When the Spirit Calls

By C.J. Bull

When Native American Eddie Pepper finds an unwanted guest waiting in his office one morning, he knows it can only mean trouble. Ruet Pello claims to know of Eddie's past but wants to hear the story from the man himself. When an attack on Eddie's life fails only through Pello's quick thinking, Eddie believes it's time to come clean and tell the story to those closest to him. 15 years previously he had been attacked by the local mob. A tragic mistake by a hit man forced Eddie to call on his ancestors for help, but he started something that he just could not stop. he had a score to settle and he settled it the only way he knew how, the old way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Jun 22, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462895717

Book preview

Chapter One

Hey Gus, if you spent less time talking, and more time selling, Eddie Pepper pulled a crumpled dollar bill from his jeans pocket, slapped it into the palm of the old guys hand and continued, you’d have a ‘God-damn’ string of stores, and not a two-bit paper-stand on some street corner.

Gus peeled the top copy from a tower-high stack of morning papers folded it neatly in half, then half again. He pointed it toward the big man’s chest, and shook it Oh yea, is that right? His eyes narrowed as he turned sideways and asked, What are you, my boss or my accountant? Eddie snatched at the taunting newspaper expecting Gus to let go the other end, but the old guy held tight and continued.

I’m 78 years old goddamn it and I like talking, and let me tell you, Mr. Big shot; I’ve done a lot of talking in my time; and watching. Gus let the paper go, took another copy from the stack, folded it and with his steely gaze never wondering from the big guys face handed it to a middle-aged woman who was about to shoulder the Native American to one side in an effort to get served.

I may be talking but I don’t miss a damn thing, no sir, not a damn thing. My eyes, they’re like a hawks, they’re everywhere—see? Bulging, watery blue eyes, capped by dark, bushy eyebrows darted from side to side, like the cold wooden stare from a ventriloquist’s dummy.

Watching? Eddie lifted a battered old hat from his head and ran his fingers through his long hair. His forty-something face still held an irresistible boyish charm most women could not ignore and as he returned it to his head, rocking it from side to side until it felt right he asked again. Watching for what?

Gus appeared not to listen. Did I ever tell you about the time me and four buddies were pinned down by the Cong back in Nam’, and the only way out was . . .

Hey, Gus, Gus. Raising a hand to blocked the forth coming rendition he sighed. I heard, I heard a hundred times already.

The old paper seller snatched up the crumpled greenback the woman had tossed impatiently on the counter and pushed it safely into his money belt.

I’ll tell you what I watched; I watched the black guy roll out of a cab and head for your office,

A stubby, ink-stained finger jabbed sharply into Eddie’s shoulder. That’s what I watched, Mr. Private Eye, that’s what I watched.

How long since?

Half hour, maybe more.

So what time did you see him leave?

Gus crossed his arms, rested both elbows on the magazine strewn counter, and leaning forward he rocked gently to and fro.

Eddieeeee.

His gaze lowered to scan the erotic posture and curves of a semi-naked girl on the front cover of a glossy, ‘Men only’ magazine; whose sexy, seductive smile did more for the old man’s ego than the cosmetically inflated breasts, which threatened to explode with their first passionate embrace. Eddie. He repeated before pausing to revel in the obvious fact that he had captured his friends’ attention, and The Native American was now compelled to hear what he had to say. Eddieeeeee, You’re the smarrrt one, you’re the—, Gus pulled a flabby, sarcastic smirk, investigator, you tell me.

Giving several tiny nods, accompanied by raised eyebrows and a defeated smile, he tapped the folded paper on Gus’s hunched shoulder, turned and headed for the steps that led the way to his office.

Hey Geronimo.

He stopped in his tracks but didn’t look back. The paper seller lifted himself upright and straightened the books before calling. Who said he left?

Without looking back, the paper was lifted and an acknowledging wave was given, before continuing his regular path to the office.

Five concrete steps led the way to two huge oak doors, each one with long thin panes of stained glass and impressive brass handles. The grand entrance hid a much humbler reception hall. Inside, it was dark and damp; hidden from the sun’s warm rays, it remained just as it had been built, cold and unwelcoming. Dirty, beige paint tried, but failed to cover historic graffiti, etched into the plastered walls, echoing memories from the not so distant past. The now de-funked courthouse was silent and as his ears strain to hear any sounds he looked at his watch: 06:45. A little early for an unscheduled appointment, but taking a deep breath he began to climb the grimy stone steps to the next floor. At the top of the stairs he stopped, looked both ways along the dark corridor, and listening for any clue to the guy’s whereabouts; he tucked the folded paper under his arm and continued.

The door to the office lay to the right and had been left slightly ajar by whoever was waiting. Pepper hesitated. A bad feeling had clung to him since first thing, and had been unable to fathom the reason why.

His heart raced and his stomach tightened, trembles from his shoulders traveled down his arms forcing him to clench the fingers of both hands. He tried to prepare himself for who, or what, might be waiting behind the office door. Walking as quietly as he could, he approached the half glass, half-timbered door, taking care not to stand in front of the frosted pane.

With his back close to the wall, he intended pushing the door open with his fingers, but just as he was about to sweep it aside, a deep, gravel, voice called from inside the room.

Come on in Mr. Pepper, the coffees on.

Waving open the door with the back of his hand the early visitor came into view. He sat in the lay back leather chair and with his feet resting on the corner of the desk he’d waited.

Rolling his shoulder around the frame, Pepper stood in the doorway. He took hold of the edge of the door, and swung it from side to side, looking at the lock. There was no damage, yet he clearly remembered turning the key the night before.

Crossing the room to the percolator perched on top of a filling cabinet; he poured himself a half mug of coffee, lifted off his hat and dropped it on the seat of an old wooden chair, which stood against the wall. Slowly turning to look at the visitor he narrowed his eyes to focus on the long barrel of a ‘Magnum’, pointing directly towards his chest. This wasn’t the first time he had looked down the barrel of a gun but he did wonder if this would be the last.

I didn’t catch the name—Mr?

He paused and waited for a reply, there wasn’t one.

So—what can I do you for?

The intruder smiled at the pathetic joke, his white teeth shining against his black skin and his eyes flashing as they bulged from their dark sockets. Resting the gun on the desktop the guy reached to the floor and lifted a briefcase to his lap, the brass catches were sprung and the top opened. Eddie considered the discarded handgun and moved slowly forward. Without lifting his head, the black guy spoke.

Don’t, I don’t want to have to kill you, but if I have to, I will.

Taking a sip of the warm, black coffee and tossing the folded newspaper onto the filing cabinet, Eddie crossed to the window and leaned against the frame. He looked down at the street; the sidewalk was filling with more and more people making their way to work, while the streets buzzed with out of town cars. Looking down at the paper stand he saw Gus look up at the window to give a knowing nod.

A large brown envelope was drawn from the case, tossed on the desk, and the briefcase quickly closed to keep out Eddie’s prying eyes. Here, take a look at this picture.

Well now, Mr—

Pello. Ruet Pello.

Well now Ruet Pello, you can put your picture back in your fancy briefcase, I’m not interested. So if you don’t mind. Eddie returned to the open door, grasped the handle and pulled it wide.

Ruet swung his legs from the desktop and stood up. He was taller than expected, six four, six five but over weight by at least 40 or 50 pounds. He reached to his back pocket and took out a handkerchief; he wiped his brow and cheeks, then finally his shinny, baldhead before the rag was pushed into the top pocket of his creased, suit jacket. I’m gonna’ leave you the picture. Take a real good look at it. Then sliding his hand in side his jacket Pello produced a card. Here, call me tomorrow and we can talk.

Eddie opened the door wider and stood back. We have nothing to talk about, I choose who I work for, now, if you don’t mind."

Placing the calling card on the desktop, Ruet picked up the handgun and slide it gently into the holster strapped to his chest He grabbed the briefcase and stood it on its side resting both hands across its top and wiping the smears from the brass catches with both thumbs, he continued unshaken.

Maybe. Ruet looked up, dark eyes bulging, the smooth expressionless face showing no sign of emotion. Maybe I’m working for you, so I’m still going to leave you the picture, call me when you’re ready, then we can talk.

Leaning across the desk the envelope was snatched up. Take you’re damn picture Pello, I’m not interested, He pushed it hard into Pello’s chest. Are you listening to me? I’m not interested.

You’re pushing me Eddie, don’t push me too far. I know what you did. Pello reached inside his jacket pocket, took out a leather wallet and held it close to Eddie’s face; I got a badge here that say’s I could kill you right here and now, right here and now Pepper, then walk away. Pello gritted his whiter than white teeth and shook his head like a dog with a bone. No come back.

So why don’t you?

There was silence as each man stared into the others eyes.

You know ‘jack shit’ about me Pello, so pick up your damn case, pick up you’re damn picture, and get the hell out my office. Pello rocked his head from side to side and crossed the room to the still open door. He paused and looked toward Eddie who had turned his back to look out the window in a final act of defiance. Here, Said Pello, I’ll leave it by your hat, and balanced the envelope against the back of the chair; he hovered by the door, and then turned to leave.

Wait, wait. Eddie took a second sip from his mug of coffee, placed it on the desk and sat in his rightful place behind the desk. What do you mean? You know what I’ve done. Ruet placed the briefcase on the floor by the door, squeezed both hands into his already stretched pants pockets and walked over to stand by Pepper’s side. Bending almost double Ruet pushed his full dark lips, close to his ear. I know. His hot breath smelt of coffee, with the hint of the fresh bagel he had eaten for breakfast. Eddie instinctively turned his head away, only to have his face guided back by Ruet’s fat stubby fingers. I—know. Eddie clenched his teeth, he tried to take a deep breath but his chest felt as though steel bands were squeezing the life from him and his heart pounded, fit to burst.

There was a gentle rap on the doors glass panel and both men turned to the hallway as the deep husky voice of Irene, Eddie’s secretary asked. But do you know the truth?

Pello straightened his back. Maybe, maybe not. So tell me, he turned and rested his overweight backside on the corner of the desk, his fat leg swinging as the anticipation of some co-operation lifted his spirit.

Irene stepped into the room, took off her jacket, lifted a hanger from behind the door, slid it inside the sleeves and returned it to the painted hook. She was slim; five four, five five. Her hair was short and dark with blond highlights streaking from the roots, hiding any sign of tell—tale gray. Her complexion was faultless and her figure, hugged by a pair of tight, black pants may well have been the envy of many a twenty year old. She too poured coffee into a mug, lifted a carton of milk to her nose, sniffed then pushed it away before crossing the room to sit on the opposite corner of the desk, alongside Eddie.

She held out her hand and Eddie took it. They both squeezed gently, confirming the bond they had between them.

I have nothing to tell you, so I would like you to leave, now.

Without saying a word Ruet walked to the doorway and collected the briefcase. He stopped in the hall and turned. Take a look at the picture Eddie, call me. I’ll be waiting. His bulging eyes looked Irene up and down admiring her firm willowy figure. I’ll be waiting, call me.

Irene stood and walked slowly to the door, she looked Pello square in the eyes before dropping her gaze and pushing the door firmly closed. She turned, lent her back against the frame and sighed. So, what do you think?

He’s bluffing.

I’m not so sure. What does he want? Irene answered her own question . . . Some sort of revenge, justice?

I don’t think so, there’s more to this guy than we know.

Swinging his chair toward the light that now streamed in and illuminated the office, Eddie stood up to re-affirm his gaze out the window and with one hand raised and resting on the wall, his eyes focused on the top of Pello’s baldhead as he emerged from the building. His large round body rolled from side to side as he took each of the stone steps in turn. Ruet paused on the last, reached into his inside jacket pocket, took out his wallet and removed some notes. Eddie wasn’t surprised when he took the ten or so steps to the street corner where Gus had his paper stand, but he watched with interest as the old man lifted the counter hatch and met Pello halfway across the sidewalk where words were exchanged. Gus handed a paper over to the Black Guy and the dollars were pushed into the top pocket of the old man’s shirt. Ruet tapped him on the shoulder before stepping into the road, stopping a cab and climbing in. Gus pulled the dollars from his pocket, raced to the open cab door and flung them into the back seat. The door closed and it immediately joined the steady stream of commuters.

Without hesitation, Eddie pushed Irene to one side and raced down the stairs. Taking three and four steps at a time he was soon in the hallway, bursting open the oak doors and leaping into the street. Gus was still standing on the edge of the sidewalk when Eddie seized his wrist.

Who is he? Come on Gus you know him, who is he? Gus tried to free his arm but Eddie’s grip was firm. What the hell is going on here Gus? The old paper seller gave a final pull. Fearing he would do the old timer some harm, Eddie let go.

Eddie, If Ruet Pello is about to kick your butt, Gus made his way back to his stand, lifted the hatch, and stepped inside. Then you have a whole lot of trouble, yes sir a whole lot of trouble.

Returning to the office, Irene was waiting, the brown envelope spinning corner to corner between her fingers. Are you going to open it? She asked

Maybe, Eddie snatched the revolving wrapper from her hands, agitated by her predictable interference and tossed it onto the desk. What ever I do Irene is my business, not yours, okay? Slumping back in his chair, Eddie raised his hands to cover his face and pondered. He took a deep breath, held it, then let it go, long and slow, allowing his sudden spat of anxiety to pass. Sorry Irene, gee I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, Eddie paused to give an apologetic smile, you know. Irene lifted her head gently up and down. I don’t know what to think, big guy, how about you?

Without warning, Eddie’s mood swung 180 degrees; he gripped the smooth round edge of the desk and leaned forward. Ah to hell with it, he yelled. Toss it in the trash; I have other things to worry about. Burn the damn thing, I’m not interested.

Well you should be, Gus stepped into the office wiping a sweat soaked brow with his handkerchief. Them damn stairs will be the death of me. He swung the chair from the wall, tossed Eddie’s hat on the floor and fell exhausted on the seat. If you’re not afraid Eddie Pepper, he paused to catch his breath, then you’re a fool, do you have any idea who, or more importantly, what Ruet Pello is?

Eddie stood up, maneuvered around the desk, crouched down and picked up his hat. He looked at it, brushed off the brim and stood up. Never met the guy before.

Pello is one mean son of a bitch. He belongs to no one, yet works for anyone, digging up old cases that somehow don’t make sense. He puts the pieces together. Get my drift here Eddie? Gus rested his elbows on his knees. He’s a modern day bounty hunter Eddie, and he always gets them, yes sir, dead or alive, he gets them.

Yah, I understand, the guy is going to nail me, hang me out to dry. Eddie shrugged his shoulders and returned to his seat, he leaned forward, placed both hands, fingers spread, palm down into the desktop. So what can I do?

Well, you can start by opening this, Irene picked up the envelope and held it toward Eddie’s face. Take a look for heaven’s sake; see what you’re up against. Slowly Eddie realized Irene was right, as she usually was, and it was only his stubborn, pig headedness that drove her away from him many years ago. Opening a drawer, Eddie took out a silver letter opener, he waved his fingers in the direction of the envelope, and Irene handed it over.

A hard lump swelled in Eddie’s throat, suffocating, trying to choke him as the silver knife slid under the glued down flap, for a split second, it may as well been sliding under the skin that covered his heart.

Doing his best to conceal a slight tremble, Eddie tried to act casual as his huge hand pulled an A4 glossy print from the folder and on to his doodle covered blotter. Now, who the hell is this? Eddie asked turning the print around so Irene could see. Why it’s a baby girl, she spoke softly as if the girl was in the room, 2, maybe 3 years old. She’s beautiful, beautiful eye’s Eddie, but who is she?

Gus rocked his tired old bones forward and stood up; he walked lamely to the desk and picked up the picture. You need to give Pello a ring my friend, and soon. I don’t know who she is, Gus held the picture alongside Eddie’s face, but she sure looks like you.

Chapter Two

At 18:30, Eddie left the office; he turned the key, twisted the handle and pushed the flat of his hand hard against the door. There was no mistake; it was locked, and this time for sure. Irene had left an hour earlier, she’d asked him to ring when he made his way home, but as usual, calling Irene was the last thing on Eddie’s mind as he made his way along the corridor, down the dimly lit steps and on to the empty sidewalk. Most out of town workers had already left for home, leaving the main street quiet and pretty well deserted.

Standing on the street corner, Eddie pondered, eat or drink? He looked around. From the bar across the street he saw Gus beckon, but Eddie shook his head. He just wasn’t in the mood to hear how he and three, or was it four of his buddies—, or to be told again that Ruet Pello was a modern day bounty hunter. A cynical smile spread across Eddie’s lips and as he shook his head the words ‘Bounty Hunter’ ping-ponged around inside his brain. Jesus Christ, he murmured, I need a steak, and I need a drink, and I know just the place.

A three-minute walk to the parking lot found his ‘53 Chevy Pick-Up standing almost alone. A small, pale blue German car had parked directly alongside it, and a beat up old Pontiac sat in the far corner. It’s motor slowly, and erratically turning over like a grumpy old man, woken from the comfort of an afternoon’s nap; it rattled and shuddered, the engine threatening to stall at any moment. Dark tinted windows prevented Eddie from seeing the driver, but at the end of the day, he really wasn’t too interested. He squinted his tired eyes against the bright yellow sun as it now sat low in the rich blue sky, draping itself over a predictable but stunning sky line. Golden shafts of light reached out from between office blocks of every shape and size, stretching, pulling his lonesome shadow across the near deserted parking lot.

Eddie walked toward his pick-up. The Pontiac lurched forward, and then skidded to a halt on the loose gravel. The tired old bodywork rock and rolled on the soft, shot suspension and an unhealthy scream came from the brakes as they grabbed at the wheels.

With his thumbs pushed inside his jeans pockets, he stood and stared at the auto. He figured it was probably kids, determined to scare the shit out of some poor sap, but he wasn’t going to be intimidated by some young punk with a car whose next parking lot was undoubtedly the junkyard.

Eddie raised a hand to shield his eyes, again trying to make out the drivers face, but it was impossible. He took a step closer to the pick-up, resisting the overwhelming urge to run until he felt sure he was being threatened. With an explosion of power from its engine, the taunting Pontiac gave a long ear piercing squeal as it snaked toward him, the tires fighting to grip the loose stones before hurtling itself toward