The Lost Angel (3 page)

The cab ride darting down numerous roads and alleys, feeling as though it was taking forever. When they turned past a derelict tannery, the smell of the sea hit him.

The tang of salt made his mouth dry. Pulling up a few meters away, Eddy paid the driver and entered the shadows created by some nearby sheds. Eddy hopped over a small chain-link fence, being careful not to be seen. He caught his thigh and a shot of pain hit him. He sighed, looking around wasn’t easy. The docks dim lighting didn’t aid his search. He couldn’t see a thing. The meet was meant to go down at 7:30, which meant Eddy had an hour to find Kim, before whoever was pulling the strings realized something was up.

* * *

He dotted to the wharf, cutting through a small shed. The sea of buildings seemed to go on forever. He climbed on a small crate and ducked down. He noticed the phone booth and a nearby jetty. He was close.

Apart from water lapping against the small boats moored up the jetty was quiet. They had to be on one of them. “Come on, Eddy” he mumbled. Searching the first boat—
The Darling—
took a little while. Its two decks were empty. No one had sailed this old girl in a long time.

He walked towards the stern. Noticing a dim lantern behind a small raft, he saw movement shadows, heard voices. He rechecked his gun, watching and trying to figure out his next move. His hunch was right.
-The Caroline Grace-
had a cabin of sorts, so making his way to the once grand boat by means of a small ladder, he peered on the deck. It was clear. Pulling out his gun, Eddy crept up. The water
splashing
against the hull hid his footsteps on the wet deck. Through a porthole, he saw Kim tied up, like a real damsel in distress from a Hal Roach Studio flick.

Three men sat at a small table playing Rummy. All of them were big goons. All seemed the type to shoot first.

Not good! He edged up to the porthole and hid behind a small lifeboat. Surprise was all he had, so he had to be quick. Gripping the gun in his right hand, he made his move. Eddy kicked the cabin door in. It swung loose and he entered. He let off four shots, dropping the trio, with one getting plugged twice in the chest. The smell of gunpowder filled the small space. Pulling a pocketknife from one of the stiffs, Eddy cut Kim loose.

Apart from a few broken fingers, she was unhurt. It explained the screams he’d heard on the phone. Eddy had to clean up this mess, and by that he meant torch it. The dock was quiet but the shots might have woken a sleeping watchman and Eddy didn’t want to explain his way out of this, or worse. He told Kim to wait by the jetty, assuring her he wouldn’t be long. He went below deck, returning minutes later with two jerry cans. The boat needed to be a bonfire, and quick. Pouring the kerosene over it was the easy bit, lighting the damp matches wasn’t. After a few failed attempts it went up like the fourth of July.

He had covered their tracks for now. They ran away from the docks with the flames to their backs. Another hour or so later, they found ourselves back outside the apartment.

* * *

Kim picked up a few essentials and then they headed down the staircase. An old man’s voice stopped them.

“I can help you disappear if you want. Follow me, and if not, then good luck to you both.”

The man had long grey unkempt hair, greased down to his flaky scalp like concrete. A thinning white beard added to the hobo look. His smart but old gym slacks were sweat-stained from years spent in the gym. He had a trusting face, like a grandparent figure, and they followed him into the apparently safe haven of the gym.

He led them to a back room next to the training ring. It smelt of sweat and age-old dust and like its owner, it felt safe. Minutes later they sat at the table, hot drinks in front of them. They were safe for now, yet still uneasy. The old guy ran his hands through his thinning hair then held out his right hand. “Paddy’s the name. Paddy O’Neal. This here’s my place.”

Eddy eyed him up and down. “Okay, old-timer, you said you could help us?”

Paddy offered a toothless smile. “So you’ve got your doubts about me, laddie? Eddy Kovakx’s ya’ name, right?” Paddy’s broad Irish accent made it hard to understand but he kept listening.

“Keep talking,” Eddy said, his patience getting a bit frayed.

“I run this gym, my lad, and I’ve a few hopefuls here, ya ‘see. We travel around the country on tours and the like and it just so happens we’ve a trip planned. I thought maybe you could pose as a boxer of sorts.  We could slip you out of town unseen.”

Eddy nodded. “What about Kim?”

Paddy turned to her and took her hand. With a pot full of Irish charm and a whisper from the blarney, he kissed it. “You can pose as my daughter, ya sweet lil’ thing. So, what do you think?”

Kim smiled, making Eddy relax a little. “Sounds good, Paddy,  but what’s in it for you?”

“Plenty of time to talk about that when we’re out of Chicago and you are safe. Sound fair?”

Eddy nodded. “Okay, we’re in your hands.”

Kim’s relief was evident. Paddy opened a cupboard and took out some blankets and pillows, then pulled out two camp beds from under the old squared circle. They were probably as old as Paddy.

“You’ll need these tonight. It gets cold in here, friend.”

Eddy passed Kim a blanket. “So when can we leave?”

“Tomorrow night, after the show.”

Eddy looked up. “What Show?”

Paddy laughed. “I’m holding a local fight here tomorrow, last one before we head west to Liberty City, then San Francisco, my old hometown.” Paddy’s eyes settled on the trace of red on Eddy’s clothes. “Let’s have a look at that leg. I can help patch it up.”

After Paddy had left to confirm a few last minute arrangements for the show and their hopeful departure, Kim said, “Do you trust him, Eddy?”

He took her in his tired arms and nodded, trying to convince both Kim and himself that they’d both be okay. Eddy planted a firm kiss on her luscious pink lips and for those few seconds, nothing else mattered.

“I do too. He seems nice,” she said.

Eddy woke after a few hours’ sleep’ leaving the semi-naked Kim to sleep on. He covered up her ample but pert breasts and watched over her.

He’d thought about saying
“sod it,”
and giving the money back. Meeting Kim felt like he’d already got the best prize. Did he really need more? Yet he had made a promise to give her more.

The sweet girl he had met in the hut was innocent, scared and naïve. But like most innocent young things in this blasted city, she had a dark side. Kim had been seductively dynamite, making him forget about the cold and damp in the Gym. She’d shown him things that he could have only imagined. Made him experience sensations he couldn’t have dreamed off. She‘d had a rough couple of days. Shot at and kidnapped yet was still smiling. San Francisco was a long way away. Eddy hoped he had rid them of everyone who knew of the money.

The old Gym had smells of nostalgia. It started filling up early in the morning. The air was full of the sound of leather on leather, mixed with the smell of dreams, sweat, determination, and hard work. Eddy had to admit it was quite intoxicating. Looking around he was pleasantly surprised. The old gym held so many people; the storm of activity had one thing at its centre—Paddy.

Eddy wondered if the Irishman had even left last night. He was up and about at dawn, handing Eddy a new tracksuit so he would, at least, look the part for the day. Kim was kept out of the action, away from the sea of male ego and tide of testosterone. Yet in the small cramped back office, she could be heard hammering out Paddy’s accounts on an old typewriter, her broken, bandaged little fingers failing to slow her down. She didn’t mind. She loved talking to Paddy.

It helped to take her mind off everything. She’d even stopped secretly crying for her lost love. She was becoming a new woman. A dame Eddy would do anything for.

Paddy suggested Eddy do some light sparring. He wasn’t thrilled about the idea but thought what the hell. His thigh felt a lot better. Eddy filled his time sparring and hitting the old sandbag. He found it an odd change when a few of the gyms resident cut-men commented that he was almost a natural. Almost was a start. If they could see it, all he had to do was believe it. After a day of sparring, even Eddy had to admit he was getting there. It helped that Kim popped her head around the door on occasion with a loving smile. It was a great comfort, pushing him to try harder.

* * *

The evening of the show came and a large crowd filled the small hall where Paddy was staging the fights. The old hall lights went down. Paddy and the suited announcer entered the ring, with the announcer calling the crowd to order through a megaphone.

“Ladies and gentleman, welcome. We are proud to present a light middleweight bout. The winner of the ‘O Neal Belt Cruiser Weight’ will not only get the belt, but thanks to our friends from the Drummond family, the Central City champion will receive five hundred dollars in prize money. So settle back and enjoy. Bets are being taken, so please see the amazingly beautiful broads at the ringside with your hard-earned green!” The announcer waved his hand towards the betting tables. The ringside eye candy was drawing the punters in from all corners of the old Gym.

“Now, let me introduce tonight’s first fight. It's local combatants, the Southpaw Shotgun from North Castle… Jackie Queen, and Steve Drisco from Haverton. Straight after that, we have a debut match between Eddy Kovakx from Liberty City and the O’Neal club favorite Brian Banner.”

The Show had begun and the excitement was at fever pitch. Eddy checked out the sea of people in the hall. Fishing for anything or anyone that might give him a clue. There might be a shooter lurking, or worse, a G-Man with a black-and-white outside, engine running. At last, the doors closed. The David and Goliath style fight got under way, experience over fresh meat. He didn’t expect it to last long. He was cannon fodder. But if anyone was looking for him this was good cover. The best place to hide was in plain sight, right under their noses.

The time came and the first fight ended with a colossus K.O by the Southpaw Shotgun. Securing a three-nothing win. The crowd settled in time for Eddy’s fight. He climbed the three small steps into the ring. No introduction. No applause, just Eddy’s racing heart for encouragement. The two pugilists squared up to each other, face-to-face. His opponent, despite being the same weight looked a lot bigger.

Ding-Ding

Eddy took a few tentative paces forward, raising his second-hand gloves for the battle. He tapped his opponent’s back as the referee took over. Then they stepped sideways, circling once, twice...

* * *

Private Eye, Jack Malone, slumped in his leather office chair. He put his feet up on the frequently disorganized desk, knocking a handful of beer bottles off. He tipped his battered hat off his eyes and opened his desk drawer, pulling out a well-used Seagram’s whiskey bottle and a small glass that had defiantly seen better days. He filled the glass to the top and scratched his unshaven face. Stretched his arms behind his head, and then picked up the malted drink, raising it to his weary lips. “Happy Birthday, Jack.” He knocked it back, poured another and repeated the action. It was better than cake.

Times had been hard for Jack, and for Malone Investigations and Bail Bonds. His business was drying up. No new cases had walked into his office in over a month, not unless you counted the bungled kidnapping of Frank Crystal by a trio of disgruntled former spouses.

Jack’s shabby, creased brown pinstriped suit and the cluttered, dusty office were a sign of the times. No work, no money not even a dame on his arm. The ex-homicide detective walked over to a cracked mirror in the corner of the room.  The forty-five-year-old Central resident looked back at him. He looked old, tired. Thanks to the stress of the City, his hair showed more grey than usual. He wished he was the man he had once been, not the husk of the P.I. he was now.

He looked back at the bottle of Seagram’s. As he turned to go for a third glass, a small manila envelope slid under his door. Jack hadn’t heard footsteps or noticed anyone approaching, although the frosted glass in his office door had seen better days. He put his glass down and went to retrieve the envelope. It was light, and it wasn’t cheap paper either which meant money. The ink was good quality too, a deep blue, cartridge pen if he had to guess.

Inside was a note. Jack pulled it out then checked the envelope for anything else. He sat back down and placed the note in the middle of the desk. He looked long and hard at it, his well-trained eyes scanning every letter on the fold. He looked longingly at the note, at the whiskey bottle, and then slowly, painfully, back to the note, fighting the demons in his head as he did. The drink had cost him his job and his family, his wife Peggy and child Chloe, both left for the coast two years back. Last Jack heard they’d boarded a ship to the land of the dragon, China. After two long years, he had a love-hate relationship with drink. He hated the bottle, but it loved him. He opened the desk drawer and slipped the bottle inside, that simple act took more effort than he thought. Taking out his gun, he placed it next to the note. Finally, he read it…

JACK, I HAVE A LITTLE JOB FOR YOU,

SOMETHING RIGHT UP YOUR ALLEY

A MANHUNT

DEAD OR ALIVE,

NO QUESTIONS ASKED.