Jack Kilborn - Street Music - A Phineas Troutt Short Mystery Story

I wrote this story right after selling Whiskey Sour, and soon after sold it to Ellery Queen. M itch couldnt answer me with the barrel of my gun in his mouth, so I pulled it out. I dont know! I swear! If that was the truth, I had no use for it. After three days of questioning dozens of hookers, junkies, and other fine examples of Chicagos populace, Mitch was my only link to Jasmine. I was seriously jonesing; I hadnt done a line since Thursday. Plus, the pain in my side felt like a baby alligator was trying to eat its way out of my pancreas.

I gave Mitchs chin a little tap with the butt of the Glock. I really dont know! Shes one of yours, Mitch. I thought big, tough pimps like you ran a tight ship. His black face was shiny with sweat and a little blood. Sure, he was scared. But he wasnt stupid.

Telling me Jasmines whereabouts would put a dent in his income. I raised the gun back to hit him again. She went rogue on me, man! She ditched! I paused. If Jasmine had left Mitch, his reluctance to talk about it made some sense. Mack Daddies dont like word to get out that theyre losing their game. How much money do you have on you? About four hundos.

Its yours, man. Front pants pocket. Im not putting my hand in there. Take it out. Mitch managed to stop shaking long enough to retrieve a fat money clip. I took the cash, and threw the clipa gold emblem in the shape of a female breastonto the sidewalk.

You letting me go? Mitch asked. Youre free to pimp another day. Go run to the bus station, see if you can find some other fresh meat to bust out. When I let go of his lapels, his spine seemed to grow back. He adjusted the collar on his velour jump suit and made sure his baseball hat was tilted to the correct odd angle. Aint like that.

I treat my girls good. Plenty of sweet love and all the rock they can smoke. Leave. Now. Before I decide to do society a favor. He sneered, spun on his three hundred dollar sneakers, and did his pimp strut away from me.

I probably should have killed him; I had too many enemies already. But, tough as I am, shooting fourteen-year-old kids in the back isnt my style. The four hundred was enough to score some coke, but not very much. I thought about calling Manny, my dealer, and getting a sample to help kill the pain, but every minute I wasted gave Jasmine a chance to slip farther away. Pain relief would have to wait. I pressed my hand to my left side and exited the alley and wondered where the hell I should look next.

Id already checked Jasmines apartment, her boyfriends apartment, her parents house, her known pick-up spots, and three local crack houses. To rule out other options, I had to call in a marker. It was September, about seventy with clear skies, so I took a walk down the block. The first payphone I came to had gum jammed in the coin slot. The second one smelled like a urinal, but I made do. Hi, Jack. Hi, Jack.

Phineas Troutt. Phin? Havent seen you at the pool hall lately. Afraid Ill kick your ass? My lips twisted in a tight grin. Jacqueline Daniels was a police Lieutenant who busted me a few years back. We had an on-again-off-again eight ball game Monday nights. Id missed a few.

Im sort of preoccupied with something. Chemo again? No, work. Listen, you know what I do, right? Youre a freelance thug. I prefer the term problem solver. I keep it clean. Im guessing thats because we havent caught you in the act, yet.

And you never will. Look, Jack, I need a favor. I cant do anything illegal, Phin. You know that. Nothing shady. I just have to rule some stuff out.

Im looking for a woman. Hooker. Name is Janet Cumberland, goes by the street nick Jasmine. Any recent arrests or deaths with that name? There was a pause on the line. I could only guess Jacks thoughts. Give me half an hour, she decided.

Got a number where I can call you back? I killed time at a hot dog stand, sipping black coffee mixed with ten crushed Tylenol tablets; they worked faster when they were pre-dissolved. The phone rang eighteen minutes later. No one at the morgue matching that name, and her last arrest was three months ago. Do you have a place of residence? Jack read off the apartment number Id already checked. How about known acquaintances? Shes one of Mitch Ds girls. Been arrested a few times with another prostitute named Georgia Williamson, street name is Ajax.

Kind of an odd name for a hooker. She one of Mitchs, too? Lemme check. No, looks like shes solo. Got an addy? Jack gave it to me. Theres also a note in Janets file, says her parents are looking for her. That your angle? Even if you find her, the recit rate with crack is over 95 percent.

Theyll stick her in rehab and a week later shell be on the street again. Thanks for the help, Jack. Next time we play pool, beers on me. Youre on, Phin. Hows the Hurts, I interrupted. But my doc says it wont for much longer.

The tumor is shrinking? Thats great news! I didnt correct her. The tumor was growing like a weed. I wouldnt be in pain much longer because I didnt have much longer. Which is why I had to find Jasmine, and fast. She had to die first. Georgia Williams, aka Ajax, lived on 81st and Stoney, in a particularly mean part of Chicagos South Side.

Night was rolling in, bringing with it the bangers, junkies, ballers, wanna-bes, and thugs. None of them were thrilled to see a white guy on their turf, and some flashed their iron as I drove by. Ajaxs place wasnt easy to find, and asking for directions didnt strike me as a smart idea. Maybe in neighborhoods this bad, whole buildings got stolen. Finally, I narrowed it down to a decrepit apartment without any street number. I parked in front, set the alarm on my Bronco, and made sure I had one in the chamber.

You lost, white boy? I ignored the three gang membersGangster Disciples according to their colorsand headed for the building. The front door had a security lock, but it was long broken. There was a large puddle of something in front of the staircase, which I walked around. Ajax lived in 206. I took the stairs two at a time, followed a hall decorated with graffiti and vomit, and found her door. Is Ms. Is Ms.

Williams home? I asked the neighbor. The door closed again. I kicked away a broken bottle that was near my feet, and knocked again. Georgia Williams! Open the door! You got ID? A womans voice, cold and firm. I held a brass star, $12.95 on eBay, up to the peephole. Wheres your partner? asked the voice.

Watching the car. Were looking for a friend of yours. Jasmine. Shes in big trouble. She sure is. Can I come in? I heard a deadbolt snick back.