Mama Law and the Moonbeam Racer. Fred Yorg
looked like a thermometer ready to burst. I don’t know about my appearance, but my fists were clenched and I was ready to spring. It had been a long time coming, I was going to enjoy this.
“Let’s step outside Tony, just me and you. You can bring Max along, he’ll be handy when they load your sorry ass into the ambulance.”
That’s when Miles jumped me from behind and the chief came running out of the office. The only one who got hurt was Miles, the peacemaker, when I threw him off me. The poor bastard caught the edge of a desk, putting a nasty gash over his left eye. After the brouhaha, order was restored, and the chief took Tony and Max back into his office. Miles and I went down to the first floor so Miles could have his wound dressed by the sarge.
Once that was out of the way, we went down to the motor pool, grabbed an unmarked car, and headed out. Miles was not in a good mood. He didn’t say a word for the first ten blocks. It was just as well, I didn’t feel like talking.
Reluctantly, I broke the ice, “Sorry about the eye, Miles.”
“You’re sorry, how the hell do you think I feel? Why? Why do you always have to bust his balls?”
“I don’t know, take your pick. Could have been the comments about Mavis. Could have been the meeting with the chief. Could have been Tony and Max’s side deal with Jew Cohan. Could have been this case. I really don’t know. You’re the shrink in training, I kind of hoped you’d be able to tell me.”
“I think you’re pissed off at the job and yourself.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re pissed off because you know you’re better than them. You know that first grade promotion should be yours. You’re pissed off because of the system. You want more.”
“More what, Miles?”
“Glory, adulation, respect, acceptance.”
“You’re full of shit. That’s enough psycho babble for one night, change the channel partner.”
“You don’t want to hear the truth. All right, I’ll change the channel. So tell me about this mystery woman? She good in bed?” Miles asked with a full grin.
Returning his smile, I answered, “Miles, a true southern gentlemen would never respond to so coarse a question.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“Let me just say, from my years of experience, that the worst night of sex that I’ve ever had was still real good. Let’s just leave it at that.”
Miles was still chuckling to himself as I pulled up to the curb and parked the car. We got out and crossed the road to the entranceway of the Shady Cage. The Cage was an old sleazy southside bar that had seen her best day. In her time, she was a classy jazz club, but had now been reduced to an out of the way meeting place for lowlifes, dopers and pushers. I wondered why in the hell Hope would ever pick a clip joint like this? For that matter, how did she even know about this place?
CHAPTER FOUR
Miles and I hoofed it up to the door, slipping on more than one occasion on the icy covered roadway. An over grown ape, bulked up on steroids, greeted us at the door. You could tell he was no ordinary doorman. He was more of a bouncer, just another tough guy with a past, probably fresh out of the joint providing muscle for the owner, a bad ass made man who went by the name of Dondalo Foscari. I was tempted to flash my badge as I walked past him just to shake him up a little, but I’d already had enough fun for one night. Once we made our way past him, I scanned the room looking for some sign of Hope. Through the smoke and neon light of the ever present beer signs, I found her holed up in the back at a corner table. There was an orange and blue Coors sign perched above her head that from a distance gave her an angelic glow. She looked gorgeous even in these surroundings. Her blonde hair cascading down over her doll like face with those killer full red lips. From a distance she resembled the old time actress Ann Sheridan. She was one hell of a looker with an even disposition and a head on her shoulders to match.
I caught her eye and she smiled showing her dimples and picture perfect pearly white teeth as we approached the booth. I reached over and kissed her gently as Miles stood behind me off to the side, respectfully waiting for his introduction.
Responding to me, “I’m so glad you could make it.” Then glancing over at Miles and smiling warmly, she introduced herself, “Hi, I’m Hope Jens, you must be Miles. Mooney’s spoken of you often.”
“Please don’t believe a word he’s told you.”
“Never, please sit down and join me.”
Miles sat down in the booth opposite Hope, I slid down and squeezed in next to her. She playfully grabbed my knee and I flinched. She looked over with a playful grin as Miles spoke, “It’s really nice to finally meet you. Maybe when you get back from your business trip, you and Mooney could come over to our place for dinner. I’m sure my wife would love to meet you. Perhaps next Sunday?”
“I’d love to Miles, but I’m leaving town on a buying trip. I never know how long they’re going to be; could be a week, could be a month.”
Miles responded to Hope, “What do you buy?”
“Fabrics. primarily for furniture. It’s not the most glamorous or exciting job, but it pays the bills. Excuse me, Miles, but your head, I can’t help but notice. What happened?”
“An altercation in the station house with a violent man, nothing really.”
“Hopefully, you locked the bastard up.”
“Not exactly, Hope.”
“Now you’ve got my interest. Why isn’t he in jail? How did he get off?”
“Mooney, you want to take this one?”
Hope looked at me with a bemused smirk and bluest eyes I’d ever witnessed, “The altercation that Miles spoke of was between me and another cop. Miles got in the middle of it and fell into a desk.”
“You make it sound like an accident. I tried to pull you away from Slick Tony and the next thing I know I’m down on the floor with my head bleeding and an Excedrin headache.”
Hope looked over with that sly little girl smirk, “Is this true, Mooney?”
“Of course not, didn’t I warn you about Miles? He’s a pathological liar, you can’t believe a word he says.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Hope cooed.
Luckily the waitress showed up and saved me any further embarrassment. Hope ordered a Manhattan, Miles his usual Bud and a ginger ale for me.
Not wanting to revisit the previous conversation I thought I’d try a few jokes before Miles got revved up again and Hope wrote me off as a hooligan. “What do you call a lawyer that went bad?”
Hope and Miles were caught off guard, but as usual he responded, “What?”
“Senator. Here’s another one, what do you call a lawyer with an IQ of fifty?”
This time they both responded in harmony, “What?”
“Your Honor.”
I threw out a couple more lawyer jokes and they seemed content to play along. From the corner of my eye, I could see the waitress approaching with our drink order on a small black tray. When she was by my side, Hope made a most awkward move in reaching for her drink. The waitress caught off guard went spastic and dumped the tray on me. Hope was animated in making her apologies, while Miles was smiling ear to ear. Fully drenched in the Manhattan, beer and soda; the waitress quickly ran off and promptly returned with a bar towel. Hope grabbed the bar towel and dried me off the best she could, but even her best efforts were not enough. I was still wet and wreaked of alcohol.
Once calm was restored, we placed an order for a second round that was promptly delivered without incident. The waitress insisted that