Amos Walker: The Complete Story Collection by Loren D. Estleman Page B
Authors: Loren D. Estleman
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truth. Not right now, though. Not here. Let’s go somewhere.”
“You go,” she said. “I’ve got a pistol in this purse and when I pull the trigger it won’t much matter whether it’s inside or outside.”
I didn’t move. “Guns, everybody’s got ’em. After a killer’s screwed one in your face the rest aren’t so scary.”
We sat like that for a while, she with her hand in the purse and turned a little in the seat so that one silken knee showed under the hem of her pleated skirt while a cramp crawled across the palm I had clenched on her wrist. The morgue crew came out the front door of the diner wheeling a stretcher with a zipped bag full of Dave Tillet on it and folded the works into the back of the wagon. Rena didn’t look at them. Finally I let go of her and got out one of my cards and a pen. I moved slowly to avoid attracting bullets.
“I’ll just put my home address and telephone number on the back,” I said, writing. “Open twenty-four hours. Just ring and ask for Amos. But do it before the cops get you or I’m just another spent shell.”
She said nothing. I tucked the card under the mirror she had clamped to the sun visor on the passenger side and got out and into my crate and started the motor and swung out into the street and took off with my cape flying behind me.
Four
I made some calls from the office, but none of the security firms or larger investigation agencies in town had anything to farm out. I bought myself a drink from the file drawer in the desk and when that was finished I bought myself another, and by then it was timeto go to Police Headquarters at 1300 Beaubien, or just plain 1300 as it’s known in town. The lady detective who announced me to John Alderdyce was too much detective not to notice the scotch on my breath but too much lady to mention it. Little by little they are changing things down there, but it’s a slow process.
In John’s office I gave my story again to a stenographer while Alderdyce and the bearded sergeant listened for variations. When the steno left to type up my statement I asked John what he’d found out.
“Tillet kept the books for Great Lakes Importers. Ever hear of it?”
“Front for the Mob.”
“So you say. It’s worth a slander suit if you say it in public, they’re that well screened with lawyers and holding corporations.” He broke open a fresh pack of Luckies and fired one up with a Zippo. I already had a Winston going. “Tillet rented a house in Southfield. A grand a month.”
“Any grand jury investigations in progress?” I asked.
“They’re hard on the bookkeeping population.”
He shook his head. “We got a call in to the feds, but even if they get back to us we’ll still have to go up to the mountain to get any information out of those tight-mouthed clones. We’re pinning our hopes on the street trade and this woman Rena. Especially her.”
“What’d you turn on her?”
“She works at the Peacock’s Roost like you said, goes by Rena Murrow. She didn’t show up for the four PM. shift today. She’s got an apartment on Michigan and we have men waiting for her there, but she’s empty tracks by now. Tillet’s landlady says he’s been away someplace on vacation. Lying low. Whoever wanted him out in the open got to Rena. By all accounts she is a woman plenty of scared accountants would break cover to meet.
“Maybe someone used her?”
He grinned that tight grin that was always bad news for someone. “Your license to hunt Dulcineas still valid?”
“Everyone needs a hobby,” I said. “Stamps are sissy.”
“Safer, though. According to the computer, this damsel has two priors for soliciting, but that was before she started bumming around with one Peter Venito. ’Known former associate,’ it says in the printout. Computers have no romance in their circuits.”
I smoked and thought. Peter Venito, born Pietro, had come up through the Licavoli mob during Prohibition and during the old Kefauver Committee
“You go,” she said. “I’ve got a pistol in this purse and when I pull the trigger it won’t much matter whether it’s inside or outside.”
I didn’t move. “Guns, everybody’s got ’em. After a killer’s screwed one in your face the rest aren’t so scary.”
We sat like that for a while, she with her hand in the purse and turned a little in the seat so that one silken knee showed under the hem of her pleated skirt while a cramp crawled across the palm I had clenched on her wrist. The morgue crew came out the front door of the diner wheeling a stretcher with a zipped bag full of Dave Tillet on it and folded the works into the back of the wagon. Rena didn’t look at them. Finally I let go of her and got out one of my cards and a pen. I moved slowly to avoid attracting bullets.
“I’ll just put my home address and telephone number on the back,” I said, writing. “Open twenty-four hours. Just ring and ask for Amos. But do it before the cops get you or I’m just another spent shell.”
She said nothing. I tucked the card under the mirror she had clamped to the sun visor on the passenger side and got out and into my crate and started the motor and swung out into the street and took off with my cape flying behind me.
Four
I made some calls from the office, but none of the security firms or larger investigation agencies in town had anything to farm out. I bought myself a drink from the file drawer in the desk and when that was finished I bought myself another, and by then it was timeto go to Police Headquarters at 1300 Beaubien, or just plain 1300 as it’s known in town. The lady detective who announced me to John Alderdyce was too much detective not to notice the scotch on my breath but too much lady to mention it. Little by little they are changing things down there, but it’s a slow process.
In John’s office I gave my story again to a stenographer while Alderdyce and the bearded sergeant listened for variations. When the steno left to type up my statement I asked John what he’d found out.
“Tillet kept the books for Great Lakes Importers. Ever hear of it?”
“Front for the Mob.”
“So you say. It’s worth a slander suit if you say it in public, they’re that well screened with lawyers and holding corporations.” He broke open a fresh pack of Luckies and fired one up with a Zippo. I already had a Winston going. “Tillet rented a house in Southfield. A grand a month.”
“Any grand jury investigations in progress?” I asked.
“They’re hard on the bookkeeping population.”
He shook his head. “We got a call in to the feds, but even if they get back to us we’ll still have to go up to the mountain to get any information out of those tight-mouthed clones. We’re pinning our hopes on the street trade and this woman Rena. Especially her.”
“What’d you turn on her?”
“She works at the Peacock’s Roost like you said, goes by Rena Murrow. She didn’t show up for the four PM. shift today. She’s got an apartment on Michigan and we have men waiting for her there, but she’s empty tracks by now. Tillet’s landlady says he’s been away someplace on vacation. Lying low. Whoever wanted him out in the open got to Rena. By all accounts she is a woman plenty of scared accountants would break cover to meet.
“Maybe someone used her?”
He grinned that tight grin that was always bad news for someone. “Your license to hunt Dulcineas still valid?”
“Everyone needs a hobby,” I said. “Stamps are sissy.”
“Safer, though. According to the computer, this damsel has two priors for soliciting, but that was before she started bumming around with one Peter Venito. ’Known former associate,’ it says in the printout. Computers have no romance in their circuits.”
I smoked and thought. Peter Venito, born Pietro, had come up through the Licavoli mob during Prohibition and during the old Kefauver Committee
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