Read The Last Private Eye Online
Authors: John Birkett
“You okay, kid?”
“I'm okay, old man.”
Farnsworth spoke to Kingston. “Tell the big jamoke to drop the gun. Tell the horse doctor to throw away the needle. And tell both of them to do it quick, or I'll blow a hole through all of your asses.”
Kingston said, “You heard the man.”
The Colt made a loud thump on the hay-strewn ground. Gilmore tossed the syringe toward the wall.
“Untie my associate, horse doctor, and be quick about it.”
It took Gilmore several minutes to untie Rhineheart, whose hands had gone numb from the tightness of the bonds. He rubbed them together as he went over and picked up his weapon.
Farnsworth said, “Check and make sure that baby's loaded, Rhineheart.”
Rhineheart spun the chamber. The weapon was loaded. “It's full,” he told Farnsworth.
“Whhheeeewwwww.” Farnsworth let out his breath in a long sigh, and stepped forward into the light. He was smiling and there was a look of relief on his long thin face. He held up his hand to show Rhineheart his weapon. It was a thick twig. “I ain't carried a gun since 1957,” he said and cackled.
“What are we gonna do with them?” Farnsworth asked Rhineheart.
It was a good question. Were they going to take them in? If so, where was “in”? Cresthill Farms was in Fayette County. Who had jurisdiction here? The state cops or the Fayette County Sheriff's Office? How would either group react when a couple of gumshoes from a different part of the state walked in with one of the commonwealth's leading citizens and an incredible story about a plot to fix the Derby? Rhineheart didn't know for sure, but he had an idea.
“I don't know,” he said to Farnsworth. “Maybe we ought to kill them.”
Duke Kingston shook his head. “I don't think so. I don't think you're built that way, Mr. Rhineheart.”
“No?” Rhineheart squeezed off a shot that whistled past Kingston's right ear. Kingston turned pale, but didn't flinch. He even managed a tight smile. “Maybe I was wrong,” he said.
But he wasn't. Rhineheart couldn't kill the son of a bitch. Not cold like that. He gestured at the other three with the weapon. “Lie down. Next to each other. On your stomachs.”
After some scrambling around, they did so. Rhineheart leaned over and gave each of them a little tap with the butt of the gun just below the occipital bone. It took them out. He had to tap Borchek, who had a head like a cement block, twice.
“Wonder it didn't dent the gun butt” was Farnsworth's comment.
Rhineheart waved the gun at Kingston. “Move. You're going to be our way out of here.”
A white pickup truck stood idling on the road outside the barn. Its lights were out. The words
CRESTHILL FARMS
were painted on the door.
“Looky here,” Farnsworth said. “Isn't that thoughtful?”
Farnsworth climbed in behind the wheel. Rhineheart opened the passenger door, motioned Kingston in, then slid in next to him and closed the door. He pointed the barrel of the gun at Kingston's stomach.
“Tell us how to get back to the party.”
Kingston pointed straight ahead. “Just follow the road.”
Farnsworth punched on the headlights and shoved the truck into gear. The road wound through the stable area, past a cluster of barns.
“Left here. Then left again.”
They turned onto the main farm road. Ahead, maybe half a mile, Rhineheart could see the glow of lights from the party tent.
“You're a lucky man, Mr. Rhineheart,” Kingston broke the silence. “The question becomes . . . are you a reasonable one?”
“You're not going to make me another offer, are you?”
“Of course I am.”
“Go ahead,” Rhineheart said. “I'm listening.”
“Drive straight home and go to bed and forget everything you overheard tonight. In exchange, I'll make you a rich man. And I'm not talking about any piddly-ass $65,000-a-year job offer now. I'm talking about more money than you ever seen in your whole life, more money than you ever dreamed of. Never mind the Derby winnin's. Do you have any conception of the kind of money that this drug Hughes discovered can make for us? I'm talking, my friend, about millions and millions of dollars, and the Derby is just the beginning, just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak.”
Farnsworth shook his head. “You goddamn rich folk,” he said. “Ain't you got enough?”
Kingston snickered. “Shit,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “There's never
enough,
old-timer. Only a man without anything would talk that kind of crap.”
The truck crept slowly along the road, which was lined on both sides with parked cars.
Rhineheart said, “Tell me something, Kingston. Where does your wife fit into this scheme?”
“Let's leave Jessica out of the discussion, Mr. Rhineheart. She keeps her nose out of my business, and I stay out of her affairs. If you know what I mean.” He gave Rhineheart a cool challenging look.
Rhineheart made no reply. They were fifty yards from the tent.
Kingston said, “It'd be a mistake to go to the police, you know.”
“You think so, huh?”
“You don't have any real evidence. Just your word that some events occurred. And from what I understand, your word is not highly thought of at police headquarters. On the other hand, I have some friends rather high up on the force. I can make a lot of trouble for you, Mr. Rhineheart.”
“There's three people been killed,” Farnsworth said. “That oughta cause a stink.”
“I doubt it,” Kingston said. “Three nobodies. Two hot-walkers and a barmaid.”
“Bend over,” Rhineheart told Kingston. He was tired of listening to the bastard and pissed off to boot.
“What?”
Rhineheart pushed Kingston's head forward and clipped him with the barrel of the gun. It wasn't the occipital bone, but it got the job done. Kingston groaned and slumped down in the seat.
“Here's the car,” Farnsworth said, and whipped the pickup into a spot next to the Maverick. They got out. Kingston lay stretched out on the seat. It looked as if he'd be out for a while.
Farnsworth reached inside the pickup, took the keys out of the ignition, and flipped them over into the grass.
“You bring a car?” Rhineheart asked Farnsworth, who shook his head.
“I hitched a ride with a fella.”
“How'd you get on the grounds?”
Farnsworth grinned and pulled open his suit coat. Underneath it, he was wearing a jockey's silk. “I'm supposed to be one of the car parkers.”
Rhineheart tossed him the keys to the Maverick. “Bring it around to the tent entrance and wait for us.” He jammed the gun down into his waistband, sprinted over to the tent, and went inside.
McGraw was standing near the dance floor, looking worried.
“You've been gone an hour and a half,” she said angrily, then looked at his head and said, “You're bleeding.”
“We've got to get out of here,” Rhineheart said, looking around. The party was going full blast. The tent was wall-to-wall people. “Have you seen Jessica Kingston?”
McGraw nodded. “I talked to her. She came up and introduced herself to me. She knew I was with you. She gave me a message for you.” McGraw handed him a folded piece of paper.
Dear Michael,
Took my houseguest into Lexington to see the sightsâsuch as they are. Will talk to you tomorrow.
Love,
Jessica
“Goddammit,” Rhineheart said, “she's with the goddamn Duchess of somewhere.”
“Who?”
Two men, one bald-headed, the other wearing a thick black beard, walked into the tent. They were wearing blazers with a logo over the breast pocket. The logo, Rhineheart knew, read
THOROUGHBRED SECURITY
.
He took McGraw's arm. “It's time to split.” They walked outside. The Maverick was there, its engine chugging away. Farnsworth sat behind the wheel, gunning the motor. McGraw jumped in back, Rhineheart took the front passenger seat, and Farnsworth put it in gear. They took off down the farm road. At the main entrance the security guards waved them through. As far as Rhineheart could tell, no one followed them.
They spent the drive home discussing what Rhineheart had overhead and seen through the library window.
“Jesus Christ,” McGraw said. “A plot to fix the Kentucky Derby.”
Farnsworth said, “It's hard to believe, isn't it?”
“It's incredible.”
“It's goddamn un-American is what it is.”
It was one in the morning when they reached the Louisville city limits. They drove over to Rhineheart's place. He gave McGraw the bedroom, Farnsworth the couch, and he sat in the chair by the front window with his weapon ready, watching the street outside.
At 3:06 the phone rang. It was Kingston.
“You been waiting for my call, Mr. Rhineheart?”
“I wasn't sure it was going to be a call.”
“You had a lucky night, Mr. Rhineheart. But I have a warning for you. Don't press this matter any further. Or someone innocent might get hurt.”
Rhineheart's stomach suddenly felt hollow.
“What are you talking about, Kingston?”
“You know damn well what I'm talkin' about, Mr. Rhineheart. I'm talking about Jessica. You wouldn't want to see her get hurt, would you?”
“You wouldn't do that,” he said. “You wouldn't hurt your own wife.”
“Don't bet on it, Mr. Rhineheart. There's very little I wouldn't do to get my way in this matter. In that regard, Jessica's just one more obstacle.”
When Rhineheart didn't respond, Kingston said, “Don't even think about trying to come near Jessica, Mr. Rhineheart. The house and the grounds are surrounded by security people. They have orders to shoot you on sight. As of now, Jessica's not being harmed. She's safe so long as you keep your mouth shut.”
“I want to see her,” Rhineheart said.
“That can be arranged,” Kingston replied. “After the Derby, perhaps. We'll see.”
“She comes to any harm,” Rhineheart said, “and I'll kill you personally.”
The threat didn't seem to faze Kingston, who said, “Warn off your colleagues, Mr. Rhineheart, and no harm will come to anyone, including Jessica.”
“Don't worry,” Rhineheart said. “I'll take care of that.”
“You really care for Jessica, don't you? That's very touching, Mr. Rhineheart. I'll give her your best.” The line went dead.
Over on the couch, Farnsworth had raised up and was looking at him. “I overheard your end of that.”
“So did I,” said McGraw from the bedroom doorway. She was wearing Rhineheart's bathrobe. It hung in folds on her, and trailed across the floor when she walked through the front room into the kitchen. She was carrying her cigarettes and lighter in her little fist. “I better make some coffee,” she said.
Farnsworth and Rhineheart followed her into the kitchen. They sat down at the table while McGraw put on the coffeepot. She set cups and spoons and napkins in front of them, sat down, and they all lighted cigarettes.
Farnsworth said, “He threaten to kill his wife if we went to the police?”
Rhineheart nodded.
“You think he's bluffing?”
“I don't know,” Rhineheart said. “He might be, but I can't take that chance.”
Farnsworth shrugged. “No, I guess you can't.”
“I don't think he's bluffing,” McGraw said. “I think he's a fanatic. I think he'd do anything to win the Derby.”
“Fact is,” Farnsworth said, “if we went to the cops without any evidence they'd laugh at us anyway.”
“You may be right,” Rhineheart said.
“So what's going to happen?” McGraw said.
Rhineheart shrugged. “The bad guys are going to get away with it,” he said angrily. “Make twelve million bucks and live happily ever after. How the fuck do I know what's going to happen?”
“Don't snap at me,” McGraw shot back.
“I'm sorry,” Rhineheart said.
“Case like this'll get on everybody's nerves,” Farnsworth said.
McGraw said, “Maybe you'll think of something, Rhineheart. Some last-minute solution. Something brilliant. You'll save her and get the bad guys and oh shitâ” She burst into tears.
“Hey,” Rhineheart said, patting her hand. “Take it easy, babe.”
Farnsworth stood up. “I'll pour the coffee.”
McGraw grabbed up a napkin and blew her nose. “Look at me. What's the matter with me?” She sniffled. “Private eyes aren't supposed to cry, are they?”
“Not in public anyway,” Rhineheart said.
The three of them were still sitting there the next morning when the sun came up. Everyone got up and stretched. Rhineheart pulled up the blinds and took a peek at the world outside. It was Friday, the day before the Derby, and it was dawning bright and sunny.
He put on another pot of coffee, made a pan of scrambled eggs, and they ate breakfast. While McGraw got dressed, Rhineheart drove Farnsworth down to his office. He told the old man to go home and get some sleep. Farnsworth said he thought he might just drive over to the airport and check out Corrati's departure. Just for curiosity's sake. Rhineheart told him to be careful and to stay out of Corrati's way.
He drove back to the apartment and took McGraw home, telling her to take the day off and get some rest. She nodded and said she'd call him later.
He drove down to the office. The first thing he did was phone his service. Kate Sullivan had been trying to get hold of him. She had called last night and again this morning. What the hell was he going to say to her? He was probably going to have to tell her the truth.
He dialed her number, and as soon as she came on the line he could tell by her voice something was wrong.