Victor Gischler - Gun Monkeys

“I’ll be leaving now, Jeffers.”

“But what about the ledgers?”

I leaned forward, slapped an open palm down on his desk. “You don’t get dick until I hear about Stan. Get on your phone, call who you have to call, but when I get back in touch with you, you’d better tell me something useful.”

“You’re not being smart about this, Swift.” The tone in his voice kept shifting. He couldn’t decide if he was pleading or telling me off. “Stan’s a sinking ship. Why are you still shoveling coal into the furnace?”

“I’ll tell you why.” The words came out harsh, and Jeffers flinched. “Because when you throw in with a guy, you stick with him. Otherwise, you’re just some kind of animal.”

As I spoke, I pounded the desk again for emphasis, but my other hand slipped under the edge of the desk. The microphone was the size of a button and had some gummy stuff on the back so it would stay. I pressed hard, made sure it stuck.

Jeffers shook his head. He couldn’t believe how dumb I was being. “Only dogs are that loyal, Swift.” He opened the top desk drawer, and reached in lazily. When he came out with the little automatic, I was surprised. I didn’t think he had it in him.

“If you don’t put that away,” I told him, “I’ll take it away from you and shove it straight up your ass.”

He lifted his chin, put on a brave face. “I can’t have you running around causing trouble. We’re going to sit here nice and quiet while I call Beggar and find out what he wants done with you.”

My hand snaked out fast, and I plucked the little pistol from his grip. His eyes grew, and he looked down at his empty hand like he was trying to figure out a magic trick. When he looked back at me, my fist caught him on the chin. The No Sale signs popped up in his eyes, and he wilted into a little heap behind his desk.

I left his office and made for the front door.

Tina stood in my way. Her robe had fallen open, and she was naked beneath. Her robe had fallen open, because she wasn’t holding it closed anymore. She wasn’t holding it closed anymore, because she needed both hands to point the enormous revolver at me. It looked like a.44 magnum. It looked like it could make me one hundred percent dead if she pulled the trigger.

“Hi.”

I cleared my throat. “Hello.”

She was steady with the gun, held it well like she’d been trained how. She looked over my shoulder, trying to see into the office. “What did you do to Alan?”

“He’s just napping. I had to put him out.”

“Why?”

“He pulled a gun on me.”

We exchanged long, probing looks, sized each other up, and I think we were both surprised at what we saw. It was obvious to her I’d had a gun pointed at me before. It was obvious to me she was ready to pull the trigger if necessary. Your average person doesn’t know dick about aiming a gun or how to hold it or squeeze the trigger. Your average person would shit his pants when looking down the barrel of a cocked handgun. We were not two average people.

And then she did something so smart, it made me realize how dangerous she might be.

She stepped back and motioned with her chin that I should leave.

“Just like that?”

“I have to speak to Alan,” she said, “before I can do anything with you.”

I gave her a half-hearted salute. “Until next time.”

She smiled, cold and tight. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Mr. Swift.”

I got out to my car and fumbled with the headphones, put them on, adjusted the volume. I could hear Tina helping Jeffers to his feet, getting him back in his chair. He groaned, and she said she’d get him some ice for his chin.

“What do we do?” asked Jeffers. “This is bad.”

I looked in the rearview mirror. A car approached, parked behind me. It was so blatantly unmarked that it screamed “cop.” I quickly plugged the receiver into the little tape recorder and stashed the whole setup under the car seat. I tugged off the belly holster, and the pistol joined the tape recorder.

A tall man climbed out of the unmarked car. I knew him. He was bent and his hair was thick and white. He wore a shiny brown suit and cheap cop shoes. He walked up to my car on the driver’s side and knocked on the window.

I rolled it down. “Morning, Burt.”

“Hi, Charlie.” He bit his thumbnail, looked almost like he was embarrassed to be troubling me. “I think you’d better take a ride with me, okay? I got somebody back here that wants to have a word with you.”

We didn’t seem to bedriving in any particular direction.

I’d known Detective Sergeant Burt Remington about five years, and he knew me. I was the guy that brought him the fat envelopes full of cash whenever Stan needed a favor from the police department. So it was with reluctance that Burt held open the car door and motioned me into the backseat with the FBI agent.

I knew he was an agent just by looking at him, the three-piece gray suit, the haircut, the standard-issue sunglasses all gave him away. He reeked of Harvard or Yale or wherever glossy G-men came from. But if that wasn’t enough, he flipped open his little badge wallet and said, “I’m Federal Agent Dunn, Mr. Swift. Let’s you and I have a chat.”

Dunn smoked a Pall Mall. Burt drove.

“You mind if I roll down a window?” I asked.

“I mind,” said Dunn.

Hardass.

“Let me fill you in on a few details, Mr. Swift. Are you listening?”

“I’m listening.”

“Good. I’m only going to say this once. I don’t have to say it at all. I’m being nice. We could simply sweep you under the rug if we wanted. Am I clear?”

“You’re clear.”

“Good.” Dunn rolled the window down just long enough to flick out his cigarette butt. He lit another immediately. I tried to breathe as little as possible.

Burt turned his head, talked and drove at the same time. “I’ve been telling Agent Dunn here that you’re a reasonable sort, Charlie. A good guy.”

“I appreciate that, Burt.”

“Mr. Swift, your presence jeopardizes an ongoing investigation. That’s all you need to know.” Dunn puffed hard, blew smoke, not quite at me but close. “I suggest you go far away while you have the opportunity. We’re interested in bigger fish than you right now, but later on when we’re mopping up, who knows who’ll get caught in the net?”

If Jeffers was using his bank to ship currency offshore for Beggar, no wonder the Feds were watching him. I guessed they didn’t want a two-bit gunman gumming up the works. I was out of my league, but I was never one to scatter just because some pencil-neck said Boo .

“I appreciate your concerns, Agent Dunn.” This sounded like the right way to talk to his type. “But I have some responsibilities. I can’t just skip town.”

Burt frowned at me in the rearview mirror. He wanted us all to be pals.

Dunn shook his head like he was real disappointed. “Your loyalty to Stan is admirable but misplaced. He’s all washed up. Orlando’s done with him. It’s done with you too.”

That was probably true, but I had to know. “Where’s Stan now?”

Dunn raised an eyebrow. “Well, if you don’t know, I certainly don’t either. If I were Stan, I’d be on the next jet to Costa Rica.”

Could be, I had to admit to myself. Or maybe he was under a parking lot somewhere. A strong possibility, if Beggar got ahold of him. But the fact was not even the Feds were interested in Stan. Like Dunn had said, Stan was washed up, and I was washed up with him.

So what the hell was I doing? Looking for a guy who was maybe dead but certainly wasn’t my boss anymore. The monkey cage had burned. The kingdom had fallen, the king banished. I should just empty my safe deposit box and split.