A Case of the Nasties: A Jimmy Egan Mystery Read online

  Woody made funny faces every time he put the cup to his lips to swallow down the bitter black liquid. “I hate this shit,” he said. “Really I do.”

  “It can’t be helped. Tell me you didn’t hock the .45 or I may be forced to take your blood myself.”

  “Very funny. My head hurts, I have a headache, Jimmy.”

  “Don’t do the old poor me routine. Where’s the gun?”

  “Top dresser drawer.”

  “Good, right now you need to stay sober. What if the Adjusters busted in here instead of me?”

  “They’d get a hundred proof of my blood.”

  ‘Not funny.” I laid out my encounter with Howie Bennett and he listened in silence.

  “That’s so great.” He seemed dreamy eyed all of a sudden.

  “Stop that, Woody. Get that damn movie script out of your head right now.”

  “It’s going to big. Why fight it?”

  “You can’t write the damned thing.”

  “Why not?”

  “You hocked your typewriter.”

  He slumped down in the couch. “Shit!”

  “I spent time at the window with the curtains drawn; peering out occasionally to see if anything was stirring in the neighborhood. Woody snoozed lightly on the couch. I kept watch for two more hours and when the full darkness came and the street lights flickered on, there was still no movement other than an occasional car passing by or a stray dog sniffing around. My stomach growled at me some so I grabbed a quick snack out of Woody’s fridge; a few slices of cheese and a pickle did the trick. I decided since Woody was in a complete slumber, I should get some shuteye to. I took refuge in the worn leather armchair and within a few minutes, I joined in on the snoring serenade.

  I woke up to the sound of shouting. I leapt from the chair almost tripping over the coffee table and tumbled first to the floor (my wooden leg giving out) then toward the window. I yanked the curtains back and saw five shadows moving toward the house.

  “This is it, Woody,” I screamed.

  There was no answer. I whirled around and saw the empty couch in the dim light. “Shit!”

  I suddenly knew who the shouting was coming from. I whipped out the .38 and limped out the front door almost grabbing some floor again before I could get to the front porch. With luck on my side, I made it down the three stairs and to the sidewalk.

  Edward D. Wood Jr. was about four feet in front of me, cussing up a storm. The five men, all dressed in gray, gray hats, gray coats displayed their guns.

  Woody stood there with my .45, arms stretched out taking aim. His pink Angora sweater unbuttoned, flapping in the slight breeze; the street lamps throwing out a distorted shadow of him across the rough payment.

  He fired.

  One.

  Two. Three.

  Four. Five.

  The ear-deafening sound echoing between the buildings and into the night air. I watched as the hood’s legs folded underneath them as if an invisible puppeteer cut their strings; the blood pouring from their tattered chests spilling onto the asphalt.

  Woody just smiled and said, “Take that, you bastards!”

  I made the five steps to his side.

  “Jesus Christ, Eddie,” I whispered. “What have you done?”

  With eyes wide, and spittle running down his chin he said,” They wanted me, they got me.” I hadn’t seen my pal in that shape since the war, a frenzied, insane stare that only a shitload of bullets could stop.

  However, there weren’t any bullets coming from the Universal Adjusters. They were all dead.

  I heard sirens wailing in the distance and knew it wouldn’t be long before the cops would be swarming all over the place. Neither Woody nor I needed that kind of aggravation right then, and if I had been thinking clearly at that moment, I would have known the safest place for him would have been behind some steel bars.

  However, that’s not what I did.

  I grabbed him by his sweater and he looked at me as if he had just landed on Planet Earth. “We got to go, Woody, now!”

  “Sorry, I just lost my head, Jimmy. I think they’re dead,” His staring continued and I was sure shell shock had set in.

  I nodded. “I see that.”

  Slipping the .45 from his hand I tucked the piece into my waistband. “C’mon, we’re going to find a safe place to hide.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Is he going to be alright?” Kathy said. “He’s staring off into space.”

  I had led Woody to the couch when we arrived and sat him down, then I pulled my sister to the side so we could chat privately, “He’ll be fine in a little while.” I assured her. “Just tuck him away in my room and keep several eyes on him.”

  “What if he tries to leave?”

  “Feed him one of those pills you gave me when I got shot last year, he won’t be leaving.” While on a case of cheating spouses one of them took a pot shot at me and got luckier than most do. I dodged closer calls during the war, severed leg not included, but that time I took one in the arm. It was a clean through and through wound but it hurt like hell and since Kathy had once worked as a Nurse’s assistant she had a few leftovers that were perfect for taking the edge off a painful sleepless night.

  I scooted toward the door, hat in hand.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “I’m going to stake out a lead I got from a newspaper friend of mine.” I kissed her on the cheek.

  She was startled some.

  “Must be dangerous,” she said, putting her hand on my shoulder. “You never kiss me unless it’s dangerous.”

  I winked. “You have no idea, sister.” As I limped out the door I said, “And don’t let him borrow your typewriter.”

  It was damn near morning when I got to the address Danny had given me during my visit. But it wasn’t at all what I expected. The residence just off Hillcrest Road was smack dab in the middle of a high class part of town on the south side. All the houses were gleaming with manicured lawns, yard statues, fountains and rows of carbon copy palm trees lining the streets. The air smelled of money and Hibiscus.

  I pulled to the curb across from a house whose address matched the number on my little piece of paper. I decided to go bold and just wander up and ring the doorbell and see what would happen. It was daylight, in a good neighborhood so I didn’t foresee any immediate danger. Just so, I did have my .38. And I had slipped the .45 into my glove box and away from Woody so he wouldn’t shoot anybody else that day.

  I slipped out of the Nash, buttoned my coat, and sauntered up past the short ornamental gate and to the front porch. I was about to knock when a dream opened the crystal windowed front door.

  She was Asian-American, lean but not skinny. She was dressed in red silk, and her lips were moist and red as well. Her black hair wrapped tightly around the top of her head and she was a good inch or two smaller than I was. She didn’t seem to be surprised at having a stranger knock on her door at seven in the morning.

  “Yes, can I help you?” her accent was slight, which meant she had definitely been in this country since childhood.

  I suddenly went speechless, wondering if I should lie or just tell her what I was looking for. On the other hand, what if Danny got it wrong and I had a chance to meet such a lovely creature by a mere accident? Stranger things have happened, though usually not to me.

  “I was told, by a friend, I could contact members of the Universal Adjusters here . . . at this address . . . I mean. “I stammered through it like a twelve year old girl.

  “In a way. I am Monica Chen. I am their lawyer.”

  “You . . . are their lawyer.”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  A black cat appeared at her feet. It had been in bad shape at one time, at least its face was. Stitches ran down past its ear and over one missing eye, and down to the crevice of its mouth. It purred loudly. I said, oh shit before I realized I had spoken.

  Monica of the Heavens looked down. “That’s just Frankenstein, sayin
g hello.”

  “Frankenstein?”

  “Are you going to repeat everything I say, mister . . . ?

  “Jimmy Egan. I’m private heat hired by . . . my client . . . who believes the Universal Adjusters want to …” suddenly I felt damn silly. The whole thing sounded like a rotten B movie from a low budget studio pulling in aged heavyweights, like Lugosi and Karloff, to save their lousy script.

  “Perhaps you come in,” she said sweetly, and I followed her in. She did not just walk into the next room- she floated. She led me to a sitting room decked out in an oriental atmosphere. No surprise there.

  “Are you shocked to met lawyer that is a woman?” she said lowing herself in a wicker chair across from me. Somewhere in the house incense were burning and I think it might have been Jasmine.

  She crossed her legs and the sea in my stomach parted. In a fluent move she picked up a brown slim cigarette, her expensive lighter with what appeared to be rubies adorning the case, lit it and blew the gray smoke into the air. I pointed at her cigarette.

  “Chinese?”

  She shook her head. “Italian. I love Italian cigarettes. American cigarettes too bland.” She didn’t offer me one so I lit a bland Lucky instead. We smoked, stared at each other, and I fought the urge to stare at her long bare legs. Frankenstein wormed his way over to me and jumped onto my lap. I pretended not to be startled. I petted his smooth black hair at my leisure. He may have been ugly as shit but he was a lover. He purred as he dugs his claws through the cloth of my slacks and into the leg made of wood.

  “You were in war?”

  “Yes Ma’am, at a small cost.” I rapped on the leg.

  “Frankie loves you.” She ran a red nail over her olive skinned cheek. “That not common thing for him. It makes me want to trust you.”

  “I’m good with animals,” I said, stifling a sneeze.

  She finally said, “Okay. I will be Frank. You are in belief my clients are chasing your client. For what purpose, detective? It all sound rather fantastical, you must admit.”

  She knew big words. She was so far out of my league I’d have to take a long bus ride to catch up.

  “They want his blood, Ms. Chen.” I said flatly.

  She laughed with a voice wrapped in honey. “That ridicules.”

  I told her about what I had learned of the Universal Adjusters. Her smirk grew and grew and I feared it would envelope her entire face. So I did the only thing I could do. I snubbed out my smoke in the nearby dragon-shaped ashtray, reached into my pocket and tossed the clay Talisman at her feet. She jetted out of her wicker chair; the cat screeched and disappeared among the furniture. Her eyes were wide, her mouth partially open, and she spat out the words: “What fuck you just do?”

  “Oh, that’s quite a mouth you got, sister,” I leaned down, scooped up the Talisman and slipped it back into my pocket. “Um, you’re burning a hole in your rug, hope it’s not expensive.” I pointed down to her half smoked Italian butt she had dropped when she bolted from her chair. I took a step forward and crushed it out with my good foot. It was my turn to grin. I showed her all the pearly whites I had left in my noggin, and headed for the door.

  “Thank you, Ms. Chen.” I tipped my hat to her, and jammed it on my head. “I think I got what I came for.”

  “You are bastard, Egan!” she screamed, her voice an octave higher than it was five minutes ago and her accent taking over.

  “I can live with that, beautiful. Tell your ‘clients’ to stay away from Eddie Wood,” I jabbed my finger in the air. “Or they’ll get more than a slug up the ass for their trouble.” The cat came back and rubbed my wooden leg. “Bye, Frankie.”

  I slammed the door behind me as I left and slowly limped back to my car. I wanted to run because I had a feeling that the beautiful Asian woman was going to get a dagger, chase me down, and stab me to death. I made it to the Nash without anyone chasing me. I slipped into the front seat, used my hand to maneuver my prosthetic leg into place. I glanced at the house, still no Monica Chen, I exhaled, and thought of several more clever things I could have said to her instead of what I did say.

  I fired up the Nash, glanced in the rear view mirror, and saw the face of Howie Bennett staring at me.

  “You just don’t let up, do you Shamus?”

  I saw the butt of his revolver coming down . . . .

  CHAPTER TEN

  The loud force of the grenade pushed me into the ground, as if a huge foot crashed down onto the middle of my back. The ringing in my ears was nearly unbearable and came in waves.

  I was flat on my face in the mud. It was hard to breath and I tilted my head out of the muck as far as I could. My ears felt plugged. More mud? At first, I wasn’t sure where I was. I scooped the mud out of my sockets, and blinked until I could actually see something other than a gray mist. There was someone lying near me, only five feet away. I recognized him as Garrett from his crystal blue eyes. Right now, his eyes were glassy and there was mud streaked down his face like brown tears. He had a wife and a new baby he had never seen in De Moines. He kept a picture of them in the top pocket of his uniform. He would never see the baby now. He was missing the top part of his head where his helmet used to be. Explosions began almost immediately. I did a body check but couldn’t seem to move my legs. I didn’t look. They tell you never to look. You might not like what you see.

  “Hey, Jimmy. Stay with me, friend. I’m getting you out of here.” The voice belonged to Ed Wood. We played cards a lot, and talked about the stuff we did as kids, and of loose women, we were looking forward to meeting after the war. His face was dirty and bloody but I wasn’t sure if it was his blood he was wearing. He smiled and showed me he was missing his two front teeth.

  “I hope the hell I don’t get wounded out here,” he said, talking loud to carry his voice over the sound of more explosions and gunfire. “If I do, the medics are in for a big surprise.” He tapped me on the helmet, and I was glad it was still there and not like Garrett’s. I must have looked confused about what he was saying because he added. “I’ll explain later.”

  Ed bragged that he was a writer and he was going to be famous someday. He looked down at my legs and frowned. The lower part of my body tingled, no real pain yet, just numbness like when your foot goes to sleep.

  Like pins and needles.

  I suddenly felt very tired.

  “Stay with me Jimmy Boy. Stay with me, Buddy.”

  “What’s wrong with my leg’s Woody?” I managed to say, but my throat was sore and dry.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. You’re too fucking ornery to die.”

  My eyes went wide. “I’m dying.”

  “Not on my watch, asshole,” he said grinning again. “It would take more than a little grenade to kill you.”

  Not on his watch.

  Not by a long shot.

  Somebody slapped me.

  I woke up tied to a wooden chair. This wasn’t the first time, probably wouldn’t be the last. My head hurt from the inside out as well as my pride. In old movies the private eye got sapped on the head, woke up, shook it off and went on to solve the crime. In real life, the pain cannot be shaken off. I was nauseous, tired, and my wrists hurt from the rope binding my hands.

  The room itself was non-descript. There was a table in one corner, a small table lamp which threw around some dull yellow light and a few large shadows. The room smelled of body order and stale air.

  Howie sat in front of me, straddling a chair backwards. He went to slap me again, but stopped when my eyes fluttered open.

  “Bad dreams, huh, asshole?”

  Yes, really bad dreams.

  He was still wearing his drab gray suit, minus his hat, which revealed a sparse unruly shock of red hair that clung to his scalp. He had a toothpick sticking between his lips to one side and occasionally his tongue would dart out and maneuver the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. That stupid grin was still plastered onto his gaunt face. I pictured myself pushing a fist through it.


  He saw himself as a Gunsel when nobody used that word anymore, not for a long time and only in Bogie movies.

  “Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy.” Howie said, as if we were drinking buddies.

  “Is this going somewhere,” I said. “Or do you just like saying my name.”

  He hit my face with the back of his hand then shook his head back and forth. “You need to smarten up, soldier. So I’m going to help you.” He took his elbow and rammed it into the stump of my leg just above the prosthetic.

  “Sorry,” he smirked, “That must have hurt, huh? Want some more?”

  “Oh goodie,” I said, holding the grimace somewhere deep in my stomach. “Just to let you know, Howie, when I get out of this you’re going to need some major dental work.”

  “Threats? Who is in charge here, huh, Jimmy?” He threw his head back and laughed, his large Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like a red ball attached to a paddle. “You think maybe you are, you damn cripple.” Then a backhand slapped my across the face again. I tasted metal.

  “Certainly not you.” I spat a glob of blood on to the floor. You do not have the brains to pull something like this off. Why did they choose Woody?”

  The grin disappeared and I braced for another smack to the face. Before he could do that, the door opened and some lunk-headed kid, also dressed in complete gray, came in. He was nearly a man, but hardly a kid. That awkward place somewhere in between. He had a herd of freckles across the bridge of his nose and he walked as if his shiny black shoes were too big for him. He clomped quickly over to Howie and whispered something into his ear.

  Howie’s eyes went dark.

  “Get out. I’ll find out and let you know.” He said. The non-kid hurried out and shut the door behind him. Howie reached into his pocket, pulled out his switchblade, and snapped it open. The grin came back.

  “I need some answers,” he said. “really good ones. Save yourself some grief, where are they?”

  I looked at the shiny blade. He must have polished it every day. I wondered how many times Howie had used it to interrogate his victims.