Six Crime Stories

6
Crime
Stories

 

By

 

Robert T. Jeschonek

*****

Also
by Robert T. Jeschonek

*****

Who Unkilled Johnny Murder?

As I run through the French Quarter of New Orleans in the rain
,
chased by a dead man
,
I wonder where the hell my supposed long-lost half-brother the supposed pulp hero disappeared to with my gun.

Johnny Murder gains on me
,
of course
,
because I weigh almost three hundred pounds naked...which I am...and the next thing I know
,
I
'
m being tackled to the sidewalk by Mr. Dead Guy
,
who seems pretty alive to me.

I feel the barrel of his gun press against the back of my head
,
and I know I
'
m going to have to fight or die. I
'
ve got the bulk to throw this asshole off me...but can I do it before he plants a bullet in my brain?

"
You figured it out
,
"
says Johnny
,
breathing hard from his run.
"
Now here
'
s your reward
,
smart guy.
"

I gather myself up to make one last move. I
'
ve got the body of a sumo; now
'
s the time to use it.

I
'
m not ready to be dead yet...though Johnny here didn
'
t let it keep him down. At least
,
that
'
s what Queen Elizabitch and most of the other members of the French Quarter Open Air Artists and Psychics Association thought when this whole mess started.

*****

I
'
ll admit
,
when I first got the word about Johnny coming back
,
I thought it was a big rip of swamp gas. I never figured that a week later
,
I
'
d end up with the man himself poking a gun in the fat rolls on the back of my neck. Not quite the man himself
,
I should say.

The daily rain shower had just eased through the Quarter that Sunday afternoon
,
and I was at my spot on the corner of Royal and Toulouse
,
not far from the backend of St. Louis Cathedral. Just as the last cloud rolled away and the sun flowed down like fine white wine
,
I stepped out from under Father Sees-All the bone reader
'
s big beach umbrella and started playing
"
Blue Skies
"
on my tenor sax.

I nudged the sax case out on the wet sidewalk with my toe
,
and sure enough
,
within a minute
,
a young couple tossed a dollar bill into it. I knew more would follow; playing songs about blue skies and sunshine after a shower always brings in the tips.

I love Royal Street
,
because it
'
s one street down from the commotion on Bourbon
,
but it
'
s so quiet it might as well be a world away. Not only that
,
but the acoustics are perfect. A tenor sax in the right spot–-my spot-–can carry all up and down the street
,
straight from Canal to Esplanade
,
reeling the tourists right in as they stroll out of the antique and jewelry shops. I can make a couple hundred bucks in an afternoon if I
'
m lucky and the weather holds.

And if some squawked-up hoodoo mama like Queen Elizabitch doesn
'
t come bouncing up to bother me
,
which she did that very afternoon right smack in the middle of my blue skies number.

"
He
'
s back
,
"
said Elizabitch
,
all out of breath and not even having the courtesy to wait till I
'
d finished playing.
"
I saw him
,
Po
'
Boy. I just saw him.
"

Irritated
,
I stopped in mid-chorus and lowered the sax from my lips.
"
Can
'
t you see I
'
m workin
'
here?
"
I said
,
giving my sax case a kick on the pavement.

Queen Elizabitch--chosen name Queen Eliza
beth
,
or Q. Liz for short--just kept rattling on like I couldn
'
t wait to hear what she had to say next.
"
Johnny Murder
,
"
she said
,
flicking open the Chinese hand fan she always carried and waving it in front of her round
,
sweaty face.
"
I saw Johnny Murder down the French Market not fifteen minutes ago.
"

Now
,
in addition to being just the pushiest human steamroller in the Quarter and a bitch in every sense of the word
,
Q. Liz was always claiming to see ghosts and the like
,
so I didn
'
t really take her seriously. She used to swear ol
'
Jean Lafitte himself came by her apartment once a week to play dominoes
,
and sometimes he brought along Jelly Roll Morton.

"
Well
,
ain
'
t that something?
"
I said seriously
,
shaking my head.
"
How long
'
s he been dead now? Five months?
"

"
Six
,
"
said Q. Liz
,
tugging the dashiki away from her enormous breasts and fluttering the bodice to circulate some air down her front.
"
Now he
'
s back
,
an
'
I guess it
'
s my fault.
"

"
How you figure?
"
said Father Sees-All
,
joining the conversation now that the latest customer had left his table.

Q. Liz looked off to the side.
"
I guess I resurrected him
,
"
she said
,
a note of sheepishness worming its way into her voice.

"
Dumb bitch
,
"
said Father Sees-All with a chuckle.
"
How many times I told you
,
don
'
t go messin
'
like that?
"

"
I heard he
'
s got some loot stashed
,
"
said Q. Liz
,
fanning herself faster with annoyance.
"
Thought I
'
d call him out an
'
ask where it is.
"

"
Or maybe
,
"
said Father Sees-All
,
tipping the bowler forward on his floppy gray dreadlocks
,
"
you wanted him to do some killin
'
for you.
"

"
Too bad I already cursed you so damn much
,
"
said Q. Liz with a sweaty glare.
"
I
'
d do it again if I thought it
'
d make any difference.
"

Father Sees-All laughed loud
,
but I didn
'
t crack a smile. For one thing
,
I was burning daylight and losing business standing there listening to her nonsense. For another
,
I didn
'
t much care for having the subject of Johnny Murder brought up again.

He killed my girlfriend
,
Cherry
,
after all.

"
So why you bringin
'
this to me?
"
I said impatiently.

"
I thought you better go get him
,
"
said Q. Liz.
"
Seein
'
as you
'
re the
'
Sociation
'
s constable an
'
all.
"

"
You know I quit six months ago
,
"
I said
,
rolling my eyes.

"
Nobody else wants the job
,
"
said Q. Liz.
"
You can
'
t quit till we get a replacement.
"

Angry
,
I bent down and dropped my sax into its case. For a loose group of iconoclastic street performers
,
the French Quarter Open Air Artists and Psychics Association was forcefully united on one issue: they refused to accept my resignation as constable. I swear
,
they kept me busier after I quit than they had before I gave up the job.

"
Maybe you better get busy an
'
find one
,
"
I said
,
snapping my case shut and tucking it under my arm.
"
I
'
m outta the constable game.
"

"
Now you listen
,
"
said Q. Liz
,
stepping forward and flapping her fan in my face.
"
After what happened to Cherry
,
you oughtta be beggin
'
me to follow up on this. You owe her.
"

Q. Liz stood so close to me
,
her breasts touched my chest and her breath fogged my specs. For a long moment
,
I held her gaze
,
staring daggers through her retinas and right into the back of her head.

"
Don
'
t you ever say her name to me like that
,
"
I said finally.
"
You want help
,
you call the cops from now on.
"

Then
,
I brushed past her and marched off to find another spot where I could play my sax in peace.

"
You best be careful
,
Po
'
Boy
,
"
she hollered after me.
"
You wouldn
'
t wannna end up with a curse on that bald head a
'
yours.
"

I snorted and kept walking. I already had a curse on my head; what kind of voodoo woman was she
,
if she couldn
'
t see that?

About as good as I am at being an ex-constable
,
I guess
,
since she turned up dead twelve hours later. Even an ex-constable wouldn
'
t let that happen to a friend...which I guess is what she was after all
,
now that I think back on it.

*****