Free Thanet Blake by Wayne Greenough Page A

for as long as I can remember.”
    “Yeah, I like him, too. He’s a real guy, one to travel in the same car with. Monk, he came into this world a whole century ago. Sad to say, maybe his time is up.”
    “No, damn it, you’re wrong. He has time left. Come to see him now, on your feet or off them.”
    I decided on my feet would be more fun.
     
    My first glance at Godfather was enough for me to want to get shit-face drunk immediately or even sooner. As I mentioned, he’s a century old. He looked much older as he hunched over all bent-like in his wheelchair. Unshaved, hair a disheveled stork’s nest, his body trembling, and a feeble voice, all this replacing the strong-willed, vibrant man from the last time I saw him.
    I swallowed twice before I whispered, “Tell me what’s wrong, my old friend.”
    He shook his head and cried.
    Monk grabbed my arm. We left the room and ended up in Godfather’s library. We sat, and Monk poured booze. “I didn’t level with you, shamus. I do know what’s tearing him apart. It’s Selena and Jennifer. They’ve escaped.”
    Oh, boy. “Has the gang been searching for them?”
    Monk’s face soured. “Need you have asked? We searched all of Godfather’s hideaways before we turned this town upside-down looking for them. We batted zero. They’ve dropped completely out of sight, just like they never existed in the first place.” He shivered and sighed. “Godfather’s scared. He’s terrified Selena and Jennifer will start killing again. We’ve got to find them and lock them up. This time for keeps.”
    I shuddered over Monk’s for keeps words before saying, “Out with it, Monk. I know you’re trying to tell me something, which is why you’re telling me what you’re telling me.”
    Monk grimaced. “Blake, Selena hates you. I can see why. She flopped herself in front of you, and you never took the bait. It’s a good bet that if she continues her offing hobby, you’re a target. You being dead would not make the Godfather happy. So get busy, nose around, and see if you can preserve your pickled self for a few more days.”
    “Monk, in my business you can’t hide. Do you know anything about Jennifer?”
    “Not much. Godfather paid for her plastic surgery. She looks different, so much so that the last time I saw her, I didn’t recognize her.”
    “That doesn’t help me at all.”
    “I know, shamus. Sorry about that.”
     
    Just before I got the usual blindfold whacking my eyeballs so I wouldn’t know where I had been, I told Godfather I would look around for Jennifer and Selena. He perked up a little and smiled, which told me he was on the comeback road to being his old self.

Chapter Three
     
     
    Captain Holt was barking out orders as I stepped into his office and sat down in front of his desk. He took one look at me before becoming a clam for all of a minute. His silence got to me so I tried to be funny. “Would you like a rye from my hip flask?” He didn’t laugh or smile. He did throw words my way.
    “Who’s your gunsmith?”
    “What?”
    “You heard me. Name the guy.”
    “Why?”
    “Shit, Blake. You do a lousy job of trying to act dumb. The barrel on your thirty-eight is new.”
    “So what if it is? Come on, Captain, instead of flapping your jaws with wasted words, give me the straight skinny. “
    “Blake, ballistics checked your gun. It didn’t fire the bullet that killed Sudowsky.”
    “I told you so. Why is it not in my hand at this moment?”
    A belch coupled with a sour face from Holt told me something was giving him indigestion. “You know damn well that a new barrel on your gun changes the ballistic marks on a bullet.”
    Oh, Christ. “Meaning I could still be Sudowsky’s killer, right, Holt?”
    “You got it, until we check your gun’s old barrel.”
    “You’ve got to be joking.”
    “Do you really think so?”
    “No, Captain.” I belched my disgust at him. “I think if your mother had a thirty-eight you’d put a ballistics check