Chapter One

Maxine owns an all-night booze house on the corner of Fifth and Lime and right now a resident quartet is playing jazz on a smoke-laden stage. Business is good, and if you have cash and a teak-tough disposition then Maxine's is the place to be. Regular customers front the bar, though sometimes the odd stranger might drop by to savour the atmosphere and the beer.

     There's one new face tonight. It belongs to a tall, blond-haired guy in his early twenties. He's been around, thinks he knows the score, and he's seated at the bar looking remote and tense because his boss has said: shake up this Maxine dame. Give her your knuckles. Make her squirm. We need you to change her mind.

     Maxine, fifty-six, rainbow-coloured dress, high-heeled shoes, short, dumpy, orange lipstick, blond hair from a bottle, has seen all the types, but somehow this kid strikes a chord of loneliness within her. She moves to a vacant stool next him, and says:

     "I've been watching you, big boy."

     The blond twists on his bar stool and squints down at her through smoke drifting from his cigarette. "You have?"

     "Sure I have. You're new here. What's your name?"

     "Leo."

     Her orange-coloured lips twist. "Who?"

     "Leo." A faint smile shows a dimple to his left cheek.

     She drinks Scotch. "Leo the Lion, huh?" The noise surrounding them is loaded with music and chatter. Baseball is showing on television behind the bar. Maxine is feeling generous so she finishes her Scotch, holds up the glass and rattles its residue ice. "Want another drink, Leo?"

     "Sure, I'll get them." He shoves thick fingers inside the top pocket of his green shirt and pulls out a twenty-dollar bill. "What will you have?"

     Her jewelled fingers grasp his wrist. "Make it treble whisky on the rocks. See the black guy wearing a blue shirt behind the bar? That's Arthur. Grab him. When he sees you're with me he'll charge you zilch, so pocket your dough." When Arthur comes back with the drinks, Maxine says, "Arthur, tell those jazz guys to play softer, will you? They are cracking my ears."

     Arthur nods. "Sure thing, boss. I'll tell 'em during their interval." He moves away to serve other customers.

     Leo stares at her. "You're the boss?"

     "That's right, kid. I'm Maxine. I own this joint."

     He looks at the plush bar, at the gaming tables and at the crowded dance floor. Fancy chandeliers are hanging from the ceiling. The whole place reeks class.

     "You own all this?" he says, knowing already that she does.

     "Sure I own it all." Her orange lipstick glows aggressively and twists into a sardonic smile. "And why shouldn't I own it all? You want I should own only half a bar? Not on your life. I might get unlucky and own the half that don't sell booze." She nudges his ribs with her left elbow and drinks the treble Scotch at one gulp. "Drink up, kid. Have another beer - it's on the house." She nods to Arthur who is patrolling nearby. "Set 'em up again, Arthur. Leo and me are on a roll." And to Leo, "Come on, kid, we'll go sit at the end of the bar and talk some more."

     Leo grins to himself and follows her. This dumb broad is ready for taking. A smack in the mouth will do for starters.

     Ten minutes later, a gunman slides into Maxine's and fires three shots.


                                                   *  *  *

Two nights after the Saturday night shooting, Homicide Detective Harry Beluga stalks into Maxine's and catches up with her at the bar.

     "Hiya, Harry," she says, glass of Scotch in hand. "How's things?" She sees the answer on his face. Her eyes harden. "You're on duty, huh?"

     "Yeah. Let's use your office. Unless, that is, you prefer a trip downtown."

     She sinks the Scotch, places the glass on the bar. They go to her office. It is loaded with quality furniture and expensive carpets. She sits behind a desk. "Okay, Harry. What's the pitch?"

     Beluga drapes himself on a chair facing her. "A guy was shot here last Saturday night."

     "Yeah, and don't I know it! Cops were all over the joint. We had everybody visit except the President. So how come you turn up two days after it happened?"

     Beluga removes his fedora, rests it on his lap. His dark hair is showing streaks of grey. He says, "You had two cops interview you."

     Maxine nods. "That's right. Guy called Flanagan and the other was Maybrook. They seemed Laurel and Hardy to me. The fatso was Flanagan and the other guy was beanpole. But you ain't answered my question - why are you here and not them?"

     "They had a car accident earlier today. Both are shook up - and taking time off. My sergeant tells me to grab your file and see what I can come up with."

     "There's nothing more I can tell you, Harry."

     "Maybe not, but let's go over it, huh?" Beluga brings out a notebook belonging to Flanagan and studies the entries. "According to Mike Flanagan you are sitting at the bar with the guy who is shot."

     Maxine shrugs shoulder padding. "Yeah, so what? I sit next to lots of guys. It goes with the job."

     "You knew him?"

     "No, and I never seen him before Saturday night, either."

     "Aw - come on, Max. You know every face in Metro City, from the West Side right through to the Docklands. This kid is sitting next you. You must've exchanged words."

     "Yeah, we talk, but about nothing in particular."

     Beluga studies more of Flanagan's notes. "According to Flanagan, he cannot identify the victim, except his first name is Leo. Flanagan checks his prints and photograph on our computers but he comes up empty. So, John Doe walks into your bar and is gunned down. How about that?"

     "Harry," Maxine rests forearms on the desk and leans forward, swelling ample cleavage, "loads of guys come to my bar. We sell good booze and provide top entertainment. Booze and entertainment are what Metro City is all about. You should try some."

     Beluga turns over another page of the notebook. "Let's check some more. You are at the bar, the jazz band is on stage. Everybody is having a ball and suddenly you hear three shots. You lay face down but you don't see the gunman."

     "No, not face down, Harry. Can't be done with a body shaped like mine."

     "Okay - so you hit the deck quick."

     "Nope, not quick either. You try moving high-speed when you're fifty-six. The only chance I got of moving sharp is if I fall off a bar stool."

     "If you didn't move quick then you must have seen the killer."

     Maxine smiles ironically. "Nice try, Harry. Look - let me tell it my way. I'm sitting at the bar talking to Leo when there's three shots. Christ, they are so close to me that I am deaf for a minute! Somehow, I get low. I smell the stink of the gunshots. I look round and see the kid laying close to me with blood on his shirt."

     "Then you do what?"

     Maxine leans back and toys with a pen. "Do? I freeze, Harry. I ain't proud of that. When my hearing returns I hear people shouting. Somebody phones the cops. They arrive - and that's it."

     Beluga scratches his left ear, at the place where a bullet nicked him years ago. "You have a big place here, Max. Crowded every night. Must hold five, six hundred patrons. And you know what? We don't have one clear description of the killer. Oh sure, it was a guy. Of medium build. He is medium this; he is medium that. Some say he is black. Some say he is white. Some say he is half-and-half. Huh, if we check every type we will chase ten different guys."

     Maxine raises her shoulders. "Catching the killer is your problem. I have troubles of my own. A shooting does not encourage customers."

     Beluga closes the notebook and shoves it into the raincoat pocket he has taken it from. "Don't want to lose money, huh?"

     "You've got it in one."

     Beluga takes a chance with his next question. It will dig into the past. "Heard anything about Angelo Abrizzi?"

     Maxine throws down the pen. It rolls off a blotting pad and rests against an ashtray. "What's Angelo got to do with it? We're talking of a killing and you bring up his name."

     Beluga grins bitterly. "I bring him up because he's back in town."

     "So what? He means nothing to me."

     "Your ex comes back and you ain't interested?"

     "He is not my ex. Sure, I lived with the jerk for two years but since he left town six years ago - I've not seen or heard of him."

     "He set you up with this place."

     "He set me up!" Maxine rises, starts prowling, hands moving expressively. "I move into Metro City from the mid west ten years ago. I need a job. I buy newspapers and I see an advert for bar help at this address. I say 'address' because this bar did not have a name in those days. Angie sets me on as bartender and at first we get along real good. He puts up a few bucks and I shove in eighteen hours of every day to make it work." She returns to the desk and sits in the chair. "Do you remember that far back, Harry? All we had then were a few bar stools and a coupla beer pumps."

     "I remember it."

     "Sure you do. You begin coming here with Jean, your wife, just after I started. You are a patrol cop. Folks talk to you. But then the police chiefs spoil you by shoving you into Homicide and giving you a hat and a raincoat." She notes the lines on Beluga's bronzed face. "You've changed a lot since then. Angelo is dealing drugs and you help run him out of town. I take over and call this joint 'Maxine's'. And look at us now. I'm still humping booze, you're still a cop, and Jean is, I hear, still your wife. Is she okay?"

     A wall clock ticks loud.

     "Sure. She's the manager at the Applebank Hotel. Was made boss three years ago."

     Maxine smiles. "Glad to hear that. She's a fine gal. Any kids yet, Harry?"

     Beluga shakes his head. "No, not yet. Our jobs get in the way of having kids. But let's get back to why I'm here. Do you think Angie is linked with this killing?"

     Maxine frowns and wonders if Beluga is joking. But she dismisses the thought. Beluga has never joked in his life. His is a cop. "Why should Angie be tied in?"

     Beluga gets up. "Angie runs hotels and other properties on the east coast. The Fraud Squad are checking him out: there's been complaints he's using strong-arm stuff to get what he wants. Has expensive lawyers to keep him out of court. And now he's back in town. I ain't putting up with that."

     "He's not your problem, Harry. You bat for Homicide and Angie don't deal in killing people." She gets up, hoping the interlude is over. "Look, I don't know who bumped off Leo, so can I get back to the bar?"

     "Sure you can, but remember this - we know Angie is helping the Mob buy Metro City property. He could buy you out."

     Maxine opens the door and follows Beluga into the corridor. "I would not sell to that rat in a hundred years! If he sets foot in my place - I'll shoot the bastard!"

     Beluga smiles. "Will you put that in writing?"