Battle Axe

by Carsen Taite

  Chapter Seventeen

  I crawled out of bed Monday morning after a fitful night of sleep. I’d had some version of the wedding dream, but this time Bingo was there, on stage with the band, crooning Italian ballads like a sorry Frank Sinatra cover. He looked old, tired, and his toupee was barely hanging on for the show. At the break, he passed a hat, asking for help with his legal fees.

  I resolved to get the attorney issue out of the way as soon as possible. I’m not fond of criminal defense lawyers. I know they serve their purpose, but in my opinion, they are not much better than the folks they represent. Ronnie Moreno had proved my theory. I called Hardin and got a couple of names.

  After a run and a shower, I felt and looked slightly human. I made a withdrawal from my coffee can so I could gas up the Bronco and I hit the streets.

  This morning, the crime scene tape was confined to Bingo’s door instead of a three house radius. I knocked without a lot of confidence. John had promised to let me know if they arrested Bingo, but even if they hadn’t, I seriously doubted he would spend the night here. I pulled my notebook and a pen from my back pocket and started to write a note. Wasn’t sure how much I wanted to say on something that would be sticking out his door. Luckily, I was saved from thinking too hard by the guy I was trying to rescue.

  “Luca, what are you doing here?”

  He looked like hell, worse than he had in my dream, mostly because he’d completely abandoned the toupee and his head was a misshapen gourd. I considered whether I had a baseball cap in the car I could loan him and how I could offer it without hurting his feelings.

  “I stopped by to check on you.” I thrust my note at him. “Hardin suggested these attorneys. Call one. Don’t try to handle this by yourself.”

  “You think they’re going to arrest me?”

  “I don’t have a clue, but it makes sense they’d settle on the easiest explanation.”

  “I didn’t kill those guys.”

  “I know.” And I did. No way this beaten down guy could have committed cold-blooded murder. He didn’t have it in him, either physically or mentally. “I think you were set up.”

  “Why would someone do that?”

  Good question. I hadn’t given it any more thought since my thoughts dead-ended the day before. “I don’t know, but I’m sure if you tell your attorney everything you told Detective Chance and me, they’ll develop some leads. Did you give the gold coin to the cops?”

  He sighed. “I don’t have it anymore. I hocked it.”

  “Damn. Did you at least tell them about the prescription drugs Amato and Picone were selling from your place?” I laughed at his look of surprise. “Seriously, the drugs were right there in your guest bathroom. Not exactly a secret operation.”

  He at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “Vedda’s guys cleared those out the day after you were here with your friend. Said they needed them at another location. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the drugs. I was scared. And now, why bother telling the cops a bunch of stuff I can’t prove? Does it even matter?”

  Maybe not. I still had my gold coin. I could give it to John and hope it helped back up Bingo’s story, but I doubted anyone would care. Without anything definitive to tie Petrov to the action at Bingo’s place, no one was going to go poking in that hornet’s nest. Maybe the ME’s report would clear Bingo. If those guys had been killed during the time he could prove he wasn’t home, it would go a long way to showing he wasn’t involved. I tamped down the running string of questions in my head and said, “I’m sure it’ll all get sorted out.” I pointed at the paper in his hand. “Call one of those attorneys. Tell them everything and watch your back. If someone would go this far to set you up, they won’t mind going a step further.”

  He nodded gravely, signaling my blunt assessment had hit home. “I’m just here to meet the clean-up crew. I’m staying with my sister for a few days until this is all straightened out.”

  I’d never pictured Bingo with a family of his own. After all this, I wasn’t sure I’d ever look at him the same way again. His house had been a safe place, my haven for exercising my second favorite vice. Would he ever reopen, or did the legacy end here? I didn’t want to think about it. We exchanged cell phone numbers and I drove off.

  Otis Shaw’s favorite check cashing store was five minutes away from opening when I pulled up. I parked a few doors down and set up watch.

  I didn’t have to wait long. At eight thirty sharp, a huge guy, who made Henry Marcher, my jumper from earlier in the week, seem like a midget, crawled out of a Cadillac Seville, circa 1980, and walked in the store. I wrote down the plate number and considered my options. I’d definitely need to show firepower to take this guy in. He was way over my weight class. I wondered if he was armed. I already knew he wasn’t shy about firing a gun. Last thing we needed was a shoot-out in front of a store full of cash. No doubt the employees had guns under the counters and they’d probably join in the fight. Someone, probably me, would wind up full of holes.

  I decided to wait in the car and follow him to his next stop. Guy with a pocket full of cash wouldn’t wait long to spend it. He confirmed my hunch when he pulled up in front of the nearest Whataburger. If I played this right, Otis Shaw would be buying me breakfast.

  I resisted the urge to follow him inside. Instead, I grabbed the Colt from my holster, draped a jacket over my arm, and waited by his ride. When he finally burst through the doors with three sacks of steaming takeout, I realized why it had taken him so long.

  “Git off my ride.” His words were muffled, probably because of the wad of food lodged in one side of his jaw. Guess he couldn’t wait until he got home or at least into the car.

  I adjusted my jacket just enough so he could see the gun, not enough to start a panic among the exiting customers. “Mr. Shaw, Hardin Jones needs to see you. Come with me and we’ll get things straightened—”

  I barely got the last word out before I was clobbered by a cloud of orange and white striped bags. Didn’t hurt, but the fist that followed them packed a mighty punch. I doubled over and Shaw swiped me away from his car door like I was made of paper. I resisted the urge to shoot. Too many bystanders. He started the Cadillac and I jumped up, hauling one of the bags with me and ran to the Bronco.

  I did my best, but he had too much of a head start. I lost him at the next intersection when I got blocked by a huge-ass truck and he made a left turn against the red light. If I hadn’t just caused a scene at the Whataburger, I would’ve risked it and run the light too, but I didn’t need to chance getting pulled over and questioned about what I was doing pulling guns on people outside a fast-food joint. Well, at least now I knew Shaw wasn’t going to behave in public. I’d have to wait and catch him without an audience.

  When I got home, I rummaged through the bag I’d managed to save. Two biscuits with bacon and egg. Hash browns. Gravy. The morning hadn’t been a bust after all.

  After breakfast, I contemplated my next move. It’d been a pretty full day already. I was wavering between a short nap and a long nap when John called. I picked up on the first ring.

  “I have good news and bad news.”

  “Let’s hear it.” I didn’t bother specifying the order.

  “Based on the ME’s time of death, Amato and Picone could have been killed during the time Bingo was out running errands.”

  “I’m guessing that’s the good news. And the bad?”

  “They weren’t killed at Bingo’s place.”

  Too much breakfast, too little sleep made my mind sluggish. “What does that mean?”

  “Jensen,” he referred to the lead detective on the case, “thinks it means he killed them somewhere else and brought them back to the house.”

  “You realize how stupid that sounds, right? And Bingo is supposed to have done this by himself? You’ve met him, right?” I raised my voice just in case he wasn’t getting how worked up I was.

  “Settle down. I’m with you. Something fishy about all this, which is
why we haven’t made an arrest. We planned to talk to Bingo again, but he’s lawyered up.”

  “Pretty smart if you ask me.”

  “Pretty sure it was your idea.”

  “Sue me.” I started to tell him to call me back when he had something of substance to report, but then I remembered the stupid gold coin. “Where are you now? I want to give you that Imperial. Bingo said he got one just like it from Petrov. I’m telling you it’s his ‘you’re in my debt now’ calling card.”

  “You mean the one he conveniently hocked and lost the pawn ticket? His lawyer told us. You should keep yours. You can help him pay for his lawyer out of it. Looks like Bingo was strapped for cash, which Jensen figures is a motive for getting rid of the Italians.”

  “Did this guy just make detective? Bingo’s business is done. This little incident has shut him down. Do you think Bingo executed two guys with a gun you can’t find, loaded them into his car, hauled them home, and dumped them into his living room?”

  “Yeah, I told him your theory about Petrov and he thinks that’s Bingo’s ace in the hole. Show of loyalty to Petrov by taking out the Italians.” He kept talking over my grunted protest. “Don’t shoot the messenger. Between you and me, I think Jensen wants a stat more than he wants to dig. I’ll do as much as I can, but like I told you before, I’m not the lead on this one.”

  I caught a lot of “I”s in what he said and asked, “What does Chance think?”

  “You haven’t talked to her?”

  Way to change the subject. “Not since she first found out about all this. And she was a little preoccupied at the time. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen her.”

  “I’ve seen her, but we haven’t talked much. She’s out canvassing the neighborhood with a couple of uniforms while I’m here dealing with the ME and the lab.” He waited a beat, then added, “She feels real bad about what happened.”

  About ditching me for the doctor? About being with the doctor in the first place? About leaving Bingo hanging out to dry? I did and I didn’t want to know the answer. “Yeah.”

  “What about that U.S. Marshal you were so hot on? Wasn’t she the one had you looking for Amato and Picone in the first place? Why don’t you hit that and see what you can find out?”

  “‘Hit that’? Really, John? Don’t try to talk like a hipster. Not you. Not you at all. Besides, like every other woman in my life, she’s disappeared.”

  “Rough.”

  He had no idea.

  *

  Nap didn’t take. Didn’t get anywhere close to sleep. I needed to be doing something, but I didn’t have a clue what. Someone ordered a hit on Vedda’s guys. Most likely, it was Petrov, but why? If he wanted Bingo’s place for business, it was stupid to make it a crime scene. Petrov’s success was due to his brains. Leaving Vedda’s guys dead at Bingo’s wasn’t a smart move for anyone who wanted a piece of Bingo’s business.

  So who had an interest in closing his doors for good?

  The Feds. If Bingo’s house had become a hotspot for organized crime, they’d want to shut it down. They must have known something was up there, otherwise, why would Diamond have been looking for Amato and Picone in the first place?

  I shook my head. I may be a renegade, but the idea that government agents had killed a couple of suspects and left them where an innocent man would be blamed was too much for me to take in. The whole thing stunk, and I had a strong desire to clear the smell.

  Clock read two p.m. The biscuits and gravy were a distant memory. I had a trace of a plan, but I’d definitely need a good meal before I took it on. I dressed and armed up, pulled the Imperial coin from my coffee can, and walked over to Maggie’s. Middle of the day, the only customers were a few regular drunks, hunched over the bar. Place was so quiet, my entrance made a big bang, and Maggie flew out of the kitchen to welcome me with a flurry of observations.

  “You! Where have you been? Your brother left town. Your dad isn’t eating right and he’s drinking too much. I think he’s sad. You should go see him.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her his mourning had more to do with his favorite gambling place being shut down than any kind of empty nest syndrome. “I’ll go see him soon. He said Mark left my wedding invite at the house.”

  She presented a creamy colored envelope with a wax seal. “He gave it to me. Said I’d probably see you before him.”

  I took it and hefted the weighty envelope in my hand. “Fancy.” I slid a finger under the flap and broke the seal to find another envelope inside. Luca Bennett and Guest.

  “You gonna bring someone?”

  And guest. What the hell? Like I was the host of this shindig. I was a guest myself. And I’d be busy doing best man things, whatever those are. My thoughts rambled on and Maggie poked me in the side.

  “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Are you going to bring someone to your brother’s wedding?”

  She said the words real slow, but it didn’t help. I blurted out, “I don’t have anyone to bring.”

  Maggie grunted and folded her arms. “And that’s your problem.”

  “Maybe it’s not a problem. I’m happy being on my own.” The slight tinge of dishonesty stung and I rushed to cover. “I mean, I’ll have things to do. You know, for Mark. Wedding things. Right?”

  “Sure, if you’re set on going alone. Besides, you’ll be all looking good in your tux. Wedding will be full of single women, all sentimental about romance. You’ll have your pick of the lot.”

  The image of scads of well-dressed women, teary-eyed and romantic, caused me to feel suddenly claustrophobic. Not my usual reaction, but nothing had felt usual lately, and I didn’t want to talk about it. “You have any decent food?”

  “And by decent, you mean fat and grease?”

  “How well you know me.”

  “Maybe it’s better you stay single since you’re going to die young.”

  She was all talk. I knew that once she got over trying to change my dad—who was never going to change—she’d be back to serving up food that tasted good instead of food that was good for us. After staring me down, she stalked off to the kitchen mumbling about calories and cholesterol.

  An hour later, fueled by a cheeseburger with extra bacon and a big basket of fries, I’d finally figured out my next step. Hell, if I was going to die young, I may as well go out blazing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Judging by the cars, Slice of Heaven was busy for a Monday night. Good. Better chance Candy would be working. John and Chance may not have been able to get her to talk, but they were constrained by pesky rules, like the Constitution. Me? Not so much. I’d let my Colt do the convincing.

  I’d considered driving straight up to Petrov’s house. I’d been there before, last year when I’d hunted Diamond down, but the reception had been icy at best. His goons had frisked me and taken my guns. Besides, the place was a fortress. Better to stir things up and get him to come to me.

  I ordered a draft beer and pretended to drink it while I scoped out the place. No sign of any of Petrov’s regular security detail. Good, because I was prepared to shoot up the place to get some info. After a few minutes, I slipped the cocktail waitress a twenty and told her I was hungry for some Candy. She motioned for me to follow her to one of the rooms in the back. The room was utilitarian. A couch, a small table, and a dimmer switch on the overhead light. The light was low and I didn’t change it, hoping the couch didn’t have too many remnants from prior customers.

  I didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later, a perky brunette in a thong walked in, shut the door behind her, and joined me on the couch.

  “I heard you were in the mood for something sweet.”

  “Do they teach you to talk like that at stripper school?”

  The perkiness faded fast. “You have cash or not?”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out the Imperial. “Will this do?”

  I barely caught her flinch before she morphed back into vivacio
us mode. “If that’s real, we can work something out.”

  I set the Imperial on the table and leaned back into the couch. “Tell me everything you know about Yuri Petrov’s prescription drug business.”

  Candy was fast, but the sight of the Colt stopped her before she got to the door. I pointed to the place on the couch she’d just abandoned. “Hey, now, we were just getting started.”

  “If I scream, two very big guys will be in here in seconds.”

  “I’m sure they will enjoy cleaning up the blood. Have a seat.”

  She sat as far away from me as she could get. “What do you want?”

  “I told you. You know the cops are already interested. Why don’t you fill me in about Yuri’s new business and I can get them out of your hair?”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “Not what I heard.” I cocked my gun, but didn’t point it at her.

  Perky, vivacious—all gone. The girl next to me on the couch was a puddle of nerves. She’d talk. I just had to wait her out.

  “Look, I’m in college. This is how I pay my way, but the club hasn’t been as busy as it used to be. Economy and all.” I nodded to keep her talking. “Yuri’s guys offered a few of us extra work, peddling prescription drugs. I needed the extra cash, so I said hell yeah. They wanted me to sell on campus, but I know better than to risk getting thrown out of school, so I just sell to some of the girls at the other clubs. I figured that was low risk.”

  She had a brilliant business mind. “You know where Yuri gets the stuff?”

  “Not a clue.”

  She was telling the truth. “You have some on you now?” I was regretting giving John the only proof I had. Wouldn’t hurt to have more on hand.

  She shot a look at the Colt and her face fell. “No. I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said I could get some and be right back.”

  “I believe you’d bring something besides fake meds back. Just a few more questions and I’m out of your hair.” I holstered the Colt as a sign of goodwill. “Ever been to Bingo’s place?”