Thanet Blake (2 page)

Peace had now reigned for sixty minutes. No one had opened my door asking for help. I relaxed with my size twelves on my desk top. I had smiled two times. All was great until my third smile. Gunfire erupted across the hallway. Being a nosey person, after a five minute wait I went to see why somebody should be shooting inside a building that is normally quiet. I’ll bet you know who the shooter might be. You’re right.

Isis Jones was a swell looker, six feet of blonde, green-eyed beauty, with a hammerless .38 revolver in each hand. As she was not pointing them at me, but at two bales of hay a dozen feet away, I remained calm.

“Hi,” she said. “You must be the Thanet Blake the landlord mentioned. “I’m your neighbor, Isis Jones. Like you, I’m a private detective. Care to target practice with me? Don’t worry. The hay stops the bullets.”

No folks, I’m not exaggerating. You now know exactly what I saw. The gorgeous lady with the guns and two bales of hay. Not being used to seeing unbelievable moments in life, I muttered a somewhat incoherent reply. “You’re target-practicing in your office?”

“Yes, handsome, I am. Is there something wrong with what I’m doing?”

Her voice was a sultry question that I didn’t know how to answer. “Uh, do you have silencers for those thirty-eights?”

Isis laughed. “You don’t know much about guns, do you? Silencers don’t work on revolvers. Care to join me? How good of a shot are you?”

“I have the reputation of not being able to hit the side of a barn even if I’m inside the barn. It’s an accurate description of my ability. If I shoot at the bales of hay, it’s a good bet I’ll miss them and put holes in the wall they’re leaning against. Now, said holes in the wall would most likely cause our landlord to take a dim view in my direction, say for all of three seconds, before he kicks me out on the street that is three stories straight down.”

“Nonsense, Blake. Get real close to the hay and shoot.”

Isis Jones learned the hard way about my shooting ability. So did our landlord. He threatened to evict both of us for the three holes I made in his wall. Luckily he managed to duck all the bullets. He dug them from a couch that he fortunately wasn’t sitting in at the time, and threw them at me. “Do some taming, Blake, or out you go,” he mumbled as he departed.

Isis gave me a puzzled look. I smiled and shrugged like I was out to lunch when it came to knowing what the guy meant.

I wanted lots of info from Isis. The best way to do that would be to offer her lunch. Over a lobster salad, she loosened up and talked my ear off. I nodded my know-it-all nod until out of a clear blue sky she threw me an unexpected curve.

“You know my cousin, Starla.”

I gagged on that one. Three gulps of water enabled me to ask, “Do you mean Starla Smith? Surely, not my Starla?”

“Yes, your Starla, the one you’re nuts about. At least that’s what she told me. You still are, aren’t you?”

Sometimes I sigh, like right at that moment, before I talk. “Yeah, I’m a little around the bend crazy about her.”

“She feels that way about you, too, and I can see why. You’ve had it, Thanet. You’re hers forever. She didn’t kill Stanley Sudowsky. “

This time I took four gulps of water. “How did you find out about Sudowsky? And how do you know she didn’t off him? She was walking around dressed like a Scarlett Boa trying to trap Sudowsky because the guy was murdering Boas. Well, Sudowsky gets the offing treatment. That makes Starla a suspect, and I’m also a suspect.”

“Starla is not a killer. As to how I found out what I know, I talked to Captain Holt in detail. The guy’s clueless. He thinks you might have killed the barber. Did you?”

“No, I didn’t! There weren’t any bullets fired from my gun. And don’t give me that Holt malarkey about a new gun barrel. And while we’re on the subject of Starla, you think she’s innocent. But I’m not so sure she is.”

“She is innocent. Did you know she was working for Captain Holt?”

“What? You’re joking.”

“I certainly am not. She went undercover for Holt as a Boa streetwalker hoping to trap Sudowsky.”

“Well, that explains a lot. But that’s crazy. She could have been killed. Why would she take such a chance?”

“Three members of our family have been murdered by serial killers. All were young women. Starla started to look for that type of homicidal killer, to assist the police in bringing them to justice. She’s been doing that for ten years.”

“And so have you?”

Isis nodded.

“Why didn’t Starla tell me?”

“She’s undercover. That means no one is to know what she’s doing.”

“I see, with one exception being the one and only Captain Holt. So tell me, Miss Detective, where is Starla? I would like to see her.”

“I don’t know where she’s at. Do you?”

“Would I have asked you for her whereabouts if I knew?”

“Maybe you would. I don’t know enough about you to trust you. You could be a real badass.”

“And so could you, lady.”

I took a hard look at Isis. Something about her face implied she actually was in the dark about Starla’s location. Well, now what? “Look, Isis. The last time I saw your cousin, she was hiding at my mother’s house. They were friends, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know. Tell me about your mother.”

“She has one child. He’s a real loony.”

We finished our lunch and parted company. I went back to my office for booze, gaspers, and thinking. I have no idea where Isis went. My gut feeling told me something about her just wasn’t on the up and up. Where was she from? Why was she here? Was she really looking for Starla? Was she on a case?
Oh hell, Thanet, go out and get drunk.

“I know nothing about her, Blake. What did you say her name was?”

Holt had the look of a three dollar bill on his face, real phony. I played his game. “Her name is Jones, Isis Jones.”

Holt shrugged. “Where’s she from?”

“Hell, I don’t know. She didn’t say.”

I got sneered at.

“Well, aren’t you the basketful of information? Okay, Blake, I’ll have our computer guys do some checking. You’re looking real bilious today. That expression tells me some questions are rattling around in your thinker. Inform me.”

“All right, you asked for it. First off, you’re lying to me. The Jones dame said she stopped in here for a chat with you. She said you had Starla do some undercover work for you.”

That took the cigar out of his mouth. He also coughed while squinting in my direction. “I’ll be damned.”

“You probably will be. So how did Jonesy find that out, unless she’s also working for you? Is she?”

“Do you think I would really tell you?”

“You just did. Relax, Holt. I’m not a rotten newspaper reporter. I keep secrets. Another thing that puzzles me about the Boa Murder case. You threatened to jail me if I didn’t drop out of it. Why?”

Holt mouthed his cigar. “Oh, hell, your mother talked me into that.”

That comment damn nearly made me pass water. Holt smiled at my expression. “During the Boa Murders, do you remember the night I drove your mother home?”

“Yeah, I was in the bone factory with a knot on my head. What about it?”

“Well, we stopped for coffee. Your mother’s a real convincer. Talked me in to making sure you dropped the case.”

I laughed for all of a minute. Holt had been bested by my mother.

“I’m glad to see you, Sonny. Why are you here? Is something wrong?”

“You could say so. You talked Holt into trying to get me off the Boa Case. And you protected Starla. Your ever-loving son, that’s me, wants to know why.”

“Come into the kitchen for some cake and ice cream, Sonny.”

I know what you’re thinking. Thanet Blake’s mother calls him Sonny. So what? What does your mother call you? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.

Over ice cream and cake, she started the conversation. “You’re brimming over with questions. Start asking.”

“All right, why were you hiding Starla?”

“I wasn’t. She came to visit me.”

“Come on, mother, this is your idiot son you’re tossing baloney at. Starla sapped me on the head and came here to hide. I’ll bet she told you why she cold conked me.”

“Yes, she did. It was because you were interfering with what she was attempting to do. She also said you would be all right.”

“Yeah, sure, it was just a little knot on my noggin. Mother, I looked everywhere for Starla that night before it dawned on me to look where she couldn’t possibly be. She was here. Now, do me a favor by giving me the straight skinny. You protected her, and I want to know why.”

“Because I knew she was innocent of anything you would be accusing her of. She’s also a very dear friend of mine and yours. I know how you feel about her.”

“Yeah, I’m nuts about her. But I can’t allow that to interfere with my investigation. Mother, stop and think. Somebody offed the serial killer, Sudowsky. He deserved what he got. But whoever did the offing committed a crime that gets lots of jail time. It wasn’t me that finalized him, but it might have been Starla. Until proven otherwise, she is my number one suspect. You can’t know for certain that she is innocent.”

Mother sighed. “Yes, I can. Sonny, of all the jobs you could have had, you turned them all down and became a detective. What you are is wrecking you, making you think everybody is guilty. Is that what you want for Starla? You want her guilty of murder? Is she your only suspect?”

Yes, you’re right. Mother is smarter than me. As a last resort, I asked her if she knew Starla’s location. She’s an expert at looking innocent when she says no.

I went to Monk’s favorite watering hole. He was there, looking pathetic and ready to weep in his beer.

“Go away, Blake. You’re the lousiest of all lousy company.”

“I know. That’s been said about me more than a few times. I just might be that for a fact. Before I go away, I’m going to ask you some questions. First one being how’s Godfather?”

“He’s perked up a little seeing as how you told him you’d look for Selena and Jennifer. You are going to, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I am. I also have to find out who offed Sudowsky.”

“Why? The guy was a homicidal maniac. He deserved to be knocked off.”

“I agree. But the police want to know who did it. Captain Holt wants me to find the offer. Monk, level with me. Did one of Godfather’s boys do it?”

Monk sipped his beer while eyeballing me for all of a minute. He’s damn good at staring people into losing sand in their spine. I finally yelled, “Say something, Monk, before I decide to pee in your beer.”

He almost smiled. “I’m curious, Blake. If and when you catch the offer, what then? Would you turn the person over to the cops or let them go?”

“Damn you, Monk. Did you have to ask that?”

“Hell, yes, I did. Think about it.”

“Damn you, damn you, damn you. You want me to say I’d let the offer go.”

“You got that right. Would you? The offer doesn’t deserve jail time. Answer my question.”

“I can’t.”

“I thought so. No, none of the Godfather’s boys offed Sudowsky. I didn’t either.” From a front pocket, he pushed a card at me. “This guy was Godfather’s number one boy until he became a hit man. Look him up. He might know something you can use.”

“Now wait just a minute, Monk. This guys a hit man? Where do I find him, in prison?”

“He’s never been nailed for up the river time. He’s smart, and he’s stopped practicing his profession. Go ask him a few questions. Now get lost. You’re spoiling my drinking time.”

“All right, Monk, I’ll go. Look, if you find out anything…”

“I’ll let you know. Now why am I still seeing you?”

The guy’s name was Sylvester, with no last name. His house was Tudor brick and expensive. I rang the doorbell. A butler-thug-type with a beat-up face attached to a gorilla’s body opened the door. A tiger growl was his voice.

“What is it?”

“Monk sent me.”

“What for, wise guy?”

Folks, have you ever felt like you’re going to soil your underwear? “I’m Thanet Blake…”

“You’re that stupid dick who was mixed up with that murdering bastard Sudowsky.”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Come in. The boss is busy watching the arena, but he’s been expecting you.”

A hit man was expecting me?

Sylvester was at least twelve inches shorter than six feet, and Godfather’s age. Blue-eyed, and white-haired, he was dressed in black. His voice was non-commanding. He was watching a wall-to-wall television set and never turned around to face me.

“I know why you’re here, Mr. Blake. Have a seat and pour yourself a scotch.”

I sat and sipped.

He talked. “Tell me, Mr. Blake, what does the word
entertainment
mean to you?”

What is this guy, hard up for conversation? Oh, hell, give him an answer.
“Well, entertainment to me would be doing something I enjoy, like watching my Western collection or reading my old time comic books.”

“You’re behind the times. In this century we have a television arena that shows us Roman spectators a daily dosage of bloody murders, sex scenes, and hideous tortures of women and sometimes men. And it’s considered to be entertainment by the moron producers who grind out such repulsive shit.”

Oh, boy, this guy is a real wacko. Say something.
“You’re probably right. My set isn’t hooked up to cable or a dish. I use it to watch my Westerns, so I’ve never thought about it as being an arena.”

“Well, you should think about it. When you watch your cowboy shows, do you enjoy seeing the bad guy being gunned down by the hero?”

“In Westerns, bad guys deserve to be finalized. I wouldn’t like the Western if they remained alive.”

“Welcome to the arena, Mr. Thanet Roman Blake.”

Oh, boy. Thanks Monk, for sending me to this nutcase. I’ll get even.

Still facing the television, he began talking about Sudowsky. “The no-longer-living-barber knew a lot of people who wanted him dead, including me. However, I’m not the person that did him in. I’m retired.”

“Do you know who did off him?”