Maxwell Street Blues Read Online Free PDF Page B

panting. I almost felt sorry for him.“You’re not in trouble, Frank. I’m just trying to find out whose money he was hiding.”
    “Did he take my money?”
    “He was hiding someone else’s money—to avoid taxes.”
    “Who are you again?”
    I took out my license and handed it to him. He stared at it and gave it back. “I don’t know shit. Snooky would show up every month, I would give him my financial stuff, and that was it. A few times a year, we went over taxes and profits and payroll and that kind of stuff. But I swear to Christ we never talked about hiding money—he wasn’t stealing from me, was he?”
    I thought of all the suffering that went into producing the sandwiches that were making Frank a rich man. I said, “Who can say for sure?” Then I gave him one of my cards and suggested he consult a tax attorney in case the IRS came knocking. Even Swanky Franky had to suffer sometimes.
* * *
    July is the season when Chicago’s grime hangs in the air, clogging your pores, rendering antiperspirants useless. I could feel my face morphing into a giant blackhead as I approached Taudrey Tats. Once inside, I saw Audrey drawing a broken heart on the left pectoral of a brawny client lying flat on his back in The Kitschen chair. She wore a black T-shirt and black jeans. A bald-headed kid with a lightning bolt meandering across his skull sat on a bench paging through Skin & Ink . On his shoulder was the unfinished face of an owl. Both the owl and the kid looked pissed off.
    I watched while sitting in the loveseat that bordered the waiting area and her work space. She was still coloring when she said, “A little busy right now.”
    “I’m interested in a tattoo,” I said.
    Audrey said nothing and continued working. A few minutes later she told Brawny to take five and motioned for me to follow her. She led me to another closet-sized room that had a small wood table with a tiny lamp on it and a folded-up massage table.
    “I can’t just drop everything at a moment’s notice.”
    Her anger was unconvincing. “I apologize. I was in the area so I thought I’d stop by and see if we could meet for lunch.”
    Audrey stared at me for a moment and said, “If you’re looking for a girlfriend, I doubt I’m your type.”
    “I’m looking for a murderer, and you have no idea what type I prefer.”
    “Of course,” she said. “The pain over Snooky is still very close to the surface for me, and when I saw you walk in, it bubbled up.”
    That sounded rehearsed, but I played along. “I’ve heard the fastest route through pain is straight ahead.” Definitely rehearsed, but I saw the beginnings of a smile. “Just give me one last conversation to wrap things up, and I promise to leave you alone.”
    She sighed. “Come back at one,” she said and walked away.

7
    When I got home I saw the Crown Vic still illegally parked. I had enough time to clean up, offer a liver to Punim, and check messages. “May I suggest, private investigator, you acquaint yourself with cell phone technology …” Kalijero was checking in, as if we were partners. He had called an hour earlier, wanting to compare notes. He implied he had information. My technological investments consisted of a 26x optical zoom digital camera and a digital pen recorder. Although I did own a cell phone, I had yet to give myself over to it. I had control issues to work out. I erased the message and watched Punim devour a liver. I thought about Kalijero’s attention. It was not flattering. I’d get back to him eventually, but for now I’d play hard to get.
    I returned to Taudrey Tats freshly showered and stubble free. Audrey was working on Lightning Bolt’s owl, now remarkably detailed and lifelike. Her ponytail hung over one shoulder, which allowed me to study the curve of her neck. Her T-shirt was short and untucked, offering a landscape of the small of her back. Minutes later, the tattoo machine stopped buzzing.
    “There you go,” she said and held a mirror