The Lost Angel

by Adam C Mitchell

  By the time Jack had reached the bottom of the cliff an hour had passed. He was sweating and tired. His hip was screaming, thanks to a shrapnel blast courtesy of Uncle Sam, plus the fact he was no mountain climber or movie hero. The damage the booze had done over the years wasn’t doing him any favors either. He cut through a small bush, and then wiped his shoe on a rock after stepping in lord knows what. Finally reaching the car, he tried the door with little joy, so decided to go in through the rear window instead, crawling into the upturned and confined space.

  The front of the car had crumbled in on itself. Jack got to work as best he could, scanning the inside. Dark red patches of blood smeared the back of the driver’s seat and the steering wheel, but what caught his attention was the bloody handprints on the driver’s door. Eddy Kovakx had somehow survived and was on the move.

  The driver was wounded, and from the amount of blood in the car, Jack guessed he was in a bad way. He had either been shot in the heist or the crash had done it to him. Either way, he had got out. Bleeding this badly, Jack figured he couldn’t have gone far. It might be worth checking the nearest hospitals and clinics? After looking at the wreck again, he thought better of it.

  The climb up the cliff took longer than the exhausting descent, but finally, the P.I scrambled up the last rocky outcrop and through the broken wall. By sheer chance and dumb luck, Jack’s hand landed on a rock stained with blood. Deep, uneven, muddy footprints led on to the road, pointing the way like an arrow. Losing that much blood, he couldn’t have gone far.

  The remains of blood and the odd footprint led Jack to an old gas station set back off the road. Pushing open the rickety door, Jack walked in. Dust rose, filling the room and dancing in the sunlight. The room was small, so finding the bloodstained clothes and bandages was easy. Bandages meant one thing… he’d had help. That made the game of cat and mouse a lot harder.

  He searched outside and discovered two sets of tyre tracks leading up to the road, his and one other. That gave Jack a direction if nothing else.

  The road was quiet, with only the occasional farmhouse on it, one of which was nothing more than a shell. It didn’t fill him with much confidence of anything good happening that night. But a little way on, at a fork in the road, a battered sign for a train station spurred Jack on. Only one car sat in the station’s gravel car park. Jack couldn’t look inside, other than the views from the windows. But there was blood droplets on the seat. He also noted the cars tire tracks, were similar to those seen in the alley. This is the car he thought. He glanced around. This station would be the nearest and quickest way out of the area for a wounded man and his accomplice.

  Malone walked into the small ticket office. The old man in the shabby conductor’s grayish uniform gave Jack a look that made him feel a bit off. Maybe it was his age, he didn’t know, but the conductor’s beady glare made him uneasy.

  “Excuse me, but I was wondering if you could help?”

  Two bristled eyebrows raised and locked on to Jack. “If you want the train you’re out of luck, sonny, it left twenty minutes ago.”

  “Actually, it’s about that car,’ he said, gesturing towards the car park. ‘Can you tell me about it?”

  The bristled eyebrows rose higher. “I’m sorry, sir, it’s against regulations to give out privileged information like that.”

  “I understand that. Okay, not a problem. Say, I don’t suppose you have a map I could buy? I'm not from around these parts.”

  The man picked up a road map booklet and popped it through the cashiers hatch. “That’ll be five dollars. Where you heading anyway?”

  Taking out his wallet, Jack smiled. “Just seeing where the wind will take me. Sorry about bothering you, it’s just that I’m a car collector. Five dollars you say?”

  Jack took the map and made a little show of looking it over so the conductor saw, then slipped a crisp one hundred dollar bill inside. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind about the map, so what can you tell me about the car?”

  He lit a cigarette and waited for the old man’s cogs to turn. He looked like he was knocking on a hundred. Jack was surprised the rail company kept him on, but who was he to say who could do the job. There were times when he thought he was too old to be a P.I. It was more of a young man’s game.

  The man licked his lips, slipped the note in his trouser pocket, and told Jack everything. Two people had arrived in that car; a man and woman. The woman was young, posh looking, and pretty. The man pale—ill-looking. They had parked up outside and bought tickets for Chicago.

  Jack did the same. He was now hot on their trail.

  * * *

  Eddy’s head was all over the place, his thoughts were full of San Francisco and the life he would create for himself and Kim. For the first time in his life, he could allow himself to dream big.

  Eddy and Kim sat in Paddy’s old Ford pickup, with Kim trying to avoid sitting on the various grease stains marring the old seats. Eddy was getting impatient. He wanted to put the gym, the city, and what had happened to them behind him. Paddy was just about to lock up when he said, “Just one more job to do. Back in a tic.”

  He went back into the hall. Kim turned and looked at Eddy’s face. His eye had gone an odd shade of blue and purple and his nose was battered. “You should have ducked that one, baby.”

  Eddy winced. His jaw was a painful reminder of the left hook that had finished him off. “Yeah, maybe next time I will.”

  She hugged him tight. Having gotten to know Eddy quite well, she knew how much he hated to lose. His pride had been dented. “Don’t sweat it, Eddy. We are on our way. San Francisco is just ahead of us.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, not long now, baby-doll,” he whispered.

  Back in the small back office, Paddy perched on the corner of his desk. Checking nobody was about, he picked up the phone and dialed the operator. “I’d like Central City 487302. The Lost Angel Club. Mr. Victor Renetti, please.”

  After a small delay and a crackle, the line was picked up. Clearing his throat Paddy spoke. “Um… Mr. Renetti? Hello, my name’s O’Neal. Paddy O’Neal. We met in Central City at the Johnson fight last April. You and Mr. Mike came to see my fighters… did a little betting.” There was a slight pause before the promoter carried on. “Yes sir, I’m fine, thank you. Business is good. Well, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir, I think we can do a little business again. I heard you were looking for Eddy Kovakx…”

  The voice on the other end coughed in silent confirmation. “It’s just… I have information on his location and the like, but it comes at a price…”

  Renetti listened as Paddy assured him the information was both new and reliable. He offered Paddy five thousand dollars. Paddy saw dollar signs and tried pushing his luck a little further. “Actually, Mr. Renetti, I was thinking more like ten thousand... No, Sir… you’re right. It’s more than I deserve. Five thousand will be fine.”

  * * *

  When Paddy returned outside, he had lost color in his complexion. Victor had put the fear of the Lord Almighty in him.

  Eddy picked up on his change of mood straight away. He watched the old guy out of the corner of his eye. Something didn’t seem right with the Irish gent. He was shaking. He was scared. He had something on his mind; something big. Something to hide.

  Hours passed in silence in the cramped pick-up. As they passed a collage of gold and green fields, Eddy let the girl doze on his shoulder for a mile or two. When darkness fell, they pulled into a motel called Seventh Heaven. It was old and in dire need of some attention. Eddy wondered why motels always had dodgy names. Was it a necessary part of owning one? Eddy, Kim and Paddy walked into a small tin-shelled café across the street. They ordered coffee and sat in a booth, all three ignored the world outside.

  “Paddy, you seem on edge, pal.”

  Paddy squirmed in his seat like a scolded child. “Just business, Kovakx. The fight tour, you know. Lots to do, lots to work on.”

  Eddy moved towards him. “O’Neal, can we
talk?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

  Eddy replied grimly, “In Private?” He gestured towards the door, trying not to let Kim cotton on.

  “Yeah, champ, sure, if that’s what you want.”

  Eddy nodded, then turned to Kim. “Baby-doll, order us some sandwiches or something. We won’t be long, okay.”

  She just smiled sweetly. “Sure, Eddy honey, no problem. Just don’t be too long.”

  Eddy and Paddy went outside. Paddy wrapped his coat around his body tighter. He lit a pipe and walked around to a side alley. They stopped next to the cafe dumpster.

  “Okay, Paddy, what’s your game? You’ve been acting like the cat on a hot tin roof for hours. You’re scared, and I want to know why!”

  Eddy grabbed Paddy’s coat collar and pushed him up against the wall. Paddy’s head hit the wall hard. Eddy gripped his wrinkly throat and the old man flailed. Paddy, once the experienced pugilist, hit the canvas, old age delivering a fatal haymaker. He panicked, flailing around like a trout trying to push his way to freedom but was no match for Eddy’s strength.

  Eddy pulled a piece of paper from Paddy’s panic drenched coat. It was a flyer for the tour. On the back, something had been scribbled in haste:

  VICTOR RENETTI

  THE LOST ANGEL CLUB

  CENTRAL CITY

  487302

  Memories of Ruddy’s bullet-riddled body rushed back. Eddy lost it. “You shmuck! You think you can cash in on me, old man?” He leaned closer to Paddy, hissing his words through gritted teeth. “You’re dead wrong.”

  Paddy clawed at Eddy’s hands as they gripped his neck. He started choking.

  Eddy felt the pulse in the old man’s neck as his fingers tightened. Paddy fought in vain, managing to get a feeble weekend punch at Eddy side, but it was too late.

  His eyes bulged and his face paled. In moments he fell to the floor, dead. His lifeless body slumped against the wall. Eddy glared at him, feeling no remorse. He emptied Paddy’s pockets and found the truck keys, a couple of hundred dollars and some loose change. The dumpster was there so Eddy made use of it, dumping Paddy’s body inside.

  Part Four

  Paddy’s body was gone but what to do now?

  He could ill afford the extra police attention if the body were found. And what would Kim say? He couldn’t lose her, not now. She wouldn’t understand. “But that Irish grass deserved it, thinking he could play me,” Eddy muttered. He checked the parking lot to make sure there was no one around and reorganized the bags of rubbish to conceal Paddy’s body. It was a lucky break considering how many rigs were parked up, but he hadn’t been seen, thankfully. He had time, not much but enough.

  They had to get far away. This dive of a motel was going to be too hot to stay in soon. It would be hard to get Kim to move on, she was exhausted, but he would figure something out. Wiping the sweat from his brow he walked back to the cafe and the smiling face of his doll. Kim was outside. “Eddy, thank God you’re back.”

  “I’m fine, doll-face, relax. Everything’s fine, everything’s just fine.” He tried his best to sound reassuring as they walked back to their table in the crowded café.

  “Where’s Paddy?”

  Eddy shot back the coffee Kim had bought him while he was outside. Eddy’s mind was full of half-baked ideas and schemes. His eyes jumped from his now empty cup to the clock on the wall and back again. “Something came up. He had to rush on ahead, something about one of the fighter’s. We’re going now to join the rest of the troop at Liberty City train station and travel to San Francisco with them.” He smiled. “Paddy said he was sorry he couldn’t take us, oh, and he said to keep smiling.”

  Kim’s face relaxed and her smile returned. “Oh good, I like Paddy. He reminded me of my Pa. I think Ruddy would have liked him too, he was his kind of person.”

  Eddy bit his bottom lip. “Yeah, a real bloody gent,” he said under his breath, clenching his fist from under the table.

  * * *

  Jack woke as the train pulled into Chicago. The smog rolled in, making the view of the station hazy at best. He tipped his hat off his eyes. He hated this city. He grabbed his brown coat and small bag and headed out of the station. For the next few hours, he was on foot, checking out hotels near the station, greasing hotel coppers with green. He hoped his hunch was right, he didn’t want to have to travel any further out.

  It didn’t take him long to stumble across one which had been the scene of a shooting only a few days before. A coincidence? He thought not. Jack talked and flirted with a few of the hotel staff, though he had to pay for the information eventually. When he was sober, he was good at his job. This was one of those times. He found a young bellboy named Ezra, who was easy to get talking. He had seen a couple running from the hotel, leaving most of their belongings behind.

  Jack hoped to take a look at the luggage, but the brains of the hotel had sent them to the Salvation Army. The bellboy had followed them to a small backstreet but they vanished into one of the many doors and he’d lost them. Jack was impressed by Ezra. A kid like that would do well in this game. He jotted down his details in his notebook. Who knew, he might give him a job in the office one day.

  Jack made a quick telephone call to Victor, only to learn he had not only known about the hotel but had ordered the hit. It would have been nice if Victor had shared Kovakx’s location from the start, but Jack kept his grievances to himself. He was sure Victor had his reasons, like making sure he earned every cent of the ten grand he’d promised. He did drop a clue about the couple’s destination before hanging up though, so the call wasn’t a total waste of time.

  He took a cab downtown. It cost more than the price of his train ticket from Central.

  Downtown was a built up area, a mass of doors, garbage cans and broken yard gates. The only sign of life was the stray mongrel spending a penny against a hydrant. He was just starting to think Victor had given him a red herring when he noticed the crumpled flyers scattered across the floor.

  With nothing else to go on, he hit the sidewalks in search of the gym. It was as good a place to hide as any. He made it his business to ask around and struck lucky. He found a nightwatchman, an avid boxing fan. Jack told the nightwatchmen just enough to peak his interest and, he recalled seeing a new face at the boxing tournament who just happened to match Kovakx’s description. For the price of a box of Lucky Strikes, the nightwatchman let him into the ramshackle gym and gave him the key to the flat above.

  The old flat came up trumps, with the telltale signs of trouble. Broken furniture, wood splinters, and the chairs cut to ribbons, plus the door had been forced. In the dingy mouldy bathroom, some old dressings lined the bin. This had to be the place.

  The thrill of the chase urged him on. After another look around, he saw an open bottle of Pellar’s stout. He picked it up and was about to take a taste, but as he reached the door, he put it back. Jack felt good for the first time in ages. He lit a cigarette and mulled over the scene. Pinned to a mirror was another fight flyer. This one advertised a venue in Frisco, but Jack needed to be sure before taking a chance like that. He couldn’t afford to travel all that way for nothing.

  He headed down the stairs and into the gym. After a quick look around, he entered the small back office, picked up the phone and checked in with Renetti, just in case he’d heard anything else. In truth, he needed some more money wired his way. He needed money for a hotel and gas. He’d given all he had left to the conductor. His pockets were dry. “Operator? Yes Central City, 487-302, Renetti, please.”

  The line crackled into life as Victor’s gravelly voice came through. “Maloney, nice of you to call. Good news I hope?”

  “Victor, yeah, I got news. I’ve tracked him down to a small gym. Well, the outfit’s on a tour, but I reckon he’s with them. Oh, and Vic, I need more green. This case just got expensive…”

  “You’re as good as I’d hoped. You’re right, you know. Kovakx’s tied up with that two-bit
fight show. I had a tip-off to that effect myself.”

  Jack gripped the phone tight. Something else he’s not told me.

  “You go to San Francisco, get him and finish this once and for all. Your money will be waiting for you as promised, and I’ll send another hundred your way. Spend it wisely. Any more’ll come out of your cut.”

  The line went dead. Charming. Jack chuckled.

  * * *

  Kim leaned over and kissed Eddy. He looked into her eyes; the warmth of the kiss filled him. He took her hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze. She made everything he was going through worth it.

  The fading yellow cab turned into the station and stopped “Three bucks, pal.”

  For a moment, Eddy froze to the spot. He continued staring into Kim’s eyes, never wanting the moment to end.

  “Hey, Jerk! Three bucks is three bucks I ain’t got all day for, you know.”

  Eddy didn’t take his eyes off Kim. “So take another trip around the block.”

  The driver slammed the car into gear and drove off. The Chinese cabbie’s, passengers making out like love struck juvies on a prom night.

  Eddy wanted more. His hand slipped up Kim’s thigh, his fingers drawing closer to what Eddy thought would be heaven. The cab pulled into the station a bit sharper than expected. ”Hey! I gave you a solid, now do me one. Five buck’s and I ain't got all day about it. I got a wife and mouths to feed, you get my drift?”

  The cabbie’s Chinese-American accent and madly waving arms made him sound and look more animated than Kim would have liked, but like Eddy, she ignored it. The moment was gone. Eddy pushed ten dollars into the cabbie’s hand, grabbed his leather bag and Kim’s hand and headed for the busy platforms. As they descended the rusting iron stairs onto platform twelve, Eddy spotted the other members of the tour. They stood against the regular commuters, and handfuls of soldiers milling about the platforms, hoping to get lucky on leave. Of the twelve fighters, there were two Eddy didn’t recognise. One beefy guy had a face like a pizza and no neck. He went by the name of Sam. The other was a man mountain, with a black eye and a bum chin, who Eddy thought was called Moses.