by P. N. Elrod
We briefly shook hands. “I heard that. Too bad about what happened to your old boss.”
Coker shrugged off the sympathy. “He was an asshole.”
“Oh, yeah? Is that why he got scragged?”
“Probably. I didn’t like him much, but he paid good, and the girls he kept around were friendly.”
The bartender, whom Coker called Malone, delivered our drinks. I gave him a quarter and motioned for him to keep the change. A touch surprised at this second tip, he nodded his thanks and moved off to polish glasses, still looking too clean-cut for the joint. He was within earshot, but the band was filing back, and their noise would cover what conversation I had with Shivvey Coker.
He polished off half his beer in a gulp. I banished any thoughts about hypnotizing straight answers out of him. After what happened to Nevis, I was justifiably gun-shy.
“Who do you think threw those grenades at Welsh Lennet?” I asked, pretending to sip water.
Another shrug. “Not my business to think.”
“Lotta people say it was Nevis.”
“Why you interested? It’s old news.”
“Just wondering if there was a connection between Lennet’s death and that woman who was walled up in what used to be his basement.”
He didn’t flicker an eyelid. I took it to mean he’d long figured out why I’d come around. “Probably not.”
“You’re pretty sure.”
“Walling up dames wasn’t Welsh’s style. If they got outta line with him, he’d either bust ’em one in the chops till they behaved or send ’em packing. There was always more coming in to replace the troublemakers.”
“What if the dame owed him money?”
“Then he’d take it in trade. I don’t have to tell you what he’d trade for.” Coker sniggered, enjoying his joke, and finished his beer. I signed for Malone to bring him another.
The band started up. The drunk woman squealed with delight and coaxed a man onto the dance floor. She was a tall, frizzy blonde and for a while looked like she was wrestling with him over who was to lead. I didn’t watch long enough to see who won.
“Thanks,” said Coker, accepting his new beer. “Now, when you gonna try for the real questions? If you think pumping me full of this stuff will get me talking, it won’t work. I got more stamina than Nevis.”
“Fair enough. I want to know about Lena Ashley.”
He paused in mid-lift of his glass. “Who?”
“You heard. She ever touch you for money?”
“She touched everyone. In all kinds of ways.” He winked at Malone the bartender. “Maybe not everyone. She was before your time, wasn’t she, pretty boy?” Malone gave him a nervous tic of a smile and nearly dropped the glass he was polishing. Coker laughed at him, his mouth suddenly thin with distaste, then looked at me. “Let’s get a table before pretty boy here falls in love with one of us.”
We carried our glasses to a table by the dance floor. The drunk blonde was all over the place, laughing and whooping as her partner swung her around to the fast music. He was smooth and sober, moving with the ease and assurance of much practice. He didn’t look hungry enough to be a real lounge lizard, though he was dressed for the part in an expensive tuxedo. You could shave with the crease of his trousers and use his patent leather dancing shoes for mirrors.
“How well did you know Lena?” I asked.
Coker said he couldn’t hear me over the band, and I had to repeat the question. “We was friendly, but that’s as far as it went.”
“How far was that?”
“Just friendly. You know how it is with some skirts. We’d have some good times, but I didn’t send her no valentines or Christmas cards. She was wise. Didn’t nag like other dames might. When she got tired of me, she’d just find someone else and play with him.”
“Ever loan her money?”
“Me and a dozen other guys. She called it loans; we knew better.” He gave a short chuckle.
“Who’d she annoy?”
“Annoy?”
“She had to get someone mad enough to kill her. Who’d she run with?”
“It’s been too long. Lot of those guys have moved on.”
“Who’s left? Besides you and Nevis?”
He grinned, showing two straight front teeth and half a dozen crooked ones. “He didn’t know her well enough to want to kill her. And I won’t play for it, either. Don’t slop your mess on me, kid. Get on my bad side and you’re just asking for trouble.”
“Then point me to someone else.”
“There ain’t nobody else.” He leaned forward, and though he kept to his amiable expression, there was a decided change in him. The pleasant facade simply ceased to exist, and I saw without surprise or any sensible shred of fear that I was dealing with an honest-to-God killer. This was indeed a man who would just as soon shoot me as look. “Lemme give you some good advice, kid. Lay off. The broad’s dead, and nothing you do will fix it.”
I waited long enough to let him understand that I’d heard. “You know something. I want to—”
He cut me off with an abrupt wave of his hand, then pressed it flat on the table between us. “I know you’re a friend of Gordy’s. I don’t want no trouble with him, but some guys in this town ain’t so smart. You make them unhappy, and you will get yourself dead, and then Gordy gets unhappy and all hell breaks loose. It’s bad for business.”
“He’ll be glad you hold me in such high regard.”
“Then I’m doing us both a favor.” He emptied his glass and stood. “Thanks for the beers. I’ll see you around.”
He strode toward the office, and that was that, until I could corner him when he was more sober or there were fewer witnesses. I’d either have to start earlier in the evening or somehow persuade him to drink a gallon or so of coffee. Fists wouldn’t work on him. He was the type to just grin and spit his crooked teeth at me.
I quit the table and went back to the bar with my glass of water. If Coker wasn’t in a mood to talk, then I’d try Malone. Bartenders usually knew a little about everything going on in their place. Instead of change, I put a five-dollar bill in front of me. It didn’t take him long to notice and come over.
“Yes, sir, what would you like?”
“Shivvey said you could help me.”
He glanced past my shoulder, probably looking for Coker to get some confirmation of my statement. Coker was out of sight, though. “I’ll do what I can, sir.”
“I’m looking for a woman named Rita Robillard.”
That quick nervous tic of a smile came and went, and he gave the bill a fleeting look of regret. “Perhaps Mr. Coker was having a little joke on you, sir. She’s right over there, with Mr. Upshaw.” He indicated the loud, frizzy blonde twirling over the floor with her well-dressed partner.
I felt foolish having been caught out in my lie. “What do you know about her?”
“She comes here a lot. She enjoys dancing.”
“Who are her friends?” I slid the five toward him.
He backed away from it. “Perhaps you should talk to Mr. Coker about her, not me.”
“Because he’s one of her friends? Okay, I don’t want you in trouble with Shivvey, but I’d appreciate an introduction to her.”
“I don’t think you’ll need one. Just ask her to dance.”
“I will.” I pushed the money at him again.
“Oh, sir, that’s not necess—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
The band eased into a slower number, and the man called Upshaw slowed his high-stepping accordingly. He held Rita lightly, hands perfectly placed, balance perfectly centered. There was no intimacy of touch between them, though, not like when Bobbi and I danced. Upshaw was apparently just getting in some practice. Rita’s eyes were shut, a dreamy expression on her face. When they circled toward my side of the floor, I pressed forward and asked if I could cut in.
Upshaw paused at my interruption; Rita opened her baby blues and gave me a quick once-over. She wore a
gold dress that clung like paint to her firmly built figure, yet swirled freely around trim ankles.
“Sure, Sport,” she said enthusiastically, answering for him. Showing no more expression than a waxwork, Upshaw smoothly bowed out and glided from the floor.
Rita took hold of me—that was the only way to describe it—smiling like a happy shark. I led off, and we did all right for a few measures, then she tried to turn in another direction, reacting on her own to the music. I held fast, insisting on taking her my way. She finally came along.
“I’m Rita,” she said, laughing from our brief wrestling match.
“Jack.”
“Hello, Jack. You really know what you’re doing, don’t you?” She lifted her arms slightly to indicate our dancing.
“Most of the time.”
“I saw you talking with Shivvey. You a friend of his?”
“Just business.” No need to make up any more lies tonight. I had no real talent for it. “After he left I thought I’d like to dance with you.”
“Well, it just shows you’ve got good taste.” She didn’t look as drunk as before. All the moving around with Upshaw must have helped her work off some of the booze.
Close up, without the smoky air obscuring the details, she wasn’t too bad. There were good bones under the skin, by default giving her pretty features. She had height and was slim enough not to need much in the way of restrictive underwear. Her dress represented a month’s pay for most men, and she knew what was becoming.
She would also know that every man had his own angle, and while I moved us around, she studied me from under her lashes, trying to determine mine. I figured her to be twenty-five going on fifty. Too many drinks, cigarettes, and late nights were already taking their toll, aging her fast. I didn’t want to think of where’d she be in five years, and chances were it wasn’t something she wanted to think about much, either.
“You know Shivvey for long?” she asked.
“Just met him tonight. I’ve seen him around.”
“What are you here for?”
“I had to talk business with Nevis, but he went under the weather. Had to take a nap.”
“He does that sometimes. What kinda business?”
“I leased some property from him, turning it into a nightclub: Lady Crymsyn.”
“Oh, you’re that guy! I been hearing about that place all over town. Everyone says it’s going to really be something. When do you open?”
“In two weeks.” Officially. The private, invitation-only party was in one week.
“I gotta come see it. I used to go there all the time. To the old place, I mean.”
“Really? I’ve made a lot of changes. Maybe I’ll give you a special tour.”
She punched my shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, I know all about those! Though with you it’d be fun, I bet.”
“As much fun as you can handle,” I murmured. She’d want to hear something like that.
She gave out with a loud laugh. Loud, but with genuine mirth behind it. This was a gal who knew how to enjoy herself.
“I wasn’t in town back when Welsh Lennet had the place,” I said. “What was it like?”
“Not fancy, but you could whoop it up fine there most nights. Too bad about poor Welsh. He was a jerk but could show a girl a good time when he wanted.”
“Who else used to be there with you? I might know some of ’em.”
“Just the usual gang. Shivvey could tell you better. I’m not so good at remembering names.”
Or she was just being naturally cautious. “I heard you were friends with a gal named Lena.”
Rita lost rhythm for a moment. “Yeah, sure, we whooped it up, but she went away a long time back.”
“Went away?”
“Owed some rent, too—we used to share a flat—but that wasn’t the big deal. She left behind all her clothes and things. It was pretty strange. Not one word from her, either. I asked all over, too.”
I knew exactly how that felt, looking for someone who would never be found. “Where’d she go? Any reason why?”
She shrugged. “Couldn’t say. She left enough stuff to hock so I could cover the rent, so that was something.”
“You try to find her?”
“Well, of course I did! I even went to the cops and filed one of those missing person reports, but I might as well have tooted in the wind for all the help they were.”
“Was she tight with anyone back then? Maybe with Booth Nevis?”
She stopped dancing altogether. “You ask a lot of questions, Mister.”
“With good reason. You need to talk with me.”
“Oh, yeah? Why?” She took her arms away and planted her feet.
“To find out what happened to Lena.”
“What do you know about her if you wasn’t in town then?”
“Where’s your table?”
Rita glared a moment, then stalked to a place right by the dance floor. The table was just big enough to hold two glasses, an ashtray, a handbag, and one elbow. She dropped heavily into a chair and leaned toward me as I took the opposite seat.
“C’mon, tell me what’s what,” she demanded.
“You see the papers today?”
“I don’t have time for reading.”
Probably too busy sleeping off her nightly revels. “Maybe you caught it on the radio, then. The workmen at my club found a body there—”
“Ohmygod,” she breathed. “I heard that! Walled up they said. You telling me that it was Lena? I don’t believe it.”
I kept silent. She needed time for the surprise to wear off. It did, eventually, and the loud Miss Robillard started looking more sober by the second.
She canted her head, giving me a sideways eye. “You’re serious, aren’t you, Sport? About it being her?”
“Very serious.”
“W-why do you think it was Lena?”
“She had on some nice pieces of jewelry. Real stuff, not dime-store. Had dark hair . . .”
“That could be anybody.”
“The handmade dress she was wearing had a label of an exclusive shop, La Femme Joeena. The fabric was a really bright, deep red, like a traffic light. With a lot of sequins—”
Rita went white. She sat straight in her chair now, not touching its back, hands in her lap, her big, shocked blue eyes staring at me and probably not seeing a thing. Dance music flowed over us; couples drifted past, laughing, talking.
“I’m sorry,” I said, an inadequate response to her reaction. Anything would be. I don’t think she heard.
After a moment, she scrabbled blindly at her handbag and pulled out some cigarettes and a lighter, which she couldn’t get to work. I took it from her twitching fingers and did the gentlemanly thing. She sucked that first draw of smoke deep into her lungs. It shuddered out. Around the fourth draw she looked a little less stricken. I remembered what it was like to need one that badly. No such ordinary cravings now.
“You gonna be okay?” Another man might have offered to buy her a steadying drink, but that would have worked against me. I had plans for this gal.
“Not tonight, I’m not. That’s the worst thing I ever heard. That poor kid. What a horrible, awful . . .” She sucked in more smoke.
“Try not to think about it.”
“Easy for you to say, Sport, but Lena was my best friend. About the only friend I ever had, and I haven’t had any like her since. My God . . .” More smoke.
“Look, I didn’t know her, and I can’t imagine what you’re going through with this news, but I want to help.”
“Help? How help?” Her eyes narrowed. She was suddenly back to figuring angles.
“To find out who killed her.”
“Why should you bother?”
I gave her a short line of what I’d told Nevis about clearing up black marks.
Rita finished her cigarette and stabbed it into the ashtray. “How could you find out anything? That’s what cops are supposed to do.”
“I got a few tricks up my sleeve
; one of them is knowing you can be a big help in this.”
“I don’t know nothing.”
“Yes, you do. I want the names of the people Lena ran with.”
She bent forward, words hovering on her carmine lips. Then she must have thought better of it. She pulled back, crossing her arms. “Yeah, so maybe one of ’em comes and stuffs me behind a wall, too. No thanks.”
“That won’t happen.”
“Oh, so you’re some kinda swami. You gotta crystal ball to see the future? Nuts to that, Sport.”
“Lena was your best friend.”
“Yeah, and she wouldn’t have wanted me in no trouble on her account.”
“You won’t get into trouble. I just want to hear what you’ll say to the cops.”
“I ain’t talking to no cops. If the lousy bastards had done their job the first time, they might have found her and Lena’d still be alive.”
The chances were that Lena had been dead long before Rita filed her report with the authorities, but there was no point in mentioning it. “You’ll have to eventually. They’ve traced the dress, and they’ll trace down where she lived and finally come to you. You just tell me what you’d tell them.”
She studied me, narrow and hard. I’d knocked her flat with the news, but getting back on her feet again must have been an instant reflex for her. “You’re really interested in this, ain’t you? It’s more than just getting your club square again.”
“It’s one of my more aggravating faults. Bothers the hell out of me all the time.”
She made a short, nervous half laugh that reminded me of Malone’s tic. I glanced at the bar and noticed him looking our way. He went back to polishing glasses. Upshaw was also there, also looking. I couldn’t read his face. He slid from his stool and retreated into the thick atmosphere. I followed his murky progress toward the back wall.
