Chapter 3
Glen was gone. There didn’t seem much I could do besides wait for Bill to come up with some revelations and worry about the next two names on the killer’s hit list. I already knew them: T.K. Fleming and Sunny Elgar. They had raised the stakes and won the first hand with a pair of aces. Now they wanted three of a kind.
Bill called a couple of hours later. Asphyxiation. He had a preliminary confirmation on the time of death. It was a nice fit with the visit from Mom. They were definitely treating it as a homicide.
“So did you get anything on the mysterious visitor?”
“Glen’s mother died in 2007. He had no other relatives that we can turn up. All of the prints were smudged. Nothing we could run. We did get a description of the alleged perp. The nurse used the term ‘huge’. Guessed her at over six feet, blocky, maybe 220 lbs. But not fat . . . just brawny, she emphasized that in the questioning. Blond, probably bleached, medium length, dressed in suitable matronly attire. No jewelry. Nothing remarkable, but given that Glen barely hit 140 lbs., the nurse was surprised at the size of the woman who was supposed to be his mother. ‘Still,’ she said, ‘in our business, you see it all. I wasn’t suspicious or anything. I should’ve been more careful.’ She broke down. We didn’t get any more out of her, but I told her we may need to contact her again.”
“So do you suspect Panko’s involved, or maybe our elusive Boss Lady?”
“I don’t suspect anything right now, but if I was a betting man, I’d take those odds. The M.O. fits the mob. They like it efficient and violent, but quiet if they can keep it that way. It strikes the right chord with any suckers who might be considering a double-cross or any direct confrontation. I’m guessing you’ll get a call, or a note cut out of newsprint real soon.”
“Bill, you don’t think they might go for Sunny, do you?”
“Believe me, T.K., I’d love to tell you what you want to hear, but I can’t. These guys don’t exactly honor the code of chivalry. You need to stay close to her and she needs to watch her back at all times. I’d even suggest a weapon . . . one that’s close by and loaded. Give her your Taurus. It’s light, easy to handle, and deadly. I’ll find something for you with a nice big clip and more stopping power. I’ll get it to you before dark.”
“Thanks.”
Bill was right. I didn’t want to hear that Sunny could be a target. I called and got her at her office. She agreed to come to KAMALA around six for some Cabernet and a hamburger. I promised fat and juicy, cheese, onions, the whole bit . . . in honor of her visit.
Just before she showed up, I heard a sound like jackboots stomping down the dock. I looked out of the companionway to a man with a buzz-cut and a blue uniform heading for KAMALA. He stepped onto the finger pier.
“Dr. Fleming. Special Delivery.” He handed me a small cardboard box sealed with packing tape.
I took it. It wasn’t as heavy as I might have expected. In the privacy of the cabin, I slit the ends and removed a nearly new Kel-Tec PF-9 and three clips, each containing seven rounds of hollow points. It was small enough for easy concealment. The perfect minimalist point and shoot pistol . . . polymer frame, no external safety, reliable, and accurate at close range. I slid one of clips into the handle and heard it lock in with a reassuring click. I slowly pulled back the hammer. Then with my thumb, I let it ease back in place. She was oiled and ready to go. Now I just needed the guts to use it. The idea made me a little sick, but so did the thought of Sunny, harmed or threatened in any way.
She arrived on time and we sat below sipping the Cab while I filled her in on the day’s flood of info. She looked tired, but alert. Occasionally her brow grew heavy or she clicked her teeth and shook her head. When I returned to the parts about Glen, she put down her wine glass and squeezed her eyes shut. Sunny doesn’t cry much, but several tears escaped. She stabbed at them with a wrinkled napkin. Then she slammed her palm down on the table. She shrugged and sucked a forced breath.
“He was one of us, T.K.” she paused and stared at nothing for a moment. “So Bill thinks we’re next?”
“Yeah. He thinks you ought to carry this.”
I handed her the Taurus, butt first. She took it gingerly and hit the catch to open the cylinder. Five .38 shells in shiny brass casings gleamed at her. I handed her a plastic bag with another ten rounds in it. A deep sigh crept out from between gritted teeth. She held the pistol for a moment, tested its weight, and shook her head. Then she stuffed the weapon and the bag into her small leather pocketbook. She dabbed at her eyes again and gave me that “Don’t fuck with me, Bucko” look. It almost worked.
“So what about you, Sport? You got a new slingshot?”
“A present from Bill,” I replied, and reached into the nav station. I pulled out the Kel-Tec and placed it on the table. She eyed it carefully, then picked it up and aimed at an imagined villain in the companionway. She nodded her approval and put it down.
“So we have two goals here,” she said grimly, “ one is to not get dead, and the other is find out who murdered Glen and send the sonovabitches to rot in hell.”
“That is the general plan.”
I wanted to laugh. I’ve done that before when things seemed hopeless. It was a vain attempt to joust with absurdity – the hour when we all realize that our number is up – that we were out of options. Now the only thing I was sure of was that we had to act. It was done. We’d know soon enough.
We tried to come up with some sort of strategy, but we needed more info. At the top of the list was the identity of the female thug who had smothered Glen. We were staring at each other, waiting for a vision from the great beyond when the phone rang. I glanced at the cell. No caller ID, but I decided to answer it anyway.
“Greetings, my learned colleague. I hope you and the lovely Professor Elgar are enjoying the evening. I can guess what you are wondering. No, I am not nearby, but as you know, my minions can be quite resourceful.”
“I wish I could say it’s nice to hear from you, Counselor, but the pleasure eludes me.”
“Well, I merely wanted you to know I haven’t forgotten you or your well-proportioned paramour. By the way, I was certainly disturbed to hear about your associate, Mr. Macklin. But I am confident he rests in peace.”
“Okay, Leo. We got the message. Actually, I hope to see you real soon, but under a different set of circumstances.”
“That will likely happen, Dr. Fleming.”
I eyed the small nine millimeter on the table. Just one of the hollow points would do -- especially if it was in the center of Panko’s forehead. But maybe he was the wrong target . . . just another “go-boy.” It might be The Boss Lady who deserved my somewhat divided attention.
“Let me guess,” Sunny said. She looked at me and put a finger to her lips, feigning a quizzical look.
“Yeah, I’ll just bet you’ve got it. Our old friend, Leo. Fresh with implied threats and unsolicited innuendo.”
Leo as in Leonardo Panko, the President of Talent Pro, the guy who threatened our friends Pam and Shorty, the guy who ordered Shorty’s guitar hand broken, the guy who kidnapped Sunny, the guy who’d tried to trap me into delivering heroin across state lines, and the man who Bill believed was connected to the local mob. Not exactly at the top of our list of great humanitarians or candidates for sainthood.
“Okay, T.K. Our old pal, Leo. No surprises there, but I might drop the word “implied” from the threats. Don’t forget, Glen is dead. If you believe they’ll stop there, you’re more the fool than I thought.”
“That’s a damned nice compliment. I haven’t forgotten Glen . . . and I won’t forget you. I can’t be with you every minute, and the truth of the matter is we are seriously out-gunned. You’d better watch your ass very carefully. Treat the Taurus like your best friend. Keep it loaded and at arm’s length. Got it?”
“I think I do, Sergeant Friday. Just make sure you do likewise.” I gave a mock salute. I wanted to click my heels. She might have liked it, but it doesn
’t work too well with sandals. Sunny frowned and headed for the quickest exit. I walked her to the Saab, Kel-Tec in hand.
It was an unpleasant end to an unpleasant evening. Even The Lady and I had our fits and starts, but we’d get over it. We had before.