Crime, Thrillers & Mystery / A Pocketful of Rye - Part 9
We worked through the small hours of the morning, trying to piece together the case. All we knew for sure was that Russ and Carpenter were involved, and most likely taking their orders from someone else. They were the epitome of crooked cops, using their contacts and official clearances to help criminals get away with their schemes – all in exchange for a piece of the profits – but Ozzie had never been able to prove anything.
“If I could just catch them in the act,” he groused. “I could cut the organized crime in this town in half, easy.”
“I still think watching Sandra is our best bet. Her and Olaf.” I’d been making the same pitch most of the night, but Ozzie still hadn’t bought it.
“Just because you can’t find out everything about her past doesn’t mean she’s trying to hide anything. I doubt whoever’s behind this assassination attempt put her in place several years in advance on the off chance that Cole would stop by one day.”
I waved a paw irritably. “Fine, then. What about Olaf? He has a record for assault.”
Ozzie grinned at me. “If that was all we needed to haul someone in, you’d be behind bars, too.”
“Hey! That wasn’t my fault. And how’d you find out about it, anyway?”
He laughed. “I still have people willing to tell me things. Friends at the station, you know?”
“Your friends talk too much,” I muttered to my glass. A couple of years ago, I’d been at The Well nursing a drink and a few grudges when Tommy Stout had pulled me out to discuss a case. I’d put his cousin behind bars, and Tommy wanted to give me his opinion on my work ethic. Someone had called the downtown boys on us, and to save time, they’d booked us both. The judge didn’t put up with any “he started it” excuses, either. He reasoned that it took two to fight, so two were getting sentenced. Tommy got time served, and I got a suspended sentence on account of my service to the community.
Ozzie rubbed the back of his neck. “I know you like Olaf for this. He’s got a past and a gun, but nothing I can find out about him tells me he’s been anything but straight since he got here.”
“So you pick him up for parole violation and it’s one less person we have to worry about.”
“Except you’d have to go along as the witness to the gun, which takes you out of the picture during Cole’s visit.”
“Yeah. Except for that.”
Ozzie sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I just don’t see the connection. If they’re helping knock off the king, why put you there to prevent it? Why tip their hand at all?”
I shrugged. “Russ mentioned they had evidence come in. Maybe someone else found it, and they’re just covering the bases.”
Ozzie nodded. “Makes sense. They make it look like they’re doing their jobs, no one can call them on it. It helps when you call them every day to let them know they’re still in the clear.”
“Don’t lay that in front of me. If I don’t call, they get suspicious. What makes you think I’ve been telling them everything? As far as they’re concerned, I’m still clueless.”
“As far as our headway on this case goes, they’re right.”
“Looks like I’ll just have to keep sharp. You’ll be there?”
Ozzie nodded. “I’ll be in the wings, with a few people I trust in the audience.”
“That’ll have to be enough, then.” I stood up. “I’m going to step out and get some cigarettes. Get us another round or two, would you?”
I woke up reluctantly, feeling like a mouse had died in my mouth. And yes, I know what that tastes like. I was still in my booth at The Well. The place was hushed and dim, with the chairs stacked on the tables and the grill cold. Ozzie snored on the bench opposite me. Empty bottles lined up on the table to explain how I’d come by the pounding headache, and my watch told me I’d missed breakfast.
I shook Ozzie awake, and he mumbled incoherently at me.
“Time to get up, Sunshine. It’s a beautiful day for a murder.”
He rubbed his eye, pushing the nearest glass away from him. “Aspirin,” he stated.
I gestured with my cigarette. “Behind the bar, next to the till. Grab two.”
We dumped the powders into the glasses of water I poured and toasted each other, drinking deeply. I looked at my watch again.
“I better hurry. I’ll stop by the office before I head to the hall. Maybe a telegram boy dropped off a clue.”
Ozzie tried to shake out the wrinkles from where he’d used his coat as a pillow, frowned, and shrugged it on. “I’m going straight on to the hall to keep an eye on things. I’ll be backstage if you need me.”
We climbed the stairs and winced as the morning light speared our eyes. Ozzie grabbed a cab and headed East. I made sure the door locked behind us, and took another cab West.
The curtain rose, and the audience burst into applause as Heinrich walked on stage. The spotlights mounted to the rails overhead made it impossible to see past the first couple of rows, and I was glad Ozzie had some friends out there to keep an eye on things.
Heinrich finished outlining the program to the audience and turned to face us. The house lights went dark as he raised his baton.
The baton came down.
Nine movements later, Heinrich brought us to a close. The house lights came up, and Heinrich announced the intermission. The curtain dropped and we rearranged our seats, adding a new one for our royal guest. I wasn’t happy about it being placed center stage, but I’d been overruled by Heinrich. At least I’d be seated close by.
King Cole came out from the wings, accompanied by a couple of hulking brutes that were obviously his security detail. The scowled at everybody and went back to the wings, one on each side of the stage. The king smiled and gave a little wave toward the orchestra, then went over and spoke softly to Heinrich for a moment. Heinrich nodded and shook Cole’s hand, then resumed his place at the front of the stage.
Cole called for his pipe, and an assistant brought out a case. The king took out several wooden pieces, and assembled them carefully. He was playing an oboe d’amore, an alto oboe with a very serene tone. Once it was mostly assembled, he called for his bowl. The assistant reappeared with a small bowl of liquid in which several reeds were soaking. The king slotted two of them into the mouthpiece, and finished assembling the instrument. He then called for the three strings to join him and we took our seats, fanned out behind him.
I’d been trying to watch everyone and everything on stage while this was going on. If I were going to knock off a king, I’d want to do it before the curtain went back up, to limit the potential witnesses. On the other hand, there’s nothing like a panicked crowd to cover an escape. I was getting a sore neck from swiveling my head around so much.
The curtain rose once more, and Heinrich introduced our guest to polite applause. The king made some brief remarks about his upcoming festival, praising our fair city and the hard work we’d put into the evening, and he said he hoped we would accept his invitation to perform. Heinrich looked ready to burst with fierce pride, and gave one sharp nod. There was more applause, a little more vigorous this time, and the king nodded his thanks to the audience.
Heinrich raised his baton again, and Odessa took the lead. She’d be joined by Orrin after a few measures, then I’d come in shortly after that. The king would pick up the melody we were establishing, then would have a short solo where he would have the leeway to create any of a number of different themes. We would have to pay close attention in order to support him when we came back in, hence the interminable variations Heinrich had run us through during rehearsal.
As I joined my fellow strings, I scanned what I could see of the audience – mostly matronly types with frosted hair and sparkling jewelry. Not the kind you’d think would be packing a pistol under their stoles. Of course, if tradition held on this case, the king would have to be poisoned instead of shot, and I didn’t see anyone with a bottle of mysterious liquid, either.
But there was a bowl.
I glanced down to the bowl beside the king. A couple of reeds were still submerged in it. Olympia and Otto both played reeded instruments. I remembered Otto pouring the rye onto his saxophone’s mouthpiece outside of the diner. But Odelia and Otis used reeds, too, and neither of them had gotten poisoned. It had to have been a fluke.
Unless one of them was the poisoner.
I was moving before I finished the thought. If I was wrong, I’d apologize later. Heinrich’s eyes got wide as he saw me approaching the king, and I heard a chair fall over behind me. I reached out just as Cole was about to place the mouthpiece between his lips and swatted the instrument aside. It cracked onto the floor, bursting apart, and I felt a rough hand grab me from behind. I was spun around to face Olaf, who was raising his pistol in his other hand. He brought it down hard, and as I sank to the stage, I heard a gunshot, then screams.
Then nothing.
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“They scowled at everybody”
I got a kick out of the play you made on the pipe, the bowl and the fiddlers three…
Along that line, I figured out the possibility of the bowl at exactly the time the cat did. I’m kind of figuring Olaf as an undercover agent of some sort, sent to protect the king, though you’re continually sending directions (misdirection?) that he is a bad guy.
Olaf must have executed quite a sprint. Isn’t he a drummer, and aren’t they normally positioned to the flanks or the rear of the stage?
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