KNIGHT'S REPORTS: 3 Book Set (32 page)

Chapter 3

An Old Wrinkle

My boating neighbors
had gone, either to return to their own boats, to their cars or to the shops along the harbor. It didn't look like there'd be much sailing and merriment, today. A couple of uniformed cops were still in the parking lot and the police divers and their helpers were still searching the inlet for Ol' Corky's body.

I checked my watch. The drive to my meeting with Jason at Devil's Horn Cliff was about forty-five minutes, so I didn't have much time to spare.

As Rabbit strode away to catch up on his Saturday morning chores at the Galley and Grog, I stood next to
Reckless Abandon
and stared to where
Nauti-Gal
had been docked.

Jazzy Brass sauntered up to me, and I gave her the customary scratch behind her ear.

"You miss that old woman, too — don't ya girl?" I said. "She was a pain in the ass, but who'd want to kill her?" I glanced down at Jazzy and she looked up, panting. "Yep, we'll miss her."

"No, you won't," came a voice from the water behind me. "Let's see that photo."

I couldn't believe my eyes. Pulling herself up from my stern boat ladder was Old Lady McCourkle in swim fins, mask and snorkel. I wondered how long the seventy-some-year-old woman had been in the chilly water — it couldn't have been above 60 degrees.

"Don't just stand there,
Batman
, get me a towel. That water's cold and my nips are sticking out like brass candlestick holders. And where's that damn picture? I don't wanna have to ask you again."

I avoided looking at the drenched white blouse she was wearing while slipping by her to get a towel from my cabin. Finding out she had somehow survived the explosion, and then seeing the well-wrinkled old woman's candlestick holders, might have been too much of a shock to my system.

Jazzy went to Ol' Corky, tail wagging, and began licking the saltwater from her arms and clothes.

"
Batman
?" I asked.

"Yeah, you seem to think you're some kind of super hero, don't you?" she asked, petting Jazzy. "Half a dozen really bad bastards after your ass, and you don't do a damn thing to duck out of their sights? You might as well stand at the end of the pier with your pants down to your ankles and your hands on your cheeks, yelling, 'come on and stick it in me — ram it in hard, boys!'"

I stood at the companionway to my cabin and gaped at her. "Who the hell are you, anyway? Really?" And I had no clue about the
half a dozen really bad bastards
.

"I'm here to keep an eye on you. I'm your freakin' guardian angel — that's who."

"Right, and that's why you flip me off every morning."

"I'm no amateur to the business, Green Lantern. I'm a journeyman and compared to me, you're a lowly apprentice. I specialize in wet work, not babysitting. So let's just say that getting this assignment from the get-go after coming out of a twenty-year retirement kinda chapped my royal ass. Besides, the first thing you learn is to not get attached to anyone who's gonna die soon, no matter how big, tall and handsome he is."

I didn't know what to say — thank her or laugh at her. This seemed to be a new and even more caustic side to the old gal than I'd known before. "You're my guardian angel, but I'm going to die soon? That doesn't say much for your protective abilities, now does it?"

"It is what it is,
Captain America
. Besides, I can't perform miracles. With you standing out in the middle of a target range, jumping up and down yelling, 'shoot me! I'm right here, put a bullet in my brain,' what can you expect? You're not exactly the
Invisible Man
, you know."

I was going to ask her if she read a lot of comic books when she was a little girl, or if it was a new hobby she'd just picked up. But I wasn't sure if they even had comic books when she was little. When was the first one — 1934?

"What happened?" I asked. "How'd you even live through that?"

"Experience. Constant vigilance. I smelled the propane when I was in the cockpit. It made me leery. I grabbed my mask, snorkel and fins, and when I opened the cabin hatch, I saw a spark — somebody'd rigged it to ignite the gas. It was too late for me to do anything but fly through the air, hold onto my gear and hope I landed in the water."

"That was forty-five minutes ago. Where've you been?"

"Avoiding the damn SCUBA divers. If I'da had a wet suit and tanks, I wouldn't have come up until I got to the
Queen Mary
. The old skin's getting pretty thin. It doesn't heal from gunshots and knife wounds like it used to. And the cold seeps through to the bones a lot quicker. Still, it's mind over matter, right? You were a Marine, so you know that, don't you? Or did you get all sissified and forget what it's like being a leatherneck?"

"How'd you know?"

"I know that and a whole lot more about you,
Boy Wonder
. Where's that photo?"

"I lost it in the explosion. I looked everywhere. It must have sunk in the harbor."

"Oh great,
Mister Terrific
. I don't suppose you have a photographic memory and can describe it to me, can you?"

"Listen to me,
Aqua Girl
. I'm not telling you anything until I know what's going on. What happened to your boat — who blew it up?"

"If I knew that, do you think I'd be standing here jaw-jacking with you? I'd be out doing some killin'."

"All right, then, who 'assigned' you to me and why?"

"Who do you think? It was Judge Hammer. Would anybody else in their right mind really give a shit about whether you were alive or dead?"

That was all it took for me to be convinced. If she knew Judge Hammer, she was either a member of the Revenging Fist or an enemy.  I just couldn't see anyone sending her out to
kill
me. It was hard enough believing someone would send her to
protect
me.

"Okay," I told her. "It was a picture of a girl."

"A girl. And what else — good God, it's like pulling teeth from an A-rab terrorist. What do I have to do, water-board you? How old is the girl? Do you know her? What was she wearing? Where was it taken? Was it a recent photo? Cheese-hus K-riyest!"

"It was a very recent picture of the six-year-old daughter of a good friend of mine. Her name is Sophie Ryder. She was wearing a nice, baby blue dress — her birthday dress. She was standing in what looked to be a child's bedroom, next to a cake with six candles. As I remember, she would have been six yesterday — born the same day as my son, three years apart."

"Oh, good then. You have nothing to worry about. It was just a pleasant little picture of your friends' daughter at her birthday party. So everyone's happy as maggots in an eye socket." She stared at me.

I couldn't help but imagine fly larvae crawling around in her skull. I had to turn away, but I caught a glimpse of her "candlestick holders" before I did — it made me shiver.

I told her, "She was crying. She was holding a sign that said,
No police. No questions — Give me E Z Knight or birthday girl dies! Will contact soon.
And she was wearing a vest wired with enough explosives to bring down the
Golden Gate Bridge
."

What I'd just said didn't seem to faze the old woman. "You're leaving something out." She scanned around while toweling off. Seeming to notice that I had the boat buttoned up and the rigging and sails stowed, she asked, "Where're you going?"

"To meet the little girl's father," I said. "Why would anyone rig your boat to explode?"

"One of two reasons — and both involve you," she said, then ducked down when she noticed one of the cops on the pier looking in our direction. "They either wanted me out of the way, or they got the wrong boat. For now you're on your own, Silver Surfer. I'll be warming up in your cabin and trying to figure this all out."

"Need anything?"

"Where's your gun?"

I lied to her. "I don't have one." As a convicted felon, I wasn't allowed to have a firearm.

"Right," she said with a skeptical glance.

"Want me to leave Jazzy with you?"

"No, let her go to the tavern like she usually does." She patted Jazzy on the side and got a lick in return. "I'll be fine. I've lived through a lot worse than getting half blown up and having to tread water for an hour."

I clucked at Jazzy as I stepped onto the pier, and she came to my side.

"There are some chemical hot packs inside the port storage compartment," I told her.

She nodded. "Don't tell anybody you've seen me — except maybe Smokey. Don't want that poor girl worrying about me. She's got enough to fret over."

I told her, "The bedding is clean. There are more blankets in the headache bin over the bed. Oh, and watch out for Nosy, he likes to sleep at the foot of my berth."

"You watch
your
ass and don't concern yourself about me and Nostradamus. I've slept with weasels before."

I turned away. "That, I didn't need to know."

Chapter 4

Loose Lips

I walked Jazzy
Brass up to the marina on my way to the parking lot. I hoped Nostradamus was okay. I hadn't seen the crazed ferret since I left three days ago. Still, I was fairly certain he'd turn up and probably be cuddling with Ol' Corky when I got back. The explosion most likely scared the squirrel shit out of him, and he'd gone into hiding.

I was going to leave Jazzy at The Wizard's Grog, but when I tried the tavern's front door, it was locked. Rabbit was already busying himself with his usual weekend chores, washing the large windows in front of the Galley and Grog. He was a great helper for his mother, even more so when school was out in the summer.

Rabbit saw me at the tavern door and checked his watch.

He called over to me, "Nine-thirty. Oz is usually in there getting things ready for the day by now." He came over and took out his own key. "Jazzy can hang out with See-Saw until Oz gets in." Cecil "See-Saw" Esau, was an old, homeless blind man who Oz allowed to sleep in the backroom of the tavern, gratis.

As Rabbit unlocked the front door of The Wizard's Grog, I heard a low growl and looked down at Jazzy. Her hackles were up. I was sure she had a sixth sense — added to her keen senses of smell and of hearing, she was very intuitive.

When I looked to the far end of the dim bar, I saw sunlight reflecting off of broken glass. The window glass on the side door had been busted out.

"Stay back and have your cell phone ready," I instructed Rabbit. "Hold Jazzy by the collar."

I entered the tavern but didn't turn on the lights or open the shades. I found the four-foot-long tiller handle that I remembered Oz kept near the front door and crept toward the storeroom at the other end of the bar. About halfway, I heard groaning, which quickened my pace.

In the grey light, I noticed See-Saw's white cane on the floor in front of the storeroom. The door was ajar, so I pushed it open and quickly reached inside for the wall switch.

When the lights blared, I discovered why Osia Papadopoulos hadn't opened up the tavern this morning, and why See-Saw wasn't at his customary place, last stool at the end of bar.

 The old blind man was sitting in the corner of the storeroom, loose bottles, cans and peanuts littering the floor around him. In his arms was a very badly bloodied Osia Papadopoulos. Red splatters all around, pools of it on the floor, and Oz's face covered in it.

See-Saw turned to face me, streams of tears rolling down his cheeks from under his dark glasses.

"See-Saw?"

The blind man's voice was even more frail than usual. "They kilt him. E Z, they kilt Oz. He ain't dead, yet, but they sure as hell kilt him."

I poked my head back out into the tavern. "Let Jazzy go, and turn on the lights. And get those cops up here. Have them call an ambulance. Osia's hurt!"

I went to See-Saw and started to pry Oz from his arms.

"See-Saw, let go so I can have a look."

"All right," the old man said. "But you take good care of him, and tell me if he needs me."

Truly an enigma, the old blind man's brain was packed full of facts and figures, dates and trivia. He was like a walking encyclopedia, with more accurate information than any Internet site. He'd helped me a number of times in the past, and I had no doubt he'd come in handy again soon. For now, he was truly overwhelmed by his friend's condition.

"Oz," I said as I gently took a hold of the big Greek and laid him flat on the floor. His breathing was shallow, heart rate fast but light, and he was unconscious. "Oz, can you hear me?" I asked and patted his forearm. "Oz, wake up. I need you to open your eyes, Oz."

I rubbed his hand and patted his left knee, not knowing where his hidden injuries might be. Some of the more obvious wounds were gashes and bruises on his face, arms and hands.  It looked like a couple of fingers were broken.  His right pant leg was bloodied at the shin. And so much
red
— red all around.

His eyes slowly opened, but not far.

"Who did this to you, Oz?" I asked. "Who did this and what did they want?"

"I saw 'em," the old blind man said.

I ignored See-Saw, and coaxed Oz again. "Who?"

His voice was a whisper. "Three thugs," the former merchant marine told me. "Had silencers. Two Italian; I think they both had small caliber Berettas. The leader was a Ruskie they called 'Karl'. He had a Makarov 9mm. And the shooter — one of the wops — I think I seen him here before. I think it was a couple of nights ago. He came in, had a drink and left. He musta been snooping around then. But they all had those knit hats on that covered most everything but their eyes"

"Balaclava," See-Saw said.

"No, they wasn't wearing desserts on their heads. They was like watch caps, you know, knit like we used to wear on ship to keep our heads and ears warm."

Trying to get him to go on, I gently confirmed, "That's a balaclava. The dessert is baklava."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, that's right. I forgot. That's what some guys called 'em back on the ship."

By now, Jazzy was in the room, whining behind me. She stood by See-Saw, and they seemed to be consoling one another. I knew the cops would be in soon, and I wanted to know more about Oz's attackers before it became confidential police business.

"These men, Oz — why — what did they want?" I asked him.

"You," he said and his head rolled to look at me. "They wanted you...dead."

I frowned at him. "Are you sure? Me?"

"Yeah. Didn't say why." He began sobbing. "Wanted to know where to find you."

I was temporarily perplexed. I tried to cover my tracks fairly well, but one of my few confidants might have let my new locale slip. Then I remembered what little mail I received was delivered to the bar. I'd used the Wizard's Grog's address as my legal residence for the court, since they wouldn't take a PO box. Hoping to stay in hiding from other less-than-legal entities, until now it had kept me and those around me safe, as well.

"It's okay, Oz," I said. "We're going to get you to the hospital and all fixed up."

"But I told them. I didn't wanna, but I did. They beat me up something awful, but I held fast. Then they grabbed See-Saw and put a gun to his head. I couldn't tell 'em fast enough — 'he sleeps on his boat, Slip twelve.' Told 'em again to make sure they heard, 'Slip twelve on the Atlantis pier'." He sobbed more. "I didn't wanna, but I did. Then one shoved See-Saw down. Ol' See-Saw grabbed the mattress on the way and messed up the asshole's aim. Then he shot me."

That explained Ol' Corky's boat blowing up. Her slip was number twelve and mine was twenty-one. Had Oz gotten the numbers switched on purpose or just forgotten such a small detail?

A screaming ambulance siren penetrated the air from out front, then wound down.

I told him, "The EMTs are here. They'll take care of you now." I squeezed his shoulder and noted the red line of blood where a bullet had grazed his temple.

Oz said, "I'm hungry, do you think they brought pizza?" He gazed at me with one of those unfocused drunk looks, but Oz wasn't intoxicated. Then, more coherently, he said, "I won't tell the cops, anything. I know you're gonna wanna get this straightened out on your own. I've always said 'if you don't wanna get caught in a lie, when the cops ask questions, keep your mouth shut." His brow raised and his eyes went wide. He sniffed the air. "Pizza? Did somebody order a pizza?"

He passed out just as two uniformed officers came to the doorway with Rabbit behind them.

"Geez-hus! What a mess!" the first cop said. "Look at all the damn blood — geez-hus!"

The second one cried out, "Shit! That damn dog's eating it!"

I glanced over to Jazzy as I stood up. I shoved hard by the first cop, and he fell back — he was getting ready to kick my golden retriever.

"Look at the can behind his head, dumbass," I growled, nodding to Oz.

See-Saw squeaked out, "Tomato paste, ass-wipe — tomato paste. Smells like a pizzeria in here; cain't you smell it?"

The cop glared up from the fifty-pound sack of peanuts he'd landed on, his hand on his holstered side arm.

Jazzy and I moved quickly past the second officer and toward the door.

"Hey, stop!" the cop ordered. "We need to question you."

"Lt. Legend already did, a half hour ago," I said without looking back. "I don't know anything more about this than you do." Then I remembered See-Saw, and I looked back just long enough to say, "See-Saw will help you. He saw who did it."

The two cops exchanged glances, and then turned to the blind man.

I moved out of the way as the EMTs burst through the door, and Jazzy and I slipped out behind them.

Time was growing short, and I wondered about my upcoming meeting with Jason at Devil's Horn. He'd be desperate to get his daughter back safely. The kidnappers had been clear about only one thing. According to the note, they wanted
me
. Nothing about any kind of ransom had been mentioned. Jason was the one who suggested they wanted money — the note just said they wanted
me
.  And Devil's Horn would be the perfect place to kill someone and get rid of the body, all in one little push.

I began to wonder just how good of friends Jason and I were.