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

  “Well,” he said, with a smile that was as fake as three-dollar bill, “if that’s all, then, Mr. Starke. I, too, am a busy man. Please thank August for me. Tell him we need to get together for lunch sometime, maybe even nine holes at the club. Now, if you don’t mind...”

  Okay. Now, let’s see if the seed I planted in Shady’s office yesterday has born any fruit. It’s time to throw a little bait into the waters.

  “I met a friend of yours yesterday, Congressman. Lester Tree. At least he said he was a friend. Do you know him well?”

  He gave no reaction, other than to wrinkle his brow in question. “Who? Lester Tree? Never heard of him.” He straightened up in his chair and reached for his coffee cup. I couldn’t help but notice the slight shake of his hand as he put it to his lips and sipped. It was enough. I think he was surprised when he realized the cup was already empty.

  So Shady had made the call, and Harper was ready for me. He was good, must be a poker player: no tells, stoic, even, but there was something different about his body language. He wasn’t quite as at ease as he had been just moments ago.

  “Oh, I could have sworn....” I said, with a smile, the meaning of which I tried to make very clear. “Well, maybe I was wrong... but he did say Congressman Harper, though. Funny, that. Well, never mind. I’ll let you get back to what you were doing. Have a great day, sir.” I rose to my feet, turned toward the door, stopped and said, “Would you like me to send Jackson in? I’m sure he’ll be waiting right outside.”

  I could almost feel the look he gave me.

  “No, that’s all right. Thank you. You take care, you hear? And you have a good day, too.”

  There was an edge to the words, but I smiled to myself all the way down to the lobby and out into the winter sunshine. Now that was easy.

  I had wanted to ask him about Michael Falk, but I could tell that the interview was over. He was already antsy, and I really didn’t know how to do it without making him even more so — discretion, Kate said — so I decided let it go, for now.

  I got into my car and pulled away down Market Street, checking my rearview mirrors as I did so. Again, I smiled to myself. Five or six parking meters to my rear, a small silver Honda SUV pulled out behind me and entered the stream of traffic. I turned right on 4th, then right on Georgia, and from there I drove to my office. As I pulled into my parking space, the Honda cruised by and then turned left on East 8th. So, I must have rippled the waters after all.

  Chapter 13

  It was eleven o’clock that same morning when I walked into my office. Everyone was there, and they all turned away from whatever they were doing to look at me. It registered, but what really caught my eye was Mike, and the state of his face. I stood in front of his desk and looked down at him. His nose was in one of those aluminum splints and the flesh around it was almost black. He had a black eye, a split lip and there was a nasty-looking graze on his right cheek.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  He looked sheepishly up at me and tried to smile — it didn’t work — and then he said through lips he could barely move, “I got in a fight, sort of.”

  Now that was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard. Mike couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag. He’s twenty-four years old, stands no more than five feet ten inches tall, and has to run around in the shower to get wet. I’m not saying he’s a wimp, but he sure as hell is no street fighter. Hell, even a big girl could do him some serious damage.

  “What happened, Mike? You have a run in with someone’s jealous boyfriend?”

  He smiled, winced, and then shook his head. “No, sir. It happened up on McCallie, at the mall.”

  My eyes opened wide. What the hell?

  “Come into my office. Tell me about it.”

  He followed me in and closed the door.

  “Sit there. Can you handle a coffee?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, I’ve got to have some. Just sit tight for a moment.”

  I went back out into the outer office and punched up the Keurig: Dark Italian Roast, black, no sugar.

  “I could have done that for you.”

  “Yes, Jacque. I know. But I don’t pay you to wait on me, though you do a great job of it. But thanks. I think you’d better come and sit in on this one. You, too, Bob.”

  Bob Ryan, my lead investigator, shoved the papers he was working on to one side and rose to his feet. Now, Bob, unlike Mike Rogers, was a street fighter: six feet two and 240 pounds of solid muscle, an ex-marine with a fondness for ball bats. You don’t screw around with Bob Ryan.

  I flopped into my seat behind my desk. Bob and Jacque sat together on the loveseat.

  I looked across the desk at Mike. He looked pathetic.

  “Let’s have it, Mike. Tell me what happened, and tell me what the hell you were you doing there on your own in the first place.”

  Again, he handed me the cow-eyed look. “I went to the mall last night. I wanted to check it out, see if I could learn anything. You said to keep checking, right?”

  “That I did, but I didn’t mean for you to go poking about. Mike, you’re not a field investigator. That’s Bob and Heather’s job; they’re good at it, and they have years of experience. They also know how to look after themselves. You don’t. You’re here to learn, not to get yourself killed. Talk to me. What did you get yourself into?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Starke. I wanted to see what I could find out. So I went. The office was in darkness, at least I couldn’t see any lights on inside. The two clothing stores were closed. The cigar store, the restaurant, and the gym were all open. I went into the cigar store first. There was no one inside except for the guy behind the counter, an overweight dude who looked like he could barely stand up, must have been at least 400 pounds.” He paused, licked his damaged lip.

  “I wandered around in there for a minute, then I asked him who owned the place.”

  I interrupted him, “Just like that? You asked just like that, out of the blue? No ‘Hey, nice to meet you?’ No conversation? That’s....” I shook my head. “Go on, son.”

  “He was really nice, Mr. Starke. Didn’t tell me a whole lot, just that Lester Tree owned it, and that’s all he knew; didn’t know anything about the other businesses. So I bought a cigar and left.”

  I interrupted him again. “And as soon as you did, he made a call. Go on.”

  “Well, then I went into the gym. Asked about membership, how I could join and all. I hadn’t been in there more’n a minute when someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was a big black dude, and he had a sidekick with him, a smaller man in a weird-looking suit. The big guy took my arm and dragged me out into the parking lot, and then into the office unit. Mr. Tree was there. He wanted to know what I was up to, and who I was working for. I told him I just wanted to join the gym. He didn’t believe me. I didn’t tell him anything, Mr. Starke. I swear it. I kept my mouth shut. He doesn’t know I work for you. Anyway, finally, he told the big guy to take me out and teach me a lesson, rough me up a little, and....” He shrugged, dropped his head, and stared at his shoes.

  “It’s okay, Mike. It was a good lesson. One you won’t forget, ever. From now on, you leave the field work to us, okay?”

  He nodded.

  “Still want to be a PI?” I grinned across the desk at him.

  He looked up. “Yes, sir. More than ever.”

  “Okay, go on. Get outta here. Go back to digging, but use the Internet and the phone this time.”

  I leaned back in my chair and watched as he closed the door behind him.

  “Seems like the kid hit a nerve,” Bob said.

  “That he did.”

  “Let’s go talk to Tree.” Bob’s voice was deep, almost a growl, menacing even when he’s being nice, which he rarely ever was.

  I thought for a minute, then reluctantly shook my head. There’s no one I’d rather have with me in a tough situation than Bob, but I had something in mind; something that, if it went wrong, would get me
into serious trouble. I didn’t want anyone else involved. Especially not my staff.

  “No, Bob. It’s better I do this alone. I don’t want you getting into trouble, not at this stage anyway.”

  He looked at me through narrowed eyes.

  “I know. Tell you what. If I need help, I’ll call. Okay?”

  It wasn’t okay. I could see it in his eyes. But he nodded anyway.

  “You got it.” He got up. So did Jacque. They left me alone with my thoughts.

  I sat there for a moment, pondered about what I was about to do, then opened my desk drawer. I retrieved a half-dozen heavy duty, plastic cable ties, already looped, and my expandable baton, seven inches closed, and fourteen ounces of steel and rubber that can be clipped to a belt or carried discreetly in a pocket. With a flick of the wrist, I can open it up to sixteen inches and it becomes a weapon to be feared by even the toughest banger. Closed, it’s the next best thing to a knuckle-duster. Hold it tight in your fist and your hand becomes a sledgehammer. I put it in my jacket pocket, checked the load of the nine, and made sure there was one in the chamber. There’s no safety on an MP9. Then I made a quick call to Kate.

  I gave her a quick rundown of my meeting with Harper, but I didn’t tell her what I was about to do. Then I looked around the office one last time, and walked out into the cold afternoon air.

  Chapter 14

  It was almost two o’clock that afternoon when I headed out from the office. Jacque looked worried. She knew something was up. Bob looked up from his computer, winked, and put the thumb and little finger of his right hand to his ear and mouthed, “Call me.” Mike looked as if he was about to throw up, but I smiled at him and winked.

  “Back soon, guys. Hold the fort,” I said as walked out onto the street.

  I drove slowly south on Georgia, churning over in my mind what I was about to do. It wasn’t the best plan I’d ever come up, but it would have to do. There was no way I was going to let Tree get away with hammering one of my people, especially a kid like Mike.

  It was five after two when I drove into the rear parking lot of the mall, there were a few cars, but no people. I eased on round to the front and parked a few feet to the left of Shady’s office door and the tinted window. I got out of the car, locked the doors, and walked to the office door.

  I took a deep breath and thumbed the bell push, and then stepped one side so I couldn’t be seen through the peephole. I took the baton from my belt, made a fist around it, and waited. A minute later, the door opened a crack. I hit it with my shoulder, the guy inside staggered back and before he could recover I was on him. I stepped quickly forward and hammered him upside the head with the closed baton. He didn’t see it coming and went down like he’d been hit by a truck. It took but a couple of seconds to secure his hands with one of the ties, and then I ran down the passageway and didn’t stop until I hit Shady’s office door. The frame shattered. I almost fell through the opening into his office, but I managed to keep my balance.

  Surprised? You bet they were. Two bounding strides and I had smacked Duvon over the head with the baton. He went down, howling in pain. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gold reaching inside his jacket. I was too quick for him. I flipped the baton, back handed, across the room, like a Frisbee. It flew over the desk, barely missing Shady’s head, spinning end over end. He didn’t have a chance; the stainless steel butt hit Gold full on the nose, which burst like a ripe tomato. He coughed once; blood spurted from the damaged snout, sprayed over Tree’s back and onto his desk. Gold howled, grabbed his nose with both hands, and sank slowly to his knees, moaning quietly.

  I pulled the MP9 and leveled it at Tree. “Don’t you move so much as a finger, Shady.”

  I stepped quickly around the desk, keeping an eye on Shady, and slipped a tie over Duvon’s wrists. Then I went to Gold, bent down, felt inside his jacket, and relieved him of a nine millimeter semi-automatic. I placed it on the corner of the desk, as far away from Tree as I could get it. Then, with my free hand, I slipped a tie over Gold’s wrists and pulled it tight. Next, I picked up the baton and slipped it into my jacket pocket. Then I turned and faced Tree, who was still sitting at his desk. He hadn’t moved a muscle. His face had turned a funny color, but he smiled up at me, and leaned back in his chair, only it wasn’t a smile, it was a teeth-bared grimace

  “What can I do for you this time, Mr. Starke?” It was barely a whisper.

  “I want to know why your boys beat the shit out of my intern.”

  “You mean the nosy kid, blond, with pimples? He stuck his nose somewhere he shouldn’t, an’ he got caught. Henry here,” he nodded down at the still sobbing Gold, “heard that he was asking questions about me in the gym. Simple. He needed a lesson. I had Duvon teach it to him, bust his nose for him, teach him to keep it out of where it don’t belong. He’ll get over it. Hell, who never had a busted nose before?”

  “Okay, Tree. Listen up. The boy needs surgery, and you’re going to pay for it.”

  “The hell you say.”

  “The hell I do say. You don’t pay up, I’ll put a cap through your knee. I’ll put you on sticks for the rest of your days. You don’t think I’ll do it? Try me.”

  He looked at me for a long time. His eyes flicked back and forth, between mine and the front end of the nine, thinking. Then he looked up at the ceiling, sighed, looked again across the desk at me, at the gun in my hand, rolled his eyes, leaned forward, pulled open a drawer and took out a checkbook.

  “How much?”

  “You gotta be joking. You’re gonna write me a check. How stupid d’you think I am, Shady? Cash, Shady, cash. I want five grand.”

  He looked at me for a long moment, then shook his head, and reached down between his legs.

  “Hey. Whoa!” I shoved the nine a little closer to his face.

  “Easy, Starke, easy. It’s just a floor safe.”

  “Slow, Shady. Nice and slow. You pull anything other than money out of it, and you’re dead.”

  He pulled a wad of hundreds out of the floor safe, rolled his seat closer to the desk, and started to count. Duvon groaned, sat up, and leaned back against the wall. Gold was in the opposite corner, sniffling noisily through the blood. His suit and shirt were a mess. I watched as Tree counted out the bills. When he reached fifty, he tapped the edges to make a neat pile, then he handed them over. “You wanna count it?”

  I snatched them out of his hand. “Nope. I already did.”

  I stuffed the wad into my pocket, reached inside my jacket and pulled out a tiny digital recorder, hit rewind, and then flipped the play button.

  I want to know why your boys beat the shit out of my intern.

  You mean the nosy kid, blond, with pimples? He stuck his face where he shouldn’t an’ he got caught. Henry here.... It was a bit tinny, but it was clear enough.

  “You get the picture, Shady? You call the cops, accuse me of robbing you, and I’ll hand this to Lieutenant Gazzara. You’ll do time for aggravated assault, and so will your crew.”

  He glared at me across the desk, that same toothy grimace. “Get outta here, Starke, you crazy bastard. An’ don’t come back. If you do, they’ll fish your body out of the Tennessee. Oh yeah, an’ that’s two I owe you now: one for the cap you put in my arm, and one for the five grand. I’ll be collecting them both, when you least expect it.”

  “Any time, Shady. Any time. But you’d better make sure you get it right, because next time it won’t be your arm. Stick out your hands.”

  “What for?” He glared at me through slitted eyes, the hate bubbling just below the surface.

  “You know what for. Stick ‘em out, or I’ll bust you aside the head with the baton.”

  “Damn you, Starke. You’ll pay for this.” Reluctantly, he offered his hands, wrists together. I looped a cable tie around them and pulled it tight. He yelped at the pain.

  “Now then, Shady. Be a good boy. Sit tight till I’m gone, and all will be well.”

  I took one last look at the two bloody
mouseketeers — yeah, that’s what I said, mouse — backed out of the office, closed the door behind me, stepped over the whimpering fat guy in the passageway, and out into the weak summer sunshine. It was a lovely day indeed. Well, all in all, a good job well done.

  ---

  Ten minutes later, I was back at my office. As I walked in through the front door, Mike looked up at me over his computer screen. I grinned at him and dropped the wad of cash on the desk in front of him.

  “Here you go, Mike. Compliments of Mr. Tree. Enjoy.”

  There was a noisy round of clapping and cheers from the crew. I grinned and shook my head. “Any messages?”

  “Yes,” Jacque said. “Amanda Cole at Chanel Seven wants an interview. When can you do it?”

  “Interview? What for?”

  “Profile, so she said. I think you should do it. It would be good publicity.”

  “Nope. Not interested. That young lady has not been kind to me in the past.”

  Jacque was not pleased, but she’d get over it.

  Chapter 15

  I was at a loss as to what to do next. I had plenty of questions and few answers. I mulled it over and decided that it might be time for another visit to the Sorbonne.

  Thursday afternoons are usually quite busy downtown, especially around the Aquarium. Chattanooga has become a tourist hotspot over the past twenty years or so. Even on a weekday, there are a lot of folks around. Fortunately, the Sorbonne doesn’t open until four. It was just after three-thirty when I arrived outside the rear door.

  I pushed the button and waited. A couple of minutes later I heard the bolt being pulled. The lock turned, and the door opened an inch or two. I gave it a push. Benny stepped back a couple of feet, rubbing his nose. He’d been trying to peer out through the gap. Poor Benny.

  “Starke! Oh for Christ’s sake. What the hell do you want this time?”

  “Just to talk, Benny. Just to talk.”

  “Damn you,” he grumbled, turning and walking to his office. “You touch me again, Starke, and I’ll file a complaint. I swear it. I’ve had a gutful of people bustin’ in here and knocking me around.”