Private Eye - Part 3

The pool hall was dark, with the lights overhanging the pool tables the only glow in the room. A few tables were occupied, but it wasn’t busy. There was a bar at the front next to the entrance door.

On one of the tables Oliver was playing pool with his right hand man, Frankie, an intelligent looking character with glasses and black slicked-back hair, yet stocky and well built.

Harry and Ray entered through the door and approached the table. Oliver was stooping low over the table, setting up a shot. He looked up as they reached the table.

Harry nodded and gave Oliver a thumbs up.

“Yes, Harry, it’s a thumb. Quite useful for picking things up. What do you want?” asked Oliver.

“I’ve fixed it, pops,” replied Harry.

“Don’t call me ‘pops’, numb nuts. Where’s your respect?" snapped Oliver. "Are you sure no one saw you this time?”

“I’m sure. I was very discreet. Right, Ray?”

“Very discreet,” agreed Ray. “I was looking out for him from the car.”

“Good,” said Oliver.

He took his shot. A break shot. Frankie walked around the table to line up his own shot.

“You’re going to have to lay low for a while, Harry,” continued Oliver.

“Why? What do you mean?”

“The cops are looking for you,” said Frankie, piping up for the first time. “The witness ratted you out. Which means you gotta stay out of sight.”

“For how long? What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to run our operations?” asked Harry, frustrated.

“You’ll have to do it well behind closed doors,” said Oliver. “Get people to do things for you, I don’t want you running around all over the place at the moment.”

“Great. How about that? I’m grounded.”

Frankie took a shot and potted a ball. “The point is, of which you're well aware, if the cops get hold of you, you’re connected to us and from that point it involves all of us. And then it’s a slippery slope. It can unravel all our operations. And we can’t have that.”

“Hey, I wasn’t even talking to you, Frankie. I’m talking to my dad,” said Harry, irritated by this interference.

“Enough, Harry,” said Oliver. “He’s trying to help. His remarks are in our best interests.”

“He’s kissing ass, is what he’s doing,” replied Harry.

“Go and make yourself useful,” continued Oliver. “We’ve got some Russians coming in tonight, I need you to set up some entertainment for them. We could off-load a lot of weaponry with these gentlemen, so make them happy.”

Harry, annoyed at this situation and at being treated like a child, turned and started towards the door. “Let’s go, Ray”

The two of them walked in silence until they had exited the building through the same door.

“He’s a brat, that boy,” said Oliver.

“He’s just stubborn. He’s young,” said Frankie.

“If he keeps it up, he won’t be getting any older.”

* * *

Later that afternoon, Carlos began his investigation. And, logically, he started at the murder scene, in the alleyway beside the side entrance to Reno's Bar. He traced slowly up and down the alleyway, looking at the ground and the walls.

He wasn't sure what he was looking for at this point. Maybe something the LAPD had missed? He wasn't even sure how much effort the cops had put into the investigation at this point or if they even wanted to dig too deep. They knew they were dealing with a nasty piece of work. Harry Draft. Some cops didn't like to get too involved with mobster investigations. They feared for their families. And Harry had never been convicted of anything mob-related. The legit business cover-up was very good. The cops just knew he was nasty. Everyone in the know did. Great police motto, huh? ‘To serve and run away.’

Carlos thought he might find some bullet casings, dropped items. Something.

He walked all the way down, to the dead-end of the alleyway, right by the side entrance to Reno’s. He saw nothing there except a syringe, dirty from the ground, lying next to the wall and some empty beer bottles and cigarette butts. The usual late night aftermath.

A window opened upstairs in the side of the building, looking out onto the alleyway. A man leaned out.

“Hey. You a cop?” he called.

“Who are you?” asked Carlos.

“I’m Reno, I own this joint.”

“I’m an investigator.”

“This about that guy that got killed down there?”

“What’s it to you? You got information?”

“Come on up.”

Reno leaned back inside and closed the window. Carlos entered the building by the side door.

* * *

The bar was very busy. Almost every table was taken and a lot of people were seated at the bar. It was loud with the sound of conversations and music playing through the sound system in the background. Waitresses were walking around tending to the tables.

At one of these tables sat Harry, Ray and a third man called Mitch, a weasely looking man who‘s no fear attitude and the fact that he wasn‘t scared to speak his mind or question anybody was in complete contrast to his measly, stick-thin stature. They were all dressed in suits. They appeared to be having an animated discussion.

“If I have to deal with Russians ever again I swear I’m gonna shoot someone,” stated Harry.

“Should we even be in here?” asked Ray. “You know what your father said. He wouldn’t be too happy if he knew you were out in the open.”

“What are you, my Jimminy Cricket?” said Harry, irritated. “Forget that, I am not staying holed up in a room somewhere like a hermit. I arranged the stuff for the Russians like he asked. Miserable old fart.”

He pointed his finger at Ray and Mitch. “Besides. . .he ain’t gonna find out.”

“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’,” said Ray.

Harry looked suspiciously at his beer glass, at the dirtiness of it and at the warm, flat beer laying in the bottom. “What the hell are they serving in here now, anyway?”

“You just got a weak stomach, Harry. Admit it. You’re soft,” said Mitch in a playful bid to exact a response.

Harry drained the rest of the putrid beer from the glass into his mouth, putting the glass down on the table and pushing it away from him. “You’re gonna see just how weak my stomach is in a minute when I vomit this penis residue all over you. What are we drinkin’ this crap for anyway? Next round’s bourbon.”

At that moment Carlos entered the bar through the side door and walked across the room. Harry and his men noticed him and Harry’s gaze followed Carlos as he walked behind the bar and made his way through a door.

“Who was that?” said Harry, full of suspicion.

“You want to wait around for him to come out?” asked Mitch.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “I think we should.”

* * *

Reno’s office was small, with wood-pannelled walls and a desk, behind which Reno was seated, with
papers scattered about on top of it and a chair either side. He was a fifty year old, beer-bellied, balding man of Spanish origin.

There was a knock at the office door. Reno walked over and opened it to find Carlos standing there.

“Come in, come in,” said Reno, gesturing with his hand to come inside.

Carlos stepped into the office and Reno shut the door. They shook hands.

“I’m Reno Santiago.”

“Carlos Vespa.”

“Please, sit,” said Reno, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Carlos sat down as Reno went to the other side of the desk and took his seat.

“So, you’re an investigator?” asked Reno.

“I’m a Private Investigator, yeah,” replied Carlos. “You mind talking to me?”

“I asked you up, right?”

“You spoken to the cops yet?”

“Nope.”

“Why not? Haven’t they been round to ask questions or anything?”

“Nope. Guess they got better things to do. You know as well as I do how useless they can be in this city. Especially when it comes to the mob.”

“I never said anything about the mob.”

“Come on. I know who I saw that night.”

“Usually the cops would’ve done something by now. An innocent person was killed. They’d do some enquiries for the sake of the family.”

“We don’t know what the whole thing was over. Maybe the dead guy weren’t so innocent after all. Who knows? How did you get involved in this, anyway?”

“That’s not gonna be a subject for conversation, Reno.”

“Please. I need to know I can trust you.”

“Look, you’ve obviously got something you want to tell me. To get off your chest. We didn’t make any exchange of information deal. Let’s just say I was hired by the family. Leave it at that.”

Reno nodded, approvingly.

“So, what do you know?” asked Carlos.

“I was serving behind the bar that night. It was rammed in there. A lot of people,” began Reno. “The guy that got killed was at the bar most of the night on his own. He was getting wasted, man. Drinking like there was no tomorrow.”

“How ironic.”

“Harry and a few of his guys were sitting at a table. He went over to them at one point during the night. It looked like they got into a pretty heated argument. I thought it was gonna kick off.”

“But it didn’t?” asked Carlos.

“No. The guy just walked off in the end. Went to the men’s room and came back to the bar, knocked back a few more.”

“Okay. So what happened the rest of the night?”

“Well, at this point there was only about an hour to go until last orders at the bar, so I finished for the night and just let the girls work the bar by themselves,” said Reno. “I came upstairs. The adjoining room to this one is my bedroom. I had a
stinkin’ headache that night so I went in there for a lie down. After about forty five minutes, I heard this commotion from the alleyway, as the metal door swung back against the wall. So, I rushed in here to look out of the window at what the hell’s going on, hearing the commotion as I’m rushing to the window. I didn’t open it, I just pulled the blinds back a bit. But I could see Harry standing over the guy, with a gun in his hand. The other guy was laying flat on his back so I assume he was dead by the time I saw them.”

“So, you didn’t actually see it happen?” asked Carlos.

“Nope. I saw what I saw. Next thing, he started shooting up the alleyway at something.”

“That must have been when the witnessed spotted him as she was walking past. He tried to kill her on the spot before she could get away. Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I want these sons of bitches put away,” said Reno. “It’s hassle we don’t need and hassle my bar don’t need. I’m sick of them coming in here, causing a disturbance, smashing things up. People don’t wanna live in fear of the mob. The city would be a better place without them.”

“Have they been in here since?”

“Yeah. I can’t refuse them entry now ‘cos that’ll let on that I know something. And I don’t wanna be involved any more than helping you right now. And that’s where it stops.”

* * *

Carlos walked back through the door and back around the bar, heading towards the other
side of the room, towards the side door.

Harry, Ray and Mitch were still seated at the table. They noticed Carlos walking across the bar.

“There he is,” said Harry, quietly to himself. “What are you up to, pal?”

Carlos exited the bar by the side door and closed it behind him. He walked up the alleyway and on to the main street. He waited for a break in the traffic and crossed briskly to the other side of the road.

So, he was off the mark. That was something. He felt it was time to wind down. And he knew the best way to do that.

Carlos whistled, hailing a cab. The cab pulled up at the kerb next to him and he got in.

* * *

The cab pulled up outside the big, neon-lit Lotus Lounge Exotic Gentleman’s Club. Carlos got out, paid the cab driver through the open window and walked into the club.

He'd only found this place a couple of weeks ago but had never been inside. He wasn't really one for strip joints. Too seedy. This place, however, was different. The dancers actually kept some - admittedly miniscule - clothes on in here and this was a place where he could really clear his head and unwind.

He entered the main bar. The music was loud, the bass and drums thunderous, but the melody was sexy. There was an exotic dancing girl doing a routine alone on the stage, making use of the pole in the centre. She had on a skimpy, sparkly bra top and panties.

There was a small bar off to one side and the whole place was ambient in it’s lighting. The seating level below the stage was quite big with round tables covered with dark red silk table cloths. There was a lot of chrome trim and ornamentation. Very classy, modern décor. There were a lot of men sitting at the tables talking and watching the dance. Waitresses in equally scantily clad attire were walking around tending to the tables.

Carlos walked up to the small bar. There was a woman preparing drinks behind it. She noticed Carlos approach.

“Could you take a seat, sir?” she requested.

“I’m sorry?” asked Carlos, confused.

“It’s table service only. If you take a seat a girl will be right over to take care of you.”

Carlos nodded. “Right.”

He walked down to the seating area and sat down at a table, watching the dance. It was very tasteful, yet sensual.

A girl approached his table. “Good evening, sir. How are you tonight?”

“Great,” replied Carlos.

“Good. My name is Bo and I'll be taking care of you tonight. What can I get for you?”

“I’ll take a bourbon sour.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back directly.”

Bo walked away to get the drink. Carlos continued watching the dance, transfixed by the smooth, graceful movements of the dancer. Taken in by her curves and the way she just looked at her spectators in the eyes, teasing, confident.

From out of his peripheral vision, a black man dressed in a long black leather coat and smart shirt and trousers sat down beside him, disrupting the moment. He leaned in, way too close.

This particular intruder to Carlos' peace was Antoine Michaels. If you wanted drugs in this part of the city, Antoine was the man you went to. When he wasn’t coming to you.

“Yo, w’sup, man. Haven’t seen you in here before,” said Antoine. “Name’s Antoine. You need anythin’? What’s your flavour, man?”

“I’m good. Thanks. Just enjoying the show,” replied Carlos, without even looking at him.

“And what a show it is, dog, they got some fine ass ho’s up in here,” continued Antoine. “What I’m sayin’ is. . .you need anythin’? Y’know, a little sum’n sum’n for the cranium, get you high, dog.”

“No thanks,” said Carlos nodding towards the stage. “I get high enough off of this.”

“I bet you do. I bet if I bend down to tie my shoelace, you’d poke a nigga’s eye out, y’know what I’m sayin’? Look man, I got the finest of the fine white powder in all a LA, dog. You rack this magic dust up into yo head, keep a nigga high all night. You be in space, nigga.”

“Here comes my drink,” said Carlos, nodding to the approaching Bo, carrying a tray with his drink on. “I’d rather like to enjoy it alone, thanks.”

Antoine stood up. “A’ight, man, but you change your mind, you come find me. I be floatin’
around.” He noticed Bo as she got closer. “Look at dat ass. . .”

Antoine walked away just as Bo reached the table and put Carlos’ drink down in front of him.

“There you go,” said Bo. “Bourbon sour.”

“Thanks.”

Bo walked away. Carlos sat and sipped his drink, and continued watching the dance.

* * *

In his office, Reno was sitting at his desk sorting out some paperwork for the bar. The scattered piles of paperwork on top of the desk were slowly beginning to take an organized form. There was a knock at the door.

“Yeah? Make it quick, I’m busy in here,” Reno called.

The door to the office opened and Harry stepped in, followed by Ray and Mitch.

“Hey, what are you doing?” asked Reno, a slight tremble in his voice. “You’re not supposed to be up here.”

“Oh, that’s okay, Mr. Santiago,” replied Harry. “We didn’t plan on staying very long.”

Harry walked slowly towards the desk. . .

* * *

In the Lotus Lounge, Carlos was still seated at his table, although nothing was currently happening onstage. But the music still boomed in the background. His drink was almost finished.

A man dressed in a black suit and tie
suddenly approached his table.

“Good evening, sir. My name is Ralph. I am the manager of The Lotus Lounge. Just checking to see if everything is to your liking and if you require anything further,” he said, with an English accent.

“Manager service, huh?” said Carlos. “Now, that is classy.”

“I try and keep tabs on things and get to know my clientele. Makes it more personal and friendly, I feel.”

“Well, everything’s great. Thanks. Nice place, by the way. How long have you been in business?”

“Just over a year now,” replied Ralph.

“I noticed your possession of drugs policy on the wall when I came in.”

“Yes, I feel very strongly about it. Any abuse of that policy in here will be met with the highest severity.”

“Well, you said you like to keep tabs: Did you know there’s a guy in here dealing as we speak?”

Ralph hesitated. “Really?”

Carlos nodded in the direction of Antoine over the other side of the room. “Black guy in the leather jacket over there, making his way from table to table.”

Ralph frowned and got visibly angry. “Thank you, sir. Much appreciated.”

He walked off determinedly over to the bouncers at the entrance.

Carlos smiled to himself. The drug dealer was a nuisance. Good riddance. “No problem.”

Two bouncers strode over and apprehended Antoine while he was trying to coax a couple of young ladies at another table into either a deal or a date. Either one was bad news. They pulled him away, grabbing one arm each.

“Hey! Hey! What the hell, man?!” screamed Antoine. “I ain’t done nothin’! Get off me! Get off me, you big ass, pie eatin’, Samoan bitches! You draggin’ the wrong nigga out on the street, man! You draggin’ the wrong nigga! I’m a bust a whole chamber of caps in yo aaaaaaahhhh!!!. . .”

The bouncers literally threw Antoine out onto the street.

Carlos sipped the last of his drink, thinking to himself how something unexpected always happens in this city. He focused on the new pair of dancers that had just taken to the stage.

Ralph appeared at his side once again. “Thanks for the heads up. The police will be dealing with him very shortly. Sorry for the commotion.”

“It’s not a problem,” replied Carlos. “He was a pain in the ass.”

“Still, I feel I should apologize,” said Ralph. “How many drinks have you had tonight, sir, if I may be so bold?”

“Just the one.”

Ralph called out to one of the waitresses. “Bo? Please. . .”

Bo approached the table. “Sir?”

“Put this gentleman’s last drink on a tab with a one hundred dollar limit,” he said and turned to Carlos. “That okay with you?”

“Come on,” said Carlos. “You don’t have to do that. I was just being a good citizen.”

“Compliments of the house,” replied Ralph.

Ralph reached down and shook Carlos’ hand.

Carlos held up his glass. “In that case, I’ll have another bourbon sour.”

* * *

The basement was in an unknown location. Well, unknown to Reno, who was sitting tied to a chair by a rope around his chest and arms and around the back of the chair. He was bleeding from his nose and mouth and looked battered. A single ceiling light shone down creating the only light in the damp, cold wooden basement. A couple of flies danced around the single light bulb. Harry, Ray and Mitch were standing a few feet in front of him, hands sticky with blood.

“You’re in a bad way, Mr. Santiago,” stated Harry. “And I haven’t even asked you a single question yet. So imagine what’ll happen to you if you give me an answer I don’t like.”

“I haven’t done anything!” cried Reno. “I don’t even know you! This is crazy!”

“If you hadn’t done anything to upset me, Mr. Santiago, you wouldn’t be sitting there bleeding all over the floorboards,” said Harry.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about! What do you want from me?”

The fear and frustration could be heard in his voice and tears started to form in his eyes.

“The man in the long coat that came up to see you earlier today,” said Harry. “Who was he?”

“A lot of people visit me during the day, it could’ve been any-”

Harry cut him short. “I suggest you don’t go
down that road. Tell me.”

“Really, I can’t-”

Again, Harry interrupted Reno’s defence. “Stop.”

Harry then pulled a serrated knife out from his suit jacket inside pocket. It was blunt and rust could be seen developing in various places on the blade. He turned it in the light.

“This is what’s gonna happen,” began Harry. “You’re going to tell me exactly what I want to know. Otherwise I’m going to cut off your fingers, one by one. And I’m sure you know the drill. Next I’m gonna start on your toes. And it’ll be a slow and painful process because this is a blunt serrated knife, which means I’m gonna have to saw. Then, when I’ve run out of digits on your hands and feet, I can think of one more, that’s a lot softer. And you really want to keep hold of that one.”

* * *

Carlos, now drunk, stumbled out from behind a satin curtain into the main seating area. He grabbed Ralph by his suit jacket as he was walking past.

“Now that is a marketing ploy!” blurted Carlos. “You have to walk through a mirrored room where girlsh are giving lap dances, to get to the restrooms! Ver’ clever, my friend. Ver’ clever!”

“Yes, that was the intention,” said Ralph, stepping out of Carlos’ grip. “Have you, er. . .exhausted your tab yet, by any chance?”

“No, no. I still got. . ,” started Carlos as he tried to remember how much of his tab was remaining. “. . .some left. But I jush puked up that last one, so can I get a refund? . .hahaha. . .”

“That’s highly amusing, sir,” said Ralph as he turned to call a waitress. “Toya? Can you come here?”

Toya walked over to Ralph and Carlos.

“Can you escort this gentleman to his seat while I call him a cab?” asked Ralph.

“Sure. I could do with a break,” said Toya, then turned to Carlos. “Want some company, sir?”

“Not cab. Tab! I still got some left. . ,” protested Carlos.

“We’ll carry it over to your next visit,” said Ralph. “The cab firms get very busy this time of night. Best to catch one while you can.”

Toya took Carlos by the arm. “Why don’t we go sit down? My feet are killing me.”

She lead Carlos slowly by his arm over to his table and they sat down.

“So, have you enjoyed your evening, sir?” asked Toya.

“Immensely,” replied Carlos, eyes unable to focus on one point. “And you’ve all been wonderful. Ver’ classy eshtablishment. . .”

“I‘m glad you think so. You can lay in bed tomorrow, right? I hope you have an easy day planned. I think you're going to need it.”

“I’m a Privates Investigator.”

“A Private Investigator?”

“No. I said Privates Investigator. And I will investigate your privates for a ver’ small fee. . .”

“Okay. . .”

Toya rolled her eyes and slid out from the table with a look of disapproval and walked away.

“Ah, come on!” called Carlos. “I’m kidding! I won’t really charge!”

Toya kept on walking without looking round.

Carlos called out again. “Can I get a bour. . .a burb. . .a drink?”

And no drink came. . .