Money Ain't Nothing
Page 3
I put on my fedora and walked out the front door. I closed it quietly after me. Out of respect. Some people had started poking their heads and bodies out of their homes. I walked on to my car. I called 911 and told them to get here quick and tell Captain John Roberts too. I needed a drink and I knew just where to get one. I got in my car and headed up to Wilshire Boulevard. Sonny McLean’s. I needed some whiskey. Maybe a lot of whiskey and a blood-rare steak sandwich. I still had the twenty five Benjamins in my pant pocket. Only they didn’t seem so crisp anymore. Seemed like they’d been round for a while. Seen things. Been places. Maybe that’s just me. I didn’t care so much for today. Three young lives lost in twenty four hours. Was this justice? I didn’t think so. Not enough people stepping up to the plate and taking responsibility. Including these last two. And just this morning I was having a good breakfast at Joe’s Main Diner. I should have thought twice about this job. Seemed too easy from the start. Seemed like it wasn’t anything from the start.
I dragged my heavy legs into the small building. Cozied up to the bar and lay my fedora down. Double scotch I said to Brian. He didn’t say too much. Must’ve known I wasn’t in the mood for talking. The place was quiet. Just us regulars. I was thirsty so I asked for two more and the steak sandwich. The scotch was warm on the way down. I started feeling better already so I figured I’d close up shop for the day. I banged some numbers into my phone and stuck it in my ear.
“Hello,” said a smokey voice this time.
“Marlene?” I asked.
“Yes Mr. Carrick. I heard there are two more dead. Doesn’t make me feel any better or any worse.”
I nodded at my whiskey. “Yeah,” I said. “Melodie and her pal Alvarez. She shot both of them.”
“I heard that. John told me.” I drank some more scotch and stuck another cigarette in my face.
“You were right about her,” I said trying to sound comforting, “She killed your son. Pushed him hard when he was in the shower. The coroner will know the exact cause of death. Alvarez was there too, but he wasn’t actively involved. If anything he tried in his way to make it right in the end. I thought you should know that.”
She didn’t say anything for a while and I had run out of words. I took another drink from my tumbler and I wanted to light my cigarette. My belly was warm and already I was starting to feel better about things. About a whole lot of things.
“Thank you Mr. Carrick. Don’t feel bad about it. I don’t.” Her voice was strong. I knew what she meant. I was the patsy. I didn’t feel like keeping her money.
“Well Ms. Greenlaub this was only a day’s work so I owe you some Benjamins you gave me.”
She coughed a little sad cough to clear her throat.
“Keep them Mr. Carrick, you’ve earned them. Money isn’t anything.”
“Good day Ms. Greenlaub.”
“Chin up Mr. Carrick, people die everyday.”
I didn’t thank her. As far as I was concerned this was blood money. I finished my third whiskey as the steak came by. Pink and rare. I put my cigarette back in the pack. I thought about the mess I’d left behind. I didn’t feel so hungry anymore. Since she was buying I ordered more whiskey. I needed to collect my thoughts. She was right about one thing though. Money ain’t nothing.
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I write two mystery series. A cozy mystery series and a hardboiled detective mystery series.
Lady Marmalade Mysteries:
The charming and warm Lady Marmalade is the Baroness of Sandown. But don’t let that full you, she also loves solving crime and crafting the best ever marmalade jam you’ll taste.
Check her out for some cozy, warm mysteries set between the two World Wars. You’ll find cameos by some of history’s greatest characters like Gandhi and Lord Mountbatten!
Anthony Carrick Mysteries:
The tough drinking, hard talking Anthony Carrick is an ex-LAPD homicide cop with a conflicted past. From the same mold of Sam Spade and Mike Hammer, he enjoys seeking justice for the downtrodden. Sometimes that means using his fists.
He’s a painter in his spare time and lives with a one-eyed rescued cat called Pirate. For fans of noir and hardboiled fiction, this is your stiff, tall drink of fun.