Chapter 11
I woke up near dawn. I actually felt better than I thought I would. The cut had already begun to close up. I doused it again with peroxide and applied a new bandage while the coffee perked. I poured a cup and went into the cockpit. The promise of winter was in the air. The sun was still low and streaks of cadmium orange flooded the horizon. The wispy clouds were a magnificent blend of purples and blues. It was a day fit for the gods. I just hoped it was fit for a reluctant Ghostcatcher.
I decided to go for broke. Three eggs, three slices of crumbled bacon, mushroom slices, green peppers, diced onions, a glob of sharp cheddar cheese sprinkled with Italian seasoning and a shot of salt and pepper. Why worry about calories and cholesterol when you might soon be a corpse?
The smell wafted off the alcohol stove and filled the cabin with memories of my dear old momma. She was the breakfast lady. Meanwhile, my mind was scrambling. “Secret Agent Man” . . . that’s what they had called me. They were definitely Leonardo Panko’s boys, but whose boy was Panko? Lurch had mentioned the “Boss Lady.” Who the hell was that? And how could I find out?
I ate the omelet with culinary pride and even added a couple of slices of wheat toast slathered in butter and raspberry preserves. I was still carrying only 190 lbs. on my 6’2” frame and the isometrics I do on the boat kept my muscle tone nice and solid. I could afford a little sustenance, and in a pinch I might even need it. I had to meet Glen at 10:00 at the Dojo. I cleaned up the dishes and myself, then called a cab.
It was a strip center. The sign above his space was large and easy to read. “Macklin School of Self Defense” with a black silhouette in a fighting stance on either side of the bold print. Chinese takeout on one side and a small consignment shop on the other. The door swung aside with no sound. There was a cheap wooden desk and a small reception area with a couple of metal folding chairs, but most of the building was open. I noticed the rails that circumscribed walls covered in mirrors. It was probably a dance school at one time, maybe even ballet. There was a circle painted in red in the middle of the floor, probably a makeshift ring. Various sizes and kinds of mats were everywhere. Punching and kicking bags hung in the corners. The whole place smelled of sweat and concerted effort.
Glen came out of a small office in the back and extended his hand. His grip was firm. I was sure he could have crushed every bone, but that wasn’t his choice at the moment. He wasn’t wearing the canvas robe I’d seen on the website. Instead, a red t-shirt and navy shorts exposed solid tanned rings of muscle bulging from every fold.
He nodded and pointed to the curtain separating the work spaces. I followed him in and sat. There were a few photos and trophies scattered about, but the space was definitely Spartan. I guessed he spent much more time on the floor with his students than shuffling papers in this barren place.
I towered over him. I figured he might be 5’4” in stocking feet, maybe 145 lbs. Still I had the feeling he could make a pretzel out of me if it suited him. He eased into an old wooden chair behind the desk and placed his elbows on the marred surface. His eyes were a pale blue, almost like a cloudless sky in the Bahamas, but there was a steely glint that radiated a total lack of fear . . . and a quiet challenge.
“I appreciate you coming,” he said. “I like what you’re trying to do for Pam and Shorty. I know about you . . . know what you’ve done for others. It’s good stuff. I want to help. But you gotta let me know.”
“Thanks, Glen. I’m not sure what, if anything, I can do. But I guess I’m involved whether I should be or not. You can start by telling me what you can about Paul.”
He leaned back in his chair for only a moment. If you wanted action, you weren’t going to wait long. Then he drilled me with those pale eyes.
“We were lovers. I’m gay. Not too many people know. Wouldn’t be good for the school, but I’m not ashamed of it. I just don’t go trumpeting it around. I did all I could to get him away from the dope and the stinking parasites who feed on the weaknesses of poor bastards who can’t protect themselves. When it became clear that the needle was more important than me, I stepped away. Too much to lose, I guess. Maybe I was selfish. I loved him . . . but I guess I loved myself more. We’d still talk . . . I’d even see him occasionally. It was hard to give up, but he got sucked into that whirlpool. He was drowning. He didn’t know it, but it was obvious to me . . . to Pam and Shorty. Maybe nobody else cared, but we did. In the end, there was nothing we could do.”
The grief in his voice was unmistakable, but he’d accepted some things that bled him. His features were set in granite, gray and determined. I was glad I wouldn’t be on the receiving end of what might be his unspeakable violence.
“I’m sure Pam told you about the circumstances. She thinks it was more than an accident.”
“Yeah . . . she told me. She’s right about how careful he was. And the bruises on his arms . . . I don’t know. Maybe it was an accident, but I do know he was involved with some serious scum. I guess he’s in junkie heaven, but who put him there remains to be seen. I want to find out.”
He folded his hands on the desk. The fingers were laced like twisted cable and a slight twitch appeared over his left eye. His entire body was as rigid as a brass figure on the marble base of one of those trophies. But he suddenly seemed larger, like he’d been blown up with an expanding rage. I waited for him to speak, but he was a malevolent sphinx.
“Could this have anything to do with Panko? I hear he has mob connections.”
“You hear right. Leo wanted Paul to persuade Pam to sign with Talent Pro. She was his sister. He loved her. He wouldn’t do it. I noticed your cheek and you’re not hiding the bruises very well. Have you had unexpected company?”
“Yeah,” I said.
I described my encounter with Panko’s mismatched twins. Repeated the boys’ suggestions that I embrace an agreeable attitude and sign whatever the hell it was.
“Those guys can be quite a handful. You damned well better watch your back. I’d even suggest a weapon. Neither one of them has enough brains to fill a thimble. They do what they’re told and they’re very good at it. Pam told me she had named you her agent. That makes you number one with a bullet.”
“I kind of figured that was the case.”
He nodded and stood. Our interview was over. He thanked me and almost crushed my hand. “Call if you need me. No shit.” he said quietly. I think he hoped I would.
I went back to KAMALA, greased the through hulls and lubed the engine controls, everything on deck that had been exposed to the salt spray offshore. I was moving gingerly. Lots of stuff was starting to get very sore. But the work was mindless and mildly satisfying. Sunny had an evening class, but I had promised pizza when she finished at eight. Mama Antoni’s delivered and Thursday was special night. The 16-inch Monster Supreme for $14.99. I heard Sunny padding down the dock just before nine.
“I smell it,” she said, “no conversation until I get a glass of wine and at least two pieces.”
I poured her a generous glass of Cab and watched her inhale the sausage, ham, anchovies, green peppers, mushrooms, onions, extra cheese and God knows what else on the thin brown crust. Her breath would be Italian road kill, but mine already was.
She sucked in a bolt of air like a diver who had been under too long, and snatched another slice.
“Okay, Sherlock. Fill me in.”
She chewed with noisy enthusiasm and listened. I told her about Glen and his relationship with Paul, the encounter with the mismatched enforcers, and repeated things she probably already knew. She put down the remnants of the pie, took a slug of Cab and spoke. She laid her fingers lightly on my cheek. A pall had come over her features and her voice was earthen and ominous.
“You got to be careful, T.K. Next time they might really hurt you. Do you still have the .38, the Taurus?” I still had it. Parts of me wished I didn’t. Once I had used it to kill a man.
“Yeah, I’ll clean it in the morning.”
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br /> The pizza box was dead empty. We settled into the v berth, each fondling appropriate parts with exploring fingers, soothing hands and languorous tongues. The first release was a prologue . . . merely the prelude to another. Another miracle by my immaculate lady. I had forgotten all about the sore body parts.