Six Crime Stories Volume One

Who Unkilled Johnny Murder?-6

Little did I know when I got to Father Sees-All’s room that I was walking into the middle of an impromptu meeting of the French Quarter Artists and Psychics Association.

Father Sees-All was propped up in bed, looking bad...one eye swollen shut, face and arms all bruised to hell. Eight ‘Sociationers were arranged around him, all but Dexter glaring in my direction at once when I bounced in.

Though no one seemed to be too glad to see me, I hustled right over to the bed. Dexter shrugged, hands stuffed in the pockets of his chinos like always, and opened a space for me at Father’s feet.

“Geez, Percy,” I said (Father’s given name being Percy Thibodeaux). “What the hell happened?”

Father’s voice was a croak. He sounded like he was hurting. “Saw that son of a b***h Murder ‘bout to go in Switch Hitter’s. He caught me lookin’ an’ came after me.”

“Switch Hitter’s?” I said, wondering what big, bad Johnny Murder’d want in a salon specializing in makeovers for cross-dressers and bondage queens.

“Chased me down Dauphine an’ beat the livin’ s**t outta me in an alley,” said Father. “Only thing he said was ‘Keep your nose outta other people’s business, you wrinkled-up old rasta.’”

“Now hold on a minute,” I said. “That’s all he had to say to you?”

“I guess he was too busy kickin’ my ass to talk much,” said Father. “Then, he took off before I had the chance to pick up the conversation.”

“He just took off like that?” I said. “How come?”

“Got bored, maybe?” said Father. “Had reservations at K-Paul’s? How the hell should I know?”

“And you’re sure this guy was Johnny?” I said.

“Wouldn’t’ve called him Johnny if I wasn’t, would I?” said Father, sounding progressively crabbier.

“But you’re the one who killed him,” I said. “If that was Johnny, wouldn’t he kill you back? Wouldn’t he at least’ve had somethin’ more to say to you?”

“Maybe he’s lettin’ bygones be bygones,” said Father. “Now I got a question for you, hot sauce. Wha’chu doin’ to keep this fool from hurtin’ someone else?”

“I got the same question,” said Bobby Bocci, the shell game and three-card monty king. “What’s the plan?”

“I’m workin’ on it,” I said, guessing I’d be better off keeping the details sketchy. “Puttin’ the pieces together. It takes time.”

“It didn’t take Percy much time to find him at all,” said Professor Ludwig von Waterglass, a.k.a. Cyrus Sullivan out of Pueblo, Colorado...a silver-haired hippie who plays musical glasses of water. “Maybe we ought to put him in charge.”

“What’s the holdup, Po’Boy?” said High Markie the unicyclist.

I didn’t appreciate the full-court press, and I was about to make a smartass remark...when the big bass voice I’d come to hate spoke up behind me. “We are at war with dark and terrible forces, my friends,” said Starbulk. “Such a war cannot always be won quickly...but make no mistake, it shall be won.”

For a long moment, everyone in the room was silent as Starbulk’s words settled in. I cringed, waiting for the reaction I expected...namely, disbelief and sarcasm. Maybe laughter.

What I got was something else altogether.

“Dark forces?” said Lady Claudette the palmist, touching the gold ankh pendant at her throat. “So Johnny is a zombie?”

Starbulk shouldered in beside me, shaking his head. “I thought so at first,” he said, “but now I’m leaning toward a shape-shifting golem of some kind. A black magic doppelgänger taking the form of a notorious killer.”

Gustav Gretchen the painter/poet/flatulist popped the unlit cigarette from his mouth. “Why not a zombie?”

“As Gerald pointed out,” said Starbulk, clapping a hand on my shoulder, “a zombie Johnny should have reacted more violently when faced with the man who took his life. Therefore, I suspect that the only thing this creature has in common with Johnny is his physical appearance.”

“Can such a creature be stopped?” said Lady Claudette.

“Fortunately, yes,” said Starbulk. “By a twelfth-level shaman such as myself. I’ve defeated such beings many times using the techniques taught to me by the Tibetan lama Zi Lung Chu, and I am confident I will succeed in this case as well...if we locate the Murder doppelgänger, that is.”

“What do you mean, ‘if’ you locate him?” said Professor Waterglass.

“We’re dealing with a shape-shifter here,” said Starbulk. “That’s why he’s been so difficult to track. He may favor the form of Johnny Murder, but he could reshape himself to look like anyone.”

“Anyone?” said Gustav Gretchen. “Even one of us right here in this room?”

“Theoretically,” said Starbulk.

At that, the ‘Sociationers cast suspicious looks at each other and spread apart, putting extra inches between themselves and their potential shape-shifter neighbors. Only Just Dexter and I stayed shoulder to shoulder, watching as the rest of the group bought into Starbulk’s insane notion.

“Isn’t there any way to see through his disguise?” Lady Claudette said in a hushed voice, staring intensely at Bobby Bocci.

“My colleague, Penny Thoughts, could do it viamind-reading,” said Starbulk, “but she’s on assignment in Morocco and can’t be reached. I’ve put in a call to Twenty-Twenty, the man with the golden eyes, but haven’t heard back from him, either.”

“So what are we supposed to do?” said Gustav Gretchen, running a long-fingered hand over his shaved and tattooed scalp.

“Watch for suspicious behavior from those around you,” said Starbulk. “Ask questions of a personal nature. Wear protective talismans on which the pentacle, cross, or Star of David are prominent. Avoid open flames and pregnant women.”

As Starbulk rattled off his crazy recommendations, I saw that all the ‘Sociationers except Dexter seemed to be taking him seriously. Even Bobby Bocci and “cashstrologer” Silky Freedom, who were both cynical thieves, looked like they were buying into Starbulk’s fantasy.

I finally decided I’d had enough and elbowed Dexter. “Be right back, folks,” I said, leading him out the door, but no one seemed to hear me. They were all busy listening to Starbulk talk about the eating habits of shape-shifting golems.

“So who the hell is that guy, anyway?” said Dex on our way out of the building.

“Some nut claims Q. Liz hired him to find Johnny,” I said as we stepped outside. We’d gone from air-conditioned comfort to hot evening air so thick with moisture it was barely breathable...but it still felt great to be away from the claustrophobic scrutiny of the pissed-off ‘Sociationers. “Calls himself Quinto Starbulk. Also claims he’s my long-lost half-brother.”

“Is he?” said Dex, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his chinos.

“Not a chance,” I said. “He’s just a whackjob.”

“So where’s he comin’ up with all this dark forces, Tibetan lama, shape-shiftin’ monster bullshit?” said Dex.

“Aw, I don’t know,” I said, bumming a smoke. “Thinks he’s some kinda action hero straight out of a comic book or pulp magazine or somethin’.”

“Dude’s stoned,” said Dex. “The ‘Sociation is, too, if they think Johnny Murder’s come back.”

“I saw him on tape at Harrah’s, an’ he sure looks like Johnny,” I said, blowing out smoke, “but you’re right. It can’t be him. People don’t come back from the dead, no matter what you do.”

“I know,” said Dex, and from the way he dropped his voice, I knew he knew I was talking about Cherry. About what I did trying to bring her back...and the price I paid. “So who you think this lookalike is, then?”

“Twin brother we don’t know about?” I said, taking another puff on the cigarette. “Someone made up to look like Johnny? Could be that’s why he was hangin’ around a makeover joint.”

“But why would anyone want to impersonate that dead son of a b***h?” said Dex.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but the whole thing’s givin’ me a bad case of déjà vu. People droppin’ dead an’ gettin’ beat around me, an’ I’m lettin’ ‘em down again.”

Dex pointed his cigarette at my face. “That’s bullshit an’ you know it,” he said angrily. “What happened before wasn’t your fault. Johnny was one of us, an’ we all trusted him the same as you did.”

“But I should’ve known,” I said, flicking away my cigarette butt. “I should’ve stopped him before he killed anyone. I sure as hell should’ve been the one shootin’ him in the face instead of Father Sees-All after Cherry died.”

“Maybe you would have if you hadn’t been in custody,” said Dex. “If the cops hadn’t been questionin’ you about Cherry’s death. It ain’t your fault you didn’t get to blow Johnny’s brains out personally.”

“I should’ve saved her,” I said quietly. “At least I should’ve paid Johnny back for what he did.”

“Listen,” said Dex, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “All that matters is Johnny’s dead. This asshole makin’ the rounds ain’t him. Don’t let what happened before get in the way of bringin’ him down.”

Suddenly, I felt another arm drop around my shoulders. The air filled with the smell of daffodils and antifreeze.

“No worries on that count, my friend,” boomed Starbulk. “I assure you, nothing will stand in the way of our victory over the shape-shifter.”

“Geez!” said Dexter, hopping out from under Starbulk’s embrace. “Don’t go sneakin’ up on people like that!”

I turned and glared at Starbulk. “I’ve been thinkin’,” I said. “Why don’t we split up, Quinto? That way, we can follow different leads an’ track down Johnny in half the time.”

“Great idea,” said Starbulk.

Immediately, my mood brightened.

“However,” said Starbulk, “I think it best if we don’t divide our forces just yet.”

So much for the good mood.

“Now, if we were facing General Clonefire and his Multitaskers, it would be a different story,” said Starbulk. “Though, now that I think about it, I wonder if our foe might be plural in nature. You know, I battled a shape-shifter once who was able to duplicate herself. Went by the name ‘Many Jenny.’”

Dexter looked at me and shook his head. “If there’s duplicate Johnnys out there,” he said, “I’m glad we got an expert like you lookin’ out for us, Quinto.”

At that moment, my cell phone beeped. The number on the display was Inside Charlie’s.

“Johnny came in the casino with a redhead named Corinna Crimsone,” said Charlie. “She bought his chips with her credit card.”

“Corinna Crimsone?” I said. “Sounds familiar.”

“One of the guys recognized her on tape,” said Charlie. “She’s a dancer at CrocoDelilah’s up on Bourbon Street.”

“That’s right,” I said, an image of the beautiful redhead popping into my mind...naked and gyrating on stage. “Thanks, Charlie. You’re the man.”

“Just remember,” said Charlie. “You owe me another case of Jax.”

“I’ll make it two an’ a bucket of crawfish,” I said, and then I hung up and headed for the strip club. Starbulk, as usual, trotted along beside me, running his mouth in such a way that I wanted to punch it shut.