Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [classic children's novels txt] 📗

the chemist, and the bar, and I tracked down Hank. He had spent some time in California and Arizona, but now he was back in New York with his own workshop, Hank’s Bikes, fixing and customizing hogs in Brooklyn, on Surf Avenue, right by the Brooklyn Cyclones.

We grabbed a couple of sandwiches and ate them in the car as we drove down through Queens, just ahead of the lunch-hour traffic. Brighton Beach in November is not the most depressing place on Earth, but that’s about the best that can be said for it. It’s gaudy and brassy and desolate, and seems to be populated by people who have swapped hope for various forms of psychosis.

Hank’s Bikes was a big prefab situated on a huge parking lot just off Surf Avenue. I parked outside, and a tall, blond, bearded guy in his mid-thirties came out wiping his hands on a cloth. He wasn’t looking at me or Dehan; his eyes were fixed on the Jag.

“Sweet ride, mister. Real thing, huh. Right-hand drive—what is she, ’65?”

“1964, 210 brake horsepower.”

“You got the original plates?”

“Framed at home.”

“You lookin’ to sell her?”

I laughed. “No way, not no how.”

He smiled. “Shame. She’s worth a bit, especially with the original plates. Spoke wheels. Man. She is sweet.”

Out over the Atlantic, thunder boomed and then rolled. I said, “Are you Hank Junkers?”

He nodded. “You’re askin’ like that, you gotta be cops.”

I showed him my badge, as did Carmen.

“Detectives Stone and Dehan. We’re just following up an old case, and we’d like to ask you some questions.”

He jerked his head toward the workshop and led the way in. As he walked he said, “I ain’t seen Zak for over ten years. And I ain’t been in trouble since I came back from Tucson. That’s gotta be five or six years ago.”

The light inside was dull, but he had a couple of arc lamps set up where he was working on a Harley. I had a look. It was good, precision work. He was fastidious and detailed. A perfectionist.

“What’s this about?”

“You used to have a lockup in the Bronx, at the back of Revere Avenue.”

He shrugged. “So?”

“What can you tell me about the people who had the next unit?”

He looked at me like I was crazy. “That was ten, twelve years ago! I don’t remember.” He thought a moment. “What side?”

“On the right of yours.”

He stared out at the wet, gray lot. It had started to rain again, and cold air was fingering its way in. “Yeah. That was Pete.” He laughed. “He was a young guy, ’bout my age, but man, was he stuck-up. He didn’t approve of me. Used to lecture me on how I would never make anything of my life if I didn’t plan for the future. He had a cute wife. Jane…?”

Dehan smiled. It was a troubling, conspiratorial smile. “You and Jenny ever get it together?”

He snapped his finger and leaned his ass on his workbench. “Jenny! Nah, I tried once, but she didn’t want to know. I’m talking like we were old buddies, but he was always away and she was always in the house. I only saw them a few times in a couple of years.” He screwed up his face. “Why you askin’ me about Pete?”

I ignored his question. “What about Lynda?”

His face went hard. “What about Lynda?”

“You ever see her these days?”

He shook his head. “You wanna know about Lynda, you better ask Zak. I ain’t spoken to Lynda in twelve years. Since I was in the Bronx…” He paused, putting two and two together. “What’s this about? Do I need a lawyer?”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

Dehan said, “Who’s Zak?”

“Zak was the son of a bitch who took Lynda from me. We was in the same chapter.”

“Of the Angels?” she asked.

He nodded. “We were like brothers. More than brothers. And he knew that I was crazy about Lynda. But…” He paused, thinking. “2005 Christmas rally, we all gathered at Camp Kaufmann, outside Holmes, near Poughkeepsie. Man, he would not stop comin’ on to her. Givin’ me all this shit about how we were bros, and bros should share everything…”

Dehan asked him, “How did she take it? Did it make her mad?”

He made a face that looked genuinely sad. “Nah, she was laughing, going along with it. Telling me not to be so uptight.”

“What happened?” I said.

“We got into a fight. I told her to choose. It was either me or him. She chose him.”

Dehan said, “Fight? What kind of fight?”

He sighed. “Look, back in the bad old days, I hit a few women. I regret that more than I can say and more than you’d probably believe anyway. But I done my time for it, and I am reformed. But right then she was with Zak and two hundred other brothers, so if I’d tried to lay a hand on her they would have gut me and thrown me in the pond. I was mad enough to give her a hiding, the way she treated me that night. But I didn’t.” Suddenly he looked mad. “You gonna tell me what the fuck this is about or not? I ain’t answering no more questions till you do.”

I sighed. “What date was that rally, Hank?”

“I just told you I ain’t answering no more of your questions till you tell me what this is about.”

“Twelve years ago, two arms were found in Peter Smith’s lockup. We are trying to find out who they belong to, and who put them there.”

He gaped at me. Then he gaped at Dehan for a bit and then gaped at me again. “Two arms? Like arms and legs? Two arms? And, what? You think I put them there? You think they’re Lynda’s arms and I