The Disappearance of Penny

by Robert J. Randisi

  “You must score pretty often in a place like this,” I commented to the one who did know her by name. He had a name tag bearing the name STU. He was younger than the other two, and better-looking. He told me his full name was Stu Wainwright.

  “I do okay,” he admitted, smiling. The look on his face said he did better than just “okay.”

  “Did you ever score with Penny?” I asked him.

  “Oh, man, don’t I wish. You know, I never saw that chick leave with a guy? They’d be all over her, and she’d be dangling them all on her fingertips, but I don’t know anyone who ever really scored,” he confided. “I know a few guys who’ve clamed that they scored, but if they scored with as many chicks as they claim to …” and he left the rest unsaid.

  “I must’ve hit on her every time she came in here,” he went on, “but I never even got close. I mean, man, I got broads waiting in line for me, you know, just dying to come home with me at night, but that redhead?” he shrugged, like he just couldn’t understand it. “Man, she was not good for my ego, let me tell you.”

  I finished my beer and he leaned forward and said, “See that one over there?” I looked to where he was indicating, at the far end of the bar. There was a young brunette, all of eighteen, dangling a drink between two fingers. She wore a revealing purple pantsuit, and she had a lot to reveal.

  “She’s mine for tonight if nothing else comes along between now and quitting time,” he confided.

  I dropped him a five and said, “Good luck, and thanks.”

  “Listen, guy, can I fix you up with anything?” he asked, waving a hand as if to say I had my choice of any girl in the place.

  “Not tonight,” I told him, having second thoughts about him after the offer. It had sounded like more than just an idle remark. Was he pimping on the side?

  Had he tried to hit on Penny Hopkins, or recruit her?

  I said goodnight and filed him away in the recesses of my mind marked TO BE REINSPECTED AT A LATER DATE.

  I had a problem finding the last place, which was on Tenth Avenue, just off Eighteenth Street, two blocks from my apartment. I must have walked passed it a couple of times before I finally found it by trying doors until I found the one that wasn’t locked, and walked in.

  There was no name on the outside, nothing to indicate that a bar existed on the block, but when I opened the door and walked in, there it was, like magic.

  It was a small, quaint place, fashioned after an English pub, I guessed.

  Behind the bar was the most gorgeous bartender I had ever seen. This seemed to be my day for meeting women with unusual professions. First a lady jockey, now a lady bartender.

  She was blonde, her hair falling midway down her back. She had blue eyes and probably the most beautiful face I had ever seen or been within five feet of. She was wearing a white blouse and a green vest, and a red skirt that ended, modestly, just above her knees. Her breasts were full, her legs well muscled.

  I approached the bar as she was returning from cleaning a table, which had given me the opportunity to look her over.

  “What’ll you have?” she asked. I could imagine some of the answers she must get from that inquiry.

  “Budweiser,” I told her.

  “Tap?”

  “Please.”

  She brought me the beer and leaned on the bar, giving me an enticing view of her incredible face. She had eyes, a nose and a mouth, just like any other woman, but put them all together and the effect was overpowering.

  “You’ve never been here before.”

  “I live two blocks away and I never knew the place existed.”

  “You’ve got to be in, to get in,” she informed me.

  “Am I in?”

  She smiled and assured me, “From now on, you’re in.”

  There was one other person at the bar and he called to her for a refill. I turned and looked at him and recognized him.

  It was Eddie Mapes.

  He had some bruises on his face, which I knew were not from the fight with Danny Aiello, so they had to be from the fall he’d suffered in the sixth race.

  He appeared to be drunk, but aside from the bruises didn’t look any the worse for wear, considering he’d been in a fight and thrown from a horse on the same day.

  I picked up my beer and walked over to him.

  “Tough luck in the sixth race today, Eddie,” I told him.

  He looked at me and said, “You think so, huh? You think that was tough luck, do ya?”

  Then he seemed to recognize me.

  “Hey, ain’t you the guy — you’re one of Biel’s guys, ain’t you? You broke up my fight, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I’m the one,” I admitted.

  “You should mind your own fucking business, man,” he told me, grabbing his fresh drink. “That punk had it comin’. Mind your own fuckin’ business, that’s what you should do,” he repeated.

  “Sure, Eddie, sure. Look, isn’t it getting kind of late? If I remember tomorrow’s card correctly, don’t you have a mount in a big stakes race?” I asked.

  Actually, I didn’t know what the card was for tomorrow, but I did know that there was a stakes race being run, and that he had a mount on one of the favorites.

  “So?”

  “Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink the night before a big race?”

  “Look, pal, I can ride better drunk better ‘n some of those guys can ride sober, you know? Your minding my business again, ain’t you?”

  I put both my hands up, palms out, and said, “Sorry, Eddie. Go ahead, get falling-down drunk, be my guest.”

  I took my beer and walked back to where I had been.

  I checked the rest of the place out. There were only two tables occupied, one by an elderly woman nursing a drink, and the other by two men who looked like jockeys. In fact, I recognized one of them from around the track. He was a man in his late forties who was getting a little heavy for a jockey. He was seated with a much younger companion. They were both eating peanuts and nursing beers. I picked up my beer and went over.

  “Hi, guys,” I greeted. They both looked up, and the elder one appeared to recognize me.

  “Hey, you’re that private eye who was down in the jockeys’ room today,” he said.

  I nodded. “That’s right, and I’m still looking for Penny Hopkins. I was told she comes in here sometimes.”

  He shrugged. “We all do, but I haven’t seen her in here lately.”

  I nodded and picked some peanuts up from the table. I gave Mapes another glance over my shoulder and he was taking a few large gulps from whatever it was he was drinking.

  “Hey, isn’t there a big stakes race tomorrow?” I asked the two seated jocks.

  “You could say that,” the older man said. “It’s a Statebred stakes, but the purse is over a hundred grand.”

  A Statebred is a race where all the horses entered had to have been foaled in New York State, or whatever state the race was being run in.

  “Doesn’t Eddie Mapes have a mount on one of the favorites?”

  Both of them looked over at Mapes and the younger one laughed as the older one drawled, “He sure does.”

  They both laughed.

  I sat down and said, “Wait a minute. There’s a man over there, a fellow rider of yours, who may be drinking himself off a mount in a big stakes race. Are you going to sit there and let him do it?”

  The older jock stopped laughing and his lined face got ugly.

  “What do I look like, Mac, his fucking keeper?” he asked me. “Do you realize that I could pick up that mount if he doesn’t make it? Or, if I pick up another mount I could win if he rides a lousy race? You think I’m gonna blow a chance like that? Listen, tell him if he runs out of dough to come over here. I’ll buy him all the booze he wants.”

  They went off on another laughing jag and I got away from them fast, before I took a swipe at both of them.

  I went back to the bar, at the farthest end from Mapes, and called the lady bart
ender over.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Debby.”

  “What time do you close up, Debby?”

  She leaned on the bar and checked the clock on the wall. “In about an hour,” she answered. “Why? What did you have in mind?”

  Mapes could get a whole lot drunker in an hour, but I couldn’t ask her to close early and risk her job, I wasn’t that pushy.

  “Is he a regular?” I asked.

  “Semi.”

  “Does he always drink like that?”

  “As a matter of fact, no, he usually doesn’t touch the hard stuff. Just drinks soda, eats peanuts and plays darts.”

  I made a face and watched Mapes down another drink.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  I leaned closer, close enough to smell the day’s perspiration on her, and it was not at all unpleasant. “He’s got a big race to ride in tomorrow,” I told her, “and if he keeps drinking like that, I’m going to lose the hundred bucks I intend to bet on his horse.”

  She shook her head, making her hair swing back and forth, like a curtain of silk.

  “No, what?”

  “That’s not what you’re worried about. You’re just a nice guy who doesn’t want to see him get hurt.”

  I snapped my fingers and said, “Aw, shucks, you caught me.”

  She looked around at Mapes again, who was frowning at the bottom of his empty glass, and then back at me. Then she surprised me by reaching under the bar where she hit a switch that dimmed all the lights.

  “Closing time,” she shouted.

  I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, “You’re a doll. Thanks.”

  The two jocks gave me a dirty look, as if they thought I had something to do with the early closing time. I smiled and waved. Mapes shuffled out the door, followed by the elderly woman.

  “Hey,” Debby called as I was about to follow the others out.

  “Yep?”

  She came over to me and put something in my hand.

  “Put that on the nose for me, will you? If it wins, come back so I can collect.”

  “If you still have a job,” I reminded her.

  “Don’t worry. I have a very understanding boss.”

  “What if it loses?”

  She smiled and told me, “Come back anyway.”

  I winked at her and left, shoving the bill she’d given me into my pocket. A sneak peek had told me it was a whole dollar.

  I wanted to catch Mapes before he got too far.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Outside, I found just what I had half expected I would find.

  The other two jocks were trying to talk Mapes into going to another bar with them. I decided to stick my nose in where it didn’t belong one more time.

  “Okay, fellas, Eddie and me have a previous engagement to attend. Why don’t you go on your way and we’ll go on ours.”

  They were a little hesitant, but a hand against the small of each of their backs helped them along.

  “Thanks an awful lot, guys, “I added, to help them along. The older one glared at me, but off they went.

  Of course, Mapes didn’t appreciate my help one bit.

  “You again? Man, you’re always buttin’ into my business, ain’t you?” he demanded angrily.

  “You keep drinking tonight, Eddie, and you’re going to blow that race tomorrow — and a big paycheck. One of those jerks might even win,” I told him, indicating the retreating backs of the other two jocks.

  “A lot of people are going to have their two’s, five’s and ten’s on you. I think you owe them a decent ride, don’t you?”

  “Decent ride!” he spat. “Honest ride! You think they’d let me — Ah, fuck it! And fuck you too! Kiss off!”

  He started off down the street and I let him go. He was reasonably steady, so I figured he’d get home all right, wherever that was. If he decided to stop in another bar on his own, that was his business. I couldn’t follow him around all night and babysit him.

  Coincidentally, he was going in the same direction I would have to go to get home, so I gave him a little bit of a head start before starting that way myself.

  As I was about to start I heard somebody call out softly from the shadows, “Hey.”

  I turned and saw Debby, standing in the doorway of her place. I walked back and stepped into the doorway with her. That close, her smile and blue eyes were almost overpowering. The doorway wasn’t that wide and our shoulders rubbed together. She was about five-six, which was a nice height for a woman — unless you were a female jockey.

  “If you’re making a bet for me, shouldn’t I know your name?” she asked.

  “Henry,” I told her. “Henry Po.”

  “Like Edgar Allan?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “P-o, no ‘e’ — like in Henry.”

  She laughed.

  “Henry, I lied to you inside.”

  “Did you? About what?”

  “I don’t have a boss. I am the boss. I own the place.”

  “A kid like you? How’d you get this place?”

  “I’m no kid, I’m twenty-six. As far as how I got this place, I live right upstairs. Come on up for a drink and I’ll tell you about it.”

  I smiled at her and said, “I’d love to, Debby, but right now if I did it would be for the wrong reasons.”

  She arched one eyebrow, something I’ve always wished I could learn to do.

  “Someone else?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “On my mind, right now.”

  She smiled and told me, “Come back when your mind is clear.”

  “Or when your horse comes in,” I reminded her.

  She put her hand on mine, a friendly gesture, and started to go back inside.

  “Hey, what’s the name of this place, anyway?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t matter, “she told me. “Call it what you like.”

  “How about, ‘Debby’s Place’?”

  She shrugged. “Why not?”

  “And what’s the owner’s last name?”

  “Gannero.”

  “Goodnight, Debby Gannero. Thanks for the favor.”

  “Anytime, Henry. Good night.”

  Yeah, good night, Henry Po — Dummy!

  I decided to make sure that I didn’t flub the ball next time. That meant doing something about Brandy Sommers’ playing on my mind.

  Being against any form of permanent relationships, as I was, I could not afford to have one woman occupying my mind for any length of time.

  I started to remedy that situation during the walk home. I had not one, but three women on my mind: Brandy, Debby and Penny Hopkins.

  I turned down Eighteenth for the walk home and was passing an alleyway — one of those you have to walk down a few steps and through a doorway, or archway, to get to — when I heard voices raised in a soon-to-be violent, argument.

  I took the steps quietly, not that they would have heard me anyway. As I reached the bottom step the violence happened. I ran down the tunnel to the courtyard beyond, no longer mindful of the noise I was making, and there I saw three men, two noticeably larger than the third, upon whom they were making very liberal use of their fists.

  The third man was Eddie Mapes.

  I reached out and grabbed the first thing within my reach: a trashcan cover. I took a few steps forward and changed the shape of the cover on one of the larger men’s heads. His friend turned away from Mapes, whose face was rapidly changing shape also, and looked down first at his buddy, then at me. He was big enough to make me feel like a jockey, but if there was one thing I’d learned about fighting while growing up in New York, it was to hit first and think later.

  The cover was on the ground, so I hit him with my fist, but instead of falling down like he was supposed to, he hit me back and knocked me down. I was starting to feel sorry that I had stuck my nose into the business — again — of a guy who only moments before had invited me to fuck off.

  When attention had been diverted from Map
es, he had slid down to the ground. Now he got up, retrieved my misshapen weapon and straightened it out on my opponent’s head. I rolled over so he wouldn’t fall on me.

  Both men were now temporarily out of commission and Mapes was practically out on his feet. My jaw hurt, but I was in the best shape of the bunch. I grabbed Mapes and almost carried him down the tunnel and out onto the street.

  “C’mon, Eddie, snap out of it. Take deep breaths, you’ll be fine.”

  He was bruised — with the day he’d had it was understandable — but I had gotten to him before they had a chance to hurt him too badly.

  “Eddie, c’mon, those guys aren’t going to sleep forever.”

  “Fuck off! “he snapped, pulling away from me and promptly falling on his face.

  “Shit!” I snapped back. If I left him to his own devices he would never make it off the block by the time those two turkeys woke up. They’d just start in on him all over again.

  I picked him up off the ground and said, “C’mon, Eddie, we’re going to my place, and if you tell me to fuck off one more time I’ll take up where those two left off. Got it?”

  He squinted up at me and asked, “You got anything to drink at your place?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The only thing I gave Eddie Mapes to drink was black coffee.

  After a shower, that is.

  A cold one.

  When he was reasonably sobered up — and patched up — I joined him in another cup of coffee and tried to get some idea of just what was going on.

  Starting with the fight with Danny Aiello.

  “He’s a young punk!!” Eddie snapped when I asked him about that. “Oh, he’s got some riding ability, all right, but he’s also got a smart mouth.”

  “Just as far as you’re concerned?”

  “No, he gets on some of the other rider’s nerves, too, but he seems to take some kind of special pleasure in riding me, if you’ll excuse the pun.”

  I did and waved it away.

  “Only sometimes I get the feeling it isn’t a pleasure,” he added, frowning. “Sometimes he looks like he’s not really enjoying it.”

  “Then why would he do it?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”