THE SOUND OF A BULLET


A Detective Story
by David Rowell Workman



(Originally Published in the Cozy Detective Mystery Magazine)


As I stood over the body of Elaine Terricott, I longed for a cigar. One of those long smokers

from Havanna. I wanted to pull my eyes away and stare at one of the chipped concrete walls, but I

didn't. There was a small whole in the woman's neck. Her eyes were teared and wide, staring blankly

at nothing.
My back ached from sitting in my Buick for too many hours. Now it looked like I'd be sitting

in a hardbacked chair at the police department -- if I did the perfect citizen routine.
I studied Elaine's face, hoping for answers. But that's not how it works and all I seemed to

be doing was burning the memory of her unpleasant death into my mind.
Yes, a cigar would be a wonderful thing, about now.
It was the fiftieth time I had seen her in a week -- but she was different now. Her hair was

darker, lips thinner, legs shorter. Elaine's wispy and curious nature didn't come through after

death. From a distance the resemblance to this Elaine Terricott and the one I had dogged for several

weeks could have fooled younger eyes. Up close told the true tale. Somewhere along the line I'd

made a mistake.
On the cracked concrete floor next to her was a small pistol. Against all the rules of common

sense I bent over and picked it up. I figured it might just help me put the puzzle together. Besides,

one bad move deserved another.
I heard car tires squealing outside.
Whoever had killed Elaine Terricott had just driven away in her car.
Mistake number two.

Terry Terricott wandered into my barren office on the second floor at ten o-clock. At four

after he still stood his wiry frame in the doorway and peered down at me with bloodshot gray eyes.

His long face looked even longer when he frowned. His hands were stuffed into his jean pockets, and

his blue sweatshirt showed signs of being slept in. "You let me down, Grimes. Elaine is dead." His

bushy eyesbrows shot off in every direction.
I remained behind the cigarette scarred desk and fingered the handle on my coffee cup. "Sit

down, Terry. There's much to discuss."
His unshaven waxen face flinched. He remained in the doorway, sizing me up, I suppose. Thirty

years ago he'd have seen a large mouthed tough guy. Tall, dark, steel eyed, with a lip so stiff you

could crack an egg on it. What he probably saw now was just an old man in his late sixties, paunchy

stomach, sparse gray hair, with dull eyes. The stiff lip was still there, but it trembled slightly.
I took a sip of coffee to hide the lip.
"My wife is dead, Grimes," he said finally. His voice was low and sounded like he'd swallowed

a handful of gravel. "The police kept me up all night. Then locked me in a cell that smelled like

urine until they were sure I was innocent. I tried to call you."
"I was busy."
"Sleeping off a drunk." He did an unattractive thing with his face that I took for a snarl.

"Look at yourself." A bead of sweat rolled from his forehead down a pale cheek. "You were trouble. I

told Elaine that, but as usual she had to have her own way. She said she'd heard you were right

person to call."
"I did my job. Now sit down. I've got a few questions of my own." Granted, I wasn't dressed

in my best clothes. The truth was I hadn't any best clothes since nineteen sixty five. I wore an old

brown sweater to cover the coffee stains on my white shirt. A Bolo tie my second wife gave me was the

only decoration I could afford, besides my old standby Timex wristwatch.
"I have engaged a lawyer this morning."
"I hope you two will be very happy."
"He said I've got a good shot at winning my case."
"Great. You can sue me for old socks. The only cash I've had lately was what you gave me. I

spent that yesterday on a bottle of vitamin A supplements."
Terricott moved a few feet into my office and pointed a finger at me. "I paid you. Do

something."
I shook my head. "I don't work on active homicides. The police take a dim view of that. I do

have an appointment with a Detective Hyman in an hour. Want to come?"
Terricott flinched again. "What are you going to tell him?"
"Whatever he wants to know."
"What about client confidentiality?"
"Doesn't count in a murder investigation. Besides, why are you worried. If you didn't have a

good alibi, you wouldn't be here shaking your finger in my face."
The man lowered his finger. "You find her killer and I'll drop the lawyer."
"Just that simple, huh." Elaine Terricott had run a jewelry store in the middle of town. She

had three employees and drove a nice pretty red sports car. What struck me as odd is that Mr.

Terricott said his ex-wife was getting threatening calls, and thought she was even being followed.

The part I was having trouble with was that the police were not notified of any of these incidents. I

wondered what kind of relationship they still had.
I took a stab in the dark. "You haven't told me everything. Have you?"
"I told you everything you need to know. You're suppose to be a good enough detective to

figure out the rest."
Adrenalin at my age can cause a heart attack. Especially when I smoke a couple of cigars a

week. I put on an angry face and drummed my fingers on the top of my desk.
"No dice, Terricott," I said. "Something smells wrong with your case. I can't put a finger on

it yet, but I will. I'll tell the cops what I know, and just maybe they'll share some info with me.

If you're involved in a murder set-up, I'll be suing you. Know any good lawyers?"
He didn't say a word. Just turned on his heels and strolled out the office as if he was going

to the store for a pint of milk. He didn't even slam the door.
I was impressed. In me just as much as him.
The show I put on was a good one. Almost like the old days, except my ticker was pumping a

hole through my chest and my ass was asleep.
I wasn't looking forward to going into the police station, but I was sure they weren't wise

to the gun I stole from the crime scene. If they did they would have hauled me by the scruff of my

neck and locked me up.

I chewed a half a bottle of seltzer tablets before I made it up the two flights to Hyman's

office.
I didn't know him.
In the old days I knew all the dicks. Street beats and homicide. They tolerated me, and I

didn't push too far over the line. Things change. I ran Tommy Dorsey's 'I'll Never Smile Again' over

and over in my head as the elevator jerked to a stop.
When I stepped out to the floor, a fresh-out-of-school cadet lead me to Hyman's tidy desk.

Behind the desk sat a robust man in his early forties, with a strong Roman nose and dark brown eyes

that knew you were lying -- even if you didn't. I didn't know him, but I knew the type. Maybe things

didn't change that much after all.
I told him who I was and he motioned me to the chair next to his desk.
The station was buzzing with activity. Phones were ringing, people in uniforms were rushing

in and out -- all except Detective Rooster Hyman. He was busy chewing a whole through a ham sandwich

and swatting at a fly trying to land in his coffee cup.
He didn't show much interest in me.
"You got anything new to tell me?" he asked between bites.
I shook my head. "Not since I talked to you on the phone."
He put his sandwich on the desk and eyed me up and down. "You knew my father, back in the old

days."
I examined his face, but drew a blank. "Did I? I knew a lot of cops back then."
"He talked good about you. Said you were a straight arrow for private license."
I shrugged. " I don't remember. Sorry."
"Don't be. After he was killed my mother remarried. My dad was Albert Durrell."
Lights and whistles went off in my brain. I had pulled Durrell out of an alley after a mob

fight left two hired thugs dead. Durrell ran dirty until that day. I took him to a night doc who

patched him up, then took him to a bar where we stayed drunk for two days. When I finally dropped him

off, his wife was standing on the porch holding a newborn baby, looking to kill someone. I was his

alibi when his name came up in court. The dirt was swept under the rug and he paid me back years

later by arresting my ex-wife's husband for vagrancy. Her new husband had been using her for a

punching bag, and I wasn't big enough to stop him. But Albert Durrell was, rest his soul.
"Yeah. I remember now. Nice fellow, but I didn't know him very well."
He picked up his sandwich. "Good. You can go. But if you hear anything, buzz me. I don't

tolerate citizens keeping secrets about homicide cases."
I didn't get up. "My client is trying to sue me."
Hyman raised a narrow eyebrow. "Gee, that's tough. What for?"
"He said he hired me to protect his wife -- from a distance. Since I lost her during a tail

and she ended up dead, he thinks he wants my license." I leaned on the neat desk. "Since your father

and I were old friends, what can you tell me?"
Hyman leaned forward too. "Cut the crap. We both know my old man was a son-of-a-bitch. I

heard what you did for him in the alley -- but that's ancient history. I don't owe you anything, see.

So if I do tell you anything, you'll owe me."
I nodded pathetically.
"I think your client killed his ex-wife. I've got an ex-wife myself, so who can blame him.

But he used you as a patsy. You fell for it. Now the heat is on and all he can do to hide his

innocence is by putting the thumb on you. See the beauty in his plan? You're an old, washed up P.I.

who can't see too good and needs a case like a wino needs a drink."
He leaned back in his squeaky chair.
I frowned. "That's your solution?"
"It was either that or he paid you to kill her, and you really screwed up bad." He took a

chunk out of his sandwich with big teeth and swallowed it whole. "Forget it. I know you didn't kill

Mrs. Terricott. I got a witness says somebody else did it. And Mr. Terricott had a business dinner

alibi. I do have one other little mystery. You know anything about Mrs. Terricott's red sports car.

It seems to me missing."
I shook my head.
"Figured as much," he said, continuing his battle with the fly.
I thanked him for his time and shuffled to my feet. There was one old friend I still had at

the Precinct. Elmer 'Ace' Tedwell worked in the admitting department, so I slipped down a flight of

stairs, bypassing the elevator again.
As usual, Tedwell was behind the glass booth, with his wire rim glasses stuck to his

forehead. He shiny bald head glowed from the flourescent lights above him. He had his pug nose buried

in a mound of paper work.
"Any hookers today, Ace?"
Without looking up he said, "Hookers? In this part of town?" He looked up from his work and

frowned. "Geez, Harry. I thought you were the Lieutenant."
I winked at him. "I couldn't handle that job. Too many candy bars give me heartburn."
He put his paperwork asside and grinned a toothy smile. "How do you like my new teeth? Got

'em last week from G.L. Hutton. You remember him. He used to run guns back in the forties. He's a

dentist now. A damn good one."
I made a mental note and looked around. The place was virtually empty except for a banged up

cigarette machine and wooden bench that had seen better days. I shivered. "It's creepy down here,

Ace. Don't you ever get lonesome?"
"Me? At my age? I entertain myself by reading these reports, and during the evening shift a

lot of drunks get hauled in down here until 'til daylight. Then there's you. What brings you here to

the dungeon?"
"I need some info?"
"Geez, you got a case?"
I winced. "Don't make it sound like I can't get a job." I told him about Terricott and what

Hyman had leaked out to me. "So who's the witness."
"I've read the report. Like I said, I don't have nothin' else to do but read."
"So?"
"So, it'll be a fin." He held out a liver spotted hand through the hole in the glass booth.
"What about for old times sake?" I said, digging through my pockets.
"In the old times I charged you a fin. Be glad I didn't up my prices."


As I weaved through the downtrodden neighborhood, avoiding skateboarders, trash cans and wild

dogs, I was surprised to find I had found the right street. Despite the clouds in the sky, the sun

managed to throw enough heat on me to be uncomfortable.
The neighborhood smelled of smoke and something sour.
For five-bucks Ace had given me the name of the Terricott witness. It turned out to be a

nine-year-old street kid named, Juan Gonzalas.
The street sign told me I was at Fifth and Elm. It was the poor side of the fence. Most of

the houses sported broken down cars in their front yards. The rest were cluttered with busted toys

and reminisce of plastic swimming pools. Most of the front doors were probably wide open to take the

edge off the humidity.
There were plenty of soiled kids knocking around in the streets, laughing and hollering, but

they only looked up at me for a second. A few Hispanic low-riders drove by, checking out their turf.

Their car speakers pounded out an earsplitting base rhythm. I could feel it vibrating in my chest.

They glared at me through squinted eyes.
I patted my pocket to check Lucy. Lucy was a bag of nickels wrapped in a sock and secured

with electrician tape. I took it off a punk in 1960 and kept it with me ever since. I only used it

two times. Once in '69 and again in '72.
It was my good luck charm.
I asked a couple of boys in scummy clothes if they knew Gonzalas, but they didn't peep up

until I paid them five bucks each. I wasn't happy spending my social security check, but I needed to

find the kid. They told me his hang out and scurried off with their dough.
Two blocks later I found him sitting on a hydrant, snapping a switchblade open and closed. I

traipsed up to him and asked him his name. He grinned and told me. "You ain't a cop." He flung his

head back and a strand of thick greasy hair moved from his broad chestnut face. His deep brown eyes

were kind of sad.
"Thanks, but I already know that." I glanced him over. He wore jeans cut off just above his

scraped up knees, and a T-shirt that read: Megadeth.
I didn't know what it meant, but it didn't sound good.
"Whatya want?" he said suspiciously. "Why're looking for me?"
I told him what Detective Hyman said, but he didn't seem impressed. He just popped the knife

open again and scratched his ears with it.
Finally he said, "Yeh, I talked to him. Why should I talk ta you?"
Through the years I learned one thing, never underestimate a kid. Especially one with street

smarts. I knew If I wanted to get anywhere with him, I had to tell him the truth -- or the near

truth. "Because I have a client that needs your help. I'm a private detective hired to find Mrs.

Terricott's killer."
He looked me up and down. "Ok. Here's the deal." He closed the knife, slipped it into his

back pocket and jumped from the hydrant. "You pay me . . . say . . . fifty bucks and I'll answer your

questions."
"Did the police pay you?"
"I got what I wanted from them." He grinned again.
"But not fifty bucks?"
He shook his head. "I saved that for you. I knew you'd be here sooner or later. That's why I

was so easy to find."
I wiped the perspiration from my forehead. "I doubt that."
"Yeh? Than how do I know you took somethin' from the warehouse? I didn't tell the police

about that. What'chu say now?"
I felt a familiar pumping in my chest. "Tell me more."
He leaned over to me. His breath smelled of tacos and stale beer. "I saw ya take the gun, old

man. So we got a deal?"

Juan Gonzalas had no fear. He jumped into my Buick as easily as if I was his granddaddy

taking him fishing. We drove to my apartment twenty minutes away and I whisked him into my rooms

before the neighbors saw what I'd dragged home.
The kid had me in a tight spot. And he was smart enough to know it.
He gaped around my apartment with thirsty eyes. Drinking up every picture on the wall, every

thing valuable, though I didn't have much. In one corner of the small room I had stuffed an old green

armchair and a wooden end table, on which sat a lamp I had bought for my wife in 1962 as an

anniversary gift. The TV in the opposite end of the room was color. It was a gift from a client. The

couch along one wall didn't match the chair, but it was comfortable. I had an old radio sitting on a

table next to it -- but it hadn't worked since a power surge in the 70's.
That was my apartment.
Not counting the bedroom and kitchenette. The bedroom held an ancient pair of springs and

mattress. The sheet and blanket were the newest things in the house. A few months ago I got behind on

my electricity and it was shut off for about a week.
Of course, it happened during one of the coldest winters ever on record.
Juan Gonzalas took all the surroundings in, then turned to me. "Jezuz man, you're poorer than

I am. Don't suppose you got cable?"
I rolled my eyes at him. "It comes with the rent."
"Cool."
I took off my jacket and threw it on the couch. "Want something to eat?"
The kid nodded and headed for the TV.
As I scrambled through the refrigerator for something edible, I heard him give off an

exciting squeal. "You watch Ren and Stimpy?"
"I doubt it?" I said. I managed to throw together two peanut butter sandwiches and two mugs

of instant Cup-a-Soup. When I carried out the grub, the kid cringed when he saw what I had.
"Old people food!" he cried out, but took the mug and the sandwich anyway. By the time I

reached the armchair and settled into it, he'd wolfed down half the sandwich, and was working on the

soup -- not taking his eyes off from Ream and Stumpy.
"Soon as you're done eating, we'll have a little chat, son."
The kid ripped his eyes from the set for a moment. "Why you so interested in this dead lady

for? By the time you got there it was over."
"I was tailing her and I lost her. She went right, I took a left. It was almost as if she

knew I was there and deliberately lost me. By the time I figured out I missed her and found the car

by that warehouse, it was too late."
The kid shrugged. "I don't get it. It still ain't your fault."
"Shut up and eat your sandwich." I said. "Then we'll talk."
The kid turned back to the televison. "You pay me cash. I don't want no check, ok?"

After I ate I tipped my head back in the chair and descended into the dream state.
I didn't actually dream -- I had quit that years ago. But I did snore.
I finally awoke to someone tugging on my arm. I opened my eyes and the only light I saw came

from the picture tube. It lit the room in hazy shadows. A small brown face came into my field of

vision and I jumped.
"Jez man, I thought you were dead, or sumptin'"
I shook my head and snapped on the lamp next to me. My neck was stiff and my eyelids had

invisible weights attached to them. "How long I been out?" I managed to say. My mouth felt like it

was stuffed with cotton balls.
"For hours."
Someone laid on the outside buzzer. The noise snapped my eyes open.
"That's what I was trying to tell ya," said the kid. "There is someone at the door." He

tugged at me again. I told him to go into the bedroom and shut the door. It took a few minutes to

haul myself out of the chair and make it to the front door. By then there were several more loud

buzzings from the doorbell.
I slide open the bolt, removed the useless security chain and opened the door enough to peek

out. A shambled looking Terry Terricott stood on my welcome mat, dripping wet, wearing a blue

raincoat and a deep frown.
"We need to talk," he said lowering his eyes to the floor.
I opened the door and he came in shedding his dripping coat. "Sorry about the mess. It's

raining."
"I figured that right away. I'm a detective, remember?"
He nodded slowly as I closed and relocked the door.
"Come in and have a seat. Tell me how your case is coming? While you're here you can pick out

what you want to take home with you." I led him to the couch and settled myself back into the easy

chair. I took a cigar and lighter out of the end table drawer and lit up.
Terricott was perched on the edge of his seat. "I dropped my suit against you."
"Really? That was sweet of you."
He held up a hand. "Please, you're not making this easy for me." The lines on his long face

were deeper than they had been that morning, but he had shaven. There were several small cuts under

his chin and around his throat. I sucked deeply on my cigar and rolled the smoke around in my mouth.

"You could have called at my office."
"I needed to talk to you right away." He cleared something from his throat. "The police think

I killed my ex-wife. I want you to clear me." His bloodshot eyes went to the floor again. "Would you

consider it?"
Our conversation began to remind me of the old tune, Little White Lies, by Dick Haymes. Some

movement on the other side of the room caught my eye. The bedroom door opened a crack.
"Let me get this straight," I said. "You hired me to protect your ex-wife, who you've been

stalking, because you felt she was in danger after she began receiving threatening phone calls.

Despite my involvement, she is murdered in a warehouse she shouldn't have been in, in the first

place. You try to sue me for negligence in her death because you lent your wife the money to hire me.

Now you're the chief suspect, despite an obvious alibi -- and you want to re-hire me to clear your

good name." I licked the end of my cigar. "You're a real asshole, aren't you Mr. Terricott?"
He stared at me blankly.
I said, "If I was a younger man I throw you out of here. However, I never got to ask you

those questions I came up with."
I glanced at the door and saw the barrel of a gun poking through.
It was pointed at Terricott.
An out-of-shape sixty-year-old should never attempted to do what I did, but with the grace of

God, I bolted from my chair, dove for the bedroom, and rammed my shoulder into the door. The door

swung open, the gun clattered to the floor. Juan Gonzalas was thrown over the bed, landing against

the closet.
"Jez!" he screamed. "I was savin' your life!"
I spun around in time to see Terricott picking up the gun. He stared at it like he was

holding a severed hand. He looked up at me in confusion. "This is my gun. What are you doing with my

gun?"
I felt something brush against my side. The kid was standing next to me. "That's what I was

tryin' to tell ya. That guy . . ." he pointed at Terricott. " . . . he met with the lady who killed

lady in the warehouse. He's here to kill you."
Terricott raised the gun at me. The muscles in his cheeks twitched. "I swear to God, if you

don't tell me what's going on, I'm going to shoot you."


Terricott had me and kid sit on the couch.
He kept his gun trained on us as he sat in my easy chair. My cigar lay at his feet. It had

burned itself out without burning through the carpet. I said, "I think I need to hear what the kid

has to say before I tell you where I got your gun, Terricott."
He nodded.
I turned to Juan. "Don't be nervous. Just tell me, in a nutshell, what you actually saw the

day of the murder."
"So you're the big witness Hyman has against me." Terricott's eyes were cryptic. They say

everyone has a darker side. I was seeing his and I didn't like it.
"I ain't afraid of this ass . . . . "
I held my hand up. "Just tell me what you saw, Juan."
He pointed at Terricott. "I saw you with that lady."
Terricott sat on the edge of the chair. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, he licked his

lips, his eyes darted around their sockets. He gave off the air of a desperate man. Suddenly I

wondered how dangerous he actually was.
"W-What lady?"
"This guy's messing with you. I know what I saw," Juan said to me. "I was in the warehouse

asleep when two ladies woke me up, yelling at each other. I was hid behind a pile of rolled up

rugs, an they couldn't see me. The whole thing was weird. They were dressed the same. One of the

women pulled out a gun and the other woman tried to grab it out of her hand. They were rollin' all

over the floor. I ain't never seen a catfight like that one. One got punched in the mouth, they were

both kicking and screaming. Then one of 'em got knocked down. She came up fast, pointed the gun at

the other lady's throat. Then she shot her. Jez, there was blood. But the hurt lady didn't fall down

right away, she kept fightin'. Then she went limp and fell to the floor."
Terricott lowered the gun slightly. I wondered if I could muster enough strength to jump him.
The kid continued, "I snuck out a back window. It was broken and I thought I'd better get out

of there. When I got outside I saw you finally drive up in your old car. Since you were watchin' the

warehouse, you didn't see me slip past," said the kid to me. "Then I saw the red car." He grinned as

if he'd just picked my pocket. "There was some rad speakers in the back. The door was unlocked, so I

thought I could snag the speakers and get make it out in nothin' flat. But when the lady came out I

had to hide in the backseat. She drove for awhile, with the stereo cranked up on some western crap.

She started dropping her clothes in the backseat. I didn't move the whole time. She finally stopped

and got outta the car. I heard the trunk open and close. When I got the nerve to look out the window,

there was no one in sight."
I watched Terricott absorb each word the kid was saying. The gun lowered even more. I

decided to jump him when the barrel was pointed at the floor.
". . . I was in this parking garage, way at the top. I finished snagging the speakers and

shot outta there. I was about a block away when I saw the lady again. She was dressed different, and

he was with him. They went and got into another car and drove away."
Terricott sighed. It was a big sigh that shook his whole body.
I slapped my hands against my lap. "Well, that explains why the gun was in the warehouse."
"That ain't the gun," said the Juan.
"What?"
He looked at me funny. "That ain't the gun she shot the lady with. It was smaller and silver

plated." His brown face beamed. "I live on the street. I know guns. I know stereo's and CD players

and what's hot on the market. That ain't the gun."
I looked at Terricott. He was looking at me, and so was the gun.
I shrugged. "That's strange. I picked up that gun your holding from the warehouse floor. It

had been fired recently. I assumed it was the murder weapon."
"This can't be." Terricott said softly. "I kept this gun at my house. I didn't even know it

was missing."
Juan slipped his small hand behind his back, fiddling with something.
I said, "Then why was it at the warehouse, Terricott?"
"The woman the kid saw me with is just a friend of Elaine's and mine-- a good friend. Someone

-- several men are after her. There's no way . . just no way . . .she's part of this."
"You're not making sense. What men?"
"At the warehouse -- the jewels." Terricott stood up, waving the gun in the air. "No. This

isn't right. I must be missing something." He whipped around and pointed the gun in my face. "Your

lying.This story is just some trick." He moved the gun away from me and stuck it in Juan's face.

"Tell me you're lying. If you really saw all of this why didn't you tell the police? You're with

these men. They paid you to lie, didn't they?"
The kid acted like it wasn't a gun stuck in his face. It could have been a ice cream cone or

a candy bar. "I don't have to tell ya shi --."
I patted Juan on the head. "Tell the nice man what he wants to know."
He narrowed his eyes at the man with the gun. "The police wanted you. I told them what they

wanted to hear. I was in it for the perks, man. I told them I saw a woman, that's all."
Terricott gave me a bewildered look.
"They fed him pizza and coke," I said smugly. "It's the systems fault."
He removed the gun from the kid's face. That was just the break Juan needed, I guess. Before

I could blink an eyelash I saw a flash of steel and the kid lashed out at Terricott's gun hand. The

man froze staring wildly at the blood flowing freely from the top of his wrist. The gun fell to the

floor and the kid quickly scooped it up and dropped it in my lap.
I picked the gun up and pointed it at Terricott.
"I'll be having those answers now," I said with a grin.


The night traffic was light as I slapped the Buick Skylark into third to keep up with the

flow of traffic through the downtown area. The rain had stopped and there was a fresh smell to the

air. The lights from the city shone brightly against the shiny pavement.
Juan Gonzalas had his nose pressed up against the window, gaa-gaaing hookers along Central

Boulevard. His pink tongue wagged back and forth in his wide mouth.
Terricott sat in the backseat with his head forward. I had bandaged up his arm the best I

could, then slapped a pair of handcuff's on him. I had picked up the cuffs nearly ten years ago when

I worked as a security officer in a department store. With his hands behind his back Terricott was no

longer a threat.
I pulled the kid away from the window.
"Pay attention, will you?" I scolded. "We should be about there."
Juan smiled a big toothy grin. "Did ya look at the tweeters on that broad?"
I frowned. "No I didn't. And you shouldn't either. You should be in school."
"It's summer."
"You should be in summer school, not panting over hookers old enough to be your mother."
His face went slack. "Yeh, I never thought of that. Maybe one of 'em is my mom."
He returned to the window, but his shoulders were slumped, and his tongue stayed in his mouth

this time. Ten minutes later we pulled into a middle class district, and I cut the engine a block

from the address I had jotted down on a piece of paper.
"Hey, we ain't there yet?" said the kid.
"We're close enough," I said, opening my door. "Pay attention son, and someday you can be a

private-eye just like me." The cynicism was wasted on him. He nodded seriously as I opened the back

door and hauled out Terricott. I unlocked the handcuffs, tossed them into the backseat and slammed

the door.
"If you run," I said to him. "I'll sic the kid on you."
I slipped one hand in my pocket to finger my gun, an old but reliable .38 Special, and

wrapped my other hand around Terricott's upper arm.
"Ain't you gonna lock up the car? Somebody might snag your radio," the kid said.
I shook my head. "As long as you're with me, I think the radio will be safe." I didn't bother

to tell him it was broken. We walked like soldiers until we came to a brown two story house

surrounded by shrubs. There were several lights on, including the porch light. We walked quietly up

the steps. In the distance a dog barked, but the neighborhood was quiet. I wondered which houses

belonged to the Neighborhood Watch committee.
I let loose of Terricott's arm. "Do we knock, kick the door down, or do you have a key?"
"I have a key."
"Take it out slowly," I told him.
He slipped the key out of his raincoat and stuck it in the lock. With a click he pressed the

knob and the door opened with a tiny squeal. I pushed him inside, followed him in, with the kid at my

heels. Juan closed the door as quietly as he could.
I leaned close to Terricott. "Call out to her."
He hesitated.
I took the gun out of my coat and poked him in the ribs. "Call out to her."
"Gina. It's me. You here?"
From an upstairs room I heard a woman's voice call out. "Where have you been?"
She walked out into the hall light and stared at us from the landing.
"Look dear, I brought guests," I said. She gave a hint of running back into the room but I

waved the gun at her. She slowly came down the stairs. Despite the color of her hair, she had been

the same bird I'd followed for weeks, disguised as Mrs. Terricott.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs she said, "Who are you? What do you want?"
"They want you," Terricott said meekly. "They told me what really happened at the warehouse."
She looked at the bandage across Terricott's wrist. "What happened to you?"
"He cut himself shaving," I said. The kid snickered.
She shook her head. It was a pretty head with a small nose, high cheekbones and eyes that

would melt the moon. But she wasn't lovely on the inside. I could see the cruelty in the curves of

her thick lips. Her body was curved in the right places and that could make a man do things for the

wrong reason. I figured Terricott had.
She pushed the blond hair from her face with long fingers. "I already told you what happened.

This man is probably in on it."
"He's the private detective I hired."
I gave her a long stare. "We've met. You know how to lose a tail pretty good." "I don't know

what you mean." She moved from the stairs and we all followed her into a spacious living room. The

couch and loveseat looked new and expensive. So did a few framed pictures and a glass curio cabinet

filled with brass and ivory knick-knacks.
I sighed. "I figure it was you who told Elaine about me? But I haven't quite figured out why

you picked me."
"I had to find a unreliable witness. I figured with your bad eye sight a man your age can

miss a lot." She shrugged. "I checked out a lot of private detectives before I was fortunate to found

you."
I heard the kid squeal with delight behind me. I figured he was casing the joint the minute

we walked in. He tugged me on the sleeve.
"I gotta pee," he said.
I looked at the woman and raised my eyebrows.
She sighed. "Around the corner and to the left. Don't touch anything."
Juan hurried away.
"Whose the brat?" the woman asked.
"An eyewitness," I said. "He saw the whole thing. How you dressed up as Mrs. Terricott and

killed her in the warehouse. Even how you planted Terricott's gun to frame him for the murder. All I

need to know now is why."
She dropped into the cushy loveseat and narrowed her green eyes at me. "You can't believe

that child. No one will. I don't think the police will, either."
I slipped the gun into my pocket. "They will, when we all drop into the station for a nice

chit-chat. It must have been quite a shock to you when the police didn't find the gun you planted."
"You're not intimidating me in the least, Mr. Grimes."
Terricoot looked confused. "Gina, you said you and Elaine were attacked."
"We were. It happened just as I said."
I held up my hand. "Not true. There were no men. Only you and Mrs. Terricott. You had her

meet you at the warehouse under some pretext. And then you shot her."
"That's not true!"
"Oh, but it is." I said. "All of it. The kid saw you. He saw the fight. There were no men --

no robbery. No kidnapping. Just a murder."
The woman bolted from her seat and moved to the cabinet. She glared at Terricott, her eyes

misty with tears.
"She found out I had been stealing from work. At first she said if I returned the jewelry I'd

stolen she'd forget it and just fire me, but when I told her I couldn't she said it was out of her

hands. During this time I met you, and I knew what I had to do." She ran her hand over the

cabinet doors and turned to me. "Terry's sweet but very gulible. I told him Elaine and I was

kidnapped and taken to a warehouse where these men in masks threatened us unless we gave them some of

our finest jewels. I was sent back to the store and she was kept as a hostage. When I returned -- she

was dead. I escaped but dropped the jewels. It was a good story. Terry fell right into it. He hid me

here. Even took the heat without telling the police a word about me."
Terricott's face was pale. "You killed Elaine. Lied to me. How long did you think you could

keep this up?"
Gina frowned. "I took the gun from your house the night I stayed over. If this old man hadn't

picked up the gun, you'd be in jail and I'd be on vacation somewhere."
"You -- you don't love me?" Terricott shrugged. "It was all a trick? A setup?"
She screwed up her face in disgust. "You're not very bright, are you?
"What about the death threats to Elaine?" I said.
"I had a friend do that. I have lots of friends."
I saw the phone next to the couch and moved toward it. "You'll need them when you go to jail

for murder."
I didn't see her do it, but I heard Terricott scream. By the time I spun around she had taken

the silver plated .32 from the bookshelf and fired off two rounds. One hit Terricott in the face and

the other whizzed past my ear and through the front window.
It was an eerie sound. Like the loud buzzing of a horse-fly but higher pitched.
I dived for the floor, knocking the wind out of me. I heard Terricott screaming bloody murder

and I wrestled in my pocket for my .38. All the while I swore at myself for not hanging onto my gun.

I finally caught my breath, pulled myself up on the couch and pointed my gun around, trying to find

my target.
I finally spotted Gina lying face down on the floor by the front door. Blood was pouring from

a wound on her head.
There was a eighteen inch wooden speaker next to her. On the stairs was Juan Gonzalas. He

grinned at me. "I hope I didn't break the speaker. It's worth fifty bucks."

I was in trouble.
Hyman spent several hours chewing me out about removing evidence from a crime scene. Not

reporting a homicide, withholding evidence, and the list went on for days. I managed to keep Juan

Gonzalas out of most of it, or the fact he spirited away a set of speakers, a stereo and a CD player

from Gina's hideaway before the police showed up.
After all, he had saved my life twice, he deserved something.
Terricott lived from his wounds and still owes me some money, as far as I'm concerned. He

made a disappearing act and a contact of mine says he's in Los Angeles, selling computer software.
And Gina?
That's a funny story. As old as I am I can still be surprised. I was fined over three

thousand dollars, had my P.I. license suspended and three years probation despite my age. Now

here's the funny part.
Because of a error on the arresting officers, the woman got off on a technicality. I read a

blurb in the local newsrag where the D.A. tried to have the ruling overturned, but I think he was

just grabbing at air. I miss the old days more and more each birthday.
Two hours ago I got my license back and when I got home from checking in with my correction

officer, Juan Gonzalas was sitting at my door. He was barefooted and smelled strongly of pizza and

cigarettes.
He wants his money.

THE END

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