Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 09 - The Crystal Skull Murders (13 page)

“Ain’t nobody, not even a cop coming in my place
and causing no trouble,” the bartender exclaimed, staggering around the end of the bar and attempting to
block my exit through the front door.

I muttered a soft curse to myself. This was one situation I was not going to be able to talk my way out of.
Off to my right, a few tables away, I spotted a hall leading to the restrooms and the alley. Two of the tables by
the hall entrance were occupied.

I just hoped there were not two locks on this door
like Buck Topper had on his.

“Look boys, I’m not a cop. I’m a private investigator
hired to look into the fire by the insurance company”

The bartender snorted. “That’s even worse. You insurance companies are getting rich off us little guys”
He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a slapjack.

I didn’t hesitate.

I kicked the table into the knees of the musicians,
threw the beer in the bartender’s eyes, and darted for
the hallway, deliberately grabbing one of the customers
at each of the two occupied tables and yanking them to
the floor as I shot past.

Behind me exploded an uproar of curses, running feet,
shrill screams, and chilling threats. Just as I reached the
restroom door, it opened. I didn’t slow down. I hit the
door and whoever was standing behind it.

Someone yelped in surprise, and then a woman’s
scream cut through the clamor and clangor with a stream
of profanities that my Grandpere Moise would have
knocked me to the floor if I had spewed them.

The rear door was closed, but fortunately unlocked. Unfortunately, however, the screen door was locked;
having no choice, I simply ran through it.

I burst into the alley and turned east.

Behind me, the screen door slammed open and voices
pursued me. When I hit the sidewalk, I headed for Sixth
Street. It was after 2:00 and the bars were closing down.
Only a few partygoers remained on the street. I turned
the corner and immediately ran into half-a-dozen baldheaded men wearing red robes. I don’t know if they
Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, Wiccans, or Hare Krishnan. All I know is that we went down in a tangle of arms,
legs, and robes.

I managed to extricate myself from the web of limbs
and clothing and dashed across the street just as Guitar
Strummer and the bartender skidded around the corner
and stumbled over the sprawled figures on the sidewalk.

As soon as I turned the corner on Trinity Street, I
pressed up against the building and, gasping for breath,
peered around the corner. The robed men were shouting
and waving their arms at Guitar Strummer and the bartender.

I grinned to myself. It couldn’t have happened to
more deserving men.

Suddenly, Guitar Strummer shouted and pointed at me.

Cursing to myself, I raced up the hill. On impulse, I
turned down another alley and hid behind a Dumpster.
Moments later, the two men sprinted past, and I quickly
scurried down the alley to Neches Street.

Pausing in the alley at Neches, I looked up and down the street. Suddenly shouts from behind jerked
me around.

Those two bozos were like bloodhounds.

Just as I turned to run, a car honked. Half-a-block
away, a cherry-red Jaguar pulled away from the curb
and raced toward me.

As we cut over to Guadalupe, Doreen explained, “I
parked up the street and watched from inside The
Lighthouse. I spotted you come out of Neon Larry’s
and go into the Blue Light. When you ran into all those
monks or whatever they were, I figured it was time to
give you a hand”

I laughed. “I’m glad you did. Those bozos had some
bad hurt on their minds.”

“Learn anything?”

“No. Another name, but those guys interrupted before we could talk.”

The headlights from oncoming vehicles lit her face
like a strobe. I saw a smug grin on her lips. Keeping
her eyes fixed forward, she said, “Well, I had some
luck.”

I frowned at her.

She continued. “While I was waiting in The Lighthouse next to Fat Sal’s, a guy hurried in holding his
hand to his chest. He disappeared into the rear of the
bar.”

My frowned deepened.

And then she added. “He was Asian, and he was
dripping wet. Could have come out of the river.”

I could have kissed her, but I resisted. “The Lighthouse, huh?”

“Yeah. Know it?”

“Jimmy Wong owns it, and the Devil’s Den on the
other side of Fat Sal’s. Rumor is you can buy anything
you want in The Lighthouse. If it isn’t there, then it’s
two doors down.”

“You think he has any connection to the fire?”

I leaned back in the seat and stared at what few stars
managed to glitter their way through the hazy glow of
city lights. “He could. Any of the bar owners could be
involved.”

We pulled into the parking lot outside the office and
parked beside my Silverado. “How do you mean?”

“They’re all hustlers. That’s their business down
there. There isn’t one who wouldn’t jump at the chance
to pick up another bar.”

“Do they really make that much from those bars?”

“It isn’t just the booze and entertainment. Most of
those characters have several businesses going: prostitution, drugs, hot items. You name it, they’ve got it. They pull in a hundred thousand a year easy. Cash for
the most part. That’s why the clubs change hands every
few years. The smart ones get in, make their bundle, and
then bail out. But, I can’t believe any of them would deliberately torch the place. Why destroy something you
would have to rebuild?” I shook my head. “I still think it
was done to cover up Rosey’s murder.

“So now what?”

“Now, we get a few hours sleep. We’ve an appointment
with J.C.Towers at ten in the morning. I want to stop by
The Lighthouse and the pawnshop before we see him.”

Before I climbed into bed just after 3:00, I checked
my e-mail, hoping for a reply from J.Adkins-Manor.

Nothing.

At 3:15, the phone rang, and a hushed voice whispered, “This the guy down at the Blue Light tonight?”

Groggy from sleep and exhaustion, I mumbled,
“Who’s this?”

“Wanda Darcy.”

Instantly, I was awake. “Yeah, yeah, it’s me. Where
are you?”

“That don’t matter. You still got the hundred bucks?”

“Yeah. It’s yours. Just put me in touch with someone who knows about the fire, and I’ll get the hundred
to YOU.”

“No. We got to meet”

The hackles on the back of my neck bristled. I didn’t
want any more to do with those bozos in her musical entourage, but I hated to pass up such an opportunity.
“Where?”

“The parking lot at Neches and Ninth Street?”

I knew the spot. “When?”

“Thirty minutes?”

“Can’t make it. Earliest I can get there is five. It’s
still dark then. What about your friends?”

“They ain’t part of it.”

You bet, I told myself. “Five all right?”

“Yeah. I guess it’ll have to do.”

After hanging up, I dressed quickly. She might be
playing me straight, but I wasn’t stupid enough to take a
chance.

By 4:00 a.m., I was situated on the roof of a warehouse across Ninth Street from the parking lot, on
which a dozen or so automobiles were parked.

The streets were deserted except for an occasional
partygoer wandering the streets trying to remember
where he left his car. Overlooking the parking lot from
the south was a sagging flophouse, all windows dark
except for two.

I tightened my jacket about me against the nip in the
air.

At 4:15, three dark figures crossed Neches Street and
entered the flophouse. Moments later, one of the lights
flicked off.

I waited, and then four figures emerged and headed
for the parking lot. Three of them disappeared among the parked cars while the fourth waited out in the
open.

“Good try,” I muttered softly. “But no gold ring this
time, Wanda”

At 5:30, one of the figures emerged and waved for
the others to join him. Though their words were unintelligible, their angry voices carried across the lot. Moments later, the three bozos stormed away, and Wanda
headed back to her apartment.

When her light came on, I scrambled down the fire
escape and hurried across the parking lot.

The stench of mold and unwashed bodies slapped
me in the face when I entered the dilapidated building.
The night clerk was snoring with his head on the
counter, so I eased up the well-worn flight of stairs.

On the second floor, I glanced down the dark hall to
see a string of pale light along the bottom of a door.
Softly I knocked on her door.

“Who is it?”

I heard the wariness in her tone. “Desk clerk. Got a
message for you from some guy.”

She muttered a couple curses, then jerked open the
door. Her eyes bulged. I stepped inside and closed the
door behind quickly.

“Sorry I was late for the welcome you had for me.”

She glared at me. In the glare of the cold light of
the single bulb dangling from the ceiling on her puffy
face, I saw that my estimate of her being in her late
thirties or early forties was indeed too generous. She was fifty if she were a day, and fifty-five wasn’t too far
out of the question. “You better get out of here. Jojo
and Candy will be here anytime.”

I ignored her threat. “You said you knew something
about the fire at the Hip-Hop. Or were you lying to me?”

She studied me a moment. The defiance on her pasty
face faded. She glanced at the door behind me and
dragged her tongue across her lips. “You still got the
hundred bucks?”

“If you give me good information.”

For several moments, she pondered the offer. Finally
she shook her head and, gazing everywhere except at
me, replied, “I was lying to you. I don’t know nothing.”

I didn’t believe her. “Are you afraid of what Jojo and
Candy’ll do if you tell me? They don’t need to know.”

“No. That ain’t it. I just don’t know nothing.”

The more she protested, the more convinced I was
that she knew something: a name, a piece of gossip,
something that might be the break I was looking for.
“I’ll make it two hundred. I’ll give you twenty-four
hours to get a bus out of town before I act on what you
tell me.”

She considered the offer several moments, then shook
her head again. “I can’t” She dropped her gaze to the
floor.

This time, she had not denied knowing anything
about the fire, which told me that my hunch was right.
She had information, which for whatever reason, she
was afraid to reveal.

I never liked putting undue pressure on anyone, especially ones like Wanda who, for one reason or another, were caught up in the vortex of a life they
couldn’t escape. But, in a soft almost compassionate
voice, I said, “What would happen if I spread word
on the street that you were cooperating with me and
the cops?”

She jerked her head up, gaping at me in disbelief.
“But I ain’t.”

I arched an eyebrow. “I know that. You know that.
But Jojo and Candy don’t.”

Her lips quivered. Her watery gray eyes pleaded with
me. “Look, Mister. They’d hurt me bad if they thought
I was stooling to the cops”

“They don’t have to know. You said everyone on the
street knew about it, so how would they know word
came from you?”

She didn’t answer.

I continued. “Was it Jojo or Candy?”

“Huh?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “No. All they
wanted was the hundred bucks. All they know how to
do is beat up on women”

“Why do you hang around then? Get out of here.
Find a new life for yourself.”

She snorted. “How?” She gestured to the bare walls
of the shabby room. “I got nothing and nowhere
to go”

At that moment, I knew I wasn’t going to play out
my bluff and spread lies about her on the street. I’d always been a sucker for a sob story. “You have any
family?”

“A sister. In Denver. I ain’t seen her in five years.”

“Look, Wanda. Forget about the fire. I’ll find out
from someone else, but if you want to get out this, I’ll
take you to the bus station and buy you a ticket to Denver, and I’ll give you the two hundred bucks if you
promise not to come back to Austin.”

Tears gathered in her eyes as she looked up at me in
disbelief. She stammered for words. “Why-Why
would you do that for me, someone you don’t know?”

I grinned. I knew, but the morality ingrained in a Cajun boy from the crib up is hard to explain without
sounding pompous. “Beats me. It just seems like the
thing to do. How about it?”

Slowly she nodded.

I added. “Remember. One condition. Don’t ever
come back to Austin.”

She nodded again.

At 7:00 that morning, my tail dragging from no sleep,
I stood with Wanda in the boarding line of the Greyhound
Bus. In addition to the two hundred bucks, I supplied her
with three magazines and a small bag of snacks.

We made our way slowly to the open door without
saying a word. I held her elbow as she stepped up on
the first step. She took another step up, paused, and
turned back to me. “Bull Abdo,” she said softly. “He’s
who you’re looking for. Bull Abdo.”