Chapter 76
APRIL
Tuesday and Wednesday passed without incident, which actually amounted to something these days.
No surprise visit by the LAPD. No phone call that cast suspicion on me. And no second visit from Harry Shoe.
Ah, Harry Shoe. He and his five-thousand-dollar request.
David had always kept about two thousand dollars in an envelope in his nightstand, and it was still there when he died. I’d had no reason to touch it, but I did now.
I went to the nightstand and found the envelope. There was $2100, all in hundreds.
I searched my two main purses and found $400, bringing my total to $2500. I was two thousand five hundred short of Harry Shoe’s request, but it’s not like I could go to the bank and withdraw that much money. I wasn’t going to do anything to draw attention to myself.
The LAPD had said I was no longer a suspect, but I had a sneaking suspicion they were still monitoring my finances.
If I withdrew twenty-five hundred in cash, I’m sure they’d be curious why.
If they confronted me on it, and I no longer had the cash, I’d be up shit creek.
There’d be no good explanation for it, and no matter what flimsy excuse I came up with, they’d fact-check it.
So I wouldn’t be taking out the money.
Harry Shoe would have to live with $2500.
I had a bigger problem, however. I couldn’t keep having Harry Shoe come by my coffee shop and shaking me down. It was way too risky.
Not that committing another murder was any less risky.
Fuck.
What to do?
On Thursday night, I called Naomi and told her that I’d be opening on Friday morning, and that she didn’t need to come in.
She asked why, and I said there was a new bakery in town and they wanted me to try some of their pastries and consider selling them in the shop.
Naomi said she understood and didn’t press me on why she couldn’t be there. I promised her an extra shift in the coming week.
Harry “smells like a” Shoe walked into April’s Coffee Shop on Friday morning, a few minutes past five a.m.
As had been the case since we opened, no one else was in the shop at five a.m. Eddie Sykes and Harry Shoe were the lone customers who came in that early. Both for their own selfish reasons.
Harry was wearing a flannel shirt, dirty jeans, and definitely smelled of alcohol this time. He was probably a hundred and forty pounds soaking wet, and I truly believed if it came down to it, I could take him. Especially if he had some booze in him.
“You got that money we’d talked about?”
“So, about that.”
“No, no, no. No about that,” he said. “Do you got it or do you not got it?”
I knew Harry wasn't exactly William Shakespeare, but “Do you got it or do you not got it?” might have set the record for most consecutive one-syllable words.
“I did the best I could, Harry. I can’t just take out a bunch of cash right now. Not after my husband was murdered. It wouldn’t look good, even though I had nothing to do with it.”
“How much do you have on you right now?”
Another record one-syllable run by Harry Shoe.
I took out the envelope and handed it to him. “That’s $2500. It’s all I could get. You’re just going to have to trust me.”
He took the envelope, folded it in half, and slid it into his jeans.
“Since this is the first payment, I’ll let you pass. But we can’t keep letting this happen.”
Harry Shoe was right. We couldn’t keep letting this happen.
“Mr. Shoe,” I said. If this hadn’t been a dire situation, I probably would have laughed. What a ridiculous name. “I’ll get you some more money down the line, but it’s just hard right now.”
“Down the line? I’m a sixty-eight-year-old diabetic who manages a rundown hotel and likes to drink.
You want me to wait until I’m eighty and then come ask for more money.
I don’t think so, April. I ain’t making it to no eighty.
I’m getting mine now, or I’m going to the police.
I want $5000 by Wednesday. You have five days.
And when I say $5000, I mean it. If I only get $2500 next time, then I’ll have twenty-five hundred reasons to go to the cops. ”
Harry Shoe was sealing his own fate.
“Do I make myself clear?” he asked.
“Yes, you do. I guess I’ll see you on Wednesday.”
“You will. And the envelope won’t be light this time.”
And with that, he stormed out of the coffee shop.
I had a few minutes to think after he left. One thing I knew for sure: I couldn’t risk Harry Shoe coming by the coffee shop again.
Now that he had gotten a taste of some money, he would begin to expect it.
More than that, if the cops—or even my co-workers—saw this suspicious man at my coffee shop, they’d ask questions.
And Harry Shoe wasn’t the type of guy who could stand up to an interrogation.
He’d fold like a cheap suit, and if Harry Shoe had any suits, I’m sure they were cheap.
Ten minutes after he left, a thought came to mind. I grabbed the phone and dialed out.
“Hotel Pico,” a female voice answered.
“Hi. Do you have an older gentleman who works the front desk?”
“Yes, we do.”
“He was so helpful when I stayed last week that I wanted to give him a tip. In person, preferably. Do you know the next time he works?”
“His name is Harry, and he works Monday through Thursday, so he’ll be off the next few days.”
“Okay, thanks. Do you know his hours?”
“From seven a.m. to four p.m. Been that way for over twenty years.”
“Thanks.”
“Harry doesn’t like change too much.”
“Got it.”
“He’s kind of stuck in his ways.”
I’d somehow managed to catch the Chatty Cathy of Hotel Pico.
“I see. Anyway, thanks for the info.”
“You’re welcome.”