The Saga of Richard and Camille
Rick Poole P I
Chapter 3/6
Wait ... Wonder ... What the hell!
Summary:
Well, Rick Poole is still alive. But why is somebody taking a shot at him? And where is everybody? He needs info, clues, evidence. And he doesn't know where to start. He's gonna have to call in al lot of favors. He's swimming with sharks, and he's the only bait around!
Notes:
Thanks to Lizzy, Izzy and Jonesy, the alter egos of three faithful readers and writers of DiP. Their ongoing contributions of character background and dialog are invaluable.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
I've been slumped here at my desk for most of the day and half the night. I can see the length of the street, all the way down to the harbor. The view is starting to blur. Just another tropical rainy night. I'm leaning back in my chair, feet on the desk. I'm sitting off to one side, so that I don't offer a nice silhouette for some itchy trigger finger out there.
A cig in one hand and my best friend, Bourbon in the other. It's been almost two years since I washed up on this sandbox. I suppose I should switch over to rum. Hell, it's half the price of this rot gut stuff I'm drinkin' now. I save the good stuff for special occasions. Like, well, … 'I'm still breathin'. Heh! I suppose I ought to learn to like rum! But man … it tastes like bad cough syrup. It's only good for chugging, when ya want a quick trip to buzz city.
This afternoon I went back to my shack to wash out my suit and pack a getaway bag. I plan on making the office, my twenty-four hour 'Poole central' until I get a better handle on this situation. I was sitting on the veranda, sucking on a cold beer, waitin' for my suit to dry and flapping my jaw at Fred when something buzzed past my face. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of a spurt of sand and the almost simultaneous crack of a distant rifle. Fred headed for his tree hideout. I rolled over the railing and before I hit the sand, I had my forty-five in hand and a shell chambered. In the distance I heard the whine of a motorcycle screaming off, headed away to the south. I crawled around the shack, saw nothing, heard nothing. I returned to the beach alongside my hut. It was easy to find the spray of sand. Five minutes of digging and sifting and I was the proud possessor of a thirty ought six bullet. One, that somebody had gone to the trouble of cutting an x into the tip. A homemade dum-dum bullet. If that had hit my skull, my brains would have been splattered halfway from here to Honore. This is starting to get serious. I'm beginning to think that somebody doesn't like me. I finished my laundry and packing and drove on back to the office.
Back here at the old HQ, I called Big Selly and filled him in on the latest. Selly told me not to worry about Cammy. He had it on good authority that she was comfy and being held in order to keep me out of the Charlie Hulme deal. I told him that that wasn't good enough. I needed more than his assurance. He told me to cool my jets and stay put, or he'd arrange for me to share the local steel bar hotel along with a boat crook and a goat for a few days. I told him to go suck and egg.
I connected with 'Babyface' and 'Killer Smile' along about dinner time. They brought me copies of the Hulme case files and photos. They also had a couple of surprises for me. James Lavender had bit the bullet. And it looked an awful lot like my gun. But the only fingerprints on it were Lavenders. so, that is strange, no frameup there. Number two on their hit parade of surprises was that DI Humphry Goodman had gotten in a couple of days early. He's supposed to be some kind of crime savant. But he's a bit odd. 'Babyface' just shook his head. They already started calling him "the camel" behind his back. Part because his wife called him 'Hump" or "Humph" on the telephone squawk box. she's in England and not coming to join him, divorceville. So, I guess that makes him a free agent.
The best part, according to 'Killer Smile', is that not only can't this guy walk and chew gum at the same time, … He can't do either separately! He tripped coming up the stairs to the station, and within ten minutes he had spilled a whole cup of coffee in his lap, knocked over a stack of files that will take a week to sort out and tripped going back down the stairs. When he got to the crime scene, he fell out one of the windows while looking for footprints and then while discussing the evidence with the team, he backed up into the swimming pool. DS Lily Thomson has already put in for a transfer.
I've been going over the material the guys left, and I think I have a pretty good idea who did both Hulme and Lavender. The why and the how need a little more work. But right now, I need my other sources to show me some dirt. I can't do the digging from up here with Big Selly putting the clamps on me. So, I wait. ... And wait. ... And … wait!
I've got the lights in the reception area out. But I've left the front door ajar. Nobody can come up either set of stairs or even cross the hall without squeaks and creaks and groans from the old relic of a building. She sounds just like a wooden ship in a high wind. The whole building is an alarm system.
Well, well, well. The alarm just went off. Somebody's coming up the main staircase. It's a light tread. Movin' slow and careful like. I've just killed the light, ground out the butt and filled my right paw with the forty-five. Back in my chair, feet up, bourbon in one hand and the blaster in the other. Floorboards are squeaking. Getting closer. Friend or foe I'm ready. … Through the frosted glass I can see a torch light moving, searching, … the front door, I left cracked open starts to squeak as it is pushed open by my middle of the night visitor. I hear the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked. I'm about to get some answers or eat lead. …
The old ticker is up a notch, but when you live life on the edge, you learn to take things as they come. I'm in the shadows and whoever is paying me the afterhours visit is at a disadvantage. They will be silhouetted by the dim bulb in the hallway. I'm in the darkness.
I'm ready, … my jaw is clenched tighter than a car salesman's handshake. The door creaks open. The frame is filled by two distinctive outlines.
"Rick? You there?"
"Ricardo? Donde esta?
My jaw relaxes. Other body parts unclench as well.
"The light switch is to your right, ladies"
Maybe things are turning my way for a change. They flip the switch and close the door. I close the blinds and turn on my desk lamp. They approach my desk, hiking their skirts to place those nasty little derringers back in their thigh holsters. It is a languorous move that makes me forget why I'm here and what I want to say. … Refocusing, I uncock my forty-five and jam it back home under my arm.
"Ladies, park your moneymakers." I pull out the two chairs facing my desk. Almost like a real gent. I then reach into a bottom drawer and extract a bottle and two additional glasses.
"I've got a brand-new bottle of "Old Faithful" genuine Kentucky Bourbon. Good stuff, old enough to vote. Let's wet our whistles and see whatcha got for me?"
"Rick, … Izzabella and I were over on Guadeloupe for the last few days. You know, one of those corporate shindigs. Morale building. Hah! A hundred horny American middle managers who all think they're going to be CEO someday. The BS was so thick, we could have built a highway with it and walked back to Saint Marie. I spent more time fending off the 'wannabes' than anything else. The real big boys are subtle and at least present a façade of class and dignity."
"Si! The other ones they all act like, … how do you say? Ah, yes, 'frat boys! sometimes I think you hombres, you never grow up. Mama Lizzy, she spend more time being my bodyguard. We are quite a team, Ricardo. She hits them high I hit them low."
Both women burst into gales of laughter. I smile small. They also know how to double team you in a way that doesn't involve any hitting, but lots of contact!
"So, you guys don't know what's going down."
We took the late ferry back to Saint Marie. On our way home, we stopped at La Kaz for a drink, and Kit filled us in on you and Cammy being missing. So, we headed over here to see if you were on the laylow here or if DeDe knew the score. We spotted a couple of guys holding up a light pole and building. We did some 'investigation. We figured they were either looking for some action or up to no good. Izzy put her considerable powers of persuasion to work and was rebuffed by all three watchers. ... "Anyone who turns down Izzabella is either neutered, concussed, or up to no good. They wern't bleeding from a head wound or walking in circles and most of them looked conflicted... so we're opting for 'up to no good."
"DeDe's gone home and, well, here you are. So, what's up?"
"How can we help Ricardo?"
"Three mugs doin' the lurk out there huh?"
"Si, Ricardo, two out front and one in the back. Maybe these will help?"
"Well, aren't you the clever little devil!"
"I distract, and Lizzy, she has those long fingers."
"Well, well, well! You two are quite the team. So now we have three wallets with three sets of IDs. Oh, you guys are good, and those three stooges are real dopes. … Let's see who our nosey friends are."
"You think they're just watchers or are they hit men?"
"Lizzy let's see what we got for playmates. Our back door man is none other than Frankie Laine. He used to be a cop but got fired for falling asleep on about a dozen stakeouts. I'm surprised you found him upright unless he was taken a leak. Out front nearest the corner is Mikey Pawelka. He thinks he's a tough guy. But he's got a glass jaw and rubber gut. One punch either place, and he's down for the count. And last and definitely least is Tommy Tombo. You can hear and smell him a block away. He's always stuffin' his face. These are real low rent losers. If any of them are packing heat, they're more of a danger to themselves and each other than me!
"Ricardo, we have outfits and wigs across the hall at Dede's. We could do you up and sneak you out and you could hole up at our villa."
"Nothin' I'd like more than to hang out with you two at your place, but I gotta stay put. I need information and I need eyes and ears reporting back to me. And that means I've got to be available. Now you two relax and enjoy the high-quality juice I'm serving, and I'll head out and return three wallets. Maybe I can work a trade for some info and an identity. I'll be back in less than half an hour. Just keep lookin' beautiful ."
My kinda night, trench coat collar up and fedora pulled down. Just enough rain to make my quarry be more concerned about comfort than safety. With a little persuasion, I got basically the same story out of each one. Mystery employer, only phone communication, and cash payment at a drop box. They were only supposed to find me, watch me and follow me if I was on the move. These three clowns couldn't follow a parade and they sure as hell couldn't find their own butts with both hands. I gave them their wallets and told them to go home and get some shut-eye, cause I wasn't goin' on the lam! All three did a disappearing act. They were good at vanishing. Heh!
Back at the office I found Izzy and Lizzy had set up a nice little picnic. My favorite! A chatcuterie board with all those cheese and sausage delights. The girls had gone across the hall and raided DeDe's ice box and brought back the food and a half dozen bottles of beer to wash it down with. These gals new how to take care of a guy from head to toe. We'll save the good hooch for dessert.
"Hey guys, thanks for the grub. I feel almost human again. Brain's workin' and my head doesn't feel like a tin can full of gravel. Maybe I can start to make sense of the whole thing."
"I've got 'Babyface' and 'Killer Smile' feedin' me the scoop on this Lavender deal from the cop shop. I'm waiting for Jonesy to make contact."
"Rick, baby, can you trust her info? Huh?"
"I know, I know, half of what she brings me is nonsense, but the rest is pure gold. So, it's up to me to do the sortin' and siftin'. She's worth a sawbuck here and there. You two take care of the high-end establishments. Jonesy's got the low down on the low downs. Now I want you guys to be real careful. We don't know who the real players are. So, we've got to assume everybody is a suspect."
"Ricardo, we know you and Cammy are, well, you might say, simpatico? But you too must be careful. You only know her for two months and she is your secretary for only three or four weeks. The only thing you know for sure is that Kit is her maman and that she has been in Paris for many years."
"Yeah, I know Izzabella. Things got hot and heavy quick."
"An' Rick, she is hot on the trail for that band of gold before you had your fly buttoned." Lizzy and Izzy give Rick a playful nudge and he slides back into his chair.
It's strange how things work out. I got three women in my life. Two, more than happy to share and one who's demanding dominance after just a few weeks. The gals don't have to say it out loud. But my brain is using a megaphone. 'Can you trust her? Did she slip you the mickey? Do you really know her? … And where the hell is she?'
Oh, geez what else can go wrong?
To be continued.
Notes:
If things aren't bad enough, there's a complication coming, and I still can't find Cammy! and the cigs and bourbon ain't helpin' me one bit. Maybe it's time for stogies and rum. Seeya guys. Rick.
