1984 - Hit Them Where it Hurts (7 page)

Her eyes opened a trifle in what could have been surprise.

‘No, I didn’t know that.’

‘So you can give me no help?’

‘I wish I could. I have your card. If I do hear from Terry, I will telephone you.’

I got to my feet.

‘I’d be glad if you would do that. It’s a shame. There’s this large amount of money in the bank, and your brother isn’t aware it is his.’

She nodded, then got to her feet.

‘It is a shame.’

Then I produced the question that would tell me if she was an expert liar or was speaking the truth.

Watching her closely, I said, ‘Do you happen to know where I can locate Hank Smedley?’

If I hadn’t been watching her so closely, I would have missed the slight flicker of her eyes, and the slight tightening of her guileless smile.

I knew for sure I had got under her guard.

A slight pause, then her smile came into place as she said, ‘Hank Smedley? How surprising. You mean the black boy who once worked in our garden?’

‘That’s right, Miss Thorsen. Hank, who is Mrs. Smedley’s son. Do you know where I can locate him?’

‘I don’t.’ Again the guileless smile. ‘I haven’t seen him for a long time, nor has his mother.’

Then I knew she was lying, and had been lying with an expertise I had not encountered before. She could easily have fooled me but for the fact I had seen her walk into the Black Cassette.

I too could put on an act. I lifted my shoulders in a resigned shrug.

‘Looks like your brother is going to be hard to find.’ I gave her my hard cop stare, ‘But we keep on digging, Miss Thorsen. When my agency is hired for a job, we don’t give up until the job is nicely finished. I am sure you will be interested to know when we do find your brother.’ I smiled at her. ‘I will let you know.’

Leaving her standing motionless, her smile now gone, I went out into the lobby, picked up my mac, slapped on my wet hat and walked down the tarmac to my car.

Retarded, her mother had told me. Unattractive?

This girl, around 24 years of age, was the finest liar I had ever questioned. What a mug she had nearly made of me! If I hadn’t asked her about Hank, I would have had every reason to believe the lies she had been telling me.

I slid into my car.

As I started the motor, I wondered what she was going to do? Alert her brother? Alert Hank? Perhaps do nothing.

I reversed the car and drove down to the highway.

* * *

Back in my office, I found Bill thumping on his typewriter.

I told him of my interview with Angela, then concluded, ‘Here we have a real character. She lies beautifully, she has steel nerves, she has sex, she pretends she doesn’t know where to locate her brother, and bluntly says she hasn’t seen Hank Smedley for years.’

‘I still don’t understand why you want to find the brother,’ Bill said. ‘Hank seems to me to be the leading character in this business.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ I said, pulling my typewriter towards me, ‘but I have a hunch that Terry could be the key. I could be wrong. Let’s get these reports off the desk.’

It was around 19.20 by the time we had completed our reports, and I had put them away in the Thorsen file.

‘What now?’ Bill asked.

‘We’ll go eat Italian,’ I said, ‘then I am going to talk to Hank Smedley.’

Bill cocked his head on one side.

‘You’re going to that all-black club?’

‘That’s what I’m going to do.’

‘Fine, and I’m coming with you.’

I unlocked the bottom drawer of my desk and took out my .38 gun. I checked it and then thrust it into my trouser belt.

‘Get your gun too, Bill,’ I said. ‘We could walk into trouble.’

He unlocked his drawer and produced a pair of brass knuckle-dusters. He slid them on each hand and surveyed them with loving eyes.

‘If you have a gun, Dirk, I don’t need a gun.’

‘Hey! Those things are illegal!’

‘That’s a fact. So they are illegal.’ He took them off and dropped them into his pocket. ‘Nothing like a lump of brass if one gets into a fight with a black.’

I shrugged. I knew he had a punch that would put a mule to sleep. With those lethal bits of brass, he could put an elephant to sleep.

‘I have a phone call to make, then we take off.’ I called the Bellevue Hotel. I was lucky to catch Suzy. She sounded breathless. I could hear the sound of voices as people converged on the reception desk.

‘Just a word, love,’ I said. ‘Thanks for putting the wall right and for the locks. You are marvellous!’

‘That makes two of us, my hero. Keep out of trouble. See you next Wednesday,’ and she hung up.

Leaving the office, Bill and I went down to the car. It was still drizzling. I drove to Secomb’s main street, fought for parking, then we walked to Lucino’s restaurant.

I often dined there, and Lucino, squat, enormously fat and more Italian than the Italians, beamed a welcome. We shook hands, said this and that, then he conducted us to a corner table. At this early hour, the restaurant was nearly empty.

‘The special, Lucino,’ I said as I sat down.

‘For you, Mr. Wallace, the
very
special.’

He brought us a rough Italian wine, poured the drinks, then went away.

‘If we come out of this disco alive,’ Bill said, ‘what’s the next move?’

‘We go in there as Acme operators,’ I said. ‘I ask to see Hank. If by then there isn’t a rough house, and if Hank shows up, I am asking him if he can help us to find Terry. Do you now see how important Terry is to this investigation?’

Bill scratched his head.

‘I guess so,’ he said doubtfully. ‘I see he gets you around.’

‘That’s the idea. So you ask what’s the next move to be. This depends on how cooperative Hank is. I doubt if he’ll tell us anything. So the next move is we latch on to Angela, and follow her from the moment she gets up to the moment she goes to bed.’

Bill nodded. This was the kind of work he liked.

‘Think you’ll get something from that?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s worth a try.’

Lucino came to the table bearing a vast platter of spaghetti, decorated with crisp, fried octopus, pieces of chicken and shrimps. Hot plates were produced and a big bowl of sauce that smelt of garlic and tomatoes was planked down on the table.

‘The best, Mr. Wallace,’ Lucino said, beaming. ‘Nothing but the best for you.’

We ate. Both of us were hungry. When there was nothing left, we sat back and looked at each other.

‘Ready for a possible rough house, Bill?’ I asked.

He grinned.

‘After that meal, I’m ready to take on the Marines.’

The time was 20.15. A little early for the Black Cassette to be in action.

I drove down to the waterfront, found a parking space, then we walked the rest of the way to the disco. As we reached the shoddy entrance to the club, I eased my gun for a quick draw. I saw Bill had his hands in his pockets.

I shoved open the door and we walked into a large room, furnished with small tables against the walls, a polished dance floor in the centre and, at the end of the room, a bar.

There was a distinct smell of reefer smoke hanging in the air. As I had thought, the action hadn’t started, but there were a number of black people: men and women, sitting at some of the tables drinking beer.

Three men, one holding a trumpet, one holding a sax and the third one setting up a drum set, were on a raised platform.

The whole outfit looked respectable enough.

There was a sudden, solid silence as we walked in. In a moment a big black came sliding out of the shadows and blocked our further entrance. He looked big enough and powerful enough to knock over a bull.

‘Can’t you guys read?’ he demanded in a harsh, loud voice.

‘Move over, black boy,’ I said. ‘I want to talk to Hank.’

His bloodshot eyes flickered.

‘No white trash in here!’

‘Can
you
read?’ I said, and shoved my professional card at him.

The card made an impression on him. He stared at it, and I saw his thick lips move as he read.

‘You a cop?’ he asked, his voice less harsh.

‘Look, black boy,’ I barked, ‘take that card to Hank and tell him I want to talk to him. Get moving!’

He hesitated, then shambled away, walking across the dance floor to a door he opened, then disappeared from sight.

The dozen or so blacks were watching all this. None of them moved nor spoke. I guess they thought we were cops.

I wasn’t going to let my advantage rest.

‘Come on,’ I said to Bill and walked across the dance floor, pushed open the door through which the black had disappeared and found myself in a dimly lit corridor which led to another door. As I walked down the corridor, followed by Bill, the far end door jerked open.

I was confronted by Hank Smedley.

Bill had described him, but I didn’t realise until I was facing him just how big he was. He wasn’t big: he was enormous, standing some six feet seven inches high, with shoulders as wide as a barn door. Bill had said he had a small head: this was correct. Hank had a tiny head, ugly, flat broad nose, leathery-looking lips and glittering bloodshot eyes. He was the perfect model for a horror movie.

‘What do you want?’ he rasped, blocking the doorway. He had fists like hams, and they were clenched at his sides.

In a mild voice I said, ‘Mr. Hank Smedley?’

This seemed to throw him. Probably no white man had called him ‘mister’ before. His fists unclenched.

‘Yeah. What you want?’

‘I am from the Acme Detective Agency, Mr. Smedley,’ I said, still keeping the mild tone. ‘I’m hoping you can help me.’

He stared suspiciously at me. I could almost hear what brain he had creaking.

‘Help?’ he finally snarled. ‘I don’t help white men. On your way. You stink up my place.’

‘Let’s cut out the black man, white man shit,’ I said. ‘My name is Wallace. So I call you Hank, and you call me Wallace. That way we might be able to have a civilised talk.’

This approach wasn’t his scene. I could see him, hesitating. He was trying to make up his moronic mind whether to hit me or just stand there.

He stood there.

‘I’m looking for Terry Zeigler,’ I said, slowly and distinctly as if speaking to a child.

That got a reaction. He leaned forward, glaring at me. Right at that moment he made King Kong look like a powder-puff.

‘What do you want with him?’ he demanded.

I looked beyond him to where the black I had first spoken to was lurking and listening.

‘Tell that boy to get the hell out,’ I said. ‘This is confidential.’

I was deliberately trying to impose my will on this ape.

It worked.

He turned around.

‘Beat it!’ he snarled.

The black shoved by me and went back into the main room.

‘I’m trying to find Terry,’ I said, ‘because someone has left him a heap of jack. Unless I find him, the loot will remain in the bank.’

A spark of intelligence lit up his bloodshot eyes.

‘How much?’

‘Could be a hundred thousand. I don’t know for sure.’

‘A hundred thousand!’ he exclaimed, staring at me. I could see money would always make an impact on him.

‘That’s what I understand. I won’t swear to the amount: it could be more. Where do I find him?’

Blue-black veins stood out on his forehead as he thought.

Finally, he said, ‘So what happens if you do find him?’

‘No problem. I take him to the bank, he signs a few forms, and the money is his. It’s as simple as that.’

He scratched his head while he continued to batter his brain.

‘A hundred thousand?’ he said. ‘That’s a lot of jack.’

‘It sure is. Where do I find him?’

‘I dunno where he is, but I might find out. I could ask around. For all I know he isn’t living here. He could be anywhere.’

I had a feeling he was lying, but this had to be a patient game.

‘OK, Hank,’ I said. ‘You have my card. If you do contact Terry, and he wants the money, give me a call. OK?’

‘Yeah.’

He looked beyond me and became aware of Bill who was lolling against the wall, chewing gum.

‘Who’s that midget?’ he demanded.

‘He’s my bodyguard,’ I said, deadpan. ‘He’s a good man to have around if smart boys think they’re tough.’

‘That little jerk?’ Hank gave a wide, sneering grin. ‘Man! He couldn’t blow froth off beer.’

Seeing Bill slide his hands into his pockets, I backed away. I wanted to get out of this dump in one piece.

‘Let’s go, Bill,’ I said sharply. ‘OK, Hank, if you locate Terry let me know,’ and taking a firm grip on Bill’s arm, I walked him across the dance floor and into the bustle and humid heat of the waterfront.

‘Why didn’t you let me hang one on that ape?’ Bill demanded as we reached my car.

‘Patience,’ I said, getting into the car. ‘You’ll have your chance, but not right now.’

As I drove from the waterfront Bill asked, ‘What’s the next move?’

‘We go home,’ I said. ‘I still think Terry could give us the key to this case. I’ve hung out two baits. Angela and Hank now know that Terry is worth a hundred thousand. I’m sure they know where he is. I’m hoping one of them will tell him and he’ll surface.’

‘Suppose they don’t know where he is?’

‘I think they do. We’ll see. We’ll meet at the office tomorrow at nine.’

Bill shrugged.

‘Suits me.’

I dropped him off at his walkup, then drove to the Bellevue Hotel.

Suzy gave me a loving smile as I crossed the lobby to the reception desk.

‘Honey, how about tonight? Any time?’ I asked.

She shook her head.

‘Impossible tonight, Dirk, dear. I won’t be free until three. By then I’ll be half-dead. Be patient, my love. Wednesday as usual.’

Two fat elderly men came to the desk, and with a bright smile Suzy joined them.

I tramped back to my car and drove home.

With junk on the TV, I took a shower and went to bed.

In the office, the following morning, around 09.30 with Bill at his desk and me at mine, the telephone bell rang.

I scooped up the receiver.

‘Wallace?’ I recognised Hank’s gravelly voice.