The PI Who Knew Too Much Ch. 02

The PI Who Knew Too Much-02

Previously, on The PI Who Knew Too Much—

"WHAT IS IT, Mr. Spector? You're frightening me." She reached for a box of tissues on the desk with her left hand and put her right hand in the open drawer.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but your husband is dead, Mrs. Bezier." She brought a tissue to her face and took a small pistol out of the drawer. It looked like a .35.

"So are you, Mr. Spector." She pulled the trigger twice. A truck hit my chest and drove out all the air. I thought I heard another, louder shot just as somebody cut my strings and turned out the lights.

EVERYTHING HURT. I was in bed, but I didn't know where. Or why. When I tried to open my eyes, nothing happened. Tried again, same result. They finally oozed open on the third try. I started to look around, but it hurt my neck so bad I grunted. The sound brought a woman in a white uniform bustling to my bedside. She looked to be in her early thirties, puffy cheeks, some encouraging laugh lines around her eyes. A nurse's cap was perched on her curly brown hair.

"We're glad to see you're awake, Mr. Spector. How are you feeling?" Something was stuck down my throat, so I couldn't tell her I felt like I'd gone too many rounds with Joe Louis. She looked contrite and put a hand to her face.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I know better than that. You can't talk with that respirator tube down your throat. It's breathing for you. We wanted to make sure you didn't stop while you were unconscious. We'll get that out as soon as Doctor says we can. I'll tell him you're awake as soon as I take your vitals. Please let me know if I cause you any pain. I'll be as careful as I can. I'll start with your blood pressure."

The longer she went on the faster she talked, like a car rolling down a steep hill with no brakes. It was hard to keep up with her, my brain didn't seem to be working right. She was trying to tell me all at once what was going on, but I didn't even know what had happened. Her uniform and nurse's cap made me think that I was probably in a hospital, but why? I didn't remember being run over by a truck or tossed out a window.

I managed to avoid wincing while she took my blood pressure and pulse. She wrote her findings on my chart. "I'll get Doctor now." She didn't say "the doctor," she said "Doctor." With a capital D and no "the." I thought that was a bit odd, then thought it was a bit odd that I thought that. Then I thought that confirmed my mind was definitely not hitting on all cylinders.

I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep. Apparently "Doctor" wasn't far off because she was back with him before I could even relax. I wasn't reassured. He looked like he was about 16 years old, was shorter than the nurse, sported a bad complexion, a try at a mustache, and thick glasses. At least he did have a stethoscope draped around his neck.

"You're looking pretty good, Mr. Spector. Pretty lucky, too, I might add. You were shot twice in the chest, but there's no damage to your heart. I think you'll live."

I was shot? Twice? Who shot me? I remembered following Mrs. Bezier down the hall, then I woke up here...Mrs. Bezier? No, that couldn't be right. She acted like she wanted to do something to me, alright, but it didn't seem to involve a gun. I tried to remember more, but there was too much fuzz in my brain.

"One shot went through your left lung and the other nicked your left collar bone, but those were fairly straightforward to fix. You'll want to be careful when you cough or sneeze for the next few days, though. This evening we'll see about getting that breathing tube out. Now let's have a look at your chest."

He and the nurse changed the dressing. They weren't keen on the idea of me watching, but I insisted. Good thing the young cop who drove Wilkes wasn't there, the dressing was pretty bloody. After she swabbed off the area I could see the stitches where they went in to fix my lung. He looked closely, nodded, and said it looked like it was healing well.

He turned to the nurse. "Ethel, when we finish here get an extra pillow and show him how to hug it before he coughs or sneezes." They put a fresh dressing on, then he went to the foot of the bed and picked up my chart. After writing a bit, he put it back and turned to leave. Just before he went out the door, he turned and spoke over his shoulder. "And give him something to help him sleep."

The nurse—she didn't look anything like an Ethel—got a pillow and showed me how to clutch it to my chest. She said it would keep a cough from hurting too bad or tearing the stitches. I agreed that not tearing the stitches was a good idea. She went out, then came back with a handful of pills and a paper cup of water. After I took the pills, she closed the blinds and said I should rest. I think I was asleep before she was out the door.

I slept most of the afternoon, and woke up just in time for a delicious supper of some sort of soup, two slices of pear, and a cup of weak tea. Be still my beating heart. Around 7:00 the young doc came back in, did something that told him I could breathe without help, and took the tube out of my throat. It didn't exactly hurt, but it felt really strange. I wouldn't want a repeat performance.

He said he'd look in on me in the morning, told me everything looked fine, and was gone in a swirl of lab coat. A different nurse (I never learned her name) showed up an hour or so later, gave me my night pills, turned down the lights, and wished me good night. The pills must have been pretty good stuff. I sort of woke up when they took my temperature and blood pressure, but other than that I slept through the night.

Next morning, Ethel the Nurse—her name tag said Ethel, so I had to believe it really was her name—came in all bright and cheerful. She said she'd change my dressing a bit later, that "Doctor" wouldn't be by until evening because I was doing so well, and gave me my morning pills. She smiled when I told her they tasted better than my yummy breakfast of lukewarm Pablum, a piece of dry toast, an orange slice, and another cup of weak tea.

She started to leave the room, then turned with an embarrassed look. "A policeman and a detective named Wilkes came by not long after you got out of surgery. I told them you were in Recovery and wouldn't be ready for any visitors for at least 24 hours. The detective asked us to call him as soon as you were awake."

"Asked or told?"

"Well, I guess it was more like he told us. Doctor told us not to call yesterday, but the charge nurse called him this morning and he said he'd be here in about half an hour." She looked worried that I might think she was criticizing a cop, so she hastily added "But he told us in a nice way."

"Oh, don't worry about hurting Wilkes' feelings. Beneath that gruff exterior there's a gruff interior." She wasn't sure whether I was kidding, so she just said "Oh."

Wilkes showed up about 45 minutes later in his usual rumpled sport coat and slacks. According to his tie, he probably had scrambled eggs for breakfast. He dragged a chair over next to the bed so he could talk quietly. "How you doin', Spector? Lucky for you she used that popgun instead of a real one."

My face must have let him know I didn't like that, because before I could say anything he waved both his hands in surrender. "No, no, take it easy, I was just pulling your chain. I saw the report about your lung and collar bone. You're lucky she didn't hit you dead center."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I just waited to see what else he had to say.

"Somebody shot her right after she shot you. And he didn't use a popgun, the crime scene boys dug a .357 slug out of the wall. Went through both lungs and her heart. She was probably dead before you hit the floor. He didn't bother with a second shot."

"How do you know it was a he? Anybody see it?"

"No, but I've never seen a broad who could manage one of those hand cannons. They kick a helluva lot harder than my .38." He patted the shoulder holster under his left arm through the ratty sport coat.

"Why would somebody shoot her? For that matter, why the hell did she shoot me? And why didn't I just lie there and bleed to death? You're the only person who knew I was there. I can't imagine you riding to my rescue."

"As a matter of fact, wise guy, it was me who found you. Right after you left the butcher shop, I decided I should be around when she learned her husband was killed. If you were talking straight about those two gorillas, she didn't kill him, but I thought her reaction might tell me something. I had junior drive me over after we got the address from a bloody business card on the floor." Now it was his turn to look a bit abashed.

"Never occurred to me that she'd react by shooting you. I must have got there 5 or 10 minutes after, had the kid bring in the first aid kit and radio for an ambulance. He wasn't much help. Think that boy's destined for a desk job, he's got a real problem with blood."

"Thanks, Wilkes. Looks like I owe you one." Now he looked embarrassed, shook his head.

"Naah, you'd do the same for me..." Then, feigning uncertainty, "...wouldn't you?" He almost smiled.

"Sure I would, Wilkes. I've always had a real soft spot for cops in a jam." I almost smiled back.

We let the awkward silence hang for a bit. Neither one of us was really sure how much the other was kidding. He finally tried a change of subject.

"That was an oddball pop-, uhh, pistol she used. It was her husband's, a Smith & Wesson Model 35. My uncle Jake back in Brooklyn had one. They didn't make a lot of 'em. Don't think anybody's made ammo for it since the War, but it shoots .32 automatic rounds, too. That's what she was using."

I didn't know how to react. I wasn't much interested in what kind of gun she used, I just wished she hadn't used it. I was interested in other things, though. "Any idea why she shot me? Besides trying to kill me?"

"No idea, but we're pretty sure why Bezier got it." He pronounced it Buhzeer. "Turns out the bunco squad's been watching him for a couple of months. They don't always keep homicide up to date about what they're up to. Seems he was doing the books for a couple of the local gangs. You know, keeping track of who and what's bringing in the dough, checking to see if anybody's skimming, making the money look legit from some phony companies the gangs run. That kind of stuff."

That surprised me. I knew half a dozen gangs operated around LA, but I hadn't heard anything that would connect Bezier to them. Or his wife. But I sure as hell wanted to find out why Mrs. Bezier shot me, not to mention who shot her. And I was curious about who made such a mess of her husband. None of it made any sense, but I knew my brain still wasn't hitting on all eight. I figured I'd dope it out later.

Wilkes kept going. "After a little digging—" Raised voices in the hall cut him off. Nurse Ethel came in looking harried. "There's a woman in the waiting room who says she's your secretary and has been here for the past two days and insists—"

Lupe barged through the doorway, followed by another nurse who was telling her she couldn't just go into a room without permission. "Do I have your permission, Boss? Can I come in? Pretty please?" She grinned, I grinned, even Ethel smiled. Wilkes looked like he had a stomach ache.

"Of course you can come in." I looked at the other nurse, then at Ethel. "This is, indeed, my secretary, Lupe Montoya. She is also the closest family I have in all of Los Angeles. I not only welcome her, I insist she be made to feel welcome. By everyone."

After a good bit of shuffling and apologizing, the nurses excused themselves. Wilkes stood up as if to leave. "No you don't, Wilkes, you can't stop now. Don't worry about Lupe here, she keeps secrets better than a priest hearing your confession. Now, drag up that other chair for her and go on with what you were going to say after 'a little digging?'"

Never mind my assurances, he obviously wasn't going to say anything worthwhile with Lupe in the room. She knew I'd tell her anything interesting, so she gave me an out. Right after she gave me the look a mother uses to terrify a misbehaving child. "Never mind, boss, I've got to get back to the office. You know how it is."

Yeah, I knew how it was: empty and apt to stay that way. But she was right. If I wanted to learn anything from Wilkes she had to leave. I growled "Aaah" and waved her off. Wilkes waited a minute, then walked over to close the door and sat back down.

"One of these days you're gonna push me too hard, Spector. I don't owe you a damn thing."

"No, you don't owe me anything. But I oughta be able to find out why I got shot, why my client was killed. Come on, Wilkes, we're on the same side here. Have I ever let you down?" He still looked like his stomach hurt, but finally nodded.

"Okay, okay, Spector. But try to play it quiet-like. You're not on the force, I don't have to tell you anything. Hell, I shouldn't tell you anything. If you shoot your mouth off, we'll both be in hot water.

"Now here's the..." He went on to tell me about the seven local gangs that ran numbers games, bookies, whores, even some drugs. Each had their own territory in and around LA, some as far out as Thousand Oaks and Santa Ana. They pretty much didn't bother each other, even helped each other out of minor jams once in a while.

"So no tommy guns on Valentine's Day?" I thought it was a clever way to show him I was paying attention. He didn't.

"Don't be a smartass, Spector. This is about the killing of your client and her husband. You wanna hear any more, save the wise cracks." I nodded and kept my mouth shut.

"We've heard some rumblings about an East Coast mob looking to move in out here, maybe Vegas, too. Didn't think much about it until we saw what those two goons you described did to Bezier. The local boys don't play like that, but the East Coast guys do. If our hometown boys gotta kill somebody, they do it quick and clean." He shrugged. "Well, usually."

That gave me an idea. "What if Bezier himself was skimming? A good bean counter could probably hide it pretty easy. Seems to me even the local boys might want to make an example of him. You know, leave a message."

"Yeah, maybe so, but t it'd be the first time. They've never done anything like this. Jesus, Spector, they cut off two fingers and a thumb and half an ear! And you saw what they did to his face."

"I didn't puke like your rookie, but yeah, I saw it. Those images'll stick with me for a while." Wilkes stayed a bit longer, but didn't say much else. I wasn't sure whether that was all he knew or just all he was willing to tell me. I dozed off when he left.

Lupe came back after my gourmet lunch. She looked like she was trying not to look worried, but it wasn't working. "Well, what'd he say, boss? They found the bad guys, arrested them, and they're all gonna cop a plea?"

I gave her a non-answer, something along the lines of they don't know anything yet, but they're working on it.

"I told you that bitch was trouble, but I didn't think she'd try to kill you."

"That makes two of us. Guess I should have taken your advice and given back her 300 bucks."

"That would have been the first time you took any advice from me." I figured she wouldn't believe me if I told her she was wrong.

THEY KEPT ME IN the hospital for a week. I was ready to leave after another two days, but try arguing with a doctor backed up by a flock of chattering nurses. Wilkes came by a couple of times, the first time just to make sure I was still alive. The second time, though, he told me that four, maybe five low-level members of three different local gangs were killed last night and the night before (they weren't sure whether the fifth was a numbers runner or just a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time). Like the ones who hit Bezier, these killers took their time and there was a lot of blood.

"Looks like we might have a gang war on our hands. The big guys from back East probably have the locals outgunned, and it's obvious that they're ready and willing to do whatever it takes to win. I've got a real bad feeling about this, and I'm not the only one."

He scooted his chair closer to my bed and dropped his voice. "They might even be interested in you, Spector, since it looks like you were in deep with Bezier and his wife. We can't protect you, so watch your back."

I wasn't in deep with anyone, but there was no point in trying to tell him that. "Gee, Wilkes, I didn't know you guys cared." Wilkes let my second attempt at a joke fall flat. I figured I'd better stop trying. "Thanks for the heads-up, Dan." I hardly ever used his given name. I hoped it told him I was serious about the thanks. "Maybe I better start carrying my .45 when I leave the office." I was serious about that, too.

When they finally turned me loose, they insisted on pushing me in a wheelchair to the exit. Lupe picked me up in the Merc, which Wilkes had arranged to be turned over to her from where I had left it at Bezier's. While I was a guest of the hospital she came to see me every day. I told her not to bother, but she ignored me just like I knew she would and kept coming.

It was a quiet ride. She wanted to take me to my apartment, but I insisted she take me by the office first. She didn't like that one bit, but for the first time I could remember I played my boss card. I could tell she wanted to ask me what this was all about, but didn't because she was sulking. I let her sulk.

She finally spoke up when we got to the office. "You're a stubborn man, boss. You oughta be home in bed until you're all better."

"I'm fine, Lupe, just a little tired. Leave me be."

"Oh, so it doesn't hurt anymore? I didn't know you were Superman. You don't look anything like Clark Kent."

"Tell you what, give me half an hour here, then drive me to my place. Take the car home with you, and come by tomorrow morning and pick me up. Not sure I'm quite ready to start driving again."

"I'm not sure you're ready to start going to the office every day—"

"If I'm not Clark Kent then you aren't Florence Nightingale, so let's pretend that I'm still your boss and you're still my secretary. Who doesn't argue with me about everything." I tried to soften the disagreement with a smile.

"I don't argue with you about everything, boss, just the things you're wrong about. And boy are you wrong this time." My smile apparently worked because she did a lousy job of hiding her own. Looked like we were back on track.

I went in my office and shuffled through the mail that had stacked up. None of it was interesting, which I expected. Lupe would have brought anything important to me while I was laid up.

I really was tired. Deciding that I didn't need a whole half-hour, I tilted back in the creaking chair and closed my eyes for a minute. Remembering that Wilkes had said that somebody might come after me, I unlocked the bottom desk drawer and took out my .45 and shoulder holster. After taking off my sport coat and donning the rig, I put the coat back on, pocketed the spare magazine, and satisfied myself it wasn't too obvious.

Except Lupe noticed, of course. She didn't say anything, but raised her eyebrows like women do when they think a man is being stupid. I shrugged and told her I was just being careful. She snorted, but didn't say anything until we pulled up in front of my apartment building.

"I'd tell you to be careful, but that's like telling a politician to be honest."

I mock-saluted and got out. She drove off without saying anything, but that smile flickered around her mouth again. Still on track, I hoped.

LUPE DROVE ME back and forth to work for three days, then I told her I could manage by myself and she went back to riding the bus. There wasn't much to do. I'd wrapped up the small jobs in between the morning and afternoon stints watching Bezier's office. Instead of trying to scare up more business, I wanted to see if I could dope out who killed Bezier and his wife, maybe even why. The $300 she paid would keep the wolf away for a week or so.