Cold Steele---and Ice

The last thing I wanted to do was confront Brad again, but I could see Abby really wanted to see her sister.

"Sure, if that's what you want to do. Should we bring wine or something? No, I guess if Brad isn't drinking now, wine would be a bad idea."

Instead of wine, Abby and I carried a fudge chocolate layer cake when we rang the doorbell at Brad and Rebecca's. She invited us in and after the sisters hugged, I was introduced.

"Brad's on the deck, fussing with the grill," Rebecca said. "I'll go get him."

"I'll go out and see if I can lend a hand," I offered. Abby looked at me in a funny way and I added, "It's important to get the fire started right and you can't just leave it." I don't think Abby bought my excuse. Rebecca pointed to the door leading to the deck so I stepped outside.

Brad glanced up as I came out of the house; his face paled and he looked around like a trapped animal. "What are you doing here? I haven't bothered Rebecca since I saw you."

"I've heard, but I'm not here to talk to you again; at least not in that way. I'm Matt Steele and Abby's date." He calmed down and I said, "Our little talk can stay just between us as long as you do your part; Rebecca and Abby don't need to know about it."

He nodded and gave a sigh of relief as Abby and Rebecca joined us. The rest of the evening was about what you'd expect from a dinner with family. The girls talked a lot about their childhood, while Brad and I nodded or made comments at appropriate times. Brad kept nervously looking over at me; not sure if I was going to keep our meeting to myself. After about three hours, Abby and I said good night.

"Okay what's the story?" Abby asked as I drove her home.

"Story?" I asked in what I hoped was a puzzled voice. "What story are you talking about?"

"The story between you and Brad." She held up her hand as I started to deny anything. "And don't tell me there's nothing going on. I saw the looks he kept giving you all night long." Abby waited for several seconds and ordered, "Time to fess up Mr. Steele. He looked like he was going to jump out of his skin every time you talked."

I pulled my Corvette to a stop in front of Abby's place and turned in the seat to face her and sighed. "After hearing your family talk about Rebecca's problem, I decided to have a talk with Brad." I explained how I'd found and followed Brad. "I did have to persuade him a little, but I guess it worked."

Abby looked at me for a long time. "Would you really have killed him if he beat up Rebecca again?"

I couldn't tell from her voice if the idea repulsed or comforted her. Returning her look I hesitated for a few seconds. I decided that the truth was the best way to go; no matter what the consequences.

"I would have and still would put him down like a rabid dog," I answered in a very serious tone. I waited nervously for Abby's reaction.

"Normally I wouldn't think of hurting someone like that," Abby said. When she said that, I thought I'd blown it with her. "But it's true I suppose," she continued. "Your perceptions change when it's someone you love that's involved." Abby grinned at me. "You are going to get so lucky tonight," she said as she pulled me into her apartment.

********************

Abby and I are doing real good, I thought, sitting in my office working. Well, I was looking out the window, with my feet up on my desk, as across the street the secretaries and female clerks, dressed to the nines, left their respective offices; running errands or going for a late lunch. There's just something about attractive women in short skirts and wearing high heels that gladden my heart. It was a floor show to almost rival one in Vegas. Certainly glad I'm part of a species that has two sexes, I said to myself. Sort of makes things all worthwhile.

Four to five nights a week, Abby and I were at her apartment or at my place, my thoughts continued. Might as well move in together, maybe get married. Whoa, where did that come from? I'd sworn after Johanna screwed me over, I'd never get seriously involved again. I had to chuckle; Guess I never counted on meeting Abby. We'd been in this intense and growing relationship for almost a year now. Time to step up big guy, I said to myself.

"Mr. Steele?' A voice asked from my open doorway.

I dropped my feet to the floor and turned my swivel chair to face the doorway into my office. "Yeah, I'm Matt Steele. Can I help you?"

"I'm not sure, but a friend of a friend referred me to you."

"Who?"

"Antonio Rigazzi, he owns Rigazzi's on the hill." I nodded that I knew about Rigazzi's. "We went to St. Mary's High School together. When I told him my problem he suggested I talk to a friend of his; Rollie Chambers."

"Rollie's a good detective and a better man."

"Yeah, but he said he was involved in something and didn't have the time to take my case. He suggested I talk to you."

I hesitated for a few seconds. "Okay, first things first. Who are you?"

"Oh sorry, I'm Hunter Blaine."

"Okay Mr. Blaine. What's the problem?"

"Someone broke into my home and robbed my safe. I want you to find who did it and get my property back."

"Sounds like a job for the police."

"I can't go to the police department. I need someone who will be discreet and keep this to themselves. I need someone that I can trust and someone that can do the job. Antonio also suggested you after Mr. Chambers couldn't take my case. Another friend of Antonio's, a man named Tully, said you were the best; next to Mr. Chambers that is."

"Why the secrecy? What was taken? If it was drugs or something illegal, count me out. I won't get involved in that kind of garbage."

"No nothing like that." "Blaine sighed and looked around my office. "The thief took almost a million dollars worth of my wife's jewelry."

I nodded and motioned for Blaine to continue.

"The problem is that the jewels he took are fakes." I raise my eyebrows. "I used the jewelry as collateral for a business loan. If the fact that the jewels aren't real gets out, I'll be ruined. My business will go bankrupt and I'll lose everything."

"What happened to the real pieces?"

"I sold them in small bits and pieces over the last year. Not even my wife knows I replaced the real jewels with copies."

"So you swindled the loan people and you lied to your wife?" I looked hard at Blaine. "Why should I help an admitted thief and a liar?"

"My business is growing; it's over the hump and showing a very good profit. I'll be able to pay back the loan in less than six months; that's a year ahead of time. After it's over, I'll explain to my wife and hope she doesn't leave me. That's if the fake jewelry doesn't become public knowledge." Blaine looked down and shook his head. "If the business goes belly up, not only will I lose everything but about 200 people will be put out of work."

I stared at him for almost a minute; which I'm sure seemed much longer to Blaine. "Okay Mr. Blain, I'll try and find your fakes for you; before they become public knowledge."

"Oh thank you Mr. Steele. I'm..."

"Before you go too far with your thanks you better hear my fee."

I had come to the conclusion, after working at a cut rate for the rich Mr. Worth, that if anyone with real money wanted my skills they would pay and pay heavily. Blaine was worth a lot of money; at least for now.

"It'll cost you $500 a day, plus expenses," I said. "Or I'll cut you a deal and take $5000 for the whole thing, fees and expenses."

"What if you solve it before using up the $5000? Or what happens if you can't find the jewelry?"

"I should find them within 10 days, if they can be found. If I can't find your fakes, I still get paid. If I find it before using up the five grand, I keep what's left over. You're paying for my time and experience. Usually the results are good, but not always."

What if it takes you longer than 10 days? Will I have additional fees to pay?"

"Not if you pay the 5 large up front. The lump sum payment takes care of all my fees and expenses for as long as the case runs. Oh, and by the way, I won't stop looking until you tell me to." I stared at Blaine, chuckled and shook my head.

"What's so funny?" He asked in a puzzled angry voice.

"You're talking about losing a business that's worth what, several million? And you're worried about five grand. You're a piece of work Mr. Blaine."

Now it was Blaine's turn to shake his head with a rueful little grin. "Sorta dumb huh? I work out deals for manufacturing supplies and such; guess it just carries over." He reached into his jacket, pulled out a checkbook, wrote a check and handed it to me. It was for $5000. "Please save my ass Mr. Steele."

I put the check in my desk drawer. "I'll need a list of the ice, and pictures if you have them."

Blaine took a large manila envelope out of his briefcase and slid it across the desk to me. "This is a description and picture of each piece." He laid a business card in front of me. "That has my office and my personal cell number. Give me a call if you need anything more?"

Watching Blaine leave my office I thought, he's done something illegal, but at least some good might come out of it; if I can find the ice. I grabbed the phone and started making calls; time to check in with my Confidential Informants.

Even though it was only 3 PM, after a few calls to put the word out on the street, I headed to one of my watering holes. I hoped to run into a couple of my CIs or at least leave a message that I wanted to talk to them. These two, Smiling Eddie, and Bagman Charley, I had to contact in person; neither carried a cell phone. Or if they did they'd neglected to give me their numbers.

The bar, called the Neighborhood Tavern, was in a part of St. Louis that the city fathers wouldn't put on a tour for visiting dignitaries. It was in an area that although historic, having been part of the riverfront business district since the early 1800's, was so bad that the few decent people in the area should move out or just shoot themselves.

The current residents were a mixture of winos, petty thieves, and people waiting for the government to magically make their lives better; they were the "dregs of society" and did nothing to better their own lives. There wouldn't be any revitalization of the buildings with new businesses or semi wealthy people moving in as had happened in other historic areas of the city. It would have been cheaper and more logical to just bulldoze the three block area and start over.

The lone exception was Bill Marshall, the owner of the Neighborhood Tavern. Bill was in his early 70s, and a retired Navy Master Chief. He'd grown up near the St. Louis waterfront, returned after 30 years in the Navy, and bought the tavern. Bill watched as the neighborhood declined but refuse to desert the sinking ship of the area.

The Neighborhood Tavern was the one safe place in a ten block radius. Bill Marshall allowed nothing unseemly, as he called it, to happen in his bar. He ruled it with an iron hand, a Lou Brock baseball bat, and a Dan Wesson .357 revolver. When I asked Bill why he hadn't or didn't sell out and move, he said this was his home and he wouldn't let anyone run him off. I pointed out that he could open another tavern or bar in a better part of the city but he answered, "It wouldn't be the same. Got too many years invested to sail away."

Bill and I had been friends for several years; from before the neighborhood had gone completely to hell. I'd worked a case in the neighborhood and had spent a lot of hours in his bar. One evening I came in and two very large young punks were giving Bill a hard time. They were demanding money; Bill's bat was lying on the floor where they'd thrown it after tearing it from his hands.

I picked up the Lou Brock Special and gave one of the punks a medium hard tap on the back of his head. When he turned, I hit him in the stomach with the barrel of the bat; he went down and stayed down. The other man rushed at me and met the business end of the Lou Brock; he fell to the floor too.

"It's a good thing for them you came in when you did Matt," Bill said and raised the .357. He'd been holding it down beside his leg. "Course if it was up to me, you could have been five minutes later." He spit on the two men and called the police.

I hadn't been in the Neighborhood Tavern for a while and Bill looked up from behind the bar when I walked in. He sat down the glass he'd been polishing, reached into a special cabinet under the bar, and took out a bottle of Gentleman Jack. Before I got to the bar, he had the whiskey on ice poured for me.

"Little early, don't you think?" I said as I picked up the drink.

"Like the song says, its five o'clock somewhere," Bill answered with a grin and then poured a drink for himself. He held up his glass in a toast and said, "The secret of an enjoyable life is beautiful women, fast cars, and good whiskey." He drank the double whiskey and put his glass on the bar. "Maybe it's fast women, beautiful cars, and good whiskey. Never could get the order right." He joined me as I laughed and downed my drink.

"What brings you in, aside from seeing my smiling face?" Bill asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Got a case and need information" I answered. "Thought I might run into or at least leave a message for Smiling Eddie and Bagman Charley."

Bill lifted the bottle over my glass with a questioning look. I shook my head and he filled his glass again. "Tell me what you've got," he said. "I'll make sure your boys get the word."

I explained about the robbery of Blaine's place and that I wanted the word from the street about who took the jewels and where they might be. "Give me a call when the boys check in; or have them call me. I know you won't take anything, but tell them it's worth a few bucks. Thanks Bill." I nodded and went back to my truck.

People had several times asked or made comments about by dilapidated old beater of a truck. Why don't you drive a nicer vehicle they asked? I always answered that it got the job done and was paid for. My truck had a damn near full race 350 CI engine and race car type suspension. The body had a lot of bondo holding it together and three different colors of paint. If need be it could catch or outrun almost anything I might come in contact with. I always answered that the truck wouldn't be bothered in some of the less gentle and nice neighborhoods I sometimes worked in; like the area around the Neighborhood Tavern.

That evening, as Abby and I were coming back from dinner, I got a call from Bill. "The boys are working on your problem. Should have word in a day or two." I thanked him and went back to enjoying Abby. We were sitting in my restored 63 Corvette Split Window Coupe in front of Abby's place. She had a big presentation the next morning so it was going to be an early night for us.

"I'll make it up to you," Abby said with a grin. I nodded and she leaned over the center console to kiss me. "I've got a favor to ask," she said. "Although I probably should wait until I can get you to do my bidding with my womanly wiles."

"Whatever you need Abby."

"I have a friend at work that's having a problem with her son. She's a single mother and the boy is being bullied at school. The school administrators and such say they can't do anything unless they catch the bigger boy actually doing something. Stella is beside herself; she doesn't know what to do. Her son doesn't want her to come to school and confront the boy; he said it would only make it worse. I thought you might talk to him; maybe teach him some self defense moves."

I looked at Abby for several seconds, shook my head and smiled. "You know, you're the only one I know that could get me to do something like this." I shook my head again. "Set up a meeting with the boy and his mother and I'll do what I can."

Friday evening I picked Abby up, again driving my Corvette. I drove the car that evening for three reasons: One, I like to drive it; Two, Abby deserved to ride in a fine chariot instead of my beater of a truck; and Three, the car would probably impress the boy. I wanted him to know that I was a serious guy and not just some grown up his mother had brought over to give him a lot of bullshit adult advice.

Stella, and her son James, lived on the near south side in the Soulard Market neighborhood. It was one of the areas that people were bringing back to life. A lot of young couples just starting out, several retired or near retired people, and a lot of growing families had made the neighborhood one of the best in the city.

When I met Stella and James, she immediately began to tell me about the bully. How the school wouldn't do anything and how worried she was. James came home two or three times a week with bruises and scrapes; once in a while a black eye or a split lip. The whole time she was talking, she stood behind where the boy was sitting and stroked his hair. James wasn't the happiest of campers and kept trying to shrug her hand off his head. About the only thing James had said during all this was, "Aw Mom."

I listened to Stella for several minutes, it seemed like an hour, and held up my hand. "Do you prefer to be called James or Jimmy?" I asked the boy.

"Jimmy sounds like a little kids name. I like to go by James."

"Okay. C'mon James, let's take a ride in the Corvette." I motioned him to follow me and we climbed into the sports car. The tires spun as I pulled away from the curb. We drove over to Lafayette Park and took a walk in the park. As we walked I looked at the boy.

He was a typical 14 year old. Tall for his age, he was going to be a big man when he reached his full growth. Right now he was all gangly arms and legs; a little clumsy trying to get a hold on his recent growth spurt to 5' 9. Slender build but the big hands and feet showed he would top 6 feet and two hundred pounds as he aged. All and all a nice looking young man, I thought.

We found a bench overlooking the pond and watched the people in paddle boats for a short time. "Tell me about it James," I said.

"The kid's name is Sam. He's 17 and a lot bigger than me. Two or three times a week, he takes my lunch money away from me. He slaps me around until I give him the money. Sometimes he doesn't ever take the money, he just slaps me around. The teachers say they can't do anything unless they see him doing it but he's always careful and makes sure no teachers are around." The boy sighed and looked at the people on the pond.

"I wish I didn't have to go to that school anymore. Wish I knew some karate or something. I wish I wasn't such a coward." James hung his head and I could see tears in his eyes.

"Look you're not a coward; going back to school every day, in spite of what Sam does, shows that. So, if you're not afraid, the thing to do is hurt Sam as much as you can each time he tries to slap you around. If he jumps you, do everything you can to hurt him as much as he hurts you." I put my hand on his shoulder and continued. "I can show you a few moves to help protect yourself. But the most dangerous part of a man is right there." I put my finger on his forehead. "If a guy's head is right he can be very dangerous."

"I don't understand," the boy said. He looked puzzled.

"You think you can't beat this Sam because he's a lot bigger than you. I can teach you some moves that will make it harder for him to slap you around but until you get bigger they're just defensive moves."

"So what, I just let him keep beating me up?"

"No. We'll mix in a few offensive moves that will probably make Sam decide it isn't worth bothering you."

James again looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"If Sam hits you, hit him back as hard as you can. Keep throwing punches until you can't anymore." I could see the skeptical look on the boy's face. "Or better yet, get in the first punch." James looked at me like I was nuts. "Look you're going to get beat on no matter what right? Make the guy pay. Let him go home with a black eye or a split lip. I guarantee you that after a couple of times of Sam taking some hits, he'll back off."