I found my bank account trying to slither under a rock and was sitting at Rocco’s hoping to figure out how I would make it until next payday when a shadow fell over my chili. Rocco had won the Best Chili in Texas contest eight years running even though he wasn’t in Texas. He’d bring a couple of his cooks with him and make the trip south and set up his pot and start cookin’. Every Mexican and Texan north of Chihuahua Mexico would stand in line just to get a taste. The competition didn’t stand a chance. They finally changed the rules and said you had to live in Texas before you could enter the contest.
I made it a habit to have at least one bowl a week. It was better than taking vitamins and a lot tastier. I looked up to see two guys who were built like beer trucks hovering next to my table.
“Mr. Palermo would like to see you, Mr. Fly”, the darker of the two growled.
“Well, have him come over. I’ll be here for awhile. I am going to finish my Blatz and have one more before I take off.”
“You don’t seem to understand, Mr. Fly, Mr. Palermo requests your presence outside.”
I ignored them and continued eating for awhile before I noticed beer truck number one nod at beer truck number two before they both grabbed an arm and effortlessly lifted me out of my chair and escorted me to the door. Beer Truck number two pulled my gun from its holster and stuck it in his belt as they dragged me across the sidewalk There was a long black Lincoln Continental limousine parked outside next to my Nash, making it look a little under nourished and in bad need of physical care.
Beer Truck number one bent down and opened the back door while Beer Truck number two pushed me in head first.
The smell of garlic overwhelmed me as my head landed next to a pair of highly polished black Brunori Italian loafers. Next to the loafers I noticed a nice pair of legs, covered in nylon stockings that went up a long way. I lifted my head to see just how high up they went when one of the highly polished loafers came down on the top of my head forcing my face back into the carpet covering the floor.
“Behave yourself, Mr. Fly. Your reputation precedes you so don’t embarrass my lady friend here, you capisce?”
It was hard to say anything with my mouth filled with soiled carpet but I was able to nod my head a bit and that seemed to appease the man wearing the loafers, a Mr. Tampa Ray Palermo to the point where he released the pressure from the back of my head and I was able to turn my face and breathe easier.
“Now sit up and say hi to Thelma here and make nice.”
I got up and sat in the seat facing Tampa Ray and Thelma trying to make nice. It was difficult as my eyes immediately went to Thelma and noticed her dress with an opening in front that dipped down to where I earlier noticed her nylons ending, revealing a generous cleavage. Tampa Ray was wearing a black Giorgio Armani suit, which cost more than I made in a month, with a starched white shirt and red tie.
I stared at Thelma and said, “Miss Thelma, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Max Fly, Private Eye. Here is my card.” I reached in my coat pocket and placed it in her outstretched hand. I made her bend a bit in my direction affording me a better view of her cleavage. I just couldn’t help myself. She smiled back and uncrossed her legs showing me the reason for man’s existence.
“Mr. Fly, don’t be a putz. Look at me, please,” Tampa Ray said with a scowl on his face. His dark complexion, hair and eyes were the norm for most people from the southern part of Italy. He had a smarmy look on his face accentuating his sinister appearance. That along with his reputation for violence got my attention.
“I don’t know what makes you so stupid Mr. Fly, but whatever it is, it really works. Now please, leave Thelma be and listen to me or I will have Anthony and Gino take you outside and teach you the proper etiquette that should be used when you are in my presence.”
I noticed that Anthony, Beer Truck number one, and Gino, Beer Truck number two, were sitting in the front seat facing forward but the window separating the back of the limousine from the front was opened.
“Of course, Mr. Palermo,” I said bowing my head in his direction in an act of unfelt contrition.
“Good, you can call me Ray. Now I have noticed you have been investigating the death of a young lady on the Southside of Milwaukee who lost her head. This is most unfortunate, but it has nothing to do with me or any of my businesses even though she was found in the bedroom of a house one of my associates, Mr. Paul Godfrey, was renting. Mr. Godfrey, who is no longer with us, cannot answer any questions as to how she ended up there and how he was involved, if at all. I can assure you his death had nothing to do with this young lady’s. So, while you are diving in trash heaps, or wherever you go to find your information, make sure you keep my name and my businesses out of your story, capisce?”
The next thing I knew I was laying face down on the sidewalk and the long black limousine was heading south. My Colt Belly Gun was lying next to me. I thought, at least they gave me my gun back.