Cold Bullets and Hot Babes: Dark Crime Stories (4 page)

Pug walked over and set an ashtray on the pool table where a leak had broken through.

“We’re going to have our hands full with Stafford,” he said. “We’re going to need Mick behind the wheel.”

I slowly stubbed out my smoke and limped over to where he was standing.

“I hate to get a priest mixed up in this,” I said.

Pug rested his elbows on the pool table, his blue eyes burning with intensity.

“So, we should use Vin and he calls in the favor up the road? You really want to get in that deep with the gumbas?”

“You have a point. I guess we clean up our own side of the street.”

I made it to the phone behind the bar. The fluid was building up on my knee again and I felt slightly disoriented. I punched in Mick’s number and his housekeeper, Mrs. Healy, answered. I heard her slippers pad away from the phone.

“Father McFeeney,” she called. “It’s trouble on the phone.”

He moaned sleepily.

“Pug or Joey?” he asked.

* * * *

By the time night fell, the streets were rushing with water. Shingles were blown from rooftops and broken branches littered the roadways. Mick looked the part of a proper limo driver in his priestly casuals and Gino’s shiny brimmed cap.

Mick’s nose was as flat as a boxer’s from all the scrapes he’d been in growing up on the streets of Little Ireland, and his beefy face was as knuckly as his fists. There wasn’t a wife-beater or gang-banger he hadn’t dumped on his ass.

Mick let me and Pug off a block up from Stafford’s townhouse, then circled back to make the pickup. I felt like a wreck, stumbling around on my cane, but without it I couldn’t even stand. My face burned with fever and I felt a vague disconnect with my surroundings, like I was walking in someone else’s dream.

Pug peered down the block and watched the roof light go on in the limo.

“The bastard fell for it,” he said.

My face was so hot that rain steamed off of my skin. Water streamed from the visors of our caps.

“Here they come,” said Pug.

Mick splashed the limo to the curb, filling our shoes with water. I walked around the car, opened the back seat driver’s side door, plopped down on the seat and punched my revolver into Stafford’s ribs.

Pug opened the opposite door and there sat the blonde, looking as hot as a pistol in a short sequined mini and blue fox jacket.

Mick shot me a chastising look in the rear view.

Okay, okay, so that small detail fell off my radar.

Pug was fast on his feet, didn’t miss a beat. He reached into his wallet, pressed a crisp fifty in her hand and left her sputtering on the street corner outside Kelly’s Bar, rain dripping into her silver shoes.

“Just what we need,” said Mick. “A fuckin’ witness to a kidnapping. That’ll be five Our Father’s and three Hail Mary’s.”

“What the fuck!” said Stafford, looking first at me, then at Mick. “Where the hell is Gino?”

“Just relax,” said Pug, his voice husky from smoking.

“Hey, wait a minute. If this is about Rory, I already told you....”

“We can make it about her,” I said, “or let’s see, we can make it about Angie Milano.”

Bull’s-eye.

Stafford turned a sallow shade of corpse gray. I knew then that everything Vin had told us was right on the button.

“I didn’t think you micks hung with the wops,” he said. “They’re always talking shit, probably have it on their morning cereal. Besides, no body, no crime. Go ahead and arrest me. My Jew lawyer will have me out in an hour.”

Mick tossed his clerical collar on the seat beside him.

“He thinks we’re bringing him to the station,” he said, with a grin.

The three of us burst into laughter, like when we were kids and up to no good. .

“No body, no crime,” said Pug, and we laughed and laughed.

We drove beyond the city lights to a marsh along the river where an abandoned fish cannery rotted on the bank.

Stafford walked quietly now, caged in by three Irish mesomorphs with murder on their minds. I was trembling with fever, my cane barely able to support my sagging weight.

“You okay?” asked Pug.

“Sure,” I said.

“No you’re not,” he said, and removed the gun from my unsteady hand.

The floorboards of the old cannery were mushy beneath our feet, the bones of the building full of termites and rot. I shone my flashlight into a watery abyss where a section of floor had fallen twenty or thirty feet into the river below.

“Let’s get the job done and get the hell out of here,” I said.

Mick turned to Stafford.

“For the sake of your eternal soul, clear your conscience and tell us where the girl’s remains are buried so I can give you final absolution.”

“You unmitigated hypocrite!” screeched Stafford, a tear in the corner of one eye.

The building shook in the wind and my eyes wandered back to the hole in the floor. Quick as a rattler, Stafford’s hard-soled shoe sank into the soft swollen pulp of my bad knee.

I shrieked like a demented banshee and my flashlight tumbled end over end into the churning water below. Then, with a startling crunch that sounded like the breaking of giant bones, a section of floor gave way and Stafford plummeted downward into the abyss.

Mick’s jaw dropped.

“Holy Mother of God!” he said.

The river had swallowed Stafford in a single gulp. No sound or movement came from the bottom of the pit. Not a scream. Not a cry. Just the swirling of the black water and the sound of rain clicking on the roof.

Pug pocketed my piece and sputtered a laugh.

“Wasn’t us done it,” he said. “We’re outta here.”

“Help me,” I said. “He got me a good one.”

With a brother on each arm I was dragged none too tenderly to the limo. I was unaware of my agonal moaning until Mick said, “Shake it off! What would Da say if he saw you whimpering like a little girl?”

* * * *

Later that night in the E.R., Dr. Mercer chewed my ass out as he drained my knee and wrapped it.

“Don’t bother telling me how it happened,” he said. “I’m surprised any of you McFeeney boys made it to adulthood.”

He snatched up my chart and walked out of the exam room.

“Doc, what about my pain pills?” I called after him.

* * * *

The next morning I lay in bed with a knee that looked like a purple watermelon. When I heard the front door hit the inside wall, I hoped someone had come to shoot me and put me out of my misery. My heart jolted in my chest when Rory flew into the bedroom, her green eyes flashing, her lip decorated with stitches.

“Well, and if it isn’t you malingerin’ when you ought to be confessing your sins at Sunday Mass,” she said. “I know you have my purse and you’d better not have been snooping through it.”

“We thought you were dead!” I exploded. “Mom’s out of her mind with the worry of it all.”

“Come on, Joey. Give me a break. The old battle axe does it to herself. If she wasn’t busy poking into our private lives, she wouldn’t know what to do with herself. Leave it to her to make all those embarrassing inquiries as to my whereabouts.” She put her hands on her hips. “It doesn’t look like you were all that worried, makin’ the most of your wee injury.”

My blood pressure shot up and the pain in my knee went into overdrive.

“Where the hell have you been and what have you done to your face?”

She suddenly ran out of steam and sat on the corner of the bed with a dramatic sigh.

“I finally got up the nerve to face Colby. We fought. He punched me in the mouth. So, what’s new there? When I left his place I was none too sober. Nothin’ new there either. I hit a curb and had a flat tire out by the slaughterhouse. This cute young doctor...wait till you meet him...was getting off shift at Santa Paulina General and stopped to help me. I was so bedraggled. Honestly Joey, I looked like something the cat dragged in. He took me home for the night...or was it two. I’ve sort of lost count. Anyway, he patched me up. In all the excitement, he lost his cell phone, but that’s the way it goes. Anyway, the good part is, we can’t keep our hands to ourselves. He wants me to move in with him, so I’ve got to get going.”

My anger had dissipated. Rory was Rory. What did I expect?

“Well, don’t let him get away,” I said. “We could use a doctor in the family.”

“By the way, I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors. The good doc is going to take care of my problem. I can’t have Colby Stafford screwing up my life for the next eighteen years.”

“Don’t tell me about it. I don’t want to know.”

“Up yours then,” she said.

She grabbed her purse and was gone.

The moment the door slammed, I got a call from Chief Dunning down at The Precinct.

“I had the weirdest experience about an hour ago,” he said. “Your sister’s rich boyfriend paid us a visit with mud all over his nice cashmere overcoat. Says he was kidnapped by a gangster, a cop and a Catholic priest, who tried to murder him out by the old cannery.”

“That’s quite a story,” I said.

“When that young blonde wouldn’t back up his version of events, we laughed him out of the station house and sent her back to her parents in Spokane. Ever hear a more ridiculous accusation?”

My throat went dry. I swallowed hard.

“Never,” I said. “He must have been delirious.”

“By the way, Joey, how’s Father Mick?”

“Fine.”

“And your brother Pug, down at The Aces High?”

“Couldn’t be better, Chief,” I said, sweat popping out of my forehead.

“And yourself?”

“Still resting in bed like the doctor ordered.”

“Well, me boyo, I suggest you stay there and give us all a rest.”

Mom was barely cold in her grave when Bell Jones began warming Dad’s bed. Well, that’s not entirely fair, being that Bell was no dummy and first made sure they tied the knot in front of Pastor Blevins, all legal-like.

I told Dad to get one of those prenuptial agreements like Tom Cruise and Donald Trump. After all, look what happened to Paul McCartney. Dad came into the marriage with a dairy farm and bank accounts and Bell came with a few faded dresses and a cardboard suitcase she kept under lock and key. He ignored my advice and told me I was far too cynical for a ten year old girl.

God knows where Bell came from and how she ended up attending our church. She certainly hadn’t grown up in our small community of Gunnar. My big brother Robby and I tried to make the best of a bad situation, but, we were terribly lonesome for our real Mom.

The week Bell moved in Robby’s dog Kelly was relegated to the barn. Allergies had never been mentioned during the brief courtship, but, my cat Sheba was the next family member to be evicted from the house. Mom’s picture came down from over the fireplace and Bell’s crabby ways drove away our friends.

We complained to Dad who said we had to make ‘accommodations’, that it was hard for someone new to step into a ready-made family. “It’s none too easy for us either!” I said. He told me to watch the sass or he’d wash my mouth out with soap. I wanted to tell him that the soap thing went out with high button shoes, but, I was already in enough trouble.

It wasn’t long after Bell moved in that her brother Cal showed up on our doorstep. Whereas Bell was churchy and drab as an old dish rag, Cal was as hot as a pistol, tall and dark as a gypsy, with a casual manner and a deep farmer’s tan. I decided to hate him from the get-go just because they were related. But, when Bell wouldn’t give him the time of day and wanted him to hit the road, I decided he wasn’t half bad. Before the first week was out I had a mad crush on him, even if he was twenty years older than me. What the heck, Grandpa was twenty years older than Grandma.

Cal had worked as a roustabout for Woodman’s Traveling Circus until the operation went belly up. He was full of adventurous and hair-raising stories about life under the Big Top. Because he was a natural with machinery, including the milking machines, Dad let him bunk in the tack room.

One day when I was showing Cal which cows were easy and which ones were likely to kick his brains out, Bell flew into the barn and slapped me so hard in the face my ears rang.

“What the hell!” shouted Cal.

“Don’t you dare interfere,” said Bell, stabbing a finger so close to his face that he jumped backward and almost fell over a bale of hay.

Bell grabbed me by the hair and dragged me upstairs to my room. A 4-fingered welt spread like a red spider across my cheek. My knees were trembling and one of my teeth was loose.

“Stay the hell away from Cal,” she said, her face so close to mine that my eyes wouldn’t focus. “He’s trouble.”

“Mom never hit us,” I cried. “I’m going to show Dad what you did to me,” and I tried to push past her. She grabbed me by the arm and dug her nails in.

“You’re not showing anybody anything. You’re staying in your room for the rest of the day. You have a headache. Do you understand?”

“I DO NOT! Dad may think you’re the cat’s pajamas, but, I know better.”

“Speaking of cats,” she said, “can you imagine what a microwave could do to that little fleabag of yours?”

Robby crept up to my room after dark and I told him everything. “I don’t know what I did that made her so mad.”

“It’s reverse magnetism,” said Robby. “She hated you from day one. I’m going to take Kelly and Sheba over to the Hayden farm. Then we’ll just have ourselves to worry about.”

* * * *

Dad was always with us in the evenings after the farm work was done. Bell was smart enough not to pick on me when he was around. We had no television, as Pastor Blevins believed it was a corrupting influence on society. I read aloud from Harry Potter, Dad recited Longfellow and Cal had us in stitches with his wild circus tales. But, Robby was the star of the show. At fourteen his voice had changed, and through his wooden dummy Jimbo, he could mimic the voice of a lumberjack, a two-year-old or an old lady. Bell proclaimed that ventriloquism was “of the devil”, as it was never mentioned in the bible, and Harry Potter books were evil and promoted witchcraft.

A week later Jimbo disappeared and I found the ashes of poor Harry in the fireplace. There was a witch in the house, but, it wasn’t Harry Potter.

In early June Dad became sick as a dog. He was plagued with stomach pain, fatigue, headaches and confusion. One day he called me Violet, but, Violet was his sister who drowned back in the 60’s when they were kids. Soon he was bedridden. We all pitched in to pick up the slack. Cal tended the cows, Robby, always good at the forge, shod our draft horses, Bonnie and Clyde, and I made sure the shoats were fed.

Bell was always at Dad’s side with her homemade lentil soup. In the Old Testament, Jacob cured his brother Esau with a ‘pottage of lentils,’ but, instead of improving, his symptoms got worse.

Bell prayed and placed her faith in the All Mighty, but, when Pastor Blevins paid us a visit and saw how yellow Dad’s skin was, he said that God in his grace gave us doctors and if Bell didn’t take him to see one, he would.

Bell didn’t like anyone telling her what to do, but, Pastor Blevins was a force to be reckoned with, and when he said ‘jump’ you jumped.

After Pastor Blevins was gone and Dad and Bell were on their way to town, Robby and I made a beeline for the attic. Jimbo had to be somewhere and we were sure as hell going to find him. We rummaged through the dust and cobwebs, sneezing as we went.

“Abby, look what I found!” I knew right away it was Bell’s mysterious suitcase, the one we were forbidden to touch.

“Open it!” I squealed, plopping down in the dust beside him.

“Maybe it’s full of money. I bet she’s been holding out on us.”

A hanger proved too awkward, but, Robby worked his magic with a bobby pin and the case popped open. He sat back on his heels with a groan. “Just some clothes,” he said.

I pulled out a red satin dress, a pair of black lace stockings, a classy blonde wig and silver high-heeled sandals. “Look at this lingerie,” I said. “She never wears anything like this for Dad.”

I dug deeper and surfaced with a packet of documents. There was Bell’s face on half a dozen driver’s licenses under various aliases: Belinda Jenson, Bella Johnson, Becky Jackson.... “I don’t think our new mother is who she pretends to be.”

“Holy shit!” said Robby. “Look at this baby.” He pulled a small, ivory-handled pistol from the bottom of the suitcase.

“It’s too small to be real,” I said.

“It’s real all right and it’ll shoot you just as dead as a big one. Look. It’s loaded.”

“Dad will kill us if he finds out we’ve been monkeying around with her stuff.”

“He won’t find out.”

We heard the screen door slam downstairs.

“Cal!” we said, in concert, shoving everything back in the suitcase and slamming it shut.

We caught Cal raiding the fridge. Bell had very strict rules about the kitchen. The fridge and pantry were out of bounds to us peons.

“Busted!” laughed Robby.

“So put me on the Ten Most Wanted list,” grinned Cal, a shock of black hair falling over one incredibly blue eye. “You two look like you’ve been rolling around in a dust bin.”

“We were in the attic looking for Jimbo. We’re not supposed to be up there,” said Robby.

“Find anything interesting?”

“Just old junk,” I said, quickly.

“Well, you don’t tell on me, I won’t tell on you.” He stuffed half a pound of roast beef between two slices of rye. My stomach growled and Robby laughed.

“We’re going to get in trouble,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

Cal cut the sandwich four ways and gave Robby and me each a quarter. “If we’re going to catch hell, we might as well be in for a dollar as a dime.” He sat two big mugs of milk on the table and we all pulled up chairs. Cal pulled a beer out of his overalls pocket and popped it open with a hiss.

“Bell would kill you if she caught you bringing liquor into the house,” said Robby.

“Can I have a sip?” I said. “Just to see what it tastes like.”

“Come over here and sit on my lap,” he said. I sat on his knee and he gave me a little sip out of the can. “Robby?” he said, lifting the can. Robby shook his head and gave me a warning look I chose to ignore. The beer didn’t taste all
that
terrible and I loved being close to Cal, the sun-warmed feeling of his skin, his big protective arms.

“Just one more sip,” I begged. He pressed the can to my lips and I drank far more than I’d planned to. I felt great, all relaxed and giggly.

“In only eight years I’ll be eighteen” I said. “Grandma was only sixteen when she married Grandpa.”

He gave me a gentle squeeze. “And when you’re eighteen we’ll run off to the circus together. I’ll tame the lions and you can walk the high wire.”

“Promise?”

“On my honor,” and he kissed me on top of the head.

I slid off of his lap and took a couple gulps of milk which didn’t set all that well with the beer. I don’t know how I could have been feeling so chipper one moment and....

Robby grabbed my hand and hurried me off to the bathroom. I gagged a couple times then collapsed over the toilet and upchucked.

“Whew, just in time,” I said, giving him a goofy smile. The room began to spin and I sat down on the tile with a soft thud.

“I don’t want you talking to Cal unless there’s someone else around,” said Robby. “It’s not like we know anything about him.”

“You’re not my Dad. You can’t tell me what to do.” The green feeling swept over me again. I leaned over the toilet and threw up the rest of the beer.

* * * *

We’d cleaned up all traces of our noontime bacchanal by the time Dad and Bell came back from Gunnar.

I threw my arms around Dad’s waist. “Are you going to be okay? What did the doctor say?”

“He’s working on it,” said Dad, as Robby and I helped him to the bedroom. “It might be hepatitis or mono. They’re running tests.”

“You kids come and sit down at the table,” called Bell. Cal sauntered in through the screen door and pulled up a chair. Bell opened the fridge. “Who’s been into the roast beef? And the milk is almost gone!”

“It was me,” I said, feeling mildly hung over and unusually fearless. I’m having a growth spurt.”

“You must have a tapeworm!” she said.

I glanced at Cal who had a big grin on his face. I started to giggle and pretty soon Robby joined in. “I don’t see what’s so funny,” said Bell, which made us laugh all the harder.

During dinner I caught Bell staring at me with eyes as hard and cold as ice cubes. I’d upped the ante of hostility, but, my beer bravado was quickly turned to dread.

* * * *

For the next couple of days I hung out by Dad’s bedside or stayed close to Robby as he did his chores. One quiet afternoon when I thought Bell was in the henhouse she caught me foraging in the forbidden pantry. She grabbed me with her talons and began shaking me like a rag doll.

“I just want some lentil soup,” I warbled, trying to keep my head from tumbling off my shoulders and rolling across the floor like a bowling ball.

“You know I make that soup for your father’s recovery,” she grated.

She was wearing another wilty cotton dress with a faded flour sack apron, her hair pulled back in an old maid’s bun, a pair of shlumpy brogues on her feet. Mom had been so gay and colorful and fun and Bell seemed to bend over backwards to look like a frump.

“I don’t know how Dad could have married such a dreary person. Mom was pretty and kind and you’re as ugly as a warthog.” Her fists started to fly but I’d already covered my head so my arms took the brunt of the blows. “You make me gag!” I shrieked.

“What’s going on in there?” called Dad from the bedroom. Bell clamped a hand over my mouth.

“Abby saw a rat in the pantry, but, it’s all taken care of.”

“I hope so,” said Dad.

“You make so much as a sounds and it’s the last you’ll ever make.” said Bell, removing her hand from my mouth.

As I fled the pantry I tripped over a jug that stuck out from beneath the shelves, something that seemed strangely out of place.

Within minutes I heard Bell calling Sheba. “Here kitty, kitty, kitty!” I smiled as I walked out into the sunshine to lick my wounds.

* * * *

Late that night Robby and I smuggled the jug of green stuff into the corn crib where we could examine the label by flashlight.

“Jesus, Abby, your arms are nothing but bruises.”

“It’s nothing,” I said. “What does the label say?”

“Antifreeze.”

My shoulders slumped. “Just that stuff that Dad puts in the truck.”

“It has another name. Ethylene glycol. It’s a deadly poison and I think Bell is putting it in Dad’s soup. Do you ever remember him being sick before Bell came along?” I shook my head.

“What are we going to do?”

“I’m not sure yet. I need time to think.”

We walked across the damp grass in our pajamas and slippers and hid the jug in the long-abandoned outhouse. “This should slow her down and give us time to come up with a plan.”

* * * *

The next morning Dad had a seizure at the breakfast table. I started to cry and Robby ran to the phone and called Dr. McBane who told us to meet him in the E.R.

Bell grabbed the phone and slammed it into the charger. “From now on stay off the telephone unless you have express permission to use it. I’m in charge here and I don’t need the interference of children.”

“I’ll help you get Dad to the car,” said Robby. “I want to have a word with Dr. McBane.”

Bell put a hand on her hip. “Are you sick?”

“I didn’t say I was sick. I simply....”

“You two stay here. You’ll only get in the way. Make yourselves useful and help Cal stack the kindling.”

Dad looked like he wanted to say something, but, no words came.

Hell with the kindling. As soon as the pickup was out of sight we thundered up the attic stairs. We needed those phony documents to make our case.