Maxwell Street Blues

by Marc Krulewitch

  Knight typed furiously.

  “Just because Lisa’s not boring like most people doesn’t mean she’s strange. You don’t even know her.”

  “I know she was involved in my friend’s murder and she’s in danger. And here’s something else you should know. If you have any knowledge of this murder, you’re an accessory. Keep this up and you’ll be tattooing with razor blades in prison.”

  Either Audrey Prenevost’s face turned whiter or her eyebrows got redder. She stood up and said, “I’m leaving.”

  I positioned myself in front of the vestibule that led to the door. “Not until you tell me how Lisa was involved in Snooky’s murder.” Knight jumped off the couch and joined us.

  “Dude, chill out,” Knight said to me. “C’mon, La-La, just tell us what you do know.” He put his arm around Audrey Prenevost and led her back to her roost in the corner of the couch. Then he jumped back into typing—not missing a beat—as if transcribing a perpetual news crawl in his brain.

  I said, “You knew who Snooky was, right?” Audrey Prenevost nodded. “Lisa trusted him, right?” Audrey Prenevost agreed. “Something happened between them. They started arguing. A short time later, Snooky’s dead. What were they arguing about?”

  I waited. “Lisa wanted names of his clients,” Audrey Prenevost said quietly. “And she wanted to know about my father’s money. He got paid for something to do with a construction project. Snooky wouldn’t give her the information. And there were other names she wanted. But I didn’t understand it all.” Knight kept typing.

  “What was she going to do with the information on your father?”

  “I didn’t understand all that stuff. I wasn’t in that part of the plan. That stuff came later—”

  “So there was a plan,” I said. “Lisa planned on meeting your father at the bar. She planned on getting into a relationship with him. That part you knew about?”

  “Yes.”

  From that one small word came a big feeling of vindication. “And then what was she going to do?”

  “She wasn’t sure. Maybe after a while tell him she was only sixteen to freak him out and maybe threaten to tell the police or something.”

  “But your father steered Snooky to his girlfriend, Lisa, because her tattoo business needed a bookkeeper.” Audrey Prenevost nodded. “Would I be correct in saying everything that occurred after Snooky started working for Lisa was not part of the original plan?”

  Audrey Prenevost thought about it. “I guess so.”

  “Excellent. So Lisa wanted information on Tate’s illegal financial dealings and Snooky refused. Then Snooky gets killed. Okay, Audrey, what was the plan you were a part of?”

  “To ruin my father—for those disgusting things he did to me.”

  I had not anticipated this loathsome suggestion to resurface. “But how did Lisa figure into it? She’s old enough to legally date Tate. You could have exposed him on your own.”

  “Well, we wanted it to look really bad because it was a long time ago, and I’m not really sure what I remember. Lisa helped me put the pieces together. So if he was dating someone as young as Lisa, we thought it would help make him look bad.”

  Something wasn’t adding up. “Does your mother know what happened to you?”

  “She’s in denial. She says Lisa put false memories in my head.”

  “There are few accusations more horrible than what Lisa is suggesting. Please, look deep inside. In your heart of hearts, do you really think Tate touched you inappropriately?”

  Audrey Prenevost again brought her knees close to her body and hugged them. She stayed that way for a full minute before saying, “No. I don’t think anything like that ever happened.”

  I sat down on the couch close to her. “On Lisa’s shoulder is a moon phase sequence. It starts with a new moon black circle and progresses to an almost full moon. You have a tattoo like that, right?”

  “I have the same thing on my neck,” Audrey Prenevost said. She pulled her hair back to show us.

  “Well, not exactly the same. Yours starts with a full moon and progresses to the last stage, just a thin crescent of white before it would become totally black again.”

  “Yeah, but it’s the same idea.”

  “The other day I was looking at a book of tattoo symbolism. The Greeks saw the moon as a symbol for a sister. The phases of the moon symbolized the evolving relationship. But in your case, the tattoo is more than symbolism, it’s blood—or half blood. Lisa is your half sister, isn’t she?”

  “Wait a second!” Knight screamed. “Tate is Lisa’s stepdad? She was bangin’ her own stepfather?”

  “Calm down, Ellis. Tate didn’t know because Lisa went to live with her biological father when she was a little girl.”

  “Yeah, but jeez, dude, Lisa knew who he was.”

  I understood what Knight meant. The concept turned my stomach, too.

  “She gave herself the middle name Audrey,” Audrey Prenevost said. “After our grandmother.”

  “On the door to her shop,” I said. “ ‘Sole Proprietor and Mistress of Poor Taste, L. Audrey Moreau.’ ”

  56

  “I can’t believe it,” Knight screamed again. “Tate was banging his own stepdaughter and didn’t even know it!”

  I said, “Lisa Audrey Moreau hated Tate so much she convinced you that he abused you and then she took him to bed to prove it—sort of.”

  “He treated Mom like shit.”

  I took a deep breath. “When Snooky arrived, the plan changed to include Tate’s finances. Did she mention the name Voss?”

  Audrey Prenevost rested the side of her head on top of her knees. She said quietly, “Lisa said Voss mentioned you.”

  The power of that small voice uttering “you” rattled my foundation. “Me? What’re you talking about? I didn’t know Voss.”

  “We didn’t know it was you—until you showed up. After Snooky died.”

  “Well, what did he say?”

  “He said to expect a private investigator.”

  “Everyone knew Snooky was considered part of my family. Voss’s motive was to get info on dirty cops and get a cut of the Maxwell Street redevelopment kickbacks. There’s no mystery here. Killing Snooky didn’t have anything to do with me.”

  “Maybe Voss has a deeper grudge you don’t know about.”

  I refused to acknowledge Knight and kept my attention on Audrey Prenevost. “I have one more question. Lisa knew Snooky was dead a few days before I showed up. Yet she fell apart when I told her about the murder.”

  It seemed Audrey Prenevost had already given this some thought. “She said Snooky created a story full of criminals and that if he had a violent ending, that was how he had written his own story. She didn’t know anyone else who knew Snooky besides my father. Voss said to expect you. I guess when you showed up it really hit her. That he was gone.”

  Before I left, I summoned Knight to the door and suggested it would be in everyone’s best interest if Audrey Prenevost hung around a few days. Knight’s cocky grin reappeared. Then he wiggled his eyebrows a few times—a reference to erotic ambitions, I guessed.

  * * *

  From my apartment, I phoned Kalijero. “You told me to get back to you, remember?”

  “Talk.”

  “I want to get a message to Voss. I want him to meet me at Maxwell and Halsted. I’ll bring the book he wants; he gives me everything on Snooky’s murder.”

  “At Maxwell and Halsted? Oh, let me guess. You want to settle a score at the scene of the crime—like in the movies.”

  “Let’s just say I have a burning desire to meet him there. And why not? Tomorrow evening, after the construction crews leave. There’s nothing there except the office buildings a block away. It’ll be quiet. Voss can choose the time. So he knows I’m serious, I’ll include a grand in cash with the message. I get the cash back when I give him the book.”

  “You’re assuming a hell of a lot, aren’t you?”

  “C’mon, Jimmy. Tell Ha
user I’ll be the bait. Wire me up and I’ll get Voss to hang himself.”

  “It’s so easy, huh, Landau?”

  “I didn’t say it was easy, but Voss is an arrogant bastard. He has no fear—he’ll shoot off his mouth, I’m sure of it.”

  Another trademark Kalijero sigh. “I’ll run it by Hauser but if he says no, that’s it. I don’t want to lose my pension this late in the game.”

  I thought I was hearing things. “Since when do you give a damn about permission from Mommy and Daddy?”

  “This is Voss we’re talking about! Why don’t you just call the son of a bitch yourself?”

  “I want him to know the police are involved.”

  “What about Lisa? You gonna tell her what you’re up to?”

  “Don’t worry about her. You just try to get that permission slip from Daddy and don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

  I imagined hearing the steam shooting out of Kalijero’s nostrils. “I’ll give you one hour to meet me in front of Area B with the note and cash. I’ll either take it or beat the shit out of you first and then take it.”

  I spent the next few minutes watching Punim gallop around the apartment, stop momentarily to groom and look around, only to dash off again. I reflected on the limb I had just crawled out on. I called Susie and told her I wanted to stop by within the hour. She didn’t object and didn’t sound surprised when I didn’t tell her why.

  I pulled in front of Area B and saw Kalijero on the sidewalk halfway down the block, smoking a cigarette and looking preoccupied. I don’t think he even noticed I parked about thirty yards from him. When I slammed the door, he glanced my way, took a deep drag, and flicked the butt into the street. He took his time walking back, avoiding eye contact until he reached me. I said, “How did Hauser react?”

  “He said we should’ve used official informants while we had the chance. I kept reminding him you’re a Landau. We finally made a deal.”

  “So you got the green light?”

  “I said we made a deal.” Kalijero had such a pained, uncomfortable look, I thought he might cry.

  “Just say it already!”

  “What is it with you? Maybe if you had a wife and kid you wouldn’t be so careless with your life. You got a death wish? Is that it?”

  “Hey, Jimmy, you got a family hiding somewhere nobody knows about? Are you going to tell me that you don’t get a secret thrill from risking your life sometimes?”

  Kalijero frowned. “Fine. Give it to me.” I gave Kalijero a sealed envelope filled with ten Ben Franklins and my handwritten note. Kalijero turned around and whistled loudly using his thumb and index finger. I’ve always wanted to learn how to do that. A black Crown Vic with tinted windows appeared from the end of the block and stopped across the street from us. Kalijero walked to the driver’s side, handed the goods through the window, and leaned down to say something to the driver. Then the car sped off and Kalijero walked back to me. “Done,” he said.

  “What’s next?”

  Kalijero glanced at the concrete staircase in front of headquarters. “You wait for the phone to ring and a voice tells you the time.” Without any more comment, he started climbing the stairs.

  He was halfway up when I shouted, “We’ll talk later. You can tell me about the deal.” He turned and stared at me a few moments before giving me a half-assed salute, the kind of hand gesture one used to acknowledge another person while getting the hell away from them.

  57

  From the diner, I could see Lisa working on a client. I crossed the street and entered Vagabond Boutique, where Susie stood with a customer in front of a full-length mirror. She was holding a red dress with white flowers to the customer’s neck and shoulders. Several other garments were draped over a stuffed wingback chair. I sat on the edge of the display platform and stared out the window between a pearl-snap Western shirt and a pink button-up blouse. When the customer took a few of the dresses into the changing room, Susie walked over to me.

  “I don’t think those shirts are your style,” she said. “I think you’d look better in a black rayon crepe blouse that just came in.”

  I smiled and got right to the point. “I’m setting up a meeting with the fat comb-over guy.”

  Susie had no immediate reaction. Then she said, “You’re meeting with a psychopath? Where?”

  “Where my friend’s body was found—Snooky.”

  “You never told me he was your friend.”

  “A very good friend. I’m not sure why I didn’t mention this before.”

  Susie took the remaining dresses off the chair and draped them over her arm. “It’s just you and this Voss guy, who happens to be capable of anything? And you’re telling me this in case you get—something happens?”

  “I’ll be fine, but if something does happen—”

  “I’ll take care of Punim. At least tell me the police know what you’re up to.”

  “They know.”

  She turned to me. “And?”

  “It’s too complicated to explain right now. Picture a corruption/shit sandwich where police, politicians, and developers are fighting it out to see who takes the biggest bite.”

  It was an ugly metaphor, but I guess it got through. “Can you at least tell me when the meeting is?”

  “Tomorrow night sometime.”

  I watched her rehang the dresses then walk to the center of the shop where she said something to her assistant. The she turned to me and said, “Well, good luck,” before disappearing into the back.

  58

  An early August evening on North Halsted Street, Chicago. I sat in the overstuffed chair, aware I had nothing to do but wait, but also conscious of having reached a symbolic turning point.

  I owed Knight a phone call. I kept it brief. I told him I expected the investigation to end soon. When I refused to reveal details, he responded with howls of protest. I assured him he’d get his story unless I wasn’t around to tell it. Then I hung up. He called back seconds later, but I let it go to voice mail.

  I should’ve been tired and hungry, but my adrenaline levels were too high to experience either sensation. I closed my eyes and thought of Voss. How did such a psycho gain such power within legitimate circles of municipal government? I guess it was a stupid question for someone whose great-grandfather shared a headline with Al Capone.

  I channel-surfed the rest of the evening. The phone rang around midnight. “Ten P.M. tomorrow,” Voss’s creepy voice said and hung up. Knowing that a time had been set brought a strange feeling of relief.

  * * *

  The next morning I phoned Susie and told her about the ten o’clock meeting. “Thanks for letting me know,” she said.

  “I’m going to stop by the shop and see if Lisa’s acting different, like she knows something’s up.”

  “You think she’s in on it with the nutcase?”

  I paused. “It’s possible. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  I entered Taudrey Tats just after nine in the morning. There were no customers inside, understandable for that hour, but I was surprised Lisa was nowhere in sight. I shouted her name and waited. From the back, I heard shuffling and the sound of furniture moving. Then Lisa appeared looking as spry and unburdened as the day I met her. “Well, hello,” she said. “What brings you to these parts?”

  Given her bizarre personality, I should not have been surprised at her reaction. “I wasn’t happy how our last meeting ended. And now that my ribs have started to mend, I thought maybe it was time to mend fences.”

  She giggled while taking drawings off the display rack. “You have such a way with words. I wish I was clever that way. But I have the visual artist’s mind.”

  I decided to test the waters. “Any more folks stop by claiming to be cops?”

  She didn’t respond but stayed focused on several drawings laid out on a table. Sounding as though it were an afterthought, she said, “By the way, do you still think I’m a murderer?”

  “I never said you
were a murderer.”

  She stepped out from behind the table, walked directly up to me, and trained her big black eyes on my smaller, browner ones. “You implied it.”

  I had forgotten how enticing she was. I felt as if I was the one who had explaining to do. “Your story wasn’t adding up, and I called you on it.” I stepped backward, toward the front of the shop.

  “Well, you stopped by and said hello,” she said. “You did your good deed.”

  My impression was she had no idea of this evening’s planned get-together with Voss. I walked toward the front and told her it was nice seeing her. As I reached for the door, she said, “Remember what Snooky told me. ‘Every relationship is allowed either one secret or one lie.’ ”

  I recalled her mentioning this alleged statement during our first meeting. “Well,” I said as I walked out, “he never said that to me. He always told me the truth.”

  59

  It was interesting how different the world looked about thirteen hours before a moment of truth. Everyone I passed on the street gave off a unique vibe broadcasting something about who they were. A glance, a short stare, or toggling eyeballs paired with a faint smile or pursed lips created an incalculable number of emotional subtleties. Suddenly this world was truly fascinating.

  I called Kalijero. “Ten tonight,” I said. “At Maxwell and Halsted.”

  “I’ll be over around seven to put on the transmitter, test it out, and go over things.”

  When Kalijero didn’t hang up, I said, “You got something else you want to say? Like everything’s going to work out great?”

  “Anything can happen. And you have zero experience at this.”

  “I know what I’m getting into—”

  “Hauser sees you as a no-risk freebie. A throwaway. Civilians think they want to play cop and wear a wire. Then the family wants to sue if something bad happens. But if a Landau gets killed, so what? No jury’s gonna say a Landau didn’t know what he was getting into.”