Private Eye Four-Pack, page 80
Then he would leave town.
He went back to the living room. When he reached in and cleaned out Jacky’s wallet he noticed a foul odor. Jacky must have soiled himself as he died. He wondered how many guys Cooper had hired. Tiny Fred, maybe. He’d find out tomorrow. When he got Jacky’s money, he left without saying a word. If Leo Soyko knew one thing for absolute certain, it was that there was no point in talking to a dead man.
He and Jacky lived in a wood-stained condo project, strictly low-end. It was the kind of prefab place where, when the real estate market goes sour like it did in the early eighties, foreclosure notices sprout on the windows like Christmas wreaths. Their unit opened directly into an outside stairwell that emptied into the parking lot.
Soyko had just gotten down one flight of stairs when the woman from the unit below came staggering out. She was pushing fifty, which seemed ancient to him, and usually she was either asleep or in the process of drinking herself to sleep. She smelled like the Dumpsters out back and slurred her words into barely recognizable, choppy strings of syllables. And, clearly, she was hot for the two men who lived above her. Just my luck, Leo thought.
“How we tonight?” she asked. “Taking a little trip, are we?”
“We ain’t doing nothing, you and me.” He set his bags down and looked at her.
She made a bitter face and drew her head back. “Why you gotta talk to me like that? All the time. And where’s your roomie?”
“He’s asleep.”
“Your other friend leave? Where is he?”
Soyko perked up. “What friend is that?”
“The big guy in the Buick.”
“Who you talking about? I was gone for a while.”
The drunk, he never did know her name, could see that she had his interest, so she played it to the hilt. “Maybe you could come in and we can talk about it.”
He didn’t have the time or the patience for that. Even if he had, the idea made him moderately sick. Instead, he reached out with a gnarled right hand and grabbed her by the throat. Then he squeezed hard. Her eyes widened in pain and terror and she let out a thunderous, involuntary belch.
“Maybe not,” he said. “Maybe I don’t have time for your crap. Now, what big guy you talking about?”
“Yuh, yech,” escaped from her mouth.
He loosened his grip slightly. He noticed a series of dried brown stains on the front of her flowered bathrobe, and for a second he felt like gagging. “What did this big guy look like?” He loosened his grip even further.
“Good-looking. Late thirties maybe.” Her voice was tiny. “Brown hair combed back some. Shoulders a mile wide.”
He let the woman go. Then he thought of that muscle-head boyfriend of Moffatt’s. Streeter was the name Cooper mentioned. The bounty hunter who was with her that day at Cooper’s. Against Soyko’s advice, Jacky had made a bunch of hang-up calls to him last week. The guy was supposed to be tight with McLean, Cooper said. Had to be this Streeter that did Jacky, Soyko concluded.
“What kind of shit is this?” The drunk was rubbing her throat, which was turning red and felt like she’d swallowed a frozen tennis ball. “You’re a regular asshole, you know that?”
“Relax. You’ll live.” Then, as an afterthought, “If you call what you do living.”
He picked up his suitcases and headed toward the car. No need to squeeze Cooper about who did Jacky. It was that Streeter. To hell with Cooper. Soyko decided to follow Streeter for a while. Maybe he’d get lucky and the big guy would lead him to Moffatt, so he could take care of both of them. A two-for-one payback. Jacky deserved that much.
By the time he drove out of the lot, he was in a much better mood.
The drunk just stood out in front of her door for a long time after Soyko left. Her breathing was starting to get normal again. “Bastard,” she mumbled to no one. She was glad she hadn’t told Soyko about the other guy that went up there, before the big guy. That first visitor was not so nice-looking. He looked sick and ugly. And he had the look of a bully, just like Soyko. He had knocked on her door by mistake, looking for the men upstairs. The guy had to be a cop. Even a drunk could see that. She stood outside her door seething. Then she went inside and made a phone call, to 911.
TWENTY-ONE
Streeter was never much for breakfast. Particularly the cooked, restaurant kind. So he just ordered a large milk and looked out onto the half-full parking lot of Rudy’s Ranch Buffet, the diner where he was to meet Ronnie in about ten minutes. The name notwithstanding, Rudy’s was about as country as a subway. It was generic corporate schlock, with the grimly sterile atmosphere of a school cafeteria and Dwight Yokum softly piped in. Streeter figured they named it Ranch Buffet to sucker people into thinking they’d get a huge farm meal and then maybe not notice the glorified airplane food they were actually served.
Rudy’s was located in the hideous maze of culs-de-sac, shopettes, and rambling streets with names like Briarwood Lane in Littleton, a far-south Denver suburb. With Ronnie staying at a trucker’s motel out in rural Douglas County, about five miles farther south, she suggested Rudy’s to Streeter because it was roughly halfway between her and the church. Also because Soyko would never think of looking for her there.
“Here’s your milk,” the waitress said, stating the obvious as she stood over his booth.
“Do you have a nonsmoking section somewhere?” Streeter had just noticed the swirl of cigarette smoke around him.
“Sure.” The waitress clearly was bored. “Over there. Just sit anywhere you want.” She threw her head listlessly toward a far wall and walked away.
Streeter worked his way into a booth on the back wall. He could no longer see the parking lot but now had a clear view of the entire restaurant and would be better able to see Ronnie come through the door. He still had a few minutes before she was set to arrive, so he sipped his milk and patiently looked around the room.
As Ronnie drove north toward Rudy’s, she thought how all her plans of settling down with Cooper in Denver and leading a “normal” life with the attorney were dead. When she escaped Soyko on Monday, she’d headed south and checked into the motel. She finally called Cooper about midnight and told him what happened. The little worm uttered a few cursory words of concern and then went into a selfish tirade about her not caring about him.
“Did it ever occur to you, Rhonda, that I should have been apprised of this situation?” he’d sputtered indignantly into the phone. She could almost picture the wad of spit forming at each side of his mouth as he worked up his usual head of self-absorbed fear. “All this time with those guys running around out there. It’s just fortunate I’m still in one piece. No thanks to you. What if they had come after me?”
“You lousy chicken shit,” she’d screamed back. “I almost get killed and all you think about is what might have happened to you. How typical.”
She wouldn’t tell him where she was. Instead, they decided to meet in a couple of days at a motel just outside of Colorado Springs and leave for Mexico together. They’d get their hands on as much cash as they could before then. Most of that would come from Cooper selling his ’Vette and closing his bank accounts, with another portion from Ronnie taking out “ready cash” from their joint safe-deposit box.
But the more she thought about it the less thrilled she was. His reaction to her attack and his general inability to protect her made Ronnie reluctant to stay with the man. He wouldn’t have that much money, and his earning power as an attorney probably was shot. And let’s face it, she reasoned, his practical judgment grossly sucks. Look at how he misread that situation with Romp and Soyko. So she picked up just over twenty thousand dollars from their box. Now she had the Tercel, a fair amount of cash, plastic credit, and most of her clothes, which she’d retrieved from her apartment. The police would be after her as a witness against Cooper, and she could be facing charges. Leaving town definitely was the best move. By herself. Before then she wanted to straighten out a few things, and Streeter might help. He had a confidence that drew her to him. Not really showy, but a nice hint of cockiness. And he seemed trustworthy.
The bounty hunter was about half done with his milk when Ronnie came through Rudy’s front door.
“I’m glad you made it,” Ronnie said as she approached his booth.
“I said I’d be here.” He liked the pale-pink summer sweater she had on. Short sleeves, like something a bratty teenage girl would have worn in a 1950s movie. “Eight-thirty Wednesday at Rudy’s. You hungry?”
“I don’t usually eat before noon. Coffee’ll be fine.”
The waitress came and took her order and they sat in silence until it came. Streeter spoke first. “This can’t be easy on you. Are you all right?”
She nodded and stared directly at him. “You know the name Leo Soyko?”
“Cooper’s flunky? I’ve heard rumors.”
“Jacky Romp. You ever hear of him?”
Streeter flashed on Jacky’s body on the couch. “Yeah. He’s dead. Have you seen the morning papers?”
Ronnie looked stunned. “How? Yesterday?”
“The Post said his body was found about midnight at his apartment. Shot twice in the head at close range.”
Ronnie didn’t appear to be experiencing anything close to grief. “Maybe there is a God.” She smiled quickly. “He and Soyko were the two boners that attacked me Monday night. If Romp had his way I’d be dead. Do they have any idea at all who did it?”
“No arrests, according to the paper. Do you think Soyko might have killed him?”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“Did they have any other enemies?”
Ronnie smiled and her head jerked in a knowing nod. “Only anyone who ever met either of them. But I can’t think of anyone in particular. Tell me, Mr. Bounty Hunter, what’s your hunch?”
Streeter’s eyebrows shot up and he took a sip of his milk. “I have someone in mind but I doubt if you know him. Did Cooper have any friends or associates in the Denver Police Department?”
“Honey, you’re looking at all the friends Thomas Cooper has in the world.”
Again there was a brief silence.
“So, Ronnie,” he said deliberately. “Why’d you call this meeting?”
“A couple of reasons. I’m leaving town soon and I hoped you could help me handle a little unfinished business. This news about Jacky takes care of part of it. Soyko’s another part. Those two were scum and I’d like to see them both buried. Soyko’s looking for that money Doug Shelton supposedly left behind. Cooper’s looking, too, but I have a feeling he’s out of the picture from now on. If you and that Story Moffatt chick are still going after it, you better be careful. I don’t suppose you’d do me one little favor and shoot Soyko?”
Streeter could see she wasn’t entirely joking. “You don’t suppose right.”
“Just a thought. If you won’t shoot him, maybe you can help put him away. He killed a witness in a murder case up in Commerce City named Grundy Dopps. Tell the police that. Tell them Cooper paid Soyko to try and get Dopps out of town and then Soyko decided to kill him instead. I’ve been involved with Tom Cooper for more than three years now and I know that whole bunch of jerks. I’m finished with all of them, but I’d hate to see Soyko get Doug’s money. The thought of Leo Soyko getting any reward out of this makes me sick.”
“Me, too.”
“I’ll bet ‘you too.’ If I was a gambler I’d say you’re the kind of guy who doesn’t like to lose.”
“Who does?”
“Right. Anyhow, I want to tell you what I know before I leave town. What you do with it is up to you.”
“I’m listening.” Streeter leaned forward.
“If it was me still looking for that money, I’d head over to wherever they’re keeping what’s left of Doug’s Porsche. I used to date a guy who works at an import garage on South Downing. I ran into Bobby not too long ago and we went out for a few beers. As it turns out, he’d worked on Doug’s car a couple years ago. Bobby told me it was customized special somehow.”
“I thought the insurance people and Story did that.”
“They might have, but Bobby led me to believe the car was very special. He was vague about it, but my instincts say check out the car.”
Streeter nodded. “I was going to do that anyhow. But if my hunch is right, I don’t think what Doug left could be stored in any car.”
“Do what you want, Streeter. Just so you beat Soyko on this. Another thing. There was some cop that busted Doug on his last coke deal. I can’t remember the guy’s name anymore, but Doug was terrified of him. He beat almost the entire shit out of Doug right after the arrest. You ever come across the cop?”
Streeter nodded. “I’ve talked to him once.” He paused briefly. “I think he might of had something to do with Jacky’s situation.”
“Then he can’t be all bad,” Ronnie said quickly. “I just wanted to warn you about him. Another hunch of mine is that this cop’s looking for Doug’s money, too. Doug said he was a real macho pig. Of course, so’s everyone involved in this mess. Except for Tom Cooper. He isn’t quite that evolved. He’s what I’d call a macho pig wannabe. It’s what he strives for.”
“Yeah? Is that how he got hooked up with Soyko and Romp?”
“You got that right. Tom has this incredibly screwed-up notion of what’s manly and cool. He’s pretty insecure, and when he saw Soyko he saw a lot of the things he wanted to be. Lean, tough, decisive, always able to back up the talk with action. Tom could talk the talk but he could never walk the walk. Anyhow, between the cop on Doug’s case and Soyko, this ain’t going to be fun from now on.”
“Like it’s been a regular party up to now?”
True.
“Look, Ronnie, I appreciate all this, but if you really want to stop these guys, why don’t you go to the police?”
She rolled her eyes wildly and sat back in the booth. “I tried that once and it almost got me killed.”
“How?”
“I blew the whistle on Soyko and Romp for beating up the lawyer. McLean. They damned near killed me for it.”
“Are you sure they were the ones who went after Bill?”
Ronnie nodded. “For sure. You had some doubts?”
“Not really.” He pulled out one of Frank’s business cards and a pen and began writing on the blank backside. “Listen, Ronnie, here’s the name of a cop. A friend of mine. Carey. A detective. Give him a call before you leave town and tell him what you know. Tell him about this conversation and that you know me. You can trust Carey.” He finished writing and handed it to her. “At least think about it, okay?”
She took the card and studied both sides. “All right.”
“Someone’s been giving me and Story problems lately,” he continued. “A few shots were fired at my house, and her car got vandalized. Could that have been Soyko and Romp?”
Ronnie frowned and thought for a few seconds. “Not that I know of. Moffatt mentioned something like that at the meeting with Tom and I asked him about it later. He didn’t know what the hell she was talking about.”
He nodded. That meant Kovacs did it.
Then her voice softened and she smiled. “So. Are you and this Moffatt an item, Streeter?”
“An item? No. I work for her. Why?”
“Just curious. Dougy used to talk about her a little. She sounds like a real live wire. Doug said she was so cold he thought maybe she had Freon sprayed all over her libido. You ever get that feeling about her?”
“I never gave it much thought,” he said, hoping he sounded convincing. “Story can come across as somewhat shy of blood, and there’s times I’d like to wring her neck. But Freon sprayed in that area sounds a little overstated.” Ronnie was as catty about Story as the ad woman had sounded about her. “What difference is it to you whether she and I are an item or what’s sprayed where on her?”
“I’m just curious, Streeter. I think you’re an interesting man.” She studied him with a scant smile on her face. “You’re probably better than she deserves. That’s all I was thinking.”
There was a genuine sincerity to the remark that touched him. “Thanks. Listen, Ronnie, if I find whatever Doug left behind, maybe I can cut you in on a slice of it. For your help. In the meantime, you be careful, and think about calling Carey. He’ll level with you, and we both know Soyko and Cooper belong in prison. Plus, that way maybe you could clear yourself from any trouble with the police.”
“I might just do that. I’m curious. How are you going to find me to give me my ‘slice’?”
“Where are you headed?”
“I haven’t given it much thought. Maybe I’ll find you someday and you can tell me how it all turned out.”
TWENTY-TWO
“You look a little peaked there, kid.” detective Bob Carey was pouring cream into his coffee at the Newsstand Cafe, a coffee/magazine shop on 6th Avenue, near the governor’s mansion. He stared hard into Streeter’s eyes while stirring his coffee. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this peckerhead Jacky Romp, would you?”
As he stood there, Streeter felt his own coffee spilling on his hand, so he set it down. Then he pulled up a tall stool next to Carey at the long counter and sat down. It was sunny outside, and the post-lunch-hour traffic was heavy heading east on the one-way 6th Avenue.
“Not really. That’s why I called you.”
The detective nodded and said, “That’s very good, because, like I told you, a person can get into a lot of trouble dancing around with people like attorney Thomas Cooper and his friends.”
“It would seem so. Look, I’m just curious because of Bill and all. I met Cooper once. I don’t really know any of the rest of them.”
Streeter liked and trusted Carey, but he was a cop. No way he wanted any cop knowing he had been at Soyko’s apartment the night before. Not yet, anyway. He also wondered if Ronnie Taggert would call Carey. That question was answered before he could settle into his seat.
