Death on the Rocks (The Jacob Lomax Mysteries Book 1)

by Michael Allegretto

  “Mind if I look?”

  “Help yourself. But they ain’t all here.”

  The Polaroids had been taken under bright lights, leaving little to the imagination. The poses ranged from the ludicrous to the gross. The girls’ names were taped to the top of each page. Honey. Candy. Muffy. Bunny.

  I went through to the end, then turned back to Bunny. She was the only one I recognized. A chubby blonde with a butterfly tattoo. She’d been in the video with Townsend.

  I turned the open album around toward Oscar.

  “What about her?”

  “Bunny? She ain’t here. She’ll be in on Monday.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  “Hey. What about the twenty?”

  I left Oscar slobbering over my money.

  CHAPTER 20

  I TOOK COLFAX WEST OUT of downtown and away from Pussy’s, turned right on Speer Boulevard, and rode it over the viaduct into the northwest part of town.

  Donnelly’s Pub was a squat, square, cinder block affair surrounded by an asphalt parking lot that sparkled with broken glass. The neighborhood was old and mostly Mexican. It used to be Italian. As far as I knew, it had never been Irish, so I don’t know what the hell Donnelly was doing there.

  I’d been in the place once before, a lifetime ago when I was a rookie cop. My partner and I answered a call and walked in on two guys punching it out in the middle of the floor with the rest of the clientele cheering things on. Before we could break it up, one guy decided that all this fighting had made him hungry so he grabbed the other guy in a headlock and bit off his ear. We used our nightsticks to persuade him not to swallow it.

  The place was nearly empty, this being the slow time of day. There were a couple of guys in the back banging on a pinball machine and an old-timer at the bar sucking down beers.

  The bartender was big enough and old enough and battered enough to have played pro football before they used face masks. He eyed my sport coat as if it were the jersey of the opposing team.

  “What’s yours, pal?”

  I sat on the edge of a stool, glanced sideways at the old guy down the bar, and tried to look nervous.

  “A screwdriver, please.”

  The old guy snorted. The bartender mixed the drink with domestic vodka and something orange from a plastic jug. He smacked it down in front of me.

  “Two-fifty,” he said and the old guy giggled.

  I gave him a hundred. He stared at it as if it were money from Mars.

  “What the hell, you’ll take all my change.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  I fished around in my wallet as if I were loaded and pulled out a ten. When he brought my change, I told him I was looking for Leonard Reese.

  “He ain’t here.”

  “Oh. Do you expect him?”

  “Do I expect him to do what?”

  The old guy chuckled into his Bud.

  “I mean, do you expect him to come here later?”

  “Possible.”

  “Do you know where I can reach him?”

  “Nope.”

  I wrote my office number on the back of a card.

  “If he comes in, would you have him call me, please?”

  “Maybe. Why?”

  “I, ah, it’s important that I talk to him. It concerns, ah, a business proposition.”

  “You buying or selling?”

  “Buying.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  I sipped my drink. It tasted like orange soda and gasoline.

  “Thank you,” I said. I scooped up my change and left, guffaws drifting in my wake.

  I’d spread money at Pussy’s and Donnelly’s to let Reese think I had bucks and wanted women. If I was right about him, he’d eventually come forward to lead me down the same path he’d led Townsend. Somewhere along that route I’d nail him.

  In the meantime, I could work on another angle. If Reese had hit Townsend for eighty-seven grand and was now broke, then he’d done some major-league spending in the past three months. Hard to hide something like that. Especially from an ex-girlfriend.

  I took Speer back through town and drove south on Broadway to Mile High Camera.

  The guy behind the counter said Gloria Ruiz no longer worked there. However, if I’d wait a minute, he’d go in the back and look up her address. I waited. I browsed. I looked at cameras the size of shrunken heads and lenses the size of fireplugs. The guy came back. He handed me a slip of paper with an address and a phone number.

  “A sweet kid,” he said, “and a good worker. She went to night school while she worked here. Now she’s a secretary.”

  I thanked him, walked out, and tried her number from a pay phone. No answer. I drove to the office. Acme, Inc., was on the horn.

  “… o-v-e-r you spell it, Murray. Which is in Delaware. Which is where your shipment went that I’m now waiting for three weeks. I am not in Dover, Murray, I am in Denver. I am in the one with the mountains. You know from mountains?”

  There were no messages on my machine. Sandra/Cassandra should have read my note by now.

  I tried Gloria Ruiz’s number again. No answer. Probably at work. Some people have regular jobs. I went home and ate a sandwich and drank a beer and dialed her number. I dialed it every half hour. At five-thirty she answered.

  “Gloria Ruiz?”

  “Yes?”

  “My name is Jacob Lomax. I’m a friend of Gus Gofman.”

  “Who? Oh, Gus! How is he? I haven’t seen him for, gosh, more than a year.” She sounded like she was smiling.

  “He’s fine. He sends his regards.”

  “That’s great. He’s such a nice man.”

  “Right. He said maybe you could help me.”

  “Oh?” I could hear her smile going.

  “I wonder if I could come to your house and talk.”

  “What about?” Going.

  “Leonard Reese. Gus said you might know where to find him.”

  “I don’t.” Gone.

  “Could I ask you a few questions about him?”

  “I don’t see Lenny anymore.”

  “Yes, I understand, but—”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Lomax, I can’t help you.”

  She hung up.

  Twenty minutes later I was driving through her southwest Denver neighborhood. The trees were big and the houses small. Most of the residents had never heard of a paintbrush or a lawnmower. Gloria Ruiz was in the minority. Or her landlord was. The duplex walls were white and clean, the mowed front lawn neat and green. I parked and walked up to the right-hand door, then opened the screen and tapped the fake brass knocker.

  Gloria Ruiz opened the door with a “Hi” and a smile, obviously expecting someone else.

  She was all of five feet tall, with raven hair and flawless olive skin. She had large dark eyes and high cheekbones. She wore a sleeveless blouse, white slacks, and sandals.

  “Yes?”

  “Miss Ruiz, I’m Jacob Lomax. We spoke on the phone.”

  “I—I told you I can’t help you. Now please leave. I’m expecting company.”

  She tried to close the door, but I wedged in my size twelve loafer. She went for the phone. I pushed open the door, but stayed outside. I got out a card, one that stated my occupation, if you could call it that.

  “I’m a private investigator, Miss Ruiz. I just want to ask you some questions.”

  She finished dialing and looked at me.

  “If you’re calling the police, ask for Lieutenant MacArthur. Or Lieutenant Dalrymple. They’ll vouch for me.”

  I hoped she didn’t get Dalrymple. He hated my guts.

  “Uh, yes, may I speak to Lieutenant MacArthur. I see. When does he come on duty? No, no, that’s all right. Thank you.”

  She put down the phone.

  I stayed outside. She walked over and took my card.

  “Anybody can have one of these printed.”

  “That’s true. Perhaps you should call MacArthur tomorrow and I can come back then.”


  She looked from me to the card and chewed her lower lip.

  “This is about Lenny?”

  “Leonard Reese, yes.”

  “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

  “Maybe. But if he’s not and I can find out, I can keep the police out of it.”

  She chewed her lip some more.

  “I’m on Lenny’s side,” I lied.

  She said, “All right, come in. But leave the door open.”

  CHAPTER 21

  THE CARPET HAD BEEN trampled to death long ago. The furniture still mourned. There were garage-sale chairs and flea-market tables and Goodwill lamps and a Value Village couch. A granny blanket covered it. I sat on one end. The arthritic springs groaned.

  “Do you know where Reese lives?”

  Gloria Ruiz shook her head.

  “I don’t think he has a place of his own. Sometimes he stays with his aunt and uncle in Morrison.”

  She sat on the edge of her chair, her hands clasped between her knees, shoulders forward, eyes wide. She reminded me of a squirrel. Cuddly and alert and wary of the big people.

  “You said he was in trouble,” she said.

  “He might be.”

  “What sort of trouble?”

  I didn’t know how close she was to Reese. Not very, I figured. Hoped. Otherwise, I’d blown any chance of approaching Reese by subterfuge. Either way, it seemed prudent not to tell her everything.

  “A friend of mine was robbed of a lot of money,” I said. “He’d like it back.”

  “Oh.”

  She didn’t seem surprised, which told me something about Reese. Or, at least, her opinion of Reese.

  “Has Reese been spending big lately?”

  “I wouldn’t know. We broke up months ago.”

  “You don’t keep in touch, then?”

  “No. Except for once last month, I haven’t seen him in ages.”

  “You saw him last month?”

  “Yes. On the sixth.”

  “Where?”

  “Here. He showed up early in the morning. I was getting ready for work. When I answered the door, he came barging in. I thought he was high on something, he was so hyper.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He said he was going to Mexico. Going right then, right that morning. He wanted me to go with him. It was crazy. Like I said, we’d been broken up for months. I told him no way. Plus, I have good job. I can’t just take off. He knew that. But sometimes Lenny sees things his own way.”

  “He left for Mexico that day?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “You’re sure of the date? June sixth?” Phillip Townsend had died on the fifth.

  “Yes. It’s my mother’s birthday. We were planning a party for her that night. It struck me funny, you know? My ancestors are from Mexico and I’ve never been and here on my mother’s birthday some Anglo is asking me to go there. Oh. I didn’t mean about Anglo—”

  “No problem. Did Reese go down there alone?”

  “No. He went with Tiny and three girls.”

  “Tiny?”

  “A friend of his. Tiny’s a joke name, you know? He’s a really big guy.”

  She smiled.

  “What’s funny?”

  “I was just picturing Tiny on his motorcycle. It’s one of those three-wheelers and, I don’t know, when he rides it he looks like a great big little kid.”

  “Do you know Tiny’s real name? Or where he lives?”

  She shook her head. A lock of hair fell across her forehead. She brushed it back.

  “I only met him a few times when I was going with Lenny. He was in a motorcycle club then. Tiny, I mean. I think they kicked him out.”

  “What about the girls that went to Mexico? Do you know them?”

  “No. All I know about that is what Vicki told me. She’s a friend of mine. She sees Lenny sometimes. She said he and Tiny and three girls went down to Mexico in Lenny’s van.”

  “Would Vicki know the girls’ names?”

  “I don’t know. I could ask. Is it important?”

  “Maybe they know where I can find Reese.”

  “Oh.”

  And maybe they can tell me why he was in such a hurry to leave the country.

  “Why did you and Reese break up? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “No, it’s okay. We just weren’t getting along too well.”

  She shifted in her chair and tucked one leg under her.

  “Lenny is a very jealous person,” she said. “Sometimes he’d get crazy if I just spoke to another man. Sometimes he … he hit me. But that didn’t mean he didn’t love me,” she added quickly. “He was just jealous. Even after we broke up. Once he even came over here and got in a fight with Frank.”

  “Frank?”

  “My boyfriend. He should be here soon. I thought you were him at the door.”

  “What happened between Reese and Frank?”

  She sighed and shook her head at the memory.

  “Lenny came over. Uninvited. Frank was here. He told Lenny to leave. Lenny hit him and they started fighting. Lenny’s pretty tough and, well, Frank’s not. I tried to call the police and Lenny ripped out the phone cord. He beat up Frank real bad. Some neighbors came to the door, but no one would come in to stop it. Lenny said if he ever caught Frank with me again, he’d kill him. He didn’t mean it, though.” She tried to smile. “Lenny’s just, well, confused. Sometimes he doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s really a nice guy, deep down.”

  It wasn’t Reese’s depths I was concerned about, it was the crap floating on the surface.

  “You mentioned Reese’s aunt and uncle.”

  “Yes. May and J. P. Sutter. They—”

  “Gloria?”

  The guy had been standing on the front porch for who knows how long. Either I was slipping or he was sneaky. Probably both.

  “Hi, Frank.”

  Gloria and I stood, and she let him in. He didn’t look happy. He was medium-sized, with black hair and a brown face. He had a white scar over his left eye and a crooked nose. I wondered if Reese had helped him with those.

  “Who’s this?” he asked Gloria.

  “My name is Jacob Lomax.” I offered my hand. Frank didn’t want it.

  “He’s an investigator,” Gloria said. “He was asking me about Lenny Reese.”

  “Reese.” The name tasted bitter to Frank. “Are you a friend of his?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “You tell that sonofabitch if he ever comes around here again, I’ll beat the hell out of him.”

  He looked like he wanted to warm up on me. Gulp. Luckily, Gloria was holding him back.

  “I’m not a friend of Reese’s. I’m just trying to find him.”

  “Why the hell’s he looking here?” he said to Gloria. “Reese hasn’t been here, has he?”

  Frank was getting himself worked up. It looked like Reese had done more than just injure his face. He’d wounded his macho pride.

  Gloria said, “No, hon, of course not.”

  “I didn’t mean to intrude,” I said. “I’ll leave now.”

  “Damn straight,” Frank said.

  He stepped aside to let me pass. Gloria held the door.

  “The Sutters,” I said to Gloria. “Do you have their address?”

  “There’s no real address. Just a box number. I could write down the directions, though.”

  “Would you mind?”

  She looked at Frank for approval. He ground his teeth and stomped into the kitchen. Gloria followed. I stayed obediently by the door. I could see her standing at the counter, writing. Frank was beside her, his voice low and mean, hurling accusations, demanding explanations. Too bad about her taste in men. She came out and handed me a slip of paper. Frank stayed in the kitchen.

  “Thanks for your help,” I said. “I’m sorry if I caused you problems.”

  She shrugged. Adorably. I wanted to give her a hug.

  “Frank’s just jealous,” she said, her voice low. “He�
��ll get over it.”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll talk to Vicki and try to get the name of the girls.”

  “Fine. Can I call you in a few days, then?”

  “Sure. And I just want you to know …,” she looked back toward the kitchen, “the reason I’m helping you is because you seem like you’re really interested in, well, helping Lenny.”

  “Right.”

  “And if he took money from your friend, he should give it back. He might, too, if you approach him right.”

  “He might,” I said. He might also put on pinstripes and go play for the Yankees.

  I said good-bye and went looking for Reese, the slugger.

  CHAPTER 22

  IT WAS EARLY FRIDAY night and Donnelly’s Tavern was packed. Bikers and construction workers and a scattering of ladies, so to speak.

  The jukebox and the TV blasted over the crowd. Nobody noticed. Everyone was too busy yelling and laughing and knocking back beers and shots and waiting for the first fight to break out. I sat at the bar and ordered a beer. The bartender was not the one I’d talked to before, but he looked enough like him to be his brother. When he brought my change I asked if Leonard Reese had been in tonight.

  “Haven’t seen him.”

  “If he comes in, would you point him out?”

  He looked me over. Combed hair, shaved face, new sport coat, clean shirt, trimmed nails. He didn’t like any of it.

  “Sure,” he said.

  I sat in the din and the heat and the smoke for six or seven beers, getting elbowed regularly and bumped hard more than once. I took it like a good boy. A few times I saw the bartender speak confidentially to guys down the bar. They were looking at me. Any one of them could have been Reese. None of them approached me.

  I left at ten, foggy with beer. Probably not a good idea, drinking on the job.

  I drove around with the windows down and let the night air clear my head. Half an hour later I realized where I was going.

  I parked in front of the town house. A light was on inside. Maybe she was entertaining a client. What the hell was I doing here?

  I got out and went up and rang the bell.

  She opened the door. She wore baggy white shorts and a dark green silk shirt with big blue-and-yellow parrots. Or maybe they were macaws.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “You. What do you want?”