The Harry Starke Series: Books 1-3: The Harry Starke Series Boxset Read online

  Now Benny is a weird little creep. I say little, but the fat bastard is almost as wide as he is tall, a greasy, unshaven slob, who inhabits the nether regions of the Sorbonne like some great nocturnal sloth, coming out only at night to short his customers on watered liquor and deafen them with brain-numbing noise the younger generation seem happy to call music.

  Benny is aided in his endeavors by his trusty sidekick and barmaid, Laura something or other. She’s a busty, blowsy bottle blonde usually attired in a tank top that barely covers her nipples, and Daisy Dukes that don’t quite cover the cheeks of her backside. The two of them are a match made in hell, but it works. After ten o’clock, no matter what day of the week it might be, the joint is always jumping. Benny, despite his looks and demeanor, is one wealthy son of a bitch.

  “Benny, you fat little stud,” I said loudly in order to be heard over the cacophony. “What’s the good news?”

  He looked at me as if I’d just crawled out of the urinal. We don’t get along, Benny and me. I can’t think why.

  “I thought I told you to stay outa here, Starke. Piss off before you scare my patrons away.”

  “Patrons? Hah.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud. “This scruffy bunch of skanks and degenerates? No wonder this place stinks. How the hell you hang onto your license beats me.”

  “Hey. Who you callin’ a skank?” a woman asked.

  I turned and looked at her. She was the closest to me of a group of three females, all of whom looked as if they’d escaped from the primate house at the zoo. She had purple hair that hung like a curtain almost to her waist, a huge brass ring through her nose, tattoo sleeves that completely covered both arms. She wore a skirt that didn’t quite cover her ass, and a tank top that made Laura’s look like an overcoat.

  “Have you ever taken a look at yourself in a mirror, sweetie?” I asked pleasantly. “If you had, you’d know it was you I was calling a skank. Now, unless you want me to toss you and these two harpies you have with you out on your asses, I suggest you move away to the end of the bar, because you stink like a rancid hot dog. Now go.”

  And they did, right out of the door, muttering and casting furtive glances at me as they went.

  “Well now, Starke,” Benny said, scrubbing his hands with a wet, filthy-looking rag that once might have been called a dishcloth. “You did it again. You cost me money. They was spendin’ big. What the hell did I do to deserve you, an’ what the hell do you want anyway?”

  “What’s the word on the street about Sal De Luca?”

  He looked at me sideways, his eyes narrowed almost to slits. He frowned so hard it looked like his forehead had been ploughed.

  “You’re kiddin’, right? You outa your mind? What d’you want with De Luca? He’s bad news; real bad news.”

  “Yeah, I know that, Benny, but what’s the word on the street? What’s he up to?”

  “I ain’t heard much, an’ he don’t come down ‘ere, ever.”

  “What about his people? Any of them been in here lately?”

  His eyes shifted, he hesitated, then looked at me again.

  “Gino and Tony come in now and again. They was in ‘ere earlier tonight. They didn’t speak to me.” Again his eyes shifted. “They ordered two beers from Laura, drank ‘em, an’ then they left.”

  Oh, Benny. You can’t lie worth a damn.

  “What time was that?”

  He screwed up his eyes and concentrated. “‘Bout nine... nine-thirty. I dunno. I don’t keep time when I’m in here; you know that.”

  “They didn’t ask questions?”

  “Nope, not of me. Laura, maybe, but they wasn’t in here more’n five minutes.”

  I stared hard at him. He flinched; his face turned red. “What?”

  “You know what, Benny. Now give. Tell me what they were after. If not....”

  “Oh shit, Starke. First Shady Tree an’ now De Luca. You’re gonna get me chopped. Gino, the tall skinny one, likes to use a knife, an’ he’s good.”

  “What did they want, Benny? I won’t ask again.”

  “Oh shit.... You; they wanted you. They asked if you’d been in lately. I said no. They asked how often you came in. I told ‘em once in a while. That’s it, Harry. I swear. They drank up an’ left... hold on.” He turned to the register, opened it and took out a slip of paper and handed it to me. “The big one, Tony, gave me that. Said if you was to come in, I was to call that number.”

  I looked at it. It was a piece of paper torn out of a small spiral notebook. It had a phone number written on it in pencil. Nothing more. I looked at Benny. He almost cringed.

  “You going to call this number when I leave?”

  He shook his head. I laughed. “You think I don’t know you, Benny? You won’t even give the goddamn door time to hit me in the ass before you start punching in the numbers, but that’s okay. Might even be a good thing.”

  He nodded. “Gino Polti and Tony Carpeta; they are two bad dudes, Harry; really bad.”

  “So am I, Benny. So am I....” I thought for a moment, then said, “Tell you what, go ahead and make the call, now.”

  “Ah come on, Harry. That Gino will cut my nuts off if he thinks I’m workin’ for you.”

  “You’re not working for me, Benny. You are just doing as he told you. I came in. I left. You’re calling to tell him. Now make the goddamn call before I cut them off.”

  I watched as he nervously punched the number into his cell phone. I could hear it ringing on the other end, then someone answered.

  “Yeah?”

  “Tony?” Benny said.

  “Yeah. Who’s this?”

  I leaned over and snatched the piece out of Benny’s hand and put it to my ear.

  “This is your worst nightmare, Tony, Harry Starke. I hear you’re looking for me.”

  “Screw you, Starke.”

  “No, screw you, Tony, and Gino, too, and that gecko you work for. How’s his hand, by the way? Never mind. Now listen, Tony, and listen carefully. I’m gonna say this only once. If you, any of you, screw with me, or anyone I know, one more time, I’ll put a hollow point right between your eyes. Capiche?” Click. He hung up. I handed the phone back to Benny. He was staring at me, white faced, and wide eyed.

  “You shouldn’t aughta done that, Harry.” He was shaking.

  “They don’t bother me, Benny.”

  “Hell no, maybe not, but they bother the hell outa me, especially that mother Gino. He’ll know it was me what told ya, and he’ll cut m’ goddamn balls off.”

  I grinned at him, gave him my card, and said, “Nah! They come in here, you just give ‘em this. Tell them I said if they lay a hand on you, I’ll kill ‘em. Tell them to come see me at my office. You’ll be fine.”

  I left him staring at the card, walked out of the Sorbonne, and into the night. I looked through the darkened window and could see Benny talking into the phone, my card still in his hand. I smiled and decided to take a walk. The Walnut Street Bridge was just a couple of blocks away, and it was a beautiful evening.

  Chapter 22

  I have sad memories of the bridge, and I go there often. It was there that Tabitha Willard decided to end her life, and I always felt it was at least partly my fault. So, from time to time, I walk the bridge and spend a few moments looking down into the water, remembering. That night I sat on one of the benches and stared out over the river. To the left, the city was a blaze of lights. To the right, on the North Shore, not quite so much. To the front, the vast, black bulk of Lookout Mountain was a stark but bejeweled silhouette against a moonlit sky, the lights of the homes on the crest twinkling like stars. Chattanooga is indeed the Scenic City.

  I looked at my watch. It was almost midnight, and yet for some reason I had no desire to go home. For one thing, I’d had a couple of drinks, just two, but that’s enough to get a man hauled off to jail around here. It wasn’t worth the risk, so I decided to leave the Maxima in the Sorbonne lot and take a cab to my office.

  I could have taken th
e cab ride home, but that would have meant fooling around the next morning: another cab to get my car. If I stayed the night at the office, though, all I had to do was have Mike take me the few blocks to where it was parked, no problem. Anyway, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d slept on the sofa in my cave, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. I keep a change of clothes there, and there’s a full service bathroom complete with a shower: home away from home.

  It was a little after twelve-thirty in the morning when the cab dropped me off outside the front door of my office. I turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. I wasn’t thinking about much when I flipped the light switch, but when the lights didn’t come on, I had a sudden feeling that all was not as it should be. Hell, somehow I knew what was coming. It’s been said by Kate and others that I have second sight. Whatever. My reflexes kicked in, and I dived forward into the office. As I fell, I twisted hard to the right. I was quick, but not quick enough. Something hard and heavy slammed into my left shoulder. Whatever it was, must have hit a nerve, because pain seared down my arm all the way to the fingertips of my left hand.

  I hit the floor hard on my right arm and shoulder, rolling, my hand inside my jacket, fumbling for the gun. Before I could pull it, BAM! A brilliant flash of red fire and something tugged hard at the sleeve of my jacket. Then I had the nine in my fist and I jerked the trigger, three times, BAM, BAM, BAM.

  There was a yelp on the far side of the room, and the sound of scrambling feet. The side door opened and then slammed shut, and I could hear running feet in the corridor; there was more than one of them. I jumped to my feet, ripped open the door, and ran after them. My left arm was throbbing with pain from the whack it had received. I reached the outer door, stopped, and pushed it slowly open. Nothing. I stepped out into the street, my gun at the ready. All was quiet, the amber light of the street lamps threw soft shadows: poles, road signs, cars. Store doorways were black holes that hid... God only knew what. It was an urban jungle, dark and threatening, but nothing was moving. The animals had gone to ground. Whoever they were, they were gone... at least I hoped they were.

  I closed the door, twisted the latch, took out my key fob, turned on the tiny LED flashlight, and returned to my office. I found the breaker box on the far wall next to the window that looked out onto a narrow alley, and flipped the switch. The lights came on and I dropped into the chair behind Jacque’s desk and looked around. The place had been trashed. File cabinet drawers had been forced open, papers were strewn about all over the floor, and the side window was wide open, the glass broken. So that’s how they got in.

  My own office door was also wide open, the doorjamb splintered where it had been forced. I didn’t need to get up and go look to know that it, too, had been trashed.

  I sighed, shook my head, and fished my cell phone out of my jacket pocket. It was then I noticed the blood dripping from the tips of the fingers of my right hand.

  Funny, I don’t feel anything. Oh, I see. God dammit, I’ve been hit!

  There was a neat little hole in the sleeve of my leather jacket; two holes. Entry and exit.

  Oh yeah. Now I can feel it.

  I slipped the jacket off. The tee shirtsleeve was soaked, so was the inside of my jacket.

  Damn. I wonder if it will clean.

  I was wearing a black tee shirt. It also had two holes, although it was hard to see them because of the blood. I was leaking like a rusty bucket with a hole in the bottom.

  Wouldn’t you just know it?

  I pulled my sleeve up. It didn’t look too bad. The slug had clipped the top of my arm, about four inches down from the shoulder. I say clipped. It was a little more than that. The bullet had entered the fatty tissue just west of the muscle and had gone through and through. It wasn’t deep, and it had missed the muscle, but it was way more than a crease and would require a visit to the hospital.

  God dammit. Shit, that thing hurts.

  My left arm was also beginning to stiffen.

  Geeze! I must be getting old.

  I punched 911 into the phone and reported the break in and shots fired, and then I called Kate. She was still at the PD, working late, just as she said. Two cruisers arrived within minutes. I wouldn’t let them into the office. Instead, I suggested they tape the door and wait for Lieutenant Gazzara. She arrived a few minutes later, a worried look on her face.

  “Harry, we’ve got to stop meeting like this. You hurt?

  “Duh... yeah! I took one in the arm. Damn right I’m hurt.”

  She came around to my right side, pulled the sleeve up so she could see the wound.

  “Through and through. The exit wound is nice and clean; not much there to stop it. It’s leaking nicely, so it’s not too bad. You’ll live. Did you see who it was?”

  “No, they’d flipped the breaker; no lights. There were at least two of them, though. I’m guessing they were Sal De Luca’s two goons, Gino Polti and Tony Carpeta. I guess Sal was getting back at me for what happened earlier.”

  She nodded, grabbed some tissues from a box on Jacque’s desk, and dabbed at the wound.

  “I was at the Sorbonne earlier. Benny said they’d been looking for me. He had a piece of paper with Tony’s number and instructions to call if I went into the bar. I made him call while I was there, and I talked to Tony. Gave him some bullshit and told him to lay off. That may have triggered it, but it’s more likely De Luca sent them, especially after what Bob and I did to him earlier this evening. Why they trashed the place, though, I have no idea.”

  “Looks like they were looking for something,” Kate said.

  “Maybe. Then again, maybe they were just waiting for me and decided to enjoy themselves while they did.”

  “Why would you say that? You don’t stay here that often. How would they know?”

  “Easy enough. I told Benny that if they were to come looking, he was to tell them to come see me at the office. I saw him call someone as I was leaving the bar. I knew he would. He said he had to, to cover his ample ass. Can’t blame him for that. Wow, that hurts.”

  “Sorry, Harry. I need to get you to a doctor.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Maybe Benny told them that, about seeing me at the office, and they misunderstood, thought I was heading here instead of home. If so, they got lucky, because I was going to spend the night on the sofa. I’ve done it before, as you know.”

  “Is anything missing?”

  “Hell, I dunno, but I think I may have hit one of them. I got three shots off. Heard one of them yell. No blood, though. Shit, this hurts a son of a bitch.”

  She looked sideways at me. “The gunshot wound? Yeah, I bet it does.”

  “Yeah... the gunshot. That and this.” I pulled up the left sleeve of the tee shirt and showed her the welt across my left shoulder. It was already turning black.

  “Oh my God.” She shook her head. “We need to get you to the hospital. I’ll take you. Go get a towel and try not to leak all over my car. Go on... do it now! One more thing.” She stuck out her hand and waggled her fingers.

  “What?”

  “You know what. You fired your weapon. Give it to me.”

  Sadly, I handed over the M&P9. “That’s two. I’m gonna have to go shopping tomorrow.”

  She grinned, stuck a pencil down the barrel, and bagged it.

  Reluctantly, I went into the bathroom, grabbed a towel, wrapped it around my shoulder as best I could, which wasn’t too great. We left for Erlanger Hospital in her unmarked, blue lights flashing and the siren howling and whooping.

  Damn, any other time, this would be fun.

  She was right. It wasn’t too bad, but the wait was interminable. It was after three in the morning by the time I was all nicely cleaned up, stitched, and bandaged, and we were finally able to get out of there.

  Which one of those two goons managed to clip me, I wonder, and which one did I clip? If any. Maybe I just scared the sons of bitches.

  I grinned at the thought. Chances were that if I had hit him, I�
��d damaged him more than he did me.

  Chapter 23

  I woke early the following morning, Wednesday. Kate had dropped me home the previous evening after more than two hours at Erlanger Hospital’s emergency room. Thank God for Kate’s presence. Without her, I would have been in there all night, especially with a gunshot wound. Fortunately, the presence of a middle rank police officer to handle the paperwork got us in and out in a relatively short time. It was almost three-thirty in the morning when she dropped me off at my home. She left me at the door, and five minutes later, I’d stripped off what was left of my clothes, fell on the bed and went fast asleep.

  I woke the next morning to the sound of my cell phone. It was Jacque. She wanted to know what the hell had happened to the office, why there were four bullet holes in the walls, and why I wasn’t there.

  Four bullet holes? Three of mine and one of theirs; the one that went through me. So I didn’t hit one of them. Well damn.

  I explained as best I could, told her to get the place cleaned up, and to send Mike over to get me.

  My arms were as stiff as two short planks of wood, and they both hurt like hell, especially the bullet wound. I needed a shower.

  Have you ever tried to shower with an arm covered with a dressing? It ain’t easy.

  I gulped down four Ibuprofen tablets followed by almost a pint of milk. Then I wrapped the dressing in plastic wrap, tried to make it as waterproof as possible, and then I hit the shower. I turned it up to hot, as hot as I could stand it. Almost took the skin off my back, but I felt better for it.

  I dressed in a pair of lightweight gray slacks, a pale blue polo shirt, and black Gucci loafers. The shoulder rig was out of the question, and I was all out of guns anyway, so I clipped a leather Blackhawk holster onto my belt and topped that off with a black, lightweight golf jacket. I punched up a Yeti cup full of Italian Dark Roast coffee from the Keurig, called Kate and arranged to meet her at my office at eleven, and then I sat down to wait for Mike. He arrived just a couple of minutes later.