Chapter Nine

Jim lingered after Vern departed, wanting to speak with both Lou and Ginger in private.

"I'm not sure I like having this Vern guy mixed up in everything," Lou frowned, watching as Vern headed out to his car. "We don't really know him or if we can trust him."

Jim exhaled in resignation. "He does some stupid things, but I guess somehow he has to make it work out," he said. "He's been in business even longer than I have."

"But is he an honest P.I.?" Lou wondered. "Mike's worried that he might be working for someone who'll sic a hitman on him."

"Vern? No way," Jim scoffed. "Or at least . . ." He paused. "He'd never do it knowingly."

"So he might be caught up in it unknowingly," Ginger remarked as he moved painfully out from the kitchen.

Jim nodded. "I'm afraid that's possible. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how long we can keep your secret as long as he's around and actually has a legitimate reason to be investigating."

"If he were to find out, could he be trusted to keep it quiet?" Ginger queried.

"I honestly don't know," Jim had to admit. "Like I said, he must be doing something right, to still be in the business."

"I'd rather he didn't find out," Ginger said, sinking down on the couch.

"Okay," Jim nodded. "Then I'll do my best to make sure he doesn't."

He departed soon after, leaving Ginger and Lou to ponder on the case.

"What do you think, Ginger?" Lou wondered, seeing his friend deep in thought.

"I think we might be getting somewhere at last," Ginger mused. "On the other hand, we might only be plunging deeper into a gaggle of red herrings."

Lou sighed. "I don't think Mike's left. He's probably scared to go home, thinking Tim or somebody else might be waiting to knock him off."

"It is odd, that none of them have inquired about the state of whatever it was they stored in the warehouse," Ginger said. "Perhaps they couldn't because none of it was supposed to be there."

"And maybe some of it is what almost killed you," Lou fumed.

"If it was anyone but your brother, I wouldn't believe they weren't aware that they were possibly transporting a bomb," Ginger said dryly.

"Ginger," Lou scolded, but not with any indignation or venom. "That's terrible."

"You know as well as I that he isn't the sharpest tool in the shed," Ginger grunted. "He was so easily convinced to turn against not only someone he fears—me—but someone he loves—you. He's terrified for his own life above everything else and would probably sell us out again to save himself. And he didn't believe he was possibly carrying a ticking time bomb, even after the explosion that very night."

Lou shook his head and leaned forward, rubbing at his eyes in utter exhaustion. "Mike's always looked up to me and followed me around like some kid's puppy. He's never really learned to stand on his own; he depends on me to do it for him."

"Or he depends on Donny Waugh." Ginger folded his arms. "Perhaps we should look more seriously into the fact that Donny is still in the city."

"You don't really think he could've rigged the bombs and sent you that note, do you?" Lou said in amazement.

"He could have sent the note after the bombs were in place," Ginger said. "I don't trust him. For him to have been able to turn Mike against you, particularly when Mike regards you with a level of affection that's almost idol worship, he is a dangerous man."

"I think he is too," said Lou. "But I'm just not sure he would've had a hand in the blast."

"We should find out soon enough." Ginger was calm and collected, but Lou knew him well enough to recognize what was boiling under the surface.

"What about the other guys?" Lou wondered. "We should check up on them, too. And the girl."

"We will." Ginger forced himself up and limped to the study, where he sank down at the desk and switched on the computer.

Lou followed him, curious, and stood near the wall, his arms crossed. "What are you going to do, Ginger?"

"I'm going to see if Tim or his friends have ever wandered into the news," Ginger replied. "Meanwhile, the Sergeant is already looking into whether any of them have records."

He typed, a bit slower than usual and somewhat painstaking, but also with insistence. After thirty minutes, however, he leaned back in annoyance. He had found nothing of consequence.

Lou sighed. "Well, they've sure kept themselves out of the papers. Except for Donny, it looks like the papers don't even know these people exist."

Sergeant Brice peered into the study in time to hear that comment. "None of them have records, either," he reported, "except for Susie Smith. And hers is a juvenile rap for petty vandalism. She spray-painted a private fence with graffiti."

Ginger frowned, tapping his fingers on the desk. "I can't help feeling that Donny might be the key to everything," he said. "He might have deliberately arranged to not be around on the night of the bombing." He leaned back, pondering. "He has enough intelligence to have thought out how to steal the Borland Diamond for himself and try to cash in on the ransom money without us being allowed in on the deal."

"And he's self-serving enough to have left Mike behind when we caught up to them," Lou scowled.

"And foolish enough to have thought that they could actually get away with any of their scheme," Ginger added.

"There's just one problem," Brice said. "We've never been able to locate Donny Waugh. Lieutenant Drumm can order tails to be put on Tim and the others, maybe for suspicion of grand theft, and we might find Donny that way. But if they get wise to the fact that they're being shadowed, they might start suspecting that Mike talked and told their names. Otherwise, there shouldn't be any reason for the interest in them."

"And then there's the angle of a policeman being involved," Ginger said. "We still don't know who, if it's true at all."

Brice nodded. "The Lieutenant is still looking into that," he assured. "But we might have to take a chance now. Men could be assigned who weren't at the wharf last night."

Lou exchanged a look with Ginger. They still didn't like it, but it was indeed starting to look like they would have to bring in some more assistance. There were simply too many persons of interest for such a small investigation.

"Very well," Ginger said at last. "Talk to your Lieutenant about it. See what can be arranged."

Brice nodded and departed, heading upstairs to call Steve in private.

"Meanwhile . . ." Ginger reached for the telephone directory. "Lou, you know where some of our prison mates went on their release. Contact them and see if any of them have heard anything about Donny." His eyes narrowed. "I don't want to wait to see if tailing Mike's chums will lead us to our wayward former member. I want to find him now."

Lou swallowed hard, but accepted the phone book. "I'll make some calls, Ginger, but even if I can find out where Donny is, what are we going to do?"

Ginger looked thoughtful. "I wonder how he would behave if he thought he was being haunted by my ghost?"

Lou almost dropped the phone book. "Ginger, you can't!" he exclaimed. "What if he tried to shoot you?!"

"I can't imagine him being bold enough to use a gun," Ginger said. "He would likely behave very similar to your brother—quaking, stammering, and begging for mercy. If he had any involvement with my death, I don't believe it would have been as the man arranging everything behind the scenes. He isn't bright enough for that."

"Maybe not, but I don't want to risk your life on a gamble like that," Lou cried. "I won't."

"I wouldn't have to approach him in person," Ginger said. "I could try . . . ringing him on the phone first." He looked pleased at the thought of scaring someone who had double-crossed him and had possibly been involved with planning his murder. "You could be talking with him at his house while I conceal myself in the car and use our backup cellphone to contact him from beyond the grave."

"It's still risky," Lou said. "And a ghost that uses the telephone?"

"It's ridiculous, but if it could scare him into a confession it would be worth it," Ginger said. "I've heard about some people who played dead and rang someone on the telephone. The Selff murder case that was so notorious here some time back mentioned something like that. Before Donny could have the sense to realize I must be alive, we would have him with us and be delivering him to Lieutenant Drumm."

Lou finally located the name of the ex-con he thought might be the most helpful. "I still don't like the idea, Ginger. But let's see if I can find this creep and then we'll see if Sergeant Brice will go along with us."

Ginger nodded, agreeable enough to that. He would really prefer operating on their own, but he had decided to bring the police in on this and knew it would be utter idiocy to leave them out of this angle. Anyway, he was sure the Sergeant would go along with them, if there was a chance of obtaining results.

"Just place the call," he said.

Growing increasingly nervous, Lou set down the directory and grabbed for the phone. After a moment of agonizing ringing, someone finally answered. "Hello?"

Lou glanced to Ginger, shifting his weight as he tapped his fingers lightly on the desk. "Uh, hey, Matt," he greeted. "This is Lou. You remember, Lou Trevino from stir? Yeah. How're things going?"

Ginger regarded him in exasperation, his expression clearly saying You're not calling to make small talk!

Lou waved him off. The best way to get Matt to be helpful was to inquire after his well-being first. Ginger knew how to be polite too, at times, albeit he had always detested small talk and tried to avoid making it whenever possible.

"Really? That's great." Lou hesitated. Matt was now asking him about the explosion. "Yeah," he said, slipping back into his semi-act. "That was Ginger they killed. It's tough, Matt, real tough. I don't think I've really processed yet that he's gone. It's just too strange. I mean, even in stir we were together.

"Actually, that's why I'm calling, Matt. I heard that Donny Waugh was still in town and I started wondering if he might know anything about Ginger's death. You remember he double-crossed us, right? Well, if you've got any leads on where he is right now, I'd sure appreciate it."

Ginger came to attention, watching as Lou stiffened. Matt must be giving him quite a hot lead.

"You're sure about that?" Lou gasped. "Oh . . . oh no, I don't mean to question you, Matt. I'm just stunned, is all. Yeah. Yeah, sure. Thanks. I'll let you know what happens." He hung up, rocking back and looking overwhelmed.

"He knew something, I take it," Ginger said.

Lou looked to him. "Ginger, he says it's pretty well-known in the local underworld that Donny is working for a big mobster under a fake name!"

Ginger raised an eyebrow. "That isn't such Earth-shattering information."

"No, but this is. He thinks the mobster is Jackie Delano!"

Ginger went stiff. He would have bolted out of the chair, had he been well enough to do so. "Get Sergeant Brice," he ordered. "I don't imagine we'll have too much trouble getting him to agree to the plan."

Lou nodded and hurried off without protest. Maybe they were getting somewhere.

xxxx

Jim and Vern each tracked Tim Carlton and his crew to a local truckers' stop where Susie worked part-time. As the private eyes got out of their respective cars, they could see the group through the large window—boisterous, irritating, and intent on scarfing down food as fast as they could go.

"I've got a feeling this isn't going to go well," Jim mused, half to himself.

As he and Vern noticed each other, Vern glowered and grumbled, "Yeah, for more reasons than one." But then Vern sighed and gestured in resignation. "Come on, Rockford. I guess we might as well go in together."

Jim gave in and started walking across the parking lot with his rival. "Vern, why is it that you're always such a grouch, anyway?"

Vern was not amused. "Me? Let's not fool each other, Rockford. You don't like me any better than I like you."

"Alright," Jim conceded. "I'll admit I'm guilty of that. But you don't go out of your way to be a very likable guy."

"It depends on the company I keep," Vern said. "I always say that the P.I. business is a dog-eat-dog profession. And you know, usually I get proven right."

"I helped you get your license back, didn't I?" Jim returned.

"It wasn't for me," Vern shot back. "You didn't like what was being done to 'your friends'. And you as much as admitted that I wasn't one of your friends. I was just along for the ride. You helped me so you could get my dough when I paid you."

"Sometimes I really regret putting you back on the streets, too," Jim mused. "As hard as you were to live with back then, you got a lot worse since you got your license back."

Vern glowered and didn't reply. They had arrived at the door by now, and he simply hauled it open, silent. As he stepped inside, he absently held it open enough for Jim to slip through before letting it swing shut.

Everyone, including Susie behind the counter, turned to look. "Who are you?" Susie demanded.

"Jim Rockford and Vern St. Cloud," Jim drawled, briefly holding out his identification to the group. "We're private investigators, looking into the warehouse explosion on Wharf 33 last night."

"Yeah. So?" Susie leaned on the counter. "How does some crook getting killed affect us?"

"Maybe it doesn't, except that we heard you were storing things in that warehouse right before it blew up." Jim replaced his identification in his pocket and leaned on the counter. "Now, it seems strange to me that you haven't asked the police about any of your stuff."

"Unless it was something you didn't want them to know you had anything to do with," Vern chimed in.

"Sure, we were moving stuff," somebody said. A closer look at the tag on his shirt revealed the name Tim. "We just figured it'd all been blown to Kingdom Come, so no sense asking about it."

"And you asked Mike Trevino to help you, didn't you?" Jim pressed.

"Yeah," Tim said, looking up from a giant hot dog dripping with catsup and mustard. "Like we told him, my brother was moving and he had a bunch of junk he needed to relocate."

"Mike said he heard something ticking in one of the crates," Jim said. "Isn't that rather unusual for something that's supposed to be in storage?"

"That must have been the crate with Tom's alarm clock collection," Tim shrugged.

"Or a bomb," Vern insisted. "You know, the guy that got offed, he knew Mike."

"It's a small world, man," a guy with the nametag Chuck spoke up. "Almost everybody knows everybody, especially when it's really weird."

"You're not even going to deny it could have been a bomb?" Jim said in amazed disbelief.

"Sure, it could have been," Tim said. "But there wouldn't have been any point in it. You're not suggesting that Mike wanted us to kill the guy, are you? Or that we brought him in on it because we were planning to kill the guy he knew?"

"Well, now, I'm not the one who said any of those things, Tim Boy," Jim said. "You did. I didn't even say that Mike and Ginger were on bad terms. For all you'd know, Ginger could have been his friend and Mike would've been very upset by his death."

Tim grimaced, realizing he had made a mistake.

"So why don't we get down to business and you tell us why you thought they weren't all buddy-buddy?" Jim went on, strolling around the room to where Tim was and leaning on that end of the counter. "Hmm?"

Tim scowled. "I guess I heard it on the news or something. Okay?"

"They weren't saying anything like that on the news," Vern retorted.

Jim nodded. "The only thing they mentioned was that Ginger was friendly with Lou Trevino, Mike's brother. And if that's all you had to go on, you might just think that Mike liked him okay, too."

"It must've been something Donny said, then," Tim said.

Rudy, the only one who hadn't yet spoke at all, glanced up. "That's right," he said. "It was the other day, when Donny was there the first time and he and Mike ran into each other. He asked Mike how things were going and if Ginger and Lou were still business partners. Mike said Yes and mentioned that he couldn't understand why Lou wanted anything to do with a creepy guy like that. Donny agreed and said that Lou must be really far-out. Mike said that Lou was just really tolerant."

"That makes sense," Jim said. "But what's this about Donny being there 'the first time'? Was he there other times?"

"Yeah, he's with us sometimes," Rudy said.

"But I just meant that he was there the first time we were moving Tom's stuff," Tim added quickly. "He wasn't there the second time."

"Oh? Why was that?"

"He just wasn't available," Tim shrugged.

"What's with calling him Donny, anyway?" Vern exclaimed. "I thought he was using a fake name now!"

"Maybe he just changed his last name," Jim said, seeing the sea of blank looks. "Unless everybody's putting on a new act, they're not aware that he's using a false name. His real name is Donny Waugh, by the way."

"He's Donny Braddock to us," Rudy said. "I guess he figured 'Donny' was a common enough name that he didn't have to change that."

"Or maybe he figured he wouldn't remember something else," Chuck snarked.

"Okay, okay." Tim set the hot dog down and half-turned on the stool to look at Jim. "Anyway, so that's all we know. We were moving Tom's stuff, Mike must have had his alarm clock collection, and we didn't set any bombs. Is that all?"

"For now," Jim said finally. "Except, where's Tom moving to?"

"Just elsewhere in the county," Tim said. "He's at the new place now."

"I'd like to chew the fat with him too. Have you got the address handy?"

Tim recited it and Jim scribbled it down on the back of the restaurant's business card. "Thanks," he said, slipping it into his pocket.

Vern had other ideas. "Do you know where Donny lives?" he wondered. "And hey, can anybody get a bite to eat around here or is it just for truckers and truckers' friends?" He eyed the hefty hot dog hungrily.

"If you've got dough, you've got food," Susie said. "And no, we don't know where Donny lives. Maybe Rudy does, though. We know Donny through him."

Vern's eyes lit up. "Great," he exclaimed, claiming a stool.

Jim wondered whether Vern's exclamation had to do with being able to order dinner or finding out that one of these clowns might know about Donny's location. But he could make a guess.

"I don't know, either," Rudy said. "But he works for Jackie Delano, so maybe he knows."

Now Vern groaned. "I've gotta go back and talk to that windbag again?!"

"I'll take care of it, Vern," Jim quickly inserted. "You go ahead and enjoy your meal. I'll see you around."

"Oh yeah?" Vern looked up, pleased. "Hey, thanks, Rockford."

"No problem, Vern. I'm only doing it because I want to know where Donny is, too," Jim bluffed. He didn't particularly want it to get out through talking to Delano that he already knew Donny's address.

Well, he amended as he headed out the door, maybe it was only a half-bluff. He did think maybe he should try talking to Donny again. He was running up against dead-ends all over the place. If one of those dead-ends was hiding a secret passageway, sooner or later one of them would have to give. And Donny seemed a likely possibility for a crack.

Mike too, maybe. On the one hand, Jim really felt that Mike had already cracked as wide open as he could. But on the other hand, he hadn't revealed that he had seen Donny for quite some time. Maybe he was still hiding something else.

Hopefully it wasn't his guilt in the matter of an attempted murder.

"Hey! Rockford!"

Jim started at the sudden voice. "What is it, Vern?" he sighed, seeing the other private eye appearing in the doorway.

"You're going to let me know what Delano says, aren't you?" Vern frowned.

"Of course, Vern," Jim said. "You're on this case too."

Vern still looked suspicious. "That hasn't stopped you from keeping information to yourself before. It didn't stop some of the others, either."

"Others?"

"That's not important now. But if I don't hear back from you soon, Rockford, I'll be calling you," Vern warned.

"I'm sure you will, too," Jim muttered as he headed to the Firebird.

xxxx

To say that Jackie Delano was displeased to see the police for the second time that day would be an understatement. But Steve didn't have to lean on him too much before he revealed where Donny was currently living. "I was going to call you guys about it anyway, right after my shows got over," he insisted.

Steve didn't buy it for a minute, but he had better things to do than argue with the unusual mobster. Instead he left, returning to the car where Brice had opted to wait with Ginger and Lou.

"We've got an address," Steve reported. He climbed into the car and Brice sped off, following the directions as Steve recited them.

"Now, you're sure that your neighbors didn't see you leave the house?" Steve demanded once Brice was heading in the right direction.

"We already went through this, Lieutenant," Lou protested, although he was still concerned himself. "We went out the back door and Ginger had on Mike's jacket. It was pretty dark, though. I don't think anyone saw us."

"I would hope not," Ginger said in irritation. "Your brother's clothing preferences are nothing like my own." He had shed the jacket as soon as they had gotten into the car, preferring instead to keep low in the seat to avoid being spotted.

Steve sighed. "And Mike's back at the house."

"There's a police guard for him, isn't there, Lieutenant?" Lou demanded. "Just in case there's trouble? You said you'd make sure someone was there to watch out for him."

"Officer James Anderson is there," Steve assured him. "Your brother's in good hands."

Lou tried to relax. "I hope so."

xxxx

Steve's eyes narrowed when they pulled up in front of Donny's house only to discover Jim's Firebird pulling in as well. "This private eye really is ending up everywhere we are," Steve remarked.

"Lieutenant Anderson sure wouldn't like that," Brice said.

"Another Anderson?" Lou raised an eyebrow.

"Oh . . . Officer Anderson's cousin," Steve said, sounding distracted as he got out of the car.

"Well," Jim said, going over to meet Steve halfway, "isn't this turning into a party. So you got Donny's address too, huh?"

"I'd say the real question is, how did you get it, Mr. Rockford?" Steve returned.

"Probably the same way you did," Jim replied. "Delano gave it to me." But he saw no need to say exactly when that had happened.

Steve sighed, not wanting to take the time to question the matter further. "Alright. Well, we're going to try something here. If you're planning to talk to Mr. Waugh too, you'd better be in on it."

Jim was about to ask when he spotted Lou in the car. "Lou's going to talk to him?" he said, incredulous. "I'm sure he still won't open up."

Steve quirked a smile. "We're going to make him think he's being haunted by a very unhappy ghost. It's ridiculous and unorthodox and I can't say that I entirely approve, but if it works it will have done some good."

"What? Ginger's here too?" Jim came over closer to the car, peering inside. Ginger rose up slightly, looking back.

"Sergeant Brice is going to stay here with him," Lou said. He started to get out of the car, but hesitated, looking back at Ginger in concern.

"I'll be fine," Ginger insisted. He took out the cellphone. "I'm going to ring him now. Perhaps he'll be more willing to answer questions when he opens the door to you and the Lieutenant."

Jim crossed his arms. "This I've got to see," he said.

Ginger dialed the number and waited. After a moment Donny's voice came on the line, confused as well as tense. "Hello? Who is this?"

"An old acquaintance." Ginger spoke darkly, throwing even more gravel into his voice than usual. "I'm sure you remember me, don't you, Donny?"

Donny let out a stunned, choked gasp. "This is some kind of a trick," he declared. "It has to be—you're dead! I don't have to worry about you coming after me anymore!"

"You've heard of restless spirits, I trust. I won't be ready to move on until I know who murdered me."

"And somebody put the finger on me, is that it?!" Donny cried. "Well, they're lying, whoever it is! I don't know who did it, Ginger. Honest, I don't!"

"I really can't believe that. If you don't know, you should be able to easily find out. Was it Tim Carlton and his gang, perhaps? Or your esteemed boss, Jackie Delano? Maybe it was even you."

"No, it wasn't me! Ginger, I swear it!"

Without warning the front door flew open and Donny rushed out, gripping a cordless phone in his hand. He ground to a shocked halt when Steve and Lou, with Jim coming up right behind them on the front walkway, met him on the porch.

"Alright, Mr. Waugh," Steve said calmly, reaching for Donny's arm. "How about we go down to the station for a nice chat?"

"And some answers," Lou growled. "I'm going to find out who killed Ginger, no matter what."

"He's on the phone right now!" Donny cried, waving the handset at Lou even as they descended the steps. "I mean, his ghost is or something. Unless someone's just pulling a prank."

"What?" Lou grabbed the phone. "You're crazy."

"I'm waiting for a reply, Donny," Ginger said.

"There!" Donny exclaimed. "He's there. You heard that, didn't you?!"

"I didn't hear anything but your whining," Lou said.

"Same here," Jim said smoothly.

Donny looked to them and Steve in dismay. "Oh, come on!" he said. "There's no such thing as ghosts. I'm not hearing Ginger's voice. I couldn't be hearing his voice. But if none of you hear it at all . . ."

"Not a thing," said Jim.

By now they had reached the car. Ginger turned off the cellphone and slipped it into his pocket, instead leaning against the back seat as Steve unlocked and opened the car door. He looked up at Donny with calm, cold precision. "I'm still waiting for your answer."

Donny nearly fainted dead away. Only barely managing to keep hold of his senses, he looked to Lou with accusations in his eyes. "He's not dead! Somehow he survived and you set up this creepy prank!"

"Of course he's dead," Lou retorted. "What are you going on about?"

"Oh, don't tell me you can't see him. He's there. Right there!" Donny pointed at the seat in desperation.

Steve prodded him to get into the car. "There's no one there, Mr. Waugh," he said.

Donny grabbed the edges of the doorframe, resisting getting inside. "I'll tell you what you want to know!" he wailed. "Just don't make me ride with him."

"Who set those bombs?!" Steve demanded.

"Mike!" Donny said. "I'm sorry, Lou, but it's true. The other day Mike told me he just couldn't stand being around Ginger and he was going to do something about it once and for all."

Lou was staring in outraged disbelief. But before he could open his mouth and defend his brother's honor, Ginger leaned forward and snatched Donny's shirt. "You're lying," he hissed.

Donny went stiff. "I'm not lying, Ginger," he said. "I swear I'm not."

Ginger fixed him with a harsh, frozen stare. It didn't take long before Donny had had enough.

"Alright, so I lied," he snapped. "Tim Carlton and his friends were contacted about killing you and setting Mike up to look like the patsy."

"Who hired them?" Ginger demanded, still in that cold, no-nonsense tone of voice.

"I don't know," Donny insisted. "I don't even know if they're the ones who took the job. But it was someone they met at Josephine's Grill who wanted them to do it. You know that place? It's just new."

"Yeah," Jim spoke up. "We know that place."

Ginger relaxed back into the seat and Steve finally managed to ease Donny into the car. "Thank you, Mr. Waugh," Steve said. "Now we're going to the station so you can answer a few more questions. Not to mention to book you for the Borland Diamond robbery at long last." Amid Donny's protests, Steve read him his rights.

Lou climbed back into the car as well. Donny cringed, not liking being squeezed in between two of his old partners in crime—two that he had betrayed.

Ginger regarded him with a cool and unamused look. "By the way," he said, snapping the seatbelt into place, "of course you're right; I'm not dead. But now that you have tried to convince us that Lou's idiot brother is a cold-hearted murderer, you may have more to worry about from him than I."

Donny swallowed hard, looking to Lou glaring at him. He shrank into the seat, wishing he were invisible.