Private Eye - Part 5

Carlos walked hurriedly down the main street, brushing past the flurry of people that were going about their busy lives.

He didn’t know why the Draft mob hadn't just killed him right then. He'll never understand how he walked away from that situation without leaking blood. But it put the scares through him. He was going to need something he'd never needed before. Six little friends and something for them to jump out of.

Carlos approached the High Noon gun shop and entered.

The small gun shop was dark with weapons such as small arms to rifles, to knives and swords, plus ammunition, lining the walls and shelves. There was cigar smoke, blue in the faint light, wafting throughout the store, but no other customers inside.

Carlos walked over to the glass counter and behind it stood the gun shop owner, a man named Jacob, a fifty-something, skinny man with blonde, almost ginger hair and beard, a distinct lack of teeth, and bags under his eyes, dressed in what seemed to be hunting gear.

“What can I do for you, son?” asked Jacob.

“I need a gun,” came Carlos’ reply.

“You got a license?”

“Yeah.”

Carlos slapped a gun license down on the
glass counter. “Makin’ it’s debut.”

“First gun, huh?”

Carlos put the gun license back in his wallet and put the wallet back in the inside pocket of his coat. “That’s right.”

“Well, what kinda gun do you want?”

“I don’t know. One that puts big holes in people.”

Jacob stared at him in silence, suspiciously.

“If I need to,” added Carlos.

“We’ll put it down to home protection, shall we?”

“Exactly. Home protection.”

Jacob lifted a small black gun on to the counter.

“Well, we got the Sig Saur P two fifty. Constructed with a polymer grip module with metal frame and fire control assembly that can be removed from the pistol. Nine millimetre. Easy grip, but I think they look a bit girly, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna be shooting soup cans in the woods,” agreed Carlos.

Jacob put another gun on the counter.

“This here is the new Springfield XDm. Your fingers are much less likely to slip off the slide while working it compared to previous models. Longer barrel. Improved sights. Improved trigger pull, shorter on the take-up, shorter on the reset and quicker to reset as well. Improved magazine. The new XDm magazines hold sixteen rounds. That's right, sixteen rounds of high-velocity point forty calibre Smith and Wesson goodness.”

“That looks better,” said Carlos.

Jacob brought a third gun up on to the counter, a stylish silver and black weapon. “This is the Sphinx Three Thousand, from Switzerland. It ain’t cheap.”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” said Carlos, looking at the gun. “That’s my baby.”

“The Sphinx Three Thousand offers extremely high workmanship and reliability, top class accuracy,” began Jacob. “Almost indestructible all-steel design. Like I said, they’re by no means cheap, but offer probably the best "out of the box" quality money can buy. Double-action trigger. Sixteen rounds of nine millimetre or twelve rounds of forty calibre.”

“That’s the one.”

“It’s two thousand dollars.”

“What?!” exclaimed Carlos.

“You’ll never need another handgun.”

“No, but I’ll need to re-mortgage. Damn. How much is the Springfield? That’s pretty cool.”

“Six hundred dollars.”

“That’s still expensive. All right, wrap it up.”

Jacob hesitated for a second and shifted on his feet. “Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

The pause stretched on. The silence grew louder.

“Is it for queers?” asked Jacob, in hushed tones, motioning to the gun with his eyes.

Carlos looked at him for a few seconds, taken aback by the randomness of the question. “No, it’s not for queers.”

“Oh. ‘Cos if it was, I was gonna suggest this. . .”

He lifted a Magnum 500 hand cannon on to
the counter, a huge long barrelled, silver gun with black grip.

“Magnum Five Hundred,” he continued. “Fifty calibre. Was the world’s most powerful handgun a few years ago. This’d stop a rhino in it’s tracks. Ten point five inch barrel. The recoil would probably put you back through the nearest wall but if you wanna make some holes, this son of a bitch makes friggin’ black holes.”

“So, why would I need that for queers..?” asked Carlos

“Well, you know. . ,“ said Jacob, again, in hushed tones. “You can’t trust the buggers.”

Carlos slapped his credit card down on the glass counter. “Springfield and bullets. Let’s wrap this up.”

* * *

Carlos sat in the back of a taxi, the driver in front remaining silent, focused on his journey.

He wasn’t done taking precautions yet. With Harry Draft and his guys knowing who he was and also probably where he lived real soon, he couldn’t go back home. So he'd booked himself into a hotel while he figured out his next steps.

The taxi stopped by the entrance of the Gerard Marshall Hotel and Carlos got out, slammed the door shut, paid the driver through the open window, and entered the hotel.

The foyer was elegant, with marble flooring and pillars, and a seating area off to one side. There were a lot of people milling about and passing back and forth.

Carlos approached the reception desk and obtained a room key card from the hotel receptionist. He strode across the lobby to the elevators, one of which he entered after about a thirty second wait.

He got out of the elevator on his designated floor, walked to his room, swiped the key card and entered the room.

The hotel room was small but nicely decorated, with cream walls, satin bed sheets on a double bed, bathroom/shower room to the left and a mini bar next to the TV which was situated on a chest of drawers opposite the bed.

Carlos sat on the bed and took out his phone. He punched in a number and waited for it to pick up on the other end.

“Hello?” said the voice on the other end, which was Daniel.

“It’s Carlos. Come to the bar at the Gerard Marshall Hotel,” said Carlos. “I’m staying here for a while. I’ll go through some things with you.”

“Okay. I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“And, Daniel? Watch your back, all right? Trust me. They killed Reno just for talking to me. They threatened me too but I think that was just foreplay. I think they’re gonna try and take me out. There’s no reason why you and Nathan shouldn’t be targets as well.”

“All right. I’ll be careful. See you in twenty.”

* * *

Carlos was seated at the bar in the Gerard Marshall Hotel, the usual poison of choice, a Jack Daniels over ice in a glass in front of him next to a file folder.

The seating area was filled with people eating and drinking, but by the bar it was more quiet and slightly more ambient in it’s lighting. Soft music played in the background.

Daniel suddenly appeared at the bar next to Carlos. “Two more of what you got.”

“Let’s go sit down,” said Carlos. He gestured the barman over. “Two more, lots of ice. Table six.”

Carlos and Daniel walked down to the seating area, found a table and sat down.

“I went to see the coroner earlier,” said Carlos.

“What did he say?” asked Daniel.

“Am I correct in saying that you, Nathan and anyone else that knows about Ben’s death thinks he died of a gunshot wound?”

“Yes, of course.”

Carlos placed the file down in front of Daniel who picked it up.

A waiter approached with their drinks and placed them on the table, then quickly walked away.

Daniel opened the file.

“Ben didn’t die of a gunshot wound, Daniel,” stated Carlos.

Daniel looked confused at what he was looking at in the file. “Poison? Since when? What the hell’s going on?”

“The Draft boys got involved and had the coroner bury the original report. Yes, Ben was shot. Through the right rib cage. But that’s not what he died of. It missed any major organs or arteries. Harry administered a poison into Ben’s neck via a needle that caused his heart to fail.”

“You said you didn’t think he’d been shot inside the bar. That he couldn’t have been, because people would’ve seen or heard it.”

“That’s what I don’t get,” said Carlos. “Reno said when he looked out the window Harry didn’t have a silencer on his gun, so I’m guessing it was one of his men that did have a silencer that shot Ben inside the bar, maybe in a tight crowd so no one would see or from under the table.”

“But why poison? That doesn’t make sense, aside from the fact that it would finish him off quietly. But they could have used the same silencer gun for that.”

“I have no idea. But it caused death very quickly. I’d bet Harry poisoned him and had his gun out ready in case it didn’t work or it took too long for him to die. Then the witness spotted Harry and that’s when he started shooting at her. And I found this discarded in the alleyway.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out the plastic bag with the syringe in it. “I had forensics pull some fingerprints off it and run them through the Bureau’s AFIS system. They’re Harry Draft’s prints. That’s what he killed Ben with.”

“And the poison is unidentified? As in they’re not sure what it is?” asked Daniel.

“As in it’s never even been seen before. But before I left the coroner’s office I got him to do one more thing for me.”

Carlos put a small vial containing red liquid down in front of Daniel.

“Blood?” asked Daniel.

“Ben’s blood,” replied Carlos. “The poison is still in the blood. I want you to keep hold of it. Put it somewhere safe. The coroner’s report has been doctored to say Ben died of the gunshot wound and anyone that knows the truth isn't going to refute that for their own safety, at least for now. So forget about the syringe as evidence for the moment. But if we can find the source of that substance, we can pin the murder on Harry Draft, make it public and bring those guys down.”

“How the hell are we gonna do that?”

“I have no idea. But I want to talk to Nathan again because I think that guy is holding out on us. There’s something he’s not telling us and I wanna know what it is.”

* * *

Oliver was seated at his desk, with Harry standing before him and Ray further behind, near the door.

“His name’s Carlos Vespa,” said Harry. “I got his driver’s license. He’s been snooping around Reno’s ever since I killed Ben West.”

“Ever since the cops have been looking for you,” said Oliver, bluntly.

“I apologized, pa. What can I do? I’m trying to make the best of the situation and tie up all the
loose ends.”

“You shouldn’t have even been out in the open to approach this man. I told you that.”

“We saw him when we were passing by the place,” lied Harry. “I just thought I’d check him out. You know, not take any chances.”

“So, what does he want?” asked Oliver.

“I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again, though. I made sure of that.”

“The best assurance of his future non-appearance is a bullet in the brain and a swift burial.”

“If I see him again that will be exactly what happens.”

“I want you to make sure they drop this case against you,” said Oliver. “This is at risk of being too harmful to our organization. You have put us all in jeopardy, Harry.”

“I realize that. It was one mistake. I’m sorry,” said Harry, looking at the ground.

“You will do whatever is necessary to make them drop the proceedings. But you must stay out of sight. I can not stress that enough. Do not jeopardize this organization any further. Use other men to get this done.”

“Okay. I promise I won’t let you down.”

“If they won’t take our friendly advice. . .then I’m afraid this is going to get messy.”

* * *

12:03 am

Daniel was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, in his upmarket apartment.

He wasn’t married. He had no girlfriend. But maybe that’s partly how he could afford this standard of living.

All of a sudden his bedside phone rang. Startled, he picked it up off of a chest of drawers beside his bed, put it to his ear and answered the call.

“He - hello. . ?” he said.

“Is this Daniel Fern?” said the voice on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, it is.”

“You’re making a case against Harry Draft for the murder of one Ben West, is that correct?”

“Yeah, that’s right. It’s kinda late. . .”

“I’m sorry for the late hour. I just have a word of advice.”

“What’s that?”

“Drop the case,” said the voice, the tone now changed to one of quiet threat and menace. “Drop the case. Forget what happened. Walk away with your life. It’s in your best interests. It’s in your client’s best interests. Otherwise the next time you hear my voice it will not be advice. It will be a commiseration of how you should have listened to me when you had the chance, before I close your eyes for good.”

“Who is this?” asked Daniel, nervously, yet somewhat angrily.

The line went dead. Daniel held the phone to his ear for a few seconds before placing it back down, wiping away the small beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead.

* * *

Next Day

The Hi-hat Jazz Bar was quiet at this time of day, with only a few people seated at the tables. There was no one at the bar. The club was decorated with instruments and musical notes painted on the walls and had a stage at the back, which was currently empty. Jazz music played quietly out of the speakers.

Carlos, Daniel and Nathan were seated at a table.

“All right, Nathan,” said Daniel. “We need you to be straight with us now.”

“What do you mean?” asked Nathan, with a frown.

“We think there’s something you’re not telling us,” added Carlos. “I think you know a little more than you’re letting on.”

“I don’t! I would tell you. What more can I say?” said Nathan, emphatically.

“This is serious, Nathan,” continued Daniel. “More serious than I think you realize. I’m getting death threats now. Carlos has been threatened. And it won’t be long before they get to you too.”

“If you don’t help us all you can, we’ll never get to the bottom of this,” said Carlos. “And if you’re too scared to tell us what you know, well, it’s too late for getting scared now. ’Cos we got on the wrong side of some bad people as soon as we started investigating this.”

Nathan's eyes flicked from Carlos to Daniel. Then down at the table. Then back up again.

“All right. . .all right. There is something,”
conceded Nathan.

“Nathan. . ,” said Daniel, disappointed. “Why didn’t you just tell us everything from the beginning?”

“Because I didn’t want you to think my brother was a bad person. Because he wasn’t. And I thought that maybe if you knew what he’d gotten himself involved with, you’d just walk away right from the start. You know how dangerous these guys are.”

“I told you from the start I’d take the case, Nathan,” said Carlos. “You don’t have to worry about me. And I think we can get to the bottom of all this.”

“So tell us what you know,” said Daniel.

“Okay. I’m sorry, guys,” said Nathan, with a pained, apologetic look on his face.

“Forget it. It’s understandable that you’re scared. Go on,” said Carlos.

“My brother was a gambler,” began Nathan. “That was his one vice. Any sort of gambling. Dogs, horses, superbowl, casino. He’d go out to Las Vegas regularly. He was hooked.”

“He got himself into debt?” asked Carlos.

“Bad,” Nathan continued. “So much so that he was on the verge of getting his house repossessed. I couldn’t help him, I don’t have that kind of money. I’m telling you, that was his one vice. He didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, didn’t take drugs. I felt sorry for him. Anyway, he knew this guy from Vegas that had moved here to LA called Antoine, who said he could help him out, that he knew some guys and that he would vouch for him. He’d just need to run some errands.”

“Antoine. Is he a black guy?” asked Carlos.

“I don’t know, I never met him.”

“I think I know who he is.”

“Well, I don’t know what Ben was doing for the mob, what ’errands’ he was running, but they bailed him out. The money he was making stabilized his finances.”

“That’s why his bank statements showed he was okay financially at the time of his death.”

“And he never said anything about a poisonous substance?” asked Daniel. He looked at Carlos. “There’s gotta be something in that, you don’t go to the trouble of poisoning someone when you can just shoot them.”

“No,” said Nathan. “Like I said, he never told me what he was doing. I didn’t see much of him the last couple of weeks before he died.”

“The other thing we don’t know is what reason they had to kill him,” said Carlos. “Something went wrong.”

“I’d like to know that,” said Nathan. “I swear that’s as much as I know. The next thing I heard, he was dead.”

“Do you both have guns?” asked Carlos.

“I got one,” said Daniel.

“I can get one,” said Nathan.

“It’s a good idea to be protected from now on,” said Carlos.

At a table further back, but close enough to hear, Antoine was sitting, with the hood of his sports jumper up over his head…listening.