Sucker Punch

by Marc Strange

  When I get back to the street, Gritch is waving goodbye to the woman as she drives away. He comes back to the car lighting a fresh cigar. “You find out where Neagle’s moving to?”

  “Nope,” I say.

  He smirks and puffs. “I did.”

  We get in the car and I fire up the engine. “Well?”

  “You’ll love this. The legal beagle’s moving into the Horizon Building.”

  “I should know where that is?”

  “It’s where Edwin Gowins hangs out.”

  “And he is…?”

  Gritch looks at me as if I’m a moron. “He’s one of the head snakes, slugger. You’re going to need a crash course in how the Prescott empire was set up.”

  “I don’t care about the Prescott empire,” I say. “I want to collect a $16.45 bar tab.”

  chapter twelve

  Back at the hotel, I have visitors. Both brothers. Lenny and Theo. Lenny is with Margo in Lloyd Gruber’s office. I can see him through the glass partition giving her a hard time. Theo is in the lobby, pacing around the big rug. Theo is the larger of the two brothers, overweight the way rich people are overweight, with good tailoring and no wrinkles. He always looks as if he’s just had a trim and gives off the faint scent of an expensive barbershop.

  “Grundy,” he says when he sees me coming in, “what the hell happened?”

  “Guest got shot last night, Mr. Alexander. You probably read about it.” I hold out the newspaper.

  “I’ve seen that piece-of-shit rag,” he says. “I mean, weren’t you supposed to be looking after that guy?”

  “Not exactly. I wasn’t his bodyguard. I tried to keep an eye on his money —”

  “And you blew that one, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir, someone robbed him.”

  “And shot him.”

  “And shot him, too.”

  Then the other brother, Lenny, comes stalking out of Margo’s office. The tough one of the pair, he’s a bit short, wears leather jackets, swings his shoulders a lot as if he’s loosening up for a fight. He smells of Brut.

  “Hey, Grundy, you really blew it this time, didn’t you?”

  Not much point in arguing.

  “I guess so, sir.”

  “You guess so. If you didn’t have the old man on your side, I’d fire your ass out of here so quick your eyes would water.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do one thing,” Theo says. “Make damn sure none of the hotel staff was involved in the shooting. If this was an outside job, that’s one thing, but if we have a murderer on staff here, we might as well close the place down.”

  “That I can do, Mr. Alexander. I’m sure no one here was involved in the shooting.”

  “Prove it,” Theo says, “to everybody’s satisfaction. Old man or no old man, you’re hanging by a thread here, Grundy.”

  With that said the two brothers depart the lobby, staying as far away from each other as they can and exiting by separate doors. They leave me standing in the middle of the big carpet feeling my arms hanging down, fighting the impulse to curl my fingers into cudgels, digesting my medicine, not sure which of the two brothers I’d enjoy dropping more. Probably Lenny.

  After a minute, Gritch comes up to me from wherever he disappeared to. “Arnie hasn’t shown.”

  “Keeps getting better and better,” I say. “How about Dan?”

  “The cops let him go home.”

  “You should go home, too.”

  “Yeah, yeah, and miss all the action? I paid for my ticket. What did the brothers want?”

  “Make sure I knew I blew it.”

  “I guess they told you.”

  “Sure did.”

  “Straighten up and fly right.”

  I start walking towards the office. “Mostly, make sure nobody from here pulled the trigger.”

  “Any question of that?”

  “If somebody brought you coffee filled with sleeping pills, that would have to be one of us, don’t you think? Who else knew you were getting coffee? Who knew where you were?”

  “Who’s first on the list?”

  “Phil Marsden.”

  The cops have already gotten to Phil Marsden, and he’s fed up. We track him down outside the main kitchen and take him into one of the pantries to talk, and he isn’t happy about that, either.

  “If I’d known how much trouble that little shit was going to be, I would have told him to shove his hundred-dollar tip the first time. You think I haven’t had a hundred-dollar tip before? I haven’t served some rich people before? I looked after Bette Midler last time she was here. I took care of Pavarotti, for Christ’s sake. I’ve had so many hundred-dollar tips, better than hundred-dollar tips. I’m not impressed by hundred-dollar bills.”

  “Even a suitcase full?” I ask.

  “I never saw the damn suitcase. All I saw was a bunch of C-notes fanned out on the bureau. I don’t know anything about any suitcase. To hear the cop’s version I’m in there like Al Capone blasting away in the middle of the night.”

  “Okay, calm down a second. I need to know what happened at the end of your shift. You had a Thermos of coffee for 1507, for Gritch, right?”

  “Right.”

  “What did you do with that?”

  “I gave it to Arnie.”

  “Arnie?” I say. “What was Arnie doing here? He went home around ten.”

  “He was in the hallway on fifteen when I went up.”

  “What the hell’s Arnie doing in the hallway at one-thirty in the morning?” Gritch demands.

  “How should I know?” Phil says. “Scrounging leftovers off room-service trays. He gives me the creeps.”

  “So you gave him the coffee and then you went home?” I ask.

  “When I get up there, Arnie’s in the hallway. He says, ‘Who’s the coffee for?’ I say it’s for Gritch. He says he’ll take it. He wants to talk to Gritch. I say okay, but I still have to get that room-service thing from Buznardo. He says Buznardo’s in the other suite with the musicians. So I go there and Buznardo’s nice as pie and they drag me inside for a few minutes.”

  “Had a beer?” Gritch asks.

  “Yeah, I had a beer, so what? Big biker dude practically forced it on me. So, anyway, after that they’re all deciding who’s going where, and he, the guy, says he’s going to take a pass, long day, yada yada, have a nice time, and he walks me back down the hall to the other suite.”

  “Arnie still around?”

  “Long gone unless he was in talking to you.”

  “Nope,” Gritch says.

  “Anyway,” Phil continues, after a sigh of the deeply put upon, “the guy goes inside, comes out with the signed tab, says he’ll have to tip me tomorrow. He must have given his loose cash to his sister or something. I say that’s cool, some other time, and get the elevator and go back down. Ten minutes later I’m on my way home.”

  “No, you’re not,” Gritch says. “You went to play poker in the chlorine casino off the laundry room.”

  “For an hour maybe. It’s just a little friendly game.”

  “I know about your Monday night poker game, Phil,” I say. “And the Friday night one, too. Did you tell the police?”

  “No.”

  “You told them you went straight home?”

  “It was just an hour or so.”

  “It was just a lie to the police, which they don’t like because it makes them have to check things all over again. They’re questioning everybody who was working last night. Pretty soon they’ll get around to the night cleaning staff and one of them will say, ‘Yeah, we were playing our regular little Monday night poker game in the laundry room kitchen.’ And the cops will say, ‘Who all was there?’ Then your name will get mentioned and they’ll be all over you again.”

  “But I didn’t do anything.”

  “See, I’m on your side and I’m making you sweat.”

  Gritch says, “The cops will take you downtown and make you sit in a room by yourself for an hour, and prett
y soon you’ll be telling them about more than poker. They’ll hear about the escort service you’re affiliated with and the two women you ushered up to 903 around midnight.”

  “Hippie high-rolling asshole,” Phil says. “If I’d known how much trouble that skinny little shithead —”

  “We heard that already, Phil,” I say. “What you do now is find Weed, or one of his detectives, and tell him about the poker game. Then tell him you told me all about it.”

  “And maybe they won’t roast your ass,” Gritch says.

  Phil goes off in a hurry to search for Weed.

  That leaves us with Arnie, who hasn’t been seen since last night and was supposed to come in at nine. It’s eleven-thirty now. I figure the cops must have picked him up and taken him to the station for questioning. They aren’t about to let him roam free for that long unless he’s on the run and they’re chasing him.

  Back in my office, I call Arnie’s place and talk to his girlfriend, Janine. Arnie has been separated for three years, but he isn’t divorced yet.

  “Janine? It’s Joe Grundy. How are you?”

  “How am I? You want to know how I am? I’ve had the police here since nine-thirty this morning. They had a search warrant. They practically tore the house apart looking for something. I’m sitting in the middle of this disaster area. It looks like a hurricane went through here. What gives them the right to just throw things any which way they please and never offer to pick anything up?”

  “Where’s Arnie, Janine?” I look over at Gritch. He’s grabbing the end of his tie and pretending to hang himself.

  “I don’t know. I gave the cops every place I could think of — the hotel, his mother’s place in Duncan. What did he do? What’s going on? The news said there was a shooting. Jesus Christ, did he shoot somebody?”

  “We’re just trying to find him, Janine, and make sure he’s okay.”

  “Will you call me when you find him?”

  “Of course. And if he calls you, tell him to get in touch right away.”

  “That’s what the head cop said. He left a card. Sergeant Weed.”

  “I know him. He’s a good man.”

  “Joe, did Arnie do something bad?”

  “I don’t know what happened, Janine. I really don’t. I’ll make sure he calls you.”

  Janine is a small woman. I can see her sitting in the middle of the chaos left behind by the cops searching their home, wondering where to start cleaning, wondering what’s happened.

  “Arnie’s taken off,” I tell Gritch.

  “Shit,” Gritch says. “There goes my shift rotation.”

  “We’re going to need some bodies around here.”

  “Dan’s coming back for the evening,” Gritch says, “if his wife hasn’t killed him. Or his other lady.”

  “You’re going to need some rest yourself.”

  “Later. I’ll go home, grab a few hours, put on my other suit, and come back.”

  “Remember that woman who worked here last year?” I ask. “She was good.”

  “Rachel?”

  “That’s the one. Rachel Golden. Number’s in the desk. Remember her?”

  “She said the crease in my pants left something to be desired.”

  “She’s ex-army and highly qualified.”

  “Yeah,” he says grudgingly, “she’s competent.”

  “Let’s see if she can come in and take over Arnie’s spot.”

  “Stupid bastard.”

  “Arnie?”

  “Who else?” Gritch says.

  The phone rings.

  “Joe Grundy?”

  “Yep.”

  “Connie Gagliardi, Channel 20 NewsWatch. I think we bumped into each other last night. You’re semi-huge, aren’t you?”

  “I suppose I am. But then you’re rather petite as I recall. I’m sure the height differential is exaggerated.”

  “Nah. You’re a big’un. Anyway, the reason I called is I’d like to interview you for the six o’clock NewsWatch. How about it?”

  Gritch is looking through the desk for Rachel Golden’s telephone number. I cover the mouthpiece. “It’s in the left-hand drawer,” I tell him. Then into the phone I say, “I’m pretty busy, Ms. Gagliardi.”

  Gritch glances up at the mention of her name, then waggles his pudgy hand, telling me she’s hot stuff.

  “It won’t take but a minute,” she says. “We can be down there in no time at all.”

  “I really can’t say anything at this stage. We’re still trying to figure out exactly what happened.”

  “One of your staff has gone missing, isn’t that right?”

  That makes me wince. I hope it isn’t common knowledge yet. “You’ll have to talk to the police,” I say. “Sergeant Weed…”

  “Oh, come on, Joe. You don’t mind if I call you Joe? I’ve been all over the police and they’re sick of my voice. Weed’s very polite, but as forthcoming as a clam. Just five minutes with you. That’s all I need.”

  Gritch has located Rachel Golden’s phone number in the left-hand drawer. One of these days I’m going to tackle the filing system in here.

  “I don’t have time right now, Ms. Gagliardi.”

  “Call me Connie.”

  “Okay, Connie, but I still don’t have time right now. You can probably guess that we’re dealing with a whole bunch of things. Our system is all out of whack.”

  “Because one of your guys is on the lam?”

  “I don’t know if that’s the case,” I say.

  “The police have his description on top of their be-on-the-lookout-for list.”

  “Well,” I say, “you obviously know more than I do. All I know is I have fires to put out and people to report to. Maybe I could see you later, tomorrow sometime.”

  “It’ll be old news by then, big guy.”

  “You never know.”

  “I’ll stay in touch,” she says. “I’m not finished bugging you yet.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  Gritch waves Rachel’s phone number as if he’s fanning himself. “Oooh-la-la. Personal interview?”

  “Be careful or I’ll sic her on you. Give me that.” I grab the card with the phone number from him. It’s legible. Just. “You getting hungry yet?”

  “I could eat.”

  “Get us something from the café. Tell Hattie I’ll have a BLT.” I stand up and put the card in my pocket. “I’d better tell Margo about Arnie.”

  Gritch leaves his cigar to die in the ashtray and I finish putting it out but don’t flush it because there’s a good two inches of toxic material left for him to enjoy. Then I give Rachel Golden a call.

  “Sure,” she says. “Give me two hours to get there.”

  “You’re saving my life,” I say.

  “It’s mutual. I can’t play golf, I don’t know dick about begonias, and my husband’s just decided to remodel the bathroom. Get me out of here!”

  chapter thirteen

  “Aw, shit!” Margo says. “Shit, shit, shit!” She seems to be getting the hang of it.

  “It’s my fault, Margo,” I say. “I blew it. I’m the one who sent Arnie up to watch the money.”

  “There’ll be enough blame to go around. Once Lloyd gets back from cruising the Caribbean I’ll be out on my ear. The brothers want to get rid of our whole set-up and bring in a private security company.”

  “Mr. Alexander won’t stand for it.”

  “He might. He doesn’t like to get involved in the day-today.” She shuffles papers. “What a mess. Redhorn’s checked out. You’d think they’d have been happy for all the free publicity. We’ve had four big cancellations. Two conventions gone. Why couldn’t some stranger have murdered the guy?”

  “Arnie didn’t murder him.” I say, hoping I sound convincing.

  When I return to the office, Gritch is back with the food and on the phone.

  “He wants to talk to you,” he says, handing me the receiver.

  “Joe? Is that you?”

  “Arnie? W
here are you?”

  “I didn’t do it, Joe. I swear.”

  “That’s good to know, Arnie. Where are you?”

  “I’ve got cops after me for murder, Joe. I didn’t shoot anybody. I just heard about it this morning on the news. I didn’t do it. You know who did it?”

  “Who?”

  “No, that’s what I’m asking.”

  “If you didn’t do it, then I don’t know who did it, Arnie.”

  “That’s what I’m saying, because I didn’t do it.”

  “Then why did you run away?”

  “Because they think I did it and I definitely didn’t do it.”

  “Didn’t do what?”

  “I didn’t shoot the guy.”

  “But you took his money.”

  He doesn’t answer. I cover the mouthpiece, look over at Gritch, and mouth the words, “You know where he is?”

  Gritch shrugs and shakes his head. I signal him to pick up the other phone.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Arnie says in my ear.

  “You took the money, didn’t you?” I say.

  “Stupid.”

  “Was Buznardo there when you took it?”

  “No, he was down at the other end of the hall with those musicians. The room was empty.”

  “Where was I?”

  “Listening to music.”

  “I was down the hall, too?”

  “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. You went down the hall and they invited you in. I waited a minute and then I said, ‘What the fuck! I’m going for it.’ Then I went in and there it was, behind the couch.”

  “What did you do with it?”

  “Brought it back to the room and stuck it under the bed.”

  “Under the bed?” I glance at Gritch, who spreads his palms, indicating where else? “And you left it there?” I ask Arnie.

  “Yeah. All I needed was a minute to get it out of there. Who’s going to look under the bed?”

  “What about the cash on the bureau? There was thousands of dollars there.”

  “I never saw it. Maybe I missed it. I just grabbed the briefcase.”

  “What did you do to Gritch’s coffee?”

  “Janine has a prescription for lorazepam, which I was supposed to fill, anyway. I went to the drugstore in the Arcade. That’s where I usually go. I put some in the coffee pot.”