The Ram Murder Mystery - Chapter 3
Way Down Underworld
by Carleen

I stood there for a moment, aching from the mother-of-all groin pulls that I bet Dick Button had never experienced. Was this little ram what the crazy bathrobe woman had been looking for? Was this at all connected to the missing kissing cousin of Slap and Happy? Didn't seem likely. I couldn't help but suspect the bathrobe woman was in some way connected to my ex-wife Eileen.  Damn, I tried so hard not to think of her after all these years. We'd been married only 6 months. A couple of crazy kids with stars in our eyes, until that all too horrible and memorable rabid squirrel bite had sent her into an asylum for a year and out of my life forever. Word on the street was she'd since taken up with a cabinet maker - something about watching him cut up wood and build furniture gave her satisfaction, like he was destroying a squirrel's home every time he sawed through a piece of oak. I shuddered and cursed the
circumstances that had forced me to remember her.

Andi came back from driving Charlie and Rhoades to the hotel. She noticed the look in my eye and sighed. "Come on Vic, you're doing it again. You've got Eileen written all over your face. That was what, 20 years ago? Get over it pal, she's gone for good. For all you know she's on some wild, wacky, wonderful
mystery tour by now." Leave it to Andi to read me like that.

"You're right partner, so how was the ride to the hotel?"

"Oh you know, lots of huffing and puffing, tough guy stuff out of one of them, the little guy would pipe up every now and again but there's no question who's in charge there. I'm going to start running credit card checks, see if Karin's been leaving a trail of receipts at Krispy Kremes or something. Maybe that HAHAHAHA comes from too much sugar. What are you gonna do?"

"Andi I've got a bad feeling about this. I come in here like any other day, and suddenly I've got some dame going through my mail like a psycho postal worker - and two bruisers who obviously have some issues with her, then I get this package that's been all over creation with a miniature farm animal in it. I think I'm gonna need some help with this one."

"You don't mean?"

"Yeah, Andi - I'm calling in some markers from a few old friends of ours."

"Vic, I've warned you about these connections with the underworld. We're talking way down underworld here and you know how I feel about it."

"That's why I'm leaving you here to push computer keys - I'll handle this stuff myself."

Andi sat down at her computer and pulled a giant bottle of Advil out of her desk drawer.  "Something tells me this bottle's gonna be gone before the end of the week."  She popped a few and gave me the evil eye as I headed back out to the street.

I planned on making my way right over to Burke's Bar but was interrupted by Jenni, a top notch researcher who had helped us on a few cases.

"What's going on, Vic?"

"At the moment not too much, but Jenni, Jenni, who can I turn to?-- if I need help?"

"Oh, for the price of a dime you can always turn to me Vic - you've got my number?"

"Yeah Jenni, I've got your number, 867-5309."

"You got it?"

"Yeah, I got it!"

She pulled a card out of her stack of books and handed it to me, regardless. "Jenni don't change your number!" I yelled after her departing figure.

My eyes quickly adjusted to the dimness of the bar, and the first person that came into focus was Ann. Ann was such a knock out, a real beauty and a smart broad, too. She had traveled the world but kept coming back to Meen Street - hoping to convince the love of her life that she was the one for him. I had enough problems with relationships and tried to stay away from the gritty details. I sat next to her at the bar, vainly trying to get Mike's attention for a drink.

"Hey Vic, haven't seen you in ages?"

"I've been here the whole time, Ann. You're the one who's always taking off to parts unknown." I started waving like a mental patient to get Mike's attention.

"Well what's a girl gotta do Vic?"

"What's a girl gotta do to do what, Ann?"

"You know, to convince him I'm fan f'in fabulous, that's what."

"Have you considered bubblewrap?"

"Seriously? Like wrap myself in it or something?"

"Ummm, yeah, sure, I know it gets me every time."

Finally, Mike noticed my motions and came down to our end of the bar. "Mike I need to know if, well, you know, if he's in today."

Mike leaned further over the bar. "Quit screaming why don't you, I'm right here!" he whispered through clenched teeth. "You know we don't exactly advertise when he's here."

"Sorry Mike." I whispered. "I've got some weird crap going down right now Mike, I need to see him."

 Mike looked cautiously around the bar, mentally summing up the patrons that were less-than-interested in our conversation. "All right, make it quick, don't forget the password though."

"Password?"

"Quit screaming!"

"Oooops, sorry, password?" I whispered. He looked left, looked right, and then coughed at the same time he said "birdy list."

"Huh?"

He sighed and looked at me with utter exasperation. Then he coughed again "birdy list." You don't use the password he ain't letting you in." With this he poured me my regular poison, engaged Ann in idle chitchat about grasshoppers or crickets or something, and I made my way to the back of the bar.

There was an unassuming door at the back. Any drunk could have mistaken it for a rest room or back exit but that's why Fran was stationed there. Quiet, pretty, unassuming Fran. What the poor drunks who made the mistake of fighting with her didn't know was her nickname - Tasmanian Devil. Earned when she whipped a guy's ass so bad he spun right out of the bar and into the street in a cloud of dust. "Mike says it's okay, Fran." "Sure Vic, no problem." She smiled sweetly, but I knew better. I adjusted myself in the general area of aforementioned groin pull and knocked quickly at the door. A small sliver of wood slid back at eye level and I tried to peer into the darkness at the shadowy figure within. "Password?" a husky, smoky voice demanded. I tried not to cough as I spit out "birdy list."

The door opened. I entered into a dark office. Heavy red drapes hung over the windows, daring the sun to try to beam through. The shadowy figure had moved behind his desk and sat, and with one hand motioned me to do the same. It had been years since I'd been back to see Razz with a capital "R". Despite the darkness and general gloominess that always accompanied our meetings, I knew with some certainty he in no way resembled David Letterman. Leno maybe, but it was too dark to really make out his chin. He tapped his fingers on an oversized thesaurus.

"I hear you're having some troubles with breakins across the street Mr. Salem."

I considered asking him how he knew this but decided against it. Words traveled fast on Meen Street.

 "That's right Razz and it seems just slightly beyond out of control. I'm trying to I.D. a couple of thugs, thought maybe you'd have heard of them. NoDoze? Bud? Those names mean anything in your circle?"

 He was quiet for a moment, but that was probably just to throw me off balance. He answered my question with another question. "Have you received any special deliveries lately, Mr. Salem?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Is that what these guys are after?"

"I believe we may be able to help each other Mr. Salem. Friends of mine are also interested in a certain little item that's been circling the globe. If you would be interested in handing it over to me for safe keeping, I may be able to help you with a certain little lady that's recently been reported missing."

That was all I needed to hear to know that 1) there was no way I was handing over the ram to Razz --unless he broke me with his own version of grammar and spell check torture. Hell, look at what had happened to Miami Mahler, I was thick but not that thick-- and 2) these events were related. Sluices and farm animals. I'd be damned to know how, but this conversation had convinced me.

"Thanks Razz, let's consider that an offer I'm willing to refuse - at the moment. But I'll be in touch." I hustled out of the bar and back to the office. Andi met me with information that would throw this whole thing into a spin. A dead body had been discovered. Meen Street was getting meaner by the minute.