When Somebody Kills You

by Robert J. Randisi

  Dropping the ‘Mister’ from his name seemed to sober him some, as if he realized we were entering into deeper waters.

  ‘Now look here—’

  ‘Who was the man?’ I asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I asked who the man was.’

  ‘What man?’

  ‘Don’t be dense,’ I said. ‘The blackmailer you paid for the photo. What was his name?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ he said, testily. ‘Jesus Christ, how many blackmailers have you known who gave their names?’

  ‘Then I assume you paid him in cash.’

  ‘Of course I paid cash.’

  ‘Who’d you give it to?’

  He fell silent, shuffled his feet nervously.

  ‘If the questions get harder, Begelman, I could have Jerry come over and ask them. He already doesn’t like your green pants.’

  Begelman took a quick, worried glance at Jerry, who at that moment happened to be looking at us. He raised his eyebrows at the manager, which caused Begelman to look away.

  ‘Now, look here, there’s no need for threats. We’re on the same side, aren’t we?’

  ‘I don’t know – are we?’

  Begelman seemed frustrated to me … or cornered.

  ‘Are you gonna answer my question?’ I asked. ‘Who did you pay?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I didn’t make the payment—’

  ‘What happened to the money, then?’

  ‘No, you don’t understand,’ he said. ‘The payment was made, but I didn’t make it. I had someone else do it.’

  ‘Who?’ I asked. ‘I need to speak to whoever handed the money over.’

  ‘I really shouldn’t say—’

  He hadn’t noticed Jerry moving closer, and now a big paw landed on his shoulder.

  ‘Yeah,’ Jerry said, ‘I think you should.’

  THIRTY-SIX

  Jerry drove the cart back to the clubhouse.

  ‘You buy it?’ he asked. ‘His story?’

  ‘That he hired somebody to make the drop? It’s possible, I guess.’

  ‘We’ll know when we find the guy.’

  ‘If it’s a phony story, he wouldn’t give us the guy’s name and address.’

  ‘He would if he was gonna warn him.’

  ‘Then I guess we better get there fast.’

  We got back to the clubhouse, returned the cart and caught a cab out front. I gave the driver the address Begelman had given us.

  ‘I think the address is legit,’ Jerry said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He was too scared.’

  ‘Of you?’

  Jerry nodded. ‘See, this time I was tryin’ to be scary.’

  ‘And a fine job you did of it, too.’

  David Begelman told us he hired a PI to make the money drop, that his instructions came over the phone. The photo he received in the mail was supposedly a copy. When the PI made the payoff, he would get the other copies, the original and the negative …

  ‘Did he?’ I had asked.

  ‘He gave me copies, what he said was an original, and some negatives.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I burned them all.’

  ‘So you have no way of knowing if there were any other copies? Or negatives?’

  ‘No,’ Begelman admitted, ‘but I haven’t heard from the blackmailer again.’

  ‘How did you choose the PI who made the drop?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ he admitted, ‘the blackmailer did …’

  ‘You know, Mr G.… ’ Jerry said.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘The PI who made the drop could also have been the blackmailer.’

  I looked at him. ‘Jerry, I was just having the same thought.’

  The private dick’s name was Jimmy Jacks, and he had an office in a seedy section of LA called the Nickel, on Fifth Street, right in the heart of Skid Row.

  ‘Jeez, Mr G.,’ Jerry said, as we drove down Fifth, ‘you’d think somebody with the money that Bagel guy has would hire somebody better than this.’

  ‘Remember,’ I said, ‘he said he didn’t pick the guy.’

  ‘Well, seein’ where his office is – or maybe he even lives here – I don’t guess he’d be the blackmailer himself.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘If you had fifty grand, would you stay here?’

  ‘If I didn’t want people to know I was a blackmailer, I would – at least for a while.’

  ‘I getcha, yeah. Maybe he’s, whatayacallit, bidin’ his time.’

  The address we had was an office over a dive called Sammy’s Bar.

  ‘You guys sure this is where you wanna go?’ the cab driver asked.

  ‘We’re sure,’ I said, ‘but maybe you could wait for us, with the meter runnin’, of course.’

  ‘No skin off my nose,’ he said, with a shrug.

  ‘Thanks.’

  I had considered calling Nat Hiller to see if he knew anything about Jimmy Jacks, but his address seemed to say it all. Now that we saw his office, I knew I’d made the right decision. I may have been judging him too harshly, but that remained to be seen.

  Jerry peered through the dirty front window at the interior of Sammy’s Bar and said, ‘Geez, even I wouldn’t drink here, and I been in some pretty good Brooklyn dives.’ Pretty good actually meaning pretty bad.

  There was a door to the right of Sammy’s which we found unlocked. There was a mailbox, but no indication if it was for a business or a residence. I figured it was for both. Who’d want to wake up in the morning at home and have to come here to work? Unless home was even worse.

  We looked up at the long stairwell that barely had room for Jerry’s shoulders. He almost had to turn sideways to go up. We came to a worn wooden door with worn gold lettering that stuttered: J–Ja–ks, In–est–ga–tio–s.

  I knocked and there was no answer. A look at Jerry, who shrugged, told me we both had the same feeling. I tried the knob and it turned.

  Inside, we found a cramped office with a scarred desk, chair and dented file cabinets. It looked as if Jacks had repatriated his furniture from a garbage dump. There were papers scattered on the desk and floor, and I would have thought the place had been tossed but for the fact that all the desk and cabinet drawers were still closed. Usually when rifling somebody’s office, closing the drawers after you’re done is not a priority.

  ‘What a mess,’ Jerry said.

  ‘Yeah, but I get the feelin’ it always looks this way.’

  It was early, but as I peered out the dirty front window I could see that, after dark, Sammy’s neon sign would be filling the room with a bright, perhaps even blinking light.

  ‘Mr G.’

  I looked over at Jerry, who was standing in an open doorway.

  ‘In here.’

  I walked over and followed him into an equally cramped room that became more so with both of us in it. There was a sagging bed with a poor excuse for a mattress, and a chest of drawers that looked as if it had come from the same dump as the office desk.

  I walked over to the chest and checked the three drawers. The top two had clothing; the third was empty.

  Jerry came and looked over my shoulder. ‘No tellin’ if there was anythin’ in that bottom drawer,’ he said.

  ‘No.’

  Jerry walked to another door, opened it to reveal a closet with one shirt and one pair of trousers hanging. On the floor was a worn pair of brown shoes. On the shelf was an old suitcase.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘unless he had a set of suitcases, he didn’t pack and leave.’

  ‘With fifty grand, he could buy new clothes, a new suitcase, and move to a new neighborhood,’ Jerry observed.

  ‘You’re right about that.’

  ‘So if he is the blackmailer, he blew town with the money.’

  ‘The blackmail took place months ago, before Judy’s tour,’ I said. ‘Let’s ask around, see if anyone has seen him recently.’

  ‘Downstairs would be a good place to start,’
Jerry said.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  In the office I took the time to go through the desk drawers first, while Jerry checked the file cabinets.

  ‘I got some pretty sloppy files,’ Jerry said. ‘Whatayou got?’

  ‘Paper clips,’ I said.

  We both slammed our drawers and went downstairs.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Sammy’s clientele turned to look at us as we entered. All three were seated at the bar with drinks in front of them. From where I stood, I could see the dirt on the glasses.

  Something crunched beneath our feet as we approached the bar. It wasn’t peanut shells, so I decided not to look down to investigate.

  As we got to the end, the bored barman came over and stared at us through bloodshot eyes. Surprisingly, he was about as tall as Jerry, but weighed about half as much. He looked as if a good breeze would knock him over. His grey pallor went with his bloodshot eyes. Add to that the broken blood vessels across his nose and cheeks, and it was obvious he sampled his own wares a little too much.

  ‘What can I get ya?’ he asked.

  ‘Information.’

  ‘Cops?’ he asked. Then he looked at Jerry. ‘You ain’t no cop.’

  ‘Neither is he,’ Jerry said.

  ‘So why should I talk to either of you?’

  ‘Why not?’ I asked.

  ‘Well,’ the bartender said, ‘I guess it depends on what ya want.’

  ‘Start with your name?’

  ‘Leo.’

  ‘Have you seen Jimmy Jacks lately?’ I asked.

  ‘Jacks?’ he said. ‘That’s what you want? Why? He’s a loser.’

  ‘We know that,’ I said. ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘Well, not for … what? Coupla weeks?’

  ‘A couple of weeks,’ I said. ‘Is that it? Or could it be a couple of months?’

  ‘Months?’ He scratched his head. The movement released a tuft of black hair and a foul odor from his armpit. It was stifling in the place, and that didn’t help. I took a step back. ‘I dunno.’

  ‘What about these jokers?’ I said, ‘Are they regulars?’

  ‘Them?’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Oh, yeah. Their asses are bolted to them stools.’

  ‘They have to go home some time,’ Jerry said. ‘Have any of them seen Jacks?’

  ‘Ask ’em,’ the bartender said, with a shrug. ‘But you better buy ’em a round of drinks first.’

  We looked over and realized they’d heard every word we’d said.

  ‘Do it,’ I said. ‘A round of drinks for everybody!’

  The jokers all grinned.

  Once Leo the bartender had the three regulars set up with drinks, he allowed me to move in behind the bar.

  ‘All right, guys,’ I said, ‘who wants to talk first?’

  ‘What was the question again?’ the first man asked.

  ‘Have any of you seen Jimmy Jacks recently?’

  ‘Ain’t seen ’im,’ the first man said.

  ‘Not me,’ the second man said.

  The third man simply shrugged, shook his head and picked up his drink.

  Jokers.

  ‘Now, boys,’ Jerry said. He had remained on the other side of the bar, and now he moved in behind the three men, who were sitting clustered on three consecutive stools in the center of the bar. They were dressed similarly, which is to say in clothes that had not been washed in – well, they never had been washed. They stank of dirt, sweat, whiskey, beer and urine, and in the cloying confines of that bar it was becoming unbearable. I decided just to let Jerry do what he did best.

  He put a big hand on the shoulders of the men on the two outer stools and pushed them together so that the middle man was squashed between.

  ‘The man was nice enough to buy you fellas a drink,’ he said, ‘and all he wants is the answer to one question. And not just any answer, but the right answer.’ He pressed them together so that they could hardly breathe. ‘So don’t make me have to pull your asses off these stools and pound ’em into the ground, huh?’

  ‘OK, Jerry,’ I said, ‘they get the point.’ I addressed the men again. ‘Here’s the deal. You each got a drink. I’ll ask one more time. For the right answer you get a sawbuck, and Jerry doesn’t kick your ass. Got it?’

  They nodded. Jerry released them and stepped away, wrinkling his nose and wiping his palms on his thighs.

  ‘OK,’ I asked, ‘who has seen Jimmy Jacks recently?’

  Nobody moved or spoke, and then the man in the middle raised his hand tremulously.

  ‘Yeah?’ I said.

  ‘Uh, whataya mean, exactly, um, by recently?’

  ‘Let’s say within the past month.’

  The first man said, ‘I seen him down the street last month. At least, I think it was last month.’

  ‘Could it have been longer ago than that?’ I asked.

  ‘Nah,’ he said, ‘not longer. Maybe … sooner?’

  ‘Now you,’ I said, pointing to the second joker.

  ‘I swear,’ he said, ‘I ain’t seen him in … months, I think. Yeah, I, uh, I ain’t.’ He flinched, as if he thought Jerry was still behind him.

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I seen him,’ joker number three said.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Coupla weeks ago?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Right out front, here.’ He pointed over his shoulder.

  ‘What was he doing?’

  ‘He was in a hurry,’ the man said. ‘That’s why I remember. I said, “Hey, Jimmy,” and he just rushed past me and ran up the stairs to his place.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘And then … nothin’. I came in here and got a drink.’

  ‘You didn’t see him leave?’

  ‘I didn’t see him again,’ he said, ‘I swear.’

  I stared at the three of them, then took out my wallet and put a sawbuck in front of each of them. ‘Thanks,’ I said, moving out from behind that bar. I wanted to get away from the stink.

  When Jerry and I got to the front door and opened it, the fresh air must have jogged my brain. I thought of another question.

  ‘Hey!’ I said.

  They jumped, startled, as if they thought we had already left.

  ‘Yeah?’ Leo asked.

  ‘Would any of you put it past Jacks to blackmail somebody?’ I asked.

  They all kind of laughed, and then Leo said, ‘Mister, I wouldn’t put anything past Jimmy Jacks, if it meant money.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘right.’

  Jerry and I stepped outside.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The cab driver was still there, dozing behind the wheel. I didn’t step immediately to the car.

  ‘What’s up, Mister G.?’ Jerry asked, after taking several deep breaths.

  ‘I wanted to find out more.’

  ‘Well, one guy saw that Jacks guy when he was in a big hurry,’ Jerry said. ‘Maybe he packed another suitcase, took some of his clothes and blew town.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  ‘Or maybe somebody was up there waitin’ for him.’

  I thought a moment, then nodded.

  ‘The place is a mess,’ I observed, ‘although it might just always look that way.’

  ‘This guy still don’t strike me as a blackmailer,’ Jerry said. ‘Just maybe a go-between.’

  ‘So he did a job, got paid and then either left town …’

  ‘Or got left someplace else.’

  I took a deep breath and blew it out in frustration. ‘Where to next?’ I said out loud.

  At that point the door opened and joker number three stuck his head out.

  ‘Oh, hey, we wuz wonderin’ if you wuz still here.’

  ‘We are,’ I said. ‘So?’

  ‘We wuz talkin’, and we thought you might wanna know that Jimmy has a girlfriend.’

  ‘He does?’ This sounded promising. ‘And would any of you happen to know who she is, and where we can find her?’

  ‘Yeah,’ h
e said, ‘dat’s why I’m out here. I know ’er.’

  ‘That’s great,’ I said. ‘So who is she?’

  ‘Her name’s Peggy,’ he said, ‘and she works at a club about two blocks down.’

  ‘Stripper?’ Jerry asked.

  ‘Nope,’ the guy said, ‘she’s a singer.’

  ‘What’s the name of the club?’

  ‘The Starlight.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, ‘thanks for the information. I guess it’s a little early to find her there.’

  The guy actually said something smart. ‘Ya never know, she sometimes goes in early to rehearse.’

  I passed him another sawbuck. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, and slipped back inside with the money.

  We got into the cab and I tapped the cabbie on the shoulder, rousing him.

  ‘Hey, wha—’

  ‘The Starlight club,’ I said.

  ‘Really? That’s two blocks away.’

  ‘I’ll make it worth your while.’

  ‘Hey,’ he said, starting the engine, ‘no skin off my nose.’

  Once again we told the cabbie to wait. He was asleep behind the wheel before we hit the front door of the Starlight club. The door was unlocked, but as we entered it was clear the place was not yet open.

  For a club on the Nickel it wasn’t bad. At least the front windows were clean, even if they did have dingy curtains in front of them.

  ‘We’re closed!’ a man yelled from behind the bar.

  Some of the tables still had chairs piled on them, but up on stage a piano player was fiddling with the keys. A woman was leaning on the piano, a cigarette in one hand, reading some sheet music.

  We walked over to the bar. The man who had shouted at us was in his mid-fifties, with steel-grey hair and a granite chin. He turned to face us with a bottle in each hand.

  ‘Goddamn liquor prices keep goin’ up,’ he complained. ‘Don’t they know I own a fuckin’ five on the Nickel, not an uptown club? I thought I told you we’re closed.’

  ‘We’re lookin’ for a girl named Peggy, supposed to sing here.’

  ‘You ain’t gonna take her away to the movies, are you?’ the guy asked with heavy sarcasm.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not cops?’

  ‘Jesus, no,’ Jerry said.

  ‘Well, that’s Peggy,’ he said, gesturing to the stage with one bottle, ‘and she sings, but she ain’t no girl.’