'Til Death (Part one of fifteen)

‘Til Death

A Trick Molloy Mystery

©2009 Michael A. Stackpole

Part One

Eddie, the bartender at Club Flesh, set a shot of Irish at my elbow. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

I looked. “Another reason to hate cats.”

Lou Sandberg leaned against the bar, lifting his own shot glass, as if admiring the amber liquid. I knew better. He was staring past it at the mirror behind the bar. He was watching Nicole sway on stage two.

I drained the glass.

Lou took that as an invitation. He tossed his off, then came down and set his glass next to mine. He signaled for two more.

I shook my head. “You’re drinking alone, Lou. This one’s for the road.”

“I need your help, Trick.”

I checked my watch. “Seventeen seconds. New record.”

“Why do you got to be like that?” He patted his left breast, right over a gravy stain on his checked jacket. “This is serious, this time.”

With Lou, it was always serious. Small guy, except around the middle, swarthy, breath that could kill a moose. Had a face that would have looked better after third degree burns. Acne scars on his cheeks and neck, so he never looked clean shaven. Beard tough enough to fray all his shirt collars. Shopped at Goodwill, dressed in the dark—if anything matched it was his socks, and that was just luck.

I glanced at my watch again. “Spill it.”

“I need you to find my wife.”

“Back the truck up, Loretta.” Took a second for my jaw to rebound from the floor. “Wife?” Last I knew, the closest thing he had to a wife was his left hand.

He pulled a photograph out of his pocket. Irregular edges. He’d printed it out himself, probably on a department computer. Dog-eared. Two women. The blonde was the shorter one, curvy, nice smile. The other was taller, leaner, same rack though. Not supermodel pretty, but if she worked a bar as a paid-to-pose beer girl you wouldn’t have been disappointed.

He tapped the blonde. “That’s Irina with her sister, Svetlana. They’re from St. Petersburg. That’s in Russia.”

“I passed Geography, Lou.” I signaled Eddie for another whiskey. “Hell of a commute for love.”

“I’ve put in my twenty-five with the department. I’m looking at retiring. I’ll have my pension. Docs will invalid me out, so I get a bit more. It’ll be good enough to live on, but I don’t want to be alone, you know?”

I gave him the nod he wanted.

“You know me. I was never good with the ladies. You were. You had something I didn’t.”

Breath mints. Soap and water.

Lou shrugged. “So I started looking into mail-order brides. Economy sucks all over, worse in Mother Russia. Cute women want a home, some comforts, and they’ll put up with someone like me to get it. Not pretty, but Irina, she has a good heart. We corresponded.”

“How much?”

“I’m not hitting you for money, Trick.” He looked around the club. “It costs ten grand to bring her over. I was saving up. Then I got a call. Peotr Turpeluk. A month ago. Says he understands my situation. He will bring Irina and her sister over in exchange for a favor. He wants me to get a kilo of coke out of evidence. Says it will be easy for me.”

I sipped the whiskey. “Easy was always your style.” Lou had always been willing to trade a blind-eye for a hummer, and his spare tire came from all of the “community relation” free meals he accepted. Payoffs, too, I guess. Always chump change. He never thought big.

“No denying I took my share of favors, Trick.” He sighed, suddenly as tired as his jacket was worn. “This is different. This is a felony.”

“Report it.”

“Can’t.”

“Don’t want to risk an evidence audit?”

“Audits I can handle.” I don’t think I’d ever seen him look so woeful. “Homestead Park, a week ago. I saw Irina. She waved. I started running toward her. Two guys hustled her off. Two more intercepted me. Mr. Turpeluk introduced himself. Explained that the cocaine, which had become two kilos, was the only way I’d be getting my Irina. Two days later, I get a call, a tip. Dumpster down by the docks. The sister. Dead. She’s a Jane Doe in the morgue right now.”

“Okay, so that’s serious.” My eyes tightened. “What do you want me to do?”

“Find Irina, Trick. Get her away from this guy. He’s, you know, talented.”

Talented. He could work magick, same as I could. Lou was a snuff, so magick scared him. His only solution was wizard wars.

I shook my head. “Not really my problem, Lou.”

“He’ll kill her.” Lou grabbed my arm. “Dammit, Trick, you owe me.”

I almost blew him off. Lou had eaten off that fact for years. Drunk off it. Gotten rides in the middle of the night, tips, you name it. I’d done more than enough to pay off that debt. Anyone would think so. Maybe even Lou, if I gave him a balance sheet.

Anyone but me.

Lou had been my first partner in Homicide. The original lucky, hard-luck case, that was Lou. He’d have been busted down and out of the force years ago, but his bad luck always reversed itself at the end. One time we were chasing a serial killer. I raced after the guy, heading down an alley. Lou lagged behind since he was carrying three bowling-balls around his middle. The guy hid, I ran past him. He doubled back. Lou had collapsed in the alley, heard the guy coming. Tripped him up, then sat on him. Lou became the hero, got a medal.

I didn’t owe him for that. About a year later, around the time I’d decided he had to die, Lou stopped a bullet meant for me. Cop-killer round. Blew through his vest and half his heart. I killed the perp, then used magick to keep Lou alive. I’m good on cuts and bruises, soft tissue damage. I kept him breathing. Gave the docs time to repair a shredded ventricle.

When he got out of the hospital, the department put him in the evidence room. No more payoffs, no more feminine favors. It probably had been a long, lonely time for him.

I set my empty glass down. “Find her, huh? You got anything of hers? A letter she wrote? A lock of hair? A pair of panties?”

“Just email, and some pictures.” He pulled an envelope from his jacket and held it out. “These are copies.”

“Nothing she’s touched?”

“No.”

“You’re not making this easy.” I took the envelope. “I’ll find Turpeluk, talk to him, see what we can work out. Don’t go spending your ten grand. We’ll need it.”

“Thanks, Trick, you’re a lifesaver.”

Just like you, huh, Lou?”

“After this, we’re even.”

“After this, the only thing you get from me is an invitation to the wedding.” Lou smiled, cratered cheeks just piling up nice and thick. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Moving far away will be a start.” I pointed to the door. “Go. I have work to do.”

If you are enjoying this story and were wondering how we got here, please visit the Stormwolf Store. The short story “The Witch in Scarlet” is the Trick Molloy tale that immediately precedes this one.