So there I was the next night, standing outside of the apartment complex. My shoes were shined and I’d only had 3 or 4 beers. A light, slightly ominous rain was falling. “God is pissing,” we used to say when it rained when I was a kid. I felt tired, I mean in body and mind. I wanted out of the game. I wanted to retire. Say to some place like Vegas. Hanging around the gaming tables, looking wise. Watching fools blow fortunes. That was my idea of a good time. Relaxing under the lights as the grave yawned open for me. But, hell, I didn’t have any money. And I had to find the Red Sparrow. I pressed the buzzer to apartment 9. I waited. I pressed the buzzer again. Nothing. Oh my. Oh my my my. I didn’t want to think about it. Had they skipped? Deja and that motherfucker. I should have closed on them last night. Had I let them slip?
I lit my cigar with one hand, worked the door-jimmy with the other. It slid open and I entered the hall. I walked down to 9. Pressed my ear to the door. Nothing. Not even the rustle of a mouse. Oh my. God damn it. I worked the door open and entered. Walked straight to the bedroom, opened the closet. Empty. Clothes gone. Nothing but lonely hangers. What an awful sight. My first link to the Red Sparrow now turned into 32 empty hangers. I had lost it. As a dick I was a fool. I thought faintly about suicide, dismissed that, reached into my coat, found the pint, had a hit of vodka, spit out my cigar.
Then I turned around, walked out of there, down the hall and along the hall until I found what I wanted. The door marked:
MANAGER, M. TOHIL
I knocked.
“Yeah?” came this reply. Sounded like another big guy.
“Flowers, Mr. Tohil. Flower delivery for M. Tohil!”
“How’d you get in here?”
“The front door was open, Mr. Tohil.”
“Impossible!”
“Mr. Tohil, a lady was leaving and I walked in the door as she walked out.”
“You’re not supposed to do that.”
“I didn’t know that. What was I supposed to do?”
“You’re supposed to buzz me from outside and tell me who you are and what you want.”
“All right, Mr. Tohil. I’ll go outside and buzz you and tell you that I have a flower delivery for you. Will that be all right?”
“Never mind, boy. Here…”
The door swung open. I jumped inside, kicked the door closed and grabbed him by the belt. I had a handful. He was a big guy. Needed a shave. Smelled a little like sulfur. Tipped the scales about 240.
“What the fuck you doing? Where are the flowers? Take your hand off my god-damned belt!”
“Easy, Tohil,” I let go of him, “I’m a private investigator, fully licensed. I want to know the whereabouts of Deja Fountain, apartment 9.”
“Kiss my ass, buddy, and get the hell out of here.”
I backed off.
“Easy, Mr. Tohil. I just want this information, then I’ll go.”
“The information is private and you’ll go without it. I’m moving you out of here now!”
“I’ve got a black belt, Tohil. That’s a lethal weapon. Don’t force me to use it!”
He laughed and moved a step toward me.
“Hold it right there!” I yelled.
He stopped.
“Tohil, I’ve got to locate the Red Sparrow, and Deja Fountain ties in with the solution. I’ve got to know where she and her boy have gone.”
“They didn’t leave a forwarding address,” he said. “Now get out of here before I fart in your face!”
I slipped the.32 out and leveled it at his belly.
“WHERE’S DEJA FOUNTAIN?” I yelled.
“Screw you,” he said, moving toward me.
“Stop right there!” I commanded.
He kept coming, he was a fool. I panicked, pulled the trigger.
The gun jammed.
Then he had his hands about my throat. They were the size of hams, hams with huge, dumb, strong, relentless fingers. I couldn’t breathe. Large flashes of light roared in my head behind my eyes. I pounded my knee into his groin. Nothing happened. He was a freak. His sexual organs were some place else, maybe up under one of his arm pits. I was helpless. I could feel death in the air. But my past life didn’t flash before me. Just a voice in my head said, “You need a new tire on the right rear…” Stupid, stupid. And I was finished, done. It was over for me.
Then, suddenly I felt the hands let go. I staggered back, sucking in air from the stratosphere and everywhere else.
I looked at Tohil. He didn’t look good. He didn’t look good at all. He was looking at me but he wasn’t looking at me. I saw him grab his left arm. He held his left arm and this awfully pained look crossed his face. He gasped, looked up and fell to the floor.
I went over, bent over him, felt his pulse. Nothing. He was gone. Bye bye.
I walked over, sat in a chair. And there on the couch across from me, there she was: Lady Death. Never had she looked so good. What a babe. Never let you down. Better than gold. She smiled.
“How ya doin’, Belane?”
“Can’t complain, exactly, Lady.”
She was dressed completely in black. She looked good in black. Also red.
“Better watch your weight, Belane. You’ve been eating too many french fries, mashed potatoes, desserts…you’ve been sucking at beer bottles…”
“Yeah. Well…yeah…”
She smiled again. Perfect strong teeth. She could bite through a plumber’s monkey wrench.
“Well,” she said, “I’ve got to go. Some more business near at hand.”
“Anybody I know?”
“You know a Harry Dobbs?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, if you do, forget him.”
Then she was gone. Like that.
I walked over to Tohil, dug for his wallet. There was a 50, 2 twenties, a 5 and a one. I slipped them into my right pants pocket. I walked to the door, opened it, closed it and walked down the hall. Nobody around. I got to the front door, stepped outside. The light rain was still falling. It felt good against my face. I inhaled, sighed, moved toward my car. It was still there. I walked around to the rear of it and checked the right rear tire. Sure enough, it was bald. I needed new rubber.