“Department of Justice?”
“Yeah.”
“Never worked for you guys before. They let their agents wear ponytails and ‘stashes?”
“Only the really good ones. The rest look just like the Feebs with better clothes.”
“Ha! You pickin’ up the tab on this?”
“How’s two-hundred sound?”
Jerry opened his case.
“Like Arrowsmith,” he said. “Let’s rock n’ roll.”
Two hours later Crockett had a drawing of the Amazing Disappearing Woman. He looked at the sketch. It was a headshot down to just above the bust.
“Damn!” Jerry blurted. “This bitch is hot! I do good work.”
“Yes, you do. The resemblance is amazing. It looks exactly like her. Even the hat is right. The hair, the expression, everything.”
“She’s beautiful, if I do say so myself. Can I make a copy of this for my demo book? The really good ones I like to archive. I may spend the night putting a body with this face. Shit! I wouldn’t have to leave the apartment for a week!”
While Jerry was out of the room to use the copier, Crockett counted out two hundred dollars and added an extra fifty. They exchanged the cash and the drawing and Crockett was on his way. As he passed through the lobby, Ms. Burr looked up.
Crockett beamed at her. “Thanks for everything, Lois,” he said. “See ya at the Christmas party. You bring the egg nog and I’ll get the mistletoe.”
Nothing.
Ruby barged in nine seconds after Crockett got home.
“A suit?”
“I have two,” Crockett said.
“This one got a hug in it?”
“Maybe.”
“How ‘bout if the hug includes a butt grope?”
“Absolutely.”
Ruby walked into his arms, grabbed Crockett’s backside, and grinned at him.
“That didn’t go exactly the way you figured, did it?” she said.
“Nothing with you ever does.”
Ruby backed away and looked him over.
“I gotta admit,” she said, “you clean up real good. So why the suit? Heavy date?”
“With the lady of dreams, or nightmares, or whatever,” Crockett said. He eased the drawing out of its cardboard shuck and onto the table. “Ruby LaCost, meet the Amazing Disappearing Woman.”
“This is she?”
“To a T. Looks just like her. Great artist.”
“Oh, my,” Ruby breathed. “Damn, Crockett. This girl is beautiful.”
“She really is.”
“She wore a hat like that?”
“Even to the veil on her forehead. Her hair and what you can see of the suit is accurate, too.”
“Mid-twenties at best. No older.”
“Quite young.”
Ruby sat and stared at the paper. “Remarkable. In her way as pretty as Grace Kelley or Rita Heyworth. Definitely 1940’s or so. Look at the hair and the hat. On her they appear contemporary. Where’d you get this?”
“I, or rather Daniel Beckett, dropped by the FBI and borrowed a sketch artist. The kid is terrific. He really caught her.”
“Daniel Beckett is afoot, huh?”
“I called Clete and he reactivated me.”
“How you feel about that?”
“I never thought about how I feel about it. Swear to God, it didn’t cross my mind.”
“Beckett went through a lot,” Ruby said. “Morrison damn near killed him, among other things. Could be some left over baggage there, Crockett. You find yourself carrying an extra suitcase, you let me know.”
“Count on it, Sweetheart,” Crockett said.
He rested his hands on her shoulders, softly kneading the flesh of her lower neck.
Ruby grunted and flexed under his hands.
“So, now that you have this picture,” she said, “what are you going to do with it?”
“I’m gonna ask you to scan it, or whatever it is that you do with the computer, and make a few copies so we can save the original. We’re going back to Chicago tomorrow or the next day, depending on your schedule, and show it to Marta. See if it means anything to her. After that, I don’t know. This has to be the woman in the trunk of the car. I’d really like to find out who she is, was. Maybe something will come up, maybe not. Even assuming this is the woman, we don’t know her name, we don’t know why she was killed, we don’t know where they dumped the body, we don’t know anything, Ruby. But she was here, or is here, or something. According to Carl, she showed up for a reason and she’s tied, in one way or another, to me. The least I can do is make an effort to find out what all this is about.”
Ruby looked at him and smiled. Only then did Crockett realize that he was pacing and swinging his arms.
“Hey, Crockett,” Ruby said. “Good to see ya.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ruby, ripped
Ruby cleared her calendar and Friday morning, entirely too early, Crockett was again aboard a white-knuckle flight on LaCost airlines. Dramamine, his drug of choice, saved him from the Tilt-a-whirl syndrome, and he spent most of the trip in a substance-induced stupor, truly surfacing only once to use the bathroom outside St. Louis. Mid-afternoon, Ruby locked onto the glide path near Barrington, Illinois, and brought him around.
“It’s time to stop snoring, Honey,” she said. “About fifteen minutes to Barrington Hills. Perk up.”
“Kiss my butt.”
“Ooh! Sexual innuendo?”
Crockett cracked a window and lit a Sherman. “Not in my condition,” he said “How long ‘til touchdown?”
“Ten or fifteen minutes,” Ruby said. “Straighten up and get conscious. I don’t want you to frighten Ivy.”
By the time Ruby completed her runway rollout and taxied to the entrance of Ivy’s manse, Crockett had wiped the drool off his chin and was able to walk on his hind legs. Ruby popped the Jag’s trunk so the staff could get their bags and stood up, grinning. Ruby loved things like popping the trunk so the staff could get the bags. As they approached the front door it swung open and there stood Marta. She looked ten years younger, ten pounds heavier, and she was beaming.
“Hi, you two,” she said. “Lovely to see you!”
“Marta, you look wonderful!” Ruby said.
“I’m getting there, no small thanks to you. The dreams are gone. My sleep is regular and deep.”
Marta looked up at Crockett.
“David, I hear my lady has attached herself to you.”
“You’ve been talking to Cletus,” Crockett said.
“Actually I’ve been talking to Ivy. She talked to Cletus.”
“How is Ivy?”
“She is well. Some new protocol seems to be helping. She is on dialysis only once a week. That is where she is as we speak. Cletus is assisting her. They will join us later. I have been requested to offer you refreshment and company. Have you eaten?”
The table in the atrium was festooned with small ham-salad and watercress sandwiches dressed in sweet mustard, with pineapple chunks and melon balls on the side. Crockett had two, Ruby ate four and excused herself to freshen up and change clothes. While she was gone, Crockett apprised Marta on recent events, including the visit from Carl.
“I would have to say that he was right on,” Marta said. “For some reason, this woman has aligned herself with you. I know that kind of thing can be frightening, but please understand that never, even in the worst of my nightmares, did I ever sense any malevolence from her. She was not the source of my fear. That came from what had been done to her and from the way the men treated her body.”
“How did they treat it?”
“They handled her with such casually cruel indifference. It was as if she were a scrap of something to be just thrown away. There was no remorse, no sorrow, no emotion directed toward her at all. She was not de-humanized. She seemed to not represent anything of value or worth whatsoever. A husk to be disposed of as quickly and efficiently as possible. That was the true horror. There w
as no empathy, David. Just an un-concerned apathy. Dreadful. Absolutely dreadful.” She shivered, then smiled. “But in your case, as I understand it, she is well and whole.”
“And beautiful,” Crockett said. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“Why, thank you,” said a voice from behind them. “I do try to keep myself up.”
Cletus Marshal was grinning in the doorway. He gave Crockett a handshake and a brief hug.
“Two times in two weeks, Crockett,” he said. “We can’t go on meeting like this.”
“People will talk. Sit down, Texican. Eat, drink, and be merry.”
Cletus took a seat and a melon ball.
“I ran into Spike the other day,” he said. “She asked about you.”
“Really?”
“Yup. I told her you were fine. Didn’t mention you’d been back up this way. She found out from that ol’ boy that fits your leg. I got her number in the other room, if you’d like to give her a call.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
At that moment, Ruby, wearing a cranberry jumpsuit in crushed velvet and four-inch open-toed heels, walked into the room.
“Silly question, huh, Crockett?” Clete said. He turned to Ruby.
“By God! If that ain’t the best lookin’ filly in the whole damn pasture, I’ll ride yer spurs plumb to town an’ sing all the way!”
Ruby advanced toward him, batting her eyes.
“Aw, shucks,” she said. “You big old manly range-riders just make me shiver!”
Clete took her hands and gently swung her in a circle.
“You give me three-quarters of a chance, Ruby Darlin’, an’ I’ll teach you how to yodel, too.”
She leaned in and kissed him on both cheeks.
“Marshal,” Ruby said, “don’t think for one minute it hasn’t crossed my mind.”
Clete smiled. “Sure,” he said. “That’s the nicest refusal I ever got.”
“I don’t suppose you ever got many refusals.”
Clete laughed and gave Ruby a quick hug.
“God, but you’re good,” he said. “Set with us. Can I get you a drink or some wine?”
Ruby asked for a vodka rocks. Crockett had the same.
It was nearly five, and Ruby was ahead of Crockett by a drink and a half, when Ivy came in. She looked well, if a bit drawn. The houseman brought finger foods and such and they noshed and small-talked until around eight-thirty. Ivy stood up.
“Children, I am tired and going to bed. I will expect you for breakfast at eight tomorrow morning. At that point we will discuss what we need to discuss. I absolutely forbid you to turn this evening into a serious event. These past two weeks have been serious enough. Enjoy your time and remain seated. I shall see myself out. I love each of you and all of you, and I cannot imagine anyone in the world more fortunate than I. Good night and peaceful rest.”
Marta hung in there until well after nine, Clete departed shortly after ten. Crockett was fairly lit, and Ruby considerably ahead of him, when they waddled up the stairs together, he on the way to the men’s club and she to the whorehouse. Crockett hadn’t been in his room long enough to sit down, before Ruby came crashing through the immense connecting doors.
“How’s your back and leg?” she asked.
“Pretty sore from the ride,” Crockett said.
“Need a soak?”
“I was thinking about a steam. Thanks anyway. Tomorrow?”
“My tub is your tub, Crockey.”
“Oh-oh.”
Ruby leaned against a table for stabilization.
“Whazamatter?” she said.
“You a little drunk, LaCost?”
“What ever gave you that idea?”
“Crockey.”
“I call you Crockey, Crockey?”
“Yep.”
“Mus’ be the booze,” Ruby said, and breezed back to her room.
Crockett got undressed, took off his leg, and hopped into the small steam room. In five minutes the place was blanketed in white, sweat was flowing from every pore, and his back and hip were singing the Hallelujah Chorus.
Crockett was leaning against the wall when the door opened and Ruby, wrapped only in a standard bath towel, stepped inside. He dropped his towel over his mid-section and she flopped on the bench beside him.
“Warm in here,” she said, sipping clear liquid from a glass of ice cubes.
“Yes, it is.”
Ruby took another sip and waved her hand in front of her face.
“Humid, too,” she said. “Lotsa steam.”
“That’s why they call it a steam room.”
“I bet thas why they call this a steam room, Crockett. Whadaya think?”
“Could be.”
She sipped her drink and sighed.
“Boy, thas good,” she said. “Cold.” She pushed the glass in Crockett’s direction. “Wan’ some cold?” she asked.
He took a sip. Straight vodka.
“LaCost, let me ask you a question.”
“Oh, alright.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Are you stupid?”
Crockett laughed and Ruby leaned against him.
“I don’t think that in all the years we’ve known each other,” he said, “and with all the wine we’ve gone through, that I have ever seen you drunk.”
“Me neither,” Ruby said. “Wanna drink?”
“Why not?” Crockett said, and took another sip.
“I can go make you one. There’s a bar over in the whorehouse.”
“That’s okay, I’ve been in here long enough. Time to get out.”
“Man, it is really hot in here! Less get out, okay?”
Crockett couldn’t stop chuckling.
“Fine, but don’t lean on me, Ruby. I can’t support you. I’m not wearing my leg.”
“Where is it?”
“Out by the bed.”
“Thas okay, Crockey. You can lean on me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not? Doan you wan’ to lean on me?”
“If I lean on you, we’ll both fall down.”
“Oh. ‘Cause I’m drunk?”
“Because you’re drunk.”
“I gotta get outa here. It’s too hot,” Ruby said.
Clutching his towel, Crockett hopped along behind Ruby as she weaved out the door. She turned and looked at him, her hair flat from the humidity, mascara running a bit.
“You’re hoppin’. Where’s your leg?”
“By the bed.”
Ruby nodded. Her neck seemed to contain no bones.
“Thas right,” she said. “I remember. Whacha gonna do now?”
“I’m going to take a shower and crash for the night. You should, too, Ruby.”
“Okay,” she said, and walked out of the bathroom.
Crockett was nearly finished with his shower when the stall door swung open. There stood Ruby with the towel wrapped around her hair.
“Hi,” she said.
Crockett giggled and closed the door.
“Hello, Sweetheart,” he said. “How ya doing?”
Ruby opened the door. “Fine,” she said “I had my shower already.”
Crockett shut off the water and grabbed his towel.
“That’s good,” he said.
“I jus’ came over to issue you an imitation…invitation. You are invited to dry off and come spen’ the night at my place.”
Crockett laughed. “Really?”
“Thas funny?” Ruby said.
“No, Ruby. That’s sweet.”
“So, come on over when you’re dry an’ come to bed with me,” she said, and tacked out of the room.
Five minutes later, knowing Ruby would be asleep, Crockett eased his way into the whorehouse. Ruby was in bed, lying on her back, the bedclothes swaddled around her waist, snoring. He covered her up, kissed her cheek, and went back to the gentlemen’s club.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Time machin
e
Crockett was up at six the next morning, out of the bathroom, into sweats and downstairs by six-thirty, only slightly the worse for wear because of the night before. He put on some really fragrant Columbian coffee, poured a glass of tomato juice from the fringe, added a little lemon and some Worcestershire sauce, plucked a yellow rose from an arrangement in the foyer, put the whole mess on a tray, took four aspirins and a bottle of eye drops out of his kit bag, and walked into the whorehouse a little before seven. Ruby was facedown with a pillow over her head.
“Wakee-Wakee, Snookums,” he cooed.
Ruby’s reply was muffled by her pillow.
“No,” she said. “Just let me die. Pull the plug, Crockett. I’d do it for you, you rat-bastard.”
“That’s basically what you indicated last night.”
“What?”
“That you’d do it for me.”
“Shit. Embarrassment heaped upon plague. I am such an idiot.”
“As aware as I am of that well-known fact, still I have placed fresh coffee, tomato juice, and four aspirins on your bed table. Come forth.”
“No chance.”
“What if I confessed my undying love?”
“Desperate fool.”
“Up and at ‘em.”
“I’m too stupid.”
“In spite of that, I love you.”
“Yeah, sure. Even you are not so addled as to love a wretch such as I.”
“Of course I am, Ruby. See for yourself.”
The edge of the pillow lifted and one bloodshot eye squinted at him.
“You are a putz,” she said.
“Zing went the strings.”
“You’re not gonna go away, are you?”
“Nope. Arise. I have the power to restore your eyes before you bleed to death. In my possession are magic drops.”
Ruby rolled over, peered nearsightedly in his general direction, and stuck out her tongue. Crockett could almost see her head throb as he helped her prop herself up on a couple of pillows.
Crockett laughed and handed her the eye drops.
“Jesus, LaCost. You look like shit,” he said. “I have never before seen you in a fully human condition. What a milestone!”
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