Read Online 01. Labyrinth of Dreams by Jack L. Chalker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jack L. Chalker
Ads: Link
him, and when I'm through they can have what's left. I've already got a deal with them, so don't think of getting into this thing yourself. I guarantee it'll just give you a choice between a bullet or ten years' hard time."
"It's your funeral," he replied, making it sound more like a wish than a warning. "All right, I'll give you a couple of names and places. You'll have to track them down yourself. You can use my name to open the door, but after that, you don't ever use it again."
That was fair enough. I was fascinated by the fact that although we both sat there, he had refused not only to address Brandy but to even acknowledge her existence. We didn't like to stay where we weren't wanted, and we got out of there as quickly as we could.
"He don't like us much," Brandy noted. "I guess he likes the old days when everybody was named Capone, or Banana-nose, or something or other. Well, Lone Ranger, what we do now?"
"We park the horses, Faithful Indian Companion, and we leg it."
Joey Teasdale, Paoli's first suggestion, wasn't hard to find if you were patient, had a lot of twenty-dollar bills, and didn't seem to be cops. We were all three, although we must have walked three miles and spent a couple of C-notes before we found him sitting at a table in the first joint we'd covered. He was almost your stereotypical queen, with loud clothes, high-heeled boots, earrings, and more perfume than Brandy had worn in a lifetime. At least you felt reasonably safe with him; he sure wasn't any threat to Brandy, and I sure as hell wasn't his type. He was, however, extraordinarily courteous to Brandy, which was more than Paoli had been.
How long you been off the gooseberry lay, son?
"Paoli sent us. We're looking for somebody," I told him.
"You cops?"
"Private. The man lifted something of value from somebody you should never, never steal from, and split. He's hot and we need him before the good guys get him." Teasdale whistled. "That hot, huh? Who?"
"Whitlock. Martin Whitlock, the banker." "Him? What makes you think he would come through here?"
"Look, we got no time for games," Brandy put in. "We got money 'cause the Man got ripped and he don't care what it takes to get even. You got it? Now, those who make themselves useful earn big brownie points with the Man. Those who don't, well, that goes in the report, too."
That hit home. "Yeah, okay, he comes through here regularly," Teasdale said with resignation. "Been coming down here for years. Not the usual kind, though. I mean, I'm a man, wouldn't be anything else. No offense, dear lady. We get a lot of those kind of guys who have a wife and kids and position because that's important to them, and then they come down here sneaking around to make little liaisons, if you know what I mean. He's not that kind. When he's down here, it's total. Looks, acts, sounds all girl, if you know what I mean. Even gets the voice soft and sultry. The drag queens, they just like the pretending. They're good, but they're acting and they always know they're acting. Not him. It's like they were two different people, one male, one all female. I sometimes had the idea he'd gotten the operation. Become a she, if you know what I mean, and that the man part was the acting."
I exchanged glances with Brandy and knew that we were both thinking the same thing. Suppose Joey Teasdale was right? It would explain a lot about why he and his wife hadn't had a real marriage in a long time but might still care for one another. It would also explain some of the long absences and why a guy like that would need enough money to be into the mob. If so, there might be nothing short of fingerprints that would nail him.
"You got any line on him?"
"Not immediate, but he never played around. Oh, he'd come into a place now and then, but mostly he didn't stick around here. He had a regular thing with somebody up in northeast Philly, I'm pretty sure. Only saw the guy once, when he came down to Honey's to get some of
"It's your funeral," he replied, making it sound more like a wish than a warning. "All right, I'll give you a couple of names and places. You'll have to track them down yourself. You can use my name to open the door, but after that, you don't ever use it again."
That was fair enough. I was fascinated by the fact that although we both sat there, he had refused not only to address Brandy but to even acknowledge her existence. We didn't like to stay where we weren't wanted, and we got out of there as quickly as we could.
"He don't like us much," Brandy noted. "I guess he likes the old days when everybody was named Capone, or Banana-nose, or something or other. Well, Lone Ranger, what we do now?"
"We park the horses, Faithful Indian Companion, and we leg it."
Joey Teasdale, Paoli's first suggestion, wasn't hard to find if you were patient, had a lot of twenty-dollar bills, and didn't seem to be cops. We were all three, although we must have walked three miles and spent a couple of C-notes before we found him sitting at a table in the first joint we'd covered. He was almost your stereotypical queen, with loud clothes, high-heeled boots, earrings, and more perfume than Brandy had worn in a lifetime. At least you felt reasonably safe with him; he sure wasn't any threat to Brandy, and I sure as hell wasn't his type. He was, however, extraordinarily courteous to Brandy, which was more than Paoli had been.
How long you been off the gooseberry lay, son?
"Paoli sent us. We're looking for somebody," I told him.
"You cops?"
"Private. The man lifted something of value from somebody you should never, never steal from, and split. He's hot and we need him before the good guys get him." Teasdale whistled. "That hot, huh? Who?"
"Whitlock. Martin Whitlock, the banker." "Him? What makes you think he would come through here?"
"Look, we got no time for games," Brandy put in. "We got money 'cause the Man got ripped and he don't care what it takes to get even. You got it? Now, those who make themselves useful earn big brownie points with the Man. Those who don't, well, that goes in the report, too."
That hit home. "Yeah, okay, he comes through here regularly," Teasdale said with resignation. "Been coming down here for years. Not the usual kind, though. I mean, I'm a man, wouldn't be anything else. No offense, dear lady. We get a lot of those kind of guys who have a wife and kids and position because that's important to them, and then they come down here sneaking around to make little liaisons, if you know what I mean. He's not that kind. When he's down here, it's total. Looks, acts, sounds all girl, if you know what I mean. Even gets the voice soft and sultry. The drag queens, they just like the pretending. They're good, but they're acting and they always know they're acting. Not him. It's like they were two different people, one male, one all female. I sometimes had the idea he'd gotten the operation. Become a she, if you know what I mean, and that the man part was the acting."
I exchanged glances with Brandy and knew that we were both thinking the same thing. Suppose Joey Teasdale was right? It would explain a lot about why he and his wife hadn't had a real marriage in a long time but might still care for one another. It would also explain some of the long absences and why a guy like that would need enough money to be into the mob. If so, there might be nothing short of fingerprints that would nail him.
"You got any line on him?"
"Not immediate, but he never played around. Oh, he'd come into a place now and then, but mostly he didn't stick around here. He had a regular thing with somebody up in northeast Philly, I'm pretty sure. Only saw the guy once, when he came down to Honey's to get some of