Ken Kuhlken_Hickey Family Mystery 03 (5 page)

“Angelo’s boy,” Hickey said. “Vi home?”

“Last I looked she was diving into the kitchen, behind the counter. Going to make cocoa, I guess.”

Chapter Seven

Before he followed Leo inside, Hickey got the short-barreled Smith and Wesson .38 out of his suitcase in the Chevy’s trunk.

Inside, he flopped onto the threadbare velvet love seat that used to be elegant, when Leo’d bought it for his wife in 1943—after he and Hickey and a gang of Indians liberated a half million in gold from the freaks who’d enslaved Wendy in Tijuana. Leo spent the rest of his share, over thirty grand, on Magda’s first four years at Stanford and on a hospital and private nurse for their older daughter, Una, who had gotten beaten by Nazis in Vienna in 1937 and never quite healed.

Leo occupied the matching sofa. Both men faced the door, guns beside them. It was the only door, all the place needed.

The Weisses used to own a bigger house, until Charlie Schwartz and his brother Al got the city to condemn a string of oceanfront homes, claiming some rare and voracious breed of termites had infested them. Charlie and Al owned Coast Construction. The Schwartzes bought the homes cheap, paying just enough so Leo and Vi could cover the mortgage, which they’d borrowed to send Magda to graduate school, and buy this dollhouse where the kitchen and living room were only separated by agreement and coats hung on a hat rack because their modest wardrobes bulged the walls of the single closet.

Since Hickey’s last trip off the mountain, Vi had become a henna girl, lost twenty pounds, and either gotten sickly pale for a half-Mexican and developed the huge eyes of a prayerful invalid or gunfights on the doorstep spooked her. While she gave Hickey a hug, a kiss, then made cocoa for herself and the men and spiked it with coffee liqueur, and while she served and sat next to Leo and sipped, she never took her eyes off the door.

She asked about Wendy, the baby, Elizabeth, and who the hell was shooting. After boasting about the virtues of his wife and lamenting his daughter’s circumstances, Hickey briefed them about Cynthia and her alleged crimes and confessed his rough talk to Charlie Schwartz and to Angelo Paoli’s gunman.

Vi studied the two men as if they were naughty boys she regretfully had to scold. Finally she asked, “You two ever think about giving it up? Most fellows retire from playing cops and robbers at about your age, Tom.” Turning to Leo, she wagged her head mournfully. “And he’s a whole generation younger than you, dear. Tom, at least do us a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Tell the old coot he oughta retire. Next year he’ll turn seventy. A septuagenarian has got no business consorting with guys like you. I mean, you’re sweet as any man alive, but you’re a magnet for trouble.”

“Yeah, Tom,” Leo grumbled, “tell me I oughta retire. Then, while you’re leaning on Charlie Schwartz, squeeze him for the twenty grand he sharked us out of.”

Vi made a clucking noise. “Aw, you’d just spend the money trying to send Schwartz and Mickey Cohen to Alcatraz. What do you think, Tom, about a Jew who hates the Jew mob twice as bad as he hates the Italians?”

“I think he oughta give it up, like you say. He oughta rent this place out summers while you stay with us at the lake, in a trailer house.”

“Sure, summer rent and his pension, we’d be fine.”

“Aw, nuts, why retire?” Leo said. “The work’s a romp. Only time I dodge bullets is when Tom’s around.”

“You plan to stay here tonight, Tom? Should I make up the couch?”

“Naw. I’ll go up to the Surf and Sand. Who could sleep here, the way we’re all watching the door?”

“What about the gunmen, you think they went home?”

“Undoubtedly,” Leo grumbled. “They’re probably gathered around the hearth, singing hymns. Or else they’re cruising Mission, waiting for Tom to poke his head out so they can make it look funny. I’ll follow down to the motel, Tom, just in case.”

“Might as well,” Hickey said. “Everybody else is tailing me tonight.”

Vi offered them more cocoa, but Hickey said he wanted to spin by Elizabeth’s just to check on things, then get to the motel, call Wendy, and log about ten hours of sleep. While Leo went for his overcoat, hat, and shoes, Vi ordered both men to be careful. Several times each.

Hickey drove north on Mission Boulevard. The sidewalks bustled with wanderers from bar to coffeehouse to pool hall, but the street was vacant—nobody behind except Leo. He cut east on Pacific Beach Drive, sailed along the newly paved road beneath palms that disappeared into the fog, past a dozen whitewashed bungalows and a few low-slung ranch-style houses, the latest architectural blight. He slowed as he neared the intersection of Fanuel. At the bayside dead end, parked against the trellis of bougainvilleas across from the cottage where Elizabeth and the bum lived, a white Cadillac attempted to hide in shadow.

Hickey jammed the pedal, braking enough so he wouldn’t screech making the turn onto Gresham. He raced up to Garnet Avenue and wheeled into the corner Texaco. A man in a fringed western coat stood gabbing on the pay phone. Hickey pulled out two dollars and waved them in front of the man, who gladly handed over the receiver. As Leo’s Packard wheeled into the station, Hickey was already plunking his nickel into the slot.

“Hi there.”

“Elizabeth.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah, babe. You okay?”

“Sure. Where are you?”

“Close,” Hickey said. “Stuart there?”

“Uh-huh. How come you’re breathing hard?”

“I rode a bicycle down from Tahoe.”

“Smart aleck. Come on over, Daddy.”

“Not now. Listen, darling, tell Stuart to go peek out the carport window, see if two guys are sitting in the white Cadillac.”

“Okay.” She called to Stuart, gave him the instructions, and repeated them testily. “Who are they?”

“Bad guys,” Hickey said. “Maybe pals of Stuart, all I know.”

“Dad, just because he knew Paul in Jersey and he drinks, doesn’t mean—Okay, Stuart says there’re two guys in the car.”

“You got a pistol?” He glanced toward the noise of Leo’s skuffing feet. The old man flashed a salute.

“A what?” Elizabeth demanded.

“Pistol.”

“Yeah, Stuart’s got a couple.”

“You take one of them, slide out the garden door, and run up to Eva’s place. If anybody follows you, just shoot the damned thing and run into the nearest house. Make a world of noise. Soon as you get to Eva’s, phone Vi, give her the number. I’ll call you back soon as I can check into a motel.”

“Why? What is this? Tell me it’s a party game.”

“You guessed it. I’ll tell you more when you’re at Eva’s.”

“What about Stuart?”

“Put him on the line. Then you get going. Babe, in case Eva’s not home, keep running, up to the Crown Point grocery. Call Vi from the pay phone. I’ll get there in a flash.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

Hickey got her promise to follow his directions, then asked her to put Stuart on. He caught his breath, shut his eyes to gain a moment of quiet, commanded himself not to scream at the bum.

“What’s up, Pop?”

“Plenty,” Hickey growled. “I’ve got a job for you.”

“Name it.”

Five words and already Stuart’s brash, throaty voice had pinched Hickey’s nerves. “Make yourself a pot of coffee. Sit up all night, if you have to, until those boys in the Cadillac give up and vanish. You got a shotgun, right?”

“Brand-new Remington.”

“If one of them gets near the house, give him an appendectomy with it.”

“Aren’t they Angelo Paoli’s boys?”

“Yeah. Friends of yours?”

“Naw, but I’ve seen one of ’em around.”

“Silva.”

“Yeah. What goes? They after you?”

Hickey shut his eyes, rolled his shoulders, tried to speak softly. “It’s business.
My
business.”

“Don’t worry, Pop. I can handle things.”

“Right, Stuart,” Hickey snarled. “Enough gin, a guy can handle anything.”

“You got me wrong, Pop. I been cutting back on the juice.”

“Yeah, well, you get the shakes, dash a little into your coffee. Don’t screw up, you hear? Anybody hurts Elizabeth—” Hickey bit on his lower lip to cinch his big mouth closed. Already he’d endangered Leo, Vi, and Elizabeth by threatening creeps. If he didn’t tread lightly on Stuart, his daughter might have to pay.

Stuart gave assurances. Hickey muttered thanks, slapped down the phone book, plunked in another nickel, and dialed. He asked the kid who answered to put her father on.

Thrapp yawned into the receiver. “Who’s this?”

“The guy you quit tailing too soon. Angelo’s pretty boy caught up at Leo’s, made splinters out of the door.”

“Pete Silva, you mean?”

“Yeah. Now he’s sitting outside my place on Fanuel. Him and a driver. Get ’em picked up, Rusty. Leo saw. He can finger the punk.” He told the captain where to reach him, then hung up.

Leo chucked Hickey’s shoulder. “Say, you always that impolite to Stuart?”

“A no-good,” Hickey snapped, starting for his car. “Worst of it is, Elizabeth thinks she’s gotta climb down to his level. She could be a painter, teacher, a singer like her mom, something fine that’d please her. He’s got her making like a grocery clerk while he blows the receipts at Caliente.”

“Yeah, I know how it is. Magda picked a no-good too. What is it with these kids? Meet a good guy, they stick up their nose. Something crawls out from under a rock, they act like it’s Prince Charming.”

Leo gave Hickey a block head start down Garnet, before he followed, past Oscar’s Drive-In where the boys with ducktails and T-shirts, girls in pedal pushers, sleeveless sweaters, bobbed hair, sat on the hoods and seat backs of their hot rods, half of them frantically pawing each other as though any second the bell would ring. His eye on Hickey’s Chevy, Leo almost clipped a trio of pedestrians who’d rushed into the street from the crowd that milled outside the Roxy Theater, beneath the marquee that announced
Battleground
—Van Johnson.

Hickey swung onto Mission Boulevard and drove north a block to the Surf and Sand Motel. He rushed into the office, tossed down a ten, and asked the dowdy woman to hurry on account of he needed to powder his nose. She scooped up the bill, slid a key across the counter.

“Hey, wait for your change and receipt, mister.”

He was already gone, climbing three stairs per stride.

In room 21, overlooking Mission Boulevard, Hickey pounced on the phone and called Vi, who gave him the number at Eva’s place, which Elizabeth had given her a minute before. He memorized the number, then collapsed onto the bed and rested a moment. Leo came in and sat beside him. “All’s well?”

“Yeah.” Hickey sighed. “Elizabeth’s okay. Now what?”

“About what?”

“Cynthia. It looks like I threw the knockout punch and missed. What’s next?”

“First thing, I sneak across the road and bring us a nightcap.”

Leo heaved himself up, went to the door and opened it a crack. He peered both ways and made his exit.

Hickey reached for the phone and dialed. A muffled voice said hello.

“That you, babe?”

“Of course it’s me. I live here. You wanta tell me what’s all the intrigue about?”

“Eva, anything I tell you’ll spread like the radio news. By nine
a.m.
it’ll circulate all around the bay.”

“So?”

“There’s a couple guys trying to scratch my name off the roster, on account of I’m snooping into the cause of a fire in Ocean Beach a week ago.”

“The Sousa fire. Who you gonna pin it on?”

“Anybody but the one they’re holding. Look, Eva, I’m fatigued, so let me talk to Elizabeth. We can all gab in the morning when I pick her up at your place.”

“She’s right here. Don’t be a stranger, Tom.”

The door swung open loudly and Leo appeared, holding out a pint of Dewar’s. “This mansion got glasses?”

“Hi, Dad,” Elizabeth gasped. “I’m here.”

“Now you’re the one sounds like she’s been running a mile. Any trouble?”

“Nope.”

“Sorry, babe. I never figured you’d get mixed up in this game.”

“What’s it about?”

Hickey said Eva could give her the capsule version. Tomorrow he’d fill in the blanks. He got her promise that she’d spend the night at Eva’s, and he asked how things were going.

“Same as last week, pretty much. Stuart dropped a bundle at the track this afternoon. I was reading him off all night, till you called, getting him awful riled. Another minute he could’ve belted me. You might’ve saved our marriage, Dad.”

“Thanks, babe. That puts the cap on a swell day. Now I’m gonna expire.”

“You mean retire.”

“Sleep. You too, huh? Think you can sleep?”

“Anytime, anywhere. Should I be worried for Stuart?”

“Naw. The cops are on their way to roust the creeps in the Caddie.”

“Who
are
they?”

“Just a fella I got nasty with. He wants to thump me, is all. I’ll be by for you in the morning, first thing. We’ll find some hideaway that’s got waffles, and I’ll elaborate.”

They wished each other good night. Hickey dropped the receiver and accepted the glass Leo held out. He took a gulp big enough to make him grimace. “Needs ice.”

“You asked, I would’ve booked you at the Bahia. They’d bring you ice, bar service. Next time, don’t be a tightwad.”

Hickey reached for the pipe and tobacco in his coat and lit up. He propped both pillows behind him, lay back on the bed, and asked Leo for any insights or schemes. Where to go from here.

“Fine time to ask,” the old man grumbled, “after you already jumped in the ocean, opened a vein, and hollered, ‘Here, Mister Shark, come and get it.’ Not particularly subtle, Tom.”

“Yeah, and it didn’t work, either.”

“Well, at least you set balls rolling all over the place. Now you got a baby to see born. And supposing you owed Cynthia—which you didn’t—you paid her back today, in spades. So I’m taking over, and you’re gonna hit the road tomorrow, first thing.”

Hickey pondered a minute. “I don’t know. Who’s to say, you take over, they won’t come shooting at you?”

“It’s different, Tom. I’m gonna use my brains, not just guts like you did. I’ve got a larger brain, remember, and plenty of time. Besides, anymore I know my way around town better than you. How about it? You snooze awhile, then drive off into the sunrise.”

“Maybe. After I get breakfast with Elizabeth. Maybe not. I’m gonna sleep on it, partner.”