DEAD MEN DON'T DRINK

Chapter 24

Chapter 24

When I heard the sirens, I remembered Wild Billie was on the way with backup. The gunshots had killed Jerome immediately but I called for an ambulance anyway. I quickly explained what happened and Wild Billie wasted no time in cuffing Starrla and Harley. Harley protested his innocence and played the “minister” card, but I assured Billie he was intimately involved and warranted questioning. Police officers went to work setting up the crime scene and sealed off the perimeter. Billie called for a medical examiner.

As Starrla was escorted to a police car, I walked along beside her. “Sorry about your sister. She didn’t deserve to die.”

A tear formed in her eyes. “Will you put in a good word for me?”

“I’ll try.”

“I liked you, Chaser. You’re a fun guy. And you were good in bed. Actually, better than average.”

Her comment caught me off guard and seemed out of place, kind of like a plastic water gun in a police officer’s holster. Before I could respond, the police officers bent her head down and eased her into the backseat of the car. They didn’t say a word to me but their raised eyebrows and smirks told me volumes of what they were thinking.

Wild Billie joined me. “I heard the compliment, Chaser.”

“Yeah, well—”

“I’d say she was wrong.”

“You mean shooting, Jerome? I agree. She should have waited.”

“No. I mean about better than average in bed. I’d say you’re great. Top of the hill.”

“Oh, well…There’s always room for improvement. You free, tonight?”

“I’m never free, but you get the friendly interested-party discount.”

“Come over at six. I’ll make my famous chicken stir fry.”

She squeezed my hand and went back inside to the crime scene.

#

I drove away feeling morose at the sad turn of events. And I still had the open ended problem of Bobbie Zee. Last I heard, he’d gone to Mexico to track down the leader of the Black Crows cartel—by himself. Bobbie could be a rogue officer and notorious for painting outside the lines but he knew how to take care of himself. Nevertheless, I worried he might be no match for a band of ruthless gang members especially with him prowling around on their turf. I had bad feelings about how this might end.

I phoned Jack Jolly from my car. Since he and Bobbie surreptitiously hatched this idea to bring down the cartel, I felt like Jack owed me answers and assurances that whatever Bobbie was doing had been thought through.

“Hey, Chaser. What’s up, my friend?”

“Have you heard from Bobbie?”

“No. But expect to get a report any day now.”

“We need to talk.”

“Anytime, my friend.”

“Now works for me.”

“Oh?” I heard him pause as if thinking he really wanted to talk. “Meet me at Charlie’s in half an hour. I’ll buy.”

#

Charlie’s Country Rock House is where I met Starrla. Ironic that Jack would choose this gin joint out of the thousands in L.A. I had already paid my respects to several other watering holes of disrepute that night after LAPD unceremoniously kicked me off the force. Starrla was a pleasant distraction and in my reduced state of logic I thought she might save me from myself.

Jack was seated at the bar. A glass of bourbon waited for me. He didn’t look up. “I know you have questions. So, shoot.”

“Whose idea was it to go after the cartel? Yours or Bobbie’s?”

“Next question. ”

“You knew we were partners. Why Bobbie and not me? Or both of us?”

He did a slow turn to face me. The wide smile he wore perpetually in public was nowhere to be found. His lips were tight. His eyes dark. “Very simple. Bobbie sees things as black and white and he acts. He shoots to kill. You, on the other hand, only see gray, and you waste time asking too many damned questions. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

“Hold on, Jack. Why the vigilante rush to get the Black Crows? We have hundreds of gangs in L.A. We have umpteen law enforcement agencies, and you think you and Bobbie can bring down this friggin’ cartel? By yourselves? I’d say that’s delusional.”

He jabbed me in the shoulder with a thick finger. “I’ll tell you what’s delusional, my friend. What’s delusional is how our pussy-footed police task forces spend time and resources on helmets and ballistic vests, and table topic exercises instead of rounding these bastards up. Meanwhile, innocent citizens get brutally murdered, or raped, or kidnapped and sold into the sex slave market. What’s fucking delusional is to think we’re taking them off the streets. Bobbie’s a fighter and knows how to get the job done.”

“So, you convinced him to do this?”

“No. He came to me. I agreed and told him I’d bankroll his operation. No questions asked.”

That threw me a curve I didn’t expect. “Where the hell did that cockamamie idea come from? Bobbie and I talked about everything under the sun and he never once mentioned this to me.”

Jack Jolly scoffed. “You really do have your head in the sand, Chaser. Let me tell you something you don’t know.”

Jack was starting to piss me off. “Go ahead, surprise me.”

“Bobbie had a daughter, an accident, you might say, with a beautiful woman. Met her once. Nice gal. She was working her tush off to ahead to get in the film business. Maggie was her name. No. Wait. It was…it was…Marrla. That’s with two “Rs”, by the way.”

I nearly spit my bourbon across the bar. “What?”

Jack’s eyes widened. “You know her?”

“Bobbie was with Marrla?”

“Yeah, for a while. Thought you knew. Mister ‘we talked about everything under the sun.’ Guess not, huh? Anyway, the Black Crows snatched their two-year-old daughter. It was a message to Bobbie to back off. Probably sold her off to some corrupt doctor or nurse or trafficked her to a baby broker, who knows. Needless to say, he was hell bent on finding her and getting revenge.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit. You see here’s the difference. Bobbie went into action mode immediately. I knew he’d get results. If I had asked you, I’d gotten a ten-page report with more questions than solutions.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither is live in the big city.”

“Marrla’s dead, you know.”

This time Jack Jolly nearly spit his bourbon. “When? What happened?”

I explained the long sordid story of Harley and Starrla and Jerome and Isaac Prinz.”

“Damn it. Does Bobbie know?”

“I doubt it. He’s in Mexico and I haven’t heard from him.”

Jack rubbed his forehead. “This news will kill him.”

“Probably. But I’m more concerned about his safety being out there alone. All your money in the world may not be enough to save him.”

Jack stared at his glass of bourbon, twirled the golden liquid, and slowly spun the glass between his two hands. “Jeezus.”

We both sat in silence. George Strait sang on the speakers about all his exes living in Texas. The bar wasn’t crowded since it was midday. The fake urban cowboys had arrived early in their shiny boots perhaps looking for an early score with a cougar in a pearl snap embroidered shirt and buckskin skirt. A country western band arrived and started setting up their instruments on the stage. Another hot neon night about to begin for the lonely in a smoke-filled room of broken dreams. I know what I’m thinking. I’ve been there. The thought made my stomach churn.

Then Jolly turned to me, the familiar smile had returned. “Say, on a different subject. I’m serious, now, my friend. I’m giving more thought to running for mayor. Folks are anxious to set up a committee. Get a jump start on a campaign. And I think you’d be a fine chief of police.”

It was my turn to scoff. “You said I was too gray. Asked too many questions.”

His smile turned up a watt. “Exactly, what we need. Someone with your experience and smarts. We can bring law and order back again to this town.”

I didn’t respond. After seeing and hearing this other side of Jack Jolly I didn’t think I wanted to run in his circle any longer.”

Jack dug into his pants pocket and withdrew a wad of bills. “Tell you what. Think about it. Enjoy the holidays. Let’s talk again after the first of the year.” He peeled off ten crisp C-notes. “Here, Merry Christmas, my friend.”

When I didn’t take the bills from his hand, he set the stack down by my bourbon glass. “No questions, asked. I like you, Chaser. Be smart.”

I rose from my bar stool. “Thanks, my friend. Not interested.” I walked away from the bar, the money, and Jack Jolly.

#

Wild Billie showed up at my doublewide in Malibu. I’d forgotten it was Christmas Eve and apologized to her for not getting her a gift.

She kissed me. “Don’t apologize. You’re the best gift I could ever have.”

“I think you’re on the naughty list this year.”

“All the better for I’m going to jingle your bells.” She wrapped her arms around me and we kissed with hunger.

I whispered in her ear. “Let’s make sure you get something off your wish-list tonight.”

“Oh, Chaser, you sleigh me. That’s ‘s-l-e-i-g-h.”

I led her to my bedroom. “Let’s Scrooge.”

But before I could get my shirt off, the doorbell rang.

“You expecting company?”

“No,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

I opened the door to find a box and a UPS label addressed to me. Billie stepped out into the front room wearing a robe and held a pistol in her hand. “Thought I better back you up-just in case.” She stared at the box. “A late Christmas present?”

“I don’t know. Let’s find out.” I grabbed a letter opener and cut through the tape. Then we both gasped and nearly fell down over each other.

“Holy fuck!” she screamed.

Inside the box was a bloody head which we instantly recognized. It was the head of Bobbie Zee.

“Oh, my god. No!”

When I looked more carefully, I noticed a handwritten note inside a small Ziplock bag. The note simply said, “You’re next.”

I was stunned and sat on the floor staring at Bobbie’s bloody head.

Wild Billie paced the floor in her bare feet. “Oh, god, Chaser. We gotta call FBI.”

I got up and went to my bedroom. Billie followed me. “What are you doing?”

“I’m packing my bags.”

“What? It’s Christmas Eve. You need to think this through. And I know what you’re thinking, dammit. You’re going after Ramirez, aren’t you?”

I threw some clothes into a duffel bag along with two pistols and a box of ammunition.

“Please, Chaser. Don’t get crazy on me.” Her eyes began to well up with tears. “Please. Let’s talk about this in the morning…with clear heads. We can figure this out, together.”

“I love you, Billie. And I’ll be fine. This is no time for questions or thinking. It’s time for action.”

She followed me to the door and held me tight. I kissed her one last time. “I’ll call you.”

I went out into a clear night. The moon was high, the Pacific was calm, and I steered Mr. Red Green south toward Mexico.

THE END

Author’s note: I realize this ending portends a sequel but I never intended for there to be one. Perhaps one day, I’ll explore that possibility. But for now, I’ll leave the minutes and days to follow to your imagination. After all, real life is rarely black and white, cut and dry, and often open-ended. One door closes. Another door opens. And on we go in hopes of fixing our broken dreams.

Thank you for reading DEAD MEN DON’T DRINK. I hope you enjoyed the story of Rocky Chaser. Next week, I plan to begin a new novel—a thriller.

If you like what you read here, please tell your friends, especially ones who like to read episodic mysteries and thrillers and bad poetry. I’ll leave the door open.

Until next time.

ZJ