Maxwell Street Blues (28 page)

“A neighborhood in transition,” Voss said and walked through the gate. He glanced at the debris pile then walked a complete circle around the bandstand before stopping to lean against the side of the stage. “When I was growing up,” he said, “we used to call this place Jew Town.”

I followed him inside the fence and stood on the opposite side of the debris pile. “Feeling nostalgic?” I asked.

“Whaddya so nervous about?” growled Voss.

“Who’s nervous?”

“You’re standing over there, keeping that pile of junk between us. And that’s bad logistics.” Voss sidestepped into the shadowed area next to the stage, then back out. “You’re at a disadvantage if you can’t see me.”

“I get the feeling you were here earlier today, mapping out the place.”

“Always plan ahead,” said Voss. “But I’m just here to do a little business, that’s all.”

“So let’s get down to business. Who killed Snooky and why?”

“
Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!
Where’s my book?”

“Don’t worry, it’s around. And it’s got everything you want on Kalijero.”

“And Mildish, Baron, and Tate.”

“Ah! So you
were
interested in them as well.”

Voss smiled. “Hey, it’s gravy. A little extra leverage on big shots is always good to have.”

“They really don’t know anything about Snooky’s murder, do they?”

“Naaah. Them bozos don’t know shit.”

“For a while, I really thought Chancellor Tate was the killer,” I said. “Like he panicked about what Snooky might know about him.”

“Yeah, sure. That makes sense.”

“Does it? He kills a guy then dumps the body outside his own office?”

“Yeah, well, somebody wanted to send a message.” Voss chuckled.

“
Somebody
or
you
?”

Voss straightened up. “It sure sent a chill through all Snook’s clients, no?” Voss laughed again. “C’mon, let’s get this over with. Give me the book.”

“Who killed Snooky?”

“Give me the book. Then we’ll talk.”

“You told me Snooky cried like a little bitch—”

“I made that shit up.” Voss stepped forward, waving his hands. “I just wanted to get under your skin, that’s all.” Voss held out the envelope full of cash I had included with the note. “Here’s your earnest money back. Take it.” He tossed the envelope over the pile.

I said, “I’m new at this, so be patient. I’m supposed to give you the book so you can cover me with your gun and then walk out of here?”

“What gun?” Voss showed both hands. “Look, I’m not the monster you think I am. My beef with Kalijero is personal. And you know what? I don’t harbor any bad feelings over you banging my head on that concrete step.”

I acted like I was mulling things over, then said, “Oh, what the hell. I guess I should just learn to trust people.” I pretended I had the book in my pocket, made a motion as if about to toss something to Voss, then stopped. “On second thought, I’d really like to know who killed Snooky.”

Voss calmly walked around the junk pile to face me. Then he took out a semiautomatic pistol and said, “Put your hands behind your head.” After I did as told, Voss approached me, grabbed my shirt, yanked it up, then tore the transmitter off my chest. “Hey, Kalijero, can you hear me? Fuck you! You got nothing!” Voss looked at me. “Give me the ear bug or I’ll knock it out of your head.” I handed it over then watched him stomp on both devices.

“I’m ticklish,” I said as Voss started searching me with one hand while holding his gun with the other. First he checked my jacket pockets then started going over my torso. When he reached my gun, he lifted it from the shoulder holster.

“Glock .40, not bad,” he said then tucked the gun into the belt of his trousers. I put my arms down. “It really doesn’t matter if you have a gun or not, Landau. If I shoot you, it’s clearly self-defense.” Voss stepped backward into a shadow, shouted,
“Bang,”
then walked forward into the light. “Where’s the book?”

“Tell me about Snooky’s murder.”

“
Show
me the book.”

“You’re just so used to things being easy, right, Voss? You came here thinking you could just get what you wanted and walk away without having to admit you killed Snooky.”

“I didn’t kill no one. That scumbag you wasted in the alley did the killing.”

“But you were there, supervising the murder, to make sure the meth-head left money in Snooky’s wallet. That prevented Tate, Mildish, and Baron from thinking it was just a robbery. You
wanted
them to see Snooky’s corpse as a message that someone had just acquired a little accounting leverage. Always planning ahead. Someday, you would turn that leverage into cash or favors.” I took Voss’s smirk as a grudging acknowledgment.

“Why shouldn’t I just waste you and leave?”

“Because you want Snooky’s book and all the power it holds. Because if shots are fired, Kalijero and the cavalry come in, guns blazing. You’re getting sloppy, Voss.”

“It’s dark, you lured me here.” The brashness in his voice had tempered somewhat.

“Give me the truth, I give you the book, you walk out with your corrupt kingdom intact.” I laughed. “I mean, why not? You know I’m not wearing a wire anymore.”

Voss adjusted his grip on the gun. “You go to all this trouble just for some goddamn truth? Who cares?”

“I promised my father I’d find out what happened.”

“Oh, I get it, it’s some kind of Landau-blood-honor thing. Fine. But I’m telling you right now, if I don’t leave this shithole with what I want, I will fuck you up, and it
will
be self-defense.”

“You couldn’t go after Snooky directly,” I said, “because he had too many friends. Other creeps, connected types like you. Together they could probably take you out. You knew the kind of money Kalijero was bringing in at O’Hare’s Tailspin. You found out he used Snooky’s services. You found out about Snooky’s friendship with Lisa. You manipulated her into helping you. She’s a little wacky, emotionally unstable. You exploit her weakness. You find out she has her own vendetta against Tate. You told her if she could get the names and dates and account numbers, she could bring Tate down and destroy him.”

Voss pretended to yawn. “Snooky cleaned Kalijero’s cash. That was a no-brainer. But I gave the tattoo broad five hundred bucks anyway to verify Snooky had a Greek cop as a client. She’s a smart broad, you know. She tells me about Tate using Snooky. Maybe Tate’s not paying his taxes? That’s against the law, isn’t it? I do a little snooping.
Whaddya know? Tate is connected to Mildish and Baron.”

“But you still need the book and Lisa can’t get it. A shitstorm begins when Kalijero starts complaining about you supplying meth to the strip club.”

“What? Who said that?” Voss did his best to look outraged.

“Nice try, Voss. I’m supposed to believe dealing meth is against your moral principles?”

Voss started pacing, moving in and out of light. “I ain’t worried about steering a little crystal to the club—if that’s what you’re thinking. You know why? Because it’s a hell of a revenue enhancer! We damn near doubled our profits after those dopes got their first taste of whoring around on meth. All that cop brass getting nice, fat envelopes. Fuck it. What do I care? I’m not cooking it, I just push it along.”

“But it’s not just the club, is it? You couldn’t resist using Lisa’s junkie clients. They did you favors—like murdering Snooky—and you got them meth. If one of those scumbags got killed, so what? Plenty more to choose from. But you gotta get that book because you’re worried about Kalijero. So you send an army of meth-heads to tear Snooky’s house apart.”

Voss stopped pacing. “Okay, you’re a brilliant investigator. Time to hand it over.”

“After Snooky died, things changed between you and Lisa. Like you said, she’s no dummy. When you realized she knew you had one of her junkie friends kill Snooky, you reminded her of how powerful you were and that a lot of circumstantial evidence stared her in the face.”

“That little bitch wanted that book as bad as I did! She didn’t give a damn about Snooky. She just wanted to ruin Tate.”

“Bullshit! Lisa never would’ve helped you if she knew Snooky would get killed! But now you’ve got her scared and you can’t get Kalijero out of your mind. You’re looking for a little insurance. So you introduce Lisa to the idea of framing Tate as a meth dealer—hoping to throw the scent off your own meth-dealing ass. She gets a junkie or two to call his cell phone, his office, his house. His business card shows up on a dead scumbag.”

“I’m getting bored, Landau. But hey, if you want to finish telling me what you know, that’s just dandy. Or maybe you’re done?”

“You’re not bored, you’re nervous.”

“Why? Because I had some mob-lackey money-laundering piece-of-shit nobody cared about killed?”

“I could never understand people like you. Is it because you’ve been untouchable for so long you think you’re exempt from consequences?”

Voss stepped forward, snarled,
“I am the consequence!”
then retreated.

“You were wrong. Somebody did give a damn about Snooky. But this meth thing. You know when you cross a line? And you make people nervous? Sometimes they get all federal on you. Wire-tappy kind of federal.”

“I know, dumb ass. I’m insulated from all that.”

I took the glass vial from my pocket and held it up. “This is one of several vials I found at a dead junkie’s flophouse. If you look close, there’s a beautiful thumbprint encrusted in a milky white residue that smells like cat pee. You know, I bet this thumbprint just might belong to someone already in the database who knows what happens to repeat drug traffickers if they refuse to cut a deal—like giving up their suppliers.”

“You’re definitely the dumbest Landau who ever cursed this city. I told you I’m
insulated
. I just give orders once it comes in, direct it places to be stored—”

“All right, all right,” I said. “The book is lying on top of the crap pile.”

Voss walked up to me and pointed his gun at my forehead. “Just remember, Landau. Try anything and it’s self-defense against the Snooky avenger.”

“What can I try? You took my gun.”

“Shut up and get the book.”

Voss backed up a few steps. As I reached up to the top of the debris pile and grabbed the journal off the chunk of drywall with my right hand, I found the matches with my left. I held the book up. “Okay, now what?”

“Throw it to me.”

I had an unobstructed path to the steel drum. The junk pile lay between Voss and the drum. If I dove behind the pile, Voss would have a small window to get a clear shot at me before I could get behind the drum. Loaded with rubbish, I figured it weighed at least fifty pounds. I slipped a finger behind one of the matches, bent it forward, and held the match head against the striking surface.

“Just in case you’re wondering,” Voss said while removing my .40-caliber from his belt before presenting a posture with double-fisted guns. “I’ll fire your gun into the ground then shoot you with mine.” Voss laughed. “You shot first, I returned fire. That’s what Kalijero’s report will say.”

“Okay, Voss,” I said. “Take the damn book and fuck off.”

I held up the book, cocked my arm back, then followed through with a throwing motion before diving to my left, executing a tuck-and-roll, journal and matchbook still in hand. As I scrambled on my belly, a shot rang out. Just as I got behind the drum, a second shot cracked, followed by a flash, then intense pain from the igniting matches burning my
hand. I screamed but endured the pain long enough to drop the flame into the steel drum, setting its contents ablaze with a whoosh.

Kalijero rushed in, shouting for everyone to drop their weapons. Voss tossed my .40-caliber within a few feet of me. I imagined Kalijero just inside the gate on one knee, pointing his gun at Voss’s profile.

“I’m behind the steel drum,” I shouted. “I’m unarmed.”

“Kalijero!” Voss shouted. “Landau tried to kill me. Arrest him!”

Peering around the drum, I saw Voss standing his ground, ready to fire at whatever part of me was exposed or, perhaps, thinking about approaching me for a kill shot.

“Drop your weapon, Voss!” Kalijero shouted. “Then we’ll talk about it.”

“Goddamn it, Kalijero! Cuff that little shit and bring him to me.”

“Voss! Put your gun away and relax. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You put a wire on Landau, you piece of shit! I’m supposed to trust you?”

“Hey, that was Hauser’s call. You know you got enemies, so what? You won this round, they got nothing.”

Voss stood in place, cursing and making noises as if in pain. I thought any moment he would begin stomping his feet or throw himself on the ground kicking his legs. Finally he said, “You’re damn right you got nothing—you piece of shit!”

“Walk away,” Kalijero said. “Live to fight another day.”

“No. You’re going to arrest this prick for trying to kill me or you can watch me shoot him in self-defense. Or should I make a few calls to the brass enjoying their extra income from that little business you started? Those fat envelopes are a tough habit to kick.”

“Hey, Voss, you still want your book?” I held the journal up near the flames at the top of the drum.

“Stay put, Voss,” Kalijero said. “I swear to God I’ll shoot. Landau is an unarmed civilian.”

“Go ahead and arrest me, Jimmy,” I shouted.

“You heard him, Kalijero. What’re you waiting for?”

“It’s okay, Jimmy. I mean it’s better than getting shot and it’s better than you losing your pension. But first there’s something I want to show you.” I reached into the breast pocket of my sport coat, took out a pen, then held it up. “See this, Voss? It’s a damn good pen but it’s also a damn good voice recorder.” I unscrewed the pen and held up the top half. “See that? I can plug that sucker into a USB port and download everything that was said from the moment you walked in here. Isn’t that cool?”

His outrage was palpable. I thought the streetlights momentarily dimmed as Voss’s body shook, trembled, and twitched like he had a convulsive disease.

Voss’s face now resembled a central processing unit trying to calculate a realization that didn’t involve going to prison or getting shot or both. As was often the case with aging, unscrupulous cops, they got fat, careless, and complacent. In addition, Voss committed the sin of ignoring technological advances. I imagined his grimmest calculation included an understanding that many who had supported his corrupt lifestyle would now gladly facilitate his downfall to save their own asses. Perhaps that was the computation processed just before I saw Voss lift his gun hand and take a step toward me. I dropped the journal into the fire and ducked behind the drum. Three shots were fired and I was aware of feeling no pain resembling a bullet strike. Looking up, I saw Kalijero standing in firing position. Voss lay on the ground, dead I hoped, although his groaning quickly told me otherwise.