A BUSTARD FOR FRACK

         I clicked the remote, turning on the 11 o'clock news. The gray-coifed anchor had a twinkle in his eye as he said, "Today the ship hit the span." A helicopter-borne camera had recorded the burning "Paloma" drifting down river and into the pilings of the Tom Dooley Bridge. After his initial mot, my mind turned off the description. I didn't need to hear the details; Frack and I lived them.

         I was wolfing down a meatball sandwich outside Tony Luke's when I heard Frack blow the horn. She was riding shotgun. She half chewed, half shouted, "A boat's on fire in the river." I wrapped the rest of my sandwich in foil, and jumped behind the wheel. As we spun out, her chicken wrap fell apart.

         "Where's the fire, Frick?" Then she caught herself, laughed and held on as I made a left onto cobblestone-covered River Avenue and gunned it. In seconds I was turning onto the pier. Chicken, lettuce and pita were falling from Frack's lap as she ran to the pier's edge. Out in the river, the freighter had passed us. We could read "S.S. Paloma" on its stern. Flames leapt from it but no one could be seen on board.

         "Look, in the water. It looks like a large bathtub with people in it. They're rowing this way." By now I could hear fire trucks and sirens. The bathtub reached the pier and tied up to a ladder. Frack ran over to give the three men a hand. I noted hawsers drooping into the water from the dock. Someone had turned the Paloma adrift. Then I saw the trail of blood leading away toward River Avenue. I shouted for Frack.

         The spots ended at the road. I looked north and spotted a cab, waiting in traffic for the fire trucks to pass. Frack brought the car up and I jumped in, sitting on her sandwich that she had left on the seat. "Stop laughing and get after that cab. Who were those three men?"

         "Mr. Butcher, Mr. Baker and Mr. Candlemaker. Butcher is short but looks like he would cut your throat in a second; it's a wonder the tub didn't sink under Baker's weight, and Mr. C. is packing a lot of heat. They said they were on board and did not hear the fire alarms. Everyone else is off; they grabbed whatever they could to get off. Happened to be a bathtub."

         The taxi had turned left onto Marlow and made a right, heading for center city; Frack followed several blocks behind. In the distance I saw the passenger get out and go into a building. When we reached the block the blood made it easy to find his traces. He had taken the stairs to the third floor. The blood led to the door of Peter Piper, P. I. We shoved in. Sitting in the reception area was a man in a captain’s hat and pea coat, holding a package wrapped in newsprint. Behind a desk sat a blonde whose little sign named her “Precious.”

         “Can I help you?” she said, shifting her gum to her other cheek.

         Before I could answer, Popeye dropped over on the floor. His package escaped his hands. Precious screamed. Frack grabbed the bundle while I unbuttoned his coat. His cable-knit sweater was soaked in blood; he was dead on impact. Before I could get to the phone a man and woman entered the office, both smoking cigarettes. I guessed it was Piper. He spoke to the gum-chewer.

         “What happened Precious?”

         “The Captain came in to wait for you and Miss Tenille. These two followed. He keeled over. I think he has a package for the Miss.”

         Frack had cut the strings and pulled off the newspaper wrapping. Inside was a piece of turquoise colored statuary the size of a cat, but representing a bird on a perch.

         “Look Frick, it’s a puffin, I think it’s cute.”
         “Idiot, it’s an eagle.” This was the first time Miss Tenille had spoken. Her voice brought back cigarettes Bogarted in places she shouldn’t have been.”
         “You’re right Angel, it’s an eagle, just like Baker said it was.” Piper talked with a slight lisp, his coffin dangling from his lip. He threw the smoke on the floor and lit a new one.
         I took a look. Frack says she has a collection of figures. To me this one was pure Boardwalk schlock. It was neither a puffin nor an eagle. “It’s a bustard.”
         Precious laughed. “Bustard? Are you out of your gourd.”
         “I don’t care what it is, it’s mine, give it to me.” Tenille was getting peeved.
         “I found it, I’m keeping it.” Frack exhibited her combative side.
         “Like hell you are.”
         “Look you cheap barfly, just try and take it away from me.”

         “Ladies.” Piper was intervening when the door opened and in walked three men. I recognized them as the men in the tub. Candlemaker and Butcher pointed rods and told us to get our hands up.
         Fat Baker spoke quietly. “Sorry ladies, but the bird is ours. Take their guns, Candy.”

         He braced Tenille and Piper and took their heat, throwing their cigarettes on the floor at the same time. He stood behind me and did a frisk. He pulled my shoulder pistol and then felt a lump in my jacket pocket. I felt his hand enter.

         “Ugh.”

         He’d stuck his hand into my meatball sandwich that I was saving. I pulled my arm forward and slammed my elbow into his gut. He dropped his heat. Butcher moved toward me but was dispatched by Frack, who bashed him on the head with the bustard.

         “Good work, Coppers. Now give me and Miss Tenille our guns back.”
         “Not so fast.” I motioned Piper and his twist to join the bathtub conspiracy on the office couch. “Precious, call 9-1-1 and get a squad up here.”

         Shortly Captain leDuc led four uniforms into the room. “What do you have for me, Frack?”
         Pods looked at me. I’d screwed up the Macbeth case. I could see she was holding her breath.
         “Take these three in on weapons charges and theft of a bathtub.”
         “Did they set fire to the Paloma?” leDuc asked.
         “No, take Piper and Tenille here. I'm sure one of their discarded cigarettes did it.”
         “And this body, who shot him?”
         “Put out an APB for Miles Archer.”

         I turned off the news and contemplated the bustard on a shelf in Frack’s apartment. Maybe some day I might even get to see it.

Valatie 8/13/02