Lost Among the Angels (A Mercy Allcutt Book) (24 page)

      He didn’t like it. “You want me to give your flowers to Lulu?”

      “Not give them to her. Just ask her if she’d mind if I left them there until I’m through with my business.” Deciding Ned was more trouble than he was worth, I patted his shoulder as I hurried past him. “I truly appreciate the flowers, Ned, but it’s vitally important that Barbara-Ann and I be on our way now.” And we left him on the staircase. Poor Ned. I was beginning to think of him as a hopeless case.

      That, however, was neither here nor there. Eyeing my companion with some concern, I asked, “Do you mind walking there, Barbara-Ann?”

      “Uh-uh.”

      “Good.” So we hot-footed it the few blocks to Chinatown. There was quite a bit of foot and automobile traffic, but we made good time. I suspected that Ernie and Mr. Bigelow had driven to Mr. Li’s shop, but didn’t believe they could have gotten there very much sooner than we did, owing to the traffic.

      I was right. When Barbara-Ann and I barreled into Mr. Li’s shop, we saw a sight thrilling enough to gratify any aspiring novelist. Han Li stood behind his counter, trembling from head to toe, staring at the gun Mr. Bigelow held in his hand, and stuttering.

      “No!” said he in a terrified voice. “I don’t know. Honest.”

      “Can it, Li. You don’t know the meaning of the word
honest
.” That was Ernie, who, hearing us new arrivals, swung around, a gun of his own drawn. His face registered an instant of astonishment before it settled into anger. “You! Damn it, Mercy Allcutt, I told you to stay put.”

      “It’s not fair to leave us out,” I said, wishing he’d aim the gun elsewhere. I wanted to point out that anyone else might have discovered him there, waving that gun in the air, because the front door of the shop had been standing wide open, but my heart had taken that opportunity to lodge in my throat, so I didn’t. I did, however, close the front door.

      Ernie muttered, “Christ,” in a disgusted-sounding voice. It wasn’t a prayer.

      In truth, I hadn’t anticipated guns being involved in this venture, and seeing two of them wielded in a threatening manner in that confined space made me wonder if I hadn’t been the least little bit precipitate in following the men.

      But we were there now, and there wasn’t much I could do about it but be careful. That being the case, I took Barbara-Ann’s hand and backed us both up against a row of cluttered shelves, watching the action carefully, keeping my eye on the door to the shop, and praying it wouldn’t open. When we’d entered, both Ernie and Mr. Bigelow had been facing Mr. Li with their backs to the shop’s front door. If it had been a villain who’d entered instead of the two of us, they might well have been in trouble. I decided to point that out to Ernie as soon as he was finished with Mr. Li. It was a valid argument in mitigation of what he might otherwise consider my interference.

      “Give it up, Li,” growled Mr. Bigelow. “You’ve lost.”

      “If I do that, they kill me,” whined Mr. Li. “You know they will.”

      “The L.A.P.D. will protect you.”

      “Huh.” Clearly, Mr. Li didn’t believe it.

      “What’s the score, Li?” Ernie asked. “Where’s Babs, and why are you holding her?”

      “I can’t tell!”

      “You damned well better tell,” said Mr. Bigelow. “Otherwise, you’ll go down alone for kidnapping.”

      “But I didn’t do anything!” cried Mr. Li in anguish. “They threaten me!”

      “The hell you say. What’s it all about Li? Booze? Drugs? Bumpas has skipped, so you’re all by yourself now.”

      “Skipped? Skipped?” Mr. Li’s voice cracked. “What you mean he skipped?”

      “He’s gone. Ran out on you. You’re on your own, Li. You going to give up the broad, or do you want to go to jail to think about it?”

      “No! No! He gotta give money to get woman!”

      “Who’s got to give you money?” asked Mr. Bigelow.

      “Bumpas. He got money to get woman!”

      Mr. Bigelow disabused him of that notion. “Too late for that. Bumpas has skipped town, and there won’t be any money. You’d better give us the woman.”

      “No money?” Mr. Li’s voice had gone tiny.

      “No Bumpas. No money. No Li, either, if you don’t start cooperating pretty damned soon,” growled Ernie.

      Mr. Li hung his head. For a moment, he was the very picture of despair. Then he looked again at Mr. Bigelow. “If I tell you, you gotta help me. I don’t wanna get killed.”

      “We’ll help you if you help us,” promised Mr. Bigelow. “Where’s the broad, and what’s the scoop?”

      Shaking his head, Mr. Li said, “They kill me.”

      Ernie said, “Nuts. We said we’d help you, and we meant it.”

      “Give it up, Li. What’s up? Drugs?”

      Mr. Li stood there, indecisive for a moment, before he nodded. Then he said, “Opium,” in a defeated tone of voice.

      “Figured as much.” Mr. Bigelow glanced at Ernie. “Didn’t I tell you?”

      “Yup. Now, Li, where’s Babs?”

      “Woman at my apartment.” Mr. Li seemed to be catching his second wind because he scowled at Ernie and Mr. Bigelow and said with renewed energy, “You get her out of there! She noisy. She bad. She nuts. She pain in ass.”

      I wished I’d thought to cover Barbara-Ann’s ears before she heard Mr. Li’s denunciation of her mother, but I hadn’t. I squeezed her hand.

      She said, “Ow,” and looked at me as if she thought I was crazy.

Thirteen

We left Han Li’s shop the back way (which, Ernie told me, was the way he and Mr. Bigelow had arrived), so as to prevent anyone who might be watching the front door from following us.

      “What? Did you think we marched in the front door, bold as brass, like you did?” Ernie asked with scorn dripping like acid from his words.

      I sniffed. “I wouldn’t have been surprised. You ought to have closed the door before you pulled your weapons, at least.”

      Ernie rolled his eyes, a gesture I had anticipated, but which sat ill anyhow.

      “Let me lock shop,” Mr. Li pleaded.

      “All right with me,” said Mr. Bigelow. “But I’m going with you.” And he did, showing an appalling lack of trust, which, I gather, he’d acquired during his years as a policeman.

      According to Mr. Li, the people who supplied him with the drugs weren’t due to show up at his shop for another three days. Mr. Bigelow did him the courtesy of not handcuffing him as he led him to the automobile he’d parked in the alley behind Mr. Li’s shop. Both he and Ernie held an arm, I presume so he couldn’t escape.

      When we all got to the car, Ernie looked from it to Barbara-Ann and me, and his scowl deepened. “We can’t all fit,” he announced in a tone of finality that belied the evidence of my own personal eyes. Mr. Bigelow’s automobile was a Ford, and it was plenty big enough to hold the five of us.

      Nevertheless, I decided to be a good sport about it. Smiling sweetly, I said, “Barbara-Ann and I can walk.”

      “Walk where?” demanded Ernie ferociously.

      “Why, to Mr. Li’s apartment building, of course.”

      A fulminating silence ensued. Mr. Bigelow, still gripping Mr. Li tightly, grinned at Ernie, who finally said, “Aw, hell,” and opened the back door. “Get in, Mercy.” Frowning at Barbara-Ann, he said, “You. Get in the front seat.” He directed his last statement to Mr. Bigelow. “Li can sit between Mercy and me. You got any cuffs?”

      “Do we need them?”

      “I don’t want him to try anything funny.”

      Mr. Li shook his head violently. “No cuffs. No funny business. No escape. They kill me if I escape.”

      “That’s true,” muttered Ernie. “Okay, I guess we don’t need cuffs. Shove him in after Mercy. And
you,
” he growled at me, “don’t you try anything funny, either. You’ve pulled enough fool stunts for one day.”

      “I don’t like your tone, Ernie Templeton.”

      “To hell with my damned tone. Get in the damned car.” He opened the door in a manner that assured me he wasn’t being polite, and I got in the car.

      Barbara-Ann, who had remained silent during the preceding incidents, slid into the front seat after Mr. Bigelow, who had opened the door for her much more gently than Ernie had opened the door for me. Oh, well. It wasn’t my fault if my employer was touchy.

      Mr. Bigelow drove us the two blocks to Mr. Li’s apartment building on Yale before anyone spoke again. Then it was Ernie, and his speech was directed at me. “I don’t suppose there’s any way you’ll consent to stay in the car while we take care of this, is there?”

      “No, there is not.”

      “Figured. All right. Let me get Li out, and then you can get out.”

      “Is my mother in there?” Barbara-Ann asked in a small voice.

      “We’ll soon find out,” said Mr. Bigelow.

      I took the girl’s hand, and we followed the three men into the building. Barbara-Ann’s grip was tighter than it had been, but that was the only evidence of emotional intensity she displayed as we walked up a dismal staircase to the second floor. The corridor here wasn’t as depressing as the one on the first floor, being well-lighted and hung with Chinese pictures. A faint scent of sandalwood hung in the air, too, which gave the place an exotic atmosphere.

      Ernie and Mr. Bigelow marched Mr. Li to apartment number eight, and Mr. Li fumbled in his pocket for the key, which he had trouble inserting into the lock. Ernie eventually took it from him and unlocked the door, then shoved Mr. Li inside and followed. I made sure Barbara-Ann and I were hot on his heels, because I didn’t want to be left out in the hallway and miss any of the action. I inadvertently bumped Ernie’s heel with the toe of my shoe, and he glowered at me. I pretended not to notice.

      The apartment was austere, with little by way of furniture, and that shabby. There was a couch and a chair and a table upon which resided some sort of shrine, I guess, in which it was evident that Mr. Li burned incense. For someone in so questionable a profession as drug dealing, this indication of some sort of religious feeling seemed odd to me, although I didn’t have time to think much about it

      “All right, Li, where is she?”

      Mr. Bigelow didn’t have to ask twice. And, as it turned out, Mr. Li didn’t have to answer. As soon as we were all inside the apartment, loud noises began to emanate from behind a closed door to our right.

      “Watch ’em, Ernie.” And, as Ernie shoved Barbara-Ann and me away from the door, and Mr. Li cowered behind Ernie, Mr. Bigelow hurried to the door, stepped aside, and with his gun drawn, threw it open. I didn’t notice until then that Ernie had a firm grip on Mr. Li’s arm, so cowering was about all the poor man could do.

      “Well, I’ll be.” Sticking his gun in its holster, a shoulder model I never did get to see clearly, Mr. Bigelow put his fists on his hips, and smiled at whatever the room contained.

      I heard more noises, including muffled human sounds, as if someone were trying to speak but had something covering his or her mouth. Barbara-Ann suddenly yanked herself free from my grip, ran to the door, and disappeared into the room. Instantly, her cry of “Ma!” rang out. Also instantly, tears filled my eyes. I blinked them back, praying Ernie hadn’t noticed this evidence of feminine weakness on my part. They didn’t prevent me from rushing into the room, where I saw Barbara-Ann Houser, her arms thrown around a woman gagged and tied to a chair.

      “Go ahead, kid. You can untie her,” Mr. Bigelow said. Barbara-Ann hopped off her mother’s lap and started working first on the gag.

      Ernie and Mr. Li joined Mr. Bigelow and me in watching the touching scene of reunification between mother and child. I clasped my hands to my bosom and tried to keep from crying. When I glanced at Ernie, I saw definite signs of disenchantment, and that evidence of his cold-heartedness drove any compulsion to weep away. “How can you be so callous?” I whispered harshly.

      “Wait till the kid gets the gag out,” he advised, sounding more cynical even than usual.

      At that moment, the gag fell away, and I was forced to acknowledge that Ernie had a point, even though I didn’t want to. Acknowledge his point, I mean.

      As Barbara-Ann stood beside the chair, watching, the woman I presumed to be Babs Houser pinned Han Li with a perfectly hateful frown, and started screaming. “You God damned son of a bitch! You dirty, rotten Chink!” And she went on in that vein until Ernie threatened to replace the gag.

      I, naturally, was shocked and outraged that a woman should use such terrible language in front of her child. I had anticipated an emotional and heartwarming exchange of endearments between mother and daughter. Which demonstrated once again how little I knew of the world.

      As she screamed and hollered, Barbara-Ann and Mr. Bigelow were working on her bonds.  Mrs. Houser was what is colloquially known as a mess. Her blond hair was dirty and straggled around her shoulders; her makeup, which I presume had been slathered on her face two Saturdays prior, was smudged and streaked; her stockings had ladders as wide as my hand, her clothes were crumpled and sweat-stained; and she looked as if she’d not enjoyed her captivity one little bit.

      Mr. Bigelow had to use a knife at one point to get her legs untied, and then he had to rescue Mr. Li, since Babs surged from her chair and launched herself at him. Ernie didn’t release Mr. Li, so it was up to Barbara-Ann and me to wrestle the woman to a standstill. Any urge to cry I had experienced had by that time vanished entirely, and I was on the verge of asking Barbara-Ann why she’d wanted this harridan back in the first place.

      Recognizing that impulse to be unfair, and after peace had more or less been restored, I asked, “Would you care for water, Mrs. Houser?”

      She stared at me as if I were a hydra-headed monster. “Who the hell are you?”

      Oddly enough, it was Barbara-Ann who leapt to defend me. “She’s my friend, Ma. She’s Ernie’s secretary, Miss Allcutt, and she gave me twenty bucks today.”