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Cold Steele

By: woodmanone



Woodmanone copyright March/2012

There are no descriptive sexual scenes in this story.

Constructive comments, emails, and critiques are appreciated.



Cold Steele---and Ice



Another adventure with Matt Steele There are no descriptive sex scenes in this story.

Constructive comments, critiques, and emails are welcome and very much appreciated.

********************

"I thought you grew up in the country," Abigail Stewart said laughing at her companion.

She pulled her horse to a stop next to a small spring seeping from under a crumbling granite wall. The small dell was surrounded by large trees, oak and hickory, and the ground was covered with vegetation; moss grew on the rocks, ferns dotted the area, and deep green grass grew all over the floor of the opening in the hills.

"Doesn't mean I want to play Roy Rogers," Matt Steele answered. "Abby, let's get down and stop for a few minutes," I requested in my best pleading voice and then added, "hopefully for the rest of the day." I sawed on the reins of the big over grown dog I was riding, bringing the horse to an abrupt halt; I almost fell off trying to get down.

My antics brought another peal of laughter from Abby. She quickly dismounted and grabbed my horse by the halter before it could bolt.

"Thanks," I said. "Course, if you let it run away maybe it will just run back to the stable or something. Then I wouldn't have to ride the damn thing."

"How would you get back?" Abby asked; again almost doubling over with laughter.

"You could ride back, get a four wheel drive truck, and come pick me up."

"I can't believe you don't like horses," Abby said in disbelief. "You like hunting and fishing and camping well enough."

"Never spent much time with the horsey set," I replied. "I was always too busy running a boat up and down Current River or hunting back in the hills. Besides, horses are dangerous."

Abby laughed again and stroked the neck of her horse and fed it a sugar cube. "Dangerous? How so?"

"Yeah, dangerous. Like this beast here," I motioned toward my mount. "He weighs what, about 1100 pounds?" She nodded. "And he's got a brain the size of a small apple. Something all wrong there about the ratio of size to brain power."

"What if you wanted to get way back in the woods to hunt or to a remote part of the river to fish? Wouldn't a horse be just the thing?"

"If I can't get there by boat, ATV, or hiking, I don't need to go." It seemed I was Abby's entertainment for the day because she started laughing again. I grabbed her, pulled her close, and stopped her laughter by kissing her.

Abby and I met three months previously at a cocktail party given by her godfather, Jason Worth, who was my client at the time. I was working and she thought I was funny. When I finished the job, I called her and we went to dinner at my favorite St. Louis restaurant; Rigazzi's on the Hill.

On that first date, I, er we, were confronted and accosted by the guy I'd sent to jail for trying to blackmail Mr. Worth; Ralph James, the blackmailer, was out on bail waiting for his court date. After the confrontation, I sent him back to jail; again. Abby wasn't put off by the fight and with a big grin said, "You sure know how to show a girl a good time." Our relationship flourished from that point.

After that night, Abby was off the dating market as far as I was concerned; she apparently agreed with me. We saw each other three of four times a week and even had a sleep over at her place or mine a couple of times. This was our first full weekend together.

According to Abby, we were at the, meet the parents' stage. We'd left St. Louis and joined her folks at their vacation home in south central Missouri; it wasn't my idea of the best use of her limited time off, but hey, I wanted Abby to be happy.

I could understand why her folks kept a home in this area. Jack's Fork River ran past the south part of town and on down the valley between the hills where the small town of Eminence stood . It is a clear, spring fed stream much like the Current River that I grew up playing in and on; in fact Jack's Fork is a tributary of Current River. The hills surrounding the town and its valley were too tall to be called hills and not tall enough to be real mountains. They were tree covered mostly in oak, hickory, and white or red pine, and full of wildlife.

This area had been a hotbed of moonshiners since just after colonial times; but the stills really blossomed during prohibition and for years afterwards. The people were a walking, talking example of the old "Don't Tread On Me" mentality of revolutionary times. Most of the farmland in the area was along the river basin or in the small valleys. The farms were mostly family owned and worked; no big impersonal agricultural companies here.

Before our trip south, Abby had asked me when she was going to meet my folks. I answered that I didn't think that was going to happen.

"Why not? Aren't I good enough?" Abby asked. She was kidding but seemed to be a little hurt and upset.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch," I said. "It isn't you. My parents and I haven't talked in better than three years. Ergo, I won't take you to meet them. Just let it go, okay?"

"Why haven't you talked in three years?" Abby wasn't going to accept my answer at face value; or let it go until she knew the whole story.

Abby was and is, in my mind, a beautiful, interesting, desirable woman; we go good together. She's 5 feet 8, with an athletic body that pushes toward voluptuous; strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, and a few freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks complete the package. .

Abby is a lot like me. I don't mean we look alike; I'm 6 feet 3 with a fairly hard muscled body and weigh about 200 pounds. I have black hair and gray eyes. What I meant when I said we were a lot alike was that we both enjoy the outdoors; like hunting, fishing, and camping. But the real similarity is that she can be as sarcastic and as big a smart ass as me.

Abby can be so sweet to someone that butter wouldn't melt in her mouth and then turn around and cut them down if they deserve it. I do the same thing although I don't bother with the sweetness part. As I said we go good together.

"Why haven't you talked to your parents in three years?" Abby's repeated question broke into my thoughts.

She's like a dog with a bone, I thought. She'll gnaw and worry at something until she gets the answer or the result she wants. I had to laugh to myself; just like me.

"Well, you know I'm divorced?"

"You told me that the first time we met."

"My parents didn't take the divorce well. Blamed me for everything; so we don't talk anymore."

"You never explained what happened with your divorce." Abby looked directly at me instead of the scenery. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really. I mean I'm not hurting or sad or even angry anymore and I don't still carry a torch for my ex." I grinned at Abby. "I got closure a long time ago." Abby nodded and turned back to the scenery. "But, I guess since we're involved, you've got a right to hear the story."

"It happened before we met so it's really none of my business," Abby replied. But I knew better; most people want to know as much about their partner as possible; except for me.

I'm just conceited, or shallow, or self centered enough to believe that someone's past isn't important. This works for my few friends and even fewer people I really care about. The people I work for or try to find or catch the bad guys doing something wrong are a different matter but that's business not personal. As for friendships or relationships, I feel that their past, before they met me, isn't important; because it didn't include knowing me. Our interaction is what is important. Not really the complete story, but that is close to the way I feel.

"You know I was a detective with the St. Louis Police right?" She nodded and I continued. "It was like a cliché from stories that you read. I came home unexpectedly, found my wife, Johanna, and my boss doing the nasty in my bed. I proceeded to beat the hell out of him."

I smiled a little, remembering, with a great deal of satisfaction, the beating I put on Captain Joe Harper. "Wouldn't have been so rough with him if he hadn't of gone for his pistol. Anyway, Johanna jumped in to protect her boy toy or to stop me before I could kill him; never did know the real reason. Anyway she caught a punch, but believe me I didn't mean to hit her."

"I know you can be a tough guy, but I don't believe you'd intentionally hit a woman," Abby remarked.

"Oh I would if circumstances called for it. Like she was trying to attack me or someone I care about, but not in anger. Anyway, I lost my job with the department and lost my wife and lost what I thought was a good life. Johanna tried to talk to me during the divorce proceedings, then she talked to my folks and they tried to talk to me."

I gave a short laugh. "Everyone thought I should talk to her about our problems, you know try and get past the 'incident' as they called it. I told Johanna and my parents that I was past the 'incident' and I was past my marriage too."

"Didn't your parents understand?"

"Mom's was raised Catholic and according to her divorce is not an option. So I was wrong in her eyes."

"What about your father?"

"Dad had always liked Johanna and I guess he thought if he came down on me hard I'd get back together with her, in spite of what she'd done." I wasn't smiling or laughing when I added, "Dad was wrong; big time wrong. So we haven't talked in three years. Any time they call, I hang up. They couldn't stand with me then and I don't need them now."

Abby had a sad look and started to speak. "Don't," I said. "For once don't push it Abby. I'm good."

She nodded, smiled and said, "So you don't like horses?" Abby giggled at the look on my face. "Come on, as slow as you ride, it will take us all afternoon to get back to the barn."

Getting on my horse, I said, "Not my fault I'm slow. I think my horse is broke. He won't go faster than a bone shaking trot." I put my heels to the beast and said, "C'mon Dog Food, let's get back so we can get away from each other."

I saw the look on Abby's face. "Yeah, I called him Dog Food; cause that's what he'll be in a few years." She laughed again as she rode down the trail with me trying to keep up with her. You'd think I was a stand up comic as much as I made her laugh.

That evening at supper, Abby's dad, Darren, again gave me the look. You know, the one that says I don't like you sleeping with my daughter. He'd given me that look from the minute that Abby put both our suitcases in a guest room. Her mother, Mary, just laughed and told him to join the 21st century. In spite of her own beliefs or upbringing she accepted what she knew she couldn't change or control. Smart woman, I thought.

After supper, while Mary and Abby cleaned up the kitchen, Darren motioned me out to the front porch. He offered me a seat in one of the Adirondack type chairs.

"I know it is sort of old fashioned and old school, but what are your intentions toward my daughter," Darren asked as he lit a cigar. He offered me one but I shook my head.

"Well Mr. Stewart, I 'intend'," stressing that word, "to love her and take care of her and spend as much time with her as she'll let me," I replied. My first thought was to tell him it was none of his business; my second thought was to tell him to go to hell; however neither of those would have gone over very well. The next thought was a surprise; I guess I do love her.

"Do you plan to get married?"

"I don't know; we haven't discussed marriage. But, if and when we do, it will be our decision and no one else's." I looked him in the eye with a sort of challenge. I was trying to get a handle on the little bit of anger that came from someone was questioning me about my private life. Then I thought; it's only natural that he is worried about his daughter. The fact that she'd been married and divorced didn't change the fact that Abby was still his little girl. He was taken aback by my answer and the look in my eyes; but I have to give him credit, he didn't back down.

"I'm sorry if I've insulted you, but my concern is for Abigail; not your feelings," Darren replied with conviction. "I'll not stand by and let her be hurt again." He paused and then asked, "You know she was married before, don't you?"

"Yes sir. I don't know the circumstance of the divorce other than Abby took back her maiden name. I figure it's none of my business. If Abby wants to tell me she will; if she doesn't, I really don't care. I will say the guy that let her get away or forced her away is too stupid to even breathe."

That brought a smile to his face. Right then, Abby and Mary joined us on the porch. Abby looked back and forth at her father and me, but saw him smiling and was reassured that we weren't about to come to blows. The discussion turned to the vacation home, the area and their family.

I learned that Rebecca Stewart Conroy, Abby's younger sister, lived in St. Louis and was caught in a bad marriage. Her husband, Brad, drank a lot and when he drank he often got physical with Rebecca. She'd even had to go to the emergency room once or twice. Each time Brad sobered up, he'd cry and apologize to Rebecca and promise not to do it again. He'd keep his word until the next time he tied one on.

James, Mary, and Abby tried to talk Rebecca into leaving Brad; but each time she believed that he would change and forgave him. When the Stewarts talked about Rebecca, the mood got somber. The whole situation bothered the family very much.

"I've confronted Brad a couple of times," James said. "It works for a few weeks or months and then he's right back in the same place." Turning to me, he said, "I'm sorry for airing our dirty laundry in front of you Matt."

I shook my head, indicating it didn't bother me. The Stewarts were nice people and I didn't like the sadness I heard when they talked about Rebecca.

"Maybe if an outsider had a talk with Brad, he'd change his ways," I offered. "I maybe could get one of my cop friends to have an unofficial word with him, if you think it would help."

"The police have visited their home several times," James replied. "Brad apologizes and Rebecca won't press charges so there's nothing the police can do. The latest occurrence had happened yesterday. He backhanded Rebecca and cut her cheek bad enough that she had to get stitches."

"If you change your mind give me a call," I said and handed James one of my business cards. The card read,

Matthew Steele

Investigations

Security Specialist

"There are a couple of guys on the force I know who have had success in domestic cases."

After seeing the look on Mr. Stewart's face when we arrived, I then moved my luggage into another guest bedroom. Abby and I had respected her father's wishes and slept alone while we stayed with them. That evening, about midnight, my bedroom door opened. Abby quickly crossed to the bed, dropping her robe just before she climbed under the covers with me.

"I thought you deserved a reward for offering to help my sister," she said.

There wasn't much discussion for the rest of the night. Oh, and I enjoyed the reward very much.

The next morning was Sunday so Abby and I headed back to St. Louis after breakfast. She had to get back to work and I had to see if anyone wanted or needed my services as a private investigator. I really didn't need the work, thanks to a settlement from the police department for wrongful termination, but I did like to keep active if possible.

I dropped Abby off at her place. On the way to my apartment, I thought about the situation that Rebecca was in. James and Mary Stewart were nice people and of course I cared very much for Abby; they were very worried and sad about their younger daughter. Maybe I can do something about that problem, I thought. When I got home I did a little investigating and found out where this Brad asshole worked and what bar he hung out. I planned to pay him a visit; the police couldn't do anything officially but I wasn't the cops. The solution didn't have to come from an official act; it just had to work.

It didn't take many days to find out Brad's routine. He worked as a mid level manager at a manufacturing plant in North St. Louis. At least two nights a week he would stop at a local tavern after work; he usually left for home after an hour or two; his Friday night's were a little different. Two weeks in a row he stayed until closing; staggering his way to his car and then weaving his way on home. He was too drunk to be walking, much less driving but he never got stopped.

Brad stopped on a Tuesday night and I followed him into the bar. He met with a small group of guys at the bar and had a couple of shots and a beer. When he left the tavern, I followed him to his car. He stopped to light a cigarette and I walked up behind him.

"Brad," I called out. He turned; I bitch slapped him and then backhanded him. He fell to the ground, looking up in pain and surprise. ""Hurts, don't it," I said in a playful voice. "Now you know how Rebecca feels." That line wasn't playful.

"Who are you?" He asked as he stood.

As he got to his feet, I backhanded him again and again he fell.

"Doesn't make any difference. Let's just say I'm an interested bystander." I knelt next to him and slapped him again.

"God, stop," Brad pleaded, putting up his hands to protect himself.

"I want you to remember our little talk Brad." I grabbed his hair and turned his eyes toward me. "If you ever hit Rebecca again, I'll come back to see you. The next time you'll never get up. Do you understand?"

"What? You'd kill me?" He asked in disbelief.

"If it were up to me, I would have put a bullet in your head tonight," I answered. "I have a lot respect for the Stewart's and I won't hesitate to put you down if there's a next time." Standing up I said, "Calling the police about our little talk won't do any good. You don't know who I am and even if you could find me, I have an airtight alibi for this evening."

Brad slumped back down, shaking his head and spraying blood from his nose all around. He looked up at me and I could see the fear in his eyes. He was going to have a couple of shiners.

"Remember Brad, if you ever hit Rebecca again, your body will end up in the Mississippi, floating down stream. Who knows, maybe you'll make it all the way to New Orleans." I turned and walked around the building. That ought to hold him, I thought. I don't normally like to bully people but in this situation I actually felt pretty good.

********************

"Rebecca called me today," Abby told me. We were at Rigazzi's again; seems like we ended up there about half the time when we went to a movie or something. It had been three weeks since my meeting with Brad.

"How's she doing? I'll have to meet her one of these days," I replied.

"She's doing well. She said Brad has stopped drinking and even gone to a couple of AA meetings."

"Well that's good, isn't it? Maybe he saw what an ass he was being after he hurt Rebecca the last time."

"Rebecca said that Brad came home a few weeks ago with his face all beat up. He told her he got into a fight at the bar and it made him stop and think. He hasn't had a drink since that night."

I nodded and tried to keep a self satisfied grin off my face. Job well done sir, I thought. Abby looked at me with a suspicious smile.

"You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"About what?" I asked innocently while trying to hide a smile.

"That Brad had a fight at the bar and decided to quit drinking."

"Who me?" I asked and waved at our waiter for another beer. "Why should I know anything about Brad?"

"You seemed very interested when we talked about Rebecca and Brad while we were with Mom and Dad." I shook my head and Abby continued. "Things are so much better she's invited us for dinner Saturday night. That is, if you don't have plans." She watched my reaction to the invitation.




Cold Steele---and Ice



The last thing I wanted to do was confront Brad again, but I could see Abby really wanted to see her sister.

"Sure, if that's what you want to do. Should we bring wine or something? No, I guess if Brad isn't drinking now, wine would be a bad idea."

Instead of wine, Abby and I carried a fudge chocolate layer cake when we rang the doorbell at Brad and Rebecca's. She invited us in and after the sisters hugged, I was introduced.

"Brad's on the deck, fussing with the grill," Rebecca said. "I'll go get him."

"I'll go out and see if I can lend a hand," I offered. Abby looked at me in a funny way and I added, "It's important to get the fire started right and you can't just leave it." I don't think Abby bought my excuse. Rebecca pointed to the door leading to the deck so I stepped outside.

Brad glanced up as I came out of the house; his face paled and he looked around like a trapped animal. "What are you doing here? I haven't bothered Rebecca since I saw you."

"I've heard, but I'm not here to talk to you again; at least not in that way. I'm Matt Steele and Abby's date." He calmed down and I said, "Our little talk can stay just between us as long as you do your part; Rebecca and Abby don't need to know about it."

He nodded and gave a sigh of relief as Abby and Rebecca joined us. The rest of the evening was about what you'd expect from a dinner with family. The girls talked a lot about their childhood, while Brad and I nodded or made comments at appropriate times. Brad kept nervously looking over at me; not sure if I was going to keep our meeting to myself. After about three hours, Abby and I said good night.

"Okay what's the story?" Abby asked as I drove her home.

"Story?" I asked in what I hoped was a puzzled voice. "What story are you talking about?"

"The story between you and Brad." She held up her hand as I started to deny anything. "And don't tell me there's nothing going on. I saw the looks he kept giving you all night long." Abby waited for several seconds and ordered, "Time to fess up Mr. Steele. He looked like he was going to jump out of his skin every time you talked."

I pulled my Corvette to a stop in front of Abby's place and turned in the seat to face her and sighed. "After hearing your family talk about Rebecca's problem, I decided to have a talk with Brad." I explained how I'd found and followed Brad. "I did have to persuade him a little, but I guess it worked."

Abby looked at me for a long time. "Would you really have killed him if he beat up Rebecca again?"

I couldn't tell from her voice if the idea repulsed or comforted her. Returning her look I hesitated for a few seconds. I decided that the truth was the best way to go; no matter what the consequences.

"I would have and still would put him down like a rabid dog," I answered in a very serious tone. I waited nervously for Abby's reaction.

"Normally I wouldn't think of hurting someone like that," Abby said. When she said that, I thought I'd blown it with her. "But it's true I suppose," she continued. "Your perceptions change when it's someone you love that's involved." Abby grinned at me. "You are going to get so lucky tonight," she said as she pulled me into her apartment.

********************

Abby and I are doing real good, I thought, sitting in my office working. Well, I was looking out the window, with my feet up on my desk, as across the street the secretaries and female clerks, dressed to the nines, left their respective offices; running errands or going for a late lunch. There's just something about attractive women in short skirts and wearing high heels that gladden my heart. It was a floor show to almost rival one in Vegas. Certainly glad I'm part of a species that has two sexes, I said to myself. Sort of makes things all worthwhile.

Four to five nights a week, Abby and I were at her apartment or at my place, my thoughts continued. Might as well move in together, maybe get married. Whoa, where did that come from? I'd sworn after Johanna screwed me over, I'd never get seriously involved again. I had to chuckle; Guess I never counted on meeting Abby. We'd been in this intense and growing relationship for almost a year now. Time to step up big guy, I said to myself.

"Mr. Steele?' A voice asked from my open doorway.

I dropped my feet to the floor and turned my swivel chair to face the doorway into my office. "Yeah, I'm Matt Steele. Can I help you?"

"I'm not sure, but a friend of a friend referred me to you."

"Who?"

"Antonio Rigazzi, he owns Rigazzi's on the hill." I nodded that I knew about Rigazzi's. "We went to St. Mary's High School together. When I told him my problem he suggested I talk to a friend of his; Rollie Chambers."

"Rollie's a good detective and a better man."

"Yeah, but he said he was involved in something and didn't have the time to take my case. He suggested I talk to you."

I hesitated for a few seconds. "Okay, first things first. Who are you?"

"Oh sorry, I'm Hunter Blaine."

"Okay Mr. Blaine. What's the problem?"

"Someone broke into my home and robbed my safe. I want you to find who did it and get my property back."

"Sounds like a job for the police."

"I can't go to the police department. I need someone who will be discreet and keep this to themselves. I need someone that I can trust and someone that can do the job. Antonio also suggested you after Mr. Chambers couldn't take my case. Another friend of Antonio's, a man named Tully, said you were the best; next to Mr. Chambers that is."

"Why the secrecy? What was taken? If it was drugs or something illegal, count me out. I won't get involved in that kind of garbage."

"No nothing like that." "Blaine sighed and looked around my office. "The thief took almost a million dollars worth of my wife's jewelry."

I nodded and motioned for Blaine to continue.

"The problem is that the jewels he took are fakes." I raise my eyebrows. "I used the jewelry as collateral for a business loan. If the fact that the jewels aren't real gets out, I'll be ruined. My business will go bankrupt and I'll lose everything."

"What happened to the real pieces?"

"I sold them in small bits and pieces over the last year. Not even my wife knows I replaced the real jewels with copies."

"So you swindled the loan people and you lied to your wife?" I looked hard at Blaine. "Why should I help an admitted thief and a liar?"

"My business is growing; it's over the hump and showing a very good profit. I'll be able to pay back the loan in less than six months; that's a year ahead of time. After it's over, I'll explain to my wife and hope she doesn't leave me. That's if the fake jewelry doesn't become public knowledge." Blaine looked down and shook his head. "If the business goes belly up, not only will I lose everything but about 200 people will be put out of work."

I stared at him for almost a minute; which I'm sure seemed much longer to Blaine. "Okay Mr. Blain, I'll try and find your fakes for you; before they become public knowledge."

"Oh thank you Mr. Steele. I'm..."

"Before you go too far with your thanks you better hear my fee."

I had come to the conclusion, after working at a cut rate for the rich Mr. Worth, that if anyone with real money wanted my skills they would pay and pay heavily. Blaine was worth a lot of money; at least for now.

"It'll cost you $500 a day, plus expenses," I said. "Or I'll cut you a deal and take $5000 for the whole thing, fees and expenses."

"What if you solve it before using up the $5000? Or what happens if you can't find the jewelry?"

"I should find them within 10 days, if they can be found. If I can't find your fakes, I still get paid. If I find it before using up the five grand, I keep what's left over. You're paying for my time and experience. Usually the results are good, but not always."

What if it takes you longer than 10 days? Will I have additional fees to pay?"

"Not if you pay the 5 large up front. The lump sum payment takes care of all my fees and expenses for as long as the case runs. Oh, and by the way, I won't stop looking until you tell me to." I stared at Blaine, chuckled and shook my head.

"What's so funny?" He asked in a puzzled angry voice.

"You're talking about losing a business that's worth what, several million? And you're worried about five grand. You're a piece of work Mr. Blaine."

Now it was Blaine's turn to shake his head with a rueful little grin. "Sorta dumb huh? I work out deals for manufacturing supplies and such; guess it just carries over." He reached into his jacket, pulled out a checkbook, wrote a check and handed it to me. It was for $5000. "Please save my ass Mr. Steele."

I put the check in my desk drawer. "I'll need a list of the ice, and pictures if you have them."

Blaine took a large manila envelope out of his briefcase and slid it across the desk to me. "This is a description and picture of each piece." He laid a business card in front of me. "That has my office and my personal cell number. Give me a call if you need anything more?"

Watching Blaine leave my office I thought, he's done something illegal, but at least some good might come out of it; if I can find the ice. I grabbed the phone and started making calls; time to check in with my Confidential Informants.

Even though it was only 3 PM, after a few calls to put the word out on the street, I headed to one of my watering holes. I hoped to run into a couple of my CIs or at least leave a message that I wanted to talk to them. These two, Smiling Eddie, and Bagman Charley, I had to contact in person; neither carried a cell phone. Or if they did they'd neglected to give me their numbers.

The bar, called the Neighborhood Tavern, was in a part of St. Louis that the city fathers wouldn't put on a tour for visiting dignitaries. It was in an area that although historic, having been part of the riverfront business district since the early 1800's, was so bad that the few decent people in the area should move out or just shoot themselves.

The current residents were a mixture of winos, petty thieves, and people waiting for the government to magically make their lives better; they were the "dregs of society" and did nothing to better their own lives. There wouldn't be any revitalization of the buildings with new businesses or semi wealthy people moving in as had happened in other historic areas of the city. It would have been cheaper and more logical to just bulldoze the three block area and start over.

The lone exception was Bill Marshall, the owner of the Neighborhood Tavern. Bill was in his early 70s, and a retired Navy Master Chief. He'd grown up near the St. Louis waterfront, returned after 30 years in the Navy, and bought the tavern. Bill watched as the neighborhood declined but refuse to desert the sinking ship of the area.

The Neighborhood Tavern was the one safe place in a ten block radius. Bill Marshall allowed nothing unseemly, as he called it, to happen in his bar. He ruled it with an iron hand, a Lou Brock baseball bat, and a Dan Wesson .357 revolver. When I asked Bill why he hadn't or didn't sell out and move, he said this was his home and he wouldn't let anyone run him off. I pointed out that he could open another tavern or bar in a better part of the city but he answered, "It wouldn't be the same. Got too many years invested to sail away."

Bill and I had been friends for several years; from before the neighborhood had gone completely to hell. I'd worked a case in the neighborhood and had spent a lot of hours in his bar. One evening I came in and two very large young punks were giving Bill a hard time. They were demanding money; Bill's bat was lying on the floor where they'd thrown it after tearing it from his hands.

I picked up the Lou Brock Special and gave one of the punks a medium hard tap on the back of his head. When he turned, I hit him in the stomach with the barrel of the bat; he went down and stayed down. The other man rushed at me and met the business end of the Lou Brock; he fell to the floor too.

"It's a good thing for them you came in when you did Matt," Bill said and raised the .357. He'd been holding it down beside his leg. "Course if it was up to me, you could have been five minutes later." He spit on the two men and called the police.

I hadn't been in the Neighborhood Tavern for a while and Bill looked up from behind the bar when I walked in. He sat down the glass he'd been polishing, reached into a special cabinet under the bar, and took out a bottle of Gentleman Jack. Before I got to the bar, he had the whiskey on ice poured for me.

"Little early, don't you think?" I said as I picked up the drink.

"Like the song says, its five o'clock somewhere," Bill answered with a grin and then poured a drink for himself. He held up his glass in a toast and said, "The secret of an enjoyable life is beautiful women, fast cars, and good whiskey." He drank the double whiskey and put his glass on the bar. "Maybe it's fast women, beautiful cars, and good whiskey. Never could get the order right." He joined me as I laughed and downed my drink.

"What brings you in, aside from seeing my smiling face?" Bill asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Got a case and need information" I answered. "Thought I might run into or at least leave a message for Smiling Eddie and Bagman Charley."

Bill lifted the bottle over my glass with a questioning look. I shook my head and he filled his glass again. "Tell me what you've got," he said. "I'll make sure your boys get the word."

I explained about the robbery of Blaine's place and that I wanted the word from the street about who took the jewels and where they might be. "Give me a call when the boys check in; or have them call me. I know you won't take anything, but tell them it's worth a few bucks. Thanks Bill." I nodded and went back to my truck.

People had several times asked or made comments about by dilapidated old beater of a truck. Why don't you drive a nicer vehicle they asked? I always answered that it got the job done and was paid for. My truck had a damn near full race 350 CI engine and race car type suspension. The body had a lot of bondo holding it together and three different colors of paint. If need be it could catch or outrun almost anything I might come in contact with. I always answered that the truck wouldn't be bothered in some of the less gentle and nice neighborhoods I sometimes worked in; like the area around the Neighborhood Tavern.

That evening, as Abby and I were coming back from dinner, I got a call from Bill. "The boys are working on your problem. Should have word in a day or two." I thanked him and went back to enjoying Abby. We were sitting in my restored 63 Corvette Split Window Coupe in front of Abby's place. She had a big presentation the next morning so it was going to be an early night for us.

"I'll make it up to you," Abby said with a grin. I nodded and she leaned over the center console to kiss me. "I've got a favor to ask," she said. "Although I probably should wait until I can get you to do my bidding with my womanly wiles."

"Whatever you need Abby."

"I have a friend at work that's having a problem with her son. She's a single mother and the boy is being bullied at school. The school administrators and such say they can't do anything unless they catch the bigger boy actually doing something. Stella is beside herself; she doesn't know what to do. Her son doesn't want her to come to school and confront the boy; he said it would only make it worse. I thought you might talk to him; maybe teach him some self defense moves."

I looked at Abby for several seconds, shook my head and smiled. "You know, you're the only one I know that could get me to do something like this." I shook my head again. "Set up a meeting with the boy and his mother and I'll do what I can."

Friday evening I picked Abby up, again driving my Corvette. I drove the car that evening for three reasons: One, I like to drive it; Two, Abby deserved to ride in a fine chariot instead of my beater of a truck; and Three, the car would probably impress the boy. I wanted him to know that I was a serious guy and not just some grown up his mother had brought over to give him a lot of bullshit adult advice.

Stella, and her son James, lived on the near south side in the Soulard Market neighborhood. It was one of the areas that people were bringing back to life. A lot of young couples just starting out, several retired or near retired people, and a lot of growing families had made the neighborhood one of the best in the city.

When I met Stella and James, she immediately began to tell me about the bully. How the school wouldn't do anything and how worried she was. James came home two or three times a week with bruises and scrapes; once in a while a black eye or a split lip. The whole time she was talking, she stood behind where the boy was sitting and stroked his hair. James wasn't the happiest of campers and kept trying to shrug her hand off his head. About the only thing James had said during all this was, "Aw Mom."

I listened to Stella for several minutes, it seemed like an hour, and held up my hand. "Do you prefer to be called James or Jimmy?" I asked the boy.

"Jimmy sounds like a little kids name. I like to go by James."

"Okay. C'mon James, let's take a ride in the Corvette." I motioned him to follow me and we climbed into the sports car. The tires spun as I pulled away from the curb. We drove over to Lafayette Park and took a walk in the park. As we walked I looked at the boy.

He was a typical 14 year old. Tall for his age, he was going to be a big man when he reached his full growth. Right now he was all gangly arms and legs; a little clumsy trying to get a hold on his recent growth spurt to 5' 9. Slender build but the big hands and feet showed he would top 6 feet and two hundred pounds as he aged. All and all a nice looking young man, I thought.

We found a bench overlooking the pond and watched the people in paddle boats for a short time. "Tell me about it James," I said.

"The kid's name is Sam. He's 17 and a lot bigger than me. Two or three times a week, he takes my lunch money away from me. He slaps me around until I give him the money. Sometimes he doesn't ever take the money, he just slaps me around. The teachers say they can't do anything unless they see him doing it but he's always careful and makes sure no teachers are around." The boy sighed and looked at the people on the pond.

"I wish I didn't have to go to that school anymore. Wish I knew some karate or something. I wish I wasn't such a coward." James hung his head and I could see tears in his eyes.

"Look you're not a coward; going back to school every day, in spite of what Sam does, shows that. So, if you're not afraid, the thing to do is hurt Sam as much as you can each time he tries to slap you around. If he jumps you, do everything you can to hurt him as much as he hurts you." I put my hand on his shoulder and continued. "I can show you a few moves to help protect yourself. But the most dangerous part of a man is right there." I put my finger on his forehead. "If a guy's head is right he can be very dangerous."

"I don't understand," the boy said. He looked puzzled.

"You think you can't beat this Sam because he's a lot bigger than you. I can teach you some moves that will make it harder for him to slap you around but until you get bigger they're just defensive moves."

"So what, I just let him keep beating me up?"

"No. We'll mix in a few offensive moves that will probably make Sam decide it isn't worth bothering you."

James again looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"If Sam hits you, hit him back as hard as you can. Keep throwing punches until you can't anymore." I could see the skeptical look on the boy's face. "Or better yet, get in the first punch." James looked at me like I was nuts. "Look you're going to get beat on no matter what right? Make the guy pay. Let him go home with a black eye or a split lip. I guarantee you that after a couple of times of Sam taking some hits, he'll back off."




Cold Steele---and Ice



For over 30 minutes I showed and we practiced what I had preached. As we worked through the moves I could see a different look in his eyes. A confidence now found. Afterwards I motioned for James to follow me back to the Corvette.

"If nothing else, at least you'll know you stood up for yourself and you'll feel better. "Not to be a typical adult but believe me how you feel about yourself is important; especially as you get older."

James looked at me for a long time and then smiled. "I like it," he said. "You're right, Sam's gonna steal my money and beat on me anyway. I might as well make him pay for it."

We got into the Corvette and I took James home. "Moms are great but sometimes they just don't understand some things. If you need to talk to someone, call me," I said and handed him one of my cards.

"Stella asked James if he was alright when we entered the house. He just smiled, nodded, and went to his room. "What did you and James talk about?" She asked. "Is he going to be alright?"

"James and I had a nice discussion, Stella. I'm not his father, just a new friend, and I think our talk should stay between him and me."

Abby, Stella, and I sat around and talked for about an hour. The couple of times Stella sort of asked about my talk with James, I smiled and shook my head.

"Were you able to help James?" Abby asked when we were back in front of her apartment.

"I showed him a couple of moves to protect himself, but most importantly we talked," I answered.

"What did you tell him?"

I leaned over kissed her. "That's between us men," I said. "Talk to you tomorrow."

Three days later, in the early evening, I got a call from James. "You were right Mr. Steele. I did what you said and Sam is leaving me alone now."

"What happened?"

"Sam was sitting with his friends in front of the door to the school. He walked over and knocked my books to the ground. Then he told me to give him my lunch money. I picked up my books and remembered what you said. When he reached to knock them out of my hands again, I kicked him in the crotch. He bent over and I knocked him to the ground. Then I jumped on his back and started to punch him. A teacher came out of the building and stopped me. "

James paused and continued. "That's not all Mr. Steele. Sam and I both got detention for fighting, but that's okay. A lot of the other kids that Sam picked on told the teachers about Sam bullying me and them. When I walked into the detention room, Sam was already sitting there. He looked up and stared at me when I sat down across the room. He pointed his finger at me, shook his head, and grinned. Today he was sitting in front of the school as usual; but this time he just nodded at me as I went by."

I waited for James to catch his breath; he'd been talking so fast it was almost hard to understand him. "That's good to hear James. I'm glad it's working out for you."

"That's not all Mr. Steele. The principal sent a letter to Mom, telling her if I got into any more fights I'd be suspended. Boy did that make her mad. The next day she went to see Mr. Wright and got all over him. Mom told him about Sam bullying me and that the school didn't do anything. She also told him that if he, Mr. Wright I mean, didn't put a stop to it, she'd kick his butt." James laughed and added, "One of my friends, Jenny who works in the office, told me about. After Mom left, Jenny said that Mr. Wright told his secretary that he wouldn't be able to sit down for a while after that ass chewing."

James laughed again for several seconds. "But maybe the best thing about it, is that I feel better. I'm not afraid anymore and I won't put up with Sam or anybody else picking on me. Thank you Mr. Steele."

"No problem buddy. If you want to talk or anything give me a call." After I hung up, I stared at a painting on my wall, lost in thought.

Abby came into my living room, wearing my robe and drying her hair with a towel, after her shower. "Who was that?"

"Just a friend that followed my advice," I answered with a grin.

"A friend named James?" She smiled at my surprise. "I talked to Stella earlier today and she told me all about James's little adventure. She also told me she went down to the school and read them the riot act." Abby walked over and flopped down on my lap. "You're not the cynical, hardhearted person you show to the world." She leaned in and kissed me.

"I'm cynical about those that deserve it, I'm hardhearted when I have to be," I answered with a serious face. "But James doesn't fall into either category. Without a father to teach him, he just needed a man's point of view." I shrugged my shoulders and smiled, "Guess what I told him worked. He's a happy little guy."

"Stella told me about the bullying and that you told James to fight back." Abby leaned back and added, "He could have been hurt; that Sam is much bigger than him."

"Abby...he was being hurt anyway and not just physically. He didn't feel good about himself and that could be worse than a black eye or something else. I hate to get all philosophical about it but there's a line from Julius Caesar that's about right." I looked at the surprise on Abby's face. "What? I've read some Shakespeare you know. I'm not just a pretty face."

"I'm sorry, I just can't picture you sitting in a smoking jacket, drinking wine, and reading Shakespeare." Abby said as she laughed and giggled.

"I don't drink wine much and I don't own a smoking jacket," I protested. "More like a glass of Gentleman Jack and wearing a sweatshirt and jeans."

"I know, I know, but it's still a funny picture. What did Shakespeare have to say about James's problem?"

"Julius Caesar is talking to his wife, Calpurnia, after she had a nightmare about Caesar being killed while at the Senate. She begs him not to go; to send word he's sick or something. He answers, 'Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once.' Toned down, that's what I told James."

"And what does Shakespeare have to say about love?" Abby asked as she snaked her arms around my neck.

I thought for a few seconds and said, "I'm not sure about Shakespeare, but this is what I have to say about it." Pulling Abby closer I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her.

********************

We were in my truck, on our way to dinner the next evening. I don't know why we were in the old beater; maybe I had a feeling or a premonition or something. My cell phone made its stupid noise to let me know I had a call; I didn't recognize the incoming number.

"Matt Steele," I answered.

"Hey, it's Bill down at the Neighborhood. Eddie said he's got some info for you but he won't give it to anyone but you. Wants to meet you here tonight at 7."

"Hell, that hardly gives me time to get there; I'm way out on the west end. Tell him I'll meet him tomorrow, would ya?"

"Won't work. Smiling Eddie says he's leaving town tonight. Says things are getting too hot for him and he's buggin out. Says Bagman Charley has already bugged out. If you want to talk to him it has to be tonight."

I pulled the truck into a parking lot next to a closed business; never did like talking on the phone and driving at the same time. Hesitating for several seconds I said, "Tell Eddie I'll be there as quick as I can. Gotta make a stop first."

Turning to Abby, I explained the situation. "I'll drop you by my place on the way. You can order some Chinese or a pizza for us and I'll be back in an hour or so." I put my hand up to the side of her face. "Sorry, I've got to go see this guy."

"Why can't I go with you?" Abby asked.

"The Neighborhood Tavern is not the kind of place I'd take a lady; especially my lady," I replied. "Hell, it's not the kind of place I'd take a SWAT team. I don't even want to go there unless I have to."

"Matthew Steele! I'll have you know I'm capable of taking care of myself." Abby slid across the bench seat of the truck and leaned against me. That's one thing I like about my truck better than my Corvette; Abby can sit next to me and not stuck in a bucket seat. "Besides, you'll protect me. Won't you?" She batted her eyelashes and pouted at me; then she broke up laughing. "Really Matt, I'll be okay."

I knew when I was beaten; nodding I started the truck, made a U turn, and headed for The Neighborhood. The big V8 roared as I raced to get to the tavern before Eddie decided to leave. I did a power slide up to the curb. Almost misjudged that one I thought, as the truck slid into the curb and rocked back and forth.

Abby followed me out of the driver's side. Her eyes were sparkling and she looked excited. I didn't know if it was my driving or the thrill of being on a case with me. Pulling open my sports jacket, I made sure my Glock 21C was showing. Abby's eyes got even bigger.

"This isn't the nicest place in the city. Some of the guys in there would make a run at you; even with me standing next to you. But damn few of them will ignore my Glock," I explained. She nodded and we entered The Neighborhood Tavern.

Abby wrinkled her nose as we entered the big barroom. The musty smell was made up of stale beer, unwashed bodies, and cigarette smoke; this smell caused Abby's reaction. There were several tables scattered around the room with mismatched chairs and scared tops; most with cigarette burns on them. The carved wood bar, a remembrance of better, more successful days, ran 40 feet across the back wall. At the far end, the bar turned 90 degrees and abutted against that wall. Sitting in the last seat, with his back against the wall, was Smiling Eddie.

I nodded at him and taking Abby's arm walked to join him. Seated at the bar, were two very large, ugly men. They both needed shaves, as well as baths; I could smell the dried, stale sweat. Because they were wearing wife beater shirts, I could see what looked like prison tattoos up and down their arms. As we walked behind them, one of the men turned. He looked at Abby; the lust and his intent were plain to read on his face and in his eyes.

"Well, well; look what we been brought," he said. His stained, dirty mustache did nothing to hide the green teeth or the bad breath. He slid off his barstool and took a step toward Abby and me. I stepped in front of Abby and waited. Old green teeth gave me an evil grin and pulled a large switchblade knife; flicking it open.

I reached to the small of my back and did a speed draw with the big Glock. "Don't even think about it," I ordered and pressed the barrel of the gun to his forehead. "Now I admit this young lady is very attractive. But you have to ask yourself a question; is she worth dying for?"

The missing link dropped the knife, slumped back onto the barstool and shook his head. I kicked the knife across the room, holstered my piece and turned to the other guy. "How about you buddy?"

Picking up his beer, he gulped it down. "I got a wife and I reckon it's time I go home to her," he said. Standing he nodded at his friend, then at me and walked out of the tavern.

"If it's okay, I think I'll leave too," the other one said. He didn't even bother to finish his beer; he just walked very fast, almost running, to escape the crazy dude with the big gun. He kept looking back over his shoulder to make sure I wasn't following him.

I turned to Abby. "See not the nicest place in town."

"I think you made ole Iron Mike there wet hisself," Bill said with a big grin. "Glad you didn't shoot him though; blood's a lot harder to clean up than urine."

"Abby, this is Bill Marshall, the owner of this fine establishment. Bill this is Abby Stewart. She's my, er...er..." I stuttered not knowing how to explain our relationship. "Oh hell, she's mine," I finished.

"A pleasure to meet you Miss Stewart," Bill replied. "Why don't you let me get you a drink while Mattie talks to Smiling Eddie?"

"Mattie?" Abby said and giggled. "Really? Mattie," she repeated and looked at me.

I shook my head and went to take the stool next to Smiling Eddie; he had a worried look on his face and wasn't smiling. "Talk to me Eddie. What did you find out?"

"I got a name for you. Dude I know told me this guy was braggin about heisting a lot of ice so I checked into it. It'll cost you Matt," Eddie said. "I gotta get out of town."

"Eddie, I've always taken care of you," I said. He'd always done a good job for me so I handed him a fifty. "Why do you have to leave town?"

"This guy heard me and Charley was askin around and he's not the kind of guy I want to be on his bad side; he's a real hard case. So I'm getting while I can. Hell, Charley's already split." Eddie looked around me at the front door as if he expected someone to come after him.

"Okay, what's his name and where can I find him?"

"Sidney Jenkins. Everybody calls him Sasquatch, but not to his face." Eddie looked at the front door again.

He's really spooked, I thought. Eddie had always been a little squirrely, but I've never seen him this scared. Sasquatch, I thought. You've got to be kidding. I shook my head; no accounting for taste. "Sasquatch, Eddie?"

"Yeah. Sid's a really big scary guy. He used to play pro football about ten years ago; then he tore up his knee and had to quit. People tell me he's been in a bad mood ever since." He gulped down his drink and I motioned to Bill for a refill.

"Where can I find him?"

"Don't know where he hangs; heard he started lookin for me and Charley before I could get that close. Word is Sid didn't like us askin questions about a certain robbery."

He took a big pull on his new drink. "This guy is nothin to mess around with Matt. Word is he's damned near killed a couple of guys with his bare hands." Eddie stood to leave.

"Where're you going Eddie?"

"Don't know yet." He held up the fifty. "Guess I'll see how far this will take me on a bus."

"Won't get you too far and you won't have anything to live on when you get there," I told him. "Here," I said and handed him four more fifties; course, it was Blaine's money. "Let me know if you come back."

"Thanks Matt. Try talkin to Calvin, the fence over on Chouteau and Sixth; he works for Rollie Chambers sometimes and he's into ice and shit." Eddie headed for the back door. "See ya Matt," he said just before he left the tavern. I found out later that Eddie was found beaten half to death outside of the bus station.

I walked back to where Abby was sitting, talking to Bill. "We can still make dinner, if you want to," I suggested

"I'd ask you to stay," Bill said. "But the second half of my entertainment didn't show up tonight." He smiled at me. "It's been a pleasure to meet you Miss Stewart. Come back and see me sometime, maybe when you can get a police escort."

Back in my truck Abby laughed. "Lets see... there's Iron Mike, Smiling Eddie, Bagman Charlie, Sasquatch? Who's next, Darth Vader? What's ice anyway?"

"You run into some colorful characters in my line of work," I said smiling back at her. "Ice is a street name for jewelry; you know, diamond rings, necklaces, rubies. That kind of thing"

Abby got a serious look on her face. "Those people are so sad. Poor Eddie and that Iron Mike and Ralph James. How do you stand being around them?"

"That's just part of the city Abby; it's part of my job. But it isn't me." I took her hand and pulled her across the seat closer to me.

"So I'm your er...er...yours, am I?" She grinned, reminding me of my confusion when I introduced her to Bill.

I shook my head. "Yeah," I replied. "That's if you want to be."

"I'm here aren't I?" Abby kissed me on the cheek and laid her head on my shoulder. The drive back to my place was a little slower than our race to meet Eddie.

"I can't take you to dinner tonight," I told Abby the next morning as she was getting ready to go to work. She kept some of her things at my place so she wouldn't have to run home mornings after she stayed over. "I've got a meeting to attend. You could come back here and maybe we could have a late supper," I suggested.

"Got a date with a hottie, do you?" Abby was smiling, knowing that she was the only hottie I was involved with.

"Yep," I answered. Her smile slowly slid off her face. "First I'm going to see that fence that Eddie told me about. Then I've got a date with Sasquatch; if I can find him."

Her smile reappeared. I kissed her, waved goodbye, and left the apartment. As I got to my truck, I dialed a number on my cell.

"This is Chambers," I heard when the call was answered.

"Hey Rollie, its Matt Steele."

"Hi Matt. Is this a social call or do you need something?"

"A little of both I guess. I want to talk to your CI, Calvin, about some hot jewels, but wanted to check with you before I talk to him. I don't want to mess up anything for you."

"Calvin and I go way back," Rollie said. "I'll give him a call and tell him you're coming. If it's about jewelry, he'll know about it."

"Thanks Rollie, I'll try and return the favor someday."

"Oh, almost forgot," Rollie continued before I could hang up. "Tully said to have Abby give him a call about their next class; he might have to reschedule."

"Class? Tully? What class?" I asked. That Abby and Tully were even talking much less doing something together was news to me.

"You didn't know? I guess not by your reaction." Rollie didn't say any more.

"C'mon Rollie, give," I prompted. "You can't just leave me hanging."

"Okay, but don't let on to Abby I was the one to ruin what was going to be her surprise. Abby has been taking the basic hand gun course out at Tully's place; Missouri Tactical Academy. After she finishes training she's going to get her CCW."

"Why does she need a concealed carry permit?" I asked before I thought. "Guess you're the wrong one to ask aren't you? Thanks Rollie, I'll let you know if Calvin is any help. See ya."

I started my truck and drove toward my office. Now why would Abby want a CCW, I asked. It was a rhetorical question because there wasn't anyone there to answer it. I sure the hell didn't know.

Around 1 PM I called Abby. I usually called her if we hadn't been together the previous night. This time was different. "Hey Abby. I've got a message for you." I paused for a couple of seconds. "Tully said to give him a call about your next class."

There was silence on the line. Finally I said, "Abby?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise," she said.

"Why do you want a CCW?"

"Well, Jessica and Julie are involved with their detectives and they have them so since I'm involved with a detective I thought I should have one too." Abby hesitated waiting for my reaction but I kept quiet. "Maybe you'll need a gun toting moll to back you up sometime," she said trying to make a joke.

"I don't think so young lady," I replied. "Anyway I'll see you about 9. Okay?"

"The pizza will be waiting and the beer will be cold Mattie," she answered and hung up before I could remark about the "Mattie."

"Calvin?" I said as I entered the rundown storefront in an area that could have been called skid row if it were nicer. The man behind the counter at the back of the store nodded. "I'm Matt Steele."

"Rollie told me you'd be comin by. Told me to help you any way I could." Calvin gave me a small calculating grin. "So how can I help you?"

I explained about the robbery and what was stolen. I didn't tell him the jewels were just paste and Cubic Zirconium; that they weren't worth much more than costume jewelry.

"A fella named Sidney Jenkins called. Said he had a million dollars worth of jewelry and wanted 400 hundred thousand for them. Said he'd bring them by my place in a couple of weeks and for me to have the money ready." Calvin shook his head. "Can you imagine that? I'm suppose to just hand over 400 large on his say so. I was born at night but it wasn't last night."

"Sounds like my guy. Know where I can find him?"

"Strange you should come by today. I'm supposed to meet him at Dooley's at 8 PM day after tomorrow; you know the place over on Laclede." I nodded that I knew the bar. "Said he'd have a couple of pieces with him for me to look at."




Cold Steele---and Ice



"Think he might be there tonight?" I ask hopefully.

"I checked up on this guy; Dooley's is his regular place from what I hear. Got a booth in the back that he does business out of; that booth pretty much belongs to him. Friends tell me people call him Sasquatch cause he's so big." Calvin hesitated and asked, "You not gonna blow my deal are you?"

"Calvin, there is no deal. Take my word for it. I can't tell you more or explain why, but you don't want any part of this."

"Rollie says you're a stand up guy Matt. If he trusts you I guess I can too." He nodded and added, "I'll just stay close to home and if Mr. Sasquatch wants to see me, he can come here."

"That might not be a good idea Calvin. From what I hear, Jenkins is a real ball buster."

Calvin reached under the counter, pulled out a sawed off double barrel ten gauge and laid it in front of him. "Don't care how bad or how big he is," he hefted the shotgun. "Mabel here can bring him down to size."

I smiled at the small man and the big gun. "Reckon you could bring down an elephant with Mable there. Should work for a Sasquatch." I waved and turned to leave. "Thanks for the help Calvin. I'll see you don't get hurt by it."

Guess I'll go back to my office, I thought. Think I'll go visit Mr. Jenkins this evening. Checking my watch I saw I had about 4 hours to kill; no need to get to Dooley's before 8. Characters like Jenkins don't start their night until ten or so.

It was 8:35 when I entered Dooley's Pub. The place wasn't quite as bad as The Neighborhood Tavern but damned close. I found a spot at the bar where I could put the wall at my back and ordered a beer. The bartender stared at me as he put the bottle down.

"Ain't seen you in here before," he said. "That'll be two bucks."

"First time in here. Nice place," I replied and handed him a twenty. He snorted and placed my change on the bar.

"Jenkins around tonight?" I asked and slid the change back to him.

"You mean Sasquatch?" He made the change disappear. "Naw, usually doesn't come in until around ten. You a friend of his?"

"Nope. Got a little business to transact with him."

"Mister, you be real careful dealing with that man. He's as mean as a pit bull with a stomach ache."

I talked to my new friend, the bartender, for almost two hours and two more beers. Each time I gave him a five and waved away the change.

"There he is," my new friend said and nodded toward the door.

I looked toward the front of the room and saw one of the biggest men I'd ever seen in person. Damn he has to be 6' 6 and he must weigh close to 300 pounds, I thought. None of looks like slack belly either. He looks hard and fit.

Jenkins stood in the door, turning his head to look around. I saw a receding hair line but with long blond hair worn down his back almost to his shoulders. It was tied back with what looked like a bolo tie with a silver Concho. His face had a scar running from just below his right eye down to his jaw. Jenkins swept off the leather trench coat he was wearing and handed it to his minion. When he did, I could see his big chest, shoulders and arms. All and all I couldn't think of anyone I wanted to confront less. I don't know if even Calvin's Mabel is big enough to handle him, I joked to myself.

He made his way to a large booth in the back corner. It was U shaped but the back seating area had been cut out and a larger overstuffed chair had been put in place of the rear bench seat. When Jenkins sat down the big chair looked like his throne. He motioned to the bartender and was brought a bottle of premium whiskey and a glass.

I waited until he'd had his first drink and walked over to his booth. "Mr. Jenkins I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes."

"Who are ya?" The sneer on his face told me this wasn't going to be easy.

"Names Matt Steele; I'm a private detective. I understand you...Well, let's say, came into possession of some jewelry that belongs to Hunter Blaine who lives over in Creve Coeur."

"So what if I have?"

"Mr. Blaine asked me to look into a theft at his home. If the jewelry that you have belongs to him, I'd ask you to give it to me. I'll take it back to Mr. Blaine; Oh and I also want to know who hired you to make the heist.

"What makes you think anyone hired me?"

"No way for the word to get out on the street about the contents of Blaine's safe; information had to come from an inside source. Ergo, that inside source hired you to make the heist."

"Ergo? My, aren't we educated?" Jenkins gave me what passed as a smile; more like an evil grin, I thought. "What if I don't want 'to give it to you' or this Blaine guy?"

I'd notice that Jenkins didn't say a lot; I'm very observant that way. Jenkins didn't posture or put on an act or give off a sense of bravado. Guess when you're that big, you don't have to act brave or tough, I thought. Maybe it's because you are brave and tough and big.

"It's my job to return them to Blain. If you won't return them, I'll have to persuade you."

Jenkins slowly stood. He grabbed the large metal and wood table and set it to the side so we faced each other with nothing between us. Damn table must weigh a couple of hundred pounds I thought.

"Think you can 'persuade' me?"

"Mr. Jenkins, I've never met anyone I'd rather not have to go up against than you; but I'll take you down if I have to."

Sasquatch moved extremely fast, not only for a big man but for anyone. He threw his glass at me and rushed toward me. I tried to kick him in the groin but my foot slipped on the spilled drink and I hit his stomach; it was like kicking a brick wall. Jenkins grunted but didn't stop his headlong rush. He grabbed me around the waist, picked me up, and threw me at the wall. I'd hit him with three of four good punches as he hefted me, but he acted like they were bee stings. Flying through the air, I thought, Hell this is gonna hurt. It did.

Before I could get my feet under me, he started for me again. As I stood up, Jenkins used his right hand to backhand me. I fell against the wall, rebounded and hit him across the bridge of the nose with the side of my hand. Never use your fist on a guy's head, I reminded myself.

During my career as a St. Louis Policeman, I'd taken all the self defense courses the Department offered; I'd even taken some outside training. My instructors all said the same thing; hitting a man in the head with your fist was just a collision between bones and most of the time would result in an injured or damaged hand. It was better, they taught, to use the side of your hand, sort of like a Judo chop, and save your fist for midsections and once in a while kidneys.

I heard a crack when I hit his nose and blood sprayed down his face. Other than those two things, it didn't seem to bother him. He just grunted again and continued trying to teach me a lesson; the lesson was not to screw with him. Jenkins never slowed down and hit me with another backhand; this time with his left hand. I had the strangest thought as he threw me across the room against the bar; he must have learned about not using your fist on a guy's head too. Then he picked me up, slapped me down on the bar top on my back, and slid me down the bar; glasses and bottles and anything on the bar fell to the floor. At the end he picked me up and threw me through the front screen door. It wasn't out the door, it was through the door; me and the screen hit the sidewalk about the same time. He stood in the doorway, looking at me lying on the sidewalk.

"Don't come back," Jenkins warned. "Next time I won't take so easy on you. The only reason I did was you was respectful when you started talking to me."

Easy? That was easy? I said to myself. Sure glad I was respectful; I'd hate to see his reaction if someone insulted him. I slowly and gingerly picked myself up and walked, no more like staggered, to my truck. The drive back to my place was very slow: I almost expected to be stopped by the police for obstructing traffic. I pulled myself to my door and tried to put the key into the lock. My right eye was swollen almost completely shut and my left had double vision; made things hard to see and do.

Abby must have heard me fumbling at the door and opened it. She stood there with a look of horror on her face, then quickly put my arm around her shoulders and helped me to the sofa. "What happened?" She asked as she gently lowered me to a seat.

"I ran into something that disagreed with me," I mumbled an answer. My top lip was swelling and made it hard to talk. I leaned against the back of the sofa and closed my one good eye. Abby left but returned quickly and put a bag of frozen peas on my right eye. She began to wash the blood, both mine and Jenkins, off my face. Abby was trying to be gentle and I tried to be brave but I winced almost every time she touched my face. After several minutes of doctoring and a rather large glass of Gentleman Jack, I told Abby about my entertaining evening.

She stood and started toward the telephone. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"Calling the police."

"Why?"

"I'll have that beast arrested. For assault or attempted murder or something."

"Abby, let it go. Best case, Jenkins does a little time and I still don't have the jewels."

"But...but..."

"Abby, let it go. I can't call the cops every time I get into a little scuffle; not if I want to continue to be a private detective. I'd lose what respect I've built up in the community and then no one would hire me."

"Men," Abby said in exasperation. She sat down next to me, moved the peas to the left eye and put her arms around me.

That's where I woke up the next morning. During the night, Abby and I had managed to fully stretch out on my huge sofa. I alternated between thinking about my next move and looking at my beautiful Abby; the swelling around my eyes had gone down and I could see again.

After a long hot shower and a huge breakfast I spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon recuperating; that means I took naps in between snacks. Amazing how getting your ass handed to you on a platter affects your appetite. Abby had called her office and let them know she wasn't coming in that day. Instead she hovered around and over me all day. I'd wake up from another nap and she would be sitting close watching me.

"Abby chill," I finally told her. "I'm okay; you don't have to worry about me. I've had worse and lived. Okay?"

"When?"

"When what?"

"When have you had worse?"

I had to smile at her. "Don't remember," I answered and laughed. At first she sat and stared at me with a stone face; then she laughed too.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going back to see Jenkins again tonight."

"Oh Matt," Abby protested, then stopped and looked down for a few seconds. "This time he might kill you," she softly whispered.

"He might but I don't think so. I think he kinda likes me." I had to laugh at the look on Abby's face. "Seriously, this time I won't give him the chance to hurt me."

"Are you just going to yell at him from across the room?" Abby asked sarcastically. I shrugged and she added, "I could go with you and cover your back."

"If you went with me, I'd have two things to worry about; you and Mr. Sasquatch."

"At least call Tully, or Rollie, or your detective friend Frank Wends," she suggested.

I took her hands and paused. "I can't ask for their help, not yet anyway. No, I'll go back and face Jenkins alone. If this doesn't work out then I might have to ask them for help."

"But why?"

"Several reasons. You want me to list them?" Abby nodded and I said, "First it's my job. I took a man's money and gave him my word I would help him. That's important to me. Second, remember the talk I had with James?" She nodded again. "Same goes for me. If I don't go back, I'll always wish I had; I'd always think of myself as a coward. I can't live hiding from bad people; even someone as bad as Jenkins. And third, I want, guess you call it a full measure of payback. That's it," I finished.

"Men," she repeated. "You're all little boys at heart. Got to be the toughest on the block. Got to be a macho man." She had tears in her eyes. "If you get yourself killed this time, don't come running to me for sympathy." Abby realized what she'd said and laughed in spite of herself.

"Matt, please be careful. And when you're done come back home, I'll be here waiting for you."

You know, it's difficult to make love when you're all beat to hell; but I powered through the pain and did my best.

That evening Abby watched as I was getting dressed to go see the Sasquatch again.

Most of the swelling of my face and gone down, thanks to the bags of frozen peas and other vegetables. But both eyes were a nasty shade of black and blue. The rest of the colors on my lips, cheeks and forehead were a study in violent art.

"You look like a raccoon," Abby said with a grin.

"Yeah, but I'm better than I look. Maybe I'll scare Jenkins to death."

*********************

"I thought you had more sense than to come back here," Jenkins said as I presented myself in front of his booth. The table had been put back in place and a glass and whiskey bottle was sitting on it. I shrugged my shoulders and stared at him without saying anything. "We have to go through this again?" He asked.

"Guess so," I answered. I motioned to my friend, the bartender, for a glass. When he brought it to me, I reached across the table, picked up the bottle, and poured myself a drink. "Course you could tell me what I want to know plus give me the jewels and avoid any unpleasantness."

Sasquatch stood and shook his head. "I didn't think so," I said. Turning, I placed the bottle and glass on the end of the bar. "Might as well get to it then."

It's one thing to know and remember how fast this guy was; it was another thing to have him come at you with that speed. He was almost around the table and on me before I could set myself. Jenkins threw a punch with his big right hand, but this time I was ready. Stepping to the side, I let the punch slide over my shoulder. I took another step to the side and kicked the outside of Jenkins knee. His leg buckled and he went to his hands and knees.

Before he could lever himself back to his feet, I clutched both of my hands together and brought them down hard on his neck. This time he laid out flat on his stomach. One of his companions sitting at the table stood and started toward me. I pulled my Glock and stuck it in his face.

"You really don't want to get involved in this, now do you?" The man held up his hands and sat back down.

I leaned over to Jenkins and said, "Now please tell me who hired you. And then you can give me the jewels."

"Teddy, come help me to a chair," Jenkins yelled at his companion. Teddy looked at me before he moved; he didn't want to face my Glock again. I nodded and he came over and struggled but got Jenkins into a chair.

"Fella name Taylor Barkley hired me," Jenkins told me. "Said he wanted to hurt this Blaine guy and I could keep the jewels as my pay. I figured what the hell?" Three or four hundred thousand dollars was pretty good wages so I took the deal." He cocked his head, smiled, and said, "You can understand why I hesitate to return the jewels."

I had holstered my gun and as Jenkins said his piece he pulled a Derringer out of his vest. Damn, there ain't no quit in this guy.

"Jenkins, those jewels are paste and zircons; they're fakes." I saw the disbelief on his face. "If they're close by, bring them out and I'll prove it to you."

He sat there with a skeptical look on his face, pointing the Derringer at me, for what seemed like an hour; it was probably no more than 10 seconds. "Teddy, get the stuff and bring it to me," he ordered.

Teddy left out the back door at a run. I motioned to the bartender and he brought over the Gentleman Jack and two glasses. He poured a drink for each of us and beat feet back behind the bar. Teddy came back carrying a small duffel bag. He started to hand it to Jenkins, but Jenkins motioned to give it to me.

I took the duffel and set it at my feet. Opening the zipper I took out what looked like about a four carat diamond ring. Tossing back the rest of my drink, I looked at Jenkins.

"We all know diamonds are the hardest thing in the world, right?" The big man looked interested and nodded. "If this is a diamond, it should be able to cut this glass, right?" Jenkins nodded again; I saw Teddy and the bartender nodding too.

I took the ring, held up the glass, and ran the edge of the supposed diamond across the side of the glass as hard as I could. When I finished, I handed the glass to Jenkins and then I handed him the ring. The glass was unmarked but there was a large worn down spot on the ring.

"Don't take a jeweler to know this ring is a fake," Jenkins said after looking closely at it. He threw the ring across the room and the glass followed. "Son of a bitch played me."

"Yes he did. I guess that concludes our business this evening Mr. Jenkins." I hefted the duffel and added "Think I'll take this trash and return it to its owner."

"I'll have to come see you," Jenkins said. "I won the first round, you won the second. We need to play out the rubber match."

"Sasquatch, if I see you again, I'll put a bullet in your brain." I turned and left the bar. Abby was waiting at home.

********************

"By God you did it," Hunter Blaine exclaimed. We were in my office. "And in only three days." He laughed and said, "I guess you got the best of the deal."

"You know a guy named Taylor Barkley?"

"Yeah, he's my biggest rival at the company. He's always trying to gain enough votes to take over the Board of Directors and force me out." Blaine looked troubled.

"Barkley set it up to rob your home. Guess he figured to embarrass you and take over." I thought of another thing I needed to tell Blaine. "By the way, you, me, and the guy who helped me recover the ice are the only ones that know the jewels are copies."

"That son of a bitch," Blaine said. "I'll deal with him at the next board meeting." He stood to leave. "I guess we're all square."

"Not quite," I answered. "I want you to take $5000 to a man named Jenkins; he's the one Barkley hired. You can find him at a place called Dooley's around 10PM some night; it's on the seedy end of Laclede."

"Why?"

"Without him, I'd still be looking for your jewels. You owe him."

Blaine nodded. "It's a hell of a lot less than I would have lost. I'll do it."

"One thing, when you take the money to him, take cash. I also suggest you hire a two or three off duty cops, in uniform, to go with you. Dooley's isn't the Ritz; it's not a very upscale place.

********************

"I'm glad that's over," Abby said.

We were snuggled up on my sofa, pretending to watch TV.

"Not just yet," I replied. Then seeing the look on her face, I added, "I've got one more guy to talk to. No, it's not like I talked to Jenkins. This will be very civil."

I leaned away from Abby so I could see her face. "You know, we should look for a bigger place."

"We?"

"Yeah, we. I mean my place is okay but not for two people all the time. In case you missed it, I'm asking you to move in with me. I'm tired of bouncing from one place to another and not having you here every time I come home or wake up." I paused for a few seconds. "What do you think?"

Abby answered my question in a most enjoyable, strenuous way; my injuries from the beating didn't slow me down a bit. It wasn't until the next morning and twelve or so Aspirin that we talked about what part of the city we wanted to live in.

********************

The first Monday of the month I was waiting outside of the building where Hunter Blaine's offices occupied the top floor. Taylor Barkley came out and started toward the nearby parking structure; I walked over to intercept him.




Cold Steele---and Ice



"Mr Barkley, I understand you got your butt kicked in the board meeting this morning," I said.

"Who are you? What business is it of yours?"

"I'm Matt Steele; I was the one that found Mr. Blaine's jewels. I also found the man you hired to steal them."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Look Barkley, we both know you hired Sidney Jenkins to steal the jewels; so cut the bullshit. I can't prove it in court but I'll keep an eye on you. You're bound to screw up sometime and when you do I'll be there." I walked past Barkley for a few steps and then stopped and turned.

"Oh, by the way, Sidney Jenkins is known as "The Sasquatch". He told me you are now his favorite new hobby. He said to tell you that you'll be hearing from him pretty soon. Have a nice day now." I turned and walked away.

Let Barkley worry about "The Sasquatch", I thought with a smile. I'm going to meet Abby; we've got a couple of apartments and a house to look at.

The End---For Now.



Cold Steele - and Mrs. Robinson Ch. 01



I've been away for a while. Real life and other projects have kept me busy. Things have stabilized a little and I hope to get back to writing shorter stories. 

This is a return visit to one of my characters that I like very much. It is a standalone story but I would suggest that you read the other two installments of "Cold Steele". Those stories will give you insight into the main characters and their personalities. 

Either way, I thank you for reading my work. Constructive comments, critiques and emails are very welcome and appreciated. 

******************** 

The building was a large two story brick that had been an extensive country home for a rich family in its past. It was located on the near north side of downtown St. Louis in an area that had long since declined to a shadow of its former splendor. The area was being revitalized into an upper class business section of the city. The stately old house now held four offices on the first floor and two large apartments on the second. 

As you entered the ten feet tall double doors into the foyer of the building a wide hall way extended to the rear of the building. There was a large door at the rear with a red lit exit sign over it. Along that gateway into the building were four offices, two on either side of the hallway. 

The first office on the left had a heavy wooden door with a frosted glass panel in the center which had a month old sign painted in gold letters with a black border. 

Matthew Steele 

Investigations 

Security Specialist 

That's me, Matt Steele, famous or maybe it's infamous, private investigator. I fight for truth, justice, and the American way; actually, I'm just trying to make a living. Well, I didn't really have to work thanks to a settlement from the city of St. Louis but I get bored just sitting around. I was a Detective First "Class with the St. Louis Police when I found my wife, Johanna, and my boss, Captain Joe Harper, in bed together. 

I kicked Harper's ass and threw my wife out of the house; I wouldn't have beat on the slime ball except he went for his service revolver because he thought I was going to beat on him. I ended up divorced and was fired for insubordination and assault on Harper. 

The St. Louis Police Department didn't want the negative publicity when I threatened a suit for wrongful termination and settled for a large sum out of court. I was no longer a cop but I needed to do something so I became a private detective. 

"Nice digs," I said as I leaned back in my new desk chair and put my feet up on my brand new desk. This was the first day in my new office although I'd been living in one of the upstairs apartments for almost five months. I still owned a house, having gotten it from my divorce but I rented it out. Looking out the big bay window facing the walkway up to the building and the street, I watched as business men and women passed by on the sidewalk. Had to admit they were a more successful class of people than I'd watched from my old office. 

It was a warm spring day so the women were made up and dressed better than near my previous office building; each trying to outdo the others. The ladies mostly wore sexy business suits with skirts above the knee and high heels as they strutted by my window. 

I hadn't wanted to move from my old office but that part of downtown had turned into a area that even I would hesitate going into after dark; my how the mighty had fallen. At the urging of my girlfriend and others, I decided to change my business venue. Of course the fact that the building that housed my old office had been condemned made the decision much easier. Two weeks after I and the rest of the tenants moved out, the city demolished the building as a safety precaution. They said they were afraid that if someone sneezed the building would fall down around them. 

"I like the scenery better," Matt continued. "And at least I can leave for home late at night and not worry about getting mugged." He smiled and added, "Abby likes the place better too." 

My friend and former commander at the St. Louis Police Department, Major Taylor, told me I needed a better office to attract a better class of clients. "If you work out of the slums then that's the type of business you'll get," Taylor suggested. "Get yourself a better work place." 

I had been Detective First Class Matt Steele with the St. Louis Police until I beat the hell out of my boss who had me fired. After receiving the large lawsuit settlement from the city for wrongful termination, I decided to open my own detective agency. Now I owned, operated and was the sole employee of a private investigations business. Due to the settlement, I could afford to take only the cases or jobs that I wanted. 

"Got to admit Abby and the Major were right," I continued talking to the new office. "This is a better deal and I can go upstairs and be home in no time after closing my office. Yep, smooth move Mr. Steele." 

A silhouette appeared through the frosted glass of the door. Then I heard two sharp knocks and my door opened before I could say 'come in'. A large, well dressed and groomed man stepped into the office. 

"Mr. Steele?" The man asked and when I nodded he said, "I'm Jonathan Caldwell Robinson." 

"I know who you are Mr. Robinson; I recognize you from your pictures in the paper and on TV." 

Jonathan Robinson was a well known, almost famous, business owner. He was a patron of the arts and on several philanthropic committees for the benefit of St. Louis. I had heard gossip that his actions were more for his benefit than the cities; it was a good excuse for rubbing elbows with the movers and shakers in St. Louis and the state. Looks like the stereotype of the successful, social climbing and politically connected inner circle of the city, I thought. 

Robinson was about 6 foot 3, the same as Matt, but the resemblance stops there. Where Matt had black hair and gray eyes, Robinson had blond hair so light it was almost white but with a smattering of gray at the temples and his eyes were a piercing blue. Matt had a large frame and weighed around 225. 

I knew from his media profile that the man was 46, ten years older than me. Robinson was slender, about 180 pounds, and dressed in a very expensive manner. His bearing was of entitlement as if everyone should jump when he spoke. Damn suit cost more than my whole wardrobe, I thought as I returned the stare from Robinson. Don't think I like him and I haven't even talked to him. 

"What can I do for you John?" 

"That's Mr. Robinson, if you please," Robinson replied with a condescending manner. "I'd like to hire your services." He waited for me to take my feet down from the desk and show eagerness to do his bidding. 

Now I know I don't like the man. Maybe I should jump up and snap to attention; instead I didn't move other than to wave a hand for Robinson to continue. 

"I have suspicions that my wife, Cynthia, is having an affair. I'd like you to follow her and get evidence that I can use in a divorce." 

"You're a rich man Mr. Robinson," I said the name with sarcasm. "With the divorce laws being what they are, it might be cheaper to keep her." 

"You would normally be correct. However, I can't have my wife being a common slut. In my position it doesn't look good." Robinson sat down in the chair in front of Matt's desk. He shot the cuffs of his white silk shirt, straightened his tie and smoothed the crease of his pant leg. He continued in his oh so very cultured voice. "In addition, we do have a prenuptial agreement and if I can prove infidelity she'll have to leave with just the clothes on her back. I would be very appreciative if you can get the evidence I need. Then I intend to file for a divorce citing adultery as the reason." 

I hadn't like Robinson's political leanings as reported in the media and I didn't like the man anymore in person. There's no need to run around in jeans and a golf shirt, like me, I thought. But that suit looks like it cost 3 or 4 thousand dollars and that's just plain showin off. Don't like the phony way he talks either. 

"I'm sorry Mr. Robinson, I don't do domestic cases." 

It was obvious that Robinson wasn't used to people refusing his requests. "You will be well compensated." 

"Can't help you Mr. Robinson," Matt replied again saying the name with sarcasm. 

"Don't you need the money?" Robinson said looking around the office with hardly disguised contempt. 

"Not yours Robinson. I suggest you leave now; our talk is over." 

The look of surprise on the man's face made me chuckle. But I stopped laughing at Robinson's next statement. "I'll give you ten thousand dollars to follow and obtain evidence that my wife is having an affair." 

I looked at Robinson for several seconds. "Why so much? There are other PIs that will work for a lot less." 

"Jason Worth and Hunter Blaine both sing your praises." I raised an eyebrow; it had the effect I wanted as he continued. "I've done my due diligence and have been told that you and a man named Chambers are the best in town, and I usually get the best." Robinson added. 

"Yeah, but Rollie isn't near as good looking as me." I looked out my window as the business crowd walked past my window and thought about the two previous clients that Robinson mentioned. Domestic cases were ones I usually avoided and the settlement I'd gotten from the Police department made sure I didn't have to take them; But then again, ten thousand dollars was a hell of a fee for a few days work. 

"Okay, I'll help you...but I'll only give it two weeks. If I can't get the goods on Mrs. Robinson or she isn't cheating I still get half the fee; payable in advance." 

Robinson reached into his jacket pocket, took out his check book, wrote a check for $5000 and slid it across the desk to me. "I'm sure you'll be able to help me." 

"I'll need information on your wife, her schedule, where she hangs out and her friends. I also need a recent picture," I told him. 

Robinson slid a large manila envelope across the desk. "There is Cynthia's picture, her license plate number and type of car she drives, a list of the charities and committees she's involved with and a list of her friends." When can you start?" 

"I just did; I'll keep you posted." 

"I'll expect daily progress reports Mr. Steele." 

"You'll get what I find when I find it." At the look on Robinson's face Matt held out the check and added, "That's the way I work. You can always find yourself another boy." 

"Why are you being so er...confrontational Mr. Steele?" 

Matt stared at Robinson and then answered. "I don't like doing what we call domestic work; it seldom turns out well. I've taken the job and your money and I'll do my best but it has to be on my terms." 

"Very well." Robinson pointed to the envelope. "My card with my private number is there also. Please let me know when you find something." He stood, shot his cuffs again, and turned and walked out of the office. 

Pompous ass, I thought as I watched him leave. "But a rich pompous ass," I muttered and I put the check in my pocket. 

******************** 

"How was your first day in your new office?" Abby asked as she breezed in from work at 4 o'clock. 

Abigail Stewart is my ...well, live in girlfriend I'd guess you'd call her. 'Abby' is about 5 feet 8, with an athletic body but there was no doubt that she is all women. Her hair is strawberry blonde and cut in a pixie style that makes her green eyes and full lips stand out. She has a smattering of freckles across her nose. 

As I looked up at her and dropped my feet from my desk to the floor. I was once again surprised and grateful for our relationship considering my distrust of women after the failure of my marriage. Standing up I took her in my arms and kissed her hello. 

"My goodness," Abby said after returning my kiss. "It must have been a good day." 

"Got my first case on the first day in the office. And it's a rich guy. You and the Major were right; better office, better class of client." I wasn't smiling. 

Abby noticed my facial expression. "You don't seem too happy about it." I shrugged my shoulders. "Why not?" She asked. 

"It's a domestic; you know following a wife to prove she's having an affair." 

"You don't like divorce cases do you?" 

I shook my head. "Makes me feel like a peeping tom. I've seen a number of marriages end due to the information I gathered. Mostly my investigations lead to a sad, sometimes violent result." 

"All you're doing is gathering evidence and presenting it." 

"Yep that's what I do, gather evidence and present it, but I've seen a surprisingly equal number of self absorbed men and selfish scheming women screw over their spouses and partners with no thought of the consequences; especially for the children. Makes me wonder if "Happily ever after" really exists." 

Noticing the hard look I added, "I'm not talking about you and me Abby." 

"You better not be, I was just getting ready to bop you in the head to bring you to your senses," Abby said. "Why did you take that kind of job if you hate them so much?" 

I had to smile and shake my head. "Truth be told, Robinson money whipped me into it." Now she raised an eyebrow. "I'm gonna follow his wife for a maximum of two weeks; I get five thousand no matter what and ten thousand if I get the evidence he wants." I picked up the check from Robinson and showed it to her. "He gave me the five grand up front." 

Taking Abby by the hand, I pulled her toward the door. "C'mon, let's go to dinner to celebrate and then we'll come home and explore this 'Happily ever after' thing." 

******************** 

It was just after 10:30 AM and the morning Spring weather was perfect. I was sitting in my truck watching the entrance to a chic, upscale ladies boutique. Mrs. Cynthia Robinson, my target and wife of my client, was shopping. She had gone into the shop at 9:30 and I was still waiting for her. "And she's taking her own sweet time doing it," I said to the squirrel staring at me from the tree next to my truck. It was a warm spring day and I had both of the windows down. 

People don't know or realize that this is mostly what you do as a PI, you wait and watch, then wait and watch some more. After two days and nights of following Mrs. Robinson, I'm no closer to finding any information about an extra marital affair. Good old Cynthia is downright boring. 

"Hell, she doesn't respond to the flirting from her tennis coach," I told the squirrel. "I watched her yesterday and the guy put the moves on her but she either didn't notice or decided he wasn't worth the effort to knock him down a notch or two." The squirrel was barking and chirping at me to let me know he didn't like me parking near his tree. "If you don't watch out, I'll put you in a stew pot you mangy tree rat." 

Just then, good old Cynthia left the boutique. Now in fairness I have to say the good old part wasn't very accurate. Cynthia Robinson looked to be between 30 and 35. She had the fresh innocent look of a young woman. If she was 18 you could put her on the cover of Teen Magazine. Cynthia is tall and slender but there is no doubt she is all woman; with bumps and curves in all the right places. Her long blonde hair and blue eyes just added to the thought that she must have been a teenage cheerleader at one point in her life. The only thing that made her less than perfect, in my mind, was that she spent an hour and a half in the store and didn't buy a thing. 

I knew that Jonathan Robinson, from the stories in the newspaper, had met her while she was doing a presentation of a new computer she was trying to sell to his company. Robinson was taken with her; he put a full court press on her and they were married after six months of dating. Although she didn't make the sale she did gain a husband. Now, after only two years of marriage, Robinson thought she was cheating on him. 

For the first time Cynthia didn't head for another tennis or golf lesson and she didn't go to another expensive store for more useless shopping; she went to a little coffee shop on the near south side of St. Louis. The Robinsons lived in what could only be called a mansion on Lindell Blvd across from Forest Park; the Benton Park Café and Coffee Shop was several miles from her house. She locked her Mercedes SLK Roadster and almost skipped into the shop. Cynthia moved quickly to a booth in the back and I couldn't really see her. 

"I'll have to go in and see who she's meeting," I said, not really happy about the possibility that my target would see and pay attention to me. I have a habit of talking out loud when I'm on a stake out. Sitting alone in my office or at home, I've been known to talk to myself. Sometimes it's the most intelligent conversion I can find. 

Slipping on a St. Louis Cardinals sweatshirt, putting on a St. Louis Rams hat and donning big sunglasses, I got out of the truck and entered the shop. I waited to give my order to the young lady behind the counter while she finished up with another coffee junkie. As I waited I turned and glanced at Cynthia. She and a guy sat across from each other with those big stupid coffee cups on the table top between them. 

I've never understood why coffee shops or customers for that matter wanted those huge cups. Before you could drink all that coffee it would get cold and if you chugged it while it was hot, you'd break out in a sweat and have to run to the bathroom. 

Cynthia was talking to a man, in what looked like an agitated state. The guy gave her a smile and reached over the table and took one of her hands in his. Then he said something in return and Cynthia seemed to relax and sat back in her seat. The guy was good looking if you like the older matinee idol type; he looked to be 40 to 45. Six feet, I guessed and he looks fit. He had wavy brown hair combed straight back and he wore nice clothes. Not the $3000 suits that Mr. Robinson wore, but he was nicely dressed never the less. He was too far away to see his eyes. 

"How may I help you?" The young barista asked; she had finished with the other customer. 

"Cup of coffee," I told her. 

"We can whip that for you and make a nice latte or we can add one of several different flavors." She was going to continue to tell me about all the foo foo things they did with coffee. I held up my hand to stop her. 

"Coffee, black is all I want." She smiled sadly at me and went to fill the order of the uneducated man in front of her. 

I paid for my gallon cup of coffee and found a table near the front window. There was a clear line of sight to Cynthia and Mr. Matinee Idol; that was the reason I'd picked that seat. After an hour or so I had just about finished my cold coffee when the two people I was watching stood to leave. He put his arms around Cynthia and then tried to kiss her but she pulled away shaking her head. Apparently, she wasn't ready to go the extra step; at least not in public. Cynthia left, got into her chariot, calling that Mercedes a car was an insult, and pulled away. 

Good thing, I thought as I made a quick exit to the men's room. Coffee doesn't normally run through me but after drinking that huge cup I thought I'd better make a pit stop before I continued. Finishing my business I approached the young lady again. 

"I thought I recognized that couple that just left," I said. "Who are they?" 

"That's George Hamilton," she answered. "I've seen the lady in here with him but I don't know her name." 

"George Hamilton, like the actor." 

"Who?" The girl had no idea who I was talking about. 

"Never mind, before your time I guess. Have they been in here a lot?" 

"Two or three times a week for the last couple of weeks." 

******************** 

"Ain't the internet amazing," I said as I sat back from my computer monitor that afternoon. I had used Google to find out a lot of information about George Hamilton. He was a prominent figure in one of the charities where Cynthia volunteered. I learned that Jonathan Robinson and Hamilton had been at each other's throats several times over the years and I figured Hamilton saw in Cynthia a way to get back at her husband. My guess was that he was going to seduce Cynthia and then rub Robinson's nose in the affair. 




Cold Steele - and Mrs. Robinson Ch. 01



During the next eleven days I followed Cynthia Robinson. Hamilton and Cynthia had lunch or coffee several times, and dinner four times. I took pictures with my cell phone of each meeting. The secretive couple always met at out of the way restaurants or coffee houses. Cynthia was careful to never go to a place that her friends, her husband's associates or her husband might see them. I was able to sit in the booth next to them one evening and record their conversation; using the same phone I had used to take the pictures. Ain't technology wonderful? 

"She hasn't been to bed with him," I said as I finished the last day and night of observation. "It might be leading up to that but I don't think ole Cynthia is ready to go that far." 

This time my computer worked for me instead of against me. It seems the infernal machine has a grudge against me for some reason. It will go along fine, doing what I want, and then out of the blue it gets mad or something. When it does, it erases everything I'd been working on and sometimes on things I'd done before. 

I learned quickly to back up and save all my work and files when it was in a good mood. I finished typing a report for Robinson using Google documents and printed it out. The next day was the last of the two weeks and I had an appointment with him to go over what I'd found. 

At 10 the next morning I walked into Robinson's office at One Met Square; the premier office building in downtown St. Louis. The secretary was wasting her time greeting and doing secretarial stuff; she should have been in the movies or on TV. The young woman, 25 to 28 I guessed, was more than beautiful; she was stunning. Tall, long blonde hair, with cornflower blue eyes that missed nothing and showed intelligence. 

"Mr. Steele?" She asked. I nodded and she pointed to a heavily carved wood door and said, "You can go right in, Mr. Robinson is expecting you." 

If the management company at One Met Square wanted to lease or sell high end office space to a client, they could show them Robinson's office. Two of the four walls were floor to ceiling windows offering a great view of the St. Louis riverfront, the Gateway Arch, and the Mississippi River. Nothing blocked the view and you could see up and down the river and across into Illinois for miles. 

Robinson interrupted my looking at the view. "Do you have the evidence I want?" He asked and pulled a check book from the middle drawer of his desk; the desk was almost big enough to play football on. 

"I've got some information but I don't think it's what you wanted." I slipped a folder with my report and the pictures inside. As Robinson looked at the pictures, I said, "The man is George Hamilton but Mrs. Robinson hasn't done anything except meet him for coffee or lunch a few times and a couple of dinners." Moving a series of pictures in front of him I said, "this is as sexually and physical as they've gotten Mr. Robinson." The pictures showed the couple saying good bye as they kissed on each cheek, the way they do in Hollywood, and Cynthia shaking Hamilton's hand. "Mrs. Robinson may be having an emotional affair but nothing physical." 

Robinson seemed upset. "I know Hamilton and he is a very persuasive man. Are you sure Mr. Steele?" 

"I followed Mrs. Robinson from the time she left your house in the morning until she returned. Unless Hamilton was slipping into your bedroom after I left, they haven't been close to being intimate." 

He shook his head and sat down behind the huge desk. I heard him mumble "Why isn't she...? I couldn't hear the rest of the question. 

"Mr. Robinson I have a recording here that might explain why." I set my phone to play the recording, turned the speaker toward him and pushed the button. The conversation I'd managed to tape was Cynthia telling Hamilton she was unhappy with her marriage. She said her husband didn't pay much attention to her and she thought he'd only married her to be a trophy wife to impress his business associates. It was plain from the tone of her voice that Cynthia was sad, angry, and a little lost. Hamilton did his best to push her to let him be the one to make her life better; he was trying to take advantage of the situation. 

"I'm no expert on marriages or relationships Mr. Robinson; it's above my pay grade. But it seems to me if you'll just talk to your wife you two can iron out these problems." I held up my hand and told him, "No need to write another check; I didn't get what you wanted." 

"No, no," Robinson said and handed me another check for five thousand dollars. "You've given me a lot to think about." 

The look on his face wasn't of anger or sadness, I thought. It's more like determination. Noticing his look I asked, "One last time piece of advice sir?" He nodded in a distracted manner and I added, "Don't do anything stupid where Hamilton is concerned. It'd be a damn shame if you went to jail for that piece of garbage. Remember, Karma's a bitch and it'll bite him in the ass soon enough." 

"I have no intention of going to jail Mr. Steele," he replied. "Of that you can be sure." 

******************** 

Later that day Abby came breezing into my office around 2 o'clock. She works for a consulting firm that helped local and national charities with fund raisers, publicity and anything else that would help them help other people. Sometimes she had to go to dinners, seminars, and even travel to other cities. But today she came to my place early. She came over and sat on my lap before I could get up and said "How did your meeting with the client go?" 

Against most client confidentiality rules or guide lines, I sometimes discuss my cases with Abby; she's even worked on a couple with me. When I need date camouflage following or investigating someone she's my cover. She also gives me a woman's perspective on things when I ask. I'd told her about the Robinson's and what I'd found out. Abby agreed that Cynthia wasn't ready to let things get physical with Hamilton, but it could happen. 

"I'm glad to see you too," putting my arms around her as she sat down. "I gave Robinson the information I'd gathered. He was pissed and I suggested he talk to his wife and maybe they could work things out. " I'd put the check under the edge of the large lamp on my desk; I pulled it out and handed it to Abby. "He even gave me the other five thousand." 

"Well I'm glad that's over," Abby offered. "You were a bit of a bear while you worked this case." 

"I'll never take another domestic case." I grinned at her. "C'mon, let's go to Rigazzi's and celebrate." 

Abby shook her head. "I suggest we grill a couple of steaks and afterwards celebrate here at home." 

"Good thinking," I answered. 

******************** 

"FATAL BOATING ACCIDENT ON ALTON LAKE", the headline of the State and Local section in the Sunday Post Dispatch read. I was glancing at the paper, caught a name in the story and started to read. Abby walked into the living room and asked, "What's got you so interested in the paper?" 

"Guy was killed at Alton Lake, a guy I know." 

"Who?" 

"George Hamilton." 

"The name sounds familiar. Who is George Hamilton?" 

"Remember that domestic case I handled about three months ago? For that rich guy Robinson; he's the one that I made an obscene amount of money from for two weeks work." Abby nodded. "Hamilton was the guy trying to seduce Mrs. Robinson." 

"What happened to him?" 

"Paper says that Hamilton was on his boat Saturday afternoon and it exploded. Says there was a gas leak and apparently the fumes were touched off by a spark or something." 

"There are boating accidents on the lake every summer, it's nothing new." 

I stared at the paper for a few seconds. "It's just funny. Not funny in a ha ha way. More like it's strange. I mean I never heard of the guy and now I've heard about him twice in a few months." 

To Be Continued



Cold Steele - and Mrs. Robinson Ch. 02



Matt's story continues. Please read Chapter 1 to understand the characters and flow of the story. 

Constructive comments, critiques, and emails are welcome and I appreciate you taking the time for them. 

Stick with me, please and enjoy the tale. 

******************** 

"Okay, I'll go with you," Matt said. Abby had asked him on Monday to accompany her to a charity fund raiser that coming weekend. "But my good suit will have to be enough; I'm not wearing a tux. And you'll owe me for making me get dressed up." 

She smiled, hugged me and gave me a kiss that left me breathing hard. "Consider that a down payment on my bill." 

Saturday evening at 7 we entered the ball room of The Four Seasons Hotel. The hotel sat one block from the Mississippi shore line, above the flood wall and just north of the Gateway Arch. It was one of the most expensive hotels in St. Louis and probably the nicest. The ball room was a huge room and easily held the two hundred invited guests. 

The tables were dressed with white tablecloths, china and expensive center pieces. Along three of the walls free bars were kept busy; they'd better be free with the cost of the tickets, I thought. There was a band stand and a dance floor toward the back of the room. "I bet you couldn't play basketball on that dance floor," I said to Abby. "But maybe you could get in a half court game." 

Abby and I found our table; we were sitting with her boss and other people from her company. I got us a drink and looked around. At the head table, where all the big shots who'd given big bucks to the charity sat, I saw Jonathan and Cynthia Robinson. The Mayor, a City Alderman or two and the Police Commissioner were at the same table. 

I nudged Abby and sort of pointed with my chin at the high roller table. "That's the Robinsons sitting with the Mayor," I told her. It had been about six weeks since I gave him my report. 

"Your recent client?" She asked. And I nodded. 

As we ate dinner I said, "You'd think a five star hotel like the Four Seasons would serve something better than this rubber chicken. I've had better food at the street vendors on Euclid Avenue." The dinner surprised me as to how ordinary it was; I thought the food belonged in a two star place at best. 

After dinner we circulated greeting and talking to the other people; most of whom I wouldn't be able to point out again if they ran their Mercedes over me. I met more than one boyfriend or husband that looked like they'd rather be in the sports bar down the street. Abby and I approached the small crowd at the head table saying hello to the big wigs. I'd met the Mayor and I knew the Police Commissioner, although not on a first name basis, having been a detective for the St. Louis police at one time. 

"I never expected to see you at one of these affairs Mr. Steele." Robinson was showing his typical condescending manner. "After all, it's $1000 a plate." 

"Usually I wouldn't come to something like this," I replied. Then I continued, "But I came into an extra $10,000 a couple of months ago and thought what better way to spend part of it by helping a charity." 

Robinson stiffened and his face got red, but he recovered quickly. "Cynthia my dear, this is a business associate." He neglected to give her my name. 

I did a sort of half bow. "Mrs. Robinson, I'm Matt Steele." Indicating Abby I added, "This is my friend Abigail Stewart." 

Cynthia extended her hand to first Abby and then to me. "Have we met before Mr. Steele? You look familiar." 

I could see Robinson stiffen again but I let him off the hook. "I don't believe we have Mrs. Robinson." Nodding to both of them I said, "Nice to meet you Mrs. Robinson and good to see you again John. Please excuse us." I knew the "John" part would make the guy mad but he deserved it after his comment to me. 

Abby and I walked back to our table. As we sat down I said, "Looks like the Robinsons have made up." 

"Don't you believe it," she replied. "That lady is not a happy camper. You can see it in her eyes and the way she holds herself." She motioned back at the Robinsons and said, "Watch." 

The small orchestra started to play, Jonathan tried to take Cynthia's hand and lead her to the dance floor. She pulled her hand away, stepped past him, and went to the ladies room. 

"See," Abby said. 

"Well, that's their problem." I took Abby's hand and leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "I believe there was mention of further payment. Do you want to dance for awhile or get right to it?" She smiled took my hand and led us out of the ball room and up to a suite she'd reserved earlier. My Abby is a take charge kind of gal. 

******************** 

I was my office on the following Sunday morning going over some paperwork and setting my schedule for the next week; actually I had my feet up on my desk with a cup of Kona coffee in my hand reading the Sunday Post Dispatch. I was leafing through the local section until I found the police blotter for Saturday and Saturday night. It was some I did every two or three days. I liked to follow the reports in spite of not being a detective anymore. Abby had left to attend a brunch for a lady that was retiring from the charity business. 

One small paragraph caught my eye and I read it in detail. "Cynthia Robinson, a local resident and wife of mogul Jonathan Robinson, was found dead late Saturday evening. The body was discovered leaning out of the passenger door of her car which was parked beneath the ramp up onto the Eads Bridge. 

My feet come off the desk sat up straight and put my coffee cup down. "What the hell was Cynthia doing under the Eads Bridge?" I ask out loud. There was no one in my office so I didn't get an answer. Picking up my phone I call Frank Wends, a St. Louis Police Detective. 

He and I had worked together while I was a detective; in fact he was my training officer. He was now the commander of the Detective section of the combined south side precincts. 

"What are you doing calling me on a Sunday?" Frank asked. 

"Hello to you too Frank. Look I just saw the blotter report on Cynthia Robinson. Anything you can tell me about it?" 

"That Mrs. Jonathan Robinson? I haven't even seen the write up on it yet. Hell I didn't know it happened until you just told me." 

"Can you give me a call when you do?" 

"You know I can't discuss an ongoing investigation with civilians." Frank waited for several seconds and added, "Of course you're not exactly a civilian; not sure what you are but you're not a civilian. What's your interest?" 

"I'll let you know when I know more; I promise. Maybe I'm tilting at windmills but something is going on." 

"Talk to you tomorrow and don't bother me at home anymore." Frank hung up before I could make a smart ass reply. I picked up my coffee and stared out the window. There were no lovelies walking by as it was Sunday but it was a nice view anyway. 

"Why are you staring out the window?" Abby asked as she entered my office. She came over with the coffee pot, poured me another cup and sat on my lap. 

"Something's going on with the Robinsons." I handed her the paper and pointed to the report on Cynthia. "First George Hamilton, the guy that was trying to seduce Cynthia, dies in a boating accident and a few weeks later Cynthia is found dead." 

"People die all the time," Abby replied. "It's just a coincidence." 

"When two people who know each other die, it's a coincidence. When those same people know each other the way Hamilton and Cynthia knew each other, it's more than a coincidence." 

"If you're bothered by it call Frank and ask him to look into it.' 

"Already did but the blotter report said it was a carjacking gone bad." 

"Sad as it is, that happens a lot," Abby said as she got off my lap and leaned against my desk. 

"Abby, you know the Robinsons; you know they have big bucks." She nodded and I said, "What was Cynthia doing in a low rent neighborhood like under the Eads Bridge? So unless the police do a full investigation I'm going to look into it...I'm going to look into it even if the police do their job." 

"What can you do that the police can't?" She held up her hand before I could answer. "Never mind, I forgot for a second who I was talking to." 

I smiled at her and said, "I can find out things the cops can't cause they got rules they have to go by. Me? As the song says, 'I've got friends in low places'...friends that can get information and not worry about rules. At least they can and will if I ask them nice." 

******************** 

My stupid cell phone shocked me awake. The ring tone was like an old fashion alarm clock and very loud. I glanced at the clock beside the bed and saw it was 7 AM. Abby and I had decided that one night of payment for my services at the fund raiser wasn't enough; I hadn't got to sleep until almost 3. 

"What?" I screamed into the phone. "This better be money or good news or I might shoot someone." 

"Threatening a police officer is a crime," Frank Wends said and chuckled. 

"Why are you calling me at the break of dawn Frank?" 

"Serves you right for calling me at home on a Sunday. Now do you want the full report on Cynthia Robinson or not?" 

I nodded my head and then remembered; I was on the phone. "Yes sir, please sir, if you could find the time sir," and then in a louder voice, "Since you woke me up at an hour only fit for mad dogs and Englishmen." 

Frank laughed again. "Okay. Mrs. Robinson was found in her car, sort of; the top half of her body was across the passenger's seat and her legs were still outside. She had been beaten severely and looks like she tried to get back to her car or to her cell phone which was in her purse on the console. The M.E. hasn't finished yet but there is a gunshot wound to the back of her head; at the base of her skull. Looks to be a small caliber weapon, maybe a .22; my guess, that's the cause of death." 

"The report states it was a carjacking or mugging gone bad?" I questioned but in a puzzled tone. 

"That's what the patrolmen said." 

I was quiet for several seconds; almost a half a minute. Then I said, "something's hinky here Frank, something doesn't add up." 

"Pray tell me old great and omnipotent detective," he questioned with a sarcastic voice. "Tell me why there is something hinky." 

"C'mon Frank, cut the crap. Quit being pissed off at me and listen." I waited a couple of seconds and before he could spout off again I continued. "The report says that it was a mugging or carjacking gone bad. But if that was what happened, why was her purse still there? The report said it was on the console didn't it? For that matter, why was the car still there? 

A mugger would have taken the purse...oh and check for her jewelry, a mugger would have taken that too. A carjacker, willing to kill for her car, would have just rolled her out of it and drove it off. And what was she doing on the passenger side?" I paused and added, "This wasn't a theft gone too far, this was a murder plain and simple." 

Now it was Frank's turn to be silent for several seconds. "I need to bring this up to the detectives on the case," he said. "I'll be in touch." And he hung up without waiting for my reply. 

I stared at the wall for a few minutes and thought about the deaths of Hamilton and now of Cynthia. Even though it was early I called a guy I knew at the main precinct of the St. Louis Police Department. "Hey Ricky, it's Matt Steele. You still do consulting work on the side?" 

Ricky Willard was one of, and according to him the best, of the small group of cyber crimes specialists that work for the police. He checked into things people, some of which were really bad, did using computers; all legal and in the public domain if you knew how to access the information. If there was someone better at delving into a person's electronic foot print, I'd never met or even heard of them. 

Ricky had been in college and was running a very lucrative sports betting book and came to the attention of the St. Louis Police; apparently one of his clients felt he had been hosed and contacted the cops. The investigation also showed that Ricky was, for a hefty price, changing people's grades in the college's computer records. He was arrested and charged with fraud, gambling, running a gambling ring and a bunch of other crimes. 

But just before his trial, Ricky pointed out some flaws in the police department's computers and a plea bargain was struck. Ricky would be put on probation for two years and do six months of community service; the community service would be in the Cyber Crimes Department of the St. Louis Police. That had been three years previous and he was now a paid employee. He sometimes did side jobs, like background checks, getting financial information and other information stored on a computer network somewhere. If it was on a computer, Ricky could find it. 

"Hey Mr. Steele. Yeah, I still do side jobs; as long as they're legal you understand." Then Ricky laughed. "What do you need?" 

"Meet me for lunch at The Flying Saucer and before you ask, the lunch is on me; I've got a little job for you." Ricky agreed to meet me at 1 PM, just after the lunch crowd rush. 

After showering and scraping the whiskers off my face I dressed in what for me the height of fashion. I wore dark brown slacks, a pale blue on blue pin striped shirt with a dark brown knit tie and a tan cashmere sports jacket. After meeting Ricky to see what he could find out on short notice about the Robinsons, I'd decided I might have to pay my condolences to Jonathan Robinson for the loss of his wife. 

No matter what Ricky found in his inquires, I wanted to see how Robinson was taking his wife's death and do it early before he had a chance to build up defenses. The coincidence of Hamilton's and Cynthia's death made me think Robinson had something to do with one or both of the killings. 

I saw Ricky's beat up old Chevy Impala in the parking lot of The Flying Saucer Draft Emporium and parked next to it. Ricky is the only person that drives a vehicle that looks as ratty as my truck. But just like my truck, under that faded paint, dents, and rust lived the heart of a NACAR racer. Both vehicles had been worked on by the same genius mechanic to be classic "you can't tell a book by its cover" cars. 

I drove my truck mostly because it allowed me to blend in when I was working and if need be blow the doors off of cars I had to follow. Not sure why Ricky felt he needed a camouflaged speed racer. 

The Flying Saucer was about equal distance between police headquarters and One Met Square so it seemed to be the best place for our meeting. Besides, The Saucer had some of the best burgers in town and over 30 kinds of beer on tap. I wouldn't taste the brew at lunch but since Abby was working late, I thought I might come back and make up for it. 

Ricky had a huge burger in front of him and a bottle with the name Big Sky Moose Drool on the label. "I have to get back on time today so I started early. Got the big cheese coming in on an inspection tour." He grinned and said, "Of course the guy hardly knows the difference between a computer monitor and a full work station but we have to put on the show." He pointed at his beer and asked, "Want one; it's an IPA from Canada?" 

"No thanks. What I want is for you to look into Jonathan and Cynthia Robinson. I'd like to know as much about them as you can find out; legally of course." 

"Of course legally; I'm appalled that you would think I would do otherwise." Ricky grinned. "Now that we've got all that moral crap out of the way, what do you really need to know?" 

"I'm not sure exactly. "There have been two deaths that might be connected to Robinson; his wife is one of them. I guess I just want to see if there are any red flags in his life." I hesitated for a few seconds. "I was serious about you not doing anything illegal; I don't want you to go to jail for me over this." 

Ricky became more serious. "You know, if it hadn't of been for Rollie and Tully, I probably would have gone to jail. They're good people in my book and you're their friend so that buys you a lot of good will. And I'm not forgetting that scrape you got me out of." 

I'd come across Ricky one night in a less than reputable bar; it was when I was working on the Hunter Blaine case. Apparently he and another customer were having a serious disagreement over who had lost the pool game. The other guy pulled a knife on Ricky and things were about to get real interesting. Stepping into the argument, I convinced the other guy that Ricky wasn't worth the trouble. I convinced him by taking the knife away from him and threatening to put it someplace that would make him sitting down very uncomfortable. 

Ricky stuffed the last of the burger in his mouth, emptied the beer bottle and stood up. "Back to the salt mines. I'll give you a call no later than tomorrow noon." 

"Thanks Ricky," I replied. "I'll send you a check for your work." 

"No need, you pay for lunch and we're good." He turned to leave and then returned to the table. "Don't be surprised if you get a call from a number you don't recognize. I might be using an untraceable cell. See ya." Ricky turned and left humming the theme from Star Trek. 

Just past 2 PM, after parking my truck in a commercial lot, I entered the One Met Square building and took the elevator to Robinson's office. The same beautiful secretary/receptionist greeted me as I came into the large foyer to the office and my opinion of her intelligence rose as she picked up her phone and said, "Hello Mr. Steele, I'll see if Mr. Robinson is available." We'd had only met for a couple of minutes a couple of months ago and yet she remembered me. Smart lady. Of course I have that effect on a lot of women; they remember me, for good or bad some remember me. She put down the phone and motioned toward the big polished metal door that led to the throne room. 

Robinson sat at his desk, looking busy and made me wait for about two minutes before he looked up and said, "Yes? Why are you here?" And with a haughty look continued, "I'm done with you; I have no need of your services again, Steele." 

Steele, not Mr. Steele, just Steele pronounced like it left a bad taste in his mouth. My dislike for good old Jonathan increased. The way Robinson had spoken to me and his obvious distain made up my mind on how I wanted to handle this. I sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk and sought of slouched down. "My condolences on the death of your wife. Oh and on the death of your friend George Hamilton too." 

Robinson actually snarled. "Hamilton was no friend of mine and good riddance to him." 

I gave him a sarcastic grin and commented, "Interesting that Hamilton was the first one you mentioned; instead of your wife I mean." 

"Well of course I'm distraught about Cynthia," Robinson tried to backpedal. "I'm grief stricken but the living must go on." 

"Un-huh, just from your actions I'm sure you are." Fixing Robinson with grim stare. "Mr. Robinson, I think you had something to do with your wife's death; fact is I think you were involved in George Hamilton's boating accident as well." I stood and walked to the door. Stopping I turned and added, "I'm gonna look into it Jonathan. If I'm right you're in deep crap; and you're money isn't gonna help you." 

Robinson stood and if looks could kill I would have fallen down dead. "You can't prove anything and I'll make your life hell if you come after me. You understand, you cheap gum shoe?" 

"Gum shoe? Gum shoe?" I answered. "Nobody has used the term gum shoe since the Maltese Falcon and Sam Spade. You're a little behind the times Jonathan." I tried to slam the door as I left but it had one of those gadgets that closed it slowly; it wasn't very satisfying. 




Cold Steele - and Mrs. Robinson Ch. 02



******************** 

Sitting at my desk the next morning, I was practicing my stealth stakeout talents; actually I was watching the young ladies that worked in the nearby offices walk by my window. I had my morning coffee and was settling into my important task when my phone's annoying ring tone shattered my mood. 

"Matt Steele," I answered. 

"It's Ricky Mr. Steele. I've got some stuff on the Robinsons." He didn't wait for to reply and continued. "I ran the financials on them. I know Mr. Robinson supposed to be some rich big shot, but it was his wife that had the money." 

"Very interesting. You sure, I heard they met when Cynthia was working in sales trying to sell a new computer system to Robinson." 

"That may be but Mrs. Robinson owned the computer company; maybe she just liked working for something she built. Another thing I found out, the Robinsons weren't all that loving with each other. They'd tried counseling for a couple of months but it didn't take; it seems Mrs. Robinson was gonna divorce him." 

"You found out all this on the internet?" 

"The financials and business back ground yes, the other...well a friend of mine works for the Robinson's lawyer. I called her and she told me what she heard in the office. She said Mr. Robinson signed a prenup and he would be left nothing but the clothes on his back if they divorced. Even that fine car he drives is leased for him by his wife. The man was gonna lose everything. Course now he's inherited all Mrs. Robinson's money." 

"Your friend could get in trouble for violating the attorney/client confidentiality rules." 

"She might if someone ratted her out. But who would do that?" 

"How'd you get this friend to tell you all this." 

"Let's just say she was payin back a debt." Ricky chuckled. "Seems back in the day, she needed to pass a course to get her degree. I was able to help with her grade." He laughed again and added, "Of course, I wouldn't do anything like that now...it's against the law and all and I've reformed." 

"Thanks Ricky, I owe you one. See ya." I leaned so far back in my office chair that I almost tipped over. "Now I've got a motive Jonathan. And it's beginning to look like I was right after all." 

To Be Continued



Cold Steele - and Mrs. Robinson Ch. 03



Matt gets deeper into a case. His client is very important; it's Matt himself. 

Please read the first two chapters to get a feel for where we are in the story. Thanks for your interest. 

Constructive comments, critiques and emails are appreciated. 

******************** 

"You've got that "working on a case" look," Abby said at dinner. We were at Rigazzi's and I must have been staring at my plate lost in thought. 

Abby's statement pulled me back to the present. I nodded and smiled. "You know me too well. I am starting a case but this one is all for me; I don't have a client." 

"No client...what case?" 

"I'm gonna prove that Jonathan Robinson had his wife killed; probably had George Hamilton hit as well." 

"Why makes you think Mr. Robinson had anything to do with his wife's death or with Hamilton's for that matter?" 

"You remember what I found out about Cynthia and Hamilton?" Abby nodded. "At the fund raiser I told you I thought they'd gotten past it but you said they hadn't. You even pointed out the way Cynthia was acting toward her husband." 

She nodded again and said, "Mrs. Robinson didn't want to dance with him or hold hands or anything; she gave off an angry vibe." Abby gave me a small smile and added, "Most men wouldn't see it or if they did wouldn't understand it. You were no different." 

"You're right; I didn't see it until you pointed it out to me. But later when Cynthia was killed I started to think about the way she acted and then about Hamilton's accident. Like I told you I don't believe in coincidences and I had a friend dig into Robinson's background." 

"I hope you didn't have your "friend" do anything illegal." 

"Most of what he found is public record...maybe hard to find but it is in the public record." I motioned to our server for the check. "C'mon, let's get out of here." As we stood to leave, I quickly kissed her. "I want to get back to our date and let the rest of it go away." 

I handed Abby into my Cadillac CTS coupe. This was my 'meet clients and put on a good front' vehicle. I had two other cars; a beat up looking old Chevy pickup that was my work vehicle and had the heart of a NASCAR racer. The other chariot was a 63 Corvette Split Window Coupe; I drove it on weekends and on special occasions. 

The windows were down and the warm spring breeze brought in the scent of several fresh cut lawns in the neighborhood around Rigazzi's. We were driving slowly as I didn't especially want to get to our destination. I was taking Abby back to her apartment instead of to my place. She was going on a business trip at zero dark thirty the next morning and would be gone for two days. At her door I held her for a few seconds, kissed her and turned back toward my Caddy. 

The next morning I met with my realtor and finished the paper work on two deals. One, we closed on the sale of the house I'd gotten in my divorce. Seems the people renting it fell in love with the place. They approached my realtor, who managed the place for me, about buying it. I told him to quote some inflated price and they'd forget about it; they didn't blink and accepted the price. It was a case of someone being money whipped all over again. 

The second deal was closing on the house that I'd bought, hopefully for Abby and me. We had been talking about and sort of halfway looking for a place for several months. I'd always been a fan of the stately homes in several older neighborhoods of St. Louis built and developed in the late 1800's and early 1900's, so I bought a big house in the historic Compton Heights section of the city. It had been built in 1897 for a railroad tycoon but it had fallen onto hard times over the years. 

I was planning my surprise for Abby's return as I walked back to my truck when my stupid cell phone gave its blaring ring. I didn't recognize the number on the screen. "Matt Steele," I answered. 

"Hey Mr. Steele, it's Ricky Willard." 

"Yeah Ricky." 

"You said you owed me one, any chance I might collect on that Mr. Steele." 

"I'll help you if I can. What's going on?" 

"A friend of mine, Stella Reyes, is in trouble. You know that young lady who got that information about the Robinsons for us; the one that works for Mrs. Robinson's attorney?" 

I nodded and then realized he couldn't see me. "I remember but you never told me her name. Did she get in trouble for telling you the stuff she did?" 

"No sir, it's something else. Stella's family is kind of on hard times. She's the only one working and her mother is sick and needed some kind of special medical equipment so Stella tried to raise the money. She'd only been at her job for a year and they are renting a sort of rundown apartment and the banks and finance companies wouldn't help...so she went to a loan shark for the money." 

"Not the best thing to do Ricky. Those guys are like vampires; they'll suck the life right out of you." 

"Yeah, I know. Anyway Stella is struggling to make the payments, what with the high interest rate and all. If she misses the payment date by even a day, the guy charges her a week's vig. Oh, vig is the interest the guy charges for the loan." 

"I know what vigorish is Ricky, remember I was a cop. How much is the shark charging and how much is Stella into him for?" 

"That ass is charging her 2% a day on the $4000 she borrowed; that's over $500 a week. Even then he claims he's giving her a special rate and keeps making hints that she could work off her debt in a much more personal way. She's making the payments but she doesn't clear much at her job so the principal itself never seems to decrease. Stella doesn't know what to do...I thought you might have some ideas." 

"Who is the loan shark?" 

"Guy named Tom Ladue. He's called..." 

"Tommy the Turtle; yeah I know Tommy. I busted him a couple of times when I was a detective. Somehow he always got a plea deal or beat the rap." I thought for a few seconds. "Ricky, find out how much vig Stella has paid and where she meets Tommy; I'll have a talk with him. 

"I'll get right back to you Mr. Steele." An hour later, he called again. "Stella says she meets him at D's Place on Barton; that's down in the Soulard area. She's been paying him $200 dollars every week for two months but she's been late a couple of times and still owes him $3800 dollars; she'll never get him paid off at this rate. She told him she wouldn't pay the high interest but Ladue said he'd hurt her mother if she quit paying." 

"Like I said, I'll go have a talk with Tommy and get him to cut Stella some slack Ricky. Let you know how I make out. See ya." 

Abby was going to be out of town that evening so I thought I'd go to D's Place for a burger and a beer. "Might even meet some old friends," I said to my truck. 

The Soulard neighborhood of St. Louis was basking in a resurgence of development. As in other historic areas of the city people were moving back to the old neighborhoods; they were revamping and rebuilding the houses. Most of the newer residents were young up and coming couples, a few senior citizens that had lived there for years and because of the inexpensive houses larger families were coming back as well. 

Of course as the areas drew more people, the housing prices rose. Because the people were coming back, the businesses and the shops were returning. D's Place, a sports bar, was one of the recently places. It had been a home at one time in the past but a new large picture window had been cut into the brick wall and a carved wooden door led into the dimly lit interior. There was the typical long bar down one wall with tables and chairs against the opposite wall only ten to fifteen feet away. 

Walking into D's at 7 PM, I saw Tommy sitting in a sort of side room. He was called Tommy the Turtle because he always ducked back into his shell when trouble started; like a turtle. If the city police got too interested in his business, he'd change the bar he worked out of and cut back on getting new customers. I knew he'd have to be there fairly early if he was collecting from people when they got off work. 

Tommy was sitting in a wrap around booth against the back wall. He was dressed to the nines wearing a deep blue silk shirt, a lot of gold chains around his neck and cream colored linen pants. C'mon Tommy, I thought. Nobody wear linen pants in St. Louis. Next to Tommy was his enforcer Jimmy Rice, who was called Sarge. He said he'd been a Master Sergeant in the Army during Desert Storm. I think the closest Jimmy ever got to being an NCO was working at the NCO club as a bus boy. Although he was so big I thought he might have been a tank. 

Where Tommy dressed up in what he thought of high fashion, Rice wore a chambray work shirt unbuttoned down to below his massive chest and a pair of Army BDU black pants similar to what the Seals wear. He did have one gold chain around his neck with a sort of charm that was the stripes of a Army sergeant's emblem. 

"Hello Tommy," I said. "Robbed any old ladies lately?" 

"What'da you want Steele? You ain't a cop no more so we got no business between us." 

"That's your second mistake Tommy; first, we do have business to discuss." 

"Take a hike Steele." Tommy motioned to his leashed giant employee. "Get rid of this guy Jimmy," he ordered. 

Jimmy was slumped in the booth and took up one whole side. Man's got to be 6'6 and 350 pounds I thought as I stopped at the front edge of the table. He looked to be almost as big around as he was tall. Jimmy stared at me in a 'don't screw with me' attitude; then at Tommy's order he started to get up. 

Since moving into my new office and trying for better clients I had started dressing a bit better. Instead of St. Louis Cardinals or Rams satin jackets over a sweat shirt I wore collared shirts and sports jackets when the weather permitted. During the hot, humid summer months I usually wear Hawaiian type shirts and don't tuck them into my pants. I flipped back the side of the sports jacket I was wearing which allowed the butt of my Glock to show. I put my hand on the on the gun. 

"No need to get up on my account. Why don't you just stay put," I suggested. I thought for a couple of seconds the behemoth was going to stand up anyway. Might not be a good thing to shoot him, I thought; it might piss him off. Jimmy solved my problem by sitting back in the booth. 

"You said I made two mistakes," Tommy said. "What was the other one?" 

"Tommy you've got a customer named Stella Reyes; she's a friend of mine. She borrowed four grand from you and has been making weekly payments, but after two months, she's only paid off $200 of the principal. That's because of the vig you're charging. That was your second mistake or maybe it was your first cause I wouldn't be here if you hadn't got your hooks into Stella." 

"So?" 

"That's gonna stop Tommy." I held up my hand to halt his complaint. "I don't expect you to forgive the debt; she'll pay you what she owes you...but there won't be any more vig charged to Stella. You've been charging her over 5 bills a week for two months. That's 4 grand in profit for you; that's enough." 

"You can't tell me how to run my business Steele. You got no, no...jurisdiction here; got no proof I did anything wrong." 

"Like you said earlier Tommy; I'm not a cop anymore. I don't have to prove anything to a court. I don't have to follow the rules anymore either so I'm gonna give one warning. Let Stella off the hook." 

Tommy pointed at my Glock. "What'da you gonna do if I don't; you gonna shoot me?" I gave Tommy a grim smile and winked at him. Seeing the look on my face Tommy sat back and sort of deflated. "Okay Steele, you're just crazy enough to do me. I'll stop charging the bitch the vig, but she better damn well pay what she owes." 

I tossed my business card down on the table in front of him. "If she doesn't pay, call me. Don't deal with it like you usually do; don't break her fingers or an arm, call me. Because you've been so understanding, I'll see that you get paid." I stepped back. "Good to see you Tommy and nice doing business with you." I nodded at Jimmy and walked out of the bar. 

As I drove back to my apartment at 10, I used my cell to call another less than legal citizen. "Hi, is Jake there?" A few seconds later he got on the phone. "Hey Jake... Matt Steele. Like to talk to you tonight." I listened to him for a while and said, "Meet you tonight at Molly's around midnight." 

Returning to my apartment I changed into something a little rougher. Molly's would not be featured on a Chamber of Commerce tour of the fine establishments of St. Louis; it wasn't an upstanding place. Over the years it had been closed down more than once by the police. The bar was on the less than upscale end of the DeBaliviere Strip; the street had once been an important Mecca for blues and fine dining. Now the Strip was one step away from being a Demilitarized Zone between the haves of the grand houses along Forest Park and have not's north along DeBaliviere Street. 

Jake Steadman, aka Jake the Snake, was a snitch of the highest caliber as well as a con man and a thief. If anything even slightly illegal went on in St. Louis, Jake knew or could find out about it. He did his dirty work in such a way that the rest of the people in his world knew nothing about his activities. Jake was called the Snake because of his luck or ability or whatever in slithering out of charges and actions by the authorities. 

While I was a detective I arrested Jake with over 5 grams of high grade Heroine in his position. He swore it was for personal use but it was more than enough to get him charged as a dealer. In exchange for cutting him a break, he agreed to be a source of information for me. The Intel he provided led to several arrests and convictions of more hardened criminals. I was going to use him again to see if he could get a line on the deaths of Hamilton and Cynthia. 

Molly's hadn't changed over the years and was still a place that no sane person would go if he wasn't a regular. I left my jacket in the car, pulled my shirt tail out of my pants and walked into the dive. My shirt got caught up on the butt of my pistol and showed the world I was armed; just as I intended. 

The bar was empty except for the scruffy old bartender and Jake; I could have saved the dramatics with my pistol so I flipped the shirt tail back over the Glock. I ordered a beer and specified a bottle because I wouldn't use a draft from Molly's to wash my truck; it might finish rusting out the fenders. Throwing a five on the bar, I grabbed my beer and joined Jake at his table. 

I explained my thinking, without mentioning names, and told Jake to look around. "It'd be good to know if whoever did the job on the lady was just some bum or a contract worker. See what you can find out and give me a call. There's no time limit on this Jake but I'd like something sooner rather than later. Okay?" 

"Don't know what I can find Steele," Jake protested. "I'm not into strong arm or rough stuff." 

"Jake, you know something about everything that goes on in this city so don't give me that crap. Some of the info you've given me led to your competitors going away for a long time so it's payback time." I stood and dropped my card on the table. "That's my new number; call me." 

******************** 

One more night without Abby, I thought the next evening. She'll be back tomorrow and I can show her the house. My cell interrupted my train of thought. "Matt Steele." 

"Hi Steele, its Jake. Got some information for you." 

"That was quick." 

"Yeah, well the sooner I put some distance between us the better." He hesitated for a few seconds. "I found out a guy named Wiley Thornton and his crew did the job on a guy named Hamilton and a woman named Robinson. I'm guessing from what you told me they are the people you talked about." 

"That's them," I replied. "How'd you find out about Thornton and what makes you think he's the man?" 

"You know how it is; a friend of a friend has a friend type thing. Seems Thornton and his boys were trying to impress another guy at a bar on The Hill. This other guy works for Vito Sigliaire; you know the head of the mob family here in St. Louis. Looks like Thornton is tryin to move up in the world. He was braggin that he got 100 big ones for the two jobs." 

"How many in his crew?" 

"Two other guys, but he's the force; he's the one you'll have to deal with." Jake hesitated and added, "I don't have a lot of love for you Steele but you've always been straight with me so I'm gonna warn you. From what I've heard, this Wiley is a whole suitcase full of crazy. 

Okay, thanks Jake. If your info is right, that'll put us about even. I won't bother you again." 

"Good, all I do is get in trouble around you Steele. See ya around." 

Now I had a direction to go; at least I had a name. On the way home I put Wiley behind me and thought about how surprised Abby was going to be with the house; I just hoped she like the place as much as I do. 

******************** 

"Why are we in this neighborhood?" Abby was puzzled. She had taken two days off after returning from her business trip. Abby said they'd gotten enough of her time for a couple of days. 

"We both like older homes so I thought we'd take a tour of some of them," I replied. "Besides it a nice spring day and neither of us gets out in the sun enough." 

The tour consisted of driving through the streets of the Compton Heights neighborhood of St. Louis. At one time this area was the place to build a home if you were a very successful and rich business man or politician in the city. Many of the homes had been built and owned by railroad moguls, land tycoons, and riverboat owners. Other areas, with expensive, expansive homes had been formed but few rivaled the grand, stately, buildings in Compton Heights. 

Turning onto Longfellow Blvd, I slowed my Corvette and pointed out some of the classic homes. Stopping in the street we looked at one especially impressive building. 

The beautiful old home was built of white quarried stone cut out of a bluff which at the time was about 50 miles up the Mississippi from St. Louis; now the bluff was near one of the city's suburbs. It had a garage, built out of the same stone; it had been a large carriage house back in the day. The garage sat at the back of the almost one acre property and the drive way to it ran through a wide covered porch. In the old days, visiting guests could climb down out of their carriages avoiding bad weather by using this entry into the house. 

"That's a really nice one," I said. Abby nodded as she took in the stone front of the house and the carved mahogany double door entrance. 

"Let's take a closer look," I suggest and drove the Corvette up the driveway, through entry porch into the back yard. I parked in front of the carriage house. 

"Matt what are you doing?" Abby asked. "I sure the owner won't appreciate a stranger driving into his yard." 

"I hear the owner's a nice guy; he won't mind." Getting out of the car, I walked around and helped Abby to stand. "Let's take a closer look," I said and started toward the house. Abby held back and I started laughing. 

"I've teased you enough I guess. Abby I bought this house for us. It has 6 bedrooms, 4 baths, and is 5899 square feet. There's a lot of work to do in it, but we can live at my apartment for the five or six months that the renovation and modernization will take." I paused as she got use to the idea of the home. "That is if you like the place of course. If you don't we'll fix it up, put it on the market and find another house." 

Abby grabbed me in a big hug. "Don't even think about selling our house. Let's go inside." 

The rest of that day first I led her on a tour of her new house. And then she led me around the rooms of the house pointing out the things that needed to be repaired and added. Only the growing darkness as the sun went down stopped our exploring. I had neglected to have the utilities turned on; an oversight that I corrected the next morning. 




Cold Steele - and Mrs. Robinson Ch. 03



Calling in a few favors and asking for a few, the electricity and water were turned on the same day I requested. Abby and I were able to continue our inspection and note taking until almost midnight the next day. Then the job of finding the right contractor to do the work on the house began. We finally decided on a father and son company as they seemed to have the same vision as we did. Other than a very few suggestions, my part in the rest of the process consisted in writing checks. I did insist, and Abby let me have my way, that the den was to be my sanctuary. 

******************** 

"Did your friends in low places find something?" Abby asked. 

I was getting ready to go out for a night looking for information, from some other friends in low places, about Wiley Thornton and a possible connection to Jonathan Robinson. "Yes they did but I've got to see a few others to get more information." I purposely didn't mention the contract killer I was looking for; Abby has a tendency to worry too much. 

"I'll be home around 1; don't wait up." I kissed her, left the apartment and climbed into my trusty truck. Some of the places I was going to I didn't want to drive my Caddy and definitely not my Corvette; neither would have lasted five minutes parked on the street. 

My expedition, a investigating or fact finding mission, whatever you want to call it, the first night didn't have a good result. I decided to give it another night and if I didn't get anything I'd try something else. What else I didn't know, but I'd try something as soon as I thought of it. 

The next evening at midnight, I left the aptly named 'Dive Bar' on the seedy end of Lindell and headed for my truck. As I started to unlock the door, I saw in the reflection in my driver's side window of someone driving up behind me and stopping. The man got out of the car and started toward me. I whirled around and the man stopped in his tracks about twenty feet away. 

The guy was average height and weight with dark hair; I couldn't tell the color as it was dark with few street lights around. He was wearing dark jeans and a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off; he definitely wasn't dressed like a model for GQ magazine. The only outstanding thing about him was the revolver that he held down by his leg. Another man climbed out of the passenger's side and came toward where his buddy was stopped. 

"Get in the car," the gun holder ordered as he motioned with his weapon. I shook my head and slowly pulled my jacket away from my right side. This allowed the Glock on my hip to show. 

"C'mon pal," the second man said. "You better do it. Jasper will shoot ya; he don't care." 

"Shut up Boyd," Jasper ordered. "Get in the car Steele, I'm not gonna tell you again; our boss wants to see ya." 

"Oh, that's good," I replied. "Now we know each other and can talk like gentlemen." Jasper was puzzled that I didn't seem to be afraid of him and his gun. He turned to look at Boyd and when he did I put my right hand on the butt of my pistol. Boyd pulled his own revolver from his waist band. I asked "Who's your boss?" 

"You'll know soon enough. Get in the car. If you don't we'll pay a visit to that bitch you run around with." Jasper started to bring his gun up but saw my hand on my weapon and stopped with it about half way to pointing it at me. 

"I'm not going with you Jasper, and you made a mistake calling my lady a bitch. I don't let things like that slide." I watched him tensed up and added, "That looks like a .38 you're carrying and a wheel gun at that. You may get off the first shot before I can draw; even if you hit me, odds are you won't kill me." 

Boyd and Jasper looked at each other again. 

"This is a semi automatic Glock .45 with a hair trigger I'm carrying. Before you can get off a second shot I'll have put two in you and maybe two in good ole Boyd there too. So to quote Dirty Harry, do you feel lucky punk?" 

I guess they felt I was full of it or maybe they did feel lucky; they both raised their weapons to fire. As a detective, while with the police and in my own business, I've never practiced for a quick draw but I was fast enough that night. Jasper got off one round, which went over my head, and didn't get a chance at a second shot; Boyd never got a shot off at all. 

Two quick shots, called a double tap, hit Jasper in the shoulder and in the leg; another shot knocked Boyd off his feet. I'd learned the 'double tap' from Jacob Tully, a former Master Gunnery Sergeant in the United State Marines; he'd been the instructor at the police pistol range when I was a detective. Neither Jasper or Boyd would die although they might wish they had. With quick medical attention they would survive our little encounter. Stepping closer to the men, I kicked their pistols out of reach and squatted down. 

"You boys are hit pretty bad," I offered. I took out my phone and held it up where they could see it. "Y'all want me to call an ambulance for you?" 

Jasper moaned and said, "C'mon Steele get us some help; I'm bleedin to death here." 

"Tell me who sent you and I'll make the call." Jasper shook his head. "Okay, the nearest hospital is ten blocks north. But I don't think you can make it Jasper." I stood and took two steps toward my truck. 

"Wiley Thornton was the one," Jasper said. I nodded my head and he added, "Wiley said to make you stop askin questions about that guy Hamilton and the broad." 

"Mrs. Robinson?" 

Jasper nodded. "His boss told him to make you stop; put a stop to your intrusive meddling he said. I heard him and had to ask Wiley what he meant." 

"Who's the boss?" I asked. 

"Some rich jerk. I don't know his name but I heard Wiley call him Robinson." 

Gotcha, I thought. Now I'm gonna put you away. 

To be continued



Cold Steele - and Mrs. Robinson Ch. 04



Matt Steele continues on his quest for justice for Mrs. Robinson.

Please read the previous chapters to have a full understanding of this one.

Thanks for your interest. Comments, critiques, and emails that are constructive are very welcome and appreciated.

********************

"Okay Jasper, I'll call an ambulance for you." I was lucky to get the information from Jasper before he went into shock. Dialing 911, I reported the shooting and requested an ambulance for the wanna be kidnappers. Next, I called Frank Wends.

"Do you enjoy waiting until I'm sleeping to call Matt?" Frank said in a raspy voice.

"I just shot two guys outside of the Dive Bar. They were trying to kidnap me. I've already called 911."

"On my way," Frank answered; the sleepiness was gone. "Don't say nothin until I get there."

The police arrived and I laid my Glock on the hood of my truck as the patrol car pulled up. I didn't want to get shot and I especially didn't want to get shot by mistake by an over eager patrolman. The EMTs were next on the scene and called for a second ambulance. About ten minutes after the medics arrived as they were treating the men, an unmarked police car pulled to a stop behind the attempted kidnapper's car. Frank made good time, I thought.

"Are you okay?" Frank asked. "What happened Matt?"

"Those two," I said pointing at the two being tended to by the EMTs, "ask me to go with them. I refused their invitation and they took offense to my rejection of their hospitality."

"C'mon Matt, get serious."

"I am serious Frank. The big one, that's Jasper, told me to get in their car. He said his boss wanted to see me and then he threatened me with that gun." I pointed to the evidence envelope that the first on scene patrolman was holding. "I gave them a chance but they thought they were better than they are. The patrolman's got the other guy's gun as well."

"Who's their boss?" Frank asked. I shook my head. "Matt, I know you. I'd bet my pension you 'persuaded' them to give you his name." I shook my head again, refusing to answer. "You know as well as I do that now that they are being medically treated they'll clam up. Give me a break here."

"I'll let you know when I can Frank. If I tell you, you'll have to go investigate. That will just warn the guy and he'll get away or lawyer up and you guys will get nothing. My way, we got a chance at putting this guy away." I put my hand on Frank's shoulder. "Promise, I'll let you know as soon as you can make an arrest and make it stick."

Before Frank could continue arguing with me, another unmarked police car pulled to a stop behind Frank's car. I knew Frank would be lead detective on the case but because it was a shooting, the watch commander would get involved too. I couldn't believe who the commander was when he got out of the car. This night can't get any better, I thought as I saw Captain Joe Harper come toward us. Harper was the cause of me losing my marriage and my job. 

"My how the mighty have fallen," I said as Harper walked over to where Frank and I were talking. "Being a Captain and all, you must be on someone's crap list if you have to come out at midnight to cover a shooting."

He refused to answer me and questioned the patrolman that was first on scene and then talked to Frank. After talking to them for a few minutes, Harper turned to me. "What did you do Steele?"

"I told the patrolman, I told Detective Wends, and I'm done talking until my attorney gets here."

"Still hate me don't you Steele,"

"I don't want to bust your bubble Harper but I haven't thought of you more than once or twice in the last five years. You're not important enough to remember or hate."

"You put those men in the hospital," Harper protested as I started walk away.

"It could have just as easily been body bags," I replied. "Now unless you're gonna arrest and charge me, I'm going home." I turned and walked back to my truck, noticing the bullet hole at the top edge of the door. Guess Jasper wasn't as bad as I thought, I said to myself.

I was surprised to see Abby sleeping on my big couch when I got to my apartment; apparently she'd been waiting up for me and didn't make it. I slipped off my boots, got behind her and spooned against her back. She woke up a little.

"I fell asleep," she said in a fogged over voice. "Sorry, I'll make you some coffee and you can tell me about your night."

"Tell you in the morning," I replied as I pulled her back against me. "Go back to sleep."

"Love you," Abby said. She snuggled closer to me and her breathing deepened again. A few minutes later I fell asleep too.

********************

Abby poured us an after breakfast coffee the next morning. "What's going on in that devious mind of yours Matt? You've been staring at the wall for a couple of minutes now."

"I'm gonna ask you to do something that I know you won't like. But I'm asking you to do it and please don't give me any grief about it."

She looked at me for a couple of seconds and then nodded for me to go on saying, "Okay, I'll do it. Tell me what you want and why."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." Abby reached across the table and took my hand. "I know you'd never do anything to hurt me so yeah, just like that. What's going on?"

"You know I've been looking into Jonathan Robinson." I waited for her nod and continued. "Last night two men pulled guns on me and tried to make me get into their car; said their boss wanted to see me. They said if I didn't do it they'd grab you to make me do what they wanted."

"What happened to them?" Abby asked with a grim smile. "I know you don't take well to being threatened or being told what to do and I would bet you went absolutely ballistic when they threatened me."

"They're in the hospital; at least I think they made it to the hospital. I did get them medical help." I took a drink of coffee. "Anyway I think their boss told them to say that and my CI says this is a serious guy...so I'd like for you to go visit your folks for awhile until this thing is over." 

Her parents lived in the small south central town of Eminence Missouri. It was a small farming community that had developed a tourist economy because of the Jack's Fork River that flowed past the southern portion of the town. The area was in the heart of the Ozarks with tree cover hills and clear spring fed streams.

Abby started to argue but I interrupted her. "You've got vacation time coming from work, you even threatened to take it when you got back from this last trip. Your folks would love to see you; you've always loved that country life and you deserve a break." I took her hand. "But mostly, I won't worry about you if you're with your dad."

I waited and after several seconds, that seemed like minutes, Abby leaned across the table and kissed me. "Let me get packed and I'll leave this morning," she said. 

After throwing a suitcase into her car, Abby waved as she started her three hour drive to her parent's house. Returning to my office, I called Frank Wends. This time he sounded wide awake.

"You get tired of disturbing my sleep Matt?"

"Thought I give you a break Frank. Listen I got some info you oughta know about. I don't think you can do anything but I wanted you to know where I'm coming from."

Frank lost the joking tone and said, "Tell me what you got."

"Some of this you already know, some is new to you. You know I followed Mrs. Robinson at the request of her husband. She met George Hamilton for lunch and a dinner or two; nothing sexual but she was meeting the guy just the same. I told her husband and over the next few weeks they seemed to have worked it out. And then..."

"Then what Matt?"

"Hamilton died in a boating accident and a few weeks later Mrs. Robinson was killed."

"Yeah, you called me about that," Frank replied.

"I told you then something didn't add up and I was right. A friend of mine found out that Cynthia had all the money and she was planning on divorcing Robinson; he would have become a poor man if the divorce went through. I started asking questions through another of my CIs and he told me a guy named Wiley Thornton was bragging around town that he did the hit on Hamilton and Cynthia. One of those two from last night said Thornton ordered them to come get me and take me to Thornton. As you know, I decided not to go with them."

"How much more do you know Matt?"

"I know who Thornton's boss is and I think I know where I can find Thornton."

"Let us handled it," Frank said; his tone was almost an order.

"You guys can't do it Frank. You can't go where I'm going and do any good. So I'm gonna talk to Thornton and get him to admit who his boss is."

"And then?"

"I'll play it by ear. But that asshole Thornton threatened Abby and nobody does that. If he and his boss go easy, I'll call you in."

"What if they don't do it easy?"

"That's the question, isn't it Frank? I'll call you as soon as I can."

"Matt...Matt." I hung up without answering him.

********************

Abriana's Deli is a sandwich and coffee shop on the corner of Shaw Ave. and the frontage road beside the Kingshighway overpass in the heart of the historic Italian neighborhood called The Hill. In the days before political correctness the area was known as Dago Hill; the Deli is on the same block as Rigazzi's so I knew it well.

Abriana's is notable for two reasons. Its sandwiches and thick dark Italian coffee are the best in St. Louis. The other reason, although not known by the general public, is that Abriana's is the working office of Vito Sigliaire. Vito is the head of the mob or crime boss of St. Louis.

He is a study in contrasts. Vito runs an organization that is involved in most of the criminal activities of the city. Gambling, loan sharking, and some labor unions are aspects of his empire. About the only thing he doesn't have a hand in is the drug trade. Vito has always felt that drugs were a plague on the people and children of his neighborhood.

"People are gonna gamble, people are gonna over extend themselves and need help and the workers need to be protected from the rich business owners," Vito explained his operations. "I might as well benefit from their wants and needs."

The contrasting Vito is one that will do almost anything to help his people of The Hill. He made weekly donations to St. Ambrose Church and special gifts to the building fund. If a widow needed help Vito would help. If a wife needed financial help for her children because her husband drank or gambled away his paycheck, Vito would give the lady money and have a word with her man; the husband would quickly see the error of his ways after a talk with one of Vito's men.

I thought of everything I knew about Vito Sigliaire as I walked into Abriana's. It was early evening but he was already holding court at a large wooden table in the back corner of the deli and I made my way toward him. Vito had two of his men sitting with him. Those guys aren't as big as a bus, I thought; more like dump trucks. There was one other man sitting at a nearby table only a few steps from Vito; that man was Rudy Cassidy.

Vito wasn't totally old school; he hired whoever could and would do the job he needed if they were Italian or not. Rudy was just such a man. Vito needed someone he trusted to watch his back so he hired the nephew of a lifelong friend and Rudy was more than just a body guard. He was known as a shooter and his duties were just what that his title meant. Rudy looked like he was sleepy; he was sitting slumped down in his chair but his eyes moved back and forth and missed nothing.

Rudy and I had crossed paths when I was investigating his boss a few years previously. We had danced around each other without really coming to a confrontation. We treated each other with respect; one professional to another.

I nodded at Rudy and stepped in front of Vito. "I'd like to talk to you Mr. Sigliaire, if you have the time," I said in a respectful manner. I wasn't afraid of Vito but there was no need to poke a bear in his den. He looked at me for several seconds and I thought he was going to tell one of the trucks to throw me out. Instead he pointed at the chair across from him.

"I haven't seen you since you tried to hang that gambling rap on me a few years ago. What'da you want Steele?" 

"As I remember we couldn't get the evidence to arrest you. You were too smart for us," I said with a smile. 

"Some would have manufactured evidence just to put me away," Vito replied.

"We...I could have but I wanted to arrest you according to my rules and I wanted your arrest to stick. If I'd done anything else you might have walked." The smile went away as I said, "I want to talk to a guy that hangs out at The Hard Case Tavern."

"So why come to me?" 

I grinned at Vito. "C'mon Mr. Sigliaire, every cop in town knows you run most of the places on the South side and the Hard Case is one of them. If you don't own it you have controlling interest in the place. I don't want any trouble with you or your men." I nodded at the two trucks and then at Rudy. "This guy has been bragging to your manager, Sammy Hands, about a job he did. He's trying to impress Sammy and go to work for you."

"Who is this jamoke?" The term jamoke was an insult; meaning idiot or fool. Vito was old school enough to believe you didn't talk about your work outside of the family.

"Guy named Wiley Thornton. I know he's never worked for you but the only place I can get to him is at The Hard Case."

"What's your interest in this Thornton?"

"A man hired me to get some information and because of it he hired Thornton to get rid of two people. I want Thornton and I want his boss."

Vito stared at me for what seemed like a long time and then nodded. "Steele, you were always straight up with me and always treated me with respect; even when you were trying to nail me. Go ahead and talk to Thornton, I'll call Sammy and tell him as long as you don't bother one of ours and it doesn't interfere with our business to stay out of it."

I stood nodded my thanks, turned to leave but Rudy stepped in my way. ""If you need some help Steele, give me a call. I don't like nobody trying to take my job," he said with a grim smile.

Shaking my head I answered, "Thanks Rudy but I got this." I continued out to my truck thinking that I really wouldn't want Vito and Rudy mad at me.

********************

"How are you? When can I come home?" Abby asked. Her voice sounded both anguished and hopeful.

It was only 8PM, after leaving Abriana's and my meeting with Vito, so I'd called Abby at her folks. "I'm fine honey. As to coming home I think another three or four days should do it. When's it's over I'll catch a bus to your parent's and we'll spend a few days boating on Jack's Fork, exploring the area and maybe go fishing."

"I'd like that, but why don't you come now and let Detective Wends and the police handle those men?"

"Frank doesn't have anything to go on. Those two that jumped me aren't gonna roll over on their boss cause all they're facing is assault charges. If they were charged as accomplices to the killing of Cynthia or Hamilton, he might have leverage to get them to talk."

"But..." Abby started to say and I cut her off.

"I'll call Frank and tell him most of what I know and what I'm going to do. If he can come up with something I'll follow his lead." I paused and added, "I'll be careful girl, I promise." The rest of the call we talked about the things we'd do when I came down to join her.

At 9, I called Frank. "Wends," he answered.

"Did I wake you up? If I didn't I could call you back later."

"Some people have crosses to bear," he replied. "I guess your mine although I don't know what sin I committed to be saddled with you." He chuckled at his own wit. "What'da you need Matt?" 

"I'd like to talk to Jasper."

"You mean the guy that tried to kidnap you? They are refusing to talk; said they'd take their chances in court. Why do you want to talk to them?"

"Just go with me Frank. I'm gonna make you a case on a double murder."

"You mean that Hamilton, Mrs. Robinson case you've been harping about? When are you gonna give up on that?"

"Frank, I told you before there's something off kilter about Mrs. Robinson's murder and it makes me think Hamilton was a hit as well."

There was silence on the line for almost 10 seconds before Frank replied. "Okay, tomorrow, 9 AM, hold over cells for the 16th Precinct. "And Matt, you better be damn sure of yourself cause the boss ain't gonna like you hot dogging around."

********************

"Why should we help you?" Jasper asked. 

"Yeah, why?" Boyd parroted. 

"Shut up Boyd," Jasper ordered and turned back to me. "Why should we help you Steele? You're the reason we're in here."

Here was what was considered a prison ward at St. Alexius Hospital which was near Precinct 16 in south St. Louis. There were three hospitals, St. Alexius, Barnes-Jewish, and Christian, that had a prison ward of some type. They nurse had just left after warning us not to upset her patients. Jasper and Boyd had been brought to St. Alexius after the paramedics treated them because it is the closest to where I had shot the two would be kidnappers. I'd just asked the two men to testify against their boss, Wiley Thornton.

Jasper's face showed he'd just come up with an idea. "Can you get us outta this?" This being the charges that were going to be brought against him and Boyd.

"No, can't do that," I answered and shook my head. "From what I hear you two are going to be charged with assault with a deadly weapon, attempted kidnapping, and attempted murder. That's too many serious charges for the Police to let you guys slide."

"Then why should we help you?" Jasper repeated.

"What I can do is see that you're protected a bit while you're in prison; or as protected as you can be. You know Vito Sigliaire?" I didn't wait for him to answer. "Well he's not happy about Thornton and if you help put him away I'm pretty sure Mr. Sigliaire will put the word out that you have his protection. That would give you a lot of clout in prison and most will leave you alone. If you don't help me you'll just be fresh meat for the animals to fight over." 

"Works for me," Boyd said not waiting for Jasper's answer. "What'da you want us to do?"

"Tell the DA what Thornton said about Robinson when he ordered you to come get me."

"That's all?" 

I nodded and added, "Just tell what he said. Don't embellish it."

"Embellish?"

"It means don't make anything up; just tell the truth. If you guys do that I'll have a word with the DA, maybe he'll reduce the charges because of your help. I'll also have a word with Mr. Sigliaire and that will definitely make your life easier in the joint."

I called Frank into the hospital room. "These boys have decided it was their civic duty to cooperate so they got something to say. Take their statements and get hold of the DA." I looked at Jasper and Boyd. "Make sure and tell him these guys are trying to do what's right."

Frank took out his cell phone and started making calls. I left the room, walked down the hall and outside. As I drove away in my truck, I saw Frank waving at me before I left the parking lot. He walked very quickly to where I'd stopped. 

He leaned on my door and said, "Those two implicated Wiley Thornton; both for ordering the kidnapping and for the Cynthia Robinson murder. Hell, they even said Thornton was involved in Hamilton's death. How did you get those guys to belly up?" He asked.

"I simply told them that Rudy Cassidy was a mite upset with them. I told them Mr. Sigliaire would help them when they went to prison; that I would get him to put them under his protection." "You think he will? I mean he doesn't know these guys?"

"Vito doesn't know these guys but he does know and respect Rudy and doesn't want him to get in trouble over the likes of Thornton. I think he'll convince Rudy to back off so I can get to Thornton. In addition, Mr. Sigliaire is not happy that Thornton is bragging that he's gonna work for Vito. So yeah, I believe Vito will do what I ask; not for those two but to keep Rudy out of trouble they don't need."




Cold Steele - and Mrs. Robinson Ch. 04



Frank looked away for a few seconds. "You know I have to arrest Thornton and you can't be involved."

"I know that as a cop you have to try but you can't get into the place where he hangs out without warning him; people there know you are a cop and Thornton will go underground." I paused and stared at Frank for a short time. "Let me go in alone, you and the boys wait outside; I'll call you when I know he's there."

"I understand, but why do you want to brace him yourself?" Frank looked puzzled and worried. "You're not thinking of vigilante justice are you?"

Shaking my head in answer I replied, "Thornton can implicate the man that hired him, Robinson. That's the one I want."

"I doubt we can get Thornton convicted just because of Jasper and Boyd," Frank offered. "A good defense attorney could make an argument that their testimony of what they were told is hearsay. At best the case is circumstantial."

"Maybe but I might get Thornton to think we have the evidence to put him away, maybe for the death penalty." Putting the truck into gear, I waved and said, "I'll call you when I find him." I drove to my place; it would be several hours before I looked up Thornton.

To Be Continued



Cold Steele - and Mrs. Robinson Ch. 05



By Woodmanone copyright May, 2015

In this concluding chapter there are some ...well legal details that may not be strictly correct procedure. Please don't beat me up over it; I'm not a lawyer; just a guy trying to write a story.

Constructive comments, critiques, and emails are welcome and I thank you for taking the time to make them.





Cold Steele - and Mrs. Robinson Ch. 05



""How are we going to do this?" 

"We... aren't going to do anything," Frank answered. "In my capacity as a Detective for the St. Louis Police, I...will arrest Robinson. I got a warrant while you were talking to ADA Sawyer; that's why I left the room for a few minutes. You can come along, but understand Matt it is only as a favor from me. Don't screw it up."

"You know I told Robinson just after his wife was killed that I was gonna make sure he answered for Cynthia and Hamilton." I smiled at Frank and asked, "Can I at least tell him I told you so?" Frank shook his head, smiled and kept driving.





Cold Steele



Worth had a disgusted look and a frown on his face when I pulled to a stop in front of his house. "Really Mr. Steele. Is it necessary to drive to my residence in such a...a...well, a deplorable dilapidated vehicle?"

"Yep. That's my work vehicle, my only work vehicle." I had to shut the driver's door twice to get it to latch. "Shall we get down to business Mr. Worth, or do you want to discuss my ride some more?" I smiled at him and waited.

He looked at my red satin, St. Louis Cardinal jacket, the St. Louis Rams T shirt, faded jeans, and cowboy boots with the same disgust on his face. Worth was wearing a dark blue suit and vest with a lighter color pinstripe plus a blue on blue shirt with little diamond shapes on it, opened at the neck; I think the shirt was a Christian Dior. His clothes were probably, no not probably, his clothes were worth more than my truck.

"Come inside please," Worth said and turned to lead the way into his humble abode. The house was a copy of one of the southern plantation homes that you see in the movies. Tall white columns supported a second story balcony. 

I guess he likes to stand out there and watch the peasants work, I thought. Inside facing the entry way was a staircase that would rival the one at Tara in Gone with the Wind. It was about eight feet wide and led to a landing. From there it split so there were two ways to continue to the second story.

"Jacqueline, bring coffee into the sitting room please," Worth requested of a young woman in a gray and white uniform. To me the room he led us into would be a living room; I guess the elite and landed gentry called it a sitting room.

The 'sitting' room was very large and very airy with floor to ceiling windows along one wall. The view was over the manicured lawn and swimming pool at the rear of the house. The furniture was mostly rattan with glass top tables. This is a damn jungle, I thought as I saw all the plants scattered around the room. Guess they want the feeling of being outside without having to deal with the heat or insects.

Susan Worth stood as we entered. This time she was dressed a little more demurely but there was no doubt that she was a very sexy lady. I'm quick that way; I'm a trained detective and I pick up on things like that in a hurry. She wore a pair of tailored slacks that fit very snugly across her rear. Her blouse was silk and unbuttoned about two buttons more than should have been allowed by law. It was obvious from the tightness of the slacks and with the opening in her blouse that Susan wasn't wearing anything else.

She shook my hand and held it a little longer than necessary; both to her husband's and my discomfort. Got to watch myself around this one, I thought. You don't screw around with a client's wife or girlfriend; it makes them hesitant about paying the bill.

Pulling my hand away from her, I looked around the room. On one wall, over a wood burning fireplace, was an oil portrait of Susan Worth. Now I don't know much about art, I just know what I like and I really liked this painting. Susan was sitting on a plain chair with no arms. Her legs were crossed and her arms were folded across in front of her holding her opposite shoulders and she wore a beautiful smile; and that's all.

Mr. Worth walked over to me as I stared at the portrait. "She screwed the artist too," he said with more than a little disgust and anger in his voice. "And then the bastard still demanded full payment. She seems to like tormenting me by screwing the help."

I turned to look at Susan and she gave me a sexy little smile as if to say, 'you too can be one of the lucky ones'. Yeah, I'm definitely going to have to watch myself around this one, my thought echoed again.

"Okay Mr. Worth, tell me more about this Stanley."

"His name is Stanley Moore; here's a picture of him," he said handing it to me. It showed a young man about 25 with a lot of sandy blonde hair, blue eyes and a well muscled torso showing a 'six pack'. "That picture was taken by a security company that watches the house when we're away for any length of time," Worth informed me.

"Okay, I'll need all the information you can give me about good ole Stanley; like his address, phone number and such."

"I've put together this...well biography, on Moore." Worth handed me a folder that contained Stanley's last known address and phone number. It also told me where he went to college, didn't graduate, and what he was interested in; besides Susan Worth that is. I looked at Worth with an unspoken question.

"The parts about his likes and such came off his employment application," he said. Turning to his wife he suggested, "I'm sure Susan knows more about him than I."

Susan gave me one of her semi sexy smiles. "I really don't know that much about Stan." Looking at her husband she added, "We never talked that much."

"How did Moore contact you about the money?" I asked. 

Worth went to his desk, unlocked the middle drawer, and searched for something. While he was doing that, I looked at Susan. She's so sexy it ought to be against the law, I thought. Still, I wonder why Worth puts up with her crap. For that matter it's obvious she doesn't think much of her husband, so I'm wondering why she stays? Duuh, silly me, it's the money stupid. Shaking my head, I had answered my own dumb question. 

"I received this by courier at my office," Worth said and handed me a folded sheet of paper. 

It was a letter, really a note, supposedly sent by Stanley Moore. The note said that he had a two hour DVD showing Susan and Stanley getting it on. He wanted one hundred thousand dollars for the DVD or he would send it to friends, family, and business associates of the Worth's. The note said he would call them in a few days to set up a drop for the money; when he got the money he'd send Worth the DVD. The note was a word document from a computer; even the signature was printed.

"I know this is a silly question, but do you have those kinds of funds available, Mr. Worth?" Jason Worth looked at me like I was an idiot, like I was asking if I'd asked if the Pope was Catholic.

"Oh, Jason has that and much more," Susan answered with a grin. "Don't you dear?"

"Let's keep our business, our business, Susan," Worth chastised her. The look on his face was interesting. He showed both pride that he had that kind of money and frustration that his wife would talk about it. "Yes Mr. Steele, I have the funds. It will take a trip to my bank to get the cash, but it's available."

"How many employees do you have, Mr. Worth?" I asked. 

"What difference does that make? Stanley Moore is the one demanding money."

"This note is printed from a computer or word processor. It isn't actually signed by a person; anyone could have used Stanley's name. So, how many employees do you have that are here all the time?"

"Why only those that live here?"

"Only someone that was here all the time would be in a position to record Mrs. Worth and Stanley. A stranger would have been seen coming in to set the camera or to take out the recording. Unless, there is someone who comes here a lot, it has to be someone that the staff wouldn't find unusual being here. "

"There are four that live here." Worth stopped and then continued when I raised an eyebrow. 

Raising an eyebrow is a very good way of communicating without speaking, if you can do it. The raised eyebrow can ask a question, show disbelief, interest in what someone is telling you or invite them to continue. I've practiced in front of a mirror until I mastered the trick.

"Samuel is the butler and house manager; his wife Millie is the cook and housekeeper," Worth informed me. "Ralph is the chauffer, he also maintains the vehicles. And Jacqueline assists Millie with the house. After a few seconds, he continued, "Of course there's Susan's string of playmates. The latest one is Danby Summers; he's here at least two times a week from what I hear from the staff. He comes during the day mostly, when I'm at the office."

Susan at first looked surprised that Jason knew that her boy toy visited and then she got a wicked smile on her face. "If you spent more time with me, he wouldn't be able to visit, now would he Jason?"

"If I spent more time with you instead of at the office you'd have to get a job to keep up the lifestyle you've become accustomed to Susan," Worth replied. 

Jason Worth looks like he's caught between a rock and a hard place, I thought. If he doesn't make a lot of money, Susan won't stay with him; but him spending a lot of time away gives her the chance to have other men. Rock and a hard place alright.

"You need to get me pictures and information about each of your employees. I'll be spending some time here at your home, checking things out and I'll have some questions for them. You can tell them I'm a security consultant."

"I take it you've decided to accept my case, in spite of your reservations about our lifestyle," Worth said with what I took as a relief.

"Yes sir. It isn't up to me to make a judgment about how you live. It wouldn't work for me but hey, whatever floats your boat. My concern is stopping Stanley Moore or whoever is trying to extort money from you. What about this Danby Summers character? Where would I find him?"

"We're having a little get together tonight," Susan answered. "Just a few people, twenty or so. Danby will be here. Won't you join us?"

I looked at Worth. He didn't seem too happy at the scenario. I don't know if it's because Danby is coming to his house or that I'd be coming in a social context, I thought. Probably a little of both.

"Alright Mrs. Worth. I'll be here at 7

"Will you be staying overnight Mr. Steele?" Mrs. Worth asked. "That could be ever so interesting." The look in her eyes and the tone of her voice was predatory. 

"I doubt it," I answered. I'll make sure not to unless it's absolutely necessary, I thought. I don't mess around with married women, but Susan Worth could tempt the bronze statue of Saint Louis in front of the art museum. 

"You realize that proper attire will be necessary Mr. Steele," Worth said with a bit of haunting glare.

"I think I have a clean pair of jeans and T-shirt Mr. Worth." The look on his face was priceless. "I'll clean up my act sir, I promise." 

"Do you carry a gun Mr. Steele?" I nodded and he asked, "May I see it?" Reaching under my jacket to the small of my back I pulled out my Glock 21C and showed it to Worth. 

I'd traded in my 9 MM Beretta 92FS after talking to another former St. Louis Police Detective, Rollie Chambers. He had a couple of shootouts with his 9 and changed to the .45 Glock on the advice of Jacob Tully, a retired Marine Gunnery Sergeant and another former cop. Rollie and I worked a couple of cases together while still with the Department and had become friends. 

Tully had been instrumental in my changing to the Glock also. I'd just made Detective First and was full of myself. With my gold shield in hand I decided I wanted to carry a .44 Magnum, like Dirty Harry. I bought a Smith and Wesson 629 with a six and a half inch barrel and took it to the Department shooting range. The first time I fired it, the recoil threw the pistol back into my face; it cut me over my right eye and I had to have three stitches. Tully was the manager and head instructor at the range and laughed so hard he had to sit down. That was the end of my .44 Magnum, Dirty Harry, experience.

Worth reached for my gun but I pulled it away from him. "Nobody touches my weapon" I said.

"My, that's a big one," Susan said and looked directly at me. "Are you any good with it? And are you sure you won't let me touch it?" With the smile on her face and the look in her eye, I wasn't sure that it was the gun she was talking about.

"I'm sure Mrs. Worth; I wouldn't want you to get hold of more than you can handle," I replied. That took some wind out of her sails from the look on her face. "Besides, I wouldn't touch you sexually if I was a monk who years ago had made his vow of chastity but now was trying to make up for lost time." 

Mrs. Worth was incensed that I would not be swayed by her charms and for me speaking the way that I did to her.

"You're a cold man, Mr. Steele," she said with more than a little anger.

"Yep, that's me," I replied. Cold as Steel, Steele." 

"Susan, behave yourself," Worth ordered. Then to me, "Can you and will you use your gun when you find Moore?"

"I'll find Moore, get the DVD, and he won't bother you again. I can hit what I aim at and will shoot if necessary. But let's get something straight Mr. Worth. I'm not an assassin and I don't hire out to kill people. If that's what you want, you've got the wrong man."

"No, no...I understand." He paused for several seconds. "What is your fee Mr. Steele?"

"I'm sorry to leave," Mrs. Worth said. "But I have a tennis lesson and Sam gets upset if I'm late." She crossed to Mr. Worth and kissed him. "I should be home at the usual time dear, unless Sam keeps me over." Turning to me she said, "Good bye Mr. Steele."

Mr. Worth didn't try to hide his smile at Susan's anger and actually laughed as she hurried out of the room.

"Sam?" I asked after she had left the room. Another man for her to fool around with, I thought.

"Samantha Dooley, her tennis instructor. If it was a man I'd have to watch him too." Mr. Worth shook his head and sighed. "What is your fee, Mr. Steele?"

"$300 a day plus expenses Mr. Worth and I need a five day retainer." Normally I charge $100 a day plus expenses, but Jason Worth was exceeding rich and I just didn't like him, so I upped my rates. 

"Isn't that a little high?"

"Not if you want your problem solved," I replied.

"All right," Worth said, went to a desk and wrote me a check.

"Mr. Worth, as I said, it isn't up to me to approve of your lifestyle and you can tell me to mind my own business, but why do you let your wife get away with her crap?" 

At first Worth puffed up in anger at my question but then he seemed to deflate like a balloon with a hole in it. Shaking his head he answered, "You've seen her. I know she married me for the money and until recently I could live with that. I mean, having her on my arm when we go out is very satisfying. Guess it's like showing off; see what I've got and don't you wish you did?" 

He reached behind him to a built in bar, took a cut glass decanter and poured a dark glass of liquor. Worth held the decanter toward me in invitation. "It's Gentleman Jack, if you'd care for a taste." I nodded and he poured a second drink.

"The problem is that I've come to, well...if not love her at least I've become tremendously fond of her. That's the main reason I've tolerated her behavior." Worth took a drink and stood taller. "But now that her flirting, sexy come-ons, and suggestive behavior have become a reality my tolerance is quickly coming to an end"

I took a healthy drink of the whiskey and looked directly into his eyes. "Mr. Worth, if nothing else you don't have to worry about me around Susan."

He stared at me for several seconds and a small smile came over his face. Worth handed me the check, "Thank you Mr. Steele. Both for taking my case and for your promise. How do we proceed from here?"

"I'll come to your little get together tonight so I can check out Summers. Now I'll be on my way to pay a visit to Moore's address; see what I can find. If either one of them sent the letter and has the DVD, I'll get it and we'll finish this up real quick." 

"And if you don't finish it up 'real quick' what then?"

"Then the search goes on. In the mean time, I'll pretend to be a security guy and look around the house. While I'm doing that I'll talk to your staff."

I put the check in my pocket, nodded at Worth, and left the house. On the way to my truck I realized that my dislike for the man had lessened and I was feeling sorry for the guy. He ought to put Susan over his knee and paddle her like a spoiled little brat, I thought. Hey that might be fun.

Stanley Moore lived in a basement apartment of a renovated factory on the near west side of St. Louis. The building had once been a cardboard box plant. I knew that the lofts and top floor apartments were expensive but the ones below street level, in what would be called the basement, were usually much cheaper. 

I walked down a short flight of stairs to number 1C and knocked on his door. No one answered but the door to the next apartment was open and an elderly lady looked into the hallway.

"He's not at home," she offered. "Said he was going to visit his sister in Ballwin. Supposed to be back tomorrow."

"Thank you ma'am." I handed her my card. "Would you call me when he gets home; that is if you happen to notice." My bet was that the old lady noticed everything that went on in the building. "I've got a job offer for him."

"That's why you want to see him?" She asked. "Sort of an interview?"

"Yes ma'am. I'd like to know more about him; you know what kind of person he is and such."

"Stanley is a nice young man; always courteous and helpful to me."

"Does he live here alone or does he have a roommate?"

"No, he's alone. But recently he has a friend visiting him a lot; at least until those two ruffians came to see him. He left right after that and I haven't seen him since." "I don't like his friend. He's not very nice. 

The old lady shook her head. "Last week I was trying to get my little pull cart through the door and was having trouble. He was walking down the hall to Stanley's and I asked him to give me a hand. He looked at me, smiled, and started clapping his hands; then he went into Stanley's."

"That wasn't a nice thing to do," I said, shaking my head. To me, it would have been funny if after clapping the guy helped her through the door. The guy is an ass, I thought. Maybe I'll get a chance to meet him while I'm looking for Stanley. Maybe I'll have to show him that manners can be taught as well as learned.

"What does this 'friend' look like and do you know this man's name?"

"Not really. Stanley calls him RJ, but I've never heard his name. He's about your height with really dark hair, combed straight back; I think it's a dye job. Big shoulders and well built but sneaky looking, if you know what a mean. I bet his name is Slick." 

She paused for a little and added, "It's a shame Stanley lost his job. It wasn't his fault you know."

"Really?"

"That hussy seduced Stanley and when her husband found out, Stanley got fired. Stanley is just a young man and didn't stand a chance against that woman's wiles. Of course her husband was going to find out, as many times as that woman came over here. The husband, Worth I think is his name, blackballed Stanley so he's having a hard time finding a job."

"You've seen her?"

"Oh yes, many times. She'd ring the bell and then walk down to Stanley's apartment like she owned the place. She was always dressed a little too risqué; short tight skirts or shorts, tank tops or blouses unbuttoned half way down to her waist, and it was obvious she didn't wear a bra. A trollop and chippy, if you know what I mean?"

"Thank you for your time Mrs. ...?"

"I'm Irma Foley. I'll call you when Stanley gets back."

Nodding I turned and left the building. I drove back to the Worth's. Time to play security consultant and talk to the other employee's.

Samuel let me into the house and led me to the sitting room. "Mr. Worth had to go out for a while but he left the information you requested in here," he said pointing to the desk in the corner. "If you need anything, push the button and Millie or Jacqueline will be right here." Samuel nodded and left the room.

There were several folders stacked in the middle of the desk. I sat down and saw the button that would summon the help. Must be nice, I thought. You want a sandwich or something, so you just push a button and there you go; instant gratification.




Cold Steele



I started to read the employee information folders. Samuel and Millie Ripley were husband and wife, they were both about 57 years old; they'd worked for Jason Worth for more than twenty years. Jacqueline was their niece and was 21; she'd come to live and work with them three years ago when her parents were killed in an auto accident. Ralph James was the driver or chauffeur or whatever; he'd only been with the Worth's for two years. 

Something nagged at the back of my mind as I read the folders. I read and reread the information but whatever was tugging at my brain stayed hidden. Let it alone, I thought. It'll come to you.

The next thing to do was make a security inspection around the house and grounds. I walked around the interior of the house, including the second story, inspecting the windows and exterior doors. As I walked I made notations in a notebook I carried. Have to look the part, don't you know? I made my way into the kitchen where Millie and Jacqueline were making lunch and Samuel was sitting at the kitchen table reading. I walked over to Samuel.

He looked up and said, "Just checking inventories; tomorrow is shopping day." 

I inspected the doors and windows in the kitchen and generally got in Millie and Jacqueline's way. The third time I had to say 'excuse me' or 'I'm sorry', Samuel smiled and suggested, "Let's go outside and have a cup of coffee Mr. Steele; at least until the girls finish preparing lunch."

We stepped outside onto a patio and sat on a very nicely carved wooden bench. "Who are you really and what are you doing here, Mr. Steele?" Samuel asked. He wasn't angry, just inquisitive.

"What makes you think I'm not a security consultant?"

"You don't have the look," Samuel replied with a smile. "You look and act like a cop. This have anything to do with the demand for money Mr. Worth got?"

"What demand for money?"

"Nobody gossips more, among themselves, than household help. Jacqueline saw the letter when she was cleaning in the sitting room." Samuel smiled and shook his head. "I didn't think the boy was smart enough to pull something like this."

"What boy?" 

Samuel raised an eyebrow as he looked at me. Guess I wasn't the only one that could use that trick. "Don't play dumb Mr. Steele; it doesn't suit you. Stanley Moore sent that letter demanding a lot of money for a DVD that supposed to show Mrs. Worth and him, or Stanley would make it public." Samuel chuckled. "I don't know why Mr. Worth would pay money to keep what is common knowledge secret."

Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. "The DVD is common knowledge?"

"Not the DVD in particular, but Mrs. Worth's, well... antics are. Everyone already knows about her lifestyle."

"Everyone?"

He nodded his head. "I've heard people talking about her at some of the parties Mr. Worth has here."

"How do they react to Mrs. Worth's...er...antics?"

"Some of the men want to be next, some wonder why Mr. Worth puts up with her." He smiled again. "And most of the women call her some not very nice names. Of course none of their opinions are voiced to Mr. or Mrs. Worth face to face."

"And do you and Millie disapprove of Mrs. Worth and her actions?"

"It's not up to us to approve or disapprove. We're simply the hired help."

"I find that hard to believe Samuel."

"Okay you got me," he said with a small grin. Millie and I worked for Mr. Worth before Miss Susan came into the picture. His first wife, Miss Rebecca, was a really nice person and we loved her. When she died, Mr. Worth was a mess for awhile and then he brought Susan home. 

Samuel looked thoughtful for a few seconds and continued, "We were happy for him because he seemed to come back to life. But now? Well, we were here before she came and we'll still be here if she leaves. Our loyalty belongs to Mr. Worth. She only counts as long as Mr. Worth wants or lets her stay."

Suddenly, as I was talking to Samuel, the thing that had nagged at me when I read the employee files jumped to the forefront of my mind. RJ was the friend that visited Moore and Ralph James was the driver.

"Where would the chauffeur be right now?"

"Ralph? He's probably in his apartment over the garage, if he's not working on one of the cars."

"Thanks Samuel. You're a very astute man." I turned and walked toward the garage. I remember seeing Ralph's picture in the employee records. The picture fit the description that Mrs. Foley had given. I found Ralph James in the garage polishing a Bentley. 

"Hi, I'm Matt Steele," I introduced myself to Ralph. "I'm doing a security inspection for Mr. Worth."

"Yeah, I heard you'd be around. I'm Ralph James."

"Nice car," I offered pointing at the Bentley.

"It's a Continental GT V8."

"You drive it much Ralph?"

"No, not this one. It's Mr. Worth's baby. I usually drive the Rolls when I take them someplace."

"You know Stanley Moore?" I asked watching his eyes.

"Not really, just that he took care of the pool before he was fired. Why?"

"Part of the security check. You haven't seen him since he was let go then?"

"No, like I said, we weren't friends or anything."

"You know why he was fired? Mr. Worth didn't tell me; just that he'd had to let Moore go."

Ralph hesitated, looked around to make sure we were alone and replied, "Stan got caught banging Mrs. Worth, from what I hear. Her husband caught them or found out about it and sent the boy packin." Ralph snorted and continued, "Mr. Worth not only fired Stanley, but he put the word out to all his rich friends that he'd had to fire him. 

The sleaze ball chuckled. "I think he told them that Stanley stole something; anyway Stan can't get a job from the wealthy now and the regular people can't pay enough to support his acting gigs. Worth also sent a couple of goons over to Stanley's place to teach the boy a lesson. Stanley got away or wasn't there from what I hear."

"For a guy that's not Moore's friend, you sure know a lot about what went on after he got fired," I remarked.

"Gossip, just gossip. The house staff is the biggest hotbed of gossip in the world," Ralph said. "But I keep my ears open and my mouth shut. I also keep my pants on where Mrs. Worth is concerned. She's as hot as any woman I've ever seen, but I like this job and don't plan on ending up like Stanley."

"She ever come on to you?"

"No, but I've seen her looking, you know." Ralph preened a bit. "Why is a security consultant so interested in what's going on?"

"Disgruntled or ex-employees are a security risk," I answered. I gave Ralph what I hoped was a disarming smile and added, "I'm just trying to gauge what a danger Stanley Moore might be. Thanks for your help. You're doing a nice job on the Bentley." 

As I walked away I knew that Ralph was lying about his relationship with Stanley Moore. In spite of his saying the house was awash with gossip, how would he know about the men Worth supposedly sent over to the boy's apartment? I went to find Samuel again; if anyone knew anything, he'd be the one.

"Hey Samuel, can I talk to you again?" I asked as I entered the kitchen. He gave me a little grin, nodded, and followed me outside. "You know anything about Mr. Worth sending men over to Stanley's?

"Did Mr. Worth do that?" He asked. "It's the first I've heard of it." Samuel thought for a moment. "If Mr. Worth did, it was to get that DVD you mentioned and maybe rough the boy up a bit. You know, for having the gall to try and blackmail Mr. Worth."

"Thanks Samuel. Is Mr. Worth back yet?"

Samuel nodded and I went looking for my employer. I found him in the sitting room, drinking another glass of whiskey. He nodded when I walked in and held up his glass offering me a drink. I shook my head and joined him at his desk.

"I got another letter this afternoon," he said handing me another printed page. It said that Worth would be contacted on Saturday morning and told where to bring the money; the printed signature was again Stanley Moore.

"Did you send two goons over to Moore's apartment?" The look I gave him made it plain what I thought about it.

"I did, but not to attack him," Worth answered. "I thought they might be able to get the DVD."

"Pretty dumb Mr. Worth. Stanley booked and with him any chance at getting the DVD without paying for it." I shook my head. "Not the smartest move on your part." 

"What now Mr. Steele?" Worth seemed to deflate in his chair; as if he'd lost all confidence that he'd be able to get out of this bad situation.

"I'll keep looking for him. Hopefully I can find him before the week is out." I had serious doubts that Stanley was the blackmailer. From what I'd learned about the boy, I didn't think he was smart enough to come up with this DVD scheme. I didn't share my suspicions with Worth. "I'll see you this evening," I said and went home to see if I did in fact have a clean pair of jeans.





Cold Steele



"But you're just a youngster Abigail," Jason protested.

"She's about the same age as your wife, Mr. Worth," I put in. If you need to protect someone I suggest you take care of Susan." Mentally shrugging my shoulders, I said to myself, just couldn't keep your mouth shut could you? Oh well, I was looking for a job when I found this one.

Worth's face turned red in anger like he was going to erupt. Then he exhaled very loudly and the anger drained from his face. "You're right of course, Mr. Steele."

"I'll mingle for a while longer and catch up with you tomorrow morning Mr. Worth."

"Join me for breakfast at 8 if you like Mr. Steele. We can discuss our options in more depth."

I nodded and turned to Abby. "I'll call you when I complete my work." Worth wasn't overjoyed at my statement but didn't say anything.

"How long must I wait?" Abby asked. She was smiling and pulling my chain.

"Today's Tuesday, I should be finished by Saturday."

"That soon," both Abby and Worth said.

"I'm not only good but I'm fast too," I replied. "See you tomorrow morning Mr. Worth." I walked around the party for another half hour and left. The valet didn't seem to be too happy bringing my truck to me after driving all the luxury and sports cars, but became happier when I tipped him $10.





Cold Steele



"Steele! I'll see you again," Ralph threatened. His face was red with anger and he tried to step toward me.

"Give me a second will you Frank?" He nodded and I walked Ralph two or three steps away from the cops. . Frank and the two cops were intently studying cloud formations or the manicured lawn and making it a point not to watch Ralph and me.

"You may see me one time too many Ralph," I told him as I looked into his eyes. "It would be a very bad career move on your part; I don't think you'd like the results if we ever see each other again." I hadn't touched the man or even raised my voice to him, but the look I gave him left no doubt as to what I would do if I saw him again. "Do we understand each other?" 

Ralph tried to look me in the eye, but he couldn't hold my gaze. He must not have liked what he saw because he sorta slumped and nodded.

"Good." I walked him back to Frank and turned to Stanley. "Nice job Stanley," I praised the young man. "I think you'll have success as an actor out in Hollywood."

Stanley smiled. "Thanks for clearing my name Mr. Steele." He looked toward the house and saw Worth coming toward us. "Tell Mr. Worth I'm sorry about Susan, will you please? C'mon Jimmy let's get the hell out of here."

"Give me a call Stanley and let me know where you are. We might need you to testify." 

Frank nodded his thanks and put the handcuffed Ralph in the back of the police unit. I handed him my laptop. "I expect to get that back after your guys pull the recording off of it."

"I'll see it's returned to you Matt," Frank told me and drove away.

"Who were those people?" Worth asked as he got close to me. 

I explained my successful plan and that the DVD had been found and that Ralph was the actual blackmailer. "Stanley didn't have anything to do with it...well...except for sleeping with your wife. I let him go."

Worth watched the police cars drive toward the main street. "I guess I can't punish Moore for letting himself be seduced by Susan." He turned to me and gave me a little smile. "Although, I would have liked to punch his lights out."

"He did say to tell you he was sorry. Said he couldn't help himself when Susan came on to him." I chuckled. "Hell Mr. Worth, almost any man would have jumped her bones."

"Yes, I understand," he replied. "Susan can be a force of nature when she puts her mind to it. But why didn't you get with her? She made it obvious she was willing."

"Mr. Worth, you said you knew about my ex-wife. I couldn't do that to another man after what was done to me." I grinned and added, "Besides you would have stopped payment on you check if I went with your wife."

We both turned and looked down the driveway as we heard the roar of a powerful engine. Susan's Mercedes raced up to the garage and power slid to a stop.

Before she got out of the car, I said, "None of my business but have you made a decision about Susan, Mr. Worth?" He nodded and waited for Susan to join us.

"What was the police car doing here?" Susan asked. "Was that Stanley I saw leaving?" 

"Yes it was," Worth answered. "He was part of Mr. Steele's plan to catch the real blackmailer, Ralph. And if you hurry you can catch up to him."

"Why ever would I want to go with that young lout?" Susan asked.

"You don't have to go with him, my dear, but you do have to go," Worth answered. "You can go with young Moore, or go to one of your other boy toys or go to hell. But you're not staying here. You don't live here anymore."

"But Jason," Susan said as she leaned up against him. "I don't want..."

"It doesn't make any difference in what you want Susan. You can take your car, and your clothes. Hell you can even take your jewelry. You've got one hour to pack and leave." Worth nodded at me and started toward the garage. He turned his head back toward his soon to be ex-wife. "Contact my attorney when you get settled. You signed a prenuptial agreement, but I have made arrangements for you to get 50 thousand dollars. Goodbye Susan."

She looked at me in disbelief. I shrugged my shoulders and held my hands out as if to say, What'cha gonna do? Susan began to trot toward the garage but Worth's Bentley screamed out of the garage door and took off down the driveway. The sound of its powerful engine could be heard for a long time.

"What am I going to do now?" Susan asked. 

It may have been a rhetorical question but I answered her anyway. "I suggest you get your butt in gear and get packed. I think good ole Samuel there will toss you out in an hour."

Samuel was standing half way between the house and the garage with a satisfied smirk on his face; Millie and Jacqueline were right next to him. The last I saw of Mrs. Worth, was her cute behind running toward the house.

After retrieving my camera I got into my truck and drove away. As I left the Worth estate I said out loud, "Your free ride is over Susan. Ain't Karma a bitch?"