It Was a Very Bad Year rp-7

by Robert J. Randisi

  ‘And how are you gonna find him?’

  ‘I’m already workin’ on it.’

  ‘I suppose you’re usin’ your pals Jerry and Bardini?’ he asked.

  ‘Among others.’

  Suddenly, Jack’s face changed. He looked away from the two women and directly at me for the first time. Then he put his big hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

  ‘You know, you really came through on this kidnappin’ thing,’ he said. ‘Maybe it’s time to think about givin’ you a promotion.’

  ‘To what?’ I asked. ‘I’m pretty happy with my job, Jack.’ I was hoping he wasn’t thinking about putting me in a position of more authority. I was pretty pleased with the amount of freedom my job gave me.

  ‘Well,’ he said, dropping his hand from my shoulder, ‘it’s just somethin’ we can talk about later.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, ‘later.’

  He turned his attention back to the women. I watched for a few moments, and of the five players at the table, they seemed to be the only ones who were winning consistently.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘But I will.’

  As I walked away from Entratter I saw Jerry coming toward me. He’d changed his shirt and jacket, looked very casual with no tie.

  ‘Hey, Mr G. What’d Mr Entratter want?’

  ‘Just to be filled in. Apparently lawyer Rudin let Jack think he rescued me from the big bad police.’

  ‘Mr Rudin ain’t no criminal guy.’

  ‘No, he’s not,’ I said, ‘but if he wants to think he got me out, let ’im. I don’t care. All I know is we have a small window that’s closing by the minute.’

  We’d spent most of the day driving around, hitting my contacts. We had about thirty-eight hours left.

  ‘So now we just wait?’

  ‘There’s got to be more that we can do than wait,’ I said.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Give me a minute.’

  I figured we could go back to Irwin’s studio and house and search again, but we’d been pretty thorough the last time.

  ‘Irwin owns his house,’ I said, ‘but he doesn’t own the studio. He rents it.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So maybe we should talk to the landlord. Maybe even some of his neighbors. The stores on either side of him.’

  ‘And ask ’em what?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I’m wingin’ it, Jerry. I just don’t want to sit here and wait.’

  ‘OK, then let’s go.’

  SIXTY-SIX

  On the right of Irwin Studios was a T-shirt and gift shop. The grey-haired older lady behind the counter said, ‘I just work here,’ to everything we asked, and Jerry’s size did nothing to intimidate her. Apparently, she’d seen enough in her life to know when to keep her mouth shut.

  On the left side was a store that sold and fixed watches. The old guy behind the counter regarded us over the rims of thick glasses that had even thicker lenses, so he could do all the delicate work that was necessary with watches.

  ‘Ain’t seen Barney for a while,’ he said to us. ‘His place has been closed.’

  ‘We know that,’ I said. ‘We were just wonderin’ who the landlord was for this strip of stores, if it’s even the same person.’

  ‘It is,’ the man said. ‘Same landlord for this place, Irwin’s, the T-shirt store and the one after that, the hardware store.’

  ‘And who would that be?’ I asked.

  The grey-haired man looked at Jerry, who wasn’t paying any attention to him. He was busy looking around at all the time pieces and clocks. There was a cuckoo clock on the wall that really seemed to attract his attention.

  ‘That’s a Black Forest Cuckoo,’ he said to Jerry.

  ‘Black Forest?’

  ‘That’s the area of Germany the wood comes from,’ the man said. ‘The Black Forest. That one was made by Hubert Herr in the nineteenth century.’

  ‘Sir?’ I said.

  The man looked at me.

  ‘The landlord?’

  He took his glasses off, rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, then stared at me from beneath bushy grey eyebrows. ‘That’d be me.’

  ‘You’re the landlord?’

  ‘That’s right. Been here thirty years.’

  ‘My name is Eddie Gianelli,’ I said. ‘This is Jerry.’

  ‘The name’s Morheim,’ the man said, ‘Angus Morheim.’

  ‘Mr Morheim, we’re tryin’ to find Barney Irwin.’

  ‘You friends of his?’

  His face was blank, revealing nothing about his feelings for Barney. But how many landlords really like their tenants?

  I took a shot.

  ‘Hell, no,’ I said. ‘Can’t stand the guy.’

  Now he made a face and said, ‘That putz owes me two months rent. And when he leaves I’m gonna have to fumigate the place.’

  ‘Is he leavin’?’ I asked.

  ‘He is if I don’t get my rent.’

  ‘Do you know where he lives?’ I asked.

  ‘I do, but he ain’t been there either, for a while.’

  ‘Would you know if he owns any other property? Or has a girlfriend he might be stayin’ with?’

  Morheim looked up at Jerry, who was still looking around at the merchandise.

  ‘You gonna bust his head?’ he asked.

  ‘We might,’ I said. ‘That sorta depends on. . a lot of things.’

  ‘He ain’t got a girlfriend I know of,’ he said. ‘Always chasin’ skirts, though. Nice girl wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with him.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘His friends ain’t worth shit.’

  ‘Do you know any of them?’

  ‘No, but he hangs out at that bar around the corner.’

  ‘Clipper’s?’

  ‘That’s the one,’ Morheim said. ‘Buncha useless bastards in there.’

  ‘Yeah, we’ve been there,’ I said.

  ‘That’s it,’ Morheim said. ‘I don’t know anywheres else he might be.’

  ‘Well. . OK,’ I said. ‘Thank you for talkin’ to us.’

  ‘When’s it come out?’ Jerry asked, suddenly.

  ‘What?’ Morheim asked.

  Jerry pointed to the clock and asked, ‘When’s the bird come out?’

  ‘On the hour,’ Morheim said.

  Still a half hour to go. I was hoping Jerry didn’t want to stay and watch.

  We started for the door and Morheim said, ‘Wait a minute.’

  ‘Yes?’ I said, turning hopefully.

  ‘Irwin’s got a storage unit.’

  And who says there’s no hope?

  ‘He does?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Morheim said, ‘I know it because I got a unit in the same building. I seen him there a few times.’

  ‘And where is that building?’

  ‘Around the corner, down the street from the bar.’

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to know the unit number, would you?’ I asked.

  Morheim chose that moment to put his glasses back on. He looked down at the watch he’d had in his hand the whole time.

  ‘Happens I do,’ he said. ‘Unit two twenty on the second floor.’

  ‘Mr Morheim,’ I said, ‘thanks very much.’

  ‘Do me a favor,’ he said.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘When you see that Schweinhund,’ Morheim said, ‘bust him one for me.’

  ‘You got it, Mr Morheim,’ Jerry said.

  The old man looked up at Jerry and said, ‘And you come back, I’ll show you the clock.’

  ‘I will,’ Jerry said. ‘Thanks.’

  We stepped outside, letting the door close behind us.

  ‘How do you do that?’ I asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Get people to like you.’

  ‘I’m a likeable guy, Mr G.,’ he said. ‘That’s what makes me good at my job.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘Let’s go check out that storage unit.’

  SIXTY-SEVEN<
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  We had parked around the corner, so we were able to walk to the storage facility, which was on the corner of the same block where Clipper’s was. We walked past the bar while keeping to the other side of the street, then crossed over.

  HI-POINT STORAGE the sign over the door said. I didn’t know what it meant, but it didn’t matter. You had to name your business something, right?

  ‘We’re gonna need your lock-picking skills again,’ I said.

  ‘Depends on the kind it is,’ Jerry said. ‘Places like this, people use all kinds of locks. If it’s a combination lock we’re fucked.’

  ‘Well, let’s find out.’

  ‘How do we get up there?’ Jerry asked.

  ‘That’ll be the easy part,’ I said. ‘You and me, we’re lookin’ for a unit that isn’t on the first floor, but not too high up.’

  ‘Like somethin’ on the second floor?’ Jerry asked.

  ‘Exactly.’

  We went inside.

  Storage units were a new idea in the sixties. That meant they were built into existing buildings, not places specially designed for them. Those days were a long time coming.

  This structure looked like it used to be an apartment building. The floors had been sectioned off into units of varying sizes and shapes. We went up the front stairs and through the double front doors.

  The young man at the front desk gave us the whole sales pitch about how helpful it is to have a storage unit, how small businesses were able to increase their invoice, and not their overhead. We let him wind down and then told him we needed a unit off the main floor, but not too high up.

  ‘Worried about fire?’ he asked. ‘We got sprinkler units on each floor, and plenty of fire escapes.’

  ‘Still. .’ I said.

  ‘Well, all right, then. We’ve got some available on the second floor,’ he said. ‘What size do you think you’ll need?’

  ‘What’ve you got?’

  ‘Well, we’ve got some five by eights, some eight by tens, some ten by fifteens-’

  ‘Why don’t we start with an eight by ten?’ I suggested.

  ‘Fine. Do you need a lock? We have combination locks, or just key locks-’

  ‘A lock and key will be good.’

  I had to sign a one year contract and then he handed me a lock and key and said, ‘If you’ll wait a few minutes I can take you up, or you can just go on up yourself and have a look.’

  ‘My partner and I will be OK on our own. We’ll come back later with some stuff to store.’

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Welcome to Hi-Point. Your unit is number two fifty-one.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  251 shouldn’t be too far from 220, I thought. This was going well.

  We took the elevator up one floor, got off and found 251 first, then walked down to 220. Irwin’s unit was apparently one of the smaller five by eights. As we reached it we saw that things had suddenly stopped being easy.

  ‘Damn!’ I said.

  We looked at each other, then at the door that had a combination lock.

  ‘Look on the bright side, Mr G.,’ Jerry said.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The lock is still there,’ Jerry said. ‘Maybe that means his stuff is still in there. Maybe he’ll be back for it.’

  ‘Well, we’ve got — what, thirty-five hours?’ I said. ‘I guess we could wait for him here, but then he might not show.’

  ‘So? We can get in there.’

  ‘How do we do that?’

  ‘At night,’ Jerry said.

  ‘This place closes at five p.m.’

  ‘Maybe I can’t pick that lock,’ he said, indicating the combo lock on the door, ‘but did you notice the locks on this building? Easy.’

  ‘OK, so we get into the building,’ I said. ‘How do we get into this unit?’

  ‘The old-fashioned way,’ he said.

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  We went back to the Sands briefly, to check if I’d gotten any calls. There were none.

  ‘You put out so many feelers,’ Jerry said, ‘you’d think somebody woulda called by now.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘You’d think.’

  We each changed into dark clothes, then drove to pick up some things Jerry said he’d need. After that we went back to the Hi-Point building and worked our way around to the back.

  There was a collection of dumpsters, all full of garbage, lined up in the alley. The smell out there was something between rotten meat and piss.

  Jerry whipped out his pen light and I held it for him while he worked the lock. He had also brought a small gym bag, which he laid near his feet.

  ‘They think puttin’ a metal door up is gonna keep people out,’ he said, while he worked, ‘but they forget that a lock is a lock.’

  He continued to work while I looked up and down the alley, trying to hold the light still.

  ‘Got it,’ he finally said, and we were inside.

  We found a back stairway and took it to the second floor. By the beam of his pen light we found the door of unit 220. He handed me the light again, put his bag down and took out a hammer.

  ‘Why not a hacksaw?’ I asked.

  ‘That would take longer. But if this doesn’t work I brought one.’

  ‘What if there’s a watchman downstairs?’ I whispered.

  ‘I’m gonna try and open it with one shot,’ he said. ‘If a watchman comes up I’ll take care of him.’

  ‘Don’t kill him,’ I said.

  ‘Naw, Mr G.,’ he said, ‘don’t worry. Just stand back.’

  I backed away a few steps. Jerry brought the hammer back, then hit the lock with one solid whack. . and it snapped open.

  We both froze, waited to see if anyone would come up the steps looking to see what the noise was.

  ‘I think we’re OK,’ I said.

  He put the hammer away in the bag. The door was metal, on hinges. He removed the snapped lock, then slowly, quietly swung the door open.

  SIXTY-NINE

  There was a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. I grabbed the short chain and yanked it, and the light came on.

  File cabinets along one wall, the back, and down the other.

  ‘Sonofabitch,’ I said. ‘I’ll bet I know what’s in these.’

  He started at one end, me at the other, and all we found were nude photos of young girls.

  ‘Goddamn,’ I said, ‘I wish I had a can of gasoline.’

  ‘I know what ya mean.’

  ‘Wait,’ I said, closing the drawer of the cabinet I’d been looking through. I turned, went through another two cabinets until I found a drawer with ‘D’ names in them. Sure enough, I found what I was looking for.

  ‘Sonofabitch!’ I swore again. ‘If Irwin was here right now I’d strangle him.’ I was holding a whole sheaf of Abby Dalton photos.

  ‘I guess I didn’t scare him enough,’ Jerry said, and he seemed genuinely disappointed with himself. ‘I knew I shoulda broke somethin’.’

  ‘Well, next time I’ll hold him and you break his damn neck,’ I said.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ Jerry asked. ‘Wait for him to come back? Because he ain’t gonna leave town without these photos. I’ll bet he’s got some other ones in there he wants as bad as those of Miss Dalton.’

  ‘If we stake this place out it could take days, or weeks for him to show up,’ I said. ‘We don’t have that much time.’

  ‘What, then?’

  I looked around.

  ‘I suggest we go through the rest of these cabinets and see what we find,’ I said. ‘Maybe there’s somethin’ here that’ll help us.’

  ‘OK, Mr G.,’ Jerry said. ‘But. .’

  ‘What?’ I said, detecting something in his tone.

  ‘I just hope we don’t find nothin’ else that might make you wanna burn the whole buildin’ down.’

  I looked at the photos of Abby I was holding in my hands, and wondered what that would be.

  As it turned out, the cabinets along the back wall — only three of
them — held something quite different from the photos in all the others.

  One cabinet had a drawer that was filled with financial reports, bills, tax records. The other two drawers were empty.

  The second cabinet had one empty drawer, and two that seemed to be holding all sorts of personal records and papers that I really didn’t want to go through. I already felt like I had to steam my hands clean when we got out of there.

  The third cabinet was the emptiest. The top drawer was completely bare, the second held only one folder.

  ‘What’s that?’ Jerry asked.

  I took it out, opened it, knew exactly what it was right away.

  ‘It’s a floor plan,’ I said.

  ‘Of what?’ Jerry asked.

  ‘Harrah’s, in Lake Tahoe.’ That sonofabitch, I thought.

  There was one more drawer to search, at the bottom. Jerry opened it while I was still staring at the floor plan, realizing the implications. It even included a drawing of the parking lots.

  ‘Mr G.?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You better have a look.’

  ‘What?’

  I bent down and saw what he meant. There were some reels of film in the drawer. I took one out, and unfurled a length of it, holding it up to the light.

  ‘Jesus,’ I said, ‘this opens up a whole new can of worms, Jerry.’

  ‘Stag films?’

  I nodded. We took another roll and had a look. Same thing. Men and women doing things to each other you should do at home, or in a hotel, or in a closet, but not on film.

  ‘These look like good quality, Mr G.,’ Jerry said. ‘Maybe pro.’

  ‘There’s a lot more to Irwin than meets the eye, Jerry,’ I said. I held a roll of film in one hand, and the Harrah’s floor plan in the other. ‘We been had, Jerry.’ I waved the floor plan folder at him. ‘Looks like Irwin was not only involved with the kidnapping. He may have planned the whole thing.’

  SEVENTY

  Barney Irwin was a kidnapper, and a producer of stag films. I wondered how many young girls who came to him for portraits ended up on film with their clothes off?

  ‘What do we do?’ Jerry asked.