Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 09 - The Crystal Skull Murders (5 page)

I pulled out a note card. “Who were they?”

He cut his eyes to Doreen, then back to me. “Patsy
Fusco from San Antonio, Mossy Eisen from Atlanta,
and someone named Abe Romero. I never heard of
him. That’s it.”

Pausing with the tip of my pen to the note card, I
looked up at him. “You said four.”

“Fusco sent two proposals. He’s always been a pushy
brother.”

“Any others? What about around here on the street?
Anyone want your club?”

“Are you kidding? Half of them would slit the other
half’s throats for it. Like I said, it’s better than a printing press”

“What about Calvin?”

Getdown frowned. “Next door at the Bistro?”

“Yeah. 99

“No. He has his own little enterprises.”

I wanted to ask if Calvin’s little enterprises involved
drugs, but I know what Getdown’s answer would be.
I hooked my thumb over my shoulder. “What about
Buck?”

Lifting an eyebrow, Getdown grinned. “He wants to
expand.”

“Enough to torch your place?”

The rotund man shook his head. “He ain’t smart
enough to do it without getting caught, but he is just
smart enough realize that”

“What does your insurance company say?”

He shrugged. “You know those guys. Now, they claim
I was over-insured. They sure wasn’t saying that when
they took them premiums I paid each month, those
bunch of blood-sucking-” He paused and glanced at
Doreen. “Jerks” He paused. “So, you going to be able to
help me?”

I grinned at him. “I’ve tracked down alligators in the
Louisiana swamp. I can find something as simple as a
torch man.”

He laughed loudly. “I hopes so. I’m ready to rebuild
that sucker, and I sure don’t want some Bright Skin
burning it down again.”

I looked up at him in surprise. “Bright Skin? Are you
sure? How do you know it was a white man?”

His pie-shaped face contorted in a frown. “I don’t
rightly, but a couple days after the place burned down,
I spotted a Bright Skin leaving my storeroom in the
ey.

“Could it have been one of the transients? I heard
Rosey and some others slept out there during the warm
months.”

“None of them winos could afford the set of drapes
that dude was wearing.”

Suppressing the surge of excitement boiling through
my veins, I studied him a moment. And maybe, I told
myself, whoever killed Rosey didn’t find the pawn ticket
after all.

Back on the sidewalk, Doreen turned to me. “I’m
hungry. Is there someplace to eat around here?”

Remembering her reaction to the cockroach, I kept a
straight face. “You should have ordered something
back there. The cheeseburgers smelled out of this
world.”

She curled her lips. “In that dump? Not on your life.”

I chuckled and nodded at Fat Sal’s Bistro next to the
Lighthouse across the street. “They have a fair deli over
there. “And,” I added before she had a chance to reply,
“no roaches”

I ordered a small bowl of chicken potpie, and Doreen
opted for chicken gumbo. While we waited for our
lunch, I pulled out my ubiquitous 3 x 5 note cards and
began jotting down more information from the interview with Getdown.

Doreen frowned. “Why do you use note cards? Why
not a notebook like I have?”

I explained. “One idea, one card. That way I can juggle them around. You know, sort of rearrange my ideas.”
With a shrug, I added, “Sometimes it helps see the
problem from a different angle.”

When the solemn waitress delivered our lunch, I eyed
Doreen’s watery gumbo skeptically. “One of these days,
I’ll whip up a real gumbo for you. Let you see what the
original tastes like.”

Dabbing her lips daintily with a napkin, she arched
an eyebrow. “You’re from Louisiana, huh?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“The business about the alligator and now the gumbo.”

“Hey, you might make a fair detective yet.”

That time, she almost smiled.

After lunch, I headed back to the storeroom, explaining I wanted to take another look at it. Though puzzled,
Doreen stayed at my side. “So,” she asked as I pushed
open the door, “what do you expect to find in there?
You looked at it this morning.”

With my hand on the knob, I turned to face her. “Remember what Getdown Joe said about seeing a welldressed dude leave the place?” She nodded, and I
continued. “What’s someone all duded up doing back
here? This isn’t exactly the kind of place someone like
that would spend time browsing. He was looking for
something.” I opened the door. A musty odor filled the
room.

Her eyes grew wide. “The pawn ticket?”

“Why not?” I shrugged, flipping on the light switch.
The switch plate rattled, but I thought nothing of it. Below the switch, a water faucet extended a few inches
from the brick wall.

She looked around the storeroom. “Not much here.”

She was right. Covered by dust, a dozen boxes or so
were stacked on the shelves lining the walls of the
room. Wrinkled blankets and stained mattresses were
jammed under the shelves. In the middle of the floor was an empty wooden crate with a clutter of cardboard
boxes surrounding it. On the fourth wall, a door to the
smaller room separated the shelves. Doreen pointed to
it. “What’s in there?”

“Another storeroom.”

“So, what now?”

“Let’s take it methodically. We’ll begin in here. You
start with that wall; I’ll start with this one. We’ll meet
on the far side. Then, we’ll do the other room”

“What about the boxes on the shelves?”

“Them too. And look for any nooks and crannies
where a pawn ticket could be hidden.”

For the next thirty minutes, we searched on top of the
shelves, under the shelves, and behind the shelves. We
opened boxes filled with everything from St. Patrick’s
Day napkins to jars of rancid olives.

We checked the stained and dirty mattresses for cuts
into which the ticket could have been hidden. I suppressed a chuckle when Doreen daintily tried to handle
the soiled mattresses with just her forefinger and
thumb. In one corner, we found an empty gallon fuel
container. I sniffed it. Empty now, it had once contained gasoline.

By now, we were both dirty and sweaty despite the
cool day.

I nodded to the closed door. “Nothing out here. Let’s
try that room.”

I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

A heavy blow slammed into my back. My head
snapped back and the force propelled me across the
small room and into the wall. My head bounced off the
brick. My legs grew weak, and just before I sagged to
the floor, I heard Doreen scream.

Doreen’s scream cut through the wooziness in my
head. I managed to push myself to my feet and stagger
to the door. I tried to focus my eyes, and then I felt
something warn running down either side of the bridge
of my nose. I wiped at it and pulled away a hand
smeared with blood.

“Tony! Help me out of here!” Doreen’s voice was
strident, demanding.

Pulling out my handkerchief, I dabbed at the blood
coming from the split in my forehead. When I finally
focused my eyes, I saw Doreen, bent double, her derriere stuck in the wooden box, her feet almost even
with her head.

She screamed again. “Get me out of here!”

The blow to the head had addled me. I staggered uncertainly across the room and, holding the handkerchief to my bleeding forehead with one hand, I grabbed
one of her flailing arms and managed to pull her from
the box.

She was livid with anger. “If I get my hands on
that-” She muttered a few descriptive epithets I was
surprised she knew.

She had been too angry to notice I was bleeding.
When she did, the anger fled her face, and she hurried
to me. “You hurt yourself!” She said it as if it were my
fault.

My throbbing head plus her unfriendly manner all
day got the best of me. “Brilliant observation, Detective,” I muttered, shaking my head in frustration and
wobbling over to the water faucet by the front door. I
splashed water over my face and dried it with the handkerchief.

Doreen stood at my side, silently looking on. I don’t
know what I expected. Perhaps a couple words of sympathy or concern, but after a few moments, I decided
that maybe she was one of those who thought sympathy
or concern was a weakness. Or maybe she just didn’t
care. Still bent over, I closed my eyes and mumbled.
“Jeez, what a day”

Finally, I straightened and drew a deep breath. “Did
you get a good look at the guy?”

“Not really. He was big-taller than you-and
dressed very well in a blue suit, with pinstripes.” She
frowned. “His nose looked funny, and he had a ponytail.”

My eyes started to lose focus. I put out my hand to
the wall to steady myself. “His nose? Funny? Like
what?”

“I don’t know. Sort of, well, flat”

“Like a boxer’s?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I never watch boxing.”

Holding the handkerchief to my forehead, I headed
unsteadily back to my pickup. “Tell you what. I’ve got
one more stop, but why don’t you head on back to the
office. Use my computer and write up a report of what
we did this morning. I’ve got about an hour’s worth of
running around to do. When I come in, we’ll get together and see just where we stand”

She nodded and brushed at the dirt on her clothes.
“If you say so” She looked around the alley distastefully. “I’ll be more than happy to get out of here”

All I could do was nod slowly. I was more than
happy for her to get out of here. I’ve always been one of
those who try to find excuses for others’ behavior-and
for the most part, I’ve been able to work with just about
anyone-but right now, my head was hurting, I was
bleeding, my clothes were dirty, and I wasn’t in the
mood to put up with a recalcitrant child any longer.

To be honest, the report was something to keep her
out of my hair for the rest of the afternoon.

And when I got back to the office, Marty Blevins
was going to get a piece of my mind. No one deserves
to be saddled with someone brandishing an attitude that
would make Attila the Hun look like a choirboy.

After she drove away, I went into the Red Rabbit and
washed up in the men’s room in an effort to make myself
halfway presentable. After bumming a Band-Aid from
Buck and combing my hair, I headed for the Blackhawk
Towers.

The Blackhawk Towers was busy with at least three
different conventions checking in, one them being the
State Patrolman’s Association. While waiting at the reception desk as three busy clerks helped patrons check
in, I spotted the placard on a easel welcoming the association to Austin was signed by the Chief of Police, Ramon Pachuca.

Over the last few years, I’d turned to Ramon for help
in a few instances, and as long as I didn’t stick my nose
into police business, he was always accommodating. I
wouldn’t go as far as to say we were drinking buddies,
but on several occasions, he’d helped me out of a bind.

At that moment, a clerk spoke up. “Yes, sir. How can I
help you?” She glanced at the Band-Aid on my forehead.

“I’d like to see the manager, please.”

She hesitated. “May I ask the purpose of your business, please?”

I did what I do a lot. I lied. Gesturing to the placard,
I said, “I was talking to Chief Pachuca” I paused for effect, then added, “The Chief of Police of the Austin Police Department. You know him?” Before she could
answer, I continued, “Anyway, he suggested I visit with
the hotel manager about a situation, one which I am not at liberty to discuss with anyone except your manager,
miss.”

She stared at me a moment, then quickly disappeared through a door behind the counter. Moments
later, an obviously puzzled manager hurried out, his
gaze darting about the lobby at the collection of police
uniforms.

“Yes, sir. There’s no trouble is there, sir?” His gaze
kept shifting back to the uniforms gathering on the far
side of the lobby.

“No” I identified myself and explained I was investigating a case. “I need to learn if a week or so back,
around the fifteenth, any of your guests reported any
valuables missing.”

He frowned. “I-ah, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Patiently, I explained. “An item was found in one of
your dumpsters and pawned. We don’t know what it
was, but there’s reason to believe it has value. What I’m
trying to find out is if any of your guests reported any
valuables missing around the fourteenth or fifteenth.
That’s all.”

He pursed his lips and rubbed his hands nervously.
He stammered, “I-I’m not sure I can provide-ahah-that information without going through the proper
channels.”

I glanced at his nametag. “Look, Mister Lane. I can
get a warrant, or-” I pointed to the gathering of uniforms across the lobby. “Or I can go over there and find
Ramon Pachuca, police chief of Austin PD. You might listen to him, but you know, that’s a lot of trouble for
everyone”

He hesitated.

I noticed one of the uniforms looking in my direction. I waved. He had no idea who I was, but he waved
back. “That’s Ramon,” I said with a straight face.