Looking for Henry Turner

by W. L. Liberman

  I felt the cold steel meet my fingers and I slid it discreetly back into its holster. Birdie did the same.

  Evelyn sat back and sighed. “That's better,” she said. “Now I can relax. You aren't planning on using those things, are you?”

  “Haven't planned anything,” I replied. “We're just here to enjoy the music.”

  “You didn't know they had music,” she said.

  “Then it's our lucky day.”

  Evelyn shook her head. “Honestly, you are a strange one sometimes, don't you think, Mr. Birdwell?”

  “I do, I honestly do,” he intoned. “Call me, Birdie.”

  The waitress brought the drinks and set them on the table. Birdie put a ten on her tray and told her to keep the change. Although the lighting had been set low, I thought I saw her blush a little. She smiled at him, and he smiled back and that's when the trouble started. I looked around. Just a bar, I thought. What's special about it? Directly opposite, on the far side of the room stood a staircase. I wanted to climb those stairs. Eight years ago, Alison Foster and Gayle Sorenson had climbed those stairs and something had happened. Something that caused the disappearance of Henry Turner.

  Two tables over sat four beefy Americans in ill-fitting suits. They looked like hunters who wandered off the trail. I wondered how they found their way here, to this place of all places. They didn't have to be Americans, they could have been anyone of a small mind and ugly demeanour. Two of them had moustaches that drooped over their upper lips and I bet they sported tattoos under the wrinkled sleeves of the cheap suit jackets they wore. At least two of them glared, in a squinty way, in our direction. Fair-haired boys, all of them. It could prove to be the distraction I needed.

  I nudged Birdie's foot under the table and he followed my line of sight. Now the four of them glared at us. “More trouble,” I murmured.

  “That ain't trouble,” Birdie said. “That's amusement.”

  “The band's about to start,” Evelyn said, as if that would make it all go away.

  The musicians filed on to the small stage; a trumpet, sax, stand-up bass and guitar player. They wore turtlenecks and sunglasses. The bass player had on a fedora and the guitar player opted for a wool cap. None of them looked white. They swung into the first number and the music poured out fluid and icy cool.

  “Coon music,” I thought I heard from the hunters' table plus a round of sniggering. A lot of empty glasses sat before them. The table seemed set to spark an explosion.

  “Excuse me,” I said and stood up. I leaned over and whispered into Birdie's ear. He listened without looking, turning his gaze on the musicians but his attention on the hunters.

  “Where you going, baby?” Evelyn asked.

  I smiled at her reassuringly. “Be right back.”

  I made my way across the room threading through the tables passing directly by the hunters. They watched me in scowling silence but I kept on going to the far side of the room. I was noticed. She had a momentary look of panic on her face before her expression settled back into one of composure with a hint of wry amusement. He remained neutral.

  “Good evening,” I said. I had to admit my heart pumped more over this encounter than what I knew was to come.

  Her smile dazzled in its coldness. “Why, Mr. Gold. What a surprise,” said Adele Rosewell.

  He had stood up and buttoned his jacket. “Hello Gold. What are you doing here?”

  “I might ask you the same thing, Lawson.” I could hear the ice cubes swirling in his voice but I didn't mind.

  “Why don't you join us for a minute,” Adele Rosewell said. “I can see you're with friends.”

  “Thank you.” I sat.

  “I suppose you'd like a drink too,” Lawson chided.

  “No thanks, I'm fine.” I let silence hang over us.

  “They're really good,” Lawson said, indicating the combo. “It's not often you get to hear really exceptional jazz played live.”

  “You're a jazz fan?” I asked.

  Lawson glanced quickly at Adele before answering. “Well, I've been introduced to it rather recently.”

  “Mr. Lawson is a valued client of the bank,” Adele Rosewell said.

  “Of course he is,” I replied. “And what is Mrs. Lawson doing this evening? She's not a jazz fan, I take it?”

  Lawson frowned. “No, not really.”

  “But then, she's been to this club before–on numerous occasions.”

  Lawson perked up, his expression tightened. “What are you implying, Gold?”

  “I'm not implying anything Lawson. Of course, it's part of the normal course of business to be seen out in a jazz club after hours with a very attractive single woman who happens not to be your wife. What I am saying is that your wife, before she assumed that title, used to come to this club on a regular basis. Something interesting happened here eight years ago. Something that caused a man to disappear and a young girl to lose her mind.”

  Lawson's face had become pinched. “You're out of order, Gold. Now you'd better get out of here or….”

  “Or what? You'll have me thrown out? I don't think so, Lawson. You're not man enough to try.” I thought he would go for me then but I stopped him with my next remark. “You do know who owns this club, don't you?”

  “I couldn't care less.”

  Adele Rosewell had turned away from us, pretending not to care about what took place. “Do you know who owns this club, Miss Rosewell?”

  “I haven't the faintest idea,” she muttered icily.

  “All right, Gold. You've had your fun…”

  “Does Mrs. Lawson know you're here this evening? Does she know you're out on a date?”

  “That's it,” Lawson roared and began to push back his chair and reach for my jacket at the same time. I grabbed his wrist and twisted it downward forcing his shoulder forward. With my left hand, I smacked him in the face and he sat down heavily. I released his wrist and he grabbed at it. It had unfolded in about three seconds. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. His neat blonde hair had become tousled. Adele moved toward him but he pushed her away. She glared at me–fire and ice.

  I stood up.

  “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  The jazz combo continued to play through. I glanced at the guitar player and he winked at me. I guess they'd seen it all before.

  On the way back to the table, I bumped into one of the hunters knocking a glass of beer from his hand. It spilled down the front of his trousers. He looked down in disbelief.

  “Excuse me, fat boy,” I said.

  “Jesus. H. Christ,” he exclaimed. I kept moving back to my table but I heard a commotion behind me. I'd only gone a few steps when I felt a meaty hand clamp down on my left shoulder. I pivoted around. Using the momentum of the turn, I caught him in the jaw with an upper cut and he went stumbling back into the arms of his buddy who'd jumped up to help him. I gave him a cool look, pulled down on my jacket and went back to our table. Birdie stood up. He grinned. Two fights in two days. Heaven.

  “Think you can handle it?”

  “There's only four of them,” he replied.

  I shrugged. “We could always look for a few more.”

  Birdie shook his head. “They'll have to do.”

  “Holler if you need a hand.”

  I grabbed Evelyn by the elbow and lifted her out of her seat. “I need you to step away for a few minutes,” I said.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Creating a distraction,” I replied.

  “What? What for?”

  “Something I need to do.” She tottered in her high heels beside me. I steered her to a chair against the far wall. “I need you to sit here out of the way. I can't have you get hurt.”

  “What about your friend? There's four of them and only one of him.”

  I nodded. “I know. It hardly seems fair but then Birdie would be insulted if anyone came to his aid. Four against one hardly seems like much of a challenge for him.”

&n
bsp; Evelyn stared at me. “You sure you know what you're doing?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Where are you going?”

  I indicated the staircase. “Upstairs for a minute. I'll be back directly. Now sit. We're wasting time.”

  I took a quick glance. Two of the hunters had gone out for the count and the other two circled warily. One had a bottle in his hand. Birdie stood his ground coolly, waiting for them to make a move. The jazz combo kept playing. Nothing distracted them from making music. I kissed Evelyn on the cheek and pushed her into the chair.

  “Wait for me here. Won't be long.”

  I legged it up the staircase. Birdie had commanded everyone's attention. John's main man stood watching, arms folded on his chest, an amused look on his broad face.

  Two flights of stairs brought me to a landing and a set of doors with chiseled French glass. I went through and continued on down a corridor. On the way, I passed doors on either side. I turned each knob as I went but they were all locked. I may have to do something about that. At the end of the corridor stood one last door and this time, the knob turned.

  I found myself in a deserted outer office. A secretary's desk with a typewriter neatly covered, a coat rack, some file cabinets and a water cooler. Dull as dishwater. I focused on the inner office. The knob on this door turned too, so I twisted it and went in. I looked around–a large room with a thick carpet and two leather wingback chairs. Facing the chairs stood a mahogany desk large enough to launch a jet fighter. The executive chair on the far end of the desk faced away. Someone sat in it. I could see the top of a greasy, dark crown. The chair swiveled my way.

  “Hello boychick. Fancy seeing you here. Of all places.”

  He'd caught me out. I stumbled around, taking some time to get my voice to work. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  He smiled. “Always asking questions. Nothing ever changes.”

  “How about an answer for a change and throw some truth into it.”

  Jake's paunchy face lit up. “Truth, he says? What is that? I'm not sure what you mean.” He flipped open a box in front of him. “Cigarette?” I shook my head. Jake shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  He dug his fingers in and fished out a fag and lit it with a desk lighter in the shape of a dragon. He held it up as he puffed away contentedly. “Neat, huh? These Chinks love their symbols. Their cultural artifacts.”

  I grew conscious of time draining away. “You working for John Fat Gai? I know he owns this club.”

  “Relax, boychick. Why don't you take a seat? We'll talk reasonably, like men.”

  I reached across the desk and grabbed his tie wrapping it around my knuckles until they crimped his chin.

  “I want some answers. Something happened here eight years ago and I need to know what that was.”

  Jake gurgled a little and his eyes popped. Smoke leaked out of his twisted mouth. He slapped desperately at the tie and finally yanked it out of my grasp. I watched him wheeze into his shirt.

  “Jesus. I'm your father, remember? You got no cause to treat me this way.”

  “Just answer the questions.”

  “I don't know nothin' about eight years ago, boychick,” he spat. “Before my tenure. And I told you I wasn't going to serve any hard time and I'm not. There,” and he spread out his knobby hands. “Simple enough?”

  “What about Tobin? The feds aren't going to let that go. You made him look like a sucker. He'll turn the city upside down looking for you.”

  Jake shrugged. “Like I care. Let me worry about Tobin. Believe me he's not going to be a problem.”

  “What's John got on you? Why have you thrown in with him? What are you doing for him? Answer me.”

  “Who the hell do you think you are, boychick?” Jake said and his face clouded with anger. “You think you can tell me what to do? You got another think coming.”

  What should I do? Beat answers out of my own flesh and blood? Believe me, I considered it. Jake chuckled and all I could think about were the umpteen times he left my mother crying, the slaps and punches I got for sticking up for her. I must have shown something on my face. My hand snaked in under my jacket. Jake eased his chair back but the smile hardened. He glanced up looking past my shoulder. Something hard came down behind my left ear. A fireball exploded in my head. I crashed forward across the desk.

  I thought I heard Jake say, “Served him right, the prick.”

  37

  Waking up from a conk on the head never came easily and harder still if your head felt like it had been split open like a ripe cantaloupe. An ever-expanding, elasticized balloon of throbbing pain worked its way from the back of my ears forward.

  Gingerly, I worked my fingers around the side of my head and gently probed a swollen lump of stinging flesh sending shock waves down my neck into my shoulder. I'd been coshed hard. I recognized that fact and it seemed a good sign that my brain hadn't been scrambled, that most of the wires, although pulsating, remained intact and connected. I didn't groan or moan out loud. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction. I also realized that I was lying down.

  “Here, take this,” and someone shoved a cold compress into my hand. I slid it under the lump and winced but it felt better.

  “That was pretty stupid, boychick. I thought you was smarter than that. It's clear that you didn't get your brains from me.”

  I risked opening an eyelid. Jake swam into view looking much the same disheveled person as before. He wore an amused expression on his face. I opened eye number two and waited for the image to stabilize. Next to Jake stood someone resembling John Fat Gai but not quite enough to actually be him. Someone older with grey hair and a drooping moustache. Profound insights in my present condition. This man's expression carried benign concern.

  “Hello Mr. Gold,” he said. “Feeling better?”

  “No,” I replied. “Who the hell are you?”

  The Chinaman chuckled. He turned to Jake. “He's a tough one, all right.”

  “He's got a hard head, I'll give you that,” Jake muttered.

  “Someone want to fill me in? What's going on? And I asked you a question, mister.”

  Jake sighed. “Tough guy. Always has to play it hard.”

  “An answer will do me fine,” I said and winced.

  The Chinaman stood over me then reached a hand down. I took it and he hauled me to my feet. I felt woozy and the room spun a few times. He steadied me. Jake wheeled over a chair and I dropped into it. “I'm afraid Quan was, shall we say, enthusiastic?”

  “Quan?”

  “Yes, you met him outside. He was guarding the door.”

  “But he works for John,” I said.

  “He works for me. I just want it to appear that he works for John Fat Gai.”

  “And again, you are who, exactly?”

  “You can call me, Mr. Li.”

  I looked around. Still the same room. In the same building. “Isn't this John's club we're in?”

  Mr. Li stepped back. Jake moved behind the desk and sat in the same chair where I'd found him. He smoked moodily staring at the ceiling.

  “Technically, yes. But actually, no. It is my club. John Fat Gai is supposed to be looking after my interests.”

  “Your interests?”

  “Yes, that is correct,” Li said. I glanced at Jake, who shrugged.

  “It's complicated,” he said.

  No kidding. If my head hadn't been spinning already, it'd be in orbit by now. Li continued. “John Fat Gai has disobeyed my instructions and I have come here to find out what he has been doing. Instead of sticking to business, I find he is involved in matters that complicate things unnecessarily.”

  “What things?” I asked.

  Li's eyes narrowed. “That is none of your concern. His behaviour recently has been strange and out of character. I find these things troublesome and bad for business. It is messy and will only cause trouble.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” I asked.

  “Me?” asked Mr. Li and
pointed to his chest, then laughed harshly. “Not me, Mr. Gold but you.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, your father has been telling me how good you are at your job. That you can find anyone. That you fix problems for people. I am just a stranger here, on my own, without any influence to speak of. This girl that John Fat Gai seeks, she didn't steal just money, but something infinitely more valuable. Something that money cannot buy.”

  “What's that?” I asked.

  “A ledger,” Jake said. “It's got everything in it. Every financial deal, who's on the pad, you name it. That ledger, in the wrong hands is dynamite. It's got cops, judges, politicians, the whole shemozzle.”

  “Yes, if it fell into the wrong hands, it could be very dangerous for everyone,” Mr. Li said. “Do you want to see your brother again?”

  I hesitated. Jake stared at me. He'd always liked Eli better. Two peas in a pod, the two of them. “Yeah, sure,” I muttered.

  “Then get the ledger back, Mr. Gold.”

  “Why can't you just order John to let Eli go and shape up?” I asked.

  Mr. Li shrugged. “I tried but he was not responsive. How do you say it here–I believe that John Fat Gai has gone off the line.”

  “So you want me to do your dirty work for you.”

  “Yes, precisely,” Mr. Li replied. “I am pleased that you recognize this. Get me the ledger and I will deal with John Fat Gai and you will get your brother back safe and sound.”

  “What if I get the ledger and I give it to the cops?”

  Mr. Li nodded as if it seemed a reasonable choice. “I wouldn't recommend it. Most of them or their superiors will be in the ledger, in any case. Who would you be able to trust with it? No one. It is better that the ledger should come back into the hands of the owner–its rightful owner. And that would be me, Mr. Gold. I will also authorize a payment of $10,000. A finder's fee. How does that sound?”

  “How do I know you're on the up and up? How do I know you're who you say you are?”

  Jake cleared his throat. “You've got my word on it, boychick.”

  I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. “That's reassuring. A thief guaranteeing the word of another.” I looked at Li who stiffened. “No offense, Mr. Li.” Li nodded but didn't reply. My head pounded. “What's your role in this, Jake? How the hell are you going to stay out of prison? Your face is plastered all over the papers. There are constant reports on television about the breakout. Every cop in the country is looking for you.”