Lost in Middle America Page 4

They had purchased a dented Chevy Impala and were parked in a downtown lot. The evening sun was just starting to set and they were watching a woman standing near a bus stop. When a city bus neared, she stepped back from the sign and turned her back to it. The bus continued by without stopping. After it had passed, she stepped back near the sign. It was a tactic used to deceive the police. If the police confronted her, she could always claim she was waiting for the bus.

  Over the previous couple of days, Sam and Rachel had watched a series of prostitutes. From their observations, they were able to create a web of persons involved. In all, Lobo had nine women scattered throughout the city.

  Three of them lived in a house in the northeast part of Lima. Three of them lived south of town, near the oil refinery, in a smallish home. Three of the women, however, had their own apartments—Rosie, Edith, and Violet.

  While they spent time observing the girls, Sam and Rachel imagined the expenses involved with running a prostitution organization like Lobo’s. He would be responsible for their rent, their food, and their clothing. He would give them some additional money for the occasional entertainment activity, but he would keep them lean so they would always be dependent on him. He’d likely have some money socked away for bail in the likelihood one of the girls, or he, was arrested.

  “What are you thinking about?” Rachel asked after Sam had gone quiet for some time.

  “Why do you think those three women get their own apartment?” Sam asked. “The other six have to share.”

  Rachel shrugged. “Who knows how a pimp thinks? But one of them has to be his number one, right?” She couldn’t bring herself to use the words “bottom bitch,” even though she’d learned it was the correct term.

  “I’d think so.”

  “Do you think it could be Rosie? She was Bigs’s number one.”

  Sam thought about it. “He meets with her the most, right? I think we have to go with that assumption. Let’s build the plan around that.”

  “It’s pretty arrogant to take your competitor’s top girl and make her your top.”

  Sam nodded, but kept his eyes on the woman across the street. “These guys are hugely egotistical. They must be. You can’t force your will onto another human being and not be as conceited as they are. There isn’t much in the way of compassion that’s going to come out of Lobo.”

  Rachel turned to look at Sam. “Yet, you want to help Bigs?”

  “And?”

  “He’s just like Lobo. He’s cut from the same egotistical, non-compassionate cloth.”

  Sam turned to face Rachel, irritation clearly on his face. “There’s a payoff, Rachel. If there wasn’t, we wouldn’t be here. He’s not my friend and he isn’t family. I owe him nothing. I haven’t forgotten that. We’re not the Red Cross. I’m not doing this for free and I’m not here to hold his hand.”

  “Okay, already.”

  “Well, quit pushing then. I already said we wouldn’t do it if you didn’t want to. You had your chance to back away from this job, but you saw a profit and stepped up. Now, you’re kicking me in the balls for it. Get over it and move on.”

  Sam returned his attention to across the street.

  Rachel leaned her head against the passenger window, pretending to watch the woman.

  Edith Baker sat on the barstool with an empty shot glass in front of her.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” Rosie said, climbing on the stool next to her.

  Edith nodded, caught the bartender’s eye and tapped the hardwood next to the drink.

  Rosie glanced at the pictures hanging on the wall of the 2-8-4 bar. She hated the trains. It reminded her of where she grew up. Her house had backed up to the railroad tracks and, a couple times a day, the trains would come through and shake everything. Her family couldn’t afford to move, though. She ran away when she was sixteen. The trains were the least of her problems then.

  “What are you doing?” Rosie asked. “You should be working.”

  “I’m getting primed. I can’t face it without some courage.”

  Rosie studied Edith before turning to the bartender and ordering a shot of tequila for herself. The two women weren’t friends so Rosie turned to the one subject she felt comfortable discussing with Edith. “Lima has been good for business.”

  “I hate it here,” Edith said.

  “Get used to it. Lobo’s happy.”

  “I want to move on. Get somewhere more exciting. Even Pittsburgh was better than here.”

  “Pittsburgh wasn’t that good,” Rosie said. “Remember the cops? They were the worst.”

  “Do you know what the locals call Lima?” Edith asked. “‘Lost in Middle America.’ Can you believe that shit? Even they don’t want to be here.”

  “We’ll move along soon enough. This place is just a blip on our journey.”

  The bartender placed a shot of tequila in front of both women.

  They tapped their glasses together in a silent toast before shooting them back. Neither touched the limes or salt that had been offered.

  “We may have to stay here longer than Lobo wants,” Edith said.

  “Why is that?”

  Edith thumbed toward the National Union bank across the street. “Rumor is they’re going to shut that branch down any day.”

  “How do you know?”

  “A friend told me.”

  “A john?”

  Edith smirked. “No, a friend. She’s come in her the last couple of days. We talked and she told me. It was supposed to be a secret, but you know how it is.”

  Rosie looked out the window at the National Union bank. “Lobo has his treasures in that bank. What happens if they close it down?”

  “He’ll have to work through the government to get his stuff back.”

  “Shit.”

  “It’s just jumping through some hoops. No big deal.”

  “It’s no big deal? Are you kidding me? That’s putting his name on paperwork. The man ain’t going to like that. Don’t you get it?”

  Edith shrugged.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

  “I ain’t seen you. Besides, I told the flavor of the month. Lobo’s been spending every day in her bed anyways. I figured he would have known by now.”

  Rosie’s face flattened.

  “Lobo’s been hitting that?”

  “Every damn day. She’s bragging about how much time he’s been with her lately.”

  “And Violet knows about the bank?”

  “Yeah.”

  Rosie bared her teeth for a moment. “Shit.”

  “Better be careful or you may get ousted from your trusted position.”

  “I’ll never be pushed out.”

  Edith chuckled. “Never say never, right?”

  Rosie stared at Edith. Before Rosie showed up, she’d been Lobo’s number one. Rosie knocked her out of that position without much trouble. “Right, never say never,” she said, her voice soft with understanding. “Where can I find this woman, the one who told you about the bank?”

  Edith looked up at the clock. “Chill here for another ten minutes. She’ll probably be in. Be nice, though. She’s never once disrespected me. I like her.”

  Rosie studied Edith’s face. “I’ll be nice. I just want to know what’s going on.”

  “The space has been vacant some time,” Karen Summers said, “so the landlord really wants to do a deal.”

  “How long has it been empty?” Rachel asked.

  “Oh, geez, maybe two years.”

  They were standing in the ground floor office of the Tanner Building. From the front of the space, Rachel could see the 2-8-4 bar down the street. She could also see the front of the National Union bank.

  “What’s the rent?” Rachel asked.

  “We’d like to get twelve hundred a month.”

  Rachel turned back and looked at the space. A few lights were out and the carpet had worn marks from years of foot
traffic by the previous tenant.

  “Do you have any extra desks stored somewhere?”

  “We do, but they’re sort of old.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “I mean, really old,” Karen said. “They look like old military desks. They’re made of metal.”

  “That’ll be fine. Can we get three of them?”

  Karen nodded.

  “Okay, let’s do it. I only need it for a couple months.”

  “We’d really like to do a three-year lease.”

  Rachel stared at Karen.

  “We could probably do a one-year deal,” the realtor ventured.

  “We only need it for a couple months.”

  “Three months. Paid up front.”

  Rachel stuck out her hand and Karen shook it.

  It was almost closing time when he sauntered into The Comic Book Shop.

  Andrew Hoffman’s heart raced as Lobo flipped the Open sign to Closed.

  “Dude,” Andrew said. “Why’d you do that?”

  “I figured we should chat in private. I don’t need no pimple pinchers coming in here and interrupting our business.”

  “What business? We don’t have any books out right now and it doesn’t look like you have anything with you. Do you want to look at something specific?”

  “Oh, you’re smooth,” Lobo said with a grin.

  Andrew’s face suddenly was warm. “I don’t have anything as nice as you’ve got, but I’ve got a couple decent ones. You might want to take a look at my Marvel Spotlight number five. That’s the first appearance of Ghost Rider. It’s graded nine-point-four. I’ll let it go for forty-five hundred.”

  Lobo walked up to the counter. “Another time.”

  “What about—”

  “Tell me about the feds who came to see you.”

  Andrew’s mouth hung open.

  “Catwoman got your tongue, Drew?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I like you, Drew. You’re cool and we share comic books in common. But I know for a fact you’re lying. One of my boys saw you talking with them and he heard my name roll out of their mouths. If you continue to lie, that’s going to make me think you’re working with them. If you are working with them, you and me are going to have some serious problems. Am I making myself clear?”

  Andrew nodded.

  “Now, unless you want me to go all Weapon X on your ass, you better tell me what the fuck happened.”

  “It was the IRS.”

  “The IRS? As in taxes?”

  Andrew nodded. “And the Secret Service. He was her back-up. She came in and threatened a full audit of my books. Dude, do you know how much cash I’m running though this joint? I’m sure they could jam me if they really tried.”

  “What did they ask about me?”

  “They asked if I knew about your high-grade books.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said yes, of course. But that’s all I could tell them. I mean, I don’t know you from Adam, right? What was I supposed to do? They were threatening to audit me, man.”

  Lobo put his hands on his hips and stared at Andrew. The two men stood quietly in the store, but Andrew grew more uncomfortable with each passing second.

  “Are you dense?” Lobo finally asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Think about it, Drew. Why would the IRS be asking about me?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Man, I ain’t ever filed taxes in my fucking life.” Lobo tapped the side of his head. “Think, Drew, think.”

  “Dude, beyond your taste in comics, I don’t know you and I don’t know what you do for a living.”

  Lobo studied Andrew Hoffman for a moment. “Fair enough, man. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  Lobo’s face hardened.

  Andrew asked, “What? What is it? What did I do?”

  “I’m a pimp.”

  Andrew’s mouth slowly lowered.

  Lobo face remained passive, but he nodded as the realization sunk in for Andrew.

  “Really? Like Superfly?”

  “Yeah, like Superfly.”

  “Oh, damn, that’s so cool.”

  “If you ever need a bitch, Drew, I’m your man. I’d be happy to hook you up, for a price I mean. We’re both businessmen and we each have to make a profit, you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lobo reached across the counter and grabbed Andrew by his Black Lightning T-shirt. He twisted the shirt and pulled Andrew toward him. Andrew put his hands on the counter so he wouldn’t fall over.

  “But if you ever talk about me to anyone ever again,” Lobo said, “I will come back here, put my gun in your mouth and end your life. Are we clear?”

  Andrew closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s done. Forget about it.”

  Lobo released Andrew’s shirt. He slowly opened his eyes and stood upright.

  “Now,” Lobo said, “show me that Marvel Spotlight. It must be tight to command forty-five hundred.”

  Russell Shell leaned over the pool table, lining up his shot. He took careful aim, drew the stick slowly back, and popped the cue ball. It zoomed across the table, hit the eight ball, and dropped it into the corner pocket. He stood and smiled.

  “Looks like I won again.”

  “That you did,” Henry said. He wore a Caterpillar baseball hat, black T-shirt and blue jeans.

  Russ slipped the two five-dollar bills from the table rail and shoved them into his pocket. He wore a black T-shirt with a Sons of Anarchy logo. His faded blue jeans were ripped at the knees and his black Doc Martens were scuffed. His haircut was extremely short on the sides and not much longer on the top.

  “Another game?” Russ asked.

  “Yeah, I’m up for it,” Henry said. They each put another five on the rail.

  Henry then plugged two quarters into the table and it noisily dropped the multi-colored balls. He quickly racked them and stepped back, ready for Russ’s break. When he did, the balls careened wildly around the table. None of them fell, which left it Henry’s turn.

  He leaned over the table, took aim at the five ball, and bounced it off the rail, missing the side pocket by millimeters.

  “Close,” Russ said, lining up for his turn.

  Henry moved to the little table in the corner and grabbed his beer. He took a small sip of beer and waited for Russ. It took him two shots before he missed and it was Henry’s turn again.

  He sunk one ball quickly, but on the second shot it took him a moment to line it up. Even with the careful preparation, Henry still missed.

  Russ ran the table after that. “Three in a row. I’m hot tonight.”

  Henry lifted his glass in a toast.

  “Another game?” Russ asked.

  “Maybe in a bit. I need a break. I think I’m psyching myself out.”

  Russ picked up his beer and stood near the pool table, waiting for someone else to come by and challenge him to a game.

  “Rumor around the bar,” Henry said, “is that you’re a cop.”

  “Is that so?”

  “That’s the rumor.”

  Russ smiled. “Some rumors are true, I guess.”

  Henry watched Russ, waiting. Russ glanced at him a couple of times, waiting for Henry to ask him a follow-up question. Henry remained quiet.

  Russ broke first. “Why did you ask about me being a cop?”

  Henry shrugged. “Ah, no reason, really.”

  Russ laughed. “C’mon, man. I just took you for fifteen bucks. You can ask your question. Everyone’s got one. You’re good people, so ask away.”

  Henry smiled. “Okay.”

  “There you go. What do you want to know?”

  “Have you ever heard of a pimp named Lobo?”

  Russ’s lip curled. “He’s new in town. He’s trying to keep a low profile but doing a poor job of it. Why do you ask
?”

  “He turned out my sister a few years back.”

  “Oh shit, man, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “She’s doing better. Got herself into rehab, getting clean, but I’m still looking to hurt the guy, if you know what I mean? I followed him here to Lima.”

  Russ studied Henry. “I can’t be a part of no bodily harm. Even you talking about it makes me uneasy.”

  “No, no, of course not. I’m not talking about physically hurting the guy. Do I look like the kind of guy who could do that?”

  Russ turned his back to the pool table and leaned against it.

  Henry sipped his beer and watched Russ. Their eyes met, but Henry did not look away.

  “Geez, man, I’m real sorry about your sister. Having a pimp do that to her has to eat you up.”

  Henry nodded. “It tore up my family bad. Almost killed my mother.”

  Russ shook his head.

  “Listen, I don’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable position, but if I had a way to get him in trouble, would you listen to it?”

  Russ lifted his glass. “Hell, yeah, I’d listen. There ain’t no harm in listening, is there? What do you have?”

  Henry laughed. “I got nothing. I just was thinking out loud, but seeing as how you’ll listen, I’m going to figure something out, that’s for sure.”

  Russ shook his head. “You’re a different type of cat, Henry.”

  Henry set his beer down and moved toward the pool table. He pulled a five-dollar-bill out of his pocket and held it up. “I’m feeling lucky now. Ready to lose some of that money back?”

  “Rack ’em up,” Russ said with a wide grin.

  They played another four games and Henry lost every one.

  Rosie had a cheeseburger with a side of chili when Lobo walked into The Kewpee. He saw that she had already started eating and sneered. The bitch hadn’t waited for him, he thought. He then noticed she even had a piece of sugar cream pie waiting for her. The gall of that woman.

  He refused to acknowledge her as he passed by on the way to the counter. He ordered and paid. He didn’t bother to look back while they prepared his lunch. When it was finished, he collected his tray and sat across from her.

  She had finished her burger and bowl of chili and was already on to the custard pie.