Right then, a bit of a reworking....
Three (Redux)
The squeal of brakes, the scream of an onlooker, the wet thud of a body hit by several tons of moving metal.
I stood and stared for a moment, holding that damn envelope. Not overly shocked, as in my line of work I’ve witnessed a few suicides along the way, but never anything so casual.
Then I turned and ran, as with two violent deaths in as many hours and yours truly the main eye witness? It would be a quick trip downtown and Wolff himself using the rubber hose. Maybe running wasn’t the smart move in the long run but I didn’t need the extra grief just at that moment.
I ran until my lings gave out and I had to stop and rest, wheezing like a shot carburettor.
“You got that whole fleeing the crime scene thing down pat, I must admit. Maybe the guilty-as-sin look needs a bit of work though.”
The Imp sat on a mailbox, swinging his legs. I lit a cigarette, trying to appear normal, trying to appear in control – but conscious of just how badly the flame shook as I raised the match. I flicked the dead match at him but missed, and he just laughed.
“I give it maybe an hour before the flatfoots realise you was the last person talking to that bitch, so make the most of it.”
I coughed and wiped my face.
“Who was she anyway? You seemed to recognise her.”
He grimaced, although given how his face normally looks it was kind of hard to tell.
“I know her type, that’s all. Just a messenger, and nothing they have to say is ever good news. I’d ditch that envelope if I was you, maybe even leave town as well.”
I made a grab for him but he slid into the mail chute and disappeared, although I could hear the sniggering echo from within. Eventually the smoke calmed me a little, enough to take stock of my situation as I loitered on the street corner. I needed a change of clothes, a drink, a gun and some help. Any order would do. A Yellow Cab appeared and I remembered to button my jacket over the blood-stained shirt before flagging it down.
After hitting my apartment for everything it had to offer I hot-footed it over to Lorenzo’s Diner. This was a gathering place for the real night owls and only came alive between dusk and dawn. It attracted a rowdy bunch at the best of times and the new Seeburg Jukebox merely added to the background hubbub. Lorenzo drags these wrought iron tables and chairs out under the awning each evening as he thinks it gives the joint a European cafe feel. It means you can sit and talk with a fair chance of being heard, but not overheard.
I called Sally Saks, our so-called receptionist, from the payphone across the street.
“Hello?”
“Sally, its Luke. Don’t give me any excuses, just get down to Lorenzo’s straight away.
The irritation in her voice was obvious.
“You don’t pay me enough for this out-of-hours BS, OK? So if you’re looking for some floozy to set up a mark then you can think again, got that?”
“Sally, this is serious, deadly serious. We’re talking safety deposit box serious if I can’t get out from under by morning.”
There was a pause, a long pause, so long I started to think she had left the handset dangling and was heading for the hills. There was five grand of high-quality counterfeit bills plus a .38 revolver in a safety deposit box at First National, and it needed two keys.
“I’ll be there.”
Dial tone.
Relief washed over me and I felt almost light-headed, but had the sense to settle for coffee instead of booze while waiting for her. The Imp showed up on the table next to me, pushing a saucer to the side so that when the cup was put down both would overbalance and hit the sidewalk. I ignored him.
I was on my third black coffee by the time she showed; a skinny brunette in slacks and sweater with her unfashionably straight hair in a simple ponytail. She slid into the seat opposite and gave me the once-over.
“Fresh shirt, your other suit, a tie you haven’t mangled yet – you’ve made quite the effort. I’d feel flattered if any of it was for my benefit.”
I wisely keep my mouth shut for the moment and offered her a cigarette. She lit up, blew the first mouthful upwards, and sat back in her chair.
“This had better be important, Luke. I’m not going to throw everything away and take off into the wide blue yonder without a really, really good reason.”
My reassuring smile was as false as her eyelashes.
“Well, sweetheart, some kid showed up at the office and promptly got shot by an unknown assailant, as the saying goes. The police want to know who, what, where, when and why, and my constant refrain of ‘I don’t know’ isn’t cutting any ice. If I can’t fill in some of the blanks in the next few hours then I can see things getting mighty unpleasant. You know we can’t stand them taking a real close look at the business, so it’s in your own best interest to help me out.”
Sally frowned and leaned forward, her voice low.
“So, just between us, what did happen?”
I spread my hands.
“Darling, off the record, on the QT and very hush-hush - I haven’t a damn clue who the kid was. Except that he looked enough like me to be a relative. A close relative, if you catch my drift. A teenager, maybe fifteen or so.”
She arched an eyebrow.
“Oh yeah? Is this your misspent youth coming back to bite you in the ass? And you’re not sure? Men!”
I tapped the star-shaped bullet scar between my left eye and ear.
“I’m maybe not the most reliable source when it comes to my past, yeah? Hell, I’m not even that good at remembering things that happened recently.”
She glared at me, knowing full well I meant her recent abortion and my part in arranging it.
“Not funny!...So you’ve got the police on your back, what’s the beef? You’re a big boy, Luke, you’ve had them sweat you before. If you’re clean, like you say, just keep up the innocent bystander line and it’ll all blow over.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my metal chair.
“Yeah, well, unfortunately my evening kept up the weirdness theme when a broad handed me this…” I slid the envelope across the table, “…before stepping into traffic and ending up as a hood ornament.”
Sally paused in the act of reaching for it and her eyes narrowed.
“This woman, she’s dead? Suicide? And let me guess, you didn’t know her either?”
That’s what I like about our Sally, about as sympathetic as a hammer. I shrugged and lit another cigarette.
“It sure looked deliberate from where I was standing, but I didn’t hang around to hear the official pronouncement. And yeah, she was a complete stranger.”
Sally frowned and fished out the contents. I’d checked it out back at my apartment and was keen to see her reaction; a glossy black-and-white photograph, good quality but blurry round the edges indicating the use of a long lens. It was a picture of a middle-aged man and woman, Mr and Mrs Average, arguing in front of a building. And behind them, clearly visible through the glass doors….
Sally drew in a sharp breath, her eyes flicking from the picture to me and back again.
“Jeez, Luke! This kid in the background, I see what you mean about the family resemblance. I take it you don’t know who this couple are, or where this was taken?”
“The couple, no, but there’s an address on the back.”
She turned it over.
“Yukon Hotel? Is this all you have to go on?”
I shrugged and sipped my coffee. There was no reason to mention the five hundred that had also been in the envelope.
“It’s a flea-pit on Hunterwasser, but that’s all I know about it. The woman who delivered it also had a message for me, regards from Harry Furie.”
Sally crushed out her cigarette and glared at me, the full twenty-thousand volt special she keeps in reserve for my really spectacular foul-ups .
“Again, not funny.”
“You see me laughing, Sally?”
I felt a tugging at my ankle and glanced down to see the Imp grinning up at me.
“If you thought you were in trouble before, numbnuts, take a look behind you…”
