The Pi Who New Too Much

Hope the interval has been short enough that there's no need for another synopsis.

Previously, on

The PI Who Knew Too Much—

It took me the better part of an hour to get back. By the time I reached the building, my head just hurt like hell but didn't feel like it was going to come apart. The elevator showed on the top floor, so I had to slog up one flight of stairs. It was almost 6 according to the clocks I'd seen on my walk, but the lights were still on in my office. That surprised me, I figured Lupe would be gone by now.

I opened the door and stepped into the outer office. Lupe was sitting behind her desk with a look on her face I couldn't read. Before I could ask her if anything was wrong, somebody slammed the door behind me and stuck a gun in my neck.

"I'm sorry, Pete, I couldn't say anything. They've got Ileana in your office." Now I could read her face. She was terrified.

-§§-

THE GOON WHO SHOVED the gun in my neck was tall, had me by a couple of inches. He yelled something, and the door to my office opened. A short goon was holding Ileana by an arm, a gun to her head. My gun, or a .45 just like it.

I didn't know how I was going to take care of Mutt and Jeff, but knew that none of us would make it out alive if I didn't. I had to wait until they were both closer. Mutt pushed the gun harder against my neck. "Move it, shamus, get in your fucking office." He pointed to Lupe with his other hand. "You too."

I followed Lupe into my office. Jeff shoved Ileana down on the couch and stood close to her, pointing the gun at me now. My gun. Mutt told Lupe to sit beside Ileana.

"Okay, Spector, listen up. You took a lot of money from Buhzeer's office. We want it and you're going to tell us where it is. If you fuck with us, we'll kill the broad and brat. Real slow."

If I told him they'd kill us all as soon as they had it. Before I had a chance to say anything, Mutt cracked my head with his gun, punched me in the stomach, then kneed me in the mouth when I doubled over. I stood up and wiped the blood off my face. Jeff grinned at me.

"Oh, tough guy, huh? Let's see how you like this." He reached down and pinched Lupe's breast so hard she couldn't stifle a yelp. When Ileana shouted and tried to push his hand away, he backhanded her in the face, driving her back into the couch.

She started to stand up, but Lupe held her back. "No, Ileana, he'll hurt you."

Jeff pulled out a switchblade and thumbed it open. "Fuckin' A! And I'll start by cutting off your tit. Then it's the brat's turn."

When I started to lunge forward, Mutt grabbed my coat collar and shoved the gun in my back. "I won't kill you, shamus, not yet. But there's gonna be a shitload of blood if you don't tell us where that fucking money is. Girl blood."

Telling them it was in the bottom drawer of the desk might give me a chance to take one of them out. If I could take him fast enough, maybe I could draw the other's attention. I tensed, then tried to relax. "Okay, okay." Mutt pulled the gun back and spun me around. "The money's in the—"

I was cut off by what sounded like a couple of big dogs coughing. Both goons staggered, then Jeff dropped the knife and collapsed on the floor. Mutt started to turn toward the open door, but a dog coughed one more time, a gout of blood leaped from his neck, and he joined his buddy on the floor.

The door slammed shut before I could see who was there. As I started toward the couch, a loud voice came through the door. "Take five or ten minutes to calm down, then go home! Don't worry about the mess, we'll clean it up! And no cops! They can't do anything about it!

I sat between Lupe and Ileana and put my arms around them. It was hard to ignore the two bodies, but they both leaned their heads against me, closed their eyes, and started sobbing. I let them cry for a few minutes before saying anything. "Come on, let's get you home."

After a few more minutes, we stood. The outer office was empty as we walked through. I didn't bother to lock the outer door, figuring the cleanup crew needed to get in. We piled in the Merc and I drove to Lupe's apartment. She made us coffee and we sat in the kitchen talking for a while, Ileana on Lupe's lap.

After making sure they were okay, I started to leave, but Lupe held my arm. "Please don't go, Pete. I'm pretty sure we're safe, but...I don't want us to be alone tonight. Please?"

How could I say no? She put sheets, blanket, and a pillow on the couch, then led me into the bathroom. "Let me clean the blood off your face and head." She used a warm washcloth and soap, then rinsed me off and wiped on some witch hazel. I walked back out, took off my jacket, and sat on the couch.

Before I could take off my shoes and lie down, Lupe leaned over and kissed my forehead. "Thanks, boss. You're the best." I stood up, hugged her, kissed her cheek, and wished I could do more. Maybe someday...

I didn't sleep all that well, woke just after dawn. I heated up the leftover coffee in the percolator and drank it while writing a note telling Lupe to take a couple or three days off because nothing was going to be happening. At least that's what I thought.

-§-

IT FELT WRONG that Lupe wasn't behind her desk when I let myself in the office. I remembered the disaster of my last attempt and didn't try to make a pot of coffee. Hanging my hat on the hall tree, I opened the door to my office. It wasn't empty.

A guy who looked like a fleshy cross between Sinatra and Bogart was sitting in my desk chair. He was dressed in a gray, double-breasted sharkskin suit with a white silk hanky tucked just so in the breast pocket. His fedora sitting on the desk was just the right shade of gray, with a glossy black hatband. He waved me in.

"Come right in, Mr. Spector. I'm sure it's a bit startling to discover someone else sitting at your desk. Let me assure you I mean no disrespect, nor do I intend to do you any harm. No, I'm here just so we can have a little chat. My...colleagues—" He gestured to two unsmiling characters in cheap suits still wearing their hats, "are here simply as disinterested observers. You understand. Please, have a seat." He gestured unnecessarily at the guest chair.

Yeah, I understood all right. This guy was connected, didn't go anywhere without his muscle. His voice was a lot softer than I expected from his looks. I wondered what it would sound like shouting through a closed door. Sitting down where Mrs. Bezier sat a few murders ago, I waited to hear what he had to say. It was his party.

"First, please accept my sincere apologies for the outrage my two rogue associates committed on Miss Montoya and her daughter. As you know, they have been dismissed from my employ. With prejudice." He glanced at the two mugs on the couch without turning his head. The smile never reached his eyes. Didn't show any teeth, either.

"They also killed Mr. Bezier, Mrs. Bezier, and another accountant named Kirchner. I regret that I did not discover their activities sooner. I assure you, had I any idea they would assault those lovely ladies, I would have prevented it." He looked abashed, almost embarrassed for a moment, then shook his head and smiled thinly.

"I must confess, Mr. Spector, that I have never met a shamus who was Jewish—"

I couldn't let him get away with that. "I'm not a Jew, at least not a religious one. My mother is a physicist, never set foot in a synagogue, my father is a chemist and a faithful Lutheran. I guess that makes me a Christian Scientist—"

He waved me quiet and rolled his eyes. He wasn't about to let me get away with that. "Pyötr, Pyötr, what am I to do with you? Your mother Muriel is a teller at the Dime Savings Bank on DeKalb. She has belonged to Hadassah for 30 years. Your father Irving, who is as observant as your mother, is maintenance supervisor at Brooklyn Hospital. Also on DeKalb, as it happens.

"Your grandparents on both sides were Russian Jews who got out of Dodge while the Romanovs were still alive, before the Reds ate the Whites' lunch." He pasted on another thin smile. "No, not really, it was Donetsk. That makes you a fellow Ashkenazi."

This guy wasn't just connected, he was piped in to places he had no business even knowing about. I put on my don't-give-a-rat's-ass face, hoping he hadn't heard my sphincter squeak and couldn't see my pulse.

"In the future, Mr. Spector, you are going to have to be very careful, very watchful. As far as some local operators are concerned, you know too much, far too much about their business." I wondered how they knew, if he had a hand in telling them.

"I have put out the word that should any harm come to you, the perpetrators will suffer at least to the same degree, but who knows? Irritable, impatient people don't always act in their own best interest,

n'est-ce pas

?" He looked proud of his

bon mot

.

"It seems, however, that your friend Lt. Wilkes may have tried to mislead you regarding what he so colorfully refers to as 'the East Coast mob.' He said they wanted to move in on the local rackets, but they 'moved in' some 50 years ago. Admittedly, now they are starting to lose interest. Other endeavors in Miami, Havana, and now Las Vegas promise a much greater return on investment." He sounded like an insurance salesman trying to sell whole life.

"Of course we won't give up all our revenue from Los Angeles." Oops. He gave away the fiction of talking about they and them. "In exchange for keeping our hands off their day-to-day operations, we collect a certain amount of...

seigniorage

..." He couldn't resist another self-satisfied smile. "...from each of the local organizations. We maintain a minimal presence to ensure the timely delivery each week." I had a pretty good idea of what he meant by "minimal presence" and "ensure."

He shifted in the chair and changed from benevolent uncle to cautionary father. "One last thing. It has come to my attention that you removed some money from Mr. Bezier's office." He took the bundle of C-notes from his jacket pocket. "Did you count it?" I shook my head.

"I thought not." He unwrapped the bundle and fanned them out. I couldn't hide my shocked reaction. Only the first and last four were Franklins. The bills weren't completely spread, but it looked like there were half a dozen $500s, nine or ten $1000s, five $5000s, and at least a dozen $10,000s. I'd seen a $500 once, but none of the others.

"The total is $167,800. Bezier had solved the problem of where to stash such a large amount of money undetected, but obviously had not yet completed his exit plan. Apparently his wife had learned about his hidden treasure, had designs on it, and enlisted the services of Mr. Kirchner.

"It isn't clear why she shot you, or why my former associates killed her and her accomplice." He shrugged and held his arms out. "But what is life without the occasional mystery?" I couldn't answer that, was still trying to wipe the shock off my face.

"The large bills aren't in common circulation, but some banks keep a few $500 or $1000 on hand. Apparently he found a source for some of them at a bank in Whittier that is no longer in business. A friend at the Federal Reserve in San Francisco helped him obtain the two largest denominations, which normally are used only for inter-bank transfers."

It was my turn to shrug. "Even if I'd found out what they were, I don't think there's much I could have done with those big ones. Besides, it wasn't mine to begin with. Or his."

He actually grinned. "I thought you'd say something like that, Mr. Spector. My organization is entitled to these funds. We may refund some locally but that hasn't been decided yet. However, your initiative and integrity, not to mention the unpleasantries you have experienced, entitle you to some recompense."

He peeled off all eight $100s. After a brief hesitation, he added a $500 to the pile. "Please give some of that to Miss Montoya. She, too, deserves compensation. You will see to that, won't you?" I nodded, and he stood.

He paused as he opened my office door, then spoke without turning around. "You seem like an intelligent man, Mr. Spector, with a kindly spirit. I urge you to take better care of Miss Montoya and her daughter. They're worth it. Be a

mensch

, not a

schlemiel

."

His goons followed him out the door but didn't close it behind them. He said something too quietly for me to hear, then one of them came back and closed the door. Quietly. They closed the outer door quietly, too.

I sat there looking at the bills and tried to figure out what had happened. Thinking about it just made my head hurt worse, so I stuffed them in my pants pocket, locked up, and went back to my so-called apartment. Maybe I could afford someplace not quite as depressing, but for now I just wanted to collapse on my bed.

I woke not long after dawn, but didn't feel like facing the day yet. Everything hurt, Lupe wasn't coming in, there wasn't anything I needed to do. I started to roll over, winced and gave it up, finally faded back to sleep.

It was a little after 10 when I got up. I stumbled down the hall and leaned against the shower wall. When the hot ran out I straightened up and stayed under the cold spray until the shivering hurt too much. Swallowing a handful of aspirin made my stomach churn, so I dressed as quick as I could manage and headed for the diner.

Food wasn't appealing but a bottomless cup of java was. A Lucky sounded even better, but when I thumbed my Zippo all I got was sparks. Cursing, I dug a kitchen match out of a jacket pocket. When I started to thumb it, I remembered the time the head lodged under the nail and burned itself out. Hurt like a sonofabitch. The waitress watched me strike it on the counter, then brought me a book of matches and gave me the stinkeye. I apologized and she refilled my cup. Several times.

The office still wasn't locked. I remembered the last time I tried to make coffee when Lupe wasn't there and wished I'd gotten a cup to go at the diner. As I passed her desk, I saw an envelope with my name on it. A key to the office lay on top of it. I collapsed in her desk chair, picked up the envelope, and shivered like somebody had just walked over my grave. I didn't want to open it, but finally forced myself to.

Dear Peter,

This is very difficult. Working for you has been a very good thing for me and Ileana. But I can not stay because it is too dangerous. Since that bad day I sleep with a butcher knife under my pillow and Ileana comes into my room because she is afraid to sleep alone. We are going a long long ways away. I will find another job there. I hope you do well and will miss you very much.

De mi corazón,

Lupe

Damn damn damn! I understood why she ran. The other day showed it was too easy for someone to use her to get to me, and I couldn't protect her around the clock. But I didn't get a chance to give her the money, which would have made life a lot easier for her and Ileana.

God, I was going to miss her!

Her chair still held the faint scent of her jasmine perfume. I sat and read the letter so many times I could recite it from memory. I knew better than to try to find her. I didn't dare risk bringing more violence into her life.

Finally, I got pencil and paper from a desk drawer and started thinking about a classified for a new secretary. If I knew what was good for me, I'd try for a middle-aged, married woman. But I've never paid much attention to what's good for me and wasn't about to start.

I knew I could never replace Maria Guadalupe Irina Montoya, but the new secretary absolutely had to be able to make a decent pot of coffee. I wadded up the piece of paper and tossed it in the wastebasket.

It was going to be a long, long day.

—30—

This winds up the first tale of private eye Pete Spector. There will be at least one more, but remember: in a proper noir, the protagonist doesn't get the girl. And please accept my apologies for dragging it out so long (not to mention starting a sentence with a conjunction)—Spector's story began on May Day and is just now ending. I'll try to do better, but no promises. Even if you don't think the story's worth a vote, please leave a comment. It's hell when you toss a rock in the pond and it just sinks with no splash, no ripples.

Y'all have yourselves a super sparkly day, hear?