My sandwiches arrived. My pickle didn't. The bread was white and dry; but I found the sham to be white and dry, so decided not to complain. Everything breaks down after a while. Who was I to rock the boat?
I looked over at Pogo. His convulsions had ended. The veins in his neck stood out like sewer pipes, and his face was apple red.
"Good stuff, Pogo?"
He smiled, eyes wide as an ocean, and nodded idiotically. "Yeeaaah!" His voice was wild and uncontrollable. "Gooood stuuuff, baby." He nodded his head so rapidly that I had to turn away to smirk.
"Heeyy, Tommmmy!" His voice followed me.
"Hey, Pogo."
"Da-da Elmo, wwhere's h-h-heeee?"
"At home looking after the kids…" My voice trailed off. Mood momentarily lifted, I smiled at Pogo's noseless face then threw a ten dollar bill at the bartender and left.
Chapter 18
The Chrysler's hubcaps screeched against the curb as I slid its long battered body to a halt. While I lurched up the steps to the office, the singer with the rabbit under her dress sang a song in the back of my mind: "Since my baby went away." I moved past Elmo where he sat looking bored in the outer room, and in minutes was pacing the eight feet of dirty carpet I kept in front of my desk to impress customers. The whiskey wasn't doing its job. The back of my head had begun to throb again. The front of my head had joined in too. Elmo entered, his puzzled look crossed my bloodstained clothing but disappeared with a shake of my head. He sat silent in his chair like a deep dark secret. Cigarette smoke sketched clues in front of him.
I phoned down the street for coffee, lit a cigarette and sat on the edge of the desk. I was frustrated. I always got that way when a case broke. I may have completed the puzzle, but there was a real anticlimax in the way Authority dealt out justice. This was the hard part. Who could I trust with my news? True, I didn't have Van Reydner, but I as much as had a confession from Mr. Adrian. Since the lawyer had hired me to get the guy who killed him, our business would soon be concluded. My problem was finding some way of bringing Mr. Adrian to justice. The plain truth of it was exactly as Mr. Adrian had stated. He, like most powerful people in history, was above Authority. What that meant was he owned a piece of it. That was probably why Billings had wanted me to kill his murderer outright. The lawyer's professional pragmatism must have told him that some people simply owned too much of the law to be subject to it. And even the worst, most hardened criminal could slip through the cracks on a technicality. The truth was I had an impulse to kill him myself. I could say he really hadn't treated me very well; but where he had power I had none. It was a long afterlife to spend in a cell.
Still, I had to do something, if for my own sake alone. Mr. Adrian had just tried to kill me for getting too close. He would try again, unless I could draw attention to myself. There were enough rival factions in Greasetown that friction from one, or the possible reaction of another, often stayed the hand of more aggressive groups. I had done Authority favors before. Perhaps I'd try my hand again.
I dialed the operator. "Authority, Criminal Division, please."
The phone rang. Then a stern voice. "Authority, Crimdiv."
"Hello, I'd like to speak to Inspector Cane."
"Just a moment. I'll put you over to records."
More canned Muzak. Of all the things we could have left behind in the old world, why not…
"Inspector Cane, who's speaking."
"Hello, Inspector Cane. It's Wildclown. I know we didn't exactly hit it off at our last meeting; but I remember you saying I should call with information. And I'd like to report an attempted murder."
"I'll come to your office."
"Don't we usually do this kind of thing at headquarters? Besides it's kind of late."
"I work late, Wildclown."
"What time is it now?" I knew it was ten-thirty, the clock on the desk said as much. But I couldn't resist asking. He seemed like the type who would hate that kind of thing.
"Just after ten-thirty." His voice was a petulant hiss. "I'll be there at eleven."
"Fine," I said, hung up, and then looked across the desk at Elmo. "It's the best we can do, Fatso."
He nodded sadly.
Chapter 19
The setting was everything I could have wanted it to be. My little lamp cut a yellow circle out of my desk blotter. The ashtray was the perfect distance from my hand. A cigarette smoked in my fist and my. 38 snub-nose nestled snugly in my right boot where it crossed my left calf. Elmo was in the waiting room having a coffee and keeping an eye out for Inspector Cane. Elmo also had a gun, and he wasn't supposed to. Everything was perfect.
I heard a rap at the outer door, then heard Elmo shuffle his way toward it. I listened as Inspector Cane grunted something nasty. He crossed the waiting room then entered my office. I smiled. I believe his face was incapable of such sentiment. He walked up to the desk, grinning as he chewed his brass toothpick.
"Let's hear it, Wildclown. I don't have all night." I could see a double reflection of my lamp, ashtray and hand in his glasses.
"Want to sit? It might take a while."
"No." His eyes were fixed on the back wall of the inside of my skull.
"Okay." I gestured with the whiskey I had close at hand. He didn't surprise me when he turned it down. That was fine, I didn't want to drink with him anyway. I poured myself a large one. Client confidentiality got complicated here. If I kept quiet, then Adrian could have me killed and Billings disappear which would be bad or Billings could have Adrian killed which would make me an accessory that was better, but still bad. I didn't have a choice. Talking gave me a better chance of survival.
"On Saturday, March 2 a lawyer, Conrad Billings came to my office. He had been murdered. It happened at the Morocco Hotel. You may remember that." Cane nodded. "He requested that I find his murderer. I went to the scene. During my investigation some arsonists torched the hotel taking all of my evidence with it. Except for this…" I set the cigar butt on the desk blotter. Cane picked it up and sniffed it. "Don't worry, that comes in later. To be honest, there was not a lot of evidence in the first place. I think Adrian paid to have the place torched. I was lucky enough to be there when it happened. I believe Authority investigated both the murder and the fire." Again Cane nodded, then set the cigar down on the desk.
"Mr. Billings' massage therapist disappeared the night he was murdered. It's my theory that she was working with whoever wanted Billings dead. An accessory, to be certain. I acted on a lead from the night clerk: A Mr. Douglas Willieboy-I have his address written here…" I tossed him a card. "On that tip, I arranged to meet a man who had been in communication with Jan Van Reydner on the night of the murder, and her disappearance.
"The man I talked to was Mr. Richard Adrian, president of Simpson's Skin Tanning and Preservation for the Deceased. During the weeks prior to Conrad Billings' death, he communicated with Van Reydner at the Morocco under the pseudonym 'Simon.' That cigar butt is the same brand that Adrian smokes and I found that butt in an ashtray at the Morocco. When I met with him, Adrian admitted his involvement and knowledge of Ms. Van Reydner, though not of her whereabouts. My theory is that he and Van Reydner had been playing a nasty game. Seems Van Reydner would work the old sex magic on the boys for a while, gaining their trust. Then, on a signal from Adrian she would make sure they had a nice gin party to make everybody real sleepy. In the middle of the night Adrian would sneak in and off the poor mark in his sleep. It makes sense that Adrian would do it himself. He looks tough enough, and it's always better to use people you trust." I paused a moment, looked into my glass. "This time something went wrong. Billings woke up. He said he heard a baby. Whatever he heard, it got him out of bed just in time to hear Adrian come in. He was murdered in the living room-shot in the back of the head, which is the first indication that something went wrong. I'm pretty sure the marks would normally be poisoned, or killed in some fashion that could be passed off as natural causes to avoid the inclusion of Authority. I have a feeling something went wrong again, because Billings was allowed to come out of Blacktime on his own. I'm certain that if things had gone right, Van Reydner's big breasts would have been resting on him when he came to. She would have steered him toward Simpson's Skin Tanning and Preservation for the Deceased before he had time to get his bearings. This time though, Billings was allowed to get to Authority and the outside world before Simpson's got him.