Story of the Day - Installment 6, chapter 2

The story so far (and sorry for the delay):
1) installment 1
2) installment 2
3) installment 3
4) installment 4
5) installment 5



When you call the police they usually put you on hold. No joke. Doesn't matter if it's 9-1-1 or a departmental number. I'm on hold for five minutes before Hector finally picks up.


"That you Sloan?" the gravelly basso profundo asks with a hint of annoyance.


"Yeah. Why didn't you tell me the guy was a fucking giant? And meeting in the alley? That was your idea. Damn near pissed my pants when I saw him."


He chuckles, "I get my kicks when I can. He wouldn'ta hurt you anyway. At least not there, and especially not for free."


"Fighter, huh? Figured as much." That explained the hands. "Does he still fight?"


"Professionally, I'm not sure. Used to box pretty regularly, though. I fought him once. And lost," which was saying a lot since Hector was pretty good. "But that was probably seven or eight years ago. He was a young guy, coming up. The rumor is that he bareknuckles these days. Paydays can get to be pretty big. And you saw his face, he's better without the gloves than with 'em. He doesn't lose a lot."


"So fess up. Why'd you send him to me?"


"Look, he's a jerk sometimes but essentially honest. He came to me with a bug in his ass over all the murders at The Pendulum. Aside from bareknuckling, he's a smart guy. He knows when something is fishy." Hector's voice drops. "And something is definitely fishy in this one. Even the detectives know the kid they got locked up didn't do it. They were just waiting for the paper to report it. If someone makes a big enough stink, they'll let the guy go. But that doesn't solve the problem."


That last bit was directed at me. The giant wanted me to get his acquaintance out, and Hector all but confirmed his release was soon. But that still left three corpses unaccounted for. "So what's the deal with this Pendulum club?"

Hector pauses. Either he doesn't know what to say or he's deciding how much to tell me. "It's a popular spot, lots of clientele, tends to run high class, but they get a few misfits now and then. That's one of the reasons Aldo works there."

I cut him off. "Aldo? His name is Aldo. The giant bareknuckle boxer's name is Aldo? You gotta be kidding me."

Hector lets it slide. "You met with the guy and didn't get his name? You're slipping Sloan."

"Hey, he paid me. In cash. We met in an alley for chrissakes. Tell me more about The Pendulum." I pause. For effect. "And Aldo."

"Never been myself," he continues, "so you'll have to stop by if you want to get the feel of the place. I do know that it's owned and run by three women - the triad, they're sometimes called. They had a run-in with the sheriff's department last year. Illegals working in the kitchen or something. No charges, but there's a file. I'll check it and get you their names. You'll probably recognize them - society types, they're in the papers pretty regular. Big into philanthropy and the arts. You know how it goes."

"I'll go check it out tonight. Can you get me the info by tomorrow?"

"Hell Sloan," he chuckles, "I'll bring it by the office later tonight if you want. Shift goes until 11. I'll catch you around midnight. I'll bring the files. You bring the scotch." Call ends. Hector doesn't like goodbyes. He's a dirty old sentimentalist.

But something's bothering me. I hate it when he chuckles.