Twenty-Seventh Street J. M. Strother Twenty-Seventh Street. Not the kind of place you'd take your mother for Sunday brunch. It was the heart of the “shady side” of town, and not a place I generally frequented. But tonight I had an appointment that I was told I would not want to miss. The incentive was simple enough – money. And, as usual, I needed money. The PI business was always an uncertain thing, and right now business was bad. So when Jo Jo Martin called to tell me he had a job I resisted my urge to hang up on him. “I'll give you two minutes,” I said. “Make it worth my time.” “Two thousand dollars,” he answered. “What?” “You heard me Max. Two grand.” “For what?” I asked. He just chuckled. “Meet me at Twenty-seventh and Tillman tonight at eleven,” he said. Click. So here I was driving down Twenty-seventh street, past leering babes in scanty clothes and dudes decked out in white silk hats and spats. Spats! The girls all gave me the once over, hoping to turn a trick, and the dudes all eyed me suspiciously as if I was competition trying to move in on their territory. Of course the Cadillac Brougham I drove did nothing to allay their fears. When I got to within half a block of Tillman someone moved out of the shadows and swaggered over towards the curb. He put his right foot up on the fire hydrant and leaned over to rest his elbow on his knee. He was dressed like a three dollar pimp. Jo Jo. I parked illegally next to the hydrant and opened the passenger side window. Jo Jo stepped up to the car and leaned in. The mixed smells of cheap cologne, cheap booze, poor hygiene almost made me wretch. “Hi, Max,” Jo Jo grinned as if he knew a great joke. “Hello, Jo Jo. So, what is it that you couldn't tell me on the phone?” I cut to the chase to try and keep this ordeal as short as possible. “Aren't you going to ask me in?” Damn. I clicked the door lock and Jo Jo hoped in. “Let's take a drive,” he suggested. I slid the Brougham into drive and pulled away from the curb. Jo Jo eyed the hooker standing in the doorway of the shuttered Varsity Theater critically, as if assessing her night's effort. He shook his head in disgust. “Hard to get good help these days,” he lamented. I bit my lip. “So, Jo Jo, what kind of job would you have for me that's worth $2000?” I asked again. “It's all just money with you, isn't it, Max? I mean, no so how you been doing, Jo Jo? How's the wife and kids, Jo Jo? Seen any good movies lately, Jo Jo?” “You're not married,” I reminded him. “You miss the point, my man. Where are the social niceties?” “You're a pimp, Jo Jo. What social niceties?” “Oh, Max! I'm hurt. I'm crushed.” “Come on. What do you want?” A police cruiser turned the corner. Several of the women on the sidewalks suddenly found something requiring their undivided attention. As the cruiser passed the driver looked me over with a critical eye. Great. “Fine. Be like that,” Jo Jo pouted. “Well, Max, I've got a little problem.” I waited. “Seems like someone is trying to curtail my revenues,” Jo Jo finally continued. “You got competition?” He let out a harsh laugh. “Ha! Competition I could deal with.” He punched the palm of his hand with a satisfied smile. “No. Unfortunately it's not the competition I'm having trouble with.” “Then what?” I figured if it wasn't the competition then it pretty much had to be the cops and I was not going to be of any use to him running interference to the cops. “I'm not sure,” Jo Jo answered. We turned off 27th onto Morgan. “But bad things have been happening to business lately.” “What kind of bad things?” “Well, some of my johns have been turning up... uh, how would you say it? Dead.” I recalled a story on the local news from a day or two ago. A respectable shop owner had tuned up dead in a disrespectable part of town. “I see,” I said. “And that's not all. A couple of my girls are missing.” “Oh?” Now that bothered me. Not many folks have a soft spot in their heart for hookers, but I do. I've known a couple of 'em pretty well and it really steams me when they get hurt. And they get hurt a lot. “Yeah. Alice and Kitty Kay.” He looked out the passenger side window at another girl who was leaning into the window of an idling blue Taurus. I could almost see the cash register cha-chinging in his head. He made me sick. “So, what do you want me to do?” I asked, pretty much knowing where this was going. “Well, Max, I can't very well complain to the cops now, can I?” Jo Jo asked as we turned onto 28th Street. “So you want me to find out who's messing up your business?” He grinned. “You're a quick study, Max.” “And just why don't you think it's the competition?” I asked him. “Maybe Ollie Thole or Micky the Hammer are doing a number on you?” Seemed reasonable to me. “Naw, Max. The same damned thing's been happening to them. Hell, Ollie threatened to off me if I didn't quit leaning on him. Wasn't until the wine shop owner turned up dead that Ollie was convinced it wasn't me. Mr. Farrell was one of my best customers.” “I see,” I said. “And nobody's tried to shake you down?” “No! That's the hell of it, Max. Nobody wants nothing. It just doesn't make sense. It must be some kind of psycho.” “And you want me to find him?” He nodded, enthusiastically. “The sooner the better. All this bad press is not good for business. Scares off the customers and keeps the cops swarming around like gnats. I hate gnats.” “And with the information I give you?” “Let's just say you don't want to know.” He gave me a big yellow toothed grin. He was right about that. But I was not about to become an accessory to murder, not for any money. “Sorry, Jo Jo, but I don't think I can help you.” The smile on his face died. “What, are you nuts? Two grand, Max. All up front. Right now. I've got it on me.” He started to reach into his vest pocket. “Forget it Jo Jo.” I turned back onto 27th Street and braked suddenly. Up ahead, next to the Varsity two cruisers were pulled over to the curb with lights flashing. A crowd of people was gathering. My stomach turned to lead. I pulled over and we both jumped out and ran up to where a uniformed was pushing people back. Through the crowd, down on the cold sidewalk, I caught glimpses of bleached blond hair and long mesh stockinged legs, all akimbo. Looking up I caught the eyes of several of the girls in the gathering crowd – frightened eyes. “Oh man!” Jo Jo cursed under his breath. “Not Dee Dee! She's my best girl!” I just wanted to punch him. I turned away in disgust. A hand grabbed me by the shoulder, impelling me to turn back around. “Max. Max. You gotta help me, man!” Jo Jo pleaded. I shook him off and turned away again. He darted in front of me, blocking my way. “Hey, not for me,” he urged. “Think of the girls!” “Go to Hell, Jo Jo.” I pushed him aside with a look that told him not to get in my way again. He didn't. I headed for my Brougham. I had a killer to find.