpiece. Behind the table sat a small man in a well-tailored suit. When he saw Sakol, he jumped up, clapped his hands together, and ran around the table. He extended his right hand, and with a smile he exclaimed, “Sakol, my old friend, it’s wonderful to see you. It has been way too long.”

  The two of them hugged one another, and then ended up by leaning close and bumping shoulders, similar to how black men tend to greet each other. In order for Sakol’s shoulder to touch the small man’s shoulder Sakol had to bend deeply at the waist. As they stepped back, Mouse looked over at me, and exclaimed, “Who is this?”

  Sakol motioned to me, as he spoke, “This is Matt Preston. Matt, this is Steve Fox, but you should call him Mouse.” The little man extended a well-manicured hand, and, as I shook it, my hand engulfed his. I doubted if the man was five feet tall, but his voice and manners were impeccable.

  Mouse said, “Sit, both of you.” He waved his hand towards the overstuffed leather chairs. After we both settled down, the diminutive man asked, “Can I offer you a cup of coffee? Tea? A drink perhaps?”

  Sakol replied, “Coffee please, lots of cream.”

  The man looked at me. “Same, please.” I replied. The petite man went to his desk, and I guessed there must’ve been a button there. A second later, an invisible door set into the paneling opened, and a lovely young Asian woman entered the room. “Sir?” she asked.

  “Three coffees, please, two with cream and one how I prefer.”

  “Sir.” The young woman bowed slightly and then left.

  “Women still very beautiful.”

  The tiny man laughed, “Sakol, knock it off. You and I go too far back for you to pull that stupid Charlie Chan crap on me,” and they both laughed. The way they spoke to each other I could tell their friendship was deep and lengthy. Mouse gave a small bow as he smiled at me and said, “I am so pleased to meet you, Mr. Preston. Your poker games are legendary.” Words fail to convey how that remark stuck me.

  There was a knock at the door, and Mouse called out, “Come!” The door opened, and the beautiful girl returned with a serving tray. She sat the tray down, and when she reached for the coffee pot, Mouse told her to leave and that he’d pour. He poured us each a cup, handed one to Sakol, and one to me. The color of mine was perfect. I noticed Mouse’s cup already had something in it.

  After Mouse sat down, he turned to Sakol, and asked, “What brings you to my lair so early this morning?”

  “We’re looking for a dealer named Jersey, and I don’t have time to go hunting for him. I think you know where to find him. I need to chat with him in the worst way. Where is he?” I noticed Mouse didn’t ask Sakol who Jersey was, or anything about him, it was obvious to me Mouse knew who Jersey was.

  Mouse held out his hands with the palms up. “Why do you ask me?”

  Sakol hung his head for a moment acting dejected. “Mouse, for old times sake, please, let’s not play games. We really need to talk to him, and the sooner the better.”

  Mouse smiled at Sakol and shook his head. “Okay, I had to try. Let me ask you this, does it have anything to do with the two mechanics that were in town?”

  Sakol didn’t seem surprised that Mouse would know about Hollis and Price. “Yes. And one of them, the man named Price, is dead,”

  Mouse interrupted, “I knew that. I’ve also heard he was as good as dead from the cancer he had.” Again, Sakol showed no sign of surprise Mouse would know something about Price’s medical condition.

  “And the problem is we need to find Hollis before he murders any more people. I believe he shot my partner last night.”

  Mouse interrupted again, “Jeff was shot last night?”

  “Yes, he’s at Harborview,” Sakol informed him.

  “This is a surprise. My sources haven’t mentioned that piece of information to me. How is he?”

  “He’ll recover, and thanks for asking.”

  Mouse bowed his head for a moment, and then looked back at Sakol, “I interrupted you, please continue.”

  Sakol went on, “I even think Jersey might be in danger.”

  Mouse seemed surprised by that. “Really, why?”

  “Did you know it was Hollis who killed Price?”

  Mouse tented his fingers in front of his face, and nodded his head. “For a while I wondered about that and then I decided it had to be either Matt there or else Hollis.” Mouse smiled at me and continued, “As soon as I wondered if it could have been you, I dismissed the thought.” I nodded my head and he looked at Sakol, “Why do you think Hollis did it?” Mouse stressed the word ‘you’ and pointed at Sakol.

  Sakol nodded his head at me. “If you don’t mind, I would like Matt to tell you the story. It concerns things that happened to him when he served in Viet Nam.”

  Mouse smiled at me and opened his arms, signaling me to talk. But before I could say a
word, Mouse spoke, “I apologize for interrupting you, but I wanted to thank you for your service. I know it was not a popular war, but those who served thought they were doing the right thing. I salute you, Matt.”

  I was pleased by his words. Not a lot of people are willing to acknowledge those of us who served in Nam. I really didn’t know who Mouse was, but his comments made me feel good. I took a sip of the excellent coffee and started. “If I may, like Sakol said, it goes back to Nam where Price and Hollis served together. I was in the same outfit as the both of them, but I was leaving just as they arrived.

  “One time when they were out on a mission, a friend of mind heard the two made a pact. If a situation came up where one of them was too hurt to go on, the other wouldn’t leave his partner behind alive. Once Price had broken his leg and Hollis couldn’t extract him, since Price was dying of cancer anyway, it probably was easier for Hollis to shoot him. My guess is due to the cancer, treatments had weakened Price’s bones and when he fell, his leg just snapped.”

  Mouse asked me, “How do you know all this?”

  “Like I said, I was there. I served in the same outfit as they did, and I know how they think. My friend was with them on the mission where they made the pact with each other. My friend actually heard the conversation where they agreed to never to leave the other behind.”

  Mouse continued to stare into his tented hands, as he nodded his head, “This is your friend who lives over on the peninsula?”

  I noticed my hands were trembling slightly and my skin was covered with goosebumps. I wondered exactly who this little man sitting in front of me was, and what other things he knew. I was so stunned by his comment all I could do was nod my head to answer his question.

  “Interesting on several levels,” he parted his hands, and turned to look at Sakol, “Why do you feel Jersey is in danger?”

  “Jersey knows who hired Price and Hollis, and who they killed.”

  “Will you tell me who hired them and who they killed?” Mouse asked,