Six Crime Stories

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  But I kept after him. I was soaking wet and puffing like an asthmatic elephant, but I made up my mind I was going to get him...and I did.

  Hamhock stumbled on the other end of the plaza and just about took a header. Arms windmilling like crazy, he managed to keep his feet...but he tripped on the edge of the Moonwalk along the river and almost went down again. This time, he had to stop to regain his balance before charging off...which gave me the time I needed to close the gap and make contact, slamming all two-hundred-ninety-nine-and-a-half pounds of me into his equally massive bulk.

  I rammed him back against the railing overlooking the Mississippi, which at first seemed like a good idea. Then, he pasted me in the jaw and wrestled me around so I was the one with my back to the river.

  Breaking bones on a daily basis gave him an edge in the strength department, and he started forcing me over the railing toward the surging waters below. I brought my knee up hard into his groin, but it didn't seem to faze him, and he took advantage of my lifting a foot off the pavement to shove me back further.

  Then, in the middle of fighting for my life, I caught a whiff of daffodils and antifreeze.

  Two tweed-sleeved arms shot from behind Hamhock and under his armpits, then pumped straight up and back, hands interlacing behind his head. Hamhock released me and wobbled backward, thrashing to escape the full nelson in which he was locked.

  Now, Hamhock being the big boy that he is, I would've expected him to break free, but Starbulk held tight. Hamhock wrenched around every which way, but couldn't get loose...and then Starbulk tightened up his grip and Hamhock started groaning.

  "Settle down, big fella," said Starbulk, squeezing harder. "I promise, it'll hurt worse if you don't."

  Hamhock grunted in pain. "You're makin' a huge mistake," he said through clenched teeth. "You're screwin' with a made guy here!"

  "Horseshit," I said, able to talk again now that I'd finally caught my breath. "You ain't made now an' you never will be, you dumb stooge."

  Hamhock sneered. "I'm made, all right. Just ask Gino Laplaca."

  "Might as well ask Jimmy Hoffa," I said. "Neither one of 'em's likely to turn up anytime soon."

  "Wrong," said Hamhock. "Gino's back, an' I'm workin' for him."

  I chuckled like I was laughing it off, but Hamhock had my attention. Laplaca, the biggest wiseguy in town, had disappeared three months ago, right before he was due to testify against some friends of his; everyone figured he'd been kidnapped and killed to keep his mouth shut. Seemed like kind of a coincidence that I'd been looking for Johnny Murder, and now Hamhock and I were talking about another bad guy who had supposedly returned from the great beyond.

  "Workin' doin' what?" I said.

  Hamhock just grinned. Starbulk tightened his grip, but the grin stayed put. Hamhock wouldn't say another word.

  When we finally gave up questioning him and Starbulk knocked him out with some kind of pinch on a pressure point, I gave ol' Hamhock a fist in the gut on his way down. I didn't have to, and I'd probably pay for it later, but he deserved it...and the guy posing as Johnny Murder wasn't around for me to hit at that particular moment.

  "What happened to Corinna?" I said as Starbulk dusted off and straightened his tweed jacket. "You lose her?"

  Starbulk shook his head and hiked a thumb at a nearby lamp post. Corinna stood with her arms around it, handcuffs locked around her wrists.

  "Never let it be said that I'm not a pro when it comes to chasing women," he said with a wink.

  "Better get the cuffs off," I said, "an' we better get her outta here. We're attractin' attention." People were slowly approaching from down the Moonwalk and across the aquarium plaza; I knew it wouldn't be long before the cops made an appearance.

  "Where to?" said Starbulk, producing a key from his jacket pocket and unlocking the cuffs.

  "The one place no one would think to look for a hottie like her," I said. "My apartment."

  *****

  Corinna put up a fuss on the cab ride through the Quarter, but I played it like she was drunk off her ass, and the driver seemed to buy it. Starbulk caught the worst of her wrath but managed to keep the stripper restrained without making it look too obvious...at least to a Pakistani cabbie who wasn't watching too closely and didn't want any trouble.

  By the time we got her inside my second-floor shitpit on Dumaine Street, Corinna seemed all played out. She entered docilely and sat on the recliner like I told her, and I started asking questions as soon as her sweet ass hit the cushion.

  "I hear you've been hangin' 'round with the spittin' image of Johnny Murder," I said, plunking myself down on the sofa across from her. "So what's his deal, Corinna?"

  "I don't know what you're talkin' about," she said, crossing one long, sexy leg over the other. "You must be mistakin' me for someone else."

  "The shape-shifter," said Starbulk, towering behind me. "We're talking about the bloodthirsty shape-shifting creature posing as Johnny Murder."

  Corinna looked at Starbulk like he was crazy. "Why don't you go get Ms. Crimsone a glass of water?" I said, turning to glare up at him. "She looks thirsty."

  Starbulk hesitated, then headed for the kitchenette. "Be careful with her," he said. "She could very well be a sorceress or demoness. Don't let her touch you."

  "No chance of that," Corinna said wryly, sneering at me.

  "And here we spent all those special times together," I said. "Maybe this'll jog your memory." Tugging a wadded-up dollar bill from my shorts pocket, I flattened it out and waved it at her. "Now you feelin' more affectionate? God knows, I stuffed enough of these in your G-string up at the strip club."

  "One dollar? Ain't you got nothin' bigger?" She dropped her eyes to my crotch then and laughed. "Oh, I guess not."

  I smiled. "No wonder you're not impressed," I said. "You only like dead guys, apparently. So how exactly did you an' Johnny hook up? You makin' the rounds down at Lafayette Cemetery?"

  Corinna leaned over, smiling wickedly at me. "The only dead guys I know are you an' your boyfriend," she said. "Here's a newsflash, fatass: my sugar daddy knows where you live, an' I guarantee he's comin' to get me."

  "Maybe we'll have us a foursome," I said, staring into her eyes...and then her cleavage. I leaned forward for a closer look...not at her breasts, as huge as they were, but at what was squirrelled away between them.

  "What you got there?" I said, pointing at what looked like some folded-up paper pushed down in her cleavage.

  "Nothin'," she said, leaning back quickly.

  "Now you know that ain't true," I said, getting up off the couch. "Come on, hand it over."

  "You lay one fat finger on me, an' I'll gouge out your balls," said Corinna.

  "Okay then," I said. Starbulk had reentered the room with a glass of water, and I motioned him over. "Hey, Quinto. Let's have a look at whatever she's got stashed between her boobs."

  "Will do," said Starbulk, putting the glass down and stepping toward us.

  Corinna clamped her hands over her chest and jumped out of the rocker...but Starbulk came up with the item in two fast moves, tickling her sides so she dropped her arms and then zipping two fingers in and out of her bodice.

  He unfolded the envelope she'd been concealing and flipped it open. "Airline tickets," he said. "One way tickets to Rome."

  I nodded. "It figures," I said. "Corinna an' her sweetheart have a little getaway planned. When's the flight leave?"

  "Two a.m.," said Starbulk. "Five hours from now."

  "I guess we can expect company by then," I said, flashing Corinna a giant smile, "'cause Johnny might leave this redhead stripper skank behind, but he ain't gettin' on that plane without his tickets."

  Apparently, Corinna didn't appreciate what I'd said. As I turned to have a look at the plane tickets, I heard her gag...and I whipped back around just in time to see her yank her finger out of her throat.

  Next thing I knew, she was throwing up all over me.

  *****

  Needless to say,
I stripped down and leaped in the shower double-quick, reluctantly leaving Corinna under Starbulk's supervision. I knew it wasn't the best idea I'd ever had, what with Starbulk being insane and unpredictable and all, but I figured he might manage to stay out of trouble for five minutes.

  How wrong I was. I couldn't've been in the shower for more than two minutes when I heard a loud crash from the living room, followed by the sounds of a struggle.

  As I shut off the water, I heard the crack of a door slamming open against a wall...then running footsteps. Something hit the floor hard, followed by more footsteps, running off after the first set.

  Without hesitation, I leaped out of the shower, flung open the bathroom door, and charged around the corner into the living room. The place was a disaster area; stereo speakers were overturned, bookshelves knocked over, the TV set smashed on the floor. My sax case had been thrown across the room and lay open in a corner, the instrument itself kicked out under an end table.

  It looked like there had been a fight, all right...but what worried me the most was that everyone was gone and the front door was wide open. That was what really got my adrenaline pumping.

  That and the fact that when I checked the kitchen cupboard where I kept my emergency gun, there was no gun to be found.

  Naked and dripping wet, I barreled out the doorway into the hall. Looking to my left, I saw nothing.

  Then, I looked the other way.

  And came face to face with the man I'd been hunting since Q. Liz's death.

  He was climbing in off the fire escape through an open window, left foot on the floor and right foot just descending. From a distance, he perfectly matched the man in my memory--short and wiry with pasty white skin and oily black hair. He had a nose like a carrot and a triangular chin, the point of it looking sharp enough to cut glass.

  The guy looked so much like Johnny Murder that for a moment, I just stood there and stared. Not once had I believed Johnny'd really come back from the dead, but now that I got a good look at the guy, common sense flew out the window. Intellectually, I knew he was an imposter...but in my heart, I felt as if I was standing ten feet away from the man who'd killed my friends and girlfriend. It seemed as if the person I'd hated and feared more than anyone in the world was right there in the flesh, the embodiment of failure and loss returned to finish the job and take the only thing I had left to lose--my life.

  Then, I locked eyes with him, and the realization hit me. I'd been piecing together the possibilities, and as soon as I got a good, long look in his eyes, the truth snapped into place.

  The heaviness slid from my heart. The burning, painful past fizzled out like a dying sparkler.

  The man's disguise was incredible. Everything was Johnny's, head to toe.

  Except for the eyes.

  And I'd seen them before. I'd seen them almost every day for the past three months, plastered all over the newspapers and TV newscasts. Big and black, like two big pupils without any color and hardly any whites. Like two black holes bored into a pitch-black soul.

  "Gino Laplaca," I said. "Well, I'll be damned."

  Johnny/Gino reached behind him and pulled a gun out of the waistband of his filthy bluejeans. "Well now," he said. "Ever get the feeling you just got served a bad batch of gumbo?"

  I knew what was coming next, and I bolted. I made it around the corner into the stairwell just as Johnny/Gino squeezed off his first shot.

  Heart hammering, I leaped down the stairs, taking two at a time. The second shot blasted into the wall behind me as I charged through the door and out into the street.

  *****

  Johnny/Gino ran me down--which wasn't much of a challenge seeing as I weigh almost three hundred pounds--and knocked me off my feet. Now I'm lying on the sidewalk with his gun stuck in the fat rolls on the back of my neck, and I know I've got to do something or end up dead in the pouring rain.

  I've got the body of a sumo. Now's the time to use it.

  I lurch to one side as hard as I can, throwing all my weight into it. I figure the gun might go off in the process, but what do I have to lose?

  It doesn't go off. I feel the weight of Johnny/Gino buck off my back, and I know I've got a fighting chance.

  I keep moving then, rolling over on top of him, pinning his legs underneath me. The gun comes up in my face, and I smack it away, knocking it right out of his hand. Next, I throw a fist in the middle of his

  black-eyed, carrot-nosed face, and it doesn't hurt that the son of a bitch looks just like Johnny Murder when I bring the hammer down.

  I hit him again, even harder. I know he isn't Johnny, but it's the next best thing to payback for what happened to Cherry. What happened to me.

  Unfortunately, my payback party is cut short. Johnny/Gino fights dirty, socking me right in the balls with his fist. I double over in pain, rocking far enough forward that he manages to pull a leg out from under me. He proceeds to kick me in the back with that leg, gouging the heel of his shoe into the middle of my spine.

  He gets in three solid kicks before I choke back the pain and throw myself on top of him, crushing his scrawny body under my full two-hundred-ninety-nine-and-a-half pounds. He squirms like crazy, but I won't budge; when he claws at my face, I pin his arm with one hand and bounce his head off the sidewalk with the other. That seems to calm him down.

  I think about giving his head another bounce or two, even though I know it would kill him. He looks so much like Johnny, I'm like a bull seeing red; the fact that he's responsible for killing Q. Liz just fires me up all the more.

  He deserves it. God knows how many others he's killed or hurt or how many lives he's ruined. Maybe him coming to me now wearing the face of Johnny Murder is some kind of sign that I'm meant to balance the books.

  I've got my hand still clamped on his face. All it'll take is a push.

  My hand is shaking. I suck in a breath through clenched teeth.

  And that's when I catch the scent of daffodils and antifreeze, cutting right through the driving rain.

  *****

  Two mornings later, I'm sitting in the Café du Monde over a café au lait and a pile of beignet, and I'm all smiles for a change. Feeling good.

  I'm surrounded by the 'Sociation, and they're all asking questions, but it isn't like the interrogation in Father Sees-All's hospital room. The news is all good, everybody's happy, and I don't mind a bit. Even Starbulk's not getting on my nerves so much.

  It feels like the thing that was killing me is finally dead. Johnny Murder didn't come back because of me, but because of him, I feel like I can finally move on.

  "So where was Quinto all this time while you were gettin' shot at?" says Bobby Bocci, powdered sugar from a beignet all over his lips and chin.

  "Got beat by a girl," I say, grinning.

  The 'Sociationers laugh, but Starbulk doesn't act like it bothers him. "It's true," he says good-naturedly, sitting relaxed at the next table over. "She caught me by surprise and escaped the apartment. Led me on quite a chase before I apprehended her."

  "What about Po'Boy's gun?" says Father Sees-All. He still has some bruises, but the twinkle's back in his eye. "Did you take it?"

  "Actually," says Starbulk, looking a little sheepish, "that was how Corinna caught me by surprise. I didn't know the gun was in the kitchen cupboard, and she found it when I let her help me make coffee."

  "Dumbass," says Father Sees-All, followed by a loud crack of laughter. "That's what you get for trustin' a woman."

  Lady Claudette smacks his shoulder in protest, but he just keeps laughing. It reminds me of how he and Q. Liz used to go at it, and I feel a little sad.

  "I still can't believe it," says Just Dexter. "The new Johnny Murder was Gino Laplaca all along."

  "The wonders of plastic surgery," says Ludwig von Waterglass, running a finger around the rims of some water glasses he's gathered up on the table in front of him. Sounds a little like "Lady of Spain."

  "But it wasn't quite the result he was hopin' for," I say, reaching fo
r my seventh beignet of the morning. "He wanted to get a new face an' disappear before the trial, but the mob's relocation program double-crossed him. Kicked him out on the street lookin' like someone everyone knew an' hated. Figured somebody'd take him outta the picture for good, thinkin' he was Johnny Murder."

  "So when I saw him at Switch Hitter's, he was lookin' to get a new disguise," says Father Sees-All.

  Nodding, I swallow a mouthful of beignet. "And then he was goin' to fly off with his chippie, Corinna. She an' Coley Bassinette were the only two he could trust who he managed to convince he was really Gino."

  "So Q. Liz didn't bring back Johnny as a zombie like she thought," says Madame Destine.

  "An' he wasn't a shape-shifting whatchamacallit, either," says High Markie.

  "How's it feel bein' wrong there, Quinto?" says Father Sees-All with a grin, pointing a finger at Starbulk.

  "But I wasn't wrong," Starbulk says confidently. "It was all part of my plan. I had it all figured out, but I knew that Gerald needed to solve this case in order to put the past behind him. Therefore, I concocted preposterous theories that actually had a grain of truth in them, in order to guide Gerald toward the solution."

  "Oh, did you now?" says Father Sees-All.

  "Absolutely," says Starbulk, massaging the swami freckle between his eyes. "My mentor, Dr. Apex Paragon, used exactly the same technique to help me solve the mystery of the levitating humidor and defeat the Purple Legion."

  "So you knew about Johnny bein' Gino," Father says sardonically. "An' all that stuff about shape-shiftin' monsters was made up for Po'Boy's benefit."

  "Yes and yes," says Starbulk, nodding.

  "Horseshit," I say, licking powdered sugar off my fingertips...but the truth is, I'm not sure. Starbulk wasn't so far wrong about Johnny being a shape-shifter; plastic surgery reshaped Gino to look like Johnny, after all.