Cold Bullets and Hot Babes: Dark Crime Stories (10 page)

“Are you married?” she asks. I hear the rain ticking against the windowpane.

“Divorced.”

“Did you cheat on her?” Just a question. No judgment in her voice.

“Only with Jack Daniels,” I say. She looks into my eyes, senses my pain and ambivalence.

“I think you’re still married in your head,” she says and kisses me softly on the temple.

I wake to a gray morning. Angel’s gone back to her room. A wound is always more painful on the second day and my back is proof positive. It takes me five minutes to get out of bed and straighten up. I soak in the tub. My muscles loosen up some, but a pinched nerve in my spine sends a shock wave down my left leg. I want another shot at Elmer Ganguzza.

It’s Saturday. Angel’s on the schedule at The Blue Rose tonight. I want her out of there as soon as I can came up with a plan. We want to be together but it’ll never work unless we get Teague out of the picture. Hank tells me a guy like that has got to have a past...a record...a warrant...something. He shows me his rental application. His former residence was in Kansas City. The rest of the information is sketchy, deliberately evasive.

“He’s just arrogant enough to use his real name,” says Hank. “Might be worth checking into, weed out the riffraff.”

“I know just the guy who can help me with that.”

I call Jim at the precinct. He says he’ll do some checking and get back to me.

Angel and I have pancakes and coffee at the Memory Lights Cafe on the corner of Cork and Dublin. She wears a blue raincoat and matching boots, her hair long and flowing and dotted with raindrops. I pay the check and we hurry back up the street to catch the new Jean Harlow movie.

We laugh and eat popcorn and drink Coke. Today I don’t feel like a broken down cop with an ex-wife who hates him. With Angel I have a second chance to do things right, maybe even kick the booze.

The curtain comes down on the double feature. My spine is vapor locked from sitting. I suppress a groan and drag myself out of the seat. I was wrong about the broken down cop thing. I feel like a dog that’s been hit by a truck.

It’s after dark and we’re back on the sidewalk. The flickering neon marquee turns the raindrops pink and silver. Across the street, in a recessed entryway, a couple doors down from the hotel, a ruby light glows from the shadows. It could be someone ducking out of the rain for a smoke. It could also be Teague watching us. I’d walk over and check it out if I were by myself, but Angel is chattering on about the movie, asking if she should bleach and bob her hair like a Hollywood star. Why ruin her fun by starting a ruckus?

Evening. Angel puts on a pink taffeta dress, matching shoes, and a string of dime store pearls.

“I wish you wouldn’t go,” I say. “Let me take care of you?”

“Oh Jack,” she says. “They say you can’t fall in love this fast, but....”

“What do they know?” I hold her close for a moment and kiss her cheek.

“I’ll just pick up my check and say good-bye to the girls so they won’t think something bad has happened to me. Then I’ll call it quits.”

I give her taxi money and see her off in the cab. When I return to the lobby I can still smell the ghost of her perfume.

I return to the room and the phone is ringing. Hank patches Jim Tunney through. He tells me to go in the alley entrance of the brick building next door, that it was The Zebra Room before Prohibition. Now it’s the speakeasy where the cops and attorneys hang out.

I have Angel to take care of now so I can’t waste all my money on booze. I leave a five in my wallet and put the rest of the bills in the top dresser drawer beside my gun. Who needs a gun? I’m having drinks with a cop who looks like a trigger-happy leprechaun.

The doorman lets me in and points to a red leather booth in a dark corner. Jim’s already ordered a bucket of beer and two chilled mugs. I can tell by the look on his face that he’s got something for me.

“You dug up some shit on Teague,” I say.

He grins. “The deeper I dig the darker it gets.”

I fill my mug. I’m thirsty as hell from all that popcorn.

“So let me have it.” I lean forward on my elbows and a shard of pain shoots from my lumbar into my neck. I clench my jaw, try not to lose my focus.

“You were right about Kansas City,” he says. “Seems that every hooker who wanted out of his stable ended up in the river with her hands tied behind her back. Believe me, you don’t want to hear all the gruesome details.”

“So, how come he’s still walking around?”

“He skipped town with a couple of his girls when he became the main focus of the investigation. Need I say, he left no forwarding address?”

“Is that it?”

“Right now he’s just wanted for questioning. There is, however, an outstanding bench warrant for unpaid traffic tickets.”

“Unpaid traffic tickets?”

I let the thought marinate.

“Ever extradite someone to another state on a traffic charge?”

“This could be a first,” he says, and laughs.

“And once he’s back in Kansas City, they can grill him on the murders.”

Great minds with but a single thought,” he says, downing his beer in one long pull.

“Tomorrow?” I say. “It could keep a friend of mine out of the morgue.”

“Why not. Tomorrow it is.”

I cross the alley to The Rexford. I’m buzzed after sharing a couple buckets of beer, my throat rough from too many cigarettes. A day in Santa Paulina and I have a job, a girl, two friends and an enemy. What more can a guy ask for?

The moment I enter the lobby I know something is off. Trouble is written all over Hank’s face..

“It’s Angel,” he says. “She’s frantic. I tried to tell her you were next door but she’d already started up the elevator. Someone knocked the hell out of her. That’s the way it is with these girls.”

“Oh shit! Teague,” I say. “Try and catch Tunney before he leaves The Zebra Room.”

I can’t wait for the elevator to come back down. I hobble up stairs I’d have normally taken two at a time. I reach the second story landing, calling for Angel. I follow the trail of her rose perfume down the hall. The door to my room is open. Pearls from her necklace are scattered across the floor. The top dresser drawer is upside down on the bed. My money’s gone. My gun is gone. Angel Doll is gone.

The floor vibrates beneath my feet. It’s the elevator on its downward descent. I scramble down the stairs and stumble. The nerves in my back are on fire. It’s all I can do to keep my bad leg under me.

Hank meets me at the bottom of the stairs.

“She jumped in a cab going west on Cork,” he says.

“Any idea where she’s gone?”

“If I were that scared, I’d be on the midnight train to L.A. It’s the first place Teague will look for her.”

Hank rushes across the room and reaches under the counter.

“Jack,” he calls, and tosses me a set of keys. “It’s the black Ford Coupe out back. Cork turns to River Road when you cross the bridge. Go another mile and turn right on Depot Street.”

I gun down Cork in the midnight rain, the windshield wipers working overtime, the tires hissing over the asphalt. I fly past the Rescue Mission, the pawn shop, The Blue Rose Dancehall. I clatter over the Santa Paulina Bridge, the water black and raging one hundred feet below. When I get to Depot I snap a right and slide up to the station.

Passengers fold their umbrellas as they file onto the train. A few turn their heads to watch the stone-faced man who’s dragging the lady away from the tracks. He’s left the door open and the engine running in his yellow Caddy, like this is going to be easy, like it’s going to be a Sunday walk in the park. I guess it’s up to me to screw up his plan. I hobble out of the car.

Angel sees me. “Jack!” she cries. “Jack!”

Teague spins around. He takes in my limp, considers me an insignificant nuisance. Maybe he’s right. I look like a wounded animal.

“Get lost,” he says. “I have legal custody of this little tramp.”

Angel struggles to free her wrist. Her hair is tangled over one eye. It looks like spun gold in the light from the station. Her coat is torn. One of her earrings is missing.

The station master pokes his head out of the office door.

“We got trouble here, mister?”

“Call the precinct,” I say. “This man is wanted for murder.” He disappears inside the building.

Teague snorts in disgust.

“I’m not wanted for shit,” he says.

I’m not in fighting form. If Hank connects with Officer Tunney, he could be here any second. If he doesn’t, it will take the city cops a minimum of ten minutes to get here. I stall. I have to use my head. I limp to the Caddy. I reach in, turn off the engine and toss the keys into the darkness. Teague’s confidence goes down a notch. Angel swings with her free hand and hits him in the head with her purse. His hat tumbles off and he drops her wrist.

I power-limp across the platform but Teague’s bunched fist has already connected with Angel’s cheekbone. She staggers sideways and loses a pink shoe. I can’t think my way out of this one. I land a good one on Teague’s jaw. Something cracks...a tooth...maybe a bone. I’m unable to strut like a horny rooster, but there’s nothing wrong with my fist.

“You son-of-a-bitch:” he says. His hard-soled shoe slams into my ribs. I feel the cartilage rip and a bolt of lightning explodes in my back.

A switchblade flicks open in his hand. My back clenches and in that brief moment of paralysis I know he’s got me. I hear a siren in the distance but it’s too late. Teague gives me a broken-toothed smile. I have no choice but to make a final play and go for the knife. I grab for his wrist as he aims for my gut. Angel screams.

A bullet whines past my ear and I duck. The knife clatters to the planks. Teague needs both hands to plug the hole in his throat, but he’s sprung a sizeable leak and blood dribbles from between his fingers. Surprise and disbelief register on his face. He’s wondering how such a sterling fellow as himself can come to such a gruesome end. He drops to his knees with a gurgle, falls flat on his face and bleeds out on the boards.

Angel stands over him with my gun in her hand. Her eye is swollen closed. Blood is dripping from deep inside one ear.

“Hand me the gun,” I say. “It’s all right. Everything is going to be all right.” She’s shell-shocked. I don’t think she hears me. I take a step toward her and she takes a step back. The train whistle blows. The train begins to move slowly down the tracks. Angel looks at me, then at the train, then at me with an expression of utter terror and helplessness. “Angel,” I say, “trust me,” but she’s slipped into a dead zone beyond my orbit.

Angel turns and drops the gun. She runs along the platform as the train picks up speed. I start after her, but my leg buckles and I go down. She raises her arm above her head. The conductor reaches down and pulls her aboard. My last vision of Angel Doll is her tear-stained face at the train window, her little hand pressed against the glass.

Someone pulls me to my feet. It’s Jim. He strides over .to the body and pockets the gun. A second patrol car pulls up and two officers get out. Jim addresses the younger of the two.

“Duggan, would you see that the black Ford gets back to Hank Feather stone at The Rexford? This gentleman is too injured to drive.”

“Yessir,” he says, and heads for the car.

“Boyle, forget the ambulance and get the coroner down here.”

“Right away, sir. Do you know who did this?”

“Mr. Dunning seems to be the only witness. I’ll see what he has to say.”

“Who’s the victim?”

“There is no victim. The deceased is Axel Teague.”

Boyle scratches his head. “If there’s no victim, there’s no perp.”

“You get smarter every day, Boyle,” he says and bags the blade.

Jim stops the car on the bridge. The night is pitch black and the river is roaring. He takes my gun out of his pocket and tosses it over the railing. “So there won’t be any questions later,” he says. “Got a problem with that?” I shake my head. “The way I see it...no girl...no gun...no sweat.”

“That’s the way I’d tell it,” I say.

We drive in silence for awhile with the rain pounding down.

“Jack,” he says. “A word of advice. Don’t obsess over the girl. Sure, you could follow her to L.A., but believe me, by the time you find her, she won’t be alone.”

“Aren’t you a little ray of sunshine,” I say.

He sputters a laugh. There’s a trace of a smile on my lips as he turns the windshield wipers on high. We pass the Blue Rose Dancehall. The door swings open and Elmer Ganguzza sails through the air and lands chin first on the sidewalk.

“Jesus,” I say. “Boston or Santa Paulina, some things never change.”

“No shit. Speaking of Boston, ever work cold cases?”

“I’ve worked my share.”

“The Chief wonders if you’d consider working a few of ours. It shouldn’t interfere with what you’ve got going at The Rexford and a guy can always use a couple extra bucks.”

For a second or two I vacillate between the truth and an out and out whopper.

Then I say, “Before I sign on, you should know they canned my butt in Boston because I drink too much. I’m still on the bottle.”

He grinned.

“Then you and the Chief should hit it off just fine.”