by Rich Foster
Donatello came too. Nausea swept over him and then receded. Water flooded the floor as the shower pan overflowed, the drain plugged by his pajamas. He kicked them away and the water began to drain. He stood up and managed to shut off the flow and then leaned against the bathroom wall to take a piss, when he did blood was mixed with the urine. Cautiously he entered the bedroom. Listening for sounds he heard nothing, then a muffled thump. On the verge of calling out he stopped himself. Instead he picked up his gun from the nightstand and slowly made his way toward the stairs. Again there were thumps from above. The stairs seemed mountainous but he used the handrail heavily and managed to make it upstairs.
In the kitchen his bodyguard lay facedown hogtied. The man's efforts to escape made the thump again as he flopped on the floor. The room stank from human effluent and the sweat of fear.
From his vantage point on the tile floor Jimmy 'Brass Knuckles' saw his boss' rather pasty white and flabby naked body. It was an odd time for him to realize that Donatello had skinny legs and a small dick but that is what Jimmy noticed.
"You had one job!" his boss bit the words off.
As the gun came up, Jimmy, realized that the last words he would hear this side of the grave was a cliché.
Eventually, Vito found his robe. He now noticed his body was covered by welts and sprawling areas that were turning the color of eggplants. Despite his years in the business, he had never been the object of a beating. Coming up through the ranks there were one or two short fights that cooler heads broke up before he suffered any significant damage, but now he knew in visceral way what he had ordered for others. He took a painkiller that he carried for his infrequent migraines.
Outside it was a warm day. He moved slowly along the path. Two cigarette butts lay crushed in the middle of the stone walk. The lilac bushes that bordered the walk were pungent, yet they were losing their purple blooms. From between the bushes a pair of knees barely protruded, the feet were pulled up and tied to the wrists. Vito pushed the branches aside and slit the parachute cord with a kitchen knife.
Tommy LaGuardia turned and sat up. His fingers were swollen and numb. When he tried to pull the duct tape off his mouth he failed. Vito jerked it away.
"Go find Tony." Donatello managed a short kick to prod the man into action. "Then I want both of you stupid fucks to get your ass into the living room."
Five minutes later Tommy and Tony entered, their heads down. Vito was slouched in a cushioned chair, his highball glass held three fingers of amber liquid.
"Sorry Boss." Tony ventured.
"Shut the fuck up."
Tony swallowed hard.
Vito pointed toward the kitchen. Jimmy 'Brass Knuckles' lay hogtied in a crimson pool with a half dozen bullet holes. "Be glad your weren't inside security. Now clean up that mess, find a hole, and drop that shit into it."
Chapter Eleven
Harry's office phone rang. He was inclined to let it go but business was business.
“Harry Grim Investigations!”
“It's me,” Ziggy said this as if the whole world should recognize his voice. “I have a file for you. You will find it interesting.”
A short time later Harry was reviewing information on his short list of names from the manifest of the Sterling Princess and terse notes on each posted by Ziggy. Attached were photos.
Ziggy wrote: The cruise was an off season discount run. No high rollers to speak of, more your working class stiff looking for the high-life on the cheap.
Possible passengers of interest:
Kendra Claxon 26, works at the Justice Department. She is only an administrative assistant but I thought if Witness Protection open was getting nervous about Stockman they might have asked her to keep her eyes, in that she was going anyway, which she was in that she booked several months ago.
Please note, a surprising number of felons like to cruise, although not that many who are into the rough side.
Possible felons of interest:
Jamie Orsuco is out of California. He has a long record for assault and committing great bodily harm in the L.A. Area. He did a nickel in Nevada's Lovelock Correctional Facility. He is the closest thing to a possible Las Vegas connection on the boat.
Simon Perez, is a Mexican National who boarded in Grenada. He has a criminal record on both sides of the border and was considered a mule in the narco trade, though I found no definite connection to Montoya's outfit, it is possible their paths crossed in Juarez.
Stewart Proust AKA “the Armadillo” rides with a biker gang out of south Florida, An unlikely passenger for a cruise ship. He has a long list of criminal charges, many dropped due to intimidation or death of the witness. Also of note, he booked at the last minute and only caught the ship by flying to the Cayman Islands after the ship sailed.
Lastly, I attach Lisa May Pershing from Chicago, who has nothing to do with anything but she looked really hot on the web!
(click here for the link)
Harry could not resist; he clicked. He smiled when he saw the photo.
I gotta admit Lisa May is something!
Barton appeared in the doorway. He nodded toward the hall. They walked to the elevators away from the DEA's bugs, before they spoke.
“I think we should go back to Donatello's place. They cleared out mid-morning”
“So that's where you were off to so early. I thought you were working out.”
“Two of his security guys loaded up the bags. They dropped their boss off at the Red Lake airstrip. He took the Piper shuttle to Beaumont. The guards hit the road headed for the interstate.”
“Going off to lick his wounds!”
“More likely to wait for the bruising to go away. The sucker must hurt all over.”
“”So if he's gone why go in?”
“We can wire the place. It might be nice to know if someone turns up.”
“Like a shooter?”
Barton pointed a finger at him and pulled the trigger, “You might live longer that way.”
“I doubt he'd put up a hitter at his own house."
“It be less visible than a guy staying at a local motel.”
Harry's mouth twitched as an unspoken thought troubled him. “I need to go to Beaumont and see my client. You willing to go solo or do you want to do it late tonight?
“I'll take care of it. I'm going to fly over to Spokane to pick up some electronic equipment that your local store won't have, I could drop you off and pick you up on my way back?”
“No, I wouldn't have a car. I'll drive.”
After Dirk left Harry walked over to the waterfront and took an outside table at Maries'. His lunch arrived amid the bustle and chatter of summer tourists that crowded the deck.
He took a bite without tasting the it, his focus was far beyond the western mountains where Paula was. Two bites later, Dirk's twin engine plane climbed out, the wings banked and the plane turned a broad circle over the lake as it gained altitude until it too headed west. Harry watched until his eyes lost the shimmering speck in the white haze over the mountains.
After another tasteless bite of his Philly cheese-steak sandwich he dropped the remains on the plate. His appetite was gone. With a sense of foreboding he pressed the speed dial for Paula. It went straight to voice mail.
“How are you? Give me a call, okay?” he asked.
Immediately he grimaced, hating his message but it was too late. He washed down his irritation with the last of his beer.
*
Traffic was heavy on the pass. Occasionally it thinned out and then inexplicably coagulate like clotted cream.
Where are they all going? The thought was rhetorical, but he chuckled when he realized, Everyone is asking the same thing about me!
Eventually, he made his way into Beaumont after three delays; two at construction sites as the Highway Department made use of summer and one for an accident that appeared to be fatal. The car in question having wrapped itself around an ancient oak.
That's destiny, the tree'
s been waiting there for two centuries.
His phone rang. Caller ID registered Paula. Harry pulled to the shoulder as he put the phone to his ear.
“Hey babe, I miss you.” he said.
The pause on the other end of the line was a bit too long. Finally Paula asked, “How much, Harry?”
“A lot!”
“Enough to get married?”
For inexplicable reasons the question set Harry on edge.
Why's was a damn ring so important?
“Can't we talk about this when you get home?”
“I need to know, Harry.”
“I can't talk about this on a god damn cell phone!” he snapped as his voice rose.
“Then I can't come home.”
“Can't or won't?
“It's the same thing isn't it?” Ice clung to the words. Then the line went dead. Harry was tempted to press redial, but indignation rose and his irritation dissuaded him from action. He put the pickup in gear and kicked up gravel as he stomped on the gas. The wheels screeched when they hit the pavement.
Both irritated and distracted Harry blew through a stop sign without notice. The yelp of a siren brought his eyes up to the rear view mirror where blue grill flashers of an unmarked cop car winked at him. Suffering ever greater vexation he pulled to the curb.
Ten minutes late Harry pulled sedately away, the yellow ticket jammed into the center console.
I wonder if it's a deductible business expense?
*
Jillian Stockman opened the door. The red silk of her dress rustled as she welcomed Harry in. His eyes followed the sway of her hem and hips as she led him toward the family room.
“Drink?” she asked as she dropped a few cubes from a conveniently ready ice bucket into a highball glass. The tip of her tongue darted briefly across her upper lip, as though it were dry or perhaps due to something else. The lipstick matched her dress.
“Gin and tonic, if you have it.”
She smiled seductively, “I have almost anything you want, but I'm out of Plymouth, will Tanqueray Ten do?”
In the state he was in anti-freeze would have worked, “Sure, either would be a step up for me.”
The tongue flicked at the upper lip again, “Maybe it's time to upgrade?”
She brought the drink over. When she placed the drink on the coffee table she bent rather than stooped, lending Harry a look at what he had only seen through a telescope. The bra was black and extremely thin. When she stood up, Harry couldn't fail to notice the two small bulges in the fabric that made bulls eyes on the well formed breasts.
Julia took the seat opposite where she crossed her legs and pointed her toe, jiggling the foot that was ensconced in a heel that seemed far too high for around the house. Warning bells should have been firing but men are often led by desire rather than sense.
Jillian tilted back her drink and finished it, then slipping her leg off the knee she leaned forward to place her glass on the table, in so doing the hem crept higher up her thigh and her cleavage displayed to advantage.
“Any trouble with Donatello?” Harry asked, as his eyes fought over where to look.
“Not a word but I am frightened. I've seen strange cars on the street several times.”
She's about as frightened as a cougar in tall grass.
“He's jealous of you. Did you know that?”
Harry suspected as much but merely shrugged.
“You've never given him much reason to be, have you?”
Again Harry shrugged.
Julia slithered off her chair, a feline stalking her prey. She slipped unto the sofa beside Harry and cupped his face. Her lips were cool on Harry's skin. Without thinking of the cost his hands slid up to the buttons on her dress.
Two hours later, Harry lay among a tangle of silk sheets in the master suite. Julia breathed evenly beside him, one arm wrapped over his chest. The alcohol and lust in Harry's blood were spent. He stared at the ceiling and felt a pang of guilt, then unfairly blamed Paula, Her demands were unreasonable! he thought.
Harry eased out from under Julia's arm, She lay on her stomach, he body tanned except for the white flesh normally covered by her bikini bottoms. It was a good body and she had used it to advantage. Harry shuffled into the bathroom and splashed water on his face. He stared into the mirror and found he felt slightly numb, not dissimilar to the experience of being shot before the pain set in.
Julia slipped up behind him and wrapped her arms around him.
“Lets get in the Jacuzzi” she softly said into his ear. When she turned to go, Harry followed the call of the Sirens.
*
It was two days before Harry talked himself into going home. How the hell Stockman failed to find her enticing or available he could not figure. Perhaps, sometimes the grass needs to be greener? Harry found Julia to be a woman of desire and passion and excess. Once was not enough, nor was two or three times. If one drink was good, a second was better. She lived as though there was no others in the world, no law, no God; only the present to be torn from eternity, savored and consumed.
The intensity wore him down. On the third day he headed for the door.
“What if Vito returns?” she said, protesting his departure.
“I suspect you could handle that,” Harry answered.
“Are you dumping me?” she asked it coquettishly and Harry knew his answer wouldn't matter.
“I need to get home.”
Before he closed the door she called out, “Don't be a stranger, a girl gets lonely!”
Alone in his truck and safely on the road Harry breathed a sigh of relief as if one who has made a narrow escape. Of course he hadn't, he fell hook, line, and sinker.
The encounter left him perplexed. Julia was nothing like the image he formed from her late husband's description.
Retreating? Conservative? Sexually cool? Hardly! Was she capable of murder?
For undefined reasons he found it easy to imagine Julia giving her lackluster spouse a push over the ships rail. In fact, it wasn't difficult to imagine her capable of much more.
Harry drove to his office. For two days he had left his cell phone off and not bothered to check his messages at his office. Now he felt a reluctance to turn it on, however, the only messages were one from a man who thought his wife might be cheating on him and hoped Harry could gather the necessary proof and another from Dirk wondering where he was and to call.
“Harry, where have you been?”
“Busy.”
“I'll bet.”
Dirk said nothing more. Harry figured Dirk could do the math.
“The house is wired. If anybody shows up we'll know it. The sensors will auto record.”
“Does the recorder have remote access?”
“Dial in whenever you want, I'll give you the number. It is a throw away phone linked to a power pack for playback. Depending on traffic volume it should go two weeks without service.”
“Anything over the last two days?”
“Not a peep. I need to take a trip for a few days, I'll call when I get back.”
Harry hung up without asking questions. Somewhere in the world someone was about to die, they just didn't know that a bullet with their name on it was coming.
Harry got on his computer and brought up Ziggy's email. Kendra Claxon had an address in McLean, Virginia. There was a home number and one at the Justice Department. The later was only a switchboard and it took a half minute for the operator to locate Kendra's department. The phone clicked once, rang twice and was answered by a nasally but all business voice.
Harry plunged in. “Hello Ms. Claxon, this Reed over here at Witness. I just wanted to follow-up on some notes in our file. Did you have anything to add to the file about Harvey Stockman,”
“Who?” Her confusion was evident.
“Mr. Stockman disappeared from the Sterling Princess while you were aboard, did you have any information regarding this?”
“I don't know what you are talking about.”
“Thank you ma'am, I will note that in our files.”
Harry heard her attempt to ask a question but he cut the line.
Next he called a detective in the Rampart District in the Los Angeles Police Department.
“George, Harry Grim.”
“Hell Harry, how are you?”
“Just fine. The fish are biting up here.”
“A damn site better than in Kandahar, I'd bet! You're the only grunt I knew to bring a fly rod to a war zone.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Nearly got you killed, as I recall?”
“Almost.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Run the file on a guy for me. I want to see if there is anything that might make him good for a contract killing.”
“A shooter?”
“No this would be muscle, not guns, just a push off a cruise ship.”
“I'd say look at the spouse, seventy percent of the time murder is a family affair.”
“That is a possibility." Harry then added somewhat tongue in cheek, "I've taken a very close look at he! However, I want to look at the others, too. Jamie Orusco has a long record for assault in the L.A. area. He also served time in Nevada. He has numerous assaults with great bodily harm, I just want to know if he has ever been picked up for something more fatal even if charges were never filed or dropped instead of going to trial. I am also interested in if he has known associates in Las Vegas.”
“Let me get back to you. Are you still with that woman you were seeing last time we talked?”
“Paula. Yeah but we've been together for almost four years so I guess you and I should talk more often.”
“You know where to phone. I'll get back to you on Orusco.”
Harry's third call was to Florida.
“Law office's of Javier Guezman, may I help you?”
