Ken Kuhlken_Hickey Family Mystery 03 (22 page)
Read Ken Kuhlken_Hickey Family Mystery 03 Online
Authors: The Angel Gang
Tags: #FICTION / Mystery & Detective / General
On Saturday a ranger found what the scavengers had left of Jack Meechum. Scraps of flannel and cotton. A hat band and alligator belt. Western boots. Feet. Car keys and a trombone mouthpiece. A skeleton in which the femur appeared so shattered, it must’ve dropped him when it snapped in two.
Monday morning, the Hickey family took a stroll on the beach, Clifford’s first excursion. About fifty yards offshore, Mac and two females raced the speedboat
Prudence
back and forth. The sky was summer blue. The mountains all around had metamorphosed into diamonds. After four sunny days, all but patches of snow had melted in the basin.
Wendy carried the baby in a squaw blanket. Hickey wouldn’t let her tromp around in slush and risk stumbling, so he towed them on the sled through the mud, bucking and lunging like a mule. By the time they got home, he needed a nap and rubdown, after which they’d drive south. Spend tonight in a Visalia motel and tomorrow with Leo.
Hickey lounged in the easy chair that faced the love seat where Wendy sat and nursed. As soon as the kid gave up sucking and burped a bit, maybe he’d doze and allow his old man a chance to get pampered for a minute. Except the phone rang. Hickey grabbed it.
“How’s he doing, Tom?”
“Tops. A couple days you’ll get to see him.”
“Can’t wait,” the captain said. “What do you hear from Vi?”
“The same. Leo’s a broken old man, that’s all. At seventy you don’t get stomped by pros, take a wild ride in a runaway car, flip a few times, splatter on the rocks, and still make a comeback.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s a heartbreaker.…So, I hear you’ve been to LA. Did you stop at the hospital, visit the old man?”
“Whoa. Who’s got me in LA?”
Thrapp issued a prolonged sigh. “Meaning you’re not the guy who sapped a character named Gregory Kitain, aka Bass? One of the punks that did Leo. You’re not the guy who brained him with a tire iron or something, five, maybe six times?”
“I’m not the guy,” Hickey growled, though it seemed as if one of the boulders piled on his heart had just tumbled off and rolled away.
“Good. So, who’d you send?”
“Tell you what, Rusty. When you’ve got something else to talk about, give me a call.”
“I’ll do that.”
Hickey cradled the receiver and lay back in the chair, a little dizzy, as though he’d been spinning on a dance floor and had to relearn his directions.
“Something go wrong?” Wendy asked.
He smiled grimly and wagged his head. “One of the guys that hit Leo got himself killed, that’s all.” He sat up, laced his boots, stood, and gave Wendy and Clifford each a kiss. “I’m going next door for a minute.”
“Did Harry kill the man?”
“Maybe so, babe.”
Not bothering with a jacket, he went out, shut the door quietly, and headed toward the meadow, wondering how Claire would answer when he got around to warning her to leave the gambler alone. If he argued that besides Harry’s obvious failings such as cheating the public and womanizing, he also killed people when the need arose, Claire might well say, “So do you, Tom.”
The porch was stacked with Formica, waiting for the Salvation Army. Though Claire had informed Poverman that to dump his furniture on the poor was to add insult to injury, he insisted on the tax write-off.
Hickey rapped on the door. It swung open. Frieda curtsied and dashed back toward the kitchen, while Harry sauntered out of the poolroom across a plush ivory carpet and the bare plywood entryway, past the fellow who knelt, laying a square of Italian tile.
“What do you think, Tom?”
Hickey motioned with his chin, led the way back across the new carpet to the poolroom, shut the door behind them. “Oh, mother,” Harry said. “You’re not gonna do the gun routine again, are you?”
“An LA punk named Bass got his head smashed.”
“What’d I tell you? Those guys are dropping all the time.”
“You send Tyler down there or hire a local?”
The boss made a grimace and a two-handed shrug. “Not me, pal. Bass is one of Mickey’s boys. You think I’m crazy enough to cross Mickey?”
“Crazy as they get.”
“You oughta know,” Harry said. “Now scram. I was heading for the shower. Say, what kinda cologne does Miss Blackwood like best? You know, the kind that leaves her faint, makes her heart pitter-patter.”
Hickey gripped his neighbor’s shoulder. He scorched the man with his eyes. “I didn’t ask you to whack anybody.”
“So what’s the deal, then? Every time somebody gets snatched or bumped off, you’re gonna lay it on Harry? Okay, if that’s how it is. Now beat it, will you? Go change a diaper or something.”
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