A Mint Condition Corpse, page 15
part #1 of Kirby Baxter Series
"Erica!" yelled a man's voice, between thumps. "I know you're in there! Come on!"
Kirby stepped out of the elevator and looked down the hall. A man was in front of the door of Erica Cross' suite, banging on the door. He was tall, with a muscular build clearly visible through the extremely tight Ed Hardy imitation t-shirt, a forest of dye-blond spikes on his head and a spray-on tan making him look like a slightly smaller, and orange, version of the Incredible Hulk.
"Excuse me?" asked Kirby. "Who are you?"
"Who am I?" asked the man, as if it was Kirby making the disturbance. "Who the fuck are you?"
"I think I asked first."
The man paused and looked Kirby over.
"I know who you are," snarled the man, as he approached, the classic swagger of the lifelong semi-professional bully in his walk.
"That's great," said Kirby, "you got your question answered, now answer mine."
"You're the shit-bird who fucked Erica on TMZ!" barked the man.
"I think you misunderstood the situ–"
"I ought to pound the shit out of you," growled the man coming closer to Kirby.
"Now I know for certain that you don't know what's really going on," said Kirby, not moving an inch.
"Where's Erica?" demanded the man, drawing even closer and clenching a beefy fist.
"You need to calm down before you get hurt," said Kirby.
"What's a skinny little shit-bird like you going to do to me?" asked the man.
"Me?" asked Kirby, standing his ground. "Nothing, but the very large man behind you will definitely do something."
"Do you think I'm stupid?" asked the man raising his fist. "Did you think I'd fall for that old 'look behind you' trick?"
"No," said Kirby, "in fact, right now I'm kind of hoping you don't fall for it."
The man pulled his beefy arm back to punch Kirby, who still didn't move, then the man found his arm locked into some sort of vice.
"What the fu–"
The man hit the wall first, hard enough to make the bronze plaque pointing to the ice machine rattle on its bolts, and Kirby felt the wind rushing out of the man as he seemed to almost completely flatten. Gustav then peeled the man off the wall and threw him to the floor like a sack of wet laundry and pinned him down hard.
"Gustav," said Kirby, "as usual, your timing is impeccable. I guess you were out looking for me."
Gustav nodded as he pressed the man's face into the carpet, and placed his knee on the man's spine, pinning him totally to the floor.
"It's a good thing you found me when you did."
The man let out a muffled squeal.
"Let's see who this guy is," said Kirby.
Gustav pulled an American passport of the man's back pocket and passed it to Kirby.
"Charles Leonard Healey," read Kirby. "Well, Mr. Healey, here's a little lesson for you, if a guy my size doesn't back down when a guy your size is threatening them, it's because there really is a large man behind you."
The door to the Royal Suite opened and Molly poked out her head.
"What's going on?" she asked. "I heard a thump and...oh, that must have been him."
"This guy was trying to get into Erica's suite," said Kirby, "call hotel security and the police. Gustav has things under control."
Hotel security had conveniently arranged for a spot by one of the hotel's back doors to be available for the police to pick up Healey who sat sullenly on a folding chair, his hands bound with plastic zip ties. A hotel security guard stood on each side of him, while Gustav stood in front, his arms crossed, his eyes burning holes between the frosted spikes on the top of Healey's head.
Kirby asked Healey if he knew what was going on, but all he got was a major case of stink-eye. He refrained from telling him that Erica was dead, he wanted the police to tell him, and hoped that he could watch, in order to gauge his reaction. The rush of adrenaline had beaten back the tide of sleep, but he didn't know for how long, and he wanted to get the most out of it.
Someone rapped on the steel door leading to the alley. One of the hotel security guards opened it, and a uniformed Toronto city police officer stuck his head in.
"Is this the guy?" asked the police officer pointing to Healey.
The hotel security guy nodded and opened the door all the way to let the police officers in.
"You must be Baxter," said one policeman as he and his partner pulled Healey to his feet.
Kirby nodded.
"The powers that be want you to come to police headquarters to make a statement," said the policeman.
"Sure," said Kirby, following them into the alley behind the hotel, "should we come with you, or can my driver take me?"
"I think it would be better if you drove yourself," said the policeman, shoving the silent Healey into the back of the police car. "We're a bit shorthanded at the moment."
Kirby looked over to Gustav who nodded and immediately headed to the hotel's parking garage. Kirby then watched the police car glide down the alley, Healey glaring at him through the back window.
The steel door closed with a thud behind him, and Kirby realized that he was alone in the alley.
He kicked a crushed pop can across the alley and watched it bounce against a nearby brick wall. He ran all the information he had gathered this morning in his mind, and again reconsidered whether or not he could or should bring it up with the detectives. He had been flip-flopping on the issue all morning like a meth-smoking fish caught on a dock. Kirby finally decided that he should tell them what he knew. What harm could it do, it was only information?
A vehicle appeared at the end of the alley. It wasn't Gustav and the rented Mercedes, it was an SUV, an Escalade to be exact, and it just sat there for a second, its engine running. Then the engine revved, and the big machine came charging down the narrow alley. One of the side mounted mirrors snapped off against a metal pipe and flew spinning away from the vehicle.
Kirby realized that it was heading straight for him. He looked for a way out in the few seconds he had left, saw one, and went for it. Kirby leaped on top of a massive green trash bin with an agility he had no idea he had, then he leaped again.
Kirby heard the scream of twisting metal below him as he grabbed onto the ladder of a fire escape and pulled up his legs. The garbage bin popped open, unleashing a wave of odours that made Kirby's stomach clench, and he tightened his grip on the ladder. His long legs swung wildly in the air and his foot hit the roof the SUV. Then he lost his grip and hit the roof hard, the air shooting out of his lungs. Kirby heard a car door open, then footsteps. He pulled himself up and saw only a shape dashing around a corner. Some kind of an alarm was chiming from the SUV, and Kirby turned to see the Mercedes appear at the mouth of the alley.
"Timing's a little off this time," moaned Kirby to himself.
ISSUE #10
OFFICER DOWN
"It looks like you're going to live," said Dr. Gupta as he returned to the examining room carrying a clipboard.
"That's good news," said Kirby before turning to Gustav who stood in the corner like the spectre of death itself, "you see, I'm going to be fine."
"You have some bruises," added the doctor, "but no broken bones, no concussion and no internal injuries."
"So I can go?" asked Kirby.
"Yes," said Dr. Gupta, "your friends are here to collect you."
The door opened as if on cue and Mitch stuck his head in.
"Are you decent?" asked Mitch.
"Never," answered Kirby.
The door then swung wide open and Molly pushed Mitch aside and charged in like a tiny angry bull.
"You idiot!" she bellowed loud enough to wake a coma patient two floors up.
"I'll leave you and your friends alone," said Dr. Gupta heading for the door, "don't take too long, because we need the room, unless she hurts you, then just scream for help and you can stay."
"I should kick your ass into next week," said Molly, "for being so bloody stupid!"
"Please," said Kirby delicately pulling on his jacket, "I'm still sore, and I had to listen to Gustav chew me out all the way over here for not going with him to get the car."
"Well," said Molly giving him a surprisingly strong hug for such a tiny person, "at least somebody told you that were being stupid."
"I'm amazed you were able to jump onto a fire escape like an eighties action movie star," added Mitch.
"Too bad I needed both hands to grab that thing," said Kirby as he slid off the examination table, "or I'd have done my two guns blazing back-flip."
"I know this isn't the first time you’ve been involved in something like this," said Molly.
"Or the second," said Mitch.
"But you can't go sticking your nose in other people's business," continued Molly. "Especially when we're talking about a murder case, this is not a coincidence."
"Hear, hear," said a voice from the door.
Everyone turned to see Inspector Spasky, his arms crossed and his face sterner and redder than usual.
"Follow me Baxter," ordered Spasky. "We need to talk."
"What's your problem?" asked Spasky as Kirby followed him into an office where Sergeant Darling was waiting. Gustav followed close by.
"Someone did try to kill me," said Kirby, "that might be a problem."
"I don't care what Interpol says about you," growled Spasky, his face turning a bright pink. "I don't care if some cops over there think you're the goddamn reincarnation of Sherlock Holmes–"
"I'm no Sherlock Holmes," said Kirby, "I just helped them where I could."
"But that doesn't give you some sort of license to butt into a criminal investigation!"
"I wasn't butting in," said Kirby.
"You had to be butting in!" barked Spasky. "Someone's put you on their shit list and tried to grind you into a stain in the alley! You don't have to be a goddamn master detective to figure out that you did something to set them off!"
"Okay," said Kirby, "I asked some people some questions–"
"JUST SHUT THE HELL UP AND LISTEN!" screamed Spasky, his face now lobster red. "This is a murder investigation! Not one of your goddamn funny page stories!"
"I do comic books," said Kirby, "comic strips are a related but different–"
"This is Toronto! This is a Toronto Police Department investigation! It's not Europe where it looks like they let any asshole swan into a crime scene and start disturbing the shit! This is not Luxembourg!"
"I think you mean Lichtenstein."
"SHUT IT!" The framed degrees on the wall rattled from the violence of the detective's bellow, and the coma patient two floors up collapsed back into his coma out of sheer terror. Gustav stepped forward, but Kirby put his hand out to stop him.
"A woman has been murdered," continued Spasky, in a slightly lower roar, "you were almost murdered yourself! I do not want another body on my patch! Especially some beanpole idiot Ichabod Crane Sherlock fucking wannabe..."
Spasky stopped. His words and his rage trailed off into nothingness, his eyes, already bugged out and bloodshot, suddenly shot upward.
"Oh hell," said Kirby, and he and Gustav leaped to catch Spasky whose entire body shuddered and collapsed.
"What the–?" Darling sprung from her seat to catch her crumbling partner.
"Get the doctor," said Kirby, "I think he's having a heart attack!"
"He's stable," said Dr. Gupta.
Darling slumped against the wall, surprised that she was actually relieved to hear that the growling heap of a man was going to live.
"Is he conscious?" asked Darling.
"We sedated him," answered Gupta. "He won't be awake for several hours. Was his family notified?"
Darling nodded. Right after notifying headquarters she had called Lucinda, A.K.A. Ex-Wife #2, and Lucinda had volunteered to call the other members of what Spasky called his Personal Coven. "They're on their way."
"Good," said Dr. Gupta.
"I have to talk to someone," said Darling, thinking it was good that Spasky was unconscious, because if he knew what she was thinking he'd have another heart attack while strangling her. "I'll check back in a bit."
Darling walked slowly down the hall. Part of her sort of hoped that he'd have returned to the hotel by now, even though she had asked him to stay. Sure, she could have tracked him down, but him leaving early would give her the time she needed to change her mind.
Darling turned a corner into the cafeteria.
Damn it, he was still here with his friends.
Kirby Baxter, the big man Gustav, and the two named Mitch and Molly were at a corner table by the window, talking in hushed tones.
"Mr. Baxter," asked Darling, "can we talk?"
"How is Inspector Spasky?" asked Kirby.
"He's going to live," she answered, "but I really need to talk to you."
"Would you like a seat," asked Baxter, "or do you need this to be private?"
"I don't think there are any secrets between all of you," said Darling pulling up a chair, "so I'll get to the point. You probably heard that this city will be hosting a summit of world leaders next week."
Baxter nodded.
"All the work setting up the security for the summit," continued Darling, "and our gang crackdown operations, have left the police department short-staffed in the field of criminal investigations."
"What are you getting at?" asked Baxter, knowing where she was going, but hoping against hope that she wasn't taking him with her.
"Mr. Baxter," said Darling, "did you ever read the fine print when your friend at Interpol gave you that card saying you were a special consultant?"
"No," said Baxter, "at the time I thought it was just a formality for Gustav to carry a gun when we travel, but right now I'm feeling that I should have."
"The fine print," said Darling, "says that to maintain your special status you must be available to aid and assist in criminal investigations in any way, upon the request of the investigating officer."
"Oh," said Baxter.
"With Spasky out of commission for the foreseeable future," continued Darling, "and our department's resources stretched too far, I'm now the investigating officer."
"And you're requesting my aid and assistance?" asked Baxter.
"You're drafting Kirby?" asked Molly. "No way, he's already been almost flattened. I'm trying to get him to go home tonight."
"Molly," said Baxter, "I think they must really need my help."
"But there's a killer gunning for you," declared Molly.
"But I have Gustav and the police watching my back," said Baxter, "and I'll be a lot more careful from now on."
Molly's hand shot across the table and clasped Baxter's hand.
"I'm worried about you," said Molly.
"I'm worried too," said Baxter patting her hand, "but this isn't the first time I've been involved in this sort of situation, and you know it. Besides I've learned a few lessons today that should really help."
"Like what?" asked Molly.
"Never get caught alone," explained Baxter, "and when a Scotland Yard Superintendent tells you a title is honorary, he's just setting you up."
ISSUE #11
ALIBI BYE BIRDIE
The first thing Healey did when Kirby Baxter and Sergeant Darling came into the interrogation room was to stop adjusting his spiky hair with his free hand. The second thing Healey did was look at Kirby and say: "What the hell is he doing here?"
"He's a special consultant on this investigation," declared Darling without any emotion, as Gustav came in to stand in the corner behind Healey. His looming presence caused Healey to shift uncomfortably in his seat.
"Listen," said Healey trying to point with his right hand, but unable to because it was handcuffed to the white metal table, "I've been waiting here for hours because of these bullshit charges! I don't care if this guy's some kind of cop, or the goddamn president of this stupid country, I demand my rights as an American citizen."
"Too bad you're in Canada," declared Darling as she took her seat across from Healey. Kirby sat next to her, leaving him a clear path to the door, an arrangement specifically ordered by Molly, in case Healey somehow got out of his handcuffs. "An attorney can be arranged for you, but we'd like to ask you some questions first."
Healey looked over his shoulder at Gustav looming over him like the spectre of doom, and slumped in his seat.
"Sure."
"Your name is Charles Leonard Healey?" asked Darling.
"Yes," answered Healey, "but everyone calls me Chaz. What is this about? Because I didn't lay a finger on this consultant asshole of yours. Besides, if I did I've got good cause, because he was boning my girlfriend."
"You based this theory on the picture on the internet?" asked Darling.
"That," said Chaz with a shrug, "and other things."
"What other things?" asked Darling. The questions and the order she asked them had been carefully prepared before they went in. Kirby knew that information was power, and that they needed to control that information when it came to finding out Chaz Healey's involvement in the case.
"We went out like five times," said Chaz, tapping a finger on the table, "and I got nothing for my effort."
"What do you mean?" asked Darling.
"Come on," said Chaz, leaning back in the chair, scratching his pencil thin jawline beard, and puffing up his chest like a pigeon, "you know what I mean. Sex, you know s-e-x. A girl like that doesn't turn down a piece of prime real estate like this unless she's getting something from somewhere else."
"So you're saying that she wasn't having sexual relations with you?" asked Darling.
"Yeah," snapped Chaz as if Darling was stupid for even thinking of that question. "It had to be because she was putting out for someone richer like this dick-weed here."
Gustav shifted position; Chaz heard the movement and his body language retreated from cocky to worried for his safety.
