M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

“Dammit, Detective, didn’t you hear me? It AIN’T there!” Leo yelled emphatically.

“Look, Detective Maxwell,” Leo went on in a calmer voice, “we just want the rest of our money. We figure wasting the guy was worth more than the thirty grand we got up front and besides, we’ve taken all the big risks so…” Jake broke in; “Tell him he promised we would be taken care of.” Jake spoke loudly so Monte could hear him.

“Be quiet; no, no, no not you, Detective—I’m talkin’ to Jake. He wants the rest of his money too.” Leo rubbed his forehead. “We want the money now, Detective Maxwell,” Leo stated again.

“Just be patient boys,” Monte interjected. “I told you boys you’d be taken care of and you will be—very soon in fact.”

“We’re done, Detective,” Leo interrupted. “We did what you wanted and snuffed the Kelshaw guy on the first job and we’ve been chasin’ our tails on this second bit of crap and almost got busted. Like I said, we took all the risks and no more!! We want the rest of our money by Monday, or else! We’re serious; you can find us at Atlas Window Cleaners and bring the money!” Leo shouted as he hung up the phone.

“That’s tellin’ him,” Jake grinned. “The big man better pay up or else!”

“Yeah,” Leo retorted as the two walked off.

Thursday, September 18, 1980

12:10 AM

Monte was angry, “How dare those two low-lifes talk to me like I was a nothing… a nobody,” he fumed. “I’ll fix them,” he muttered. “Imbeciles, who do they think they are… calling me to tell me they screwed up another simple job? They just didn’t look hard enough for the stuff,” he told himself.

Monte sat thinking. His eyes glittered and became narrow slits; a new thought had occurred to him. What was Kelshaw carrying that was so important that Ramsey and his client were so desperate to get? It had to be worth a bundle in order to be as valuable as a “hit”. And if it was worth all that would Jake and Leo want to give it up, especially if they thought they could make more than the sixty grand they had contracted for? Not likely! Why not say they couldn’t find whatever it is and try to collect on both ends?

He was seething as the thoughts whirled around in his head that they might have double crossed him.

“I’m not getting killed because of those two scumbags,” he exploded. “No sir. I think I’ll pay them a little call at the St. Croix Hotel and surprise them.” He patted his gun in the holster.

Monte left the den and put on his coat; he stuck his head in the bedroom door rousing his sleeping wife Dora, “I’m going out and I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“Okay, goodnight,” she murmured.

12:30 AM

There was no one on duty at the desk as Monte entered the St. Croix Hotel but that didn’t matter. Monte reached under the counter and grabbed the stained register. He found Leo and Jake were in a second floor room 208.

The hotel smelled as sleazy as it appeared to be. Greasy cooking smells, probably from over-used hot plates, mingled with stale tobacco, the sweet smell of pot and dirty bathrooms filled the air. Monte wasn’t surprised; he had been involved in a number of raids that brought him to places like the St. Croix Hotel. Pioneer Square was experiencing regeneration, but Jake and Leo’s pad had a long way to go before it would qualify as an ‘artsy’ makeover restaurant or bookstore.

No light could be seen from the crack under the door. He knocked, no one answered. Not home yet he thought. They’re probably at some bar celebrating how smart they are for out-foxing me. Monte tried the door and found it locked. He smiled. “Small problem,” he told himself. He took a special set of keys from his pocket and easily opened the door.

Detective Maxwell stepped inside, turning on the light. He closed the door and stood looking at the room illumined by a single ceiling light fixture. Surprisingly, everything was moderately clean. He suspected that housekeeping didn’t make it more than once a year.

Two cots, separated by a nightstand that showed different layers of color through chipped paint and cigarette burns, stood against one wall. There was one overstuffed chair covered in a faded and soiled fabric that might have been blue flowered chintz. A broken spring protruded from the sagging bottom. The chair and a window shared the wall that faced the door.

A sad chest of drawers with a leg replaced by two bricks to keep it from falling, leaned sorrowfully against the other wall beside a rust stained sink. In a corner next to the door was the closet.

Monte took time searching for any items that might have been Kelshaw’s but found nothing. He flipped the mattresses off the cots and after assuring himself that they held no secrets, proceeded to dump the dresser drawers of the few meager articles of clothing. Only a few stained and wrinkled letters and a dog-eared picture served as anything that might qualify as documents rested in the bottom of one of the drawers, but these had not belonged to Kelshaw.

Next was the closet which was equally unremarkable; nothing there except some tired work shoes which Monte turned over shook and found empty. He turned out the pockets of the pants hanging on hooks and felt through all pockets of shirts and the only two coats in the enclosure. No shelf; no place to hide anything, at least not an obvious place.

“Well, I’ll just sit down and wait.” Monte found he was talking to himself again. “What a surprise they’ll get.” He smiled again as he turned out the light and sat down in the darkened room to wait.

It was so dark that Monte couldn’t see his watch, but guessed it was around one o’clock Thursday morning when he heard Leo’s voice outside the door, but couldn’t make out what was said.

Jake and Leo entered their room, turned on the light and stopped short. Shock registered on their faces when they saw Monte sitting with his gun drawn and pointed at them.

“What’s the matter, boys? Cat got your tongue?”

Leo looked at Jake and back at Maxwell. “Wha’, what are you doing here Detective Maxwell?” he asked fearfully. “We ain’t done nuthin’… Why the gun?”

“Get over there against the wall, both of you,” Monte commanded as he rose from the dilapidated chair. “Face the wall with your hands behind your heads!” First, he frisked Jake removing the offending knife from his person, then Leo. “Okay, turn around slowly,” he directed. Stepping back and slapping the .38 against the palm of his hand he ordered both of the men to empty their pockets on the floor.

Leo and Jake did as they were told. They both knew better than to argue with Monte. Their instincts told them he was in a killer mood.

“Now then boys,” he smiled menacingly, “I came to collect all the items you took from Kelshaw—every one,” he emphasized.

Their faces reflected surprise and then fear. “Honest, Detective Maxwell, we didn’t get no stuff off the guy, and we didn’t find anything at the Center either. Ya’ gotta believe us,” Leo pleaded.

Monte’s eyes glittered. “Then where did his stuff go?” He asked in mock pleasantry.

After obeying Monte’s command “We didn’t have time to search him before that damn priest came out,” Jake said angrily, his temper was gaining on him. Leo glanced at him nervously. This was not the time to further provoke Monte.

Monte’s temper exploded; he came across the room at them. “Lies!” he raged as he brought the side of his gun down against Jake’s cheek in a glancing blow. Jake fell and Monte grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back up against the wall.

Looking at Leo he said, “Don’t even think of moving. I swear I’ll blow your friggin’ heads off.” He slammed Jake against the wall again, yelling, “All I’ve heard from you morons are lies and excuses! I think you’re holding out on me. You were thinking that maybe you could double-cross old Monte and keep whatever Kelshaw had plus maybe get paid the rest of the dough. Unh, uh,” he said caressing the gun this time along Leo’s cheek, “it’s not going to work.” He then slammed the gun against Leo’s head and watched him drop to his knees.