Shay O'Hanlon Caper 04 - Chip Off the Ice Block Murder (12 page)

I sucked in a breath and opened my mouth to speak, but not before Nails said, “I swear, that man has more visitors after he’s dead than he ever did before he turned into a goddamn ice cube.”

She dropped the nail file. It clattered loudly against the desktop. She lumbered to her feet and said, “All right. Who sent you and how much does he owe this time?”

In a heartbeat, she shed bored secretary like a snakeskin and replaced it with vindictive bitch. Nails attempted to frown and instead gave us a half-squint. Her brows were frozen in a state of perpetual astonishment. I wondered what kind of a bargain basement deal she got on the Botox job.

Both Coop and I took a casual, cautious half-step away from the desk. I was ready to keep on going right out the door, but the desire to see what else Nails had to say overrode my instinct to get the hell out of there. I was curious to find out if old Chuckie had his hand in a few cookie jars that now wanted their cookies back in a bad way.

So how could I play on that and maximize my informational return? “Mr. Schuler was involved in some business dealings with one of the parties I represent.”

That sounded good.

Nails returned her attention to her fingers and studied them from one side and then the other. The only thing that could’ve made the moment even more surreal and sadly cliché would have been if she were chomping on a piece of gum and sporadically cracking it between her molars.

She sighed dramatically and muttered under her breath, “Yup. Another one.”

Coop said, “What?”

“You’re the fourth set of people coming in who want payment or to talk about Mr. Schuler’s business. What is it this time?”

The woman made the sign of the cross and opened a desk drawer. For a spilt second I wondered if she was going to pull a gun. She fumbled around and withdrew a saltshaker. She shook it a few times over her left shoulder, returned it the to the drawer, sat, and resumed her nail filing.

One more try. I said, “Mr. Schuler was working for Subsidy Renovations—”

“NO,” the woman said forcefully, startling me. “He didn’t work for them, they
contracted
with him. There’s a difference, you know.”

Wow. I exchanged a glance with Coop, who gave me the universal, wide-eyed, she’s-off-her-rocker look.

“Okay,” I said slowly. “He was contracted by Subsidy Renovations.”

“Yes.” The woman rolled her eyes dramatically. “That’s what I said.” She blew on a nail and moved on to another. I wondered if she was going to have any fingernails at all after this.

Coop said, “If he was contracted by Subsidy, did he have a contact there he worked with?”

The woman wrinkled her nose. “You’re all the same. You want to know where your money is. Well, I can tell you in no uncertain terms that I don’t have it.”

I opened my mouth once again, but she continued before I could utter a sound. “I know all of you think Chuck took your money and ran. That it’s not him who was frozen in that”—she sniffed, and her lower lip trembled, whether in rage or grief, I didn’t know—“that ice. I’m sure he took real good care of your precious money.” The sarcasm was rampant. “Just like I’m sure that from beyond the grave he’s going to pay me for working all of last month. And this month, too, for that matter.” Nails whipped out that saltshaker and did her thing again. There was going to be no worry about ice buildup on this floor.

So Chuckie-boy was taking investment money and not applying it where the investors expected it to go. And he wasn’t paying his help. The facts weren’t stirring much sympathy from me, but I felt bad the secretary was going to get screwed along with everyone else Chuck swindled. Maybe she wanted him dead as badly as the other people he’d screwed over. Add another name to the list.

I said, “The person I represent didn’t invest any money and we’re not here trying to squeeze you for any.”

She sniffed none-too-delicately, and attacked another finger.

“So,” Coop said, “who was Mr. Schuler’s point person for Subsidy?”

“Norman Howard. He’s—”

Before she could go on, the door opened and three people sporting black leathers, scruffy faces, and scary-looking facial tattoos stomped inside. Coop and I faded back as the leader marched up to the receptionist’s desk. He planted two hairy fists on the desktop and rumbled, “Heard Schuler was terminated. We need to talk about the money of ours the bastard’s got.”

He cleared his throat, sucked up some snot, and hocked a sizeable loogie across the desk. It splattered wetly against the wall and started oozing down.

I tried not to gag and backed toward the door. On the other side of the two hench-wingmen, Coop was making his retreat too. Part of me felt guilty about leaving Nails to the motorcycle sharks, but she could probably use her fingernail file to stab them if they tried anything.

I was starving. We headed for Boston Market off County Road C
and Snelling since the restaurant could satisfy both my carnivorous cravings and Coop’s vegetarian requirements.

“So what you want to do after we chow?” Coop asked.

“We know that someone named Norman Howard contracted—” I shot a questioning glance at Coop, who shrugged. “Let’s call it contracted … He made some sort of arrangements with Chuck Schuler to go after the Leprechaun?”

“That’s what it sounds like. Chuckie was apparently a go-between without any real stake. Of course, his buy-in was probably a fee of some kind that I’ll bet he used to replace money that he’d”—Coop paused and did the quote thing in the air with his fingers—“
borrowed
for some project that wasn’t anywhere near on the up and up.”

“Our circle of who’d like Schuler dead is growing.” I hit the blinker and turned into the parking lot.

We exited the Escape and I headed in to use the restroom while Coop sucked down a cancer stick. I could not wait for him to get his ass in gear and try the quitting thing again.

As I was washing my hands, my cell rang. It was JT. I hit answer and tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder and grabbed some paper towels. Guilt over not leveling with her about hearing from my dad hit me right in the gut.
Suck it up, Shay.
“Hey babe.”

“Where are you?”

“About to grab a bite to eat at Boston Market in Roseville. What’s up?” I pulled open the door and walked out into the short hallway.

“Want some company? I can be there in about fifteen.”

Holy crap. I froze in mid-step. I’d usually jump at a chance to meet up with JT anytime, anywhere, but not right now. Not when Coop and I were about to hash out our next move in proving my father didn’t have anything to do with Ice Cube Man. Theoretically proving he didn’t have anything to do with it, anyway. However, I couldn’t exactly say I didn’t want to see her because it would be completely out of character.

Coop was coming in the door, and he caught my eye. I must have had a panicked look on my face because he made a beeline in my direction.

I held a hand up to Coop. He stopped in front of me, just short of hovering, his eyes glued to mine. I said, “JT, we’d love to have lunch with you.”

Coop gave a slight nod and relaxed.

“Great,” she said. “I’ll see you soon. Order me some meatloaf with mac and cheese and creamed spinach.” Ugh. I couldn’t believe JT liked creamed spinach. I kept trying it, thinking one day my taste buds might change, but no luck yet. Too bad, it was healthy. Maybe that was the problem.

“Okay. Great.” Yeah. Right. “See you soon.”

“Perfect. I’m starving. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I disconnected, and made sure the connection was actually severed before I spoke. It wouldn’t be good for JT to hear me say, “Man. I hate lying to her. I feel like crap. Like I did back when Eddy and I were hiding you from JT.”

Coop fell into step beside me and we got in line to order. It was busier than I’d expected at a quarter to three. He said, “You’re not exactly lying to her, are you? I mean, it’s been more of an omission than a bald face untruth, right?”

“I suppose. But I hate it. I never thought about the implications of getting involved with a cop. Of course, I never expected to be trying to figure out if my dad actually deep-sixed someone and froze his ass, either.”

We spent the next few minutes ordering, filled our pop cups at the fountain, and settling at a table to wait for the arrival of our food and my wayward police officer.

Coop ripped the paper off the top of his straw and shot the rest of it at me like a blow-dart. I was too distracted by the mental gymnastics gyrating through my brain to pay attention, and he nailed me right between the eyes.

He laughed.

I gave him the finger.

We were pretty good at distracting each other when things weren’t going well.

Coop said, “So, before we’re blessed with your partner’s presence, I figured you’d be happy to know that I sent Bogey Too looking for whatever he can find on Norman Howard.”

Nice. At least if we couldn’t actively be doing something, Bogey Too could. “You’re a good man, Nicholas Cooper. What’d you think of Nails?”

“Nails?”

“Yeah. That receptionist is going to file all of her fingernails right off if she isn’t careful.”

“I felt bad for her, having to field people coming in wanting to know what Schuler did with their money.”

“Me too. I wonder why she doesn’t bail. I mean, her boss is dead. Who does she think is going to pay her?”

Coop rearranged his ice with his straw. “I have no idea. No telling why people do what they do sometimes.”

The server appeared with three plates of food and plunked them down. “Can I get you anything else?” he asked.

I said, “We’re good. Thanks.” I picked up my silverware, unwrapped the paper around it, and fished out the fork. “I’m thinking once Bogey Too comes back with whatever he finds on Mr. Howard, we should—”

“Hey!” JT dropped into the chair beside me with a grin. I couldn’t help but return her delighted smile. Her dark eyes met mine and she gave my knee a squeeze. “Hi, Coop. Where’s Lisa?”

Oh. I forgot I hadn’t told JT I’d dumped Lisa, or why.
Think fast, ding-dong
. “Lisa wasn’t feeling so good. I think it had something to do with the whack on her head.” Well, that was certainly possible. “I roped Coop into snooping around with me.”

JT ripped into her meatloaf. “Thanks for ordering,” she said, chewing happily. One thing about JT—she appreciated her food. She pointed her fork at Coop’s plate. “How are those sweet potatoes?”

Coop’s plate was loaded with vegetables. I was still waiting for him to grow out of his vegetarian phase, but I’d been waiting now for almost a decade. Had to give him credit, he stuck to his guns. He said, “Good. Want a bite?”

JT nodded. She stuck her fork in his pile of goo and stuffed it into her mouth. After a moment she said, “I should have asked for that instead of the mac and cheese.” She swallowed, and looked at me.

I asked, “Want some turkey?” and tilted my plate her way.

“Sure.” JT stabbed a couple of pieces and popped them in her mouth. She wasn’t kidding about being starved. “Where are you on your list? I can help now. I was officially kicked out of the station and reminded I was on vacation.” She shrugged. “I can still poke around and stuff, just better do it out of the office.”

Lovely. My woman was now freed up to get in my way. I said, “That’s great, JT.”

Now what were we going to do?

Coop gave me the eye and saved the day, telling JT about our encounter with Schuler’s secretary.

I shoveled food in my mouth and ate robotically without tasting much. Even the piece of pecan pie I shared with JT for dessert didn’t do its usual job of thrilling my taste buds.

We were about to wrap up lunch when my phone trilled again. This time it was the number to the Leprechaun. “Johnny,” I answered, “what’s up?”

“The cops showed up with a search warrant and closed the place down.”

The smile on my face slid away. “Oh, shit.”

“They said it’s temporary, but … right now they’re tossing the office, and I think they went up to Pete’s apartment too.”

“Okay. Hang tight and we’ll be right there.”

SEVEN

I burst into the
Leprechaun with Coop and JT hot on my heels.
The bright whiteness of the snow outside left me temporarily
blinded as we hit the murky bar. I made out Johnny leaning against the counter behind the bar, his arms insolently crossed over his chest and a look of wary disdain on his face. I didn’t see the tall, thin cop wearing a Minneapolis Police Department uniform standing right inside the front door until he stepped in front of me. I put on the brakes, abruptly halting our entrance. I staggered, and the cop, who was no more than a kid, reached out a steadying hand.

He said, “Sorry to startle you. The bar is closed—”

“I got that. I’m Pete O’Hanlon’s daughter.”

The look of concern on his face melted into an unreadable mask. “You got some identification?” The cop looked over my shoulder at JT and Coop. “Those two with you?”

“Yes.” I pulled out my wallet and tried to extract my ID.

“I’ll take all of your IDs.” The cop held out his hand. I slapped my license in his palm and stepped aside. JT flashed her Minneapolis PD identification at him, which he grabbed. Coop handed over his ID without protest. Probably because for once he wasn’t in a position to be arrested for anything.

Cop Boy said, “Wait here.” He spun and disappeared down the hall. I assumed he was about to rat us out to whomever was leading the search.

Johnny watched the proceeding with a raised eyebrow. He called, “This gets more and more fun.”

I said, “I know. Sorry.”

“Oh, hell. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Johnny had seen my father through years of ups and downs, and I knew my dad couldn’t have a better champion. With the exception of Coop, Eddy, and me. And maybe JT.

The cop returned, followed by the same sergeant who had shown up on New Year’s Eve looking for my dad. The one who looked like Popeye.

“I’m Sergeant Robert DeSilvero, St. Paul PD.” He looked at the licenses he held in his hand and then DeSilvero squinted at me. “I’ve seen you before.” He pointed one of the licenses at me. “You were here when I came in looking for O’Hanlon Saturday night. You’re his kid?”

“Yeah. Why are you here now?”

JT stepped up beside me. “Yes, what specifically are you looking for, DeSilvero?”

“Who’re—ah. You’re MPD.” I thought I detected a note of something in his voice. Respect? At least I hoped it was.

“I am,” JT acknowledged. “So what’s the warrant for?”

DeSilvero returned our licenses and cocked his head, studying us like suspicious bugs under a magnifying glass. He said, “Specifically, ammunition for an M1911 Colt 45.”

Wasn’t
that
a fancy way of saying a gun with a big bang.

DeSilvero said, “You can sit over there.” He jerked his head toward the tables at the back of the bar. “I’ll let you know when we’re done. And,” he looked right at me, “you get in the way and I’ll boot your behind out of here so fast your rear won’t know what hit it.”

I bit off a “Yes, sir.”

“In fact,” DeSilvero called over to Johnny, “why don’t you come and sit with these folks, too.”

Johnny insolently tossed the rag he had in his hand onto the top of the bar and sauntered over and sat. “Dickhead,” he muttered under his breath.

I pretty much agreed with his assessment.

We settled around one of the tables and waited for the cops to do their thing. I wondered what else my father may have left laying around that might point an accusatory finger his way. The Intent to Purchase letter was burning a hole through the pocket of my jeans, but I’d be damned if I was going to show it to Popeye. He could figure things out on his own. How lucky was it that I’d stumbled onto it before they did? I thought about the fact that for all I knew there could be another copy of the same document laying around in my father’s clutter that I didn’t see. The ache of wary unease settled deep in my gut, and I didn’t think I’d be finding much relief anytime soon.

We spent the time speculating about Ice Cube Man, how my father’s pistol wound up encased in the frozen stuff with said ICM, and avoiding the mention of my father and Chuck Schuler. Eventually Coop regaled us with some of the zanier exploits he and the rest of the Green Beans for Peace and Preservation involved themselves in trying to protect Mother Nature.

At 5:33 p.m.—and I know it was that exact time because I was playing Words with Friends on my phone—DeSilvero marched into the bar and announced they were finished.

I asked, “Did you find what you wanted?”

DeSilvero sidestepped my question. “Make sure you get a hold of me if you hear from your father. And by the way, someone needs to take care of that stink you’ve got going on in the cellar.” Behind him, cops, crime scene dudes, and some other official-looking law enforcement people filed from the Lep like a river of blue trickling out to sea. DeSilvero threw his card on the table and followed the last of the search party out of the bar. Before the door shut fully behind them, it opened again, and three customers who’d patiently waited for the circus to disperse came inside.

JT said, “I guess you’re open for business again.”

“I’m on it,” Johnny said, and returned to his domain behind
the bar.

I dropped my head onto my arms. I was thoroughly tired of dealing with fallout that was my father’s doing.

JT rubbed my back. “It’s going to be okay, Shay.”

I wished I believed it. I heaved a deep sigh and sat up. “I’m going to call Roto-Rooter or whoever deals with sewer lines. Would you guys mind checking Dad’s place and straightening it up if?”

Coop stood. “You got it.” He caught my eye and shook his head once. It was his way of telling me to cool it while JT was around. All I wanted to do was find Norman Howard of Subsidy Renovations and wring his neck until he told me why he was interested in buying the Lep. Why he’d probably sent thugs to help sway my father’s decision. And it would be a good idea to talk to Limpy Dick and Hemorrhoid Harvey, Poker Buddies 4 and 5, to see if either one of them helped my father ice a con man.

JT and Coop headed upstairs. I scoped out the condition of my father’s office. He was not the neatest of people, but the extreme chaos of papers, ledgers, and empty file folders spread across his desk pissed me off.

I halfheartedly straightened the files then sank into his chair and stared at the powered-down computer screen. I wondered if the cops had gone through his hard drive too. Since my dad was still in the dark ages when it came to computers, he rarely passworded anything; when he did, he used
password
as the password. So if the cops did try to access his computer files, they likely got everything he had.

No doubt my father was an easy target. Maybe I should turn Coop loose on his technology. He’d hate both Coop and me for a while, but maybe he’d eventually appreciate Coop’s password encryption programs, system redundancy, firewall security, and other fancy terminology that I didn’t understand but knew meant cyber-safe and secure.

Then again, maybe he wouldn’t.

I turned on the computer and waited for it to boot.
Password
was indeed the password. Once it was up and running, I Googled sewer fix-it places. A few businesses that provided various sewage services popped up, and I called the one closest to the bar.

A robotic voice on the other end of the line picked up and told me I was calling after hours, and if it was an emergency to call another number that was rattled off so fast I’d have to call back three times before I’d be able to write the whole thing down. I left a message and hoped a human would return my call.

I’d no more than hung up when my phone rang, and I’ll be damned if my caller didn’t introduce himself as the Roger the Roto-Rooter man.

“Thanks for returning my call so promptly,” I told Roger.

“No problem. It’s already been a busy January, and we’ve hardly gotten a start on the month.”

I explained the problem, and Roger told me that he’d have someone out to check the situation before noon tomorrow. However, the way my luck was going, they probably wouldn’t show up for days. I thanked him and disconnected, mightily wishing this day were done.

At seven o’clock on a Monday night, the Lep was unsurprisingly quiet. The place was devoid of any paying customers. Coop, JT, Johnny, and I sat at the bar drinking beer and chowing down takeout from Chimborazo, an Ecuadorian restaurant over on Central.

Before we ate, I’d given in and shut the basement door. Screw air circulation, or what would be a lack thereof. I truly had no idea how Dad had withstood the stench this long. No wonder Whale walked out. Which again brought me back to the fact my father hadn’t taken care of the problem, which was obviously (well, more than obviously) at the must-fix stage. The repair probably wasn’t going to be cheap, but ignoring it was no longer an option. Hopefully the cost wouldn’t be astronomical, but when it came to sewer issues, I knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

If my dad couldn’t cover the cost, I’d chip in whatever I could to help. I still felt the weight of my own inattention to the mundane details of my father’s life. Not much I could do about the past at this point, but I could make an attempt to be more involved from here on out.

That decided, I stuffed the last of the yuca frita
in my mouth and washed it down with a long swallow of Corona.

The front door squawked open. A short, well-bundled figure blew through the entrance in a swirl of icy air and stomped up to the bar. What would have been a knee-length black coat on most people was ankle-length, and it almost hit the top of a pair of gray Sorel’s with hot pink laces. An incredibly long multicolored scarf was wound over the person’s head and numerous times around their neck. The only facial feature that showed was a pair of dark eyes. They emanated fury and were fixed on me.

Oh shit.

I set my bottle on the bar and squared my shoulders.

“You.” The voice came out muffled through layers of yarn.

“Eddy?” Coop asked.

“No, it’s the ghost of Christmas past. Hell, yes, it’s me.” Eddy began the task of unwinding herself. When she finished de-scarfing, she threw it toward a stool and it slowly slid off the seat to land on in a heap on the dirty wood floor.

Eddy whirled on me. “I’ve been worried sick about you. You tell me you’ll call me back and I hear nothing. I try calling you and you don’t answer. What good are those dang cell phones you kids all have if you don’t answer them?”

Oh, boy. I completely forgot I’d told Eddy I’d call her back. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but Eddy wasn’t finished. “And then there’s a police officer with you who’s after your own father. For all I know she dragged you off somewhere.”

JT, who was watching Eddy’s outburst with a look of shock, said, “What? What cop was with you? Where?”

Eddy ignored her and kept right on going, viciously slashing the air in my direction with an accusatory finger as she advanced. “He’s holed up somewhere with a hangover and blood on his hands, and you’re consorting with the enemy?”

Coop sat frozen, an empanada halfway to his mouth. Johnny slowly inched his way back around the bar, out of harm’s way.

JT frowned in confusion. “The cop had blood on his hands?”

Shit, shit, shit!
Eddy didn’t know I hadn’t told JT anything about having heard from my father or the fact that Lisa Vecoli was a cop. I was in a super schooner full of trouble.

“Not exactly,” I told JT and kept a wary eye on Eddy, who stopped about a foot and a half away from my knees, glaring up at me.

“None of your calls came through,” I said weakly, and pulled the phone from my pocket and checked. Sure enough, there were three missed calls from Eddy, all in the last forty-five minutes. I’d turned the ringer off while we waited out the search warrant and hadn’t thought to turn it back on again.

JT stared at me, her confusion rapidly segueing into an expression of suspicion. She wasn’t stupid. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and that was never good. I had to hope she’d understand once I explained what was going on. In the past I’d lied to her to protect Coop, and here I’d done it again. I could almost hear the gears in her head grinding as she tried to pull it all together. If I could have kicked myself, I would have. Hard. I should have leveled with her right off the bat. I sent her a pleading, please-be-patient look and said, “Hang on, babe, I’ll explain.”

I turned my attention back to Eddy. “I’m sorry I forgot to call you. We had to come back here because the cops were here executing a search warrant, and in the hubbub I didn’t even—”

“Search warrant?” Eddy shrieke
d.

Uh oh. Eddy
never
shrieked.

“Johnny,” I said, starting to feel panicky, “how about a double shot of something hard?”

Coop hovered in the background, looking like he wasn’t sure if he should grab Eddy or run away.

In a shake Johnny had a full shot glass lined up in front of Eddy. I picked it up and thrust it into her hand. “Drink.”

She threw the booze down her throat and slammed the glass down. “Thanks,” she choked, breathing through the burn. I briefly considered having Johnny pour one for JT, too, but I was a little afraid she might dump it over my head.

I put my hands on Eddy’s shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you. The cops tossed the bar and Dad’s apartment looking for ammo for his gun and who knows what else.”

Eddy elbowed me aside, leaned against the bar, and said hoarsely, “Thanks. I needed that.” Her voice was steadier and more in the octave range it normally was. All right. One situation under semicontrol.

JT pinned me with squinty eyes of granite, and I knew exactly how the bad guys felt when she turned her sights on them. She slid off the stool onto her feet and crossed her arms.

I glanced between Coop and Johnny. “Will you two please keep an eye on Eddy for a few minutes?” Without waiting for an answer, I grabbed JT’s arm and dragged her to one of the dimly lit back booths. “Sit. Please.”