Black Cat Weekly #80

Chapter 5-3

Did I get that guy killed?

Opening the garage door, I stepped into the gloom and breathed the comforting smells of motor oil and metal. I walked in the dark, waiting for my eyes to adjust, circling the Nova, and running a hand across its familiar contours. Then I tripped on the catalytic converter and fell to my knees.

“Dammit, Cher!”

Cher.

Cher.I scrambled up and found the light switch. Sam Cox had mysteriously fired Cher for stealing money from Marano, except she didn’t. Sam Cox knew a shadowy Russian company that sold health care equipment, and Marano was suspicious. Cher had warned me that Red Bend was trouble. A housekeeper hears things, and that woman was no dummy. I called Cher straightaway, hoping she hadn’t had an unfortunate accident with a reciprocating saw.

“Good morning, Mr. Richter. You got my money?”

“Never mind. Where are you?”

“At Chubby’s, having coffee and pie with my son.”

“Stay out in the open. Don’t leave your seat. Don’t let your son wander. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

I found her in a corner both picking at the remnants of a huckleberry pie, one arm around her son. Judy, a waitress who had worked at Chubby’s Diner probably since the Eisenhower administration, took my order of eggs, bacon, and hash browns. I told her the boy could have anything he wanted. He asked for chocolate chip ice cream.

Cher patted her son on the head. “Scotty, go sit in the next booth and eat your mid-morning ice cream while I talk with this annoying man.” After the boy settled himself, she leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “You scared the bejeezus out of me with that phone call. This better be good.”

“Jim Marano is dead,” I whispered. “I spoke with him yesterday and tried to visit today. They said he fell off a ladder with a pair of scissors and stabbed himself. He might have been investigating the nursing home’s connection to a shadowy Russian company. I know it sounds crazy.”

Cher went rigid and slapped the table with an open palm. She stood up, sat down, and took a few deep breaths. She acted like she wanted to hit something. She said, “Let me guess. Marano showed you a business card from a company called MedTek with Sam Cox’s initials and a note to call on the down low.”

“I didn’t—no, he didn’t show it to me. I found it. Then he kicked me out for snooping.”

showShe studied her folded hands and tried to calm herself. “Congratulations, smart a*s. The guy has probably been to a dozen dangerous places around the world, but you got him killed in a one-horse town known for its textile mill. That takes talent.”

I leaned across the table, and my whisper came out like a hiss. “I need to know what you know. You’re not sad that Jim Marano died. You’re pissed off. What did you hear over there?”

Judy brought ice cream for the boy and returned moments later with my heaping breakfast. Then the throaty rumble of an engine caught our attention and the three of us looked to the parking lot. I expected a Harley or a muscle car with performance mufflers, but it was Sam Cox and his minivan.

“That young man needs to get his muffler fixed,” Judy mumbled as she walked toward the kitchen.

“Not a muffler, a catalytic converter,” I said to Cher. “You not only vandalized a vehicle, but you vandalized Sam Cox’s vehicle. Not very smart of you.”

“Says the kettle,” Cher shot back. “You allowed yourself to be followed by a minivan. Now listen. We don’t have a lot of time.”

I hadn’t throttled a man in a long while, but I was still six-foot-four with a hard belly and a fighter’s balance. If young Sam Cox wanted to make trouble in a diner, he’d need more than his seersucker suit and an accounting degree from Randolph-Macon College. I eyed him through the window, but he stayed inside the van.

“He won’t make a scene in a public place,” I said.

“Because he’s scared of you? Like that’s a thing. Now pay attention. Although I was the head housekeeper at Red Bend, nursing homes are always short-staffed. We all do two or three jobs, and I also ordered medical hardware. A couple of months ago, I noticed these high invoices from MedTek, a company I didn’t know from Adam. We were paying through the nose for nightstands, rolling carts, four-pronged canes, wheelchairs and the like. When I asked Mr. Cox, he went all secret squirrel. Said not to pry. Then he walked out of his office and left me alone. I spied that MedTek business card, picked it up, and saw the writing on the back.”

you“Inflated prices might mean money laundering,” I said. “I looked up MedTek and they’re dirty as hell.”

“Yes, thank you. I can use the web-nets, James Bond. MedTek has that place in Vladivostok, where our stuff came from. A financial officer at MedTek went to jail for dealing with the Russian Mafia. I don’t know the ins and outs of money laundering, but I know price gouging when I see it. I don’t shop at Costco for nothing.”

“You tried to tip off Marano?”

“He put on that presentation about working for the CIA, so I figured he could do something. Before I could visit him, something else happened.” Cher’s eyes shifted back to the parking lot. Sam Cox had stepped out of the minivan and was texting on his phone.

“Hurry up,” I said. “What happened with Marano?”

“After Marano’s presentation, Mr. Cox got nervous. I don’t think he knew Marano was former CIA, and he started watching me all the time. I put off doing anything about it. A week later, these men came to Red Bend, men with black jackets and black jeans and tattoos on their necks. They go diddly-bopping past the receptionist desk and into Mr. Cox’s office. Then I finally went to see Marano.”

“What did he say?”

“That I shouldn’t worry. Red Bend was part of a larger health system that probably ordered supplies from all over the world. I showed him the inflated invoices, but he seemed to think it was beyond him. He kept the business card, but I don’t think he dug around.”

“But he did,” I said. “I stumbled on a murder board in his bedroom. He was tracing connections between MedTek, Vladivostok and Red Bend. I suspect his antenna went up after you were fired. He didn’t think you stole his money.”

She straightened up. “Look sharp. Here comes Sam.”

I smelled Sam Cox before I saw him. He had a balmy, sandalwood aftershave, no doubt popular with the oldies. He stopped behind me and breathed through his nose, so I’d know he was there. It took every ounce of willpower not to plant an elbow in his stomach and hear the air whoosh out like a deflated beach ball.

“Cher. Klaus,” he said. “Glad to see you enjoying a Chubby’s breakfast. Can we go for a walk?”

I turned and smiled. “We just got here, Mr. Cox. We’ll stay out in the open if you don’t mind. What’s up?”

“I want my former head housekeeper to make good on vandalizing my van shortly after I terminated her employment for cause. I wake up half of Booker by driving down the street. If Ms. Downey can write me a check for the damage, I’ll move on.”

Cher gripped the table with both hands.

“And you, Klaus,” Cox said. “I understand you visited Mr. Marano yesterday. I didn’t realize you two were friends. I’m sorry to tell you that he’s passed. Terrible accident. I can’t imagine what the two of you talked about.”

He chuckled like a dime store villain as three men in black jackets and black jeans entered the restaurant and stood beside him. Their neck tattoos stretched over gym muscles. They positioned themselves behind Cher’s little boy. He was oblivious to the unfolding drama, thanks to his ice cream.

When the nearest man rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder, Cher rose from her seat. “Hey, Boris. Keep your mitts off my son.”

The man flipped her off.

That tore it. Cher grabbed a napkin dispenser and threw her best fastball at the guy’s head. Then she launched herself from the booth and grabbed Cox by the throat. Two of the three Russians stepped back to watch, but the third went for the boy. I got in the way and torqued the guy’s wrist. Something cracked and he stumbled into the counter. The second Russian swung for my jaw and left himself open to a throat punch. He gagged and fell. The third landed a short right to my gut. It was a good shot and knocked the wind from my sails. I didn’t know if I could take him, but I never found out.

“That will be enough, gentlemen.”

Judy emerged from the kitchen with a pump-action short-barreled shotgun. I’ve seen her balance four plates without so much as a quiver, and she wielded that solid weapon like a water pistol, pointing where everyone should go.

“Cher, control yourself in front of your boy. Mr. Cox, go in the kitchen and get some iodine for those scratches on your face. Manny, Moe, and Jack, I’m guessing you aren’t local. Now get out of Chubby’s and don’t come back.”

“Judy,” I began.

“And you, Klaus Richter. Take Cher and vamoose. Do your whispering somewhere else.”

Mr. Cox retreated to the kitchen. The three Russians backed out and climbed into a black SUV parked next to the minivan. They sped away. I told Cher to follow me to the garage.

“Then what?”

“No idea,” I said. “But let’s get out of here.”

Driving home meant two miles on the main highway or four miles through back roads. I chose the latter. I’d been followed once today—in a minivan, for Christ’s sake—and I wasn’t getting caught again. The Nova could take curves like a gazelle, but I allowed the Hyundai to stay close. Five minutes in, I called her cell.

“You drive like an old man,” she said.

“I am an old man. Listen, I’m re-thinking our destination. My place is in the middle of nowhere. People could be waiting for us there. We need to be in public. We need witnesses, people who will know our story in case things go sideways.”

am“We could go to Norfolk and sit down at a TV station.”

“I have a better idea. Try to keep up.”

I floored the Nova, and fifteen minutes later we pulled into the Red Bend parking lot. I didn’t see any vans or black SUVs. Cher followed me to the front door. She dragged her son by one arm and asked why I’d come here, seeing as how I called it the Dead End.

“That is one of many miscalculations I’ve made the past twenty-four hours,” I said. “We should tell these residents what’s going on in their backyard. You said they were worried about you. A few others might know me from my football days. They’ll listen to us.”

Cher looked over her shoulder. “It’s a plan. Sam Cox won’t be back for a while, given those scratches on his face. I twisted his balls pretty good, too.”