Stray Cat Blues: A Mystery Crime Thriller (Max Plank Mystery Series Book 1) by Robert Bucchianeri

Author:Robert Bucchianeri [Bucchianeri, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cranberry Press
Published: 2017-12-19T22:00:00+00:00

Eighteen

We’d rattled the hive, and it didn’t take long for the bees to fly away.

I attributed it to mortification. What Marsh and I had done in there had to be a blow to the collective gang ego. We were two; they were four times that number. We were old; they were young. We were strangers; this was their home field. They had all the advantages, yet they’d gotten their butts kicked, literally, and in their chosen tests of masculinity—eight ball and hand-to-hand combat. They were probably having a hard time playing the macho dudes they fancied themselves to be. Best to go home and have your momma or your woman heal the wounds and reassure that you were still a big, tough boy.

We took turns on lookout. One of us would stay at the car parked a long block away while the other hung out in a dark alley right across the way from Funky Jack’s.

Scooter left with Frank in an old Oldsmobile raked and decked out with colossal fins.

Vince was one of the last to leave. Only Ernie, and the assumed leader, Caballo Negro, and the bartender remained inside.

He took a sharp left outside the bar and walked quickly down 9th street. He stopped in front of an old blue VW bug and inserted a key in the driver’s side door.

Before he could lean in, I reached him.

“Vince,” I whispered in his ear. “Like to talk to you.”

He flinched, pulled back, his right hand starting toward his pocket. I grabbed his wrist, twisting his palm back to an angle it was never meant to reach. “Not a good idea.”

He cried out and shot me a panicked look. Words scampered out of his mouth. “I didn’t have nothing to do with what went on in there. You won. I know. Talk to Scooter or Marco or...” His voice trailed off, his mind catching up with the danger of saying too much more. I released his hand.

“I don’t care about the game or the money. I just have a few questions.”

“I don’t know anything.” He glanced nervously back toward the club while rubbing his wrist. “Shit, man. That hurt.”

I nodded, acknowledging his pain. “You and Scooter know Johnnie.”

He frowned, looked away, held up his hands, palms up. “No. I don’t know nuthin’.”

“I can go get my friend Marsh. He’s a little pissed off about being cheated out of a thousand bucks we won fair and square. He’s kind of aching to take it out on somebody.”

“Shit,” he mumbled.

I walked around to the passenger side of the VW and opened the door. “Get in. Let’s take a little drive, or do you want to stand here and talk? Maybe Caballo Negro will come out, and we can all chat together.”

“Dammit.” He glanced back again. With a pained look on his face, he said, “Okay. Five minutes. Then I gotta go.” He sat behind the wheel, and I slid in beside him. He started the car and drove around the corner. I had him continue on and make a loop around the block.

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