The Shamus Sampler II

by Nick Quantrill

  Shotgun Santa tossed me a plastic bag. “Register.”

  I opened the register and emptied the money tray into the bag.

  “Your phone too.”

  I dropped my phone in.

  Santa took the bag. “Open the cabinet.”

  I stepped back and raised my hands again.

  “Didn't you hear me? Open the fucking cabinet.”

  “There's a gun in there. I want to make sure we have no misunderstanding.”

  “There's no misunderstanding if you do what you're told.”

  I retrieved the key from the register and put it on the bar. “Maybe you better open it yourself. You don’t want to make a mistake, and I, for sure, don’t want to make a mistake.”

  It was a risk. He could try to strong-arm me into doing it, which would waste time, or he could do it himself. His third option was to shoot me, but that would accomplish nothing because he'd still have to open the cabinet.

  He took the key. “Watch them,” he called to his partner. Shotgun Santa climbed over the bar and pushed me to the side. He bent to open the cabinet a second before Choi emerged from the kitchen. I knew we were in deep shit when I saw the gun in Choi's hand.

  Choi fired twice and Nine-millimeter Santa staggered back. Shotgun Santa rose from behind the bar and fired. The blast took Choi's face. The bride screamed. People on the floor screamed. Shotgun Santa jacked another shell into the chamber.

  “Partner?” he called.

  “Not so good, partner.”

  The bride continued to scream.

  Shotgun Santa pulled the aluminum case from the shelf. The Glock fell on the floor between us. I stepped back from it.

  “You have to get out of here,” I said.

  “And you have to make bridezilla shut up. Then you and she are going to help my friend to the car.”

  “No more bloodshed.”

  “If you can’t shut her up, she’ll be wearing a red dress.”

  I backed out from behind the bar and hurried over to the screaming bride. On the way, I took a quick look at Gabe. He lay on the floor clutching his shoulder, in obvious pain, but he was alive and conscious.

  To the bride, I said, “Sweetie, please calm down.”

  She continued to scream. I seized her shoulders and shook her hard. “Get control of yourself, girl.” I slapped her across the face. She stopped wailing but the groom started to rise.

  “Stay down,” I ordered.

  “Whose side are you on?” he asked, but he went back down.

  “Ours. Now just stay calm.”

  “He killed that man,” the bride said,

  “Do what he tells you and we’ll all get out of this.”

  The father of the bride whispered loudly, “You’re helping them escape. Wait for the police.”

  “You want to keep living, shut up.” To the bride, I said, “And you, unless you want to die, help me.”

  “Get him up,” Shotgun Santa said.

  Nine-millimeter Santa was half-sitting, half-sliding out of a chair. His red suit masked any blood except for the white trim, which was dappled in red. I took one arm and draped it over my shoulder. The bride took the other arm. When I reached behind him, I felt the exit wounds and a mass of blood.

  “He needs a doctor,” I said. “You should leave him.”

  “Fuck that,” Nine-millimeter said.

  “He’s going with me,” Shotgun said.

  Nine-millimeter Santa moaned in pain when the bride and I lifted him to his feet. Shotgun Santa made the bride carry the bags of loot. He gave me the aluminum case to carry. Its weight surprised me. I wondered what it contained.

  “The car’s waiting,” he said. “Don’t fuck around. Anybody sees you, pretend he's drunk. Don't talk to anybody. I’m watching. “

  To his partner, he said, “Look at you, a hot babe under each arm. They'll get you out.”

  Neither the bride, who was smaller than me, nor Santa, who was bleeding out, gave much help. Fortunately, it was not far to the curb where a crossover SUV sat with engine running. The bride opened the back door and together we pushed the dying Santa onto the back seat and folded his legs in. We tossed the loot and the case inside and closed the door.

  “Now, get back in here,” Shotgun Santa said from the doorway.

  The bride hurried in. Santa stopped me at the door. He pushed me up against the doorframe and put the muzzle of the shotgun under my chin.

  “You've been a good girl, doll. Keep your cookies warm for Santa.” He forced his lips against mine. Then he pushed me into the bar. He ordered the bride to count out loud and ordered the rest of us to stay down. He didn't say for how long. At twenty, I was sure he was gone. At thirty, I got up to look. No car. I went to the bar phone over the protests of the other patrons who shouted for me to stay down. Bridezilla counted all the way to a hundred.

  After getting assurance from the operator that the police were on their way, I attended to Gabe. His injury appeared to be a broken collarbone. I made a sling out of a bar towel and placed a bag of ice over his shoulder.

  “What did he mean that you were a good girl?” Gabe asked.

  “I don't know.”

  “I saw you kiss him,” the groom said. “Do you know him?”

  “I didn't kiss him.”

  “We all saw it. Are you one of them?” father of the bride said.

  “Wait, you think I had something to do with this?”

  “It looked like you were helping them,” the groom said. He had his arms around his new wife who sobbed into his shoulder.

  “You're right,” I said. “I helped them. I helped them get out of here without hurting anybody else.”

  Choi was dead and Gabe was injured. A bad guy might already be dead. My top and slacks were smeared with blood, as was the bride's white dress. The carnage could have been much worse. I counted us lucky.

  “You hit me,” the bride said.

  “And you let that monster touch her,” hubby said.

  “Fuck you all,” I said.

  “Picked a lousy night to temp, didn’t you?” Gabe said.

  “I fucking hate Christmas,” I said.

  *****

  EMTs checked us over and transported three of us—Gabe, the bride, and me—to the hospital: Gabe, because he was injured; the bride and me because we were bloody and they needed to be certain the blood wasn't ours. I didn’t see anybody from the bar once we arrived at the hospital. A doctor and nurse determined that I wasn’t injured. The nurse gave me scrubs to replace my bloody clothes.

  Two detectives introduced themselves as Liu and Porter and suggested we go to the hospital cafeteria. Porter bought coffee for the three of us. He and Liu pulled out notebooks and Liu put a recorder on the table. I stated my name, address, and occupation. Then I told my story from the entrance of the Santas to placing the 911 call.

  Liu said, “Explain to me. You’re a private detective. Were you working a job or working the bar?”

  “Working the bar. This probably sounds odd, but I don’t celebrate Christmas. No one here to celebrate it with, so I temp where people need me.”

  Porter said, “What are we, chopped liver? We’re here working on Christmas. Nobody offers to temp for us.”

  After that we got into the details of the night. They had already talked to some of the other people.

  Liu said, “A couple of witnesses said you were pretty chummy with one special customer.” Liu checked his notes. “Gabe Lansdown. Is he your boyfriend?”

  “I never saw him before.”

  “The wits also said you threatened them. Is that right?”

  “I didn't threaten anyone.”

  Porter read off some statements that people said I'd said. Without context they sounded threatening. “Some of the people said you were pretty quick to cooperate with them,” Porter concluded.

  “What choice did we have? They'd already killed one man.”

  Liu said, “Did they say they'd kill you?”

  “The guy wit
h the shotgun said the bride would be wearing a red dress if I didn't get her to shut up.”

  Porter said, “The guy with the shotgun is the one you kissed, is that right?”

  “He forced himself on me. He put the shotgun under my chin.”

  Porter consulted his notebook. “This guy you kissed . . .”

  “I didn't kiss him.”

  Porter said, “'Keep your cookies warm for Santa.' Sounds pretty intimate. Is he another boyfriend?”

  “I never saw him before.”

  “You never saw Santa Claus before?” Liu asked.

  “I have never seen that man before.”

  “How can you be sure? He had on a fake beard.”

  Porter said, “This is what it looks like to us. These two had some help. They were after that case for whatever it contained and they seemed to know where it was kept. You're the piece that doesn't fit. These guys picked the one night the manager's not there. The only night you're on the job. Just bad luck on your part?”

  “You think I'm part of this?”

  Liu said, “If it doesn't look good to us, it won't look good to the Gunslinger. If you help us, we can help you. Otherwise, you're on your own.”

  “So which is it?” Porter said. “Were you in on it or was it just bad luck?”

  “Bad luck,” I said. “I fucking hate Christmas.”

  Two cups of coffee later, I'd convinced Liu and Porter how much I hated Christmas. I hadn't convinced them I had no part in the robbery. Since they weren't making headway, they let me go. I called a cab to take me home.

  *****

  The cab left me at the curb across the street from my apartment building. As it pulled away, a silver, Mercedes SUV glided into the vacated spot. The rear window slid down and the interior light came on.

  Gunslinger Noronha leaned across the seat. He said, “You look like you could use some breakfast, Ms. Rome. Get in.”

  So this is how it ends, I thought.

  Noronha said, “Just breakfast and a chat, Ms. Rome. I like to know my employees and, right now, you're employee of the month.”

  The driver got out and made his way around the front of the car. He was a big man, the size of an offensive lineman, which he might have been at one time. He opened the door for me, the employee of the month. Or was it target of the month? I got in.

  Noronha said, “We haven't been formally introduced. I'm Artie Noronha.”

  “I know who you are.”

  “I apologize for the early hour, but I start my day early and I have some decisions to make. You can relax. We're just having breakfast.”

  Relaxing was easier said than done. Liu's warning was still in my mind. I was tired and wearing someone else's clothes. I felt every tuck and pleat of the leather upholstery through the thin hospital garb, which only reminded me of my vulnerability.

  We pulled away from the curb. Traffic was light in the predawn darkness.

  Noronha said, “I understand you had a pretty bad Christmas.”

  “It was nearly worse. Where are we going?”

  “One of my trucks. I visit at least one for a meal every day,” Noronha said. “I mix it up so they never know when I'm coming. It's all about quality control.”

  The driver slowed and turned at a construction site. We passed through a gate in a chain link fence and stopped at a lighted food truck. I saw two people behind the truck window. Otherwise the construction site was deserted. Perfect spot to hide a body.

  Noronha and I got out of the car. I followed him to a picnic table.

  A young woman immediately appeared bearing a tray with two foam cups of coffee, some creamer cups and sweetener packets. She waited while Noronha poured two of each into his cup and stirred it. He sipped and nodded his approval. The woman returned to the truck.

  “New team,” he said. “This was Choi's unit.”

  “I'm sorry about Choi.”

  “He wasn't supposed to be there. Last minute sub when the regular cook called in. That's a weird karmic connection, don't you think? Two temps and two bad Santas meet in the same bar on Christmas?”

  “Choi wasn't supposed to be there?” My hands shook as I closed them around the coffee cup, whether from the chill morning air or the new revelation, I couldn't tell.

  “Nope. Some kind of family emergency for Darren. Choi's always been loyal and he stepped up. So what about you Ms. Rome? Your family didn't need you?”

  “I don't have family here. I don't celebrate Christmas.”

  “Ah, that's something I'll never understand. I'm all about Christmas. The lights, the presents, family, kids. My house is the place at Christmas. I've got four kids of my own, six to fourteen. Ten nieces and nephews. They all come over to Uncle Christmas's house. This was the year of the toy guns. I don't approve of toy guns. It teaches kids violence and there's too much of that. But what can you do? It's Christmas. They were running all over the house. Bop bop bop bop bop.” Noronha made his hand into a gun and accompanied the sound effects.

  The young woman brought out two plates and set them in front of us. Each plate had a mound of fluffy eggs, some fried Portuguese sausage, and two scoops of white rice. Noronha drizzled shoyu over the eggs and rice.

  “Dig in,” he said.

  I had no appetite but I took a forkful of eggs out of politeness.

  “Did you know Irene?” he asked.

  “Not before she hired me. What was in the case? Money?”

  “You needn't be concerned about that, Ms. Rome.”

  “That was Choi's concern, wasn't it? When the cook called in, you put Choi on the job to watch the case.”

  “Can't have only a temp running the bar. She wouldn't know where things are kept. Did you know the case was in that cabinet?”

  “Not until I opened it.”

  “And why would you open it?”

  “A customer ordered a Mai Tai, but your bar rums are all shit, if you don't mind my saying so. You can't make a Mai Tai with crappy rum.”

  “Most tourists don't know the difference. That was my private stock. How did you know I kept it there?”

  “Irene had me make a Mai Tai when she hired me. I think she was testing my skills. She showed me the cabinet when I said I needed good rum. The case wasn't there.”

  “It takes balls to invade the owner's private stock.”

  “It was Christmas, which you're all about. I thought you'd approve.”

  Noronha grunted. “You’re not eating,” he said. “You don't like it?”

  “Not hungry.”

  “You should eat anyway. You might have a long day ahead of you.”

  I still wasn’t hungry, but I forced myself to eat. What did he mean about a long day ahead?

  “Is the case dropped at the bar every night?” I asked.

  “We mix it up. Different nights, different locations.”

  “Who made the drop?”

  “Choi. Usually he leaves, but not last night.”

  “So, three people knew the case was there. Choi, Bad Santa, and me. Who told Santa? Did Choi call him?”

  “Choi called me. He didn’t trust you. He warned you away from the cabinet, but you persisted.”

  “I had a customer to take care of. Anyway, I only found it a couple minutes before they came in. Everybody saw me at the bar mixing a drink. You know I didn’t set up the robbery.”

  Noronha pushed his empty plate to the side. “Suppose it was all planned out, couple days, maybe longer. The Santas don’t know if the drop will be made there, if the money will be there, but they roll the dice. If it’s not there, they get away with some wallets and the register contents. But if it’s there, jackpot! If it's there, they don’t want to miss it, so they put someone inside to signal the location.”

  My stomach clenched. “You think I’m the inside person?”

  “You're the wild card, the unknown. Well, not completely unknown. Irene's a good woman, excellent manager, but she didn't check you out like she should have. I did some checking this morning. You c
an handle yourself. You know how to use a gun. There was a gun there for just this type of incident. You didn't use it.”

  “If you checked me out, you know which side I'm on.”

  “People change sides when money's involved. There's still the fact that you didn't use the gun when you could have.”

  “I know how to use a gun and I know when not to use a gun. Do you think I'd be sitting here now if I'd gone for the gun?”

  “That's hypothetical.”

  “No, it's reality. Choi is really dead. The customer is really injured. A move from me and I'd be really dead. I agreed to pour beers and mix drinks for you. I didn't sign on to protect your money. My life means more to me than that.”

  Noronha nodded. “Don't think I don't understand, Ms. Rome. I'd much prefer to have you alive than dead. But I still have the problem that my money is gone and I need it back.”

  “There's a problem with your theory,” I said. “The Santas didn't roll any dice. They handled themselves like they knew what they were doing. They had one shot at this score. If they missed it, they couldn't come back. The consequences would be the same whether they walked away with some bar cash or your money. If they didn't know for sure the money was there, they wouldn't have come in.”

  Noronha steepled his fingers thoughtfully. “So the insider must be deeper than you.”

  “Yes, but it wasn't Choi. I think they were surprised to see him.”

  “They expected Darren and he was supposed to stay out of the way. But how did he know the drop would be there?”

  “He had other inside help.”

  The sky had turned gray. A truck with some construction workers rolled through the gate followed by another one. I felt a surge of hope. Noronha couldn't kill me in front of witnesses.

  Noronha said, “You need to get my money back.”

  “Can't you believe me? I had nothing to do with the robbery.”

  “I want to believe you. As I said, I think the world is better with you in it, Ms. Rome. However, my priority is the return of that payroll. Barring that, I need to hold someone accountable. Accountability is all part of running a business.”