Grease ball didn’t see me approaching. I was halfway across the room before he picked up my reflection from the stainless-steel grill behind the counter. Candy managed to wrestle her arm loose, backing up fast to stay clear of the trouble she spotted brewing.
Dangerous Dan wasn’t going to get tagged from behind for his roughness with the little cupcake and armed himself for attack instead. Before I could reach him, he spun around on his counter stool, a contorted expression on his face. He’d grabbed the sharp and pointed steak knife off his plate, hoping to take me by surprise. It was a mistake he’d soon regret.
Attempting to make the first move, he stumbled upright from the counter stool a little off- balance, swinging the blade in a desperate waist- high slashing motion that was out of reach for its intended target. I’d seen the move coming and whipped out my .357 S&W mag. from the shoulder holster. Instead of retreating from his threat, I dodged his first swing. Then took a couple of quick steps forward and moved inside the swinging arc of his knife, faster than he anticipated. I was prepared for destruction.
Smashing the revolver straight across his face, I easily crushed his nose and opened a bone- deep gash along the cheek with the sharp edges of the cylinder. He fell back in pain, dropped his blade, and grabbed his face to feel what damage had been done. The blood poured through his fingers. Just for added insurance, I pistol-whipped him again across the top of the head several more times, opening up a flap of skin across his scalp. He grabbed there with the other hand and sank to the floor in a sobbing heap. I stepped out of the way, trying to avoid the blood spatter from this crumb staining my suit. Candy, who’d crouched down behind the counter, peeked over the top and let out a sharp shriek at seeing this bleeding mess already staining the floor.
Dangerous Dan was finished for the day, attempting to hold his face and head together with wads of paper napkins desperately pulled from the counter dispenser that had fallen beside him. The other Pike character decided he didn’t want to offer any assistance to his pal and looked like he was about to lose his lunch after seeing the carnage. Holding his gut with one hand and covering his mouth with the other, he made a one-way trip out the door faster than a rat with a bellyful of arsenic. The other losers, sitting at the far end just kept quietly concentrating on their meals with their heads down like good boys, as if nothing important happened. Minding their own business and staying out of trouble was a wise decision.
Someone must have called the local P.D. or maybe it was just time for another fresh sinker and Java break, as a squad car pulled up smartly in the parking lot outside. From where I was standing, I didn’t recognize the two young rookie lugs seated inside. They weren’t in any hurry to get out, so I knew it was just another routine stop.
I figured it might be better if the little waitress wasn’t involved and took the initiative. I grabbed junior by the collar and dragged his limp, bleeding carcass over to the front door, and tossed him outside in the gravel, just as both cops were opening their doors to get out and enjoy a nice quiet coffee break.
“What the hell is this mess?” bellowed the one closest to the moaning bloody heap, vomiting at his feet. He looked up at me standing in the doorway grinning.
“Welcome to Dale’s Diner, Officers,” I said, introducing myself and flashing my P.I. buzzer discretely.
“This punk just pulled a knife on me inside, and I had to cool him out. Hope I didn’t interfere with your java break.”
“We know who you are, Thornton. You can put away your tin shield, and we don’t need none of your wise cracks either.”
“Touchy, boys. Better hurry. The sinkers are getting stale with all this chatter.”
“Yeah, okay smart ass. You may be a pal of Foster Berringer’s all right, and he may be Captain of homicide here in Long Beach, but you’re just a private peeper to us. And, don’t you forget it.”
“Afraid I might get the drop on solving another one or two of your cases?” I said, prodding the overly serious rookies.
Ignoring my comments, the one with the biggest belly continued, “We heard over the radio a little while ago about the dead dame at the Blue Parrot and understand you was just there, too. What gives with you, Thornton? You a magnet for trouble or something?”
“I’m not afraid, if it comes my way. I can take care of myself, that what you mean?”
“Ah, nuts,” said the one closest to the moaner in the gravel, slapping the air in disgust, not wanting to push me and giving up. “Now, we’ve just got a whole lot of damn paper work to do because of this trash,” he said, nudging him sharply in the ribs with his toe and smirking when the loser groaned.
The other cop circled around behind the punk on the ground and jerked him to his feet, grumbling under his breath about not being able to take a break without something always screwing it up. He snapped on a pair of cuffs, cinching them tight enough to make him wince, and pushed him roughly into the backseat of the squad car, bumping his head on the way in. Then, he slammed the door in disgust, violently enough to shatter the glass. I noticed the blood-soaked paper napkins were still stuck to the side of the kid’s face and across the top of his scalp. That seemed to have stopped the blood flow, but his eyes were now flicking back and forth like a pin ball machine nearing tilt. He was probably going to pass out next, not that it was any concern to the two cops.
“I’ll drop by the station and give my official statement later,” I said, grinning pleasantly, as both lugs piled back into their squad car, disappointed they’d chosen Dales as a nice quiet place to hide for a while.
They didn’t seem to care when or if I showed up either, as the one on my side said, leaning out the window, “Take your time, Thornton. This guy’s a pain in the ass around here anyway. Always getting into fights, gets drunk as a skunk or trouble of some kind, and got a rap sheet a mile long. Tossing his ass in the can again will be a pleasure. Hope the judge throws the key away this time, but I know he’ll be out on bail in a couple of hours, get patched up, and we’ll just have to do it all over again. He’s got friends higher up than you think, pal. Thanks for nothing!”
“Don’t mention it. Always anxious to help Long Beach’s finest. Oh, and don’t forget to give my best to Foster when you see him,” I said, with another grin. I gave them a small half-assed salute as they pulled back onto Atlantic Boulevard in a spray of gravel and dust.
I decided to see how Candy was holding up after this fiasco and went back inside. An overweight slob in a greasy apron with a soup strainer mustache and grumpy expression on his kisser was putting the finishing touches on the bloody cleanup with a dirty mop. After a few more sloppy swipes, leaving behind several puddles of dirty water to slip in, he shuffled off to the back dragging his bucket, mumbling something about “God-damned punks from the Pike.”
Candy was sniffling quietly at one of the tables by the window and looked up with red -rimmed eyes when I entered. I sat down across from her, reached for an ashtray, and flicked in a spent match for my cigarette. She dabbed her eyes with a paper napkin and muttered, “Jeepers, mister. I-I don’t even know your name.”
“Just call me Matthew, baby, okay?”
She nodded, sniffled again, and continued, “Did you have to beat up C-Chester so bad, Mister ah-Matthew? He was only twist’n my arm. I can take it. He’s done that before, you know? It don’t hurt so much anyway.”
“You go out with that bum?”
“Yeah, sometimes … and sometimes he’s real nice, too.”
“Well, he wasn’t today. You got anybody else that’s better?”
“Not really . I’ve been on my own since I left home at seventeen.”
“Watch out for that loser, kid. He’s trouble with a capital T.”
She gave me a blank stare, and I sensed she didn’t care much what my opinion was, so I dropped it.
“What did he want, sweetheart?”
“H-he wanted to know what you was ask’n me.”
“About the dames?”
“Yeah, that’s it. I told him I don’t know nothin and don’t tell you nothin. That’s when he started getting rough. Called me a liar and started twist’n.”
The tears flowed again and she stabbed at her eyes and cheeks with a fresh paper napkin. I felt sorry for the kid and didn’t like what I’d just heard. That loser named Chester knew something that I’d have to dig into, and the little pink-haired doll was now right in the middle of it and didn’t know it, yet. I did and was worried for her, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. I hoped I was wrong.
“Next time you see that bum, tell him I let him off easy. And, next time, he won’t be so lucky, okay, sweetheart? Now dry your eyes. I’ll see you again. I’ll be back and maybe have those tacos next time. What do you say? Good idea?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” she said and blew her nose a couple of more times, stuffing the napkins into her uniform pocket next to her order pad.
I got up to leave and gave her one of my P.I. cards. She didn’t look at it, just absently folded it in half and shoved it into her pocket next to the soggy napkins, mumbled “thanks ,” and gave me a weak smile trying to perk up. I wasn’t convincedthat everything was going to be all right with this kid, and I think she sensed it.
I closed the door behind me on the way out and didn’t look back. I should have, but I didn’t. I’d continue where I left off, starting with Archie’s Tattoo Parlor a few streets over. But, the thought of Chester and his pals looming in little Pinkie’s background left me with an uneasy feeling that would be hard to shake.