The Dirty City (6 page)

“So this is the kid.”

I dropped the photo of Anton on the bar. Marcio tried not to show a reaction but I could tell he knew something.

“You ain’t been down here in a while, Johnny, you’ve missed a few, how shall we say -
developments
.”

“Well, you better fill me in.”

“Gianni Vitalli is now pretty much the defacto number one in this city. The other families, they’ve either agreed to work under his banner or they’ve gone.”

I’d never met Gianni Vitalli, only heard stories. He was young for a mob boss, only twenty four when his father passed away, leaving him in charge. Anyone looking to exploit the situation, do a subtle bit of empire building in the transitional period, were to be sadly disappointed. The kid showed the same ruthless streak his father had, but he had a canny head for the business side of things too.

“It’s not unusual, someone always rises to the top.”

“But not like this. Sure, the Vitalli family had been generally the most influential mob on the block for a while, but the real change has come about in the last six months. For years, stalemate, compromise, cordial agreements. The actual city territories were split almost evenly. Then six months ago, Gianni hooks up and strikes some secretive deal with some crew from out of town – no-one really knows the details, but suddenly, boom! The rival gangs business’ start failing, they get busted all the time, their top people either start switching sides or winding up burned, before too long, Gianni becomes the top dog.”

“Who are these outsiders?”

“No idea, word is there is some chick involved, goes by the name of Valance. Shelly Valance. She apparently runs the show and has got this big team of people around her, everyone assumes it’s them doing the dirty work to destroy the other families. And, word is that she is the one responsible for bringing in all the heroin. Seriously, Gianni is rolling in the stuff.”

“Okay, but how does this link back to my missing person.”

“That’s Anton Jameson, right? Son of Richard Jameson, the lawyer. A man of some considerable influence.”

“Right.”

“And as I’m sure you know, little Anton ain’t exactly the model son, now, is he?”

“You got that right. I saw him two nights ago at a drug den, smacked up out of his eyeballs.”

“Yeah, he had a habit, but he also witnessed some stuff. Stuff he shouldn’t have seen, and definitely shouldn’t have started shouting his mouth off about.”

“What stuff?”

“Like I’m going to know that. But word is, Gianni has set Valance up in the warehouses out at the old dockside. Anton had been snooping around. And you know what curiosity did for the poor cat, right?”

“But who is going to believe the ramblings of a heroin addled teenager?”

“Well, possibly his daddy, the hotshot, influential lawyer?”

“So, is he dead?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Gianni had some guys pick him up, they passed him over to Valance’s guys.”

“How does a guy get in contact with this Valance broad?”

“He doesn’t. Only Gianni deals with her, their meetings are private and behind closed doors. Always after dark, usually somewhere out at the docklands. Gianni keeps the details from even his closest advisers. No-one even really knows what she looks like.”

“That’s some weird shit there.”

“Damn straight.”

We raised our glasses and simultaneously downed the last of drinks. I bought Marcio another for goodwill then made my way out. Yet another line of enquiry in finding Anton had just dried up.

*

I sauntered through the office doors at about 1.10pm. Lydia let me have both barrels.

“You’re late, Johnny. Some of us have been working our butts off here, what have you be up to?”

“Hey, I get results don’t I? As long as I’m making enough to pay you, you ought not to complain, eh?”

It was playful jibing, we always worked better with a bit of faux conflict.

“Get your lazy ass in there, Dr Del-Ray is expecting you.”

I entered my office expecting the typical kind of lady who normally hires a guy like me. Usually they’re late thirties to early forties, attractive but suppressed – often by rich husbands. Most of the time it’s the husband’s extramarital activities that finally bring out the fem fatale in them, the knowledge that they’re being paraded as a trophy wife, while knowing that Mr Big is going somewhere altogether less wholesome to get his kicks. And the realisation that they could take him to the cleaners for nearly everything he’s got if someone like me can catch him in the act.

Boy, how stupidly wrong I was. Dr Reana Del-Ray was early thirties, slim, and had an organic prettiness to her that you rarely see in this city. She was evidently an academic, she prized functionality over fashion, purpose over style. A mane of long, brown hair was kept in perfect order with an array of hairpins in the most conservative of styles, she wore no makeup and judging by the healthy glow from her skin, she didn’t very often. On her face sat very large pair of eyeglasses that gave her the air of a librarian, and her attire consisted of a plain and extremely sensible white blouse, done up to the neck to ensure it left everything to the imagination, and a skirt that allowed only the briefest of fleeting glances at her legs. Here was a chick who did not rely on sex appeal to get what she wanted, her whole demeanour was screaming, ‘don’t look there, eyes front, pay attention to what I say, I am smart and you should listen!’

“Dr Del-Ray, my apologies for being late.”

“Mr Jerome, thank you for fitting us into your busy schedule,” she offered a dainty hand, which I shook politely. “This is my lab associate, Dr Walter Smitts.”

Christ, I hadn’t even noticed him! He was sat to her right side, sporting a look of general disinterest, a short, skinny, runt of a guy – I estimated about mid-thirties. He sported a conservative shirt, trousers and tie coupled with a truly tasteless waistcoat. He was evidently also a brainiac, but without the social skills that Dr Del-Ray possessed. He barely acknowledged being introduced, so I merely smiled briefly in his direction then turned my attention back her.

“And how can I assist you both?”

“We’re both research academics at the Santa Justina Institute for Advanced Studies. Our current research is a little,
unusual
.”

“Unusual is always good, keeps life interesting. Do go on.”

“The occult, Mr Jerome,” piped up Smitts for the first time.

“Excuse me?”

“Paranormal activity, unexplained phenomena – places modern science doesn’t normally go,” said Del-Ray, in a diffusing tone.

“What, ghosts and shit?” Great, yet more crazy talk.

Smitts rolled his eyes, but Del-Ray persisted, “I appreciate this sounds a little -
farfetched
, I can assure you, we’re not crazies, We apply scientific methods to investigating things that don’t provide simple, rational explanations. Like all scientists, we are seekers of the truth.”

“Okay, sounds swell, but what do you need me for?”

“Why indeed?” Smitts muttered under his breath, but knowingly loud enough for me to hear. So there was a dynamic here, she was the one who wanted to hire me, he was against it – but she was the senior partner.

“Walter, please. That’s enough, let Mr Jerome hear us out first.”

“I’m all ears, sweetheart.” I could tell right away she hated being labelled with such a disposable term of endearment, I could read the disapproval in her face. Which cheered me a up a bit, I was coming to the conclusion she was a bit of a tight-ass.

“There are some strange things going on in this city, Mr Jerome. People are going missing, the city is being flooded with cheap, plentiful supplies of an extremely dangerous and addictive narcotic-.”

“Yep, know all that.”

She hated being interrupted too!

“Witnesses are reporting very unusual sightings. People, after dark who lurk in the shadows-.”

“Dr Del-Ray, you’re describing three quarters of the underworld gangsters in the entire city.”

“Please can you refrain from interrupting me with your petty wisecracks, there is no-one else here in this room to appreciate them.”

Well, that told me!

“These people, they’re described as being fast, unbelievably stealthy, impossibly strong. And they only come out at night.”

Oh boy, I couldn’t believe it, yet more crazy talk!

“I still don’t see what you want me to do?”

“We want to understand what they are, Mr Jerome. And what they want with the people they’re kidnapping,” interjected Smitts.

“Sounds really fascinating, honest – it really does,” which was my nice way of saying that this sounds like time wasting bullshit! “But, this is the stuff of teenage Halloween fiction and I’m a serious private detective, I don’t see a job for me here.”

“Frankly, you disappoint me, Mr Jerome.” Del-Ray’s features hardened, I figured she’d finally had enough of me at that point. “Two respected academics want to hire you to investigate something of extraordinary scientific and social significance, and you’d sooner be doing what? Finding missing drug addicts and spying on unfaithful spouses?”

“Hey, I do my best to keep an open mind, but this – this is a folly that could damage my credibility.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way – most PI’s share your sentiment, but I was led to believe that you might be more understanding, evidently I was mistaken.”

“I apologise if I’ve been misrepresented.”

“This is my card, it has my contact details for me at the Institute. I would urge you, if in a few days time things start going a little bit insane, then you might actually find you need our help.” She dropped the printed card onto my desk and briskly rose from her chair, “good afternoon, Mr Jerome.”

“And good afternoon to you, Dr Del-Ray,” I looked over at Smitts and couldn’t resist a last jibe at him, “And whatever your name was, my friend.”

Smitts sneered and turned his nose up at me as if he’d just seen me defecate on the floor. What an asshole. She was feisty, though, but definitely a tight-ass.

I found Del-Ray and Smitts somewhat laughable, I was an ashamed sceptic, but the days strangeness quota kept on increasing. I had to admit, it was interesting and I was curious, but I was also a realist – I had real work to do and chasing shadows was surely going to be a distraction from that, so I tried to put it out of my mind…

CHAPTER 5

With the trail on Anton Jameson going colder by the hour, I decided to change tack a little. I’d tried talking to the mob, I figured it was time to get the inside track from the cops.

I got told once, by a pretty senior cop, that if you see a cop in his fifties, working the beat on the streets, no promotions, no upwardly rising career - still one of the guys and seemingly no aspirations to go any further, you can bet that cop is as crooked as a bag of snakes. No-one could afford to live on a patrol officers salary their whole life, let alone retire on their measly pension. It stands to reason that they must be supplementing their income – and in a city like Santa Justina that was pretty easy to do.

One such cop was Edgar Blunt. He was already a fifteen year veteran of the streets when I arrived in town, and to be fair, the police work that he did do, he did it pretty well. He was good with the general public, always jovial and fair. But he could be bought really easily. $10 was all it took to get a person off being arrested for minor offence, $5 if they were under twenty one, but that was just beer money. He was paid the real money for turning a blind eye to things. The illegal distillery on Harper Street, $50 a month to pretend it wasn’t there. The brothel in Noon Town, $75 a month – and some ‘perks’ from the girls every now and then. $500 in unmarked bills – for arriving two minutes too late at the scene of a bank heist. The list went on, and the money kept coming in. I’d hazard a guess that in a year Officer Edgar Blunt probably earned more than the Police commissioner and the Chief District attorney combined.

But he knew how to play the game, you mustn’t get greedy, you mustn’t publicise your wealth, just quietly accumulate – only occasionally enjoy the profits, live humbly, well within your means, keep it all on the down low.

One of Edgar’s many income streams was cash for information. I was a pretty regular customer of his.

He was a portly man, now in his early fifties and sporting a reasonable middle-aged spread, but he was bulky and powerfully built. He didn’t do too much of chasing perps these days, but if you were within reach and weren’t fast off the mark, he’d probably get you.

His face showed a number of lines, etchings from years of being outdoors on the beat, and he sported a shock of greying hair, with the start of pattern baldness usually concealed by his hat.

I’d arranged to meet Edgar while he took a brief afternoon sabbatical in the park plaza downtown. It was a popular lunch and meeting spot, a picturesque grass park, with winding paths, ornate flowerbeds and pretty water features. After lunchtime it got real quiet, almost deserted, and that’s why Edgar liked meeting his
clients
there.