Maxwell Street Blues (25 page)

“You want to be more specific?”

“Voss is a cold-blooded bastard. Others have called him a psychopath or a sociopath. One of the two. Lisa—I don’t know what she is. She may be guilty of something, but I think she’s also a victim—somehow. Either way, I’m going to get the truth and, in the process, if Voss decides Lisa is a liability, her safety might be at risk.”

Susie drummed her fingers on the table and glanced back at her shop. “I’d best be off,” she said.

* * *

I had been going nonstop since nine
A.M.
and needed some downtime to rest my aching ribs and try to assimilate all the components of my investigation. Once I was on the recliner, Punim wedged herself between my thighs. Her front paws disappeared beneath the white fur on her chest. She stared at me in that neglected-cat way, sending a barrage of guilt darts into my torso. It was just the two of us after all.

My fear for Lisa’s safety was genuine, second only to my fear of her dubious mental state, which could jeopardize my plan and possibly put her in more danger. If Voss was truly running the show, I had every reason to believe he was aware of my last visit to Taudrey Tats, when I accused her of making a deal with Satan. Lisa didn’t know enough to recognize the sharks swimming around her. But if approaching her was too hazardous, what was my next step?

I called Knight. “I’ve got some process for you. Are you still at Mocha Mouse?”

He didn’t try to hide his delight. “All right, my man! You diggin’ in? Gettin’ deep? I knew you’d come through. Get thee to the Mouse!”

For the second time in five hours, I walked through a coffee shop named for a saxophone-playing rodent and approached the far corner table where Ellis Knight happily waited with his open laptop. “I brought some
process
with me,” I said and held up a manila folder before sitting down. “Here are some of the details involved in the process, courtesy of a police photographer.” From the folder, I took two pictures of a man facedown on a pile of construction debris. One of the pictures was taken from only a few feet away. Two close head wounds were clearly visible. “Meet my friend Snooky.”

Knight stared at the pictures. “Why is he wearing a suit?”

“That’s what CPAs usually wear when they’re working. But here’s a more casual picture.” I showed him the druggie I had fought in my apartment. He was on his back, eyes open. A stream of blood spilled out of his mouth and flowed down his cheek, gathering in a puddle by his ear.

Knight recoiled, then recovered. “Whoa. What is this?”

“I just got one more,” I said and showed him the police photo of the druggie who had held me at gunpoint in the alley, lying on
his
back, eyes open, legs folded queerly to the side. Around his head was a halo of blood, brain, and skull. Knight retreated again but this time didn’t bounce back.

“Dude, what’s your point? I mean, okay, I’m grossed out, you win.”

“It’s just part of the process, Ellis. It’s a brutal process, you know? And I’m really scared that Lisa could end up in one of these pictures.”

Knight frowned. “You’re trying to freak me out. Just because she knew the dead guy means she’s gonna end up dead, too?”

I thought I was penetrating his juvenile façade,
dude
! “Why don’t we cut the bullshit and you just tell me what you know.”

Knight looked agitated. “I know that guy got bumped off, and he worked for Audrey—Lisa. And I know how much she hated that chancellor dude even though she was banging him.”

“Tell me why she hated him.”

“She wouldn’t tell me.”

“
Who
wouldn’t tell you?”

“L.A.-Audrey. Get it? She started calling herself Los Angeles Audrey and then just L.A. These two chicks have some really weird connection she won’t tell me about. It’s through L.A. that I know stuff.”

“L.A.’s real name is Audrey Prenevost.”

“Yeah, that sounds right.”

“You asked if Snooky was murdered because he was going to expose Chancellor Tate as a meth dealer. That came from Audrey Prenevost?”

“She suggested the meth thing a few times, but it wasn’t, like, written in stone. I mean, she’s kind of playing with my head, too. She throws out ideas to try to get me to be creative.”

“Tate has nothing to do with meth. He’s being framed. I have a clue as to why Lisa is trying to destroy his life, but there’s more going on that I don’t know. What do you think she could have against him?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about Audrey Prenevost?”

“She’d know more than I would. You haven’t explained why Lisa might end up with a bullet in her head.”

“Has Audrey Prenevost ever mentioned the name Voss?” Knight shook his head. “I guess you really don’t know shit.”

Knight typed a bit and then waited for more. “C’mon, Detective, give me something! I won’t use his real name or nothing.”

“He’s the Duke of Darkness.”

Knight’s face lit up. “Awesome! Is he, like, some psychotic meth king? Tell me more.”

My first inclination was to downplay the meth as just a smokescreen to what was really going on. But I stopped myself. “Get Audrey Prenevost to talk to me and I’ll think about it.”

Knight stared thoughtfully for a moment and then started nodding his head. “I think I can do that.”

53

“What if Voss is trafficking meth?” I said to Kalijero. “Where are you?”

“I’m home. It makes sense—”

“Don’t move until I get there.” The line went dead.

It was rude to hang up on people, and I reminded Kalijero of this fact when he entered my apartment.

“You’ll get over it,” he said. “Sit down.” I did as told. “Remember what I said about moonlighting at that club out by the airport? Big shots getting all the booze and tail for a night? At some point, I was told to start expecting small packages to deliver to the clients’ rooms. I wasn’t too concerned at first until I found out it was meth. For an extra grand, fat middle-aged men who had forgotten that the thing between their legs had another function besides pissing could screw like porn stars for a night with the girl of their dreams. You can probably guess how popular this extra feature became. My troubles began when I started snooping around, trying to find out where the meth was coming from. I was called into a meeting with some of the heavies at the club. Voss was
there. I said we had a good thing going. Why dirty it up with drugs? Voss suggested I could easily be replaced and that my career might suffer a significant setback if I didn’t cool it. I told them this meth thing had me worried. Voss assured me his channel into the police had backups all the way to the top. Shortly after this conversation, Snook told me tattoo broad—Lisa?—had started asking questions about me. Snook got her to confess that this slimy older man began showing up when she was about to close and that he made her nervous. So I staked out the place and, sure enough, Voss paid a visit to her shortly before closing time.”

“Did you tell Snooky about your meth money?”

“I’m thinking Voss had Snook killed. He had the motive. He needed that book to make sure I kept my mouth shut. But we need more than a motive to convict Voss. Lisa knowingly or unknowingly played a role in all this. I think her main motive was fear of Voss, although hurting Tate probably helped.”

“Answer my question. Did Snooky know he was laundering your meth money?” Kalijero avoided eye contact. He reminded me of a little boy too ashamed to talk. “You piece of shit! You didn’t tell him because you knew Snooky would’ve dumped you as a client.”

“All right! I’m a shit! You don’t think I feel bad about all this?”

“What if we get proof? He goes down?”

“If he’s trafficking meth, nothing will stop the state from prosecuting. That’s the line Hauser was talking about. We’re working with the Feds, but they’re letting us take the lead. If we don’t move in, the Feds will take over, and that’ll make us look like idiots.”

“If Voss admits killing Snooky, you’d get him for that, too?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure they’d throw that in.”

“Don’t yeah, yeah me, you shit. Get Hauser’s word.”

“We’ll nail him for murder! I give you my word.”

I could’ve told Kalijero what his word was worth, but I didn’t. “What kind of time would Voss be looking at?”

“Five to life, depending on how many grams he was moving and if they get first-degree murder.”

“What about Lisa? She had nothing to do with dealing meth.”

Kalijero thought for a moment. “Tough to say. They could still nail her for accessory after the fact—depending on the evidence. When this is all over, move on. If everything doesn’t work out exactly how you want it, just go back to making an honest living and don’t dwell on changing the system or saving the world.”

The phony resignation in Kalijero’s voice was impossible to resist, and I laughed loudly. I said, “You can’t fight city hall, kid. Just accept the facts of life.”

“Okay, smart guy, look at your beloved Maxwell Street. All the moral sermonizing about the poor. All the people with their fond memories. All the work put in by historic preservationists begging for landmark status and all. And in the end, Maxwell Street was given all the respect of a ten-dollar whore.”

“Well, maybe you’ve got a point …”

Why Kalijero should take a sudden interest in my professional future was a mystery. But the fatherly advice to stay away from a line of work because it stunk or was a lousy way to make a living was nothing new. I did my best to capitulate, to suggest that maybe I agreed with him and that making an honest living did not include tracking down criminals and that the system was hopelessly corrupt and that the seamy side of big-city politics would probably swallow me up and spit me out as nothing less than a criminal myself. By the time he left my apartment, I was fairly certain he thought I was full of crap.

54

The next morning a circular saw tore through my ribs as I pushed myself out of bed. I thought of Kalijero controlling the spinning blade while reminding me that Snooky’s murder investigation had given my body the same level of respect Maxwell Street had been given. After feeding Punim, I prepared a couple of ice packs and lay on the couch. I dozed off until the phone rang.

“You weren’t joking about Lisa being in danger of getting clipped, were you?” Knight said.

“Those pictures I showed you weren’t jokes.”

“I called L.A.—I mean Audrey Prenevost—last night and told her what you said. She started acting really weird. She said she was going to call Lisa, but I don’t think she will. I’ve seen her this way before. She freezes up and doesn’t do anything, just acts like there’s nothing going on. I told her to come into town so we can discuss stuff. You know, dude, she’s scared of you. She thinks you’re dangerous and angry about what happened at the party with Lisa’s emo-druggie-freak friends.”

“Audrey Prenevost and Lisa were supposed to be best buds, real soul sisters. Now you’re saying she’s afraid to call her and tell her that I said her life could be in danger?
She must have some dark secrets. Get her ass in town, Knight. Think of the story you could write when we find out.”

I envisioned Knight’s eyes attaining a faraway look before his cocky smile crept back on his face.

* * *

The outer drive had just transitioned to Sheridan Road when my phone rang. “That dark-haired girl is back,” Susie said. “Can’t miss the eyebrows, and the giggling is unmistakable. She arrived late last night. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

I maneuvered the car into a loading zone in front of an apartment building.

“Giggling?” I asked.

“That’s how they always act together, like little girls.”

I thanked Susie for the information and told her I’d be in touch. A half hour later I walked through Frownie’s front door. He put his arm around my shoulders and led me into the living room that looked out over the blue expanse of Lake Michigan. “So how was Los Angeles?”

“It was an interesting trip.” I tried to hide the pain as I sank into his couch. Frownie walked to the bar, took a couple of tumblers off the shelf, and filled each about two fingers high with single malt. Then he walked back to me and offered a glass.

I dreaded having to bring up Voss’s name to Frownie again, but I was beyond the point in my investigation where I could hold anything back. “I’m going to tell you how I see it,” I said. Frownie stood gazing passively out the large window to my right. “Voss is behind Snooky’s murder.” I paused to let Voss’s name penetrate his octogenarian brain, but besides Frownie’s leathery arm slowly lifting the tumbler to this mouth, he offered no discernible reaction. When I was fairly certain no valves or arteries had dislodged, I continued.

“Kalijero knew about Voss’s drug dealing. Voss needed Snooky’s book to make sure Kalijero kept his mouth shut. Eventually, Voss thought that if Snooky disappeared, he could ransack his house and maybe find the book with account numbers, et cetera. And if Voss didn’t find what he was looking for, at least Snooky was out of the way.”

I waited for Frownie to offer some kind of acknowledgment. Still staring out the window, he smacked his lips, nodded his head ever so slightly. After watching his arm once again toggle between his mouth and his side, I thought of those heat-engine toys that imitate the movement of birds bending over to drink from a glass.

“You think there’s anything you overlooked?” This was Frownie’s way of saying I missed something.

“Tell me.”

“So the answer is, you don’t know.”

“Holy shit! Fine. I don’t know. Now can we just assume I learned something in this investigation and go with it?”

Frownie paced around a bit in his own world. From the other side of the room he said, “You know what you gotta do, don’t you?”

“If I can get him on the record taking part in drug dealing and Snooky’s murder, all the bullshit loyalties will disappear faster than those junkies he used up.”

“So how’re you gonna do it?”

“Not sure yet.”

Frownie meandered his way back to me. “You ever see a cornered raccoon? Survival is all they’re thinking about because as far as they’re concerned, you’re there to kill them. With those claws they can climb the side of a brick wall and turn your face into a pile of spaghetti. You trap an animal like Voss, that’s what you gotta expect.”