~Passioned pastel neon lights
Light up the jeweled traveler
Who, lost in scenes of smoke-filled dreams
Find questions but no answers~
—from Daily Nightly by Michael Nesmith
"Queen of Hearts."
"Four aces."
"Two crabapples and a banana!"
"Sixteen red!"
Tony walked past the card players and the other gamblers silently, barely giving them a second glance. He had entered a local casino in the hopes of finding some of Baby Face's gang. They had been known to frequent such locales in New York City, so Tony had decided that it was worth a try. He was out of uniform, not wanting to arouse any suspicions by immediately revealing that he was a police officer. Of course, if he met up with that femme fatale again, she would most likely recognize him. But he would have to take that chance.
Perhaps he should not have come alone, but he had not wanted Marco along. So instead he had sent his partner down another path in an attempt to locate the woman Vivalene. There was a possible lead as to her whereabouts, and the captain had suggested that the two of them split up to pursue the different paths. Tony was not extremely pleased about that prospect, either, but he had to hope that Marco would not make a disaster out of what should be a simple assignment.
He paused to watch a craps game, crossing his arms. Standing across from him was the heavyset man he recognized from the police folder as "Sherry Fingerhead." He seemed to be winning. Tony stayed silent, blending in with the others crowded around until the game was over. He was observing Sherry's methods and personality. The man was enthused as his luck continued, and he seemed to enjoy the attention he was getting from the others. When he at last decided to quit the game, he was still ahead.
Casually Tony went over to him, weaving through the departing crowd. "You probably could have kept at it for a while," he remarked when he reached Sherry, who was collecting his winnings.
Sherry shrugged and turned to face him. "It's better to quit when you're ahead," he replied, then looked at Tony curiously—or was it suspiciously? "I haven't seen you around before," he remarked.
"I'm new here," Tony replied, quickly running through his mind for an alias he could use. Even if Sherry did not realize that he was a police officer, using his real name could prove disastrous. "I'm Clyde," he said then.
"Just Clyde?" Sherry asked with a blink.
"Just Clyde." Tony paused. "I've been called `Kissing Clyde' in some circles." He shrugged and looked slightly annoyed. "I never did like that." Then he looked back up at Sherry, changing the subject before he could be asked how he had gotten that moniker. "And I know who you are."
"Yeah?" Sherry continued to look suspicious. He led Tony over to a table in the corner. "How?"
"Word gets around, Sherry Fingerhead. I heard you used to be pretty good when you played the casinos in New York City." Tony smiled in a secretive way. "I used to hang out there sometimes. I'm originally from Brooklyn." The latter part was true. Tony still had a lasting accent from his years in New York. But of course he had never observed Sherry in any other casino—though this was not the first time he had gone undercover at such an establishment. It was also not the first time he had used the Clyde alias, and it was true that he had ended up with the unwelcome pseudonym "Kissing Clyde," but the incident surrounding the name's origins had not been his fault, as he was quick to point out when anyone brought it up.
Sherry smiled a bit, obviously pleased that his reputation had preceded him. "So, you gamble too, then?" he asked.
"I like a game of poker now and then," Tony answered vaguely, "but I'm usually behind the scenes . . . pulling the strings, if you know what I mean." He sat down at the table.
Sherry followed suit. "Oh, so you mean you've got a racket," he said knowingly, leaning forward on the table. This new person intrigued him, if his story was true. And if it was not, well, then he was still intrigued. He would make certain to keep his guard up.
"That's right. I just came to Detroit to start another one." Tony crossed his arms on the table. "I hear you've hooked up with that jewel thief Morales."
"Yeah—Baby Face." Sherry beamed. He obviously possessed a great deal of respect for the mobster, which Tony was slightly surprised about. From what he had learned of Baby Face through the police files, it was not likely that even the other members of his mob escaped his fiery temper.
"Is he as good as they say he is?" Tony continued to look blasé, not wanting to appear too interested. "I guess he'd have to be, since he's been eluding the law for so long."
"He's always got great ideas," Sherry returned, careful not to say too much. "I met him in New York about a year ago." He frowned at Tony. "Why are you interested in Baby Face if you're running a gambling racket?" he wanted to know. "Baby Face never really does much at the casinos."
"Just curious. Word gets around about him everywhere." Tony shrugged. "I was just wondering what made him pick Detroit, of all places. He was doing alright for himself in New York, wasn't he?" He could see that Sherry was on his guard. That was good. It meant that he was not an idiot. Tony always found it exasperating to try to deal with people who did not know what they were doing. It would make his job easier, but it would also make him feel that Baby Face was pathetic and he would wonder how the mobster had achieved his notoriety.
"Yeah. He just thought New York was getting kinda dull." Sherry idly toyed with the centerpiece on the table. Tony had the feeling that there was more to it, but he could see that Sherry would not volunteer any further information. "What about you?" he said suddenly, figuratively turning the tables. "Why did you come to Detroit?"
Tony leaned back calmly. "The cops were getting too close to the truth, so I decided to pack up and come somewhere new." He smirked quietly in a knowing way. "There's always plenty of people in any city who want to get in on the action." He gave Sherry a searching look, as if silently asking if he was one of them.
"I know. I see 'em around a lot." Sherry hesitated. "Are you planning to open your racket here, in this casino?"
"Probably." Tony glanced around. "It's a nice enough place. It'd suit me." He looked back to Sherry. "Would you be interested?"
Sherry idly shuffled some cards that he had taken out and was holding. "I don't know," he answered slowly. "Maybe." He started to stand up. "Give me some time to think about it."
Tony nodded calmly and got up as well. "I'll be around." He reached to shake Sherry's hand, and Sherry accepted. Their eyes met, but neither could easily determine what the other was thinking. After a moment each went his separate way, vanishing into the crowds. Neither one ever dreamed that their fates would later become very, very connected. Sherry thought only that they would possibly become partners in a gambling racket. And Tony believed that he would be able to use Sherry to catch the entire gang.
As Sherry weaved his way among the people, Vivalene suddenly emerged right in front of him. She smiled seductively, wearing the strapless, glittering purple dress that had sent many men's hearts a-flutter. Judging from her pleased expression, she had captured plenty of attention tonight. "Hello, Vince," she said now, flipping her shoulder-length red hair. "Who was that you were talking to?"
Vince sighed, wishing that Vivalene had not suddenly appeared. She made him nervous. He was certain that someday she would reveal her true colors. It was obvious that she wanted something from Baby Face, but as of right now, none of them were certain what it was. But none of them trusted her. Vince had the feeling that she knew it, too. "It was some guy with a gambling racket," he answered her now. "He said his name was Clyde—Kissing Clyde." He did not bother to mention that Tony had said that he had not given himself that bizarre pseudonym.
"Really?" Vivalene's eyes opened wide in mock surprise for a moment. Then she smirked again and came forward, taking his arm. "Well, now, this is news." Calmly and purposely she led the confused Vince to a vacant corner and then spoke to him in quiet tones. "I always wondered who the infamous Kissing Clyde was. Now I know." Gently she pushed him down into the booth and then slid in beside him, moving close and playing with his tie. She was well-known for being overly flirtatious towards everyone else who was in the mob, which none of them were particularly fond of. She even bothered Vince's quiet friend Harry.
Vince pushed her away. "You act like you know something," he observed.
Vivalene laughed and leaned on his shoulder. "Oh, I do," she purred. "You should know, Darling, that `Kissing Clyde' is really one of Detroit's finest. I met him at the museum robbery." She glanced around, as if making certain that no one was listening in, and then lowered her voice even more. "I don't know his name, but I'm quite sure it isn't Clyde."
Vince narrowed his eyes. "We should tell Baby Face about this," he declared.
"Of course, of course." Vivalene smiled. "But I'm certain I already know what he will say. He will want you to not let on that you know about the ruse. And that's logical to me. We should let it drag on for a while. We might learn something about how we can trip him up."
"Oh, you just want to try to steal his heart," Vince retorted, standing up and exiting the booth from the other direction. "I'm going to find out myself what Baby Face will say."
"You crush me, Darling," Vivalene smirked, getting up and following him.
****
She was running blindly through the darkened, slippery streets, only one thought staying constant in her mind. She had to get away from Ralph. She had put up with his abuse and his frightening temper for much too long. Now she was almost to the state of panic, her blue eyes wide as she ran around the next corner. She had almost been certain that she was about to die. Never had she seen Ralph as furious as he had been tonight. His heist had failed due to the arrival of the police. Almost all of his gang members had been arrested, and he had only barely been able to get away. Worst of all, he had been certain that she had been the one who had told the police about the planned robbery. He had slapped and punched and kicked at her, as usual, and she had tried to defend herself, as usual, but then he had reached for a kitchen knife and had tried to stab her. She had only barely dived out of the way in time, and even so, the blade had grazed her arm. But for now she was ignoring the blood.
Was he following her? Sometimes she was certain that she could hear footsteps behind her, and she would look back wildly—only to see absolutely nothing. She was left to believe that it was merely her imagination, and truly, she would be happy if that was the case. It seemed as if the streets of Detroit were utterly deserted tonight. If he caught up to her, then she was certain that she would never get away.
That was when she darted around another corner and saw the headlights directly in her path.
****
He was at the wheel of the tan Plymouth, pressing down on the gas pedal almost as far as it would go. He was furious tonight, and in need of releasing his anger on something—anything. Arnold, one of his men, had made a blunder that had nearly cost the two of them and Harry their freedom—and their very lives, as they had become ambushed in a shootout with a rival mob. Arnold had ended up dead—and it served him right!—and two of those in the other gang had been killed as well. The police had been alerted, but by the time they had arrived, all they had found were the dead bodies. Anyone still alive had managed to escape.
As he had fled the site, he had noticed among the officers the one who had tried to stop him and Vivalene at the museum. It seemed to him that the detective was becoming involved in any case that had to do with the Mob, but that was not surprising. He was most likely the one assigned to catch the thieves from the museum and had followed up the possible lead that they were involved in the gang war. They would probably meet again in the near future.
Suddenly a young woman appeared in front of the car. His eyes widened, then narrowed as he cursed and tried to put on the brakes. He was not even certain that he was going to stop in time. It always had to be something. It was a conspiracy to drive him mad! "Get out of the way!" he yelled, just as he managed to halt the vehicle's wild adventure. The woman looked up, a mixed expression of shock, confusion, and relief all on her face at once.
He did not feel the least bit relieved, however. His vexation was only further getting the best of him. Angrily he thrust open the door and stepped out, walking over to her purposefully and furiously. "What's the matter with you?!" he demanded. "Didn't anyone teach you to look both ways before crossing the street?!"
She looked at him, seeming to shrink back slightly in nervousness. "I...I'm sorry," she answered him, her voice quiet and sweet.
As he grew closer, he could see the various bruises and cuts on her face and arms and he frowned darkly. Due to his own unhappy childhood, it always annoyed him to see the results of someone having beaten a woman or a child. Most likely she was running from an abusive boyfriend or husband, but that was most definitely not his business—just as long as she kept herself away from the wheels of his car. The last thing he wanted to do was to run someone down. That would only cause him a lot more trouble, especially if anyone was watching and would take down the license plate number. "Well, go on," he growled then, snapping his fingers and pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. "Get lost."
She nodded shakily and went to walk past him, but at that moment she could hear the sound of shoes slapping against the pavement. Feeling horror grip her being, she looked back up at the car's driver. "He's coming after me," she said in a shaking tone bordering on hysteria, and almost without fully thinking she grabbed at the lapels of his suit jacket. It was rare that she became so frightened, but she could not help it. She had never before experienced the fear of knowing that someone wanted her dead and would stop at nothing to ensure that it happened. Now she was hoping against hope that this person could do something to help her. Perhaps he could take her to the police, or to her sister's house...If he could just do something! He looked like a man who would not stand for any sort of nonsense.
He glowered and grabbed at her wrists, trying to pry her away from him. "Who's coming?" he snapped.
"Ralph!" she responded frantically, hearing the footsteps getting closer. "He thinks I told the police about the heist he was trying to pull off! I didn't, I honestly didn't, but he won't believe me! He's trying to kill me!" She tensed, moving closer to him. For a reason that she could not understand, she felt safe around him.
He frowned at her, some of his anger fading away and being replaced by curiosity. "Ralph?" he repeated suspiciously. "You mean the gang leader Ralph Adelardi?"
She looked at him in surprise, but nodded. "How did you know?" she asked, but before he could reply, Ralph turned the corner and came into view. She swallowed hard, her eyes widening. He was holding the knife that he had used on her before, and she did not have any doubt that he was planning to do it again.
Ralph looked at her furiously, his eyes burning with hatred and rage. "So now you're cheating on me too?" he yelled, waving the knife about in the air as he drew closer. "Then that's what this is all about! You told the police because you were hoping I'd get sent to prison, since you have someone else!" As he approached them, his eyes opened wide in stunned shock, and she suddenly had the feeling that these two men had met before.
"That's not true, Ralph!" she protested in vain. "I...I just ran in front of his car a few minutes ago and he had to stop before he hit me! We've never seen each other before! Honest, we haven't!" As Ralph continued to advance with the weapon, she began to worry that he was going to kill them both.
But then the man she was with drew out a gun. He glared coldly at Ralph, his eyes dark. "You don't have a lot of faith in her," he remarked. "You just can't bear to face the truth that it was your own idiocy that sicced the cops on you." The gun clicked. "People who say that I have a bad temper never met you. You ambushed me and a couple of my men earlier tonight, didn't you?"
Ralph growled, not intimidated by the gun. "You just happened to run into me and some of my men as we were running from the crime scene! The cops were after us and my men just got a little trigger-happy." He gripped the knife tighter, looking for the perfect opportunity to throw it. "You killed two of them, and the others ended up arrested! I'm the only one who got away."
"They were shooting at us!" came the furious retort. "Did you expect us to sit around and take it? Of course we fired back at them!" His eyes narrowed. "One of my men is dead too." Not that it was a big loss to him, but he was still annoyed that it had happened. And he had never liked Ralph, ever since their paths had crossed in Chicago a couple of years earlier. He could tell that this confrontation would not end without someone being killed—and he was determined that it would not be him.
"Too bad." Ralph looked to the young woman standing to the side of the car, the hatred obvious in his expression. "But if it's true that you haven't been fooling around with my girl, then you shouldn't mind if I just finish her off. I can't tolerate betrayal." He raised the knife more, about to throw it.
A loud thunderclap echoed up and down the deserted street. She jumped, startled, and looked around. It took her a moment to realize that what she had heard was a gun going off. As she looked back to Ralph, she was stunned to see him staggering back. The knife dropped from his hand and he clutched at his chest, pain and perplexity spreading across his features. The mysterious man stood by, continuing to hold his gun at the wounded gang leader and watching as Ralph sank to the concrete.
"I can't tolerate killing someone for something they haven't done," was the cold reply. "The girl's been loyal to you for ages. I've heard about her from some of the others in your mob. You've got no reason to think that she'd be a snitch. But when the first thing goes wrong, you blame her and start beating up on her. You're pathetic. I can't respect your kind." He waited for a moment longer, watching to see if Ralph would struggle up again, and then went forward, taking up the knife from the ground.
Ralph looked at him hatefully, then at the woman, who seemed too stunned to do anything. He cursed them both before his eyes closed.
The other man checked him over for life and then turned away, replacing his gun in his jacket. He looked over at the woman searchingly, studying her expression, and opened the car door. "There wasn't anything else to do," he growled then. "He was going to kill you, you know."
"I know." She stayed where she was, frozen, staring at the blood forming underneath Ralph's body. She had believed that she loved him, once, a long time ago. But after he had started to change, she had not known what to think. She had begun to fear him to the point where she dreaded him coming to see her. And she could not deny that she felt a certain relief now that she knew he would not bother her again. But even so, there was also a part of her that felt a sadness because of his death.
She looked up at her savior, swallowing hard. "You wanted to kill him anyway, didn't you?" she asked softly.
"He's been a thorn in my side for a long time now, and after a lot of things that happened tonight, and earlier, he deserved to die." He frowned at the slice in her arm. "You're going to bleed to death if you don't take care of that," he muttered.
She nodded weakly. "I...I know..." She tried to shake herself back into the present. "Could...could you give me a ride?" She hated to simply leave Ralph's body there, but she did not know what else to do. Perhaps, she decided, she could make an anonymous call to the police from a phone booth once she got back into a more populated part of town.
He grunted. "Fine." He handed her a handkerchief to place over the injury to stop the bleeding. "What's your name, anyway?"
She walked around to the passenger side of the car and got inside. "Ruby," she answered quietly. She did not bother to ask his name. Obviously he was another mobster, and she was certain that he would not want to reveal his identity to her. But she could not deny that she was grateful towards him for helping her, and she smiled shyly as he got into the car.
He glanced at her briefly, then slammed the door shut and started the engine. It was strange, but he had the feeling that he had not seen the last of her. He also had the feeling that there was some sort of deep connection between the two of them, but he could not explain that, either. The last time he had felt like that about anyone had been ten years earlier, when he had met a student from a prestigious academy. They had been as two sides of the same coin, and they had understood each other, but they had never seen each other again. Sometimes he wondered what had become of him.
****
Tony woke up with a start when he realized that he was falling out of his chair. In frustration he caught himself and then leaned back, gazing up at the ceiling. He had been up nearly all of the previous night. After he had left the casino, he had received a call saying that there had been a gang war elsewhere in the city. He had gone to investigate that, and since then he had been trying to piece together the identities of the bodies that had been found. Two of them were from the gang of a man called Ralph Adelardi, who had been running from the scene of a heist, but the other man was unknown. And in addition to that, Ralph Adelardi had been found shot to death in a deserted part of the city, due to an anonymous telephone call.
Tony sat up straight again, rubbing at his eyes and then remembering about the search he had been performing on the computer. He had been checking into all known records on the members of Adelardi's gang in an attempt to determine who the other person was who had been killed. So far, he had not found anything that would give him an idea of what had gone on. The ones that the police had managed to arrest the previous night were refusing to speak, so Tony was being forced to try other methods to learn things.
With a sigh, he grabbed the mouse and scrolled through the records that had been brought up from the Chicago police department, where several of Adelardi's gang members had been arrested in the past. As he went through the list, he found to his surprise that one of the men in the mob had relocated to Detroit and was living there peaceably, unlike the others in the mob. He had been wanted on charges of robbery and second-degree murder, but according to the record onscreen, the matter had been cleared.
Tony frowned. Those were serious charges, but the account was very vague on what had been done to resolve things. There was not any indication of a court date, or of new evidence that had been presented. Something seemed terribly amiss. After a moment's hesitation he printed up the document. It was an older record. Perhaps there was something more recent somewhere else that would explain things better. Or, he decided upon reflection, he could simply drive out to the man's house and see what he could learn there.
****
He was surprised when he arrived at Giovanni Fontana's home and found that it was in a very well-to-do neighborhood. According to the record, Fontana had a job that would not pay nearly enough for such a good house. Tony got out of the car slowly and went up to the porch, observing how well-kept everything was. He rang the doorbell, then waited for a response. He could hear someone inside, heading for the door. Then he blinked, hearing the man call out.
"I'm coming, Barbosa! Honestly, you're late!" As the door was flung open, Fontana blinked in shock, realizing his mistake. "Oh, my apologies, sir," he exclaimed then. "I thought you were a...business associate."
Tony nodded slowly. "That's alright," he replied, but he memorized Fontana's remarks. It surprised him, because he knew an Officer Barbosa on the force. It did not seem as though it could ever possibly be the same one, but it still seemed to be an odd coincidence. In any case, Tony put those thoughts aside for the moment and came back to the matter at hand.
He held up his identification. "Mr. Fontana, I'm Detective Ferano from the local police precinct," he said now.
"I see," Fontana said slowly, still looking bewildered. "Am I in some sort of trouble, Detective?" He leaned on the door in a casual sort of way, but Tony could tell that he was apprehensive.
"No, you aren't, Mr. Fontana," Tony was quick to assure him. "I just need to ask you a few questions. May I come in?"
Fontana swallowed, but stepped back and gestured inside. "Of course." He smiled. "After all, I'm not a hindrance to the law anymore. I gave all that nonsense up years ago."
Tony entered a well-furnished parlor with marble tiles and expensive paintings. He could see ahead into the living room, and it was the same way, if not more so. He looked back to Fontana as he spoke again. "To be honest, it's `that nonsense' that I want to talk about," he admitted, and watched the older man's eyes narrow in confusion. He held up a copy of the offending document and allowed Fontana to look it over. "This record is pretty vague when it mentions that you were cleared of the robbery and murder charges. Can you explain what happened?"
Fontana shrugged. "Things were settled out of court," he replied nonchalantly.
Tony was not satisfied with that response. "And they proved that you weren't guilty?" he pressed.
Now Fontana looked angry. "Of course!" he snapped. "Detective, are you insinuating that something dishonest went on?"
"I'm not insinuating anything, Mr. Fontana," Tony retorted. "I'm just trying to understand why the record is so ambiguous."
Fontana snorted. "I wouldn't know. You would have to ask the person who typed in the information." He gestured to the door. "I believe this conversation is over, Detective. My company will be here shortly."
Tony could not help thinking, And you don't want them to see I'm here? but he restrained himself from saying it aloud. Instead he went to comply, but then paused and turned back, pretending that something else had just occured to him. "You seem to be doing well for yourself," he remarked, indicating the paintings and a knickknack cabinet.
"Quite." Fontana looked at him coldly. "My job pays well. Detective, that document truly is outdated. I know what you're thinking, but the fact is simply that I have moved on to another job that pays much more than the previous one did." He ushered Tony to the door and practically closed it on top of him with a curt, "Good day."
Tony turned back just as the door was firmly closed. He frowned, gazing at it, and then sighed. There was not any point in knocking again and trying to learn something else. But Fontana had definitely acted suspicious. Tony supposed that he could merely be an exciteable man who did not appreciate any implication that he was not living uprightly, but somehow he doubted it. As he walked down the steps and out to his car, he suddenly decided that he would stay around long enough to see exactly who it was that Fontana was expecting. Fontana had said that it was a "business associate," and had revealed the person's name to be Barbosa. Tony wanted to know more.
He drove up the street, past a couple of houses, and parked under a generous weeping willow tree to wait. The leafy boughs covered the car just enough so that it would not especially be noticeable, but still would enable him to see what was going on at Fontana's house.
He did not have long to wait, but what he saw only gave him more questions—unwelcome ones. A wine-colored car drove up and parked in Fontana's driveway, and then a man alighted whom Tony recognized. It was Officer Barbosa. As he watched in disbelief, the policeman walked up to the porch and knocked. When Fontana opened the door, Tony could hear him say, "It's you this time! Good, good! Come in quickly." And then, as Barbosa entered, Fontana growled, "Some detective was just here," before shutting the door.
Tony slumped against the back of the seat, staring at the closed door for a long moment. That did not look good for either Fontana or Barbosa. Why were they having a rendezvous? He hated to think it, but he wondered if Fontana could be bribing Barbosa to keep him out of prison when he actually needed to be there. He had always believed Barbosa to be an honest cop, but he had seen enough corruption in the world to understand that sometimes people were not at all what they seemed to be.
He wondered what to do now. He certainly did not have any proof that Barbosa had done anything wrong, and he could not very well accuse him on the basis of seeing him go to visit Giovanni Fontana—though Fontana's "business associate" comment certainly did not make it look good for Barbosa. But Tony supposed that all he could do for right now was to keep a close watch on both of them and see what transpired. He sighed softly, waiting until Barbosa came out and drove away before revving his own engine and departing from the street.