“How could anyone hate Nicky?”
“I do! That little punk thinks he can push me around, blackmailing me all this time. I’m glad he got nabbed, and I hope they dump him in the drink!”
The clown blew a gasket and wailed on Buttons until the imposter official lost consciousness. Dusk stopped, winded, but unsatisfied.
*
People felt safe at Seashore Park. They got lost in the serenity of the lush green lawns, walking paths, and trickling fountains—forgetting the fact the plaza was built on a potter’s field for carnival hucksters and circus clowns.
Even at night it was a clean, well-lighted place. Dusk liked it for the openness. Nothing to hide behind; and that meant less chance of an ambush. After what the mayor told him, he sensed it wise to stay frosty for such an attack.
Melvin Caprice, a limp-haired skinny man in his early forties, sat at a stone table shaking his head. He dressed in clothes that could be fancy, if pressed.
Caprice had once been a cop. But over the years, the job nibbled away at him. Finally, one night, he snapped on a suspect. The brutal act earned him early retirement. Now, all that was left was his pension and a head full of oatmeal.
A cribbage board rested under his nose and a stack of greenbacks sat beside it. The clown snuck up behind, placed his revolver at the back of the gent’s head, and cocked it.
Melvin blanched. Turning around, he saw Huey and relaxed even though the metal barrel pressed into his cheek. Dusk frowned when he saw how calm the ex-cop became.
“Eh tous, Caprice?”
“Clown, what’re you talking about?”
“Well, for starters, the fact that you are in cahoots with ransom men! Kidnappers, Caprice! How could you stoop so low?”
Melvin held up his hands. “They made me do it!”
“Who?” Dusk asked still holding the gun to Melvin’s head.
“The people I owe money to.”
Dusk lowered the gun. “Let me guess, you borrowed money from loan sharks again to bet against yourself on cribbage?”
Melvin shrugged. “I thought I was on a lucky run, but no dice.”
“I want names, Caprice!”
Melvin swallowed. “If I don’t call them and say I gave you the instructions, they’ll kill the kid.”
The clown was defeated. “So what do I need to do?”
Caprice reached inside his coat and handed over a manila envelope. “Seriously, you’re wasting your time. The kid is rotten to the core.”
Dusk swiped the packet, then threw a right cross to Melvin’s jaw. Caprice’s head lurched to the left. Rubbing his jaw, he straightened up and with watery peepers held his hands out.
*
Huey stood in the middle of the sand lot with a briefcase full of cash; money he was able to squeeze from the guilt-ridden Jonny Boy Bartholomew. At least Nicky’s step-dad was good for something.
Dusk tensed when he thought he saw figures coming in and out of the mist. He was to come to the ransom drop alone and unarmed. But just the same, Huey was willing to take a gamble so a .38 was strapped to his ankle covered by a purple sock. He popped another cigar in his mouth and looked up at the obscured night and thought about Nicky.
The little guy must be scared, hungry, but he dismissed the thought. Success in saving the lad depended on the clown being one bad pogo stick. He tensed when he heard crunching gravel and saw headlights cutting through the fog. As the vehicle stopped and the ground clouds parted, Huey saw high beams glaring before him as the driver cut the engine.
A figure in a dark trench coat jumped from the passenger’s side. Covering his head was a striped pillow case with eye holes. Dusk squinted trying to make out who was in the driver’s seat but couldn’t see anything more than a blob.
The masked kidnapper cleared his throat. “You got the money, dumb-dumb?”
“You got the boy?” Dusk growled back with the cheroot in his teeth.
“Never mind what I got, you better have the jack!”
Dusk reached down, picked up the battered grip at his feet, and held it in the light.
“Toss it over here!”
“The boy first!”
“You were told to follow instructions, now chuck it over here unless you want the rugrat delivered to you one piece at a time!”
A lightning bolt of rage went through the clown, followed by a revelation. They had no intention of handing over Nicky. Did they even have the boy with them?
“How’s it going to be?” Huey asked.
“You think you’re in a position to pop-off, gumball breath?”
The clown took a small step toward the figure. The kidnapper fidgeted and looked back at the van.
“Whaddya got, a shooter off somewhere, ready to tag me the minute I give you the dough?” Dusk asked.
“Circus trash, if I want the money, I can just take it from you right now.”
The motor revved to life and the abductor turned away. Huey took advantage of the distraction. He knelt down and went for his side arm. As the van peeled out and did a bootleg, the clown noticed “Spumoni Amusements” painted on the side in fancy scroll. The hijacker recovered and drew down on the clown. Dusk rolled to the right and dodged the whizzing bullet. He returned fire and nailed the assailant in the heart. The figure dropped screaming and gurgling. The funster crept toward him.
“I’m cold!” the man hissed.
“I can do nothing for you except end your misery. Tell me where the kid is, and I’ll send you to La La Land.”
The clown removed the hood to reveal a man with a skullcap. Desperation danced in his eyes as he coughed up more gore.
“All we were supposed to do was get the money…”
“And then ice me, right?”
The man stared blankly at Dusk. The luster faded and his body went slack. Huey kicked him over. “Hang on, little buddy, I’m coming for you…they jacked with the wrong clown!”
*
Huey leaned against the post of a flickering lamp and watched the silhouette of a tugboat as it hauled garbage out to sea. The smell of rotten corn dogs and putrid lemonade wafted in on the salty breeze. He felt his stomach churn and patted his midsection. I gotta lay off the Elephant Ears. Drawing his pistol, he cocked it when he heard footsteps.
“Don’t shoot, I’m coming in,” said Melvin.
The skinny man stepped into the light and held his hands up as he stared at the big barrel of Dusk’s .357.
“Wow! Was that really necessary?”
Huey twirled the gun and marveled at it. “Not really, but you ticked me off so much the last time, I was hoping you would give me a reason to fire this baby!”
“Aw, come on clown, we’re still friends, aren’t we?” Caprice pleaded.
“That all depends on what you’ve got.”
Melvin lowered his hands, pulled a folder from his leather jacket and handed it to Huey. “It’s all there, everything I could find on Spumoni Amusements.”
The joker grabbed the info and tucked it away, then disappeared.
*
A Butcher’s moon rode the ink-stained heavens as Dusk ruminated, alone in his cubby hole of an apartment. He had more murder and mayhem on his mind. But it wasn’t a bloodlust, where one turns into a raving lunatic. At first, as the adrenaline wore off, there was sadness and a solitary tear. Then calmness arrived on the wings of the sweet smell of gunpowder. People had to pay for the agony Nicky must be experiencing. But tonight, the killing must take a holiday. The clown would remain a cool customer sitting in the corner swilling mass amounts of Bubble Gum whiskey, letting the numbness stricken his limbs.
Caprice had come up with some interesting developments about Spumoni Amusements. It was a subsidiary of Uno Enterprises, LLC, of the infamous Boss Uno. That thug had his dipstick in everything. He also has a take in Feathers’ racket. Not sure how it connects yet.
Tomorrow, he’d pay a visit to the owner, Angelo, and sort out all the facts.
*
Smoke vomite
d from its chrome stacks as the truck backed up to the docks. An oily man in coveralls guided it in. His meaty arms were hairy and a “Die Laughing” tattoo covered half of one of his biceps. Huey stood in the parking lot and watched the oaf with hatred. Only clown soldiers have the right to sport that ink.
When the truck was snug in the slot, the man passed through a set of grimy plastic strips in the doorway. The clown walked up the concrete stairs and followed through the same entrance.
*
Stacks of pallets stood in neat rows. Workers toiled among aisles. Dusk plodded across the floor while observing the tall wooden towers, pretty sure how this meeting would go. But that did not deter him. He was ready to push another piece of detritus to their breaking point. Walking toward a smudged plate glass window, he headed to Angelo Spumoni’s office.
Fringe ran the circumference of Angelo Spumoni’s head while some stray strands stood at attention atop his swarthy scalp. Angelo, a compact man in his late forties, barked angrily into the phone. Before Huey entered, he stared at him and imagined a cartoon bubble over his head full of capitalized words and exclamation points. He wondered who might be on the other end making Spumoni’s blood froth. Clearing his head, he opened the door to a wall of screaming and shouting.
“I don’t care if you have to sell your first born, you have the money by Thursday or it’s curtains…you hear me! Curtains!”
Spumoni spiked the receiver and took a cleansing breath. Then he picked up a green tennis ball and squeezed hard, to further relieve stress. With smoldering eyes, he turned to Dusk. “Who the hell are you and whadda you want?”
The clown leaned over the table and looked Spumoni in his charcoal eyes. “It appears that one of your vans was used in a kidnapping. Did you know that?”
To Angelo, the clown was a disposable oddity. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Are you sure? It would be bad publicity to expose your involvement in the abduction of an innocent boy.”
Spumoni’s face turned a darker shade of red. “You threatening me?”
“I am just trying to solicit your cooperation in helping me return a child to his mother who loves him very much. Just like I am sure you love your kids.”
Huey let the sentence hang and watched the man’s temper percolate. “Come on, Angelo, let’s stop kidding around. I know who you’re connected with but I figure you’re not in on it. So who was it that approached you about using your vehicle? Uno?”
The owner motioned with his head. In seconds, three husky workers, including the man on the dock, entered the office and stood behind Dusk. “Take care of this piece of garbage.”
Before the clown could resist, three pairs of hands grabbed him and whisked him out the door. Spumoni jammed a chocolate bar into his mouth like a smoke and watched as the thugs took turns beating on the joker. He cringed when he saw one of them smash Huey’s head on the ground. Then he took a bite of the chocolate and savored it while, one by one, the workers kicked the funster in the ribs.
“That’s really gotta hurt,” Spumoni chuckled as he wolfed down the rest of the bar.
*
The goons held Dusk by the seat of his pants as they stood on the dock swinging him back and forth like a flour sack. With a three count, they threw him in the air. They laughed and slapped each other on the back as the jester hit the gravel.
“Don’t come back!”
Dusk lay on the ground crumpled like an accordion. When the trio went back inside, the clown got up, unkinked himself, and dusted off. He pulled out his big pistol. “Geesh! Doesn’t anyone frisk anymore? My dad and the rest of the Checker Hill Mob must be turning over in their graves!”
He walked right back into the warehouse.
*
As the punchinello re-entered, the muscle heads were still joshing each other about the beating they threw Dusk. Huey waited for them to notice his presence. When one spied the harlequin, he tapped another on the shoulder. All of them turned to the clown and sneered.
“Whaddya nuts?” asked the assailant with the tattoo.
“Hah, you have to ask when we’re dealing with a clown, Vince?”
“Oh, yeah!” Vince said limbering up. “Looks like we have to educate this doodle head some more.”
Huey raised his eyebrows and gave the stooges his dopiest circus smile. Then he drew his gun and pulped Vince’s face. He wasted no time blasting the others. The remaining workers in the warehouse scurried for cover. The clown made a beeline for Angelo’s office. Angelo appeared brandishing a sawed-off shotgun. He racked it and squeezed the trigger. Huey ducked behind a plastic-wrapped pallet. The clown fired another shot, which went wide. Angelo growled, answered back with his sawed-off, and reloaded. Huey popped up and returned fire. The bullet struck Spumoni in the leg. Angelo went down screaming but got off another shot at the ceiling. Dusk jumped from his cover and lunged for the man. He placed his hand on the gent’s injured appendage. Spumoni wailed. Dusk pressed the barrel to the merchant’s other kneecap. Sopping with sweat, Angelo pleaded with the clown to spare his life.
The clown applied more pressure to Spumoni’s leg. “Who took your van? Where are they keeping the kid?”
“I don’t know who they are…but they’re using one of my other warehouses as well,” the man hissed.
*
By the time the clown got to the warehouse, he was in full-tilt boogie. The efficient funster killing machine gazed at the decrepit structure through the open driver’s side window. Feeling cold metal against the back of his neck, he winced.
“You better just kill me whoever this is. If you don’t, I’ll ice you and follow you straight to hell and kill you again!”
“Just make sure to pack a fur coat for the trip, kid,” Blatz laughed as he retracted the gun and stepped back. “You know one of the reasons I never liked you was you always seemed to skate through life, sliding by on your charm.”
Huey squeezed out of his little clown car.
Lou shook a cigarette out of his pack and lit it. Blowing a ribbon of smoke into the wind, he looked at the warehouse. “It’s hard having the world on your shoulders, isn’t it? Welcome to my life, son. To make matters worse, the more you try to set things right, the more weight you feel crushing down on your rib cage.”
“I have more notches in my pistol grip than you ever will,” Dusk replied. “The only difference…it was never personal, until this time.”
“I feel your pain, kid. For some reason, I love the twerp and I know you do, too, so let’s go clean up this mess.”
“Yeah!” Dusk hissed through gritted teeth.
*
Mannequins dressed as maniacal circus clowns jeered at the pair. Along with the dummies stood porcelain dolls. Some smiled. Some had painted tears rolling down their ceramic cheeks. Both Blatz and Dusk stood taut as springs. They knew sinister eyes were watching and felt the wonky terror all around them. A dusty carousel illuminated and roared to life.
“Get the feeling they know we’re here?” Huey asked as they drew their firepower.
“Astute observation,” Blatz mocked.
A cruel, wacky laugh caused Huey to turn and put double taps into an elongated image in a funhouse mirror. He cursed himself as the glass shattered. He turned as Blatz gutted the real attacker with a hunting knife. When the body dropped, the clown motioned for Dusk to go in one direction while he went the other.
Huey’s path led him through a maze of mirrors, full of cul-de-sacs and other optical illusions. His head hurt as he tried to keep his mind blank, but metaphors about the web of looking glasses kept creeping in. This is what they wanted—to catch him off-guard pondering the nature of his dead-end life. As he traversed down another mirrored corridor, a figure jumped out at him. He grabbed the assailant by the neck and twisted it. The plastic head popped off. Wicked cackling followed. Angry, Dusk kicked it away.
He lurched back when another arm tightened around his neck. Reflexively, he flipped the body over expecting
it to be another giant doll. But it wasn’t. Instead, a figure in a donkey mask turned himself upright, brayed, and lunged at him in an effort to karate chop the clown’s shoulder blade. Dusk parried and let the attacker tumble to the floor. Then he shot the goon point-blank.
Huey stepped over the fleshy lump and made his way toward the sound of child’s laughter. He walked into a fake clown’s fist. He recovered to the faux funster’s smirk followed by his grape tongue protruding from his cherry-colored lips. The phony jester threw a roundhouse, which the clown blocked. Then Dusk grabbed the circus act by his pink afro and threw him into one of the mirrors. The hoodlum went crashing into the glass and lay motionless.
The fallen mirror cleared a much straighter path and the clown trudged ahead. The youthful sound grew louder and Dusk could tell it was Nicky. He rushed toward it, finally reaching the core of this skein and found what he hoped to find, the boy alive.
In fact, he was more than just all right. He was sitting at a wooden crate playing cards and yucking it up with Feathers O’Beakish and his two bodyguards. Everyone turned to the sound of another thug flying through a mirror, followed by Lou. The other clown wasted no time using the floor to tenderize the gangster’s head. Out of breath, he stopped and looked up at the boy and the seated henchmen.
It took a few seconds for Blatz to comprehend what he was seeing. Rage masked his face as he realized what had happened. Maybe it wasn’t clear to Dusk, but it was crystal to him. The two jokers had been played. While Lou was ready to throw a rod, Huey just stood in an ecstatic daze enjoying the fact that not one hair on Nicky’s head was harmed. Feathers’ lovebird tweeted and Nicky and the crew shared a laugh.
*
Dusk sat at a bench at Seashore Park. The sun was extra shiny and the leaves on the trees were that much greener. Today was not a day to contemplate the hopelessness of the city. It would be one where he took pause and had gratitude for all long straws he drew. It wasn’t much. But he would cling to the morsels he had. Nicky was one of those scraps. The boy had nerve.
It turned out that he and Feathers came up with the whole plan. When Larue stopped cooperating with O’Beakish and refused to make further blackmail payments to the lad, Nicky outed the fake mime at the ceremony. Then they faked the kidnapping to ruin Button’s career. To make it realistic, they filed a missing person’s report with the cops and hired Huey to search for the boy.
The Untreed Detectives Page 12
