Die Laughing: 5 Comic Crime Novels

by Steve Brewer

  “It’s Nick,” she said. “I’m afraid he’s going to mess everything up and lose his stake in the Starlite.”

  Big Jim smiled. “And you have plans for his share.”

  “It’s crossed my mind to end up with it, one way or the other.”

  “Has he asked you to marry him?”

  Lola smiled. “Not yet.”

  “Sounds like a pig in a poke, if you’ll excuse the expression.”

  Shamu snorted. Sometimes Big Jim cracked him up.

  Lola Cantrell flushed and knitted her brow, like she wasn’t sure whether Big Jim was calling her a pig or a poke or what, but she forged ahead.

  “Somebody needs to take over the Starlite and keep it operating. Nick’s too distracted with his insurance claim and these deaths—”

  “What deaths?”

  “His accountant. And that pawnbroker in San Francisco that I phoned you about the other day.”

  “That pawnbroker turned up dead? Huh, I hadn’t heard anything about that.” Big Jim looked over her head and said, “Have you, Shamu?”

  Shamu grunted.

  “See there?” Big Jim said. “Nobody told us. Are you sure you’ve got this right?”

  Lola frowned. “That’s what Nick said, that Leo Berg was dead. I thought there might be a connection—”

  “Like maybe I was responsible for his death?”

  She hesitated, then nodded.

  “Now, Lola, you know me better than that. I’m no murderer. I’m a businessman. Looking after my own interests.” He leaned toward her with a knowing smile. “Just like everyone else.”

  “I guess that’s why I’m here,” she said. “To make sure I understand what your interests are. I don’t want to step on your toes, fumbling around. If there are ways we can help each other—”

  “Tell me about Tony Zinn.” Big Jim’s leering expression didn’t change, but his tone went deadly.

  “I don’t know that name. Is he a friend of Nick’s?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I don’t know him. I came to tell you about the men in the masks.”

  Big Jim grinned at Shamu. “This gets better and better. Masks?”

  “These men jumped us at Nick’s house. They wore masks and they had guns. Nick said it was all a misunderstanding, some business deal gone sour, but I didn’t believe that. Guns? Over a business deal?”

  “When was this?”

  “Last night. They locked me in the bathroom, so all I saw were the masks. Nick knew who they were right away. He tried to make a big show of being a hero, standing up to them, but I could tell it was a sham.”

  Big Jim chuckled.

  “Men,” she said. “So damned predictable.”

  “And women so unpredictable!”

  “I knew you were going to say that.”

  Big Jim laughed loudly and slapped the top of his desk. Shamu flinched at the noise. His eyes felt like they might pop right out of his throbbing head.

  “I guess,” Lola said, “that one of those men in the masks could’ve been this Tony person.”

  That snapped Shamu out of his misery. He lunged across the office and grabbed a handful of Lola Cantrell’s spun-sugar hair.

  “Tony Zinn was here in Fowler?” he roared. “Last night?”

  “Ow! Hey! I said it could’ve been him. I don’t know that.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Let go—”

  He yanked her head backward and stuck his face inches from hers, baring his teeth. “Tell me where he is, bitch.”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Turn her loose, Shamu! I’m handling this.”

  All the yelling made Shamu’s head pound. Wrestling her around had caused the painful slice across his chest to open up, too. A stripe of blood seeped to the surface of his blue T-shirt. He let go of her hair and turned away.

  “Jesus,” Big Jim said. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Shamu stalked out of the office, shutting the door behind him. Let Big Jim play games with the blonde. Shamu would prowl the streets of Fowler, hunting Tony Zinn.

  Chapter 49

  Tony was up seventeen dollars by the time Shamu finally appeared on the gaming floor at Rancho Palomino. He’d been parked at the slot machine so long, he’d become part of the furniture. Just another trucker in his mesh-back cap, unkempt beard and a loose plaid shirt that hung off his slumped shoulders.

  The beard itched.

  He kept his head down, the bill of the cap shading his eyes, as the bodyguard emerged from a door marked “Administration.” It gave Tony a little thrill to see the big purple lump on Shamu’s forehead; he’d marked the man with that bottle of zinfandel.

  Shamu stalked to the lobby and out into the blinding sunshine. A man on a mission.

  Tony relaxed and hit the button on his slot machine again. Back to watching for Big Jim Kelton. Better now, not worrying all the time that Shamu was swimming up behind him.

  Three minutes later, a blonde swathed in red sashayed out of the administration door. Same blonde they’d locked in the bathroom at Nick’s place the night before.

  Lola.

  She blew a kiss back over her shoulder, playing cute, as Big Jim came through the door behind her. He winked and cackled as she sauntered away. Creep.

  Tony ducked his head as another familiar face, the hangdog cowboy from the apartment remodel rodeo, came from the direction of the cashiers.

  “Fetch the car, Rex,” Big Jim said. “We’re gonna go see Nick the Greek.”

  “Next door?”

  “No, you nimrod. At his house. Why do you think we need the car?”

  Rex hurried away.

  Big Jim walked toward Lucky’s Corral, a neon-lit bar wedged into a corner of the casino. A bartender waited for him, a clipboard in his hand.

  Time to go. Tony put his cell phone to his ear and, when Ross answered the speed-dial, said, “Front door.”

  “I’m already there. To your left.”

  Tony kept the phone to his ear as he passed the glossy palomino posed in the lobby. A janitor whistled to himself as he brushed the dead horse with a feather duster.

  Two thick-necked valets manned the unloading zone outside the front door. As Tony passed them, he spotted Ross in the Toyota, idling at the curb half a block away. A long black Cadillac sharked past and pulled up to the casino entrance. Its door cracked open and a cowboy hat rose up from behind the wheel.

  “Hey,” Rex shouted. “Tell Mr. Kelton I’m out here waitin’.”

  One of the valets hustled to the door, but met Big Jim already coming outside. The big boss strode to the black car as Rex got back behind the wheel.

  Tony ducked into the passenger’s side of the Toyota and immediately began peeling off the itchy beard.

  “What’s up?” Ross asked.

  “Follow that car.”

  “Damn. I’ve always wanted to say that.”

  “I know.”

  Chapter 50

  Nick Papadopoulos was still at home, nursing a pounder of a hangover. His stomach churned from a breakfast of coffee, aspirin and cigarettes. He’d showered and dressed already, but he couldn’t face the Starlite, couldn’t face the endless questions from the cops and the insurance company and his own employees. All he wanted was some peace and quiet.

  Naturally, the frigging doorbell rang. He went to the door in his stocking feet, and reached for the doorknob, but caught himself. Be smart. He looked through the peephole. Big Jim Kelton and his dog Rex stood on the stoop, hands on their hips, hats on their heads, matching grim expressions on their faces. At least they didn’t have Shamu with them.

  Rex whammed on the door again while Nick had his cheek pressed against it. Not helping his headache.

  He opened the door and said, “What do you want?”

  “That’s no way to greet a neighbor,” Big Jim said.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  Big Jim grinned. “That’s better. We need to talk. Why don’t you invite
us inside?”

  “Where’s Shamu?”

  “Running errands. Why am I standing out here on your porch like a Jehovah’s Witness? You letting us in or not?”

  Nick stepped aside. Big Jim went into the living room and made himself at home on the sofa, but Rex said to Nick, “After you.”

  Before he’d taken two steps, Nick recognized the sound of a pistol being pulled from a leather holster. So he wasn’t surprised when he turned and found Rex pointing a Colt revolver at his gut.

  Nick walked over to Big Jim, saying, “What’s the deal?”

  “Got a few questions for you.”

  “You need a gun for that?”

  “Want to be sure you’ll cooperate.”

  “I’m sick of questions.”

  “You’ll be a lot sicker if Rex shoots you.”

  “I might be better off.”

  He fell into an armchair facing Big Jim.

  “Hey, Rex,” Nick said. “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and get us some coffee?”

  Rex glared at him with bloodshot eyes, and shifted the pistol so it aimed at Nick’s face. Big Jim interrupted their standoff, trying to catch Nick off-guard.

  “Tell me how you set up the robbery.”

  Big Jim displayed a steely smile that probably worked when he scolded his employees or sweated worthless gamblers, but Nick snorted.

  “Tell me how you used Leo Berg as an intermediary,” Big Jim said. “How he put you in touch with a guy from Frisco named Tony Zinn. How Zinn and his boys pulled the stunt with the armored car.”

  Nick kept the surprise off his face, but just barely. Big Jim was farther along than he’d feared.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Big Jim laughed, but his eyes were hard.

  “I hear Tony Zinn and his people are in Fowler,” he said. “That they might be cooking up something else here.”

  “Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Are you in touch with them? Are they working with you?”

  “I don’t know any Tony Zinn.”

  Big Jim stood and strolled around the room, touching the furniture, like he was deciding whether to buy it.

  “You used to know plenty,” he said. “Back east, you knew all the hijackers and gun-runners and low-level mobsters. Right?”

  Nick smiled at him. “Some who were not so low-level.”

  “Right, sure. Big shots back there. But you know what? That don’t mean squat out here in the desert. Out here, a man’s gotta take care of things himself. It’s a matter of survival.”

  “Hm-mm.”

  “‘Nicky Pop-pop,’ that’s what they called you, right?”

  Nick said nothing.

  “You still got the cojones for that kind of work, Nick?”

  Still he said nothing. Rex took a menacing step toward him.

  “The man asked you a quest—”

  “Shut the fuck up, Rex,” Nick said, “before I take that gun away from you and shove it up your ass.”

  Rex blinked furiously and his fingers tightened on the revolver, but he didn’t make a sound.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” Big Jim said. “That sounds like ‘Nicky Pop-pop’ to me. Still got grit. Still ready to pull a trigger.”

  Nick thinking: I’d pull the trigger all right, if I had a gun in my hand right now. Get Big Jim Kelton out of my face once and for all.

  “These robbers think they can screw around in my town,” Big Jim said. “Shamu’s out there right now, roaming the strip, looking for them. He finds those guys, he’ll tear their heads off and chew their neckbones.”

  Kelton paused, eyebrows arched. Nick gave him back impassive.

  “They’re hiding somewhere,” Big Jim said. “They’re like prairie dogs. Shamu won’t find ‘em unless they pop their little heads up out of their holes. But a man like you, Nick, a man with your experience, could ferret ‘em out.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Lots of attention being paid to our casinos,” Big Jim said. “All the cops and insurance assholes. It all started when those jerkoffs drove away from the Starlite with your money. We can’t get back to normal until those boys are dead or in jail.”

  Big Jim displayed his oily smile.

  “That’s why you’re coming outta retirement, Nicky Pop-pop. You’re gonna dust off your old skills and go find these thieves and get rid of them.”

  “If I don’t?”

  “Then I pick up the phone,” Big Jim said. “I dial a number. Could be the cops. Could be the insurance company. Could be Bobby Calabrese himself. I say Nick Papadopoulos set up his own casino to be robbed. I give them the Leo Berg connection. I imagine it’ll take ‘em about an hour to sort it all out.”

  Rex snickered.

  “My way’s quieter,” Big Jim said. “Make those crooks go away, and before long, things’ll get back to normal around here.”

  As they headed for the door, Nick spoke up. “How am I supposed to find these guys?”

  “That’s your problem. I’ll give you two days to bring me proof that they’re dead. I’m partial to ears.”

  Nick lit a cigarette after he heard Big Jim’s car crank up and drive away. Then he levered himself up out of his chair and crossed the room. They’d left the front door standing open. He slammed it shut.

  He went to the little cocktail table in the corner and poured a shot of Johnny Walker into a glass.

  Fucking amateurs, everywhere he turned. It was this crappy town. Anybody smart and competent, anybody with balls, would never land here in the first place. A guy like that would be in Vegas or L.A. or New York, making a fortune, awash in babes and booze. Nick didn’t want to think too much about how he landed in Fowler.

  Instead, he entertained revenge fantasies where Nicky Pop-pop makes it all quiet again by snuffing the ones making the noise. He’d happily shoot Big Jim Kelton, if it would solve the problem. He’d gladly turn out Rex’s lights while he was it. And Shamu? Do the world a favor.

  Two raps on the front door. What the hell?

  Nick set his drink down and went to the sofa. He reached under the cushion where Big Jim had been sitting and pulled out the palm-sized pistol he kept there. He jacked the slide, then held the little gun beside his leg as he checked the peephole.

  Tony Zinn was at the door, standing too close, smiling into the fisheye lens.

  “Fucking goofball,” Nick muttered. “What’s he doing here?”

  He threw open the door, and found Tony had taken a step back. The thief had a big black pistol in his hand, pointed at Nick’s belly.

  Chapter 51

  Tony admired Nick’s cool. His black eyebrows bounced once, but otherwise he showed no surprise. He pointed his chin at the Browning semi-automatic in Tony’s hand. “You aiming that at me, or just holding it?”

  “Depends. What are you doing with that one?”

  “This little thing? I could put it in my pocket.”

  “That would be good.”

  Nick made sure the safety was on – he didn’t want to shoot his own nuts off – then dropped the compact pistol into his pocket.

  Tony smiled. “Now what do you say?”

  “Come in?”

  “Very good.”

  Nick backed away from the door, his nylon socks snagging on the carpet. Tony kept the gun pointed his way as he slipped inside and looked around.

  “You’re getting a lot of company this morning, Nick. I didn’t know you entertained at home so much.”

  “I don’t, really. I’m kind of a quiet guy, keeps to himself.”

  “That’s what they always say about ax murderers.”

  Nick shrugged. He’d never used an ax to commit murder, but he could see himself doing it. You do the job with whatever’s handy. He’d once clubbed a man to death with a crystal ashtray.

  “Make yourself a drink,” Nick said.

  “Little early for me.”

  Nick piled into the same armc
hair as before, and lit another cigarette. His drink left a ring on the side table.

  Tony skirted the low furniture and settled on an arm of the sofa, not quite sitting, ready to move, the pistol casually angled Nick’s way.

  “I saw that Big Jim Kelton stopped by for a chat. Had that idiot cowboy with him.”

  Nick nodded.

  “What did they want?”

  “They wanted me to bump you off. You and your whole crew.”

  Tony let that sink in. “On your own.”

  “I used to be in the bumping-off business.”

  “So I’ve heard. Big Jim must be a great believer in your talents if he’d sic you on my whole crew single-handed.”

  Nick grinned. “You don’t think I could manage it?”

  “My guys like to shoot. They’re always after me to let them shoot people.”

  “You tell them no?”

  “My girlfriend has a real thing against the shooting. She doesn’t even like it when we slap people around.”

  “She’s soft-hearted,” Nick said.

  “No, she’s smart. She says people might overlook stealing. It’s just money. People got insurance. But personal injury gets everyone stirred up. So here I am in Fowler, holding a gun. You didn’t keep up your end, Nick. People talked. People died. It got messy.”

  “I didn’t know Big Jim would stick his dick into this thing and stir the pot.”

  “That’s not all he’s stirring with it,” Tony said. “Guess who I saw coming out of his office a little while ago? Your friend Lola. Blew Big Jim a kiss on her way out the door. Soon as she’s gone, he’s got Rex rounding up the Cadillac so they can come over here and yell at you.”

  Nick exhaled smoke. The news didn’t seem to surprise him.

  “So Lola talked to Big Jim,” he said. “What do you think she told him? I didn’t tell her anything about the robbery.”

  “She know about Leo?”

  “No. She knew I went to San Francisco, but as far as she was concerned, it was solely for the trade show.”

  “Maybe she told him about me and my partner stopping by your place. The masks, the guns.”