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

  Salvatore ‘Sal’ De Luca runs a small, but exclusive Italian restaurant just off Market Street. He’d like you to think it was his primary business, but it’s not. Sal is a ‘made man,’ a mobster with connections both in New York and Miami. I’ve known him for quite a while, and it had been less than four months ago I caused him a lot of aggravation. I’d broken his finger and I’d killed one of his boys, Gino Polti, right there in the restaurant. Polti and Carpeta were two of his soldiers; Carpeta still is.

  So Dickerson called Sal, did he? That tells me something; shit, it tells me a lot. Oh hell. I really don’t need this kind of trouble; not again. Maybe I should go see him. Sheesh. Maybe I shouldn’t.

  But I knew I would.

  I filled Amanda in on the events of the day, and then we watched TV, well, for a while. We argued about going home. I wanted to stay, but she didn’t think that was a good idea. I had no car and wasn’t fit to drive anyway, so I left it up to her. She took me home to my place, which, so it turned out, was absolutely the right choice.

  Chapter 11

  The following morning, Thursday, Mike came by at eight o’clock to pick me up. He dropped me off at the car rental and then headed back to the office. It took all of thirty minutes to rent a black Ford Explorer, but by nine o’clock I was in my office drinking a large cup of Italian Dark Roast. I love those quiet moments. Unfortunately, they never last for long; today was no exception.

  Kate arrived, with Lonnie Guest in tow, only a few minutes after I did. Jacque showed them in, and I had them both sit. Lonnie was his usual supercilious self, something I was slowly but surely getting used to, not by choice, but because he was now officially Kate’s partner, had been for almost a year. Poor Kate!

  I looked first at Kate, then at Lonnie. “You guys want coffee?”

  Lonnie did; Kate didn’t. I went and got it for him, black, no sugar. I can’t believe I did that.

  “So what’s new?” I asked, as I returned to my chair behind the desk.

  “Nothing,” Kate said, “which is why we’re here. Where are you with your investigation?”

  “Well, Bob and I went visiting yesterday: the Dickersons and the Draycotts.” I gave them the short version of what we learned at the Clermont Foundation first. When I’d finished, Kate asked for my impressions.

  “It’s hard to say. They seem sincere in what they’re doing,” I said, “but they’re a strange couple. Both Bob and I feel they’re hiding something. They’re just a tad too slick: very professional, but... well, she comes across as a hard ass, and I’d say she’s very much in charge of the operation. We also asked them what they knew about the Dickersons. Their first reaction was that they didn’t know them, but... hold on a minute.”

  I picked up the phone and buzzed Tim.

  “Hey,” I said. “Do you have those photos downloaded from the recorder yet? Good. I need copies. In here. Soon as you can.”

  I barely had time to put the phone down when the there was a knock at the door and Tim walked in. He handed me a sheaf of eight by ten color prints. He’d done a good job. There were more than a dozen of them taken on the wall of the Draycotts’ waiting room. Some were a bit fuzzy, but all were recognizable. I flipped through them, looking for one in particular. I found it, stared at it, and smiled to myself. It was fuzzy all right, but they were easily recognizable: Sam Draycott had his arm around Billy Dickerson’s shoulder.

  “Looks like they knew each other quite well, wouldn’t you say?” I asked as I flipped the print across the desk to Kate.

  “Oh yeah,” she said. “Those two know each other. So, do you think there’s something going on between them?”

  “As I said, it’s hard to tell at this point. We don’t know enough about either of them, although Sam Draycott seemed more than a little contemptuous when he spoke of them: called them ‘lowlifes,’ as I recall.”

  “Can I get a copy of this?” she asked as she laid the print on my desk.

  “Yes, of course, and the rest of them, and, I hope, copies of the files of three missing girls who disappeared during the period from 2004 to 2008. Bob managed to photograph those, too. There were nine in all, but six of them were Caucasian, so we discounted them. The three we copied? Hell, I don’t know. From the quick glance I had of them, they are all a bit iffy, but we’ll know soon enough.”

  “So, what about the Dickersons?” she asked.

  “That’s a whole ‘nother story. That place on Cherry is a swamp. The Dickersons, well, he’s a piece of work. Her, we didn’t see much of but she’s obviously a hard ass, too.”

  I gave them the rundown on that visit, too, including what had happened to my car.

  “So, what do you think is going on there?” Lonnie spoke for the first time.

  “I think Blessed are the Homeless is a gateway,” I said. “I think they’re into trafficking, girls, and maybe boys. It’s a full-scale operation; he’s even got a bunch of armed thugs on the property. Might be worth a visit by your people, to check gun permits. His assistant, Darius Willett, was toting a Colt .45 semi-automatic. I know it’s a rough area, but a cannon like that? Well, you know.”

  “Might be worth a quick visit,” she said. “What do you think, Lonnie?”

  He grinned at her. “Today?” And he was just the man for the job.

  “No time today,” she said. “Later, maybe.”

  “One more thing,” I said. “I asked him about Sal De Luca. It wasn’t well received. He said he didn’t know him, but I know damn well that he does. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that they’re partners. We know that Sal’s been a major player in local prostitution for years; it makes sense.”

  “That’s not good, Harry,” she said. “There’s a lot of bad blood between you and De Luca. You can’t go fooling around with him again; remember what happened last time. You got real lucky.”

  “The hell I can’t,” I said. “He’s already involved. I had a call from Benny Hinkle last night. Apparently De Luca’s goons were in the Sorbonne yesterday, and they were looking for me. I can’t let that go. I have to know what he’s up to.”

  “So,” she said. “You’re going after him?”

  “I’m going to see him. I have to. If I don’t... I just have to, that’s all.”

  She nodded. “Okay. If you must, you must, but I don’t like it. You want me and Lonnie to go with you?”

  I thought about it for a minute. It was tempting, but I didn’t want to show weakness. I had to do this thing alone.

  “Thanks for the offer,” I said, “but no. This is between him and me. If I can sort it out, I will. If not....”

  “Shit, Harry.” She shook her head, frustrated, worried, I could tell, and there was good reason to be. Sal De Luca was bad news. He was an evil son of a bitch, and he held a grudge. He owed me one, big time.

  “When?” she asked.

  “This afternoon, early. Two o’clock.”

  “We’ll be there. Oh, stop it,” she interrupted as I was about to protest. “We’ll be outside. If anything bad happens, and you need us, the response time will be zero. That’s it. No arguments.” So I didn’t argue. I just sat back in my chair and grinned at her.

  “Have you guys had any luck finding out who she is?” Kate asked, changing the subject. “The girl, the body?” she explained, when she saw I wasn’t with her.

  “Oh, no. Other than the three files from the Draycotts, that is. Hold on. I’ll make a call.”

  I punched the number for the Forensic Center into my cell. Doc Sheddon answered himself.

  “Hey, Doc. Is Carol busy?”

  “Hold on. I’ll get her.”

  “Hey, Carol,” I said, when she picked up. “How is the cast of the skull coming along?”

  “Already done. I have two in fact.”

  “Fantastic. If you don’t mind, I’ll send Mike over for one. He’ll be there in twenty. Is that okay?”

  She said that it was. I thanked her and disconnected. I punched the intercom button and gave Mike his in
structions, then I buzzed Tim and asked him to come in.

  “Take a seat, Tim.” He did, his eyebrows raised in question.

  “You said you had a friend at UT who needs a project. I have one. Can you get him in here?”

  “It’s a she, Samantha, and yes. How soon?”

  “Right away. An hour?”

  “Damn, Mr. Starke,” he said. “You don’t ask for much. I’ll call her. See what I can do.”

  “Good. Thank you. Now, what about the missing persons data banks? Have you been able to find anything?”

  “I have six hits that sort of match the little bit we have: broken wrist, etc., but I’m still looking. I hope to have more by the end of the day.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ve just sent Mike over to the Forensic Center. Carol has a cast of the girl’s skull for you. As soon as Samantha gets here, let me know. Okay?”

  He nodded, got up, left the room, and closed the door behind him.

  “Well,” I said to Kate. “That will save the city a nice piece of change. If I can, I’ll have her do the work here. I have a spare office she can use.”

  “So,” Kate said. “You think it’s going to work?”

  “The head, you mean? I have no idea. I’ve seen it done before, on TV, but those things never look like real people to me. Still, we have little else, so it’s worth a shot.”

  She nodded. “We’ll see,” she said, getting to her feet. “Come on, Lonnie. I was supposed to have been back in the office an hour ago. I’ll talk to you later, Harry. Let me know how it goes with the head. In the meantime, we’ll see you at De Luca’s this afternoon.”

  Chapter 12

  Samantha was a sweet kid, maybe twenty-three years old, tall, skinny, straight brown hair, glasses; she was the perfect match for Tim. I smiled to myself when he introduced her; it was obvious he was very fond of her.

  “So, Samantha,” I said. “What are your fees? How much is this thing going to cost me?”

  “Please, Mr. Starke, call me Sam. If you’ll pay for the materials and allow me to add it to my resume, that’s all I need. I can get credit for it at school.”

  “Oh, the materials and credits are no problem, and I have a place for you to work here, but I can’t allow you to work for noth... okay, okay, I get it. Tell you what: I’ll buy you and Tim dinner. Good enough?”

  She looked at Tim, eyebrows raised, and he nodded. She smiled at me, and the fee was agreed.

  “How long will it take you to do the reconstruction,” I asked, “and how close will it be to the original?”

  “If I start this afternoon, and work full days, I might be able to get it finished by Friday evening. If I have a good skull to work with, that is. How like her will it be? I don’t know. Close, I hope.”

  “Oh, the skull is a nice one.... Geeze, I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. We’re talking about some poor girl, not an antique vase. You have a cast of the original, and it should be intact and clean, right, Tim?”

  “Yes, it is. It should be easy to work with, not that I would know.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Why don’t you show her through to the empty office? Make sure she has everything she needs. If she needs anything, anything at all, you go get it for her. Okay?” It was, and they left. They could make a great couple.

  Chapter 13

  I parked the Explorer on the street outside the front of Il Sapore Roma, Salvatore De Luca’s small but exclusive Italian restaurant. It’s located on a dingy side street just off MLK. Back in the day, the 1930s, it had been a dry goods store. The old-fashioned interior was dark and narrow with room enough only for two single rows of six booths on either side of a central walkway that stretched from front to rear. At the far end, next to the kitchen and the restrooms, a small, semi-circular bar could seat up to six people, shoulder to shoulder, on tall stools.

  Salvatore De Luca is the owner of record, but his connections to the mob run deep. Il Sapore Roma is a front for a whole range of illegal activities. Be that as it may, the food is authentic Italian, always good, and the restaurant is almost always busy, but not so much at two o’clock on a weekday afternoon.

  I locked the car, undid the zipper on my coat, checked that the M&P9 was free in its holster, and pushed open the door to the restaurant. For a moment, I thought I was having a flashback, and I shuddered; not from fear, but from a weird feeling of deja vu. There they were; three of them, seated at the bar.

  Sal had always reminded me of a vulture. Six feet three inches tall, thin as a rake; his face, long, narrow, was accented by eyes almost hidden under hooded eyebrows. They were beady, black, and glittered in the artificial light. The great beak of a nose curved over a wide mouth, the corners of which were turned down at the corners in a grotesque caricature of an unhappy clown. When he smiled, which he rarely did, he exposed a set of perfect but badly stained teeth. He wore his lank, jet-black hair long, shoulder length, slicked back. As always, he was perched on a stool at the end of the bar close to the kitchen door, hunched over a drink, staring down into the depths of the glass.

  As always, Sal was flanked by his two principal lieutenants. Both were big men. Tony Carpeta, whom I knew quite well, was wearing a nicely tailored suit, light gray. He was heavy-set, with receding black hair; his florid face was accented by a squashed nose and fat lips, and was set atop a double chin that oozed out over the collar of his black sweater. He looked like a slob, and he was; he was also fearless; at least he was when he had backup. On his own, not so much.

  The second man, Jesus, I assumed, was almost as big, dark skin, bushy black hair, Zapata mustache. He was obviously Hispanic, and less well dressed than Carpeta: jeans, thick leather belt with an oval silver buckle inlaid with gold, a white shirt, and a black leather vest, Mexican style. How appropriate. I’ve met his kind before: the stereotypical minor drug lord from south of the border. This one’s a killer, if ever I saw one.

  “Hey, Sal,” I said, as I strolled the walkway between the twin rows of booths. “I hear you’re looking for me.”

  “Well, well.” He twisted his head sideways to look upward at me, you know, like a chicken does. “If it ain’t Sherlock friggin’ Starke. You gotta a goddamn nerve walkin’ in here; must have a death wish. Oh yes, I do want to see you, Starke. I wanna see you bad. I wanna see you pay for what you did to me an’ Gino. I wanna see you dead.”

  He held up his right hand. The little finger was missing above the first joint. “You piece of shit. You smashed it so bad they couldn’t put it together again; you’ll pay for that. Gino? He was family, a cousin, you’ll pay for that, too.”

  “Sal. You and Gino both got exactly what you deserved. In fact, you got away with murder. If Gino hadn’t died that day, you would right now be facing life for solicitation to murder. You and I both know what he did to James Westwood was on your orders. We had him dead to rights. You should be thanking me. Damn, Sal, you even got your twelve mil back.”

  “Screw you, Starke. You had nothin’, an’ you killed Gino, an’ you’re gonna pay.”

  “Sal, I assume that all of this is because I went to see Billy Dickerson yesterday? What’s your connection to him? He supplying you with girls?”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Starke? Who the hell is Billy Dickerson?”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Sal. Don’t go there. I know you and Dickerson are joined at the hip. At least, he’s joined to your hip. What’s that about?”

  “Again, and I’ll say it just once more, I don’t know any Billy Dickerson. Now get the hell out of here.” Oh hell yes, you know him. You know him very well.

  “In a minute. I’m not finished yet—”

  “You’re goddamn finished when I say you’re finished. Now go... Tony.”

  Tony twitched nervously; I didn’t blame him.

  “Sal. I’m investigating the murder of a teenage girl. Dickerson’s a procurer; you’re into prostitution, big time; you’re in bed together. I will find out what happened to her, you can bet on it. If I find out that y
ou and Dickerson had anything to do with it, I’ll take you down, Sal. I’ll take you down hard.”

  The room was quiet. I could almost hear De Luca thinking. His boys were silent. Tony Carpeta was twisting a napkin nervously between his fingers. Jesus had one elbow on the bar and a nasty grin on his face.

  “Let me tell you something, Starke,” De Luca said, after what seemed an eternity. “You screwed me over once. It won’t happen again. I had nothing to do with any dead homeless kid. You got that? One more thing, Starke. I’m gonna see you dead, and when I say see you, I’m gonna look down on your body and piss on it.”

  It was no idle threat; I could tell by his body language and the tone of his voice. I also knew that he wouldn’t make such a threat in front of his subordinates if he didn’t intend to carry it out. That would mean a loss of face, not something De Luca would allow. He was coming after me.

  “I’m very patient,” he said, quietly. “I can wait, an’ enjoy knowing you’ll be looking over your shoulder, looking into the shadows, wondering, if and when... an’ one day, Starke, it will happen. Until then, we’ll be watching you. It could be a day, it could be a couple of years. Have a nice life, Harry Starke.” He smiled that toothy, barracuda-like grimace I remembered so well. “Enjoy what time you have left. I know I will.” The look on his face was pure evil. “Oh, and do tell your friends to be careful, too. It’s a dangerous world out there.”

  “I hope that’s not a threat, Sal. I can handle your bullshit, and I can handle your two mutts. So let me say this, and you know me well enough to know that I mean every word of it. If either one of these two idiots come anywhere near me or mine, I’ll have ‘em fitted for a wooden overcoat, and then I’ll come after you. I’ll put you in wheelchair for the rest of your days. Not only that, the only way you’ll be able to eat will be through a straw, because I’ll take every last one of those filthy tombstones you call teeth, and I’ll bust all seven remaining fingers and both thumbs. You got that?”