Bingo Barge Murder (5 page)

“The Whacker’s ready for some action. Let’s go.” Eddy waved her mini bat in the air, and Coop reached out and grabbed it before it thumped him in the chest.

“Keep your voices down,” Coop whispered harshly. “Sounds carry over the water, you know. God, I need a smoke.”

We crossed the road single file. A rolling hill ran parallel to the road, and we climbed upward, legs burning, lungs rasping. On the far side of the mound, a gentle slope led downward to a sudden ten-foot drop to the cold, dark Mississippi. I caught a whiff of eau d’fish and other odors I couldn’t quite (and probably didn’t want to) put my finger on.

We scurried rapidly along the river toward the blacked-out barge. The behemoth looked like a cheap, one-story rendition of the floating river casinos found in states farther south.

The barge had been painted white with dark-blue trim when first installed off of Moffat’s Point, between Minneapolis and St. Paul. However, time and the harsh conditions of floating on the river had weathered the once-proud exterior. Paint peeled off the sides, looking like bark falling off a dead tree. Rust stains made the vessel appear as if it were silently crying. Even the gaudy, neon Pig’s Eye Bingo sign was unlit. It was eerie as hell.

“Why aren’t there any lights on?” I asked Coop, my voice low.

“Kinky is—I mean Kinky
was
too cheap to keep them on when there’s no bingo in session.”

We hunkered out of sight in long, weedy grass next to the wide gangway that led to the front doors of the barge. I almost jumped out of my shoes when the floating palace of sin shifted noisily against its moorings.

The entry still had yellow police tape stretched across it. Earlier we’d discussed the pros and cons of going in through the front doors and decided that it would be safer to enter through the delivery entrance on the far end of the barge.

Eddy poked Coop in the back with her Whacker. “What are you waiting for?”

“I’m going already. Jeez.” Coop hopped up and darted over the gangway and onto the deck. He hunched over and waddled like a mallard along the railing to the delivery door. Once he unlocked the door and disarmed the alarm, he waved us in.

I followed Eddy as she scooted along ahead of me, her shoes radiating green with each step. I held my breath, waiting for a bullhorn to sound, “You with the glow-in-the-dark shoes, stop right there!”
But, thankfully, we all made it safely inside. The door clicked shut and we were plunged into a thick, suffocating black so pure that if there were a color for death, this would be it.

No one said a word. We strained to listen for sounds that our escapade was about to come to an arresting end until Eddy clicked on her flashlight and waved it around. We were in a windowless supply room. Coop and I flicked on our own flashlights, and Coop said in a stage whisper, “This door opens to the main hall. Kinky’s office is down the gangway on the far side of the hall. We’ll have to shut the flashlights off when we cross the main area because of the windows, but his office doesn’t have windows. We can turn the lights on without anyone seeing anything.”

“Don’t forget the gloves,” I said. Crinkling sounds filled the room as we struggled to stuff our hands into the clear plastic serving gloves.

We were plunged into creepy blackness as we flipped the flashlights off. Coop eased the door to the bingo floor open. The odor of stale cigarette smoke and the lingering smell of greasy, fried food made my nose wrinkle.

Coop moved silently ahead of us, and we hurried to catch up to his dark form. The bingo hall was unrecognizable in the dark. By the time I thought I’d gotten a handle on where we were in the cavernous room, Coop was zinging down a hallway that housed the restrooms and Kinky’s office.

Coop stopped short in front of an open door. I bounced into him and Eddy ran into me with a grunt. He whispered, “This is it.”

Eddy, hanging on to me as she regained her balance, whispered, “What’s the holdup? Go on in, boy.”

Coop suddenly backpedaled into me. “Oh hell. No way. I got us here. Someone else can go in there first. Blood and guts … uh-uh.” His voice was hoarse.

Eddy elbowed her way past us. “Outta my way, then. Swear I gotta do all the work for you kids these days.” She turned on her flashlight and charged through the door. Coop and I followed in her wake.

“See, nothin’ here except a big hole where the carpet’s been chopped out.” Eddy’s flashlight stopped on a missing rectangular section of filthy gray carpet. I thought the stale air held the faintest tang of copper, but it was probably in my head.

“I think I’m gonna pass out,” Coop said.

I grabbed his arm and shook him. “No, you’re not. Don’t you dare pass out, Nicholas Cooper.” The shock of hearing his given name come out of my mouth was enough to bring him to his senses.

The light switch was next to the door. I flipped it on. We blinked in unison at the harsh fluorescent glare. A tan metal desk covered by a flat calendar sat to one side. Stains I really, really hoped were from food decorated various portions of the calendar, along with doodles and random notes jotted on the border and under some of the dates. A tired-looking computer sat beside the calendar.

A precarious mountain of papers and magazines on one corner of the desk threatened to go into a landslide at any moment. I wondered if the cops had anything to do with the mess or if it was a reflection of Kinky’s organizational abilities.

A two-shelf hutch was pushed up against a wall and loaded with file folders, used or defective bingo daubers in various neon shades, and a clear plastic jar of bingo balls that looked suspiciously like glorified Ping-Pong balls. A rack stood next to it holding a computer monitor, keyboard, three hard drives, and a VCR.

A grimy loveseat and two chairs took up an entire wall, and two framed, poster-sized prints hung on the opposite wall. One of the prints portrayed abstract female body parts in various stages of undress, and the other was a portrait of a life-sized, slicked-up Kinky holding out his bronzed bingo dauber for the world to see.

More magazines were piled on the floor behind Kinky’s desk, and I suppressed a shudder when I caught a glimpse of the top one. It’s certainly a free world, but the content was more than I ever wanted to know about Kinky’s sexual appetites. The glossy was entitled
Whips and Chains
, and a picture of a balding man graced the cover. On all fours, he wore a dog collar and nothing else. Behind him, holding a leash attached to the collar, a rubber-suited dominatrix with an evil grin cracked a wicked-looking whip.

Eddy stuck the Whacker under her arm and settled into the office chair. “The desk is mine.”

“I’ll go through the security hard drive.” Coop made for the rack of electronics and fired up the system.

The hutch was as good a place as any for me to start. I stepped to it and poked through the piles of paper. Not much to see except letters from the Gambling Control Commission of Minnesota, bingo paperwork, and notes from workers requesting time off.

It wasn’t five minutes before Coop said, “The digital files are gone. I thought they archived, but nothing’s here.” So much for easy answers.

Eddy was busy sifting through the sheaves of paper on the top of the desk. I pulled open the right-hand desk drawer and found it filled with pens, paperclips, a half-eaten Baby Ruth, a set of keys, and a few business cards. One card was a reminder for an appointment at DeeDee’s House of Massage. Two of the business cards were from bingo equipment distributors, and another was from Schiek’s, a strip joint in downtown Minneapolis.

The cops must not have deemed the business cards worthy evidence since they were still in the drawer. If I were them, I’d check into DeeDee’s and see what kinds of massages were being given. I tucked the cards back in the drawer and slid it shut.

“Sweet Jesus! I’ll be,” Eddy said. She had an official form with the picture of a bingo player attached to it with a paper clip. The top of the paper read Release and the form gave the Pig’s Eye Bingo Barge permission to use the winner’s image for publicity. I’d periodically seen ads in the local newspaper that showcased the big winners each week. According to Coop, the players loved it.

“That damn Margaret,” Eddy said. “She skipped out on the last few Knitters meetings, told us her arthritis was acting up. Here she’s been playing bingo.” She squinted at the page. “Says here she won two grand.” Eddy shot Coop an accusatory glare. “You knew about this all along, didn’t you, you twerp?”

Coop had the sense to appear sheepish and raised his bony shoulders until they were up around his ears. “Yeah. Margaret swore me to secrecy. Sorry, Eddy.”

Eddy studied the picture again, holding it close to her face. “This photo serves her right. All those wrinkles.” She tossed the packet on the top of the pile. “Guess now she can pay me the poker bucks I loaned her last month.”

A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth and I stooped over to check the bottom desk drawer. Manila files were tucked into goose-poop-colored hanging folders. Most of the paperwork was invoices for various barge supplies. Nothing suspicious. I slammed the drawer shut. The metal of the drawer face hit the desk, and a muffled thunk sounded inside. I stared at the drawer a moment, and then tugged it open again. This time I reached in and dragged all the files toward me. On the bottom of the drawer, beneath the files, two VHS video tapes lay side by side. Each had a handwritten label. The first one read
Sonja Sucks
and the second
Lovin’ Lavonne
.

Rocky’s Ms. Lavonne, perchance? More stuff the cops must have decided wouldn’t be of any use to them. Unless, of course, the cops were simply inept. As Eddy often said, you never know.

I held up the two tapes. “Check it out. Kinky really entertains himself on the job.”

Eddy peered at the video cassettes in my hand, and Coop sidled over next to me. He took one of the tapes and flipped it end to end. “Let’s see what’s on them.” He popped one into the VCR and hit play. We watched the gray snow fade and be replaced with the grainy image of a woman kneeling on a loveseat while a man with a very white, hairy ass went to town behind her.

Eddy gasped and clapped a hand over her eyes.

Coop laughed, and then the sound died in his throat. He walked closer to the monitor. “Isn’t that the loveseat … in here?” He pointed to the piece of furniture in question.

Without a doubt, it was identical.

Coop cleared his throat, eyes glued to the action. “That’s Kinky. Jesus. And I think that’s Lavonne Smith—Ms. Lavonne—bingo player extraordinaire. And obviously, woman of questionable morals.”

Disbelief and repulsion fought for priority on his face. “God, I can’t believe I’ve actually sat on that nasty couch.”

Eddy said, “Hey, wait a minute. If that’s this office, where’s the video camera?” We surveyed the room without seeing any indication of a camera.

The entire length of the loveseat and the front edge of the desk were caught in the frame. I walked over to the two posters hanging on the wall opposite the love seat and lifted the first one off its hook. Underneath was smooth, nicotine-colored sheetrock.

Coop came over and pulled Kinky’s portrait off the wall. Sure enough, a tiny hole had been drilled though the plaster behind it. Coop turned the poster over. Another hole went straight through Kinky’s right eyeball.

“Oh God, that is so wrong,” I said, my lip curling in disgust.

“Figures. What a slime ball.” Coop gingerly placed the picture back on its hook.

Eddy said, “What’s on the other side of that wall?”

Coop frowned, and rubbed his chin, fingertips scraping against whiskers well past a five o’clock shadow. “A utility room that isn’t used.”

“Handy. Let’s go have a peek.” I headed for the door, gingerly stepping over the hole in the carpet.

“You two go on,” Eddy told us. “I’ll keep on checking out this damn mess.”

I followed Coop out of Kinky’s office while Eddy muttered under her breath about kinky bastards.

The storage room, no bigger than a bedroom closet, held a crusty mop, a stack of boxes, and a lot of cobwebs.

“This is the wall.” Coop reached over and tapped on the sheetrock behind the boxes.

“What’s inside these?”

Coop sneezed as he pulled the top box down, dust floating around his head as he opened it. “Bingo paperwork, cashier stuff.” He sniffed and looked up at the stack. “No place for a camera.” He pulled another box down and set it aside.

I pulled the third one off the pile and realized it was much lighter than the other two. Sure enough, behind the box was the tiny hole that went through the wall into Kinky’s office. I turned the box around. A cord snaked out the side and was plugged into an electrical socket in the wall. Another side of the cardboard had a perfect circle no more than an inch in diameter carved out of it.

Nestled inside, envelopes and assorted papers lay on top of a mini-camcorder that was secured to the cardboard with electrical wire and duct tape, its lens pressed against the hole in the side of the box. Another wire ran from the camcorder to a metal container the size of a couple of loaves of bread. The container was padlocked shut.

“Well, well, well,” Coop said. “Kinky
was
making his own porn. It wasn’t another urban legend after all.”