Straight No Chaser (29 page)

“Yeah, but—Saturday afternoon at the Silverdore Hotel, ah . . .”

My voice trailed off.

“What went down Saturday afternoon at the Silverdore?” Big Bam asked.

“Fenk got strangled.”

“No shit.”

Someone stepped into the room behind me. It was Tran. He spoke to Big Bam in Vietnamese. I tuned them out. Was Bam having me on? Just pretending he didn't know about Fenk's murder? But the way Bam was talking, he didn't know who Fenk
was
. If it was true, if I'd fingered the wrong party for Fenk's murder, where did that leave me? Up to my eyeballs in trouble was where. Tran and Bam finished their chat, and Tran stepped back out the door.

“Your deliveryman's arrived,” Bam said to me.

“Darnell Gant?”

“With a woman.”

“She's not part of the package.”

“Trevor's on the scene too,” Bam said. “Outside.”

32

B
IG BAM'S OFFICE
was a squeeze for five people, particularly when two of the five, Darnell Gant and Trevor Dalgleish, were the far side of giant-size. The woman was no shrimp either. She happened to be the sultry redhead from the Victoria Room. Under the green dress she had a full figure, and in her high heels she made a tall and generous parcel.

“Gentlemen,” Gant said, his arm around the redhead's waist, “let me present Dale.”

Bam slipped easily into his mine-host posture. He held Dale's hand briefly and gallantly in his. Gave Gant some variation on a soul brother's shake. And clapped Trevor on the back.

Trevor was acting wary. I moved around to Truong's empty chair. That put some distance and a desk between me and Trevor. Whatever was going to happen in the room wasn't likely to improve his mood or his opinion of me.

Big Bam organized Tran into bringing in two more chairs, and everybody settled down. Dale held a large patent leather purse in her lap, and crossed her legs fetchingly. Tran returned to his post outside the door.

“Where are my manners?” Bam said. He gave himself a mock bap on the forehead. “Drinks for my new guests. What's you people's pleasure?”

“Tell you what, Mr. Bam,” Gant said. “First, we talk a little bargain. Second, we celebrate over a big drink.”

“Suits me,” Bam said, and smiled at everyone, looking for the room's consensus.

“Swell,” I said.

Dale radiated delight. She was about thirty, and seemed pleased as punch at what was going on around her. Or maybe the little-girl expression was permanent with her. Her eyes were the same colour as the emerald dress she wore.

“Don't let me impose, Bam,” Trevor said, doing his best to project the level-headed side of his personality. “But my impression was that Crang here is going to remedy a certain misunderstanding between yourself and myself.”

“Can it, Trevor,” Gant said. “The floor's mine.”

“I must insist on being heard,” Trevor said, appealing to Bam. The flush was staging a full-bloom return to his cheeks. “Surely I have priority over Gant.”

“Night's young, Trevor,” Bam said. “Why not we see where our new visitor with the lovely companion is coming from.”

“From Los Angeles, as a matter of fact,” I said.

“Same as the other guy you were rapping about?” Bam asked me.

“Fenk.”

“This time,” Gant said, “I'm representing only me, and Mr. Bam, I got some eighty-per-cent-pure stuff might be right up your alley.”

“How well you read me,” Bam said.

“Four K of the best,” Gant said.

He turned in his chair to Dale.

“Let's have the goodies, sweetheart,” he said.

Dale opened the big patent leather purse and withdrew four thin packages wrapped in plain brown paper.

Trevor shot to his feet.

“That's
my
cocaine!” he shouted, giving a fine rendition of Mount Vesuvius in eruption.

“Cocaine?” Dale said. “Oh my goodness, Darnell, is
that
what I've been carrying?”

Dale sounded shocked but still retained her starry-eyed expression.

“That,” Trevor repeated, “is
my
goddamned cocaine.”

“Sit down, Trevor,” Bam said. “I'm the chair, and I'm still recognizing Mr. Gant.”

Trevor sat down. He didn't look happy about it, and his eyes stuck with the packages of cocaine. His eyes had opened almost as wide as Dale's.

“I'll pitch it fast and fair, Mr. Bam,” Gant said, tossing the packages on to Bam's desk. “Trevor told us down in L.A. you were paying him ten grand a kilo. I can live with the same number if that's still on the table. Ten?”

“Zowie,” I said.

Gant looked at me.

“What's with you?” he asked. “
Zowie
?”

I said, “I think you just got Trevor in the soup.”

“I fronted Trevor twelve thousand a kilo,” Bam said to Gant. “If he told you ten, he was running a number.”

Big Bam smiled the smile of no menace. He gave the impression he was enjoying the soap opera unfolding in front of him.

I said to Gant, “How much did Trevor pay you guys, you and Fenk, for the coke?”

“Eight thousand per K,” Gant answered. “Said his profit was two grand on every K.”

“All right.” Trevor looked like a guy who'd been holding his breath for a long time. “So I used a small business ploy with you,” he said to Gant. “What did it matter? Eight thousand was a fair price anyway.”

“When did Ray Fenk catch on?” Gant asked Trevor.

“It's ancient history,” Trevor said. He'd developed his tic with the fists. Clenching and unclenching.

“Yeah,” I said. “Ancient for Fenk as in dead history.”

“Just stop right there, Crang,” Trevor shot at me. “All of this is the product of your insufferable meddling.”

“Boys, boys,” Bam said, tapping his hand on the desk for order, but smiling, getting a kick out of the events in his office.

“You want to answer my question, Trevor?” Gant said. “Or you want a kick in the scrotum?”

“That's no choice at all,” I said.

“When did Fenk realize I was getting twelve and not ten?” Trevor said, trying for a haughty tone and halfway succeeding. “That should be obvious. It was after he'd handed over the twenty kilograms in the movie cans, but before he did anything about the last four kilos, the ones nobody told me were shipped in the bloody saxophone case.”

“That's what Fenk meant by his message on your answering machine,” I said to Gant. “He must have found out Trevor was giving you the gears on the price.”

“If you must know,” Trevor said, “it was I who told Fenk about the difference in price.”

“Not too bright of you, Trev,” I said. “Letting it slip out that way.”

“It didn't slip out, you fool.” Trevor was mounting another head of steam. “I was trying to strike a new arrangement with Fenk to get those four kilos. I
told
him what my true price was from Bam. I
told
him I'd pay more. I
told
him I'd go to nine instead of eight. Nine
thousand
.”

“For the last four kilograms?” I asked.

“Crang, you heinous prick,” Trevor said, spittle flying from his mouth, “will you for God's sake keep out of this.”

“First insufferable. Now heinous. You got a thesaurus of nasty adjectives?”

Darnell Gant had lost interest in Trevor.

“Well, Mr. Bam,” he said to Big Bam, “we reached an agreement?”

“All you just heard,” Bam said, “you still like ten thousand?”

“Got a plane to catch.”

“The deal's done,” Bam said.

“Wait,” Trevor said.

“One formality,” Bam said, ignoring Trevor. “I need to bring in my man that does the testing. Have him verify purity.”

“Wait,” Trevor said, a little louder.

“Wouldn't have it any other way,” Gant said to Bam.

“Wait a damn minute,” Trevor said, back on his feet and at close to a shout.

“Trevor,” Bam said, “you are disturbing my space, and I can't relate to that.”

“I don't give a flying fuck about your space.” Trevor's face was crimson, and he had the shakes in the arm that was pointing full-length at Bam. “I've put too much money and effort into getting that cocaine to lose it now. I went through hell for those four damned kilos. First, that idiot Fenk didn't put them in the film cans he was supposed to. Then they weren't in the lining of that stupid saxophone case. Then—”

“Hold it,” I interrupted Trevor. “How'd you know they weren't in the lining?”

“Because the lining was
ripped
, you complete moron.”

“Yeah, but how'd you know that?”

Trevor tromped over my question. The guy was on the rampage.

“
Then
,” he said, speaking to Big Bam, “the cocaine wasn't in Fenk's briefcase.
Then
Crang said he had it.
Now
, for God's sake, it's on your desk, and you're buying it from Gant. But I've
already
paid for it. Paid Fenk and Gant. So, let me hear you answer
that
.”

“It's simple, Trevor,” Big Bam said. “I'm cutting a little agreement with my new man here, Mr. Darnell Gant, and you can bring me another four K. Do that, or pay me back the forty-eight thousand. Take your pick.”

“You bastard,” Trevor said. His voice sounded like it was coming through a strainer.

“Trevor,” I said, “about the ripped lining in the saxophone case.”

“Shut up,” Trevor said, low and hoarse. “You've already done me enough damage.”

“What
about
the ripped lining?” Gant asked me, getting interested again in the Trevor angle. “And what happened to that sax case?”

“I got the case,” I said. “Or rather Dave Goddard's got it. I gave it back to him. But my point is the only way Trevor could know it was ripped is if he saw it in Ray Fenk's hotel room.”

“Crang,” Trevor said, “how many times do I have to tell you to butt out?”

“For that matter,” I said, “the only way Trevor could know about the briefcase and the cocaine not being in it is if he took it from Fenk on Saturday afternoon.”

“This is getting rich,” Gant said.

“It certainly is, Darnell,” Dale with the green dress and the wide green eyes piped up. “But why is it getting rich, Darnell?”

“And,” I went on, “the only way Trevor could have taken the briefcase from Fenk is if he killed Fenk.”

Everybody in the room stared at Trevor.

“Crang's indulging in fantasy,” Trevor said.

“Not me, Trev,” I said. “I was there.”

“You were where?” Gant asked.

“In Fenk's hotel room,” I said. “That's how I know about the ripped lining in the case. That's how I
got
the flipping case. And, not only that, a few minutes before I went into the room, I saw Fenk with the briefcase Trevor's talking about. Fenk was practically married to that briefcase, and later, after Fenk got himself strangled, it was gone.”

“Ray Fenk's hotel room . . .” Trevor said, and stopped.

I said, “It wasn't empty, Trev, if that's what you were going to say.”

“Have you skipped a couple steps or what?” Gant asked me. “How could you be in the hotel room when Ray was getting killed and nobody saw you?”

“I was hiding in the closet.”

“Oh, man,” Gant said. “That's too ridiculous not to be true.”

“In the closet?” Dale said.

“While somebody was strangling Fenk,” I said.

“How horrible for you,” Dale said, big green eyes all round.

“And it wasn't just any old somebody who was doing the strangling,” I said. I knew I was on the right track. At last. “It had to be Trev. He must have come back to the room with Fenk to haggle some more over the four kilos. But Fenk probably wouldn't go along with the raised price Trevor was offering, nine grand a kilo instead of the original eight. Trevor saw that the cocaine had already been taken out of the lining of Dave Goddard's case, and he must have figured it was in the briefcase. He got into a rumble with Fenk. Applied the saxophone strap a little too tightly to Fenk's neck. And scrammed out of the hotel with the briefcase.”

Everybody stared at Trevor again.

“Preposterous,” he said. His voice had sunk so low it was on the brink of vanishing.

No one spoke for a moment.

“Bottom line, Trevor,” Big Bam said, breaking the silence, “it had to have been you that iced the man.”

“You're lucky I didn't much like Ray Fenk,” Gant said to Trevor. “Otherwise I might've had to get even.”

I said, “I think I just solved a murder.”

“It was awfully clever of you,” Dale said.

The phone on Bam's desk rang.

33

W
HOEVER
was on the other end of Big Bam's line did all the talking. And not much of it. Bam listened for ten seconds before he hung up. He got out of his chair and peeled back the black blind a couple of inches the way I'd done earlier.

“Aw shit,” he said.

I knew what he must have been seeing in the street.

Tran opened the door.

“Cops,” he said to Big Bam.

“
Tell
me about it,” Bam said.

“
Police
?!” Trevor burst out. His voice was back to explosion level.

“Oh my,” Dale said.

“Damn,” Gant said. “What kind of dumb-ass timing is that?”

Bam went back to his desk.

“Take them ten minutes to get through the steel,” he said. He didn't look rattled. He looked collected.

I took his place at the black blind. Six or seven yellow police cars jammed the perimeter of the street, and behind them, reaching as far back as I could make out from the window, there seemed to be another dozen cars and big yellow vans. Cops swarmed outside the chain-link fence, a regiment of them. The ones who caught my fancy were the four guys hoisting a long battering ram. Bam was probably right about the ten minutes. It'd take that much time for the guys swinging the battering ram to flatten the steel door with the peephole in it. Besides the ram, the cops were packing plenty of other miscellaneous hardware and martial aids. One policeman carried a buzz saw. Another was wielding a crowbar. And a third was barely restraining a dog snarling at the end of a stout leash. Good old reliable Stuffy Kernohan, a cop equipped for every form of opposition.