David Bishop - The Original Alibi

Podkin eventually came around and opened his eyes, maybe ten minutes later. “Don’t move, I said. I have you wired to be plugged back in.” He cranked his head around and saw how I had him connected . He nodded. He understood.

“I’ve got some questions. If you answer them to my satisfaction, I’ll let you get up and leave. If you lie or take too long I’ll put this plug in.” I held it up for him to see. “Then wait until you come around again, if that next time doesn’t kill you, then I’ll repeat my questions. We’ll continue like that until I get my answers or you drop out of the game, permanent like. Understand?”

He nodded. His eyes followed the hook he held up to the metal doorknob and the wire from the wall to the hinge bolt.

“Who paid you to work me over and what were your orders?”

“I was to work you over hard. Keep you here two or three days. Then let you go. Hurt enough that you’d be down the rest of the week.”

“Who?”

“I have no idea.”

I motioned toward the wall with the plug. “No!” he screamed. “No. I don’t know. I swear I don’t know. I never saw the dude.”

“Tell me all about it.”

“He came up on me while I slept in my bed at home. I live alone. He kept a fucking flashlight in my face and showed me your picture. Said you’d be at that office building downtown today in the afternoon. I was to follow you and take you somewheres else. He wanted you out of commission for a week, but not killed. I don’t do murder.”

The general and his family knew I was going to the attorney Franklin’s office so it could have been any of them.

“Sure. You’re the sensitive type. Go on. I want it all.”

“He dropped a wad of hundreds on my chest and said, ‘If you don’t take him out of commission today, I’ll return and kill you in your sleep.’ He warned he knew me and my hangouts and he knew where I lived. He promised me eight thousand more if you were out of it for at least a week. Then he walked out of my room with the flashlight still on my kisser. After he left, I flipped on the light and counted the money. There were ten hundreds, with a promise of eight more big to come. Nine thousand for a beating, that’s good money, man. Hey, it’s not like I know you. You know?”

“I just went through your wallet, Ernest. You had four hundred, where’s the other six?”

“I had some bills man. Stuff I had to pay, you know.”

Ernest was telling the truth. He had been hired by the same guy who eleven years ago had paid Cory Jackson and Tommie Montoya, using the same method. The difference being that with the economy in a tough stretch right now, Ernest would have ended up with only nine thousand when Jackson and Montoya each got ten thousand. I felt like the blue light special at K-Mart.

I put the plug back in just long enough to make Ernest spasm. I wanted to leave it in and walk away, but Fidge would be here soon and I didn’t want him looking at me for some grade of murder. He might agree it was justifiable homicide, but I didn’t want to put him on the spot because it wouldn’t be. My killing him would not be to save myself or anyone else so the justifiable part would be too much of a stretch.

Five minutes later Fidge came through the outer door. I went out and told him what happened, speaking low so we wouldn’t be overheard. Then I took him back to meet Ernest Podkin who had kicked free the end of the wire wrapped around the hinge pin, disconnecting the circuit. His hands remained taped.

“Ernest, may I introduce Sergeant Terrence Fidgery.” Fidge showed him his badge. “The sergeant has confirmed I can file a complaint for kidnapping, and assault and battery. Are you interested in avoiding the arrest?” Podkin nodded his head. “Okay, here’s how we’ll do it. If you don’t go along I’ll go down and see the sergeant and file the complaint.”

Fidge said, “After speaking with Mr. Kile by phone, I pulled your sheet. I’d recommend you avoid this if at all possible.”

Podkin looked at me. “What do you want from me?”

“I keep your jacket and your hat, and you leave town. Right now, from here without speaking to anyone, even by phone. Don’t return until next month.”

“What about my other eight thousand?”

“Ernest. Ernest. You told me he promised you the rest if you kept me out of commission for a week. You didn’t do that. You also said he promised you a bullet if you didn’t get it done. Seems to me you’ve earned the bullet. I’d recommend you leave town rather than wait around for a bullet from a stranger. You wouldn’t see it coming. Only feel it. Briefly”

“This guy’s bought other beatings this same way, on the cheap.” Fidge lied. “He’s never paid any of the others. He wouldn’t pay you, even if you had earned it.”

“Podkin,” I said, “these are your choices. Take this deal, or the sergeant here hauls your ass downtown.”

“With an added charge of attempted murder,” Fidge threw in for good measure.

“Why do you want my jacket?”

“Podkin, we’ve talked all we’re going to. Do you take what’s behind door number one or behind door number two?”

Podkin stared at me; his face blank.

I simplified it. “Jail or leave town. What’ll it be?”

“I’ll split man. Lemme go.”

I cut the tape from around his wrists. He took off his jacket, put it over the seat of the bent chair, dropped his hat on top, and walked out. We followed him to the door and watched him drive away in the van he must have used to bring me here from behind Russell’s restaurant.

Fidge drove me back to the lot behind Russell’s on Atlantic. The slight movements associated with leaning as he turned corners leveraged my rib cage, delivering the trauma of each bump home to the damaged area. It hurt like hell is what I’m trying to say. On the way I explained to Fidge a little more of my plan and how it might, just might, help close his unsolved Ileana Corrigan murder case.

In my own car, I hung over my steering wheel for a few minutes trying to find a way to breathe that didn’t make me want to stop breathing. Driving my car felt better. The holding of the steering wheel while turning made it easier. I drove slowly. I wouldn’t say life was good, but it had gotten better.

Axel had gone back to his place, or he could’ve been at Mackie’s, or with Hillie, or a movie maybe. He had become a big fan of movies during his years in stir. In any event, he wasn’t home. I wanted to go to bed and sleep until the twelfth of never, but first I needed to try to figure who had employed Ernest to work me over. The one thing I knew, whoever it had been would fail at keeping me off the job. I’d be after his ass in the morning.

With some Irish straight in a short glass I went out on the patio. Yeooow. Irish may be good for cleansing a wound, but in a half raw mouth it stung like riding through hell on a splintered board. I swished it around before swallowing. After a few drinks it calmed. As I saw it, or chose to see it, that addressed my need for immediate medical care. In the morning, I’d go see Doc Medford, one of my loyal readers, to learn if my rib was broken or whatever. I was hoping for the whatever.

The person who had hired Podkin knew the doctor had given the general about a week to live, that’s why he or she wanted me off my feet for that long. The quest for who killed Ileana Corrigan was the general’s private passion. Once he died, the personal representative for the estate could be expected to leave the cold case of the murder of Ileana Corrigan in police archives. Eddie Whittaker would take over leadership of the general’s assets and he considers having been released by the court to be enough. I would be taken off the case. To solve the woman’s murder and earn my fee, I had the same amount of time left the general had.