To Find a Killer

by Charlie Vogel

  The back door to the Alibi creaked as it opened. Trout stepped out. He lit a cigarette and turned almost full circle before seeing me. The cigarette waved at our surroundings.

  “Not what you’re used to, I’ll bet.”

  I just stared. He glanced around once more as if assuring himself no one else walked in the alley. I wondered if he was going to kick one of the dumpsters. They looked like something Worm would live in. My stance widened a bit as Trout walked closer, but he stayed in the middle of the alley, as ready to move as I was.

  “So you know a place that has lots of money.”

  “A Stop-and-Go where all the other district stores will bring their deposits.”

  “That so. Tonight?”

  I nodded.

  “Which one?”

  “Who killed my wife?”

  “Tell me the store and the time and I’ll tell you his name.”

  I chuckled then sobered abruptly. “You aren’t thinking right, Trout. No wonder you’re still a small time crook.”

  “Okay, Picasso,” His lip curled with his sarcasm. “How do you know about all this money?”

  My laugh sounded like one of Henry’s when he was disgusted with his lesser minions. I didn’t know if I liked that, but it got Trout’s attention. “Thought you knew all about me. I do have connections and business dealings in this town . . . with people a little more respectable than Fox.” I sobered. “I had breakfast with the district supervisor. He had to brag about reorganizing their deposit system.”

  Trout puffed on his cigarette.

  I drew myself up to leave. “I’m obviously wasting my time.”

  “Wait a minute.”

  “You have something to tell me?”

  “His name’s Bill Turner.”

  “Who the hell is that? Where do I find him?”

  “He works as a security guard at Bison Insurance.”

  Bison again. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  Trout flicked his cigarette butt into a puddle. “You gotta take my word, just like I gotta take yours.”

  I lifted my hands in mock surrender. “The downtown Stop-and-Go. All deposits are to arrive by 6:45 p.m.”

  “It’ll just be sitting around in neat piles, waiting for me. Do I look like a fool?”

  I resisted the temptation to answer that. “It will be counted one last time between 6:45 and 7:00 then it goes into a floor safe.”

  “And the guy who locks it up can’t get it open again. Right?”

  I nodded “So, I guess you better get there before 7:00 . . . Right?”

  * * *

  Lori sprawled on the sofa, watching TV and painting her toe nails with cotton stuffed between her toes. She wore an expensive pair of linen slacks and a filmy blouse, similar to the things Eileen used to buy at Marci’s.

  “Where’s Harry?”

  “The doctors.”

  “Do you know when he’ll be home?”

  “He didn’t say. Just something about the VA docs. ‘They tell you to wait all day then give you two minutes of their time.’ What happened with Trout?”

  “He took the bait. I just hope he doesn’t shoot Harry.”

  “Or vice versa. Did you find out who killed—”

  “I got a name,” I interrupted her. “I’m going to eat a little lunch then pay a visit to Bison Insurance and a man named Bill Turner.”

  She didn’t react to the name, but puckered her lips and blew on the red nails of one foot. “Don’t run off. Roy called a few minutes ago. Said he’s on his way over.”

  I watched her carefully wield the thin brush with its blood red color. My gaze moved to her lips and back to the nail coloring. Do people manufacture that matching color or do women have to waste time doing it themselves? I tried to think of what pigments I would mix to get just that shade. Her hand movement stopped. She stared at me staring at her.

  “Ah, nice color. I, ah, was supposed to meet him at six. Did he say what he wanted?”

  She clicked off the TV before carefully tugging the cotton separators from between her toes. Swinging her legs to the floor she stood up like a cat stretching every muscle of its body. Her arms and hands extending above her head pushed her breasts against the thin blouse material. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

  “All dressed up and no place to go.” There was that seductive smile again. “Why don’t I borrow your car and make that trip to Bison Insurance. I could, oh, fill out a job application and ask for Bill Turner.” She stepped up close, her arms sliding up around my neck. “I think I might be less obvious than you, Bobby Boy.”

  I blew out a tense breath. Why did God give some women the gift to manipulate men . . . and the men let them do it? Well, this man won’t let this woman do it.

  “I guess that sounds like a better idea than my barging in and choking the life out of the sonofabitch.”

  She cocked her head side to side. “You wouldn’t get within ten feet of him, before he took off.”

  I pulled her arms from my neck and retreated to the kitchen. Building a bologna sandwich and pouring orange juice occupied my hands.

  “Bob,” Lori called from the living room, “why do you find me so unattractive?”

  I stood at the counter staring at the sandwich. It needed mustard. After applying that, I forced myself to take a big bite. How could I tell a young thing like Lori that I saw her as a velvet petaled violet in an onion patch, an aging onion patch. In reality, she had no business squirming around a den of filthy-minded vipers.

  “You can’t answer me can you?” she called out.

  Deciding to hold my ground in the kitchen, I swallowed the last of the sandwich. “There’s several things going on here, Lori. I’m like . . . twenty years older than you. And I’m still in love with my wife. For God’s sake, I dream about her every single night. All that will pass with time . . . and getting this whole thing . . . over. You are so beautiful that, well . . . someday I want to paint you so that no one will ever know you were ever a whore—”

  “So that’s it!” she appeared at the door, her eyes wide with anger. “You don’t want anything to really do with me, because I’m a goddamn whore.”

  “That’s not it. And you aren’t a whore any more. Remember? That’s in the past. Forgotten. My point is Eileen is still with me.” I stared at the surface of the juice like it was the surface of the lake in my dream. “The dreams. I’m in this boat with her, fishing or rowing or sometimes digging at the water as if it were dirt. Eileen sits in the other end of the boat watching me, expecting me to do something. I never figure out what she wants—”

  “Goddamn you, Norris!” She turned to press her forehead against the kitchen doorway, her little sobs sounding like a cat mewing. “I can’t count the number of men I took to bed. Here I have to fall in love with a crazy one who doesn’t even want to kiss me! I guess that makes me . . . crazy, too.”

  My heart rolled in my chest and fell into my stomach. I almost dropped the glass. “You love me? Ah, please Lori, please don’t do this. I can’t feel, can’t think, can’t be really sane, I guess, while Eileen’s still with me.”

  She looked at me out of tear-swollen eyes, so full of pain and disbelief that a lump came to my throat. “Bob, she’s not here. You have to get on with living . . . every moment. That’s how anybody survives the bad stuff, me included. Enjoy the now. Enjoy . . . me.”

  For a moment I couldn’t breath. “The now, huh?” I echoed. “I guess that’s just it. My now is getting this killer. Everything I’ve done so far has been for that one purpose.”

  She swiped at her eyes. “I get it. Harry was there and he was what you needed. I fell into your plan as . . . a good cover. I’m not stupid, Norris. The streets have made me a lot older than my driver’s license says. And another thing they taught me. Patience. So stick that in your fat wallet and wash it down with that piss beer you like so much!”

  “I hate—”

  A solid knock stopped me from saying “that beer.” Lori motioned
for me to answer the door while she cleaned her face at the sink.

  Roy entered the minute I opened the door. “What brings you here?”

  “What you said on the phone. It bothered me.”

  Lori breezed by as we settled at the table. Roy’s eyebrows rose in appreciation, but he forgot her as he looked at me.

  “What exactly do you have going, Norris?”

  Knowing he didn’t mean Lori, I outlined my plans for Trout.

  He shook his head. “You might have an entrapment set up. We’ll have to do this carefully to make it work . . . and stick. I’ll tell the judge an informant told me of a possible holdup, but I won’t say anything about you planning it. Your name can never be mentioned in this crime.”

  “That’ll be easy. This is Harry’s store. I’ve never even been in this one. But, once Trout’s arrested, how are you going to keep him quiet. He’ll want to point fingers, won’t he?”

  “One step at a time. There are ways.” He stood up and unbuttoned his shirt.

  “What the hell—”

  “My bullet-proof vest.” Velcro rasped apart and he shrugged out of the heavy protection. He laid it on the table and put his shirt back on. “Harry should wear it.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ve got an extra stashed under my spare tire. That tire covers a lot of police junk. Right handy.”

  I followed him to the Ford Taurus parked in the alley entrance, as if ready for a get away. Once we hit the street, he went into a comparison of grades of Marijuana. I nodded a lot. After opening his trunk, he positioned me to block the view from the Laundromat across the way. Then he pulled aside the tire and shrugged into the replacement vest. I glimpse a riot helmet, nightstick, and shotgun, as well as a box of rubber gloves. Beat ‘em off or shoot off a load, but don’t touch ‘em without protection. Hm, kind of like the battle between men and women. Lori’s image blinked across my mind, but Roy conveniently changed his subject so I had something else to think about.

  “You got anything else to do this afternoon?”

  “I’m without a car, so I guess not. Why?”

  “Want to ride with me? Might do my reputation some good to have Picasso at my side.”

  “Sounds interesting. Why not!”

  “Wait a minute. You ride with me, as in stay in the car whenever I get out to talk to anybody. You only get out when invited. Understand?”

  * * *

  We visited several bars. I went inside at each one, Roy holding the door for me, like I was somebody special, which was exactly the impression he wanted. He ordered beer, but always toyed with it, instead of drinking. He cautioned me to do the same. Since none of the places carried the imports, it was easy to follow his lead.

  The man’s eyes constantly moved, looking over people, dark corners, movement, traffic, store fronts and sidewalks. Three times he escorted me to the car then returned to the bar to talk to some scuzzy informant, usually in the bathroom.

  * * *

  In the last bar, I caught the reflection of the slanting sun on the glass door as it opened. My watch said 6:20. I tugged on Roy’s sleeve to get his attention. He leaned toward me.

  “Trout will be at the Stop-and-Go in fifteen minutes.”

  “Let’s get moving.”

  We parked across the street. I reached for the door handle.

  “Stay in the car, asshole. That’s Trout’s van half-way down the block, isn’t it?”

  I stared at the vehicle and suddenly remembered seeing it across the street from the Stop-and-Go where Eileen died. This time it blocked an alley and sat empty, no shadowy figures waiting. My heart began to thunder.

  Roy had his binoculars out. “Trout’s at the coolers. Long raincoat on, probably covering that shotgun of his. There’s one, two customers. He’s watching them. Looks nervous. One’s paying. The other is stepping up. There. He’s paid and is coming out the door. Trout is easing up toward the counter.”

  I couldn’t understand why he sounded so calm and mater-of-fact, while I felt ready to jump out of my skin.

  “I’ll let him get the money, then I’ll move in. You stay here and watch. If Trout shoots or doesn’t drop to the ground when I yell, you call for back-up.”

  “What? Me?”

  He dropped the binoculars, pulled the radio from under the dash, and shoved it in my hands.

  “Push this button.”

  “What do I say?”

  “Help. Then say ‘Frank sixteen,’ release the button, and listen for an answer. Keep it up until you get the dispatcher’s return.”

  “‘Help.’ I can do that.”

  He pulled the biggest gun I had ever seen from under his denim vest. Desert Eagle. That’s what Harry had called it. It looked expensive and deadly. Roy opened his door and dropped to a crouch.

  I fumbled with the binoculars, but finally got them focused on the check-out counter. Trout stood in front of it, the shotgun propped on his hip. Harry placed several bank pouches into a large grocery bag sitting on the counter.

  My heart climbed into my throat as Trout scooped the bag in one arm and brandished the shotgun with the other. He backed to the glass doors then charge through. I swept the tight area looking for Roy. He stood pressed to the rear of the van. Unawares, Trout ran toward him.

  “Stop! Police!”

  My brain shifted into slow-motion. Trout swung the shotgun barrel up. A firecracker popped, immediately followed by a cannon boom. Trout flew backwards then flopped to the ground, motionless. Roy walked passed the side of the van, his Desert Eagle still aimed at Trout.

  My shaking hand gripped the radio. I pressed the button, startled at the loud click. Roy had said “If he shoots or doesn’t hit the ground.” Since both had happened, I released the button. Better that Roy make the call. He didn’t want my name involved and neither did I.

  Harry ran up to Roy and pounded him on the back. My stomach rolled.

  Chapter 13

  Harry came out of his bedroom earlier than Lori and I expected. A coffee mug swung carelessly from his fingertips. He set it on the table for Lori to fill before sitting down himself. I eyed the cup. It had a V.F.W. emblem on the side.

  “Didn’t know you were a joiner.” I indicated the cup.

  “I ain’t. They were handing them out at the hospital yesterday.”

  Dressed in that football jersey she favored, Lori wiggled into a chair, pulled her knees up, set her chin on her knees, and stared at Harry with big, expectant eyes. She looked like a little girl ready for a storyteller to open a book. When Harry didn’t seem ready to spill his guts, she prodded him. “So, you didn’t have to work the night shift?”

  “Nope. The cops finished by ten, but the district supervisor had me lock up at midnight, kind of like getting the night off for doing a good job.”

  “Well, you didn’t . . .” I stammered. “Roy was the one—”

  “Not that. Supervisor didn’t care about the shooting. He was just glad he didn’t have to use the money he brought to re-open the store.” A grin twitched around his lips as he played with us.

  “Trout didn’t take it all?”

  For a moment his eyes narrowed at me. “What Trout took the cops claimed as evidence, just like I thought they would. So, I made sure Trout didn’t take any of my goddamn money.”

  “Harry!” Lori pouted. “Will you cut it out and just tell us what happened. Bob was there. I wasn’t. I got a right, ya know! I, ah, I made sure you put on that friggin’ vest, didn’t I?”

  He raised his hand to quiet her.

  “I found this big box of play money in the stock room. Supposed to use it for some advertising thing coming up. I just took the real money out of each store’s pouch and put that in the safe. The play money went in the pouches. Damn cops wanted to know how I knew to do that. I told ‘em I had been held up a while back and I wasn’t about to let any sonofabitch get a dime off me again. Too much at stake this time. A hunch, I called it. I had one hellaciously happy boss, I can tell you that!” />
  He grinned at Lori. I thought for a minute she was going to clap her hands in delight. Bouncing in the chair was bad enough, with that jersey and no bra. I shook my head to get back to Harry.

  “So you came off a hero. I’m glad.”

  “No thanks to you, but I guess Roy saved us all a big hassle.”

  “That’s not why he shot Trout. It was self-defense.”

  “If it makes you happy, you go right ahead and believe that.”

  I glanced from him to Lori and back. “He wouldn’t . . . I mean, I saw it. You saw it.”

  “Yep. Damn clean shot. Good aim. Deliberate like.”

  I shivered. Deliberate. And you set it up, Norris.

  “On a brighter note, guys, I got a job at Bison, in the mail room,” Lori interjected.

  Like two disbelieving idiots, we stared at her. Her happy expression turned defensive.

  “It was the clothes. And that clean make-up crap. All right? I looked like some fresh-faced, All-American girl and they hired me. Since I had no job references, the mail room was all I could get. Shut your mouths! You’re both catching flies!”

  “No, no, Lori! That’s great. Really.” I tried to cover up my male stupidity. “When do you start?”

  “Monday morning. And I found out about Bill Turner. He’s not real popular. Kinda the company asshole. Eileen never mentioned him?”

  “She didn’t bring the company business home, just like I didn’t talk school. I think she said more in that last car ride . . .” I hesitated as the painful memory shot through me. Looking up into Lori’s understanding gaze, I regrouped and continued. “She talked about her suspicions and that she had to make that call. No, she never mentioned Turner and didn’t recognize him, I . . . don’t think.”

  “He was wearing a mask and it all happened so quick. She never knew . . . Well, you know,” Harry tried to reassure me once again.

  “Yeah, she didn’t know him, but now . . . I do.” My finger tip traced the rim of my cup as I thought over some alternatives for her killer. Harry had talked about using explosives in Nam. No, that would be too quick. Turner had to suffer, slow, screaming—