The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 2: Cold Wars (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #2) (2 page)

He was lying next to his desk, the wide window overlooking the pure white beach and the rolling waves behind him. Horace Pepperdine was balding and had been wearing a double-breasted silver suit. It was now in rags, and Horace’s flesh was in a similar state. I bent down, looking at the several chunks taken out of him, and the blood soaking into the snow white carpet. Selena gasped and turned away at first, and then Weatherby comforted her. They stayed in the corner.

“Bite marks on him,” I said. “That’s weird.”

“What’s weirder is that those are shark bites,” Mrs. Pepperdine explained. “You want to tell me how a bunch of hungry sharks got a couple hundred feet above sea level, Mr. Candle?”

“I could venture a couple guesses,” I muttered. “I doubt you’d like them.”

Selena and Weatherby walked over to the body. Selena looked away, and I saw her eyes fix on his desk. “Wait a minute,” she said. “I think I might have something.” She reached over to a wooden sculpture, resting on the edge of the broad mahogany desk. It was some native design, resembling an angry shark rearing out of the ocean. “That’s an Aumkua, a native household god. They are supposed to be quite angry, if unappeased. This one is a mano, a shark.”

“You’re saying my husband was eaten by shark spirits?” Carla asked.

“That’s one theory,” I replied. “Made by an amateur.”

Weatherby bristled. “Mort, my sister is quite experienced in these matters. My father taught her everything he knew and her own studies have vastly increased that knowledge.”

I snorted. “Sure, kiddo. If I want to know who’s bringing who to the spring formal, I’ll give her a ring.” I turned back to Carla. “Did Horace have any enemies, Mrs. Pepperdine?”

“Heh.” She let out a dry chuckle. “It would be easier to list the people that
didn’t
want him dead. There’s Fancy Freddy Flynn, for starters. A mainland wiseguy and big-time loan shark. Horace made the mistake of taking his money – and not paying him back.”

“I know Fancy Freddy,” I said. “He’s a tough torpedo, sure. But I don’t think his bite is this bad.”

Carla Pepperdine continued. “Then there’s Big Joe Lono. He’s a native kahuna, and got good and pissed when he learned that Horace was building the Grand Tiki here. It’s some sacred land or whatever, and Big Joe wanted him to stop. We even had to hire mainland workers, when the locals refused to help with construction, and Big Joe’s behind that.” She exhaled sharply. “And then there’s me.”

“You’re saying you’re a suspect, ma’am?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m saying there were many times when I wanted Horace gone. He was a heel, Mr. Candle, and a cheat. Showgirls, waitresses…” Mrs. Pepperdine’s eyes shot to the doorway. “Secretaries. He had his fun with them all, and practically waved it in my face.”

“Then why did you stay with him?” Selena asked, very gently. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Carla’s eyes blazed. “Because I loved the bastard,” she replied. “And now he’s gone.”

I nodded slowly. “We’ll go see Freddy Flynn and Big Joe Lono, Mrs. Pepperdine. Maybe they’ll have some information we can use. Thanks for your time.” I turned to go, and Weatherby and Selena followed me. We left Carla in the office with her husband.

I let Selena and Weatherby stay together, talking quietly, as I approached Tanya, the secretary. She smiled up at me. “You’re gonna find out who murdered my boss?” she asked, folding her legs and smoothing down her tight pink skirt. She looked like a present waiting to be unwrapped.

“Gonna try,” I replied. “You got the addresses to Fancy Freddy Flynn and Big Joe Lono in that book of yours, sister?”

“Gee, let me look them up,” she said, bending low over the address book as she turned the pages with a long fingernail. I bet Horace Pepperdine had gotten his money’s worth with her.

Tanya stared up at me as she got the addresses, and then jotted them down on the back of an envelope. The pearls around her neck gleamed in the light of her desk lamp. She handed me the envelope, and let her hand brush across mine. “There you go, mister,” she said. “I hope that helps. I really hope you nail whoever killed my boss.”

“We’ll do our best, Miss,” Weatherby announced, a slight tremor in his voice. His sister smiled at his schoolboy bashfulness.

“We gotta hit the road now, sister,” I said. “See you soon.”

She smiled as we headed for the door. “I’ll be right here,” Tanya announced. “When you get back.”

We stepped into the elevator and I punched in the key for the bottom floor. Selena Stein shook her head. “That secretary’s playing you boys,” she said. “I can tell. I bet she was involved with Mr. Pepperdine, and she probably knows a lot more than she lets on, especially with the dumb blonde act.”

“Selena, Mort and I are detectives,” Weatherby said. “We do not get distracted from our case by a pretty face, I can assure you.”

Selena smirked. “You’re a boy, Weatherby, and Mr. Candle is a man. I can assure you of that.” She took the envelope from my hand and examined the addresses. “So, we’re going to see the American gangster first, I suppose?”

“I think so,” I agreed. “If you want to sit this one out—”

“I want to spend as much time with my baby brother as possible,” Selena replied. “And if that means visiting with some ruthless gangster, then so be it.”

She had spirit. I’d give her that. I hoped it wouldn’t be tested.

The elevator let us off, then we went into Selena’s car and we headed back into Honolulu. Fancy Freddy was holding court at a joint called The Paradiso in downtown Honolulu, and we headed there as fast as the wood-paneled Buick could drive. The Paradiso was built like a Roman villa, with the sinning going on in open air behind high walls. It was still early, so the place wasn’t lousy with tourists looking for a little thrill in their vacations. Selena parked the auto and we headed inside. My Colt automatics were in their shoulder-holsters, under my coat. I hoped I wouldn’t have a chance to draw them.

We stepped inside and found the chairs resting on their tables, and a few wiseguys standing around and playing cards. Some slob in an apron was wiping down the bar and another tested the keys on the main stage’s piano. Grecian statues stood between the tables, staring mournfully into the blue sky while they flexed alabaster arms. A couple of Flynn’s thugs stood up to look at us we walked inside.

I knew a little about Fancy Freddy Flynn. Like me, he was from New York. During the time that I was running booze and getting the tar knocked out of me while I played hooky from the orphanage, Fancy Freddy was making a mint off of themed clubs in Harlem and the Bronx. He figured out that sometimes the rich like to pretend to be poor – and they’ll pay through the nose for that feeling.

I figured I’d have to make some noise to get his attention. I glared at Selena and Weatherby. “Keep her out of it, Weatherby,” I ordered, and walked to the middle of the room, cracking my knuckles. “I want to see Flynn,” I said. “And I don’t want to wait around.”

One of the gangsters pushed up the brim of his panama hat. He was a big bruiser, probably an ex-boxer who had taken one too many blows to the noggin. He sized me up as he removed the cigar from his mouth. “Who’s asking?”

I planted one in his middle, sliding my fist into his gut, where the skin was soft and the blow would hurt. He curled up and crumpled, and I pulled back my leg to give him a good crack on the jaw, when Selena grabbed my arm. I turned to stare at her.

“There’s no need for this,” she said. Behind me, I heard a switchblade snap open. “We just want to talk!” Selena cried. “All we want to do is ask Mr. Flynn a few questions – and nothing more.”

There were a few seconds of silence. Then a door on the first story creaked open. “A pretty girl asking for an audience with Fancy Freddy?” The man himself stepped out, resting both hands on the railing. “I’ll be right down.” Fancy Freddy Flynn was a broad-shouldered man in a neat cream-colored white suit with pinstripes. He had a careful pencil-thin moustache and a bright red paisley tie covered in geometric designs. He walked down, his hands folded as he smiled at Selena. He didn’t take his eyes off of her. I had a feeling his interest would cause some trouble. “So, honey-bunch, what’s the score?”

I stepped in front of Selena. “I’m Mort Candle. I’m here because Horace Pepperdine is dead. Did you waste him?”

“That chump? He was asking for it.” Fancy Freddy removed his hat and ran a finger through his pomade-sculpted dark hair. “But I didn’t whack him. The sucker owned me money, but he finally came through and said he had the dough to pay me back – the next day, he gets himself eaten by sharks or something.”

“While in his office,” I corrected. “His body was mutilated without ever stepping outside.”

“That so? What a tragedy. And I bet the cash he owes me is still secured somewhere at the Grand Tiki. Maybe I’ll swing by and pick it up – if that old mummy of a wife hasn’t swiped it already. Did she send you?” Fancy Freddy weaved behind Selena. His men were closing in like a pack of wolves. I remembered what had finally gotten Fancy Freddy Flynn busted in New York, forcing him to come out here: it had been something to do with a woman. “Well, you can tell her that maybe she can give me something else instead of the money. Something like that sweet little piece of raven-haired cutie pie standing next to you.”

Weatherby stepped up to Fancy Freddy and hit him, slamming a scrawny fist into the underside of the gangster’s chin. “You will refrain from saying such things about my sister, you discourteous dog!” he cried. “She’s a good girl, um, a good woman, and I won’t have scum like you talking about her!”

Fancy Freddy rubbed his chin. “Your sister, eh?” He reached into his coat and drew out a switchblade, flicking it open in a single smooth motion. “I’ll give her something to remember me by. Now get the Hell out of my way.” He lunged for Weatherby.

I had been expecting trouble the moment we showed up at the Paradiso. I reached out and grabbed Fancy Freddy’s arm as he stabbed with the blade, and pulled him back. It was time to ruin his good looks. I planted a heavy blow to his chest, and then spun him around and aimed his face at the nearest statue. It was some nude Greek dame, baring her bosom for all to see. I rammed Fancy Freddy’s face into her belly, and let him slide to the ground. His face was bloody.

I looked around at his goons. “When he wakes up, tell him he can come and get the money any times he likes,” I said. I looked at Selena. She was holding tightly to Weatherby, shivering slightly in the tropical heat. I gave her a quick nod, and we all headed for the exit. Like I suspected, Fancy Freddy’s thugs didn’t go after us. Taking out their boss left them confused and stupid.

We got out to Selena’s woodie car, and she got into the driver’s seat. “My God, Weatherby,” she whispered. “You could have been killed!”

“Well, you could have been killed as well – or something worse!” Weatherby pointed out. “I told you, this is dangerous work, Selena. Maybe, it really isn’t the place for you.”

“Perhaps, but I can’t allow you to wander into danger, darling – I just can’t!”

“But I’m not in danger,” Weatherby pointed out. “I have Mr. Candle looking after me.”

I stared at Weatherby. I never realized just how much he trusted me to keep him from harm. “I do okay,” I said. “And we’ve made a pretty good career out of it. Mostly, by throwing the first punch and making sure it’s the last.”

“I can’t say I approve.” Selena lowered her head. “But I wasn’t in Europe. I didn’t see what happened at Castle Stein, and I wasn’t there when I was needed. So you do whatever you have to, Mr. Candle, to keep my baby brother safe.” She turned the key and started the car. “Now, let’s go see this Big Joe Lono character, shall we?”

I leaned back and stared out the window at the stucco storefronts as we headed out. Selena Stein was tougher than she looked. Her love for her brother – her guilt for her family – made her that way. I had a feeling she was someone I could count on.

We reached Big Joe Lono’s place a little later in the day. A couple white clouds were striped across the bright blue sky. Big Joe Lono’s cabin was sequestered in one of the splotches of dark jungle that marked the islands. He had a couple of fruit stands on the side of the road, next to a large field where a small crowd of islanders had gathered. All of them were Native Hawaiians. We stopped the car and stepped out. Tiki statues of various sizes dotted the grass, and strings holding shells and other charms dangled from the tall trees.