The Librarian Her Daughter and the Man Who Lost His Head Read online

  It was relief. Relief. I was relieved to have my place back. I had never lived with another person, one on one, since I was a kid. A small kid. My single life had become a comfortable old shirt I put on each day. And now I had it back. I stood up and shook myself like a dog coming out of the water. I took a shower and fixed a thermos. I grabbed some tackle, and as the first light brushed the sky, I went fishing. I walked over to the adjacent pier where I kept the Grumman Sport Deck, took the green canvas cover off her, and went fishing.

  It was the next afternoon before I made a trek into the city to restock the boat with food and drink. I also took the time to drive through my bank’s ATM. I needed to, as the banker would say, enhance my cash position. I pulled up, punched in my PIN, which was my birthday, and the amount I wanted. I know it is a security sin to use your birthday as your PIN, but I didn’t use the machine enough to remember anything more complicated. The machine spit money back at me and a little piece of paper that had my balance on it. The balance was a lot larger than normal. Thank you, Colonel.

  I pulled around to the parking lot and went inside. I withdrew the majority of the money. The clerk was young, round, and pretty. She let me into the safe deposit boxes. I put half the cash in the box to rest with the other cash, the semi-automatic pistol, the box of ammo, and the fake passports and I.Ds. The remainder would go back to the boat. To a special hidey hole. It was indistinguishable from the rest of the hull. I had Blackhawk search for it while I waited at the marina bar with a beer. An hour later he joined me, admitting defeat. If Blackhawk couldn’t find it, it couldn’t be found. I kept my cut and run money there.

  On the way back to the boat, I stopped at a hardware store and picked up some brass cleats. I was slowly but surely replacing every piece of hardware on the old lady. Even older women like a new hairdo. Forty minutes later I pulled into my assigned parking spot midway down the hill, above the marina. I caught a ride with the new kid, Gary, in the golf cart the marina supplied for visitors. The hill was steep, and the marina was a good hundred yards below. I could see someone sitting on my bow. I got closer, and could see it was Eddie.

  3

  Eddie was one of the few, like me, that lived at the marina. He was old, grizzled and tougher than a Norwegian boot. From his looks, he could be somewhere between seventy and two hundred. He lived on an old barge-style river runner one dock over from me, and did odd jobs around the marina. He could do about anything. A handy guy with tools. He never talked about himself, but over time I learned he was a retired Chicago cop, and a prolific slayer of crappie and stripers. Those were his preferences, and he was good at it. Occasionally I would go out with him. We always brought something back.

  He had set off my warning system, which activates a blinking LED light if someone comes aboard. The light is positioned so you have to lean low and look to see it. I stepped aboard and disengaged it. He was sitting on one of the locker boxes I keep rope and life jackets in. He was holding an opened Pabst Blue Ribbon, and had the remainder of the six-pack next to him. He pulled one out of the plastic ring that holds them, and stood and handed me a beer. I set the bag of hardware aside, and took the beer. I popped the tab and saluted him with it. I took a swig.

  “Come on inside, out of the sun,” I said.

  I unlocked the sliding door, and pulled it back. He grabbed the rest of the beer, and followed me inside. I waved at the couch, and he sat down.

  “Been gone,” he said.

  “Yep,” I said, pulling the blackout curtains back.

  “Girl left a few days back,” he said.

  “Yep,” I said. I slid a haunch up on one of my bar stools that line the counter between the galley and the lounge. Eddie wasn’t one to come visit and make small talk. I knew he would get to the point.

  “Want a shot of something to go with that?” I asked.

  “No, thanks,” he said.

  He looked around as if he were seeing my place for the first time. He wasn’t. I sipped the beer and waited. If he wanted, Eddie could outwait a rock. After a time, he looked at me.

  “Got a nephew,” he said.

  “I didn’t know that,” I said.

  “Sister’s kid. Sister Emily was still in diapers when I was growed and gone. She don’t like me much. She got religion early. Found Jesus. Lips that touch alcohol won’t touch hers. That kind, hard core. Thinks I’m a drunk.”

  “Jesus drank wine,” I said, unnecessarily.

  He looked at me. “I drink, but I ain’t no drunk.”

  “I know.”

  “She had a boy, and when he come of age he looked me up. Good kid. He’s a policeman up in Cottonwood.”

  “That’s not far. Do you get to see him much?”

  “Couple, three times a year. Comes down to fish once in a while. Usually around Thanksgiving. He’d bring a bottle of Wild Turkey by and we’d have a bump. He would keep me up on the news of his mom and the others.”

  “Thanksgiving isn’t far away,” I said.

  “Don’t think he’ll make it this year.”

  “Oh?”

  “Why I came over. He’s in jail.”

  “He’s in his own jail?”

  He took a long drink of beer and looked out the port window.

  “They say he killed a guy.” He looked back to me. “You ever been to Cottonwood?”

  “Been through it,” I said. “On the back way to Sedona.”

  He nodded. “High desert,” he said. “Nice little place. Verde River goes through it but it don’t supply enough water so all around the town they got well sites. City owns most of them, lease some of them. Couple are shut down, not being used. Fella’s dog found a body in one of those. High weeds. Been there awhile. Missing his head.”

  “Missing his head?” I said.

  “Never found the head. Identified the body with fingerprints and tattoos. Tattoos are like bar codes now days.”

  “They say your nephew did it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “It was a short phone call. I asked why he didn’t call a lawyer. Said he didn’t have one yet. Said he just couldn’t call his ma so he called me.”

  He looked back out the window, and I could see the pain in his eyes. He was a tough, hard man, and I knew he was here for a favor. Probably the hardest thing a man like him could do. Ask for a favor.

  “If he can’t afford an attorney, they have to provide him one.”

  He nodded. “I know,” he said softly. “He says he didn’t do it. He’s like me, he said he didn’t do it, he didn’t do it.”

  Now he shifted around, and looked straight on at me.

  “Everybody knows how you and your friend, Blackhawk, saved that girl from them drug gangs. I figure a guy like you is about what I’ll need to figure out what happened to that fella, and to get my nephew out of jail. I made a couple calls, and found out that private investigators get about $300 a day. I figure it might take thirty days for us to figure out what happened so I’ll pay you $9000 to help me figure this out.”

  I shook my head.

  “I know that you know,” he continued, “I ain’t got that kinda money. But I’ll sign a note, and I’ll pay it off if it takes five years.”

  I looked at him. It took an awful lot for him to be sitting there asking this of me, and I knew he meant it. He would pay his debt if it took forever. I also knew that he would not agree to anything that even smelled like charity.

  “Private investigators have state licenses, are regulated and pay taxes,” I said. “Let’s do this. I’ll go up with you, and if I think I can help I’ll take a hundred dollars a day.”

  “Done,” he said. “I’m supposed to work the store tomorrow, so one of them kids can have the day off.” He worked when needed at the marina store that was attached to the bar. The store sold a lot of things for the tourists and weekend boaters, but it had essentials for those of us that lived here full time. Milk, eggs, bacon and such. Beer, some hard stuff.

  “Ho
w about the day after tomorrow?”

  “Works for me,” I said. “Tell me about your nephew.”

  “Billy’s always been a good kid. Played football in high school back in Iowa. Got some size on him. Went into the Marines. Made Military Police and become a sergeant. Got out a while back, and got the hots for a gal and followed her to Arizona. He got on the force last year, the girl moved on, and he stayed.”

  “You don’t know why they think it was him?”

  He shook his head.

  “Leave early, day after tomorrow?” I said.

  He stuck out his leathered old hand and I shook it.

  “O dawn thirty,” he said.

  4

  Blackhawk owned a nightclub in south Phoenix he called El Patron. It was a large, stand-alone building surrounded by an asphalt parking lot. It was really three separate bars under one roof. One catered to the country music people, one to the rock people, and the largest, by twice, was where Blackhawk’s lady, Elena, and her large salsa band held forth three nights a week. The other two bars did okay, but Elena brought the customers in by droves. Blackhawk lived in an exquisite apartment he had built into the top level. How he paid for it, I never asked. Once he was out of the unit, he was obviously better at accumulating cash than I was.

  I had reconnected with Blackhawk when I had contacted the Colonel for some help. It was the first I learned that Blackhawk was also in Phoenix. I had pulled a little teenaged girl out of the lake, and she had disappeared into a mess involving street gangs and drug cartels. Blackhawk came to help me out.

  Now when it was necessary for Blackhawk to be running around holding my hand, he left El Patron to Elena and his segundo to run. His segundo was Nacho, real name Ignacio Pumbo.

  I parked where I normally did. It was early yet and Elena wouldn’t take the stage for a while, so the place was empty. Nacho sat in his usual place, at the corner of the bar, reading the paper. Jimmy was behind the bar at the other end, stocking the lockers. Nacho looked over the top of the newspaper at me. He started laughing.

  “Hey, Superboy, I hear you lost another foot!”

  Nacho was tall and broad with raven black hair down his back. His massive arms were covered in old gang ink. The tattoos no longer applied. Nacho was what was called a reformed criminal. Did the deed, did the time and didn’t want to go back. There was never any trouble at El Patron, or if there was, it didn’t last long.

  “Bad foot karma,” I said. “He upstairs?”

  “With Elena. Be sure you knock.”

  Against the back wall of the large, open saloon was a flight of stairs. They led up to an inside landing that lined three of the four walls. At the top of the stairs, to the right, was a closed door. I went up the stairs and through the door. On the other side was a wide hallway. In the hallway, spaced thirty feet apart, were two doors. I knew that one opened into a spacious waiting room which led to Blackhawk’s even more spacious office. The other door was living quarters. I knocked on that door. I waited, then knocked again.

  Blackhawk opened the door.

  “Why don’t you just barge in? Everyone else does.”

  “I was warned.”

  I followed him inside. Except for the lack of windows this was a luxury apartment. Blackhawk lived well. The furniture was high grade leather, the paintings on the walls were quality originals, and the recessed lighting could be cued to any mood he liked.

  He walked over to the bar and set up two glasses. He filled them with ice, then poured a good dollop of Plymouth Gin in each one. He added a dash of bitters and handed me mine.

  I stirred it with my finger, then moved to his ornate couch and sat down. I took a small bite of the drink. It was delicious.

  Elena came through the doorway, fussing with her hair. “I’m going to fire that bass player.” She stopped when she saw me. Her eyes turned to fire, and I almost winced. She came over to stand in front of me.

  “What did you do?” she demanded.

  I started to answer. She waved a hand at me.

  “Don’t! Don’t even talk. You make me very angry! That poor girl, she just gets well.”

  I looked at Blackhawk, and he was smiling, but it was behind Elena and I knew I would get no help from him. Have someone shoot at me and he’s my guy, but get Elena pissed and he runs like a scalded dog.

  “She left,” I managed to get out.

  “Of course she left! You act like that, anyone would leave.”

  “Act like what?”

  “Act like whatever you acted like. You did something and you know it.”

  Now Blackhawk was grinning.

  “I liked her,” Elena continued.

  “So did I. I still like her,” I said.

  “You like her? You like her? She took a bullet for you. How many girls will do that? No one! I sure as hell wouldn’t. I’d have let that little weasel shoot you right in the balls. What, you got another girl now?

  I shook my head, bewildered. “No, no other girl.”

  “No other girl,” she repeated. She was shaking her head in disgust. “How many girls, how many girlfriends have you ever had?”

  I started to answer, but she kept going.

  “How many in the last two years? Answer that.”

  I shrugged. “One,” I said meekly.

  “Yeah, one. And now none.” She turned to leave the room. “You are impossible.”

  As she turned, Blackhawk abruptly stopped grinning. She started out, then swung back, catching Blackhawk as he grinned again.

  “You think it’s funny? You think, you break a woman’s heart it’s funny?”

  Blackhawk’s eyebrows went up, “How did I get into this?”

  “You are like him.” Her head tilted toward me. “You men. You are all alike!”

  She had him there. He didn’t know what to say.

  “You think you can treat women any way you want? You think you can treat us like we’re your pets? Well, I’m not your pussycat!”

  She stormed out of the room.

  Both of us were a little stunned.

  “What the hell was that?” I said.

  He was still looking at the doorway. “She liked Boyce, I guess.”

  “I like Boyce. Boyce isn’t gone. We’re just not together.”

  “That’s probably worse yet,” Blackhawk said. He sat down and took a drink. “It’s not just the Latin side of her,” he continued. “It’s the Latin female side. An unattached male inherently has something wrong with him, otherwise, why is he unattached?”

  “Can I change the subject?”

  “Please do.”

  “You remember Eddie? The ex-cop that lives out at the Marina. The one I go fishing with sometimes?”

  Blackhawk nodded.

  “He has a nephew that lives in Cottonwood. He’s a policeman there. Except now, they’ve got him in jail for murder.”

  “Got a cop in jail?”

  “Eddie says the nephew says he didn’t do it. Eddie believes him. Says he’s a straight shooter.”

  “Who got killed?”

  “Don’t know yet. Eddie says the phone call was brief. He wants me to go up with him to see if we can figure things out. Says the body was found without a head.”

  “Without a head?” he repeated. “Ever find it?”

  “Don’t know yet.”

  He carefully moved a porcelain coaster to the coffee table and set his glass on it. “Don’t hear about that often. I know the cartels will do it to scare the shit out of people. And the terrorists do it for the same reasons. Unless you are in Mexico or the Middle East, ain’t too many killings where they take the head. Probably a whack job. You really don’t know anything yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why you?”

  “Eddie knows about us helping that Revera girl. Says he thinks he needs someone like me. Says he wants to pay me.”

  “Pay you?”

  “Yeah. He’s a proud guy. He offered $9000.”

  “He’s got $9000?”
/>   “Nope. I told him a hundred a day because I know if I offered free he wouldn’t do it.”

  “You going to take the $100?”

  “Nope.”

  “How does that work?”

  “Not even sure I can do anything. If I can, I work the money thing out later. Charity don’t fly with old Eddie.”

  “Want me to come along?”

  I shook my head, “I’m in enough trouble with Elena. And I don’t know anything yet.”

  I finished my drink, and stood up and handed him a key.

  “If for some reason, I’m up there a while, here’s the key to my mailbox. It’s always 99 percent junk but the box is small and it irritates the gal that delivers the mail if my mailbox gets too stuffed.”

  I went to the door, and opened it.

  “Good luck,” I said.

  “With what?”

  “Elena,” I said.

  “Hell, she’ll come breezing back in here, give me a big kiss and won’t even remember she’s mad at me. It’s her Latin temperament.”

  I turned to leave.

  “Hey,” he said. I turned back.

  “If Boyce was still there, she could get the mail,” Blackhawk said.

  “Funny as a crutch,” I said and left.

  5

  It was still dark. O dawn thirty. Early in the morning. I battened down the Lily and walked down the pier toward the marina. Eddie was already waiting. Without a word he followed me up to the parking area. Normally they have a golf cart shuttle to take people up and down the hill, but the place was deserted this early.

  I carried a small canvas bag with a change of clothes. Tee shirts, underwear and a change of socks and jeans. I wore a lined, satin Diamondbacks jacket and an Arizona Cardinal cap. The bag also held a .45 caliber Kahr, a shoulder holster that fit it, and a 357 Taurus model 66. And a box of ammunition for both. Eddie carried a crumpled paper bag under his arm. I popped the trunk and put my bag in. He nonchalantly tossed his bag in. It landed softly on mine. I looked at it, then back to him.

  “Underwear and socks,” he said. “Figured you’d bring the hardware.”

  The early morning air was cool. It was too long a drive to put the top down. In the movies it looks cool to have the hero breezing along with the top down, but at 75 miles per hour the wind beat the crap out of you. Traffic was light, and we headed across Carefree Highway to Interstate 17. As we turned north, following the signs to Flagstaff, the first of the early morning commuters were filling the southbound lanes.