Battle Axe

by Carsen Taite

  “Why? Is he going to be at the wedding?”

  “Seriously, Jess. I’m looking for a couple of his guys. What can you tell me about him?”

  “I can tell you that if he doesn’t want his guys found, you won’t find them. Geno is more connected than Yuri Petrov.”

  Diamond was hooked up with Petrov when I’d first met her. At least she was pretending to be while she worked undercover to nail Petrov’s brother for a murder. If Geno was more connected than Yuri, then Jess was right. I’d never find his guys. No wonder Hardin didn’t hold out much hope.

  “Hardin thinks it’s a lost cause, but I think I might take a look anyway. Any chance you could get me a few details on them? M.O.? Something?”

  “What’s up?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Something’s up with you. You’re acting strange. If Hardin isn’t interested in you finding these guys, then why do you care?”

  She was one to talk about acting strange, all closed mouth about Red. Red, who she liked and didn’t want to talk to me about. Well, two could play that game. “Diamond Collier came to see me.”

  “Agent Collier? Are you sure her first name is really Diamond?”

  “I don’t know. Who cares? Anyway, she came by Saturday night.” You know, the night you hustled Red off the softball field.

  “What did she want?”

  “Lots of things.” I couldn’t resist a sly grin. “Some she got already, some I still owe her.”

  “I have to go.”

  “What? Now I have something to say and you don’t have time to stick around? Delivered your lecture and now you’re off duty?”

  “Something like that.”

  “At least Collier thinks I have a real job.”

  “Is she the one who asked you to look for Geno’s guys? Hell, she’s using you. She’s a freaking Fed. If they wanted to find those guys, they could. She wouldn’t have to sleep with a two-bit bounty hunter to get what she wants.”

  “Fuck you, Chance. Fuck you.”

  “That’s your solution for everything. Maybe you should find a better way to solve your problems than sleeping your way to a solution.”

  She stormed out, and I sunk onto the couch and pretended to be glad she was gone.

  Chapter Four

  I have a list of three things that I use to work off stress: sex, beer, and gambling. I’m not averse to doing more than one at the same time. Some people use exercise to work off stress. I run most mornings, but that’s not about stress. The only reason I exercise is so I can drink all the beer I want and still have a body that someone will want to have sex with. Oh, and so I don’t wind up looking like my father.

  It was too late to run in my neighborhood with anything less than an Uzi. My go-to sex pal was probably cuddling up with her new friend. I had no beer in the house, and I didn’t want to risk running into Maggie, who I now considered Dad’s girlfriend more than my neighborhood bartender slash confidant. I picked up my phone and debated calling Diamond, but Jess’s words rang in my head. “Sleeping my way to a solution.” She was wrong, but somehow it seemed like calling Diamond on the heels of Jess’s remark made me the wrong one.

  That left one stress reliever I could always rely on. I grabbed my keys and half the contents of the coffee can in my kitchen cabinet and left my apartment.

  The drive to the nondescript house was short. I stopped a block away and bought a twelve-pack of whatever was on sale. The tiny man with the crooked toupee who answered the door took the beer from me and gave me a big hug. “Luca, it’s been a while. Haven’t seen your dad either. Figured you both decided to get on the wagon.”

  “Not likely.” I made the broad statement, but wondered about Dad. Since he’d started dating Maggie, he’d stopped doing a lot of stuff that had previously defined him. The last few times I’d asked him to the casino, he’d turned me down, and he only drank a few beers at a sitting instead of a case. Completely out of character and pretty ironic since he was dating a bar owner. “I’ve been broke.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the usual buy-in. “I’m flush now. You got a few losers that feel like parting with their money?”

  He folded the bills and placed them in the pocket of his purple satin smoking jacket, then he motioned for me to follow him into the kitchen. “Fraternity brothers. Their girlfriends are watching, so they’ll show off. Want me to deal you in?”

  I had mixed feelings. College kids generally sucked at poker. Especially when they brought their dates along. They watched too much TV and fancied themselves high rollers. I could beat them, but the stakes would be high because they would toss in everything Daddy sent to fund the incidentals of their education, confident a single phone call would replace anything they lost. I was flush for me, but flush is relative. And I couldn’t call Daddy. He didn’t have any money and what he did went for dates with Maggie.

  “You got something else going tonight?”

  “I have another game starting in a bit. More your speed. Have a beer and relax. The Mavs game’s on in the living room.”

  I was edgy, but decided to wait. I pulled a Miller from the carton and followed Bingo to the living room. Every room in his house had a theme, and this one was fat Elvis. Or mature Elvis as Bingo called him. He collected all manner of kitsch related to the King’s reign in Vegas and was obsessed with conspiracy trivia about his idol’s sudden death. I’d need a full case of beer to get through the night if we wound up playing in here.

  I had an idea about how to deflect a night of Elvis trivia. Before Bingo could show me his latest collector’s item, I asked him about Geno Vedda.

  “What do you want to know? More importantly, why do you want to know? No offense, kid, but Geno’s out of your league.”

  I didn’t take offense. He only meant what Hardin and Jess had already implied. Bounty hunters like me look for loose ends. Guys like Geno didn’t leave loose ends. I knew I wasn’t going to find anything about Amato and Picone on the Internet. I’d given it a cursory look already, but pros don’t leave traces. The only thing I found online was a record of their arrest and, since pros don’t usually get arrested, I questioned whether the arrest had been a distraction from something bigger. No real way to tell. The best way to get intel on guys like this was the old-fashioned method. Ask around. The hard part was knowing who not to ask.

  My dad had introduced me to Bingo when I was a kid. Bingo let me play with an extra set of poker chips while Dad blew our mortgage, then our grocery money, then traded beers for cards. Bingo knew most of our family secrets, and I trusted Bingo as much as I trusted anyone. “I’m looking for a couple of his guys. A favor for a friend.”

  “Since when do you do favors that could get you killed?”

  I hoped that was a rhetorical question because I’d almost bought it on my last big job in a move that was part favor, part survival. I answered him with a question designed to appeal to his ego. “Special request. I guess you wouldn’t know anything. Geno’s a pretty big deal.”

  Worked like a charm. I watched Bingo puff up big, which made him look like a frog. Seriously, the smoking jacket would never give him the appearance of credibility he craved. “I know more than you think. Just concerned about my friend’s daughter. If something happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.” He leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Word is Geno’s got a new business venture.”

  I patted my side where the Colt hung, ready for action. “I can take care of myself. Guess you’ll be happy if Geno finds new work.” In addition to his façade of restaurants and vending machines, Vedda was big into bookmaking, effectively shutting small players like Bingo out of that part of the gambling business. Bingo’s advantage was his connection with cops. On any given night, off duty officers could be found in his living room, betting away their meager earnings. In exchange for the opportunity, they looked the other way when it came to Bingo’s other customers.

  “Geno and I run in different circles. My business doesn’t leave a d
ent in his operation, and he leaves me alone. Besides, I send him a referral every now and then.” Code for bets too big for Bingo to handle.

  “So what do you know about this new venture of his?” I was pretty sure that Geno’s new business was the reason U.S. Marshals were on his tail.

  “Now’s not a good time to discuss this.” He motioned to the other room, teaming with young testosterone. “Come back tomorrow. During the day. We can talk then.”

  I got it. Some of Geno’s guys ran games like Bingo’s, and it wouldn’t do to be talking about the competition when customers could listen in. Okay by me. I was already several beers in and I wasn’t going hunting for mobsters tonight. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the small notebook I kept with my wallet—a throwback to my cop days. I scrawled Amato and Picone’s names, tore the sheet, folded it in half, and handed it over. “I’ll come by tomorrow, but I still want a game tonight. We still on?”

  He tucked the paper in his jacket. “Always, Luca. Always.”

  I’m sure he meant it at the time.

  *

  I woke the following afternoon with shooting pains in my head and limited recall about how I’d made it back to my bed. I turned over to check the clock and was stabbed in the side by my holstered Colt. Couldn’t remember the last time I’d been too drunk to take off my gun. Instinctively, I reached into my pockets and quickly realized I hadn’t come home with any money. Thank God, I’d only withdrawn half the money in my coffee can bank or I’d be broke and hung over.

  It was four p.m. I wanted to write off the day, but any thoughts about rolling over and going back to sleep went the way of my clear head. I stumbled out of bed and stripped down to my underwear. Shower or run? Both, I decided, mostly because a run would net me a cup of coffee from the corner grocery.

  I pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt that had only been in the dirty clothes pile a few days and traded my heavy black boots for ratty sneakers. A few stretches later and I was out the door. I left my gun behind. I didn’t have the energy to pull the trigger. Took about a mile before I sweated out enough alcohol to start to feel human again. It was a cold, crisp afternoon, and I could see my breath as puffs of air, letting me know I was still alive. I ran another mile before I rewarded my efforts with a cup of black coffee, large and scalding hot. I drank the brew, letting it burn my tongue as I walked back to my apartment. A shower and I’d be ready for the day. Good thing since I needed to pick up the next jumper on my list if I was going to eat the rest of the week.

  Fresh from the shower, wrapped in a towel, I studied the file for Laura Tanner, aka Lana Tease, stripper on the run. Laura had a bit of a drug problem and had been arrested for possession of a controlled substance, meth, enough to get tagged with a third degree felony. Range of punishment two to ten years as a guest of the state penitentiary. And she had a lengthy history so she was likely to do some time, which is probably why she took off the minute her lawyer had given her the bad news.

  I didn’t blame the girl for doing drugs. Hell, I’d have to be full under to strip for a bunch of pot-bellied, middle-aged men who spent their days nursing drinks and shoving dollar bills in G-strings. I shuddered at the very thought. I wasn’t out to judge her, just bring her in. Someone else could do the judging.

  Her last job had been at the Foxy Lady. I knew the place well. It’s where I’d met Ronnie Moreno, fiery Latin lawyer lady who’d swept me up in her personal and professional drama and left me without a paycheck when she went to DC to work for a high dollar firm. Bitch. The Foxy Lady had closed down when its owner turned up dead and his business partners all went to the pokey. If Lana had worked there long, she’d need drugs—the place was a cover for a kinky sex club where the rich and powerful used the strippers as their personal playthings.

  Unlike a usual case, I didn’t start with a last known home address. I doubted Lana would bother returning to whatever flophouse she’d spent her strung out existence crashing in. Strippers had to strip, and they generally had no particular allegiance to a particular club. I decided to start in the same area of town as the Foxy Lady and work my way through the clubs. I’d bet the money I had left I’d find her in time to collect my fee before dinner. I hoped so anyway, since drinking my way through the bars could get expensive fast.

  Thirty minutes later, I drove past the Foxy Lady and surveyed the choices. Slice of Heaven would be my last stop, if I had to check it out. It was owned by Yuri Petrov and he wasn’t likely to welcome me in his establishment. Not after I’d played a part in his brother Andrei’s arrest last year. Ah, good memories. I’d met Diamond working that case, and learned what an elusive and mysterious woman she could be.

  I swung into a parking lot that connected several clubs and trudged into the dumpiest looking one first, Black Lace. I decided the name stood for the dark ambience. The whole place was dark except for a spotlight centered on the pole in the middle of the stage. Apparently, I was just in time, the music cued up, and seconds later, a tall blonde appeared and the DJ announced Magic had just taken the stage.

  I didn’t need to look at the picture in my pocket to know this dancer wasn’t Lana. Rather than waste time watching Magic gyrate, and risk having to spend money on a drink for the dubious pleasure, I decided to poke around. The dressing room, such as it was, was pretty easy to find. It was still early so the crowd was scant. Clothing was scant too. When I walked in, no one seemed phased at the interruption, but they clearly wanted to let me know the roster was full.

  “Try Slice of Heaven, down the street.”

  No thanks. “I’m not looking for work. I’m looking for someone.” I pretended to consult the pad in my pocket. “Laura Tanner. Her stage name is Lana Tease.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “She’s going to get an inheritance. Big one.”

  “Girl!” The dancer nearest me stood and walked over. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. No one named Laura or Lana here.” She slid an arm around my waist. “How about you give me that inheritance?”

  I delicately removed her arm, which was way too close to my holster. A holster holding a gun that the law forbade me to carry into a bar. I doubted this woman would care, but you never know. “You ever seen Lana at any of the clubs?”

  Strippers aren’t the most loyal beings. They aren’t actually employees. They are independent contractors, and though they might settle in at a place they liked, they had a tendency to move from club to club when business got slow. The owners didn’t care—variety was good for business, and as long as they had a stable of pretty girls willing to shed their clothes, it was all good. Chances were good at least one of these three rock stars had run across her at some point. I didn’t want to whip out the picture I had since it was a mug shot, but I would if I had to.

  “Nope. Don’t know Miss Soon to be Rich.”

  “I do.” A mousy voice piped up, and a petite brunette walked toward me. “She’s at the Dusty Rose. At least she was there last night. It’s next to Slice of Heaven.”

  Of course it was. “Thanks, uh…”

  “Marigold.”

  I didn’t think naming yourself after a pungent flower that repels insects was necessarily a good marketing move, but I wasn’t in the business so I couldn’t really talk. “You think she may be headed back there tonight?”

  “She raked in the cash last night. Pretty sure she’ll be back. She didn’t show up until about eight last night.”

  My work here was done. “Thanks, Mari—” I just couldn’t bring myself to say it. “Um, thanks very much.”

  Within a few minutes, I was back in the Bronco. I hadn’t had to spend a dime yet and I had a good lead. And a few hours to kill. I decided now might be a good time to catch Bingo before his games started up and find out if he’d had any luck getting intel on Geno’s guys.

  He was in, but I was out of luck. He answered my knock, but instead of inviting me in to see his Elvis collection, he stepped out onto the front porch and shut the door behind him.

  “Go away,
Luca.” The command was quiet and firm.

  All I remembered about last night was that I woke up today with no money. I drew a conclusion that led me to mistake the source of his concern. “I’m not here to play. Don’t worry—looks like I got cleaned out last night. Just checking in to see what you found out.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shook his head and repeated his opening line. “Go away, Luca.”

  I hadn’t been that drunk, but something had happened between last night’s glad-handing promises to find out what he could and the cold shoulder he was offering now. I could tell by the stern expression on his face, it wasn’t going to be easy to find out what. I peered over his shoulder as if I could see into the house. “What’s up? You have people over?”

  He shrugged, but his face remained impassive. “You need to go.”

  I stepped closer, but he held up both hands as if to ward off an attack. From me. Crazy.

  I stepped back. “Okay, okay. I need to go. I’ll go.” As I left, I couldn’t resist a parting shot. “Guess you aren’t as connected as you think you are.”

  “You have no idea what you’re doing, Luca. If I’d bothered to look at those names you gave me last night, I would have sent you packing then. Listen closely. You should find other work.”

  I didn’t bother answering. We both knew that was never going to happen. I had skills. And now I was curious. The combination meant I was going to see this case through.

  Chapter Five

  What seemed like hours later, I’d blown twenty-five bucks on two watered-down drinks at the Dusty Rose, and I was ready to go. The dressing room in this place was guarded by a big barrel-chested guy who looked like he could stop bullets with his bare fists. I glanced at my watch. It was still early, and I resolved to nurse the shitty bourbon for another hour before giving up.