Thanet Blake (3 page)

When he faced me, his smile chilled my back. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. But you’ll have to discover who the guilty person is without my help. Call it honor among hit people. We don’t squeal on one another.”

“I see. I suppose that’s commendable. You said
honor among hit people
. Does that also mean female hit people?”

“Yes, it does.” He smiled again. “You do have a certain amount of cleverness about you, Mr. Blake. Analyze my words. Perhaps I inadvertently gave you a clue as to who killed Sudowsky. I must warn you of one thing. If I find the hit person before you, that person will not be turned over to you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, any interference from me might cause you to come out of retirement.”

“You are wise in spite of your youth, Mr. Blake. My bodyguard will show you to your vehicle. Do try to have a nice day.”

I drove off feeling that seeing Sylvester had been a waste of my time. Or had it been? Could Sudowsky’s killer have been a woman? Worse yet, was Starla more than just a suspect? Was she actually his killer? That thought made me angry.

I went back to my office. Isis was there with her cowboy boots parked on my desk top. “Hello, love, where have you been? I’ve been waiting an hour for you. I drank some of your rye, a really cheap brand that will rot your gut.”

“It’s all I can afford. Who said you could have some?”

“Well, aren’t you in a wonderful mood?”

“You got that right. Get your damned oversized clod hoppers off my desk.”

“I don’t have big feet. Be nice to me if you like your nose in the shape it’s in right now.”

“All right, all right, why are you here, instead of in your shooting gallery office?”

“I thought we should get better acquainted. Don’t you think we should?”

All right, so Isis is a knock-out dame. So I’m not interested. “Isis, we already know each other. Accept that as being enough.”

Her voice hardened a little. “Starla really has you by the balls, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, she does. So what’s it to you?”

“You’re still not being nice to me. Thanet, we could work as a team to find her for you.”

“I work alone. My last name is Blake. Call me that.”

With that, Isis Jones stomped her way out my door. She slammed it. All right, I know I was a nasty bastard to her. Is there any law that says I shouldn’t have been?

When I don’t know what in the hell to do next, I sit at my desk drinking rye and smoking gaspers. No, that doesn’t make me think. It makes me semi-drunk and smelling like an ashtray. I was clueless. Sylvester said Sudowsky had lots of enemies that wanted him dead. So who were they? Where were they located in this cesspool city? Would they be slurping up suds in all the bars? Why not?

I know lots of ways to get myself killed. Here’s a dandy one. “I’d like to talk to anyone who hated barber Sudowsky enough to kill him.”

Everybody in the bar eyed the table I was standing on and me. Some stood, picking up drinks in their left hand, while their right hand reached for weapons. I stepped down from the table, grabbed a chair, and became encircled by six of the meanest, steroid-muscled sons-of-bitches I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.

“Hi, guys, would you like a drink? I’m buying.”

All six slammed weapons on to the table top. One ordered a pitcher of milk and six glasses. Yes, milk. Are there any rules that say you can’t drink milk in a sleazy waterhole tavern?

The toughest-looking one talked from the right side of his mouth at me. “The name’s Sam. What’s yours?”

“Thanet Blake.”

“You’re that dumbass shamus we’ve heard about?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

Sam’s grin showed several teeth missing. “All of us wanted to kill Sudowsky.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Take a look at our heads. Shit, he wasn’t a barber. He was a hair butcher.” He eyed my head and laughed. “I can tell he worked on you. You should wear a hat to hide his lack of artistry.”

“Okay, Sam, I know what you mean. So, which one of you knocked him off?”

A steroid to my left talked at me. “I’m Jacob. None of us stiffed him.”

I finished my beer in one gulp and got up to leave without thanking the steroids. One grabbed my arm and jerked me back into my chair. “The name’s Pete. I saw how the barber got his. I was in that alley and heard Sudowsky and you bullshitting each other.”

My pulse quickened. Sweat coated me. I asked the man upstairs to not let the killer be Starla as I eyeballed Pete. “So who offed the guy?”

“Hell, Blake, I don’t know. For a few seconds I thought you did it, until I realized the flash from the killer’s gun came from where you weren’t.”

Lord, these guys were no help at all. I paid for the pitcher of milk and mumbled a goodbye.

“Wait a minute, Blake.”

The guy said his name was Philip. “Draco hangs out at Smoky Renaldo’s joint. He knows every alley in this city. It’s rumored that he’s responsible for several killings. Be nice to him. He’s packs a fifty caliber Desert Eagle.”

Smoky Renaldo is beauty personified. We’ve had a thing for each other since our college days together. We both know said thing will never blossom. So color me crazy. The average guy would swim in a volcano for her.

Smoky was mixing drinks for three guys dripping saliva on the bar as they stared at her voluptuousness and inhaled her scent. She saw me and flashed a smile that heated my frame up several degrees. Smoky is terrific. I love everything about her.

The three guys reluctantly left the bar, and I bellied up to it. With a frown that made her face even lovelier, she scolded me. “It’s great to see you, you gorgeous hunk, but you never show up here unless trouble is brewing, and you’re investigating, right?”

“Right, I understand Draco hangs out here.”

“He does.”

“Is he here?”

“Yes. What do you want him for?”

“I’m not sure. He might know something about a murder I’m investigating.”

Smoky motioned with her head to the left. “He’s the lone guy. Be careful. That’s a real badass gun he has on the table.”

Draco could have fit right in with the Hollywood gangster type. You know what I mean, big scar on his right cheek, beady, black eyes that stared at you, and a face that never smiled. Yeah, all that, and he was dressed in black.

With his right hand he grabbed his Desert Eagle and gave it a spin. It stopped with its barrel pointing at me.

“Bang, you’re dead. I learned that trick by watching Hollywood gangster movies. Pretty neat, huh?” His voice was soft, but definitely sinister. “You better have a good reason for sitting down at my table. I don’t like people. Who are you?”

Oh, boy. Talk about an introduction to another nutcase.
“I’m a private investigator.”

“There’s more than one in this city. What’s your handle?”

“Thanet Blake.”

Did I say his face was one that never smiled? I was wrong. It smiled, and he hollered.

“Well, I’ll be damned. You’re that inept PI I’ve read about. Hey, you’re all right, my kind of guy. Smoky, bring Mr. Blake a half dozen beers.”

Folks, I’m not kidding you. The guy was excited about me. He even put his gun away. So how had Draco read about me? I have a biographer who writes all kinds of lies about yours truly, Thanet Blake, and my biographer has a publisher.

“Man, I read about your latest gig.
The Boa Murders,
was really something. Have you found out who offed the barber?”

“No, that’s why I’m here.” I hesitated to ask if he did it for fear of being his next target.

“It wasn’t me. However, had I been in that alley, it would have been.”

This is an unusual situation for me. I’m face to face with a killer, and I’m not his target. I gulped down the first beer for enough courage to talk. “Have you any idea who might have offed Sudowsky?”

“No, I haven’t heard anything, not even a murmur. I know he had a lot of enemies, including me.” He leaned toward me and whispered. “Just between you and me, I was getting ready to bump him off, but somebody beat me to it. I don’t like that. He was my target.”

I finished all six of my beers and left. Draco hated to see me go.

This private detective cusses a lot when he has no clues. He also goes over the top with his drinking and smoking and ends up taking a nap at the Ramara Davie’s Pleasure House. Ramara and I ended up sleeping together. She’s gorgeous, soft, and warm. Years ago we had a fierce thing for each other. In a way we still do.

After a shower together and dressing each other, we sat down to bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs, and gallons of coffee. In between stuffing my face I asked questions about the offing of Sudowsky.

Ramara’s voice was a symphony to my ears. “None of my ladies have heard anybody bragging about his killing. I’m sorry. Would you like more coffee, along with more me?”

“Yes and yes.”

I finally pried myself away from Ramara the following day. Where to look next? I decided I needed a bar, so I went to Rumpott’s favorite watering hole. Rumpott wasn’t there. The last I heard of my old drinking buddy, he was still in Vietnam seeing to the grave of his murdered wife. It was lonely without him, but not for long. On my second Guinness, Irving joined me at my table. Now Irving owns a donut stand with his brother Matthew. I mooch donuts and coffee from them at least once a week. Am I now such a great non-paying customer that Irving has decided to start coming to me with a paper sack full of donuts? The answer is yes. He handed one to me, and I munched away and could not resist asking, “What’s the occasion?”

Irving frowned. “You’re hard to find. This is the sixth bar I’ve been to. The occasion, I’m not sure. Several hours ago there was a woman at our stand looking for you.”

“That’s not unusual. What about her?”

“She didn’t look right. She had a mean, wild look in her eyes, and her face was scary.”

“Describe her.”

Two minutes later Irving handed me another donut. I nibbled on it. “I know who she is.”

As Irving got up to leave, he shoved the package of donuts to me. “Enjoy them.” He face saddened. “I hope they’re not the last ones you mooch from us.”

I finished my beer and the donuts and left the bar. Irving had described Selena. Monk said she was going to kill me. Maybe he was right.

What to do next? Well, for one thing, I parked my car on Railroad Avenue, put a quarter in the parking meter, and used my legs for a long walk, hoping to bump into some of my squeals. It was not that kind of day. They were nowhere to be found. I stopped in front of an alley and phoned a PI named Sam who I’ve used as a reliable backup on several occasions.

“Hey, Blake, you miserable drunk, how are you?”

“Sober enough to pack you home. I need your help.”

“Not this time, old buddy. I’m right in the middle of a murder case. I might be able to help you in a few days. Is that soon enough?”

I went back to my office. I shouldn’t have. As I opened the door a familiar perfume scent attacked my nose. Selena was sitting at my desk with a gun in her right hand. She pointed it at my chest. “Come in, lover.”

I closed the door behind me. Selena stood up from my desk, walked around it, and came toward me. She got real close and stuck her gun in my belly button. She kissed my lips and whispered, “One last time, Thanet, be mine, and we’ll go hide somewhere, change our identities, and be happy forever. I killed Sudowsky for you.”

“And now you have the pleasure of killing me. Is that it, Selena?”

“Not if you come with me.”

I slapped her gun to one side. It went flying from her hand as I slapped her face real hard. She went down. Shock raked her face as I grabbed her gun from the floor and pointed it at her. “At one time I was real fond of you. But I’m not yours. I never have been. I never will be. You’re a killer. Stay down. If you get up, I won’t shoot you, but I’ll sure as hell pistol whip you. Damn you, Selena. You made Jennifer into a killer. Where is she? Damn you—tell me where she is.”

“I don’t know.”

I motioned with her gun, threatening to whack her.

“No, don’t. I don’t know where she’s at. I’d tell you if I knew.”

I phoned the police. Holt came. I handed him Selena’s gun. “It’s a thirty-eight and it’s the one that offed Sudowsky. You can also close some of the cases you have concerning the killing of rapists. She’s been offing them. Get her out of here.”

The bullets from Selena’s gun proved she killed Sudowsky. It was nighttime, and a warm rain soaked me as I walked Railroad Avenue. I was not looking for my squeals or anybody. I had been drinking all day, yet I was still thirsty. Why was I walking? I didn’t know. Captain Holt had Selena, but where was Jennifer?

I came to a street corner. There was a kid standing there with a wet sign that said the kid was hungry and needed money, any amount would help, and God bless you. I had two fives in my wallet. I gave the kid one and walked on.

“Thanet, please come back.”

It was the kid’s voice. I turn around and faced her. “How do you know my name?”

“I’m Jennifer.”

Her name was a joyful shot to my heart. I love the kid. She helped me solve two murders. Selena destroyed her, made her into a killer, but I love the kid. I grabbed her and steered her to the nearest bar. The bartender wanted to see her ID card. I told him to shut his mouth and bring us a pitcher of milk and two glasses.

The kid looked different. Her hair was black instead of the flaming red that was so neatly combed. Her face—Monk said it was plastic surgery—I didn’t recognize.

“Are you going to turn me over to the police? I’m tired. I want to give myself up.”

Monk, in one of his weak moments, had given me his cell phone number. I phoned him. Fifteen minutes went by before he arrived. The bartender brought a third glass to our table. We drank the pitcher dry.

“Why am I here, Blake?”

“How’s Godfather?”

“He’s halfway his old self, hopeful that you’ll find Selena and Jennifer.”

“Captain Holt has Selena.” I motioned at Jennifer. “You know who this is, don’t you?”