by Tom Golabek
I slept like Smokey the Bear during hibernation that night. The alarm was set for eight-thirty, but neither Lola nor I had heard it. When I finally opened an eye, it was ten-thirty. I jumped out of bed, hit Lola on the ass, and lit up a smoke I had shuffled out of the pack on the dresser. She opened her eyes, rolled over, and went back to sleep. Quietly I tip toed out to the kitchen, pulled out a glass from the cabinet, and filled it with cold water. And when I say cold, I mean cold. I snuck back into the bedroom, and whisked the covers off my nude sleeping companion. With a frown on her a face, her eyes opened to see me standing there with the glass of water, and a mischievous look on my face. She woke up alright. Her mouth was open, and with her high-pitched voice, she pleaded, “Don’t you dare do it.”
Standing over her, I held the glass, and tipped a few drops onto her breasts. She jumped up, hitting my arm, and caused me to spill the rest of the water on top of her. It was a pretty mean thing to do if I do say so myself. Who likes to have cold water poured on them, especially when they’re in a nice warm bed?
She let out a bloodcurdling scream and grabbed for the blanket to wipe off her shivering body. Lola’s teeth rattled and her flesh turned into goose bumps. She was mad now, and jumped out of bed to attack me as I fled into the living room. The blond bomber ran into the bathroom, and took out a can of shaving cream. The chase was on. If anybody ever saw this, I would never be able to live it down. Here was tough Mike Murdock, the most violent private detective in New York City, running around a couch holding a glass, being chased by a nude woman armed with a can of Gillett Foamy. This was something else. She could catch up with me eventually so I stopped, got on my knees, and pleaded, “Oh my dear Queen, I beg for mercy. Let forth thy just punishment.”
She let it go alright. I expected some shaving cream on my head, but I guess that wasn’t “just punishment.” I saw stars. Lola smashed the can into my head, and then jumped me. This was not a good way to start the day, being clobbered with a can of Gillette Foamy, then getting mauled by a nude blonde. She had pinned me to the floor, her huge breast slapping me in the face. I had to laugh. Lola started giggling, and I grabbed and held her tight in my arms. She was a wonderful playmate. I kissed her, and caressed her soft white skin. We both became sexually aroused, and spent some quality time on the living room carpet.
After playtime I murmured, “OK baby, get dressed, How about cooking up some chow.”
I showered while Lola slipped into a robe, and began cooking. As the chow was being dished out, I strolled over to the bedroom, and put on some clothes. My hand opened the closet door, and the tweed jacket stared me in the face.
I took it out, and laid it on the bed. The jacket hadn’t been worn in about five years. It was tailored for my rig, but the dark brown color made me look like a common office worker. That was not the image I wanted to project.
I shuffled to the kitchen, sat down, and told Lola I would drive her to the office today.
After the bacon and eggs, I punched another smoke into my mouth, and lit up. Lola finished eating, walked out of the kitchen, and returned carrying my jacket from the bedroom. I put it on, and looked at myself in the mirror. “Damn, I look like John Jones, Accountant.” I muttered.
Lola squeaked, “Gee, I think it looks nifty.”
I spanked her can, and chased her out the apartment door. The hallway was empty, and I laughed to myself as I thought of those two old bags yesterday.
The elevator came up with the door opening like a giant mouth. We jumped in, pressed the “L” button, and listened to the whirl of the motors start as the elevator descended. The doors opened a few seconds later revealing the newly waxed floor of the spacious lobby.
Lola sounded like one of those Mexican dancers as her high heels tapped against the glistening floor. The doorman opened the portals for us then called out, “Mr. Murdock.”
I stopped, turned, and then remembered the joke I played on him yesterday.
“What’s up Bub?”
“Mr. Murdock, three shifty looking men came here yesterday. They got on the elevator, and I noticed they took it to your floor. A few minutes later, they came down, and I’ll tell ya, they were acting suspicious. They wouldn’t tell me who they were looking for, or what they wanted. I called your office several times, but all I got was a busy signal.”
I slipped him another five, and told him to keep his eyes peeled.
Those mugs must have thought they would knock me off in my own apartment, but when they discovered I wasn’t there, they went to my office. Why was there such a sudden increase of attention on me?
Lola was probably on the phone talking to one of her gabby girlfriends while he was trying to call.
My car was across the street sitting next to a new Corvette. Lola slipped her arm under mine as we crossed the avenue.
Piling into my heap, a tall skinny boy walked up to the ‘Vette and hopped in. He lived in the same apartment building, and his old man had more money than he knew what to do with. The ‘Vette blared out with a deafening noise as he stomped the gas to the floor in neutral, challenging me to drag. He looked at my car as if it were a Volkswagen. I pulled a fifty out of my wallet, crumpled it up, threw it through his opened window, and said, “You want to drag to the light for that?”
He was all smiles, and jumped at the chance to make an easy fifty. His head tilted a nod, and we pulled out into the almost deserted street. His new ‘Vette was a powerful one, but my “Goat” was packed with muscle. The type of muscle it had included dual quad carbs, a three quarter race cam, and a bore and stroke job. The heap wasn’t too good on gas, but its speed got me out of quite a few jams in the past.
The light turned green, and we wheeled out. The race was over in a few short seconds, and I beat him by a car length. I didn’t even shift into fourth gear. I looked over at his surprised face, and laughed out loud. Two crumpled fifty-dollar bills flew through my opened window landing on my front seat. The ‘Vette screamed off as the light turned green. I picked up the bills, and stuffed them in my pocket. That was just about enough cash for gas to run my car for a month.
I stepped on the pedal, and moved out, but at a slower pace. When we were a couple of buildings away from my office, I noticed the ‘Vette pulled to the curb by a police cruiser. The ‘Vette was a magnet for speeding tickets. There was an empty parking space in front of the cop car. As I pulled into it, a smile covered my face.
I wanted to make sure that Lola wasn’t going to walk into a trap set for me, so I got out and led the way. We walked through the entrance, and brightly lit stairway. Everything looked normal. I picked up the paper the newsboy had left, flicked out the key, and opened the office door with gun in hand…expecting anything. I looked through the whole office. No traps. Lola ambled to her desk, and pulled out a sheet of paper. Much of the blood and guts remnants were cleaned up. However, some stains remained. The cleaning crew left a note that they would return with stronger agents and fluids.
“Here are the addresses and phone numbers you wanted Mike.”
I took the paper and saw that I had some traveling to do. Ragino lived in the Bronx on the lower East Side. Dennis lived in the north part of Yonkers, and Mrs. Krasinski was staying at the Metropolis Hotel in Manhattan. It would probably take the rest of the day to check out one of them.
I picked up the phone, and dialed the Metropolis Hotel. The operator at the desk told me that Mrs. Krasinski was not in at the moment, but that her room was 440, and that she would leave a message that I had called. I said, “Thank-you,” and hung up.
The next call was to Ragino, and I had better luck reaching him. A pleasant female voice swept out of the receiver, “Hello.”
“This is Mike Murdock, private investigator. Is Mr. Ragino in?”
“Yes, just a moment.”
I heard her call to him, and the sounds of footsteps were heard through the phone.
“This is Ragino. Can I help yo
u Mr. Murdock?”
He had a surprisingly high-pitched voice.
“I was at the fight the other night. The sports writers have said some nasty things about you. I’m in the position where I can clear your name of any sort of foul play. Can I talk to you tomorrow about my services?”
“I don’t need them.”
“I’ll be at your house tomorrow at four to discuss whether you do or not. You’ll like what I have to say. See you then.”
I hung up before he could reply.
Lola was behind her desk with the newspaper sprawled all over it, reading the funnies. Something in the paper caught my eye. The headline read:
K.O. KRASINSKI’S TRAINER DIES IN SUBWAY ACCIDENT
Yeah, Archie Bankoff was dead. I grabbed the newspaper, and read the article. The story went on to say that he fell in front of a subway express at 49th Street. Fell, hell. Dragon must have not liked the way he was handling the situation. Bankoff was either on the verge of breaking down, or maybe he tried to play it slick, and demanded more money.
This is what made New York stink. People are bumped off by racketeers. Guilty people…innocent people…the syndicates didn’t care. Money came first. Maybe someday people will be able to walk the streets of this town without being afraid of walking into a bullet. That someday was a long time away though.
I decided to drive uptown to Dennis Chiulli’s house, instead of calling. Even if I didn’t get anything done I could still pay my respects to his wife and family. I folded the paper with the addresses, shoved it in my pocket, and blurted, “Lola, I’m going over to Chiulli’s house. If anything important arises, call me there.”
She looked up briefly from the comics and nodded her head. What a secretary! She’d forget what I said in less than an hour.
I opened the door, and walked out. The brightness of the sun blinded my eyes as my feet met the sidewalk.
I hopped into my gondola, cut the wheels, and headed out. A butt found its way into my mouth, and I lit up.
The noise of the city beat at my ears. Hundreds of men and women surrounded me. How many had a gun pointed at my head? Dragon was sure to send more men. I wasn’t too worried about them though. There wasn’t a thug in this city that was man enough to knock me off.
The Lotus Lounge was on the way to Dennis’, so I pulled into a parking space, and hopped out. I walked through the huge glass doors, and was gobbled up by the darkness inside. The joint was empty except for a bum at the far end of the bar. I flung my coat onto a hook, and strolled up to the barfly.
“Where’s Dutch?”
“He’s in the back room with a couple of guys.”
I wasn’t going to wait for Dutch to serve me, so I walked behind the bar, and served myself. As I grabbed for the whiskey I noticed a strange looking bottle with an odd name on it. I took the cap off, and sniffed. It had a smell similar to mineral oil. Even I didn’t have the stomach to drink this crap. I put the cap back on, replaced it, and reached for the Four Roses.
Dutch came out as I was setting up my drink. A shadow revealed that there was somebody following him, and Dutch pushed him back into the room when he saw me. I heard him say, “Go out the back way.” I didn’t think anything of it. Maybe it was a bookie or someone he didn’t want to be seen with. Dutch walked toward me, said hello, and got behind the bar. We talked about the weather, and shot down a couple more drinks. I glanced at my watch, and noticed it was noon. I said “so long” to Dutch, picked up my coat, and strolled out.
I stepped to my hot rod, jumped in, and turned the steering wheel. Dennis’ house was about fifteen minutes away. I slowed for a red light, and noticed a car shooting around from behind me. Something in my head told me to hug the floorboards. Just as the dark coupe raced up, I dove. Two shots rang out into the air. A splintering noise sounded above me. One of the bullets missed the car completely; the other split the top part of my steering wheel.
A squeal of tires sounded as the death-dealing machine rounded the corner.
I eased off the floor, brushed myself off, and looked at the damage. People who didn’t know what had happened were lined up behind me in their cars honking for me to move. I put my foot on the accelerator, and rolled out. They must have thought a couple of firecrackers had gone off.
Dragon was desperate to send his boys out to shoot me in broad daylight…especially on Broadway in front of scores of witnesses. But then, he had a right to be desperate. He knew he had better kill me before I got a hold of him. One thing bothered me though. How did he know where to find me? I knew I wasn’t tailed from the office. I drove on not thinking about the incident. K.O. Krasinski popped into my mind. How did he die? Were the police holding back information?
* * *
CH 9 Finding Out the “Nuts and Bolts” of What Went Down.
