Dead Men Don't Remember, page 6
“As usual, you have messages,” she said walking up and pulling out her little green order pad. “Joe called and his message was ‘he has a positive’ – whatever that means – and will be returning back to Memphis tomorrow. He left a number where you could reach him.” Nickie handed me one of those little green sheets with a Colorado phone number written on it.
“You said ‘messages’,” I nodded.
“Yes, and if you’ll give me time I’ll find the other one,” she huffed. “You know Carson, when you’re in town all I do is take messages. Why don’t you open an office here and hire a secretary with a short skirt? Maybe she would be more efficient!”
“Nickie, nobody could take your place – believe me!” I was trying to make up with her.
“Charlie Silverstone called, and asked for you to call him at his store,” she said handing me another green slip with a local number written on it.
“Who?” I shook my head.
“Are you having a senior moment much too early in life?” Nickie snapped. “Charlie Silverstone owns several department stores around Gibson County, including ‘Shainberg’s’ on Main Street. I think he’s a buddy of those three guys who recently died – do you know who I’m talking about?”
“Oh, yeah,” I nodded. “I don’t really know him, but I do know about him – sorta’. Hold my drink order; I’ll be outside on the phone.”
I needed to make a call and would, of course, have to use the phone located outside. Whatever idiot installed the inside payphone next to the jukebox had to have been drunk or crazy – probably both.
Nobody used that phone because nobody could HEAR while using that phone. The jukebox only stopped playing when Nickie or Ronnie turned it off, which was never. It probably has a thousand country songs already lined up for play. People just keep putting money in it and wondering why their song isn’t playing next. Not realizing that it would take a week to cycle through all the requests and reach their selection. No matter, they still keep dropping quarters and punching buttons.
From the outside payphone I called the Colorado number Joe had left, reversing the long distance charges to my Memphis office number.
Joe had successfully located the person he believed to be Margaret Novack, and according to him, had some very good photos to prove his belief. He would be flying back into Memphis tomorrow, and I told him we would meet in the office late tomorrow.
My next call was to Charlie Silverstone; he answered on the first ring.
“Hello, ‘Shainberg’s’. This is Charlie, how may I help you?” he said quickly.
“Charlie, this is Carson Reno. You left a message for me and I’m returning your call.”
“Carson, thank you for returning my call. Are you busy? I mean, would it be possible to have a meeting with you?” he asked in a high tone, weak voice.
“Sure, I’m at Chief’s. Do you know where that is?” Which was a stupid question, but I asked it anyway.
“Oh no, no, no, that would never work. Can you possibly come to my office? I will be here for next several hours.”
I thought for a moment before answering. “Okay, Charlie, I’ll leave now and see you in about 10 minutes,” I said hanging up and wondering what Charlie Silverstone could possibly need to talk to me about. Guess I would just need to go find out.
~
Charlie Silverstone was a very successful retail merchant in Humboldt and the surrounding communities. His anchor property was a department store called ‘Shainberg’s’. I know he owned other businesses, but I wasn’t familiar with them.
I also was not aware of how wealthy Charlie Silverstone was, or was not. But, I did hear people say he still had the first dime he ever made – they could be right.
I entered the store using the Main Street entrance, and a cute sales clerk directed me to the back to the building, where Charlie Silverstone’s office was located.
Charlie met me in the center of the store and nervously shook my hand without speaking. He turned and then spoke while walking.
“Please come back to my office,” he said in his high-pitched squeaky voice while walking toward the rear of the store. “We can talk privately there.”
Charlie Silverstone was a small man, and his Jewish heritage was very easy to recognize. He had lost most of his hair, and what remained was stupidly combed across his balding head in a ridiculous effort to disguise his baldness. Charlie was dressed in a simple white shirt, blue trousers and had a paper tape measure handing around his neck. He was also wearing several pieces of gold jewelry, including a ring, necklace, watch and bracelet, which I recognized to be authentic and expensive. Charlie Silverstone was certainly spending his money on something!
His office was not much more than a storage room, with numerous boxes and product scattered across the floor and occupying all available table space. I found a small hardback metal chair and sat down, watching him settle into an old and well-worn desk chair.
“Thank you for coming,” he started. “I heard you were in town and thought you might be able to help me.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
“I need to hire you, I need protection,” he said fumbling with some papers on his desk.
“Charlie, I don’t do protection. I’m a Private Detective. If you need protection, you should contact the police, they are trained and equipped to handle that sort of thing.”
“Okay, okay,” he stuttered. “I need to hire you as a Private Detective. I’m in trouble and I need help!” Charlie Silverstone was nervous and stumbling over his words.
“Tell me your problem, and I’ll tell you what I can do,” I said frankly and calmly.
“I received a visit today from two very bad characters, and they scared me so much that I can’t even work!” He was staring at me and his eyes were as big as golf balls.
“Who came to see you and what did they want?”
“A guy named Swede ‘something or other’ and another named Tommy ‘something or other’ – that guy had a mouth full of toothpicks. I’m sorry, but I’m so nervous that I can’t even remember what they said. I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“What did they want?” He was having trouble getting to the point.
“What did they want? What did they want?” he repeated. “They wanted my shares in ‘Times 2, Inc.’ and made me sign some paper transferring the stock!”
“Huh?” I frowned.
“They brought a paper, and demanded I sign it. The paper transferred my shares to some guy named Reardon, and then they gave me an envelope containing five thousand dollars – in cash!” he said reaching into his desk drawer and bringing out an envelope.
He laid the envelope on the corner of his desk and spread part of the money out where I could see it.
I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my face with both hands. This was getting more unbelievable by the hour.
“Why did you sign the document? Did they leave you a copy?” I asked, not really understanding what this was all about.
“Why did I sign it? Hell, Carson, three of my partners are dead and I don’t know if these guys might be responsible or not. They were serious and weren’t leaving here until I signed!”
“Did they leave you a copy?” I asked again.
“Yes, yes,” he said reaching into the same drawer and handing me a single page document.
I quickly read it. It was simple transfer of all stock and rights in ‘Times 2, Inc.’ from Charlie Silverstone to a transfer agent, Phillip Reardon. It was signed by Phillip Reardon and had already been notarized before Charlie ever saw or signed the document.
“Have any of the other stock holders been contacted?” I asked handing him back the document.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” he repeated. “Look Carson, since these accidents we haven’t talked much. I mean, we’re all just speechless about what’s happened and we realize what this insurance money means. It...It means, regardless of what happens with the land, the corporation has tripled in value. But, I want out; I don’t want anything else to do with it. I don’t need the money and they can have it!”
“Charlie,” I said leaning back in my uncomfortable chair. “The two guys that visited you today were Swede Anderson and Tommy ‘toothpicks’ Thompson. They work for a man named Steve Carrollton, head of the Memphis Mafia.”
“Oh shit,” he sighed.
“The, Phillip Reardon you signed your shares over to actually works for ‘Times 2, Inc.’. Didn’t you know that?’
“No, no,” he stuttered. “Bill Hunter and Peter Blade handled all that. I just signed documents when they asked, and wrote checks when necessary.”
It was clear that Charlie Silverstone was a shaken man, and I’m not sure anything I could say to him would matter.
“Okay, Charlie, I’ll take you as a client. I’m not sure what I can do, but I certainly intend to get to the bottom of this. I’m officially working for the insurance company that has underwritten those life insurance polices, so I’ll be involved anyway. Will that be okay?”
“Yes, yes, thank you,” he said extending his hand. “Just do what you can to see that I don’t get hurt and send me a bill. I don’t care what you charge, I’ll pay anything!”
Now THAT was an interesting statement from a client! I’m not sure I’d ever heard that one before. However, it is important to remember – dead clients can’t pay their bills.
“Charlie, I’ll be back in touch,” I said getting up to leave and handing him a business card. “I’m also going to discuss this with Sheriff Leroy Epsee, I’m pretty sure he’ll want to talk with you, too.”
“Fine, fine,” he repeated. “Just let me know what I need to do.”
“For now, do nothing. You signed their paper, so they’ll probably leave you alone. But if they show up again, call Leroy first and then me second. Okay?”
“Okay,” Charlie said walking me out of his office and watching as I headed back toward the front of the store.
~
I made the slow drive back to Chief’s trying to put all these pieces together. If my hunch was correct, that crook Phillip Reardon had sold out to the Memphis Mafia, and they were planning on reaping the benefits from the new found fortunes of ‘Times 2, Inc.’. They might continue to operate it for its original purpose, land acquisition, but I doubted it. They would liquidate assets and walk away with the money, leaving the other suckers to pick up the scraps. These guys weren’t ‘businessmen’ and only had their eyes on the easy money. And in this case, there was a lot of it!
~
I parked in front of my cabin and headed for the payphone, I needed to update Leroy on my conversation with Charlie Silverstone. However, before I reached the phone, I saw that 55 Oldsmobile turn into the parking area and join the line of cars that were continually circling Chief’s. Tommy Trubush was leaning on a bench at the carhop window, and I walked up to where he was standing.
“Tommy,” I said hurriedly, “that bastard in the red and white 55 Oldsmobile has been following me for a couple of days. Stop his car, and help me get to know him better!”
Tommy just nodded and headed off into the line of traffic. When he reached the Oldsmobile, he held up his hand for it to stop and pointed at an open parking place. The driver wasn’t having any of this, and started honking his horn for Tommy to move. While his attention was on Tommy, I walked up and opened the driver’s side door.
“Hi, asshole,” I smiled. “You’ve been following me for the past several days, so park your car and we’ll chat over a cold beer.”
“Go to Hell,” he yelled, trying to jerk the open door away from my grip.
“Let me give you some advice,” I said when I leaned in the open door. “You see that guy standing in front of your car? You’ve got two options. You can park your car and come inside with me to have a cold beer; or I’ll have him drag you out of the car, park it for you and then drag you inside. Your choice.”
Without speaking he began to weigh his options, as he looked at Tommy and then back at me. We could have gotten an infection from the dirty look he was giving us!
“Shut the door, I’ll park it,” he finally said angrily.
I shut the door and he slowly pulled into the parking space Tommy had pointed out to him. Standing a few feet back, I watched my new friend get out of the car and stare at me. He was a big guy, six-foot and about 220 pounds, I guessed. Dressed in a cheap suit, cheap shirt, cheap hat and cheap shoes – he had private detective written all over him!
I turned and entered the front door of Chief’s without speaking. There was a corner booth available, and I was already seated when my new friend walked over and sat down. Before I could speak, Flo appeared at our table.
“Hi, ‘Hon’, she giggled. “You got you a new friend and he’s a big fellow! Does he work for you, too?”
“Flo, bring us a couple of cold beers,” I said ignoring her comments.
“Sure, ‘Hon’,” she said bouncing off toward the bar.
“Okay, asshole,” I was looking straight at him. “Why are you following me?”
“Go to hell,” he said again.
“Listen, you’ve been following me ever since I left Phillip Reardon’s office, and I figure you must be some ‘gopher’ that works for that crook. Have I got that right?”
He just stared at me without expression and didn’t speak. Flo delivered our beer and I took a big sip before looking back at him and speaking again.
“Let me tell you what I figure, and then I’ll mix in some things I know. Phillip Reardon sent you to tail me and see what I was up to. You followed me from Memphis to Humboldt, and have been keeping up with my activities. But, you’ve recently run into a problem, and it ain’t me. You’ve been trying to call Reardon, or that sexy secretary, Kitty Collins, to report - but nobody is answering the phone. Right?”
That got his attention and some of the mad left his face, as he continued to stare at me. I was just guessing about Reardon, but he didn’t know that.
“Your friend, Phillip Reardon, has sold out to Steve Carrollton and the Memphis Mafia. He’s turned over all the records and documents regarding that corporation he’s been looking after, and then he skipped. Right now he’s probably sitting on a warm beach rubbing sunscreen across Kitty’s pretty little back, while you’re here walking around in the snow, wasting dimes trying to get somebody to answer the phone.”
He finally decided to pick up his beer and have a sip.
“How do you know all this?” he asked in a deep voice.
“I’m a detective. Surely you knew that,” I smiled.
“How do you know he sold out? How do you know he’s skipped town?”
“You do the math; I know you must be smarter than you look. Where is everybody? When’s the last time you talked to anybody at Reardon’s office?”
“I mean...I mean how do you know he sold out?” he stuttered.
“How I know isn’t important, but what YOU know IS important,” I nodded.
“Huh?” he grunted.
“Let’s start from the beginning. What’s your name?” I asked.
“Sam, Sam Hastings,” he answered quietly.
“How long have you worked for Phillip Reardon?”
“Two years, off and on. I do some other things, but recently I’ve been working for him pretty steady.”
“What do you know about this corporation, ‘Times 2, Inc.’,” I asked while waving at Flo to bring us another beer.
“Reardon sent me up here on a few occasions to do some muscle work, but it was just normal routine stuff until these guys started dying and all that insurance money got involved. When that happened, he told me to stay away – that was until he told me to follow you and report your activities.”
“Did you ever meet any of the guys that own this corporation?”
“Naw, never needed to, Reardon handled that. I just came up here and roughed up a few landowners that didn’t want to sell – convincing them that it was in their best interest to do so.”
“I bet,” I said to myself as Flo delivered our beers and thankfully didn’t speak.
“It’s a job, Reno, just like yours,” he sneered.
“Tell you what, Sam Hastings,” I said ignoring his stupid comment. “Would you like to work for me for the next few days?”
“Doing what?” he growled.
“What ever I tell you to do, and no questions asked,” I said staring at him.
“What about Reardon? I mean...I...I’m working for him, I think,” he stuttered.
“Okay, go over to the phone, and if you can find your current employer, then continue to follow me around town. Or, you can get in that Oldsmobile and head back to Memphis; or, you can make a few dollars over the next few days - your choice.”
He stared at me and sipped on his fresh beer. I could see the questions and distrust, but I knew he had more questions for himself than he did for me.
“Okay,” he finally said. “What do you want me to do?”
“Whatever I say and no questions asked. I’ll pay your regular rate as long as you cooperate. Can you do that?”
“Okay,” he said again. “What do you want me to do now?”
“Go check in at the Royal Court Motel, it’s just up the street. I want you to stay there until you hear from me. Drink, watch TV, find a whore, do whatever you want; but be available when I contact you.”
“Okay, but what are you going to want me to do?” he asked for the third time.
“I want you to sit on your ass and wait on me to call, that’s it,” I growled. “And one other thing, there are a couple of bad guys running around town, and they’ve probably got your name on a slip of paper in their pocket. Swede Anderson and Tommy Thompson are not guys you want to mess with, so be alert. Understand?”
“Okay,” he huffed as he got up and walked toward the door shaking his head.
I wasn’t completely confident in Sam Hastings, but I did think he would probably do what I asked, and he certainly might come in handy as this thing started to unravel.
