by Simon Swift
Blood splashed onto the table that me and Stan Cortene sheltered under. I looked at his face and he looked like a normal man. He smiled back, but his eyes weren't smiling. Especially when one of Washington’s gorillas appeared with a smoking gun.
"Say goodbye Cortene. You really shouldn't go causing trouble in a Tighe stronghold. Gang gunfights usually end with dead gangsters. Bound to end in tears."
He re-cocked the weapon.
I lifted the table from the floor and charged into the surprised cop, knocking him off balance. Shots were whistling round my ears, but I was still alive. So was Cortene. He grabbed my arm and we rushed outside to a waiting Ferrari. Instinctively we both jumped in and the car sped away. The driver looked straight ahead and didn't say a word.
I sat there quietly for the next few minutes, just wondering what I had done. The cops face as I slammed him with the table stayed in my head; a look of surprise and disappointment. Meanwhile Cortene was in hysterics, having to cover his mouth he laughed so much.
"I don't know who the hell you are, but I thank you," he uttered after a while. "Very courageous, very courageous indeed."
"The name's Errol Black, I'm a private cop. I think I'll try and forget yours."
"Probably best, but let me tell you this...I’m a big fish. You probably know already if you're a good one. You saved my life. Why, I don't know and neither probably do you. That little piece of heroism that you just performed will not be forgotten by me."
He pulled up on a side street and looked me in the eyes. "I'm going to give you a telephone number. Wherever you are, if you ever need anything, I'll help you."
"Hold it,” I said, putting as much of an edge on my voice as I dared. "I got a lot of friends that are cops. Whatever I did in there does not make me a wise guy. Hell, I even got friends that are honest cops. Okay, I helped you, but I sure as hell don't want to gain access to the 'only kill each other' club. You got it?"
Stan smiled. "Errol, I owe you my life, and I always, always honour my debts. Take it."
I took the piece of paper from him and put it in my inside pocket. Before I could say anything else Stan Cortene opened the car door. "Now you must leave, I've got important business to attend to!"
I got out of the car and off sped Stan Cortene. It would be the beginning of a long and complicated association with the family. If I knew then what I know now, maybe I'd have gone home there and then.
Chapter Twelve – A Twist in the Tale
The night soon arrived, and with it came the rain. Woodstock was not the prettiest of towns and when the rain came it all got worse. The roads, which were nothing more than dirt tracks with traffic lights, washed away. All that was left was a swamp, a dirty, smelly, sleazy swamp. Even the hookers wore Wellington boots.
It usually took much more than the rain to dampen the locals’ vociferous activities. For the gangsters there was always work to be done and fun to be had. For the tourists the fun was to be had from observing the gangsters having theirs. Gunfights were not irregular, as I knew all too well, and were usually quite entertaining. Tonight, however, everything was quiet.
I called Hermeez but there was no answer. I would have liked to hear his opinions on a few things or just his voice but it would have to wait. At that time, I didn't know quite how long.
Even the hotel casino was restrained. It was still full of people. All smoking, drinking and clinking their chips. But the laughter and joy of winning were calmer. So were the wails of despair.
There were half a dozen roulette wheels, half a dozen blackjack tables, nine crap tables and a hundred slots. A long, mirrored bar ran the length of the far wall, with a thousand different bottles of liquor. There were heaps of unattached, beautiful girls from their late teens to their early twenties, all with their chests half showing. Most were circulating the casino in a predatory kind of way, others tagged onto a winning punter or a rich type.
I was neither.
I still scored a stunning redhead.
She was decked out in a clinging red suit with red gloves and lots of jewelry. Her lipstick was as bright as her suit. She was playing at one of the dice tables shaking her cupped hands with a wide smile on her face.
"Come on six, come on baby."
She threw a seven and deflated immediately.
That's when I stepped in. I wined her and dined her and then we went upstairs.
"What did you say your name was again?" she asked, whilst re-applying her lipstick. She was bent over the bed, her considerable breasts swaying.
"I didn't. It's Black, Errol Black," I said, thinking about Marlow.
"Errol Black," she mouthed it slowly. "That's a nice name. Do you want a drink Errol Black?"
"Sure, Remy Martin, no ice."
She walked to the liquor cabinet at the far wall. My eyes followed. Her milky body with gravity defying breasts floated gracefully across the room. Her legs were a long and smooth and she had a sweet, well pruned pubic patch, a couple of shades lighter than her lip gloss. She may not have been Marlow but she was one hell of a substitute.
She handed me a short glass brimming with cognac.
"Cheers," she threw her head back and the glass too. I did the same.
"I suppose I ought to cover up," she said, gesturing to herself. Her nipples were pink and erect, about as big as quarters but without George Washington's head on them, "I gotta go."
"So soon? Is my time up?" I said a little curtly.
The girl scowled and threw a high-heeled boot in my direction. It missed comfortably and I handed it back with a conciliatory smile.
"I'm sorry. Let's have another drink. Sit down."
She filled the glasses up again and perched on the end of the bed. "I don't suppose that I'll be seeing you again, will I?" she said, a little regret in her voice.
"I suppose not, but that's no reason to rush off," I sat up and reached out my arms.
Half an hour later, we were interrupted by the telephone. It was the duty manager; he had a call for me in the office and insisted it was urgent. It looked like she was right after all. I apologized and left.
I was ushered into the office and picked up the telephone.
"Errol Black," I said.
The line was dead.
"I'm sorry sir, the gentleman said that he could no longer wait. He did leave you this message, which I took the liberty of writing down."
He handed me a slip of paper, which said, "If you are ill don't tie your own bandages. The blood must be quelled immediately.”
I thanked the duty manager and left the office.
It was ten o’clock when I arrived. I had plenty of time until the meet and I was pleased contact had been made. The Woodstock Country Hospital was nothing to write home about. It was situated in what looked like a converted old farmhouse. Dirt tracks led up to the entrance, with a colourful row of geraniums down the middle. The walls were brown and the air was dirty. I was expecting to see a herd of cattle penned in the gardens, but there weren't any. Gardens that is.
The reception was more of the same although beige now took precedence over brown. The waiting room was full of cowboys nursing various riding injuries. I waited in a queue but before I reached the front I felt a slip of paper in my pocket which hadn't been there earlier and a quick breeze. I casually looked around and walked into a corner whilst taking out the note and reading it.
It gave me directions to the Hospital Chapel on the third floor, which I followed and took a seat next to the only worshipper present on the second row from the front.
"Errol, I'm glad you hurried. Come on sit down."
I obliged, taking off my hat and looking at Weeny Jung Ping. He looked tired and worried.
"Not long until the meet. Are you fully prepared?" he asked.
"I think so. It has been an eventful day but yes, I think that I am now ready."
My friend smiled, his eyes were almost closed as he blinked his long lashes. "Yes I think it can be said that you have truly experienced the lowe
r end of Woodstocks’ vast talents. The man Ferriby has now left town and taken his goons with him, but the same cannot be said of the other criminal elements. I do hope tonight's events will not get you noticed."
I shrugged. "Washington got himself plenty tonight. He has no need to worry about what slipped, especially when his own methods were rather unorthodox to say the least."
I suppose I should not have been surprised. Weeny Jung Ping had confirmed to me his brilliance as a shadow man many times before. That was one of the reasons that I selected him. I had absolute confidence that he would do the job better than anyone. The other was the continuing absence of my regular partner Hermeez Wentz.
"Thanks again for doing this for me Weeny. I appreciate it," I lit up a Lucky and sucked in the smoke. "Tell me, what else have you got? Have you got anything on The Coward?"
I asked the question sure in the knowledge that there would be more. Weeny Jung Ping was a master of detection work and it was clear to me that he was doing this as much for himself as he was for me. He was convinced there was a connection to the death of Woo Wang. And if it had become personal he would have covered every angle.
There was plenty. Although he wasn't keen to spill.
"Tonight, I will be your shadow. You never invited me in on the investigation and I never asked. Let's leave it at that shall we Errol?"
I shook my head. "No let's not Weeny. If you have information that maybe of help then spill it. You already know as much as me."
"You know how I operate Eezy, hell you and me are more alike than you realize. Leave it."
He was right. We were both stubborn sons of bitches that like nothing better than solving a case on our own, but I didn't leave it. I took out my gun and put it to the small man's head, cocking it so it clicked loudly just above his ear.
"Does this remind you of anything?" I held it there for a couple of minutes and then put the gun away. "Come on Weeny, if you know anything I think you owe it to me to spill."
Weeny looked up and smiled a mischievous smile. He made me laugh, not his silly grin but he was wearing a bloody dog collar for Christ's sake. He patted me on the back, surprising in his strength for such a small man and then extinguished my cigarette between his forefinger and thumb. "It's no smoking in here you know."
He gave me a brief summary of his investigation, from pumping his contacts back in the city to his time here in The Hudson Valley. He still had very little on The Coward, nobody wanted to talk and there was no previous form recorded to be found. If he was a gangster, he had kept his nose extremely clean or he was from out of town. Both were equally possible.
His findings were very similar to my own. I had dug around myself over the last couple of days and come out almost fruitless. It transpired that the Wyatt Earp was more of a Tighe haunt than one of The Coward; Weeny recognized several faces there but nothing that resembled the description of the Portly Gangster. There was always the chance that he was working in league with the Tighes but nothing really pointed us in that direction.
Just when I was thinking we had both come up against a brick wall...
"I was getting rather tired of acting like the curious tourist and was getting ready to call it a day when I spotted him."
"Who?"
"The guy that has been following me off and on for the last few weeks. He was right there in the Earp."
"So what did you do?"
"I followed him for a change. He led me to a ranch a little out of town between here and Hunter, real mountain country. Mr. Wang's pig and barley ranch was well known by the locals. They weren't quite as forthcoming as I would have liked but the rubber hose soon solved their coyness. I now know more about pig farming than I ever thought there was to know."
"And Coward, was he there?"
Weeny shrugged. "It is a pig and barley ranch but it is also a lot more. It is a palatial home with a lot of security but little manpower. Last night a man answering Coward's description was there for most of the night with no bodyguards, naked for all to see. I can't be certain but if you are asking me for my opinion then yes it is him and that is his house, or at least one of his houses."
He shrugged his bony shoulders and looked at me with a glint in his eye. "To guys like us, Errol, it would be like gate crashing a five year old's birthday party."
"I see where you are going Weeny, but I prefer to stay with the original plan. It is always good to have a back up and you have done well as always..."
Weeny nodded his small head gently forward with his hands pressed together.
"... but The Wyatt Earp is where we shall meet. There is still no solid reason for us to do otherwise."
"I may not agree but I will defer to you Errol. This is your game but I shall warn you of one thing..." His tone had softened. He was winding up for the finale, there was always a finale with Weeny, whatever you talked about he always saved the best until last.
"And that is?" I asked, rubbing my bruised face.
"I may not be certain that it was The Coward that was there on the ranch but I am damn sure that it was your Marlow."
Chapter Thirteen – The Wyatt Earp
I picked up the receiver and dropped twenty cents.
"Tim, it's Errol. I need some information."
"Why the hell should I do you a favor? You scratch my back sometime and then maybe, just maybe, I'll scratch yours. I warned you about leaving town. Christ, I believed you were actually gonna listen to some sense for a change. And what do you do, I bet your bags were even packed as we swapped pleasantries?"
"What do you know about the Tighe mob?"
There was a short pause. "Small time Irish mobsters. They’re as big as they're ever gonna get. The families tolerate them 'cause they're sick motherfuckers, and don't mind who's brains they blow out. The old Dons have got used to living to a ripe old age and don't want some psychopathic mick to spoil the party. They're too fuckin' crazy to ever become really organized."
"Are they all Irish?" I dropped another twenty as the line began to pip. "Or do they take all comers?"
"Hold on a minute." There was a rustling of papers. "Yeah, they're pretty strict on that, although maybe things are changing. I heard a whisper that they were talking to outsiders. They desperately want to be big you see. Maybe they'll form an alliance; if they get any interested parties they could become the Tighe Triad."
I ran out of change and the line went dead. I could still hear Timmy laughing on the other end.
Entering the Wyatt Earp was like walking into a time zone. It took your eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dingy lighting at first, but when they did, it was hard not to appreciate its authenticity. There was a large room full of tables with felt coverings and sawdust and gravel on the floor; a huge, ancient bar that stretched out across the whole room with a full length mirror behind it that served to make the bar appear larger than it really was; four creaking ceiling fans laboring around lazily and making the barest of breezes; large wanted posters of outlaws and lawmen adorned the wood paneled walls, of Dillinger, Holliday and Kidd; a vintage old duke box in the corner blasted out tunes from a bygone age; and a cast of characters to fill any wild west movie.
I was wearing a casual, brown felt suit, open necked without a tie with a light fedora and shiny brown boots. I had a Lucky flaming in between my lips, a well-disguised shoulder holster fully packed and a six-inch stiletto tucked down my sock.
The bartender was a tall, disheveled looking man in a white t-shirt covered by a leather waistcoat, frayed jeans and cowboy boots. He wore a ten-gallon hat big enough to swim the Olympic trials in and a stupid grin that was asking to be wiped from his ugly mug. There were a few other punters scattered around nursing their beers and singing along to the noise that was classed as music in these parts.
Nobody appeared to take any notice as I entered the bar although I felt a cold chill blow across the back of my neck. I felt strangely uncomfortable as if I was walking into the lion's den and found myself looking back at the door ex
pecting, hoping even, that soon that too would be knocked off its hinges by the great Dan Washington.
I would have to proceed with caution. If Coward was indeed a regular of this watering hole then either he had managed to not draw attention to himself, or had been very persuasive in keeping mouths shut. What was the reason for this? Was Coward simply a publicity shy gangster, there had been many of those over the years, or was it something else? For the time being I would have to assume that I was firmly on his turf and proceed accordingly.
"What's your drink?" asked the bartender in a deep baritone voice that was as unexpected as it was cultured.
"Beer, thanks," I answered, and took a good look around.
It looked the kind of bar where everyone knew each other. Every head had lifted and taken a good look at me from when I walked through the door and quickly returned. The balls had not exactly stopped on the big pool table at the back but it was that kind of bar.
I accepted my beer in a frosted glass from the bartender and took it to a booth at the other side of the large room.
Several people came and went in the next half an hour. Every one greeted the bartender personally and most said hello or goodbye to the other customers. None looked like I imagined the Portly Gangster to look like and none were accompanied by Audrey Daniels or the dandy I had knocked out, outside my office.
Until now.
He was wearing a white suit with a pale yellow, open necked shirt and white fedora. His face was as round as a water melon and his nose as red as a beetroot. His eyes like tiny specks, his mouth narrow and ears baby-like gave the impression that his head was too big for his features. The rest of him was big too, he must have weighed at least three hundred pounds although he carried it well, his large stomach held at bay by a thick, black belt.
