Free Michael Lister - Soldier 03 - The Big Hello by Michael Lister Page B

what you uncover, understand?”
    I nodded.
    “I don’t know if your girl’s still alive, soldier,” he said, “but I know who knows for sure. Woman named Vanessa Patrick. She showed up that night using the name Valerie Powell and took your girl away from Doris and Betty Jane. Don’t know if it was to kill her or steal her, but either way she’s the doer.”
    “You sure about the name?”
    He nodded. “Why?”
    “Pal of mine is over at the Panther Room looking for Valerie Powell right now.”
    “It’s no good. Her real name is Patrick. She’s got a room at the Cactus Motel. She ain’t the sort of dame that’d be at the Panther.”

Chapter 17

    The Panther Room was a low rent club in an old brick building off Gaines, with a bar and a bandstand and not much else. When the joint was filled with BYTs and hep cats and kittens all dolled up and togged out dragging their hoofs, it seemed like a decent enough place, but when it was empty you could see just what a dive it really was.
    By the time we arrived, the parking lot beneath the big red-and-orange neon sign that read The Panther Room, the letters stacked atop one another, was filled with patrol cars and a paddy wagon.
    I had taken the time to go with Lee up to his sister’s room to verify she was really there––of her own free will––and so had not gotten here quite as quickly as I might have.
    We parked across the street and walked over.
    The lot had been cordoned off, patrolmen posted in intervals of about twenty feet.
    “What’s going on?” I asked the first one we came to.
    “Police stuff, or ain’t it obvious?”
    He was a pale, blond, big-headed kid with a big round belly, his hand on his baton.
    “What happened?”
    “What’s the idea, pal? I just told you. Better breeze before I bust you one.”
    “I just need to know if––”
    “Look soldier, I been polite on account of your service to our country and all, but you really don’t listen so good. Now, blow or I’m gonna get mad and it’ll cost you plenty.”
    “I’m here to see Detective Dana Shelby,” I said. “Whatta you say you grab him for me?”
    “LIEUTENANT,” he yelled back over his shoulder without taking his gaze off me. “LIEUTENANT.”
    “WHAT IS IT, MORRIS?” someone yelled back from the huddle of cops gathered around what must be a body on the ground.
    “FELLA HERE LOOKING FOR SHELBY.”
    My heart dropped at that.
    “OH YEAH? BE RIGHT THERE.”
    “Where’s Shelby?” I asked.
    “Lieutenant’ll be here in a minute.”
    The cops from earlier in the evening, Average Sam and Tall Roy, spotted us and walked over.
    “You two,” Sam said. “Should’ve known.”
    “Hiya boys,” I said. “Whatta you say you tell us what’s going on?”
    “Suppose you tell us, bub,” Sam said. “Whatta you know about this?”
    “Don’t even know what this is,” I said. “Why I’m asking.”
    Roy shook his head. “Just keep taking chances, fella. We don’t mind.”
    Sam said, “Level with us, pal. Chief’s son or not. Don’t matter. You ain’t playin’ me for a sap no more. Not with one of ours on the ground.”
    “Shelby?” I asked.
    “Like you don’t know.”
    “I don’t,” I said, “but I do know why he was here, what he was––”
    “James?”
    I had an instant and intense visceral reaction to the voice. The sound carried within its vibrations the loss of a father, the weakness of a mother, the rigidity of a stepdad drill instructor, the bullying that bordered on abuse, the anger, the guilt, the grief, and ultimately the relief and release of manhood.
    I turned to see Darryl Collins, Chief of Police.
    “Chief,” I said.
    “What’re you doing here?”
    “He was just about to tell us,” Sam said.
    “You mixed up in this?” he asked me.
    “Can we talk?” I said.
    “We pulled them over earlier tonight, Chief,” Sam said. “Shelby called us off of ’em. He was with them last time we saw him.”
    “Thank you, Samuel,” he said.