“It’s pretty obvious what he’d like to try. That’s one major case of puppy love hiding behind that cop’s face. He’s not doing a very good job of it, either.”
“So I noticed. There’s no harm in having a motivated bodyguard. He was one of the officers who responded when I got the spider threat. He’s decades younger than me, but that doesn’t bother him any. I swear, he’d put his head into a blender if I told him to, and he asks me out about three times a day. He knows I’m not interested in dating cops, but he doesn’t give up. Do you have an ashtray?”
“Looks like you still enjoy having men pant over you.” He went to the kitchen, grabbed a saucer, and brought it to her. “I quit smoking about a year ago. You’ll have to make do with this.”
“That’s fine.” She lit her cigarette and put the match in the saucer. “And, yes, I like a little panting from time to time. Don’t you?” Then she glanced at the baby grand. “Now, what’s this?”
He looked at it, too. “I call it a piano. Touch it in the right places, it makes music.”
Carol looked at him, smiled broadly, and nodded. “So I’ve heard. Imagine that, an artistic Streeter. Who would have thought? Perhaps an evolving Streeter. Next you’ll start reading books without pictures, even. Or maybe you’ll join a support group and start sharing your feelings. You better be careful or you might lose your reputation as the Lone Hard-On.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’ve been here all of eight minutes and already I’d like to lose my reputation as a host.”
She nodded again. “Truce. Let’s start over.”
“You seem to say that a lot. Don’t worry, I can hold my own in an argument.”
“As I remember. There always was a lot of arguing with us. A lot of blaming.” Her face and tone both darkened. “Back then I was having a hard time with my new practice. You could have been more supportive, but I put way too much of it on you. Like my success was your responsibility. For a year or so after we broke up, I blamed you for my failures. Back then I hated you. Quitting criminal defense was a huge blow to me and I blamed you for most of it. You and Jack Nevers.”
Streeter frowned. Jack and Carol’s law partnership had dissolved about a year after the engagement blew up. Within two years, she’d switched to business law. “Jack Nevers. Now, there’s a name from the past. I run into him around town from time to time. Do you ever see him anymore?”
Carol was silent for a moment. She crushed out her cigarette. “I really haven’t talked to Jack since we terminated our partnership. Oh, I see him at the courthouse and we say hello. But there’s still tension between us. He really was a terrible law partner. No sense of teamwork whatsoever. But that’s all ancient history now.”
“I guess.” Streeter went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. “You want one?” He held up the bottle.
“Thank you, no. I’m fine.”
He walked back to the couch and sat down next to her. “On a different note, I might have a lead on where Swallow is,” he said.
Carol straightened up. “Really? A good lead?”
“Who knows? The guy who told me about it isn’t even remotely reliable. But he had no reason to lie. I’m going to check it out tomorrow. I’m talking to someone in Aurora. Someone who may be connected to Kevin’s girlfriend.”
“Have you told the police yet?”
“It’s too early for that. If I go to them with every little rumor, they’ll be ignoring both of us before long. And I have my doubts about it. One thing for sure, Kevin’s gone deep underground. People who should have seen him by now haven’t. My hunch is he’s not in town, and this lead works along those lines.”
Carol grabbed another cigarette. “And you say the man you’re going to see is connected to the woman?” she repeated. “Do you know her name?”
Streeter didn’t speak for a moment. Usually, when he was working a case he would only confide in Frank. “I’m not sure about anything yet, Carol. When I find out more, I’ll let you know.”
“What’s the connection between the Aurora man and Kevin’s friend?” Carol leaned forward, obviously excited.
“Let’s not get carried away here. This could easily be bullshit.”
Before she could press on, they heard Barrows coming up the stairs. He walked into the loft carrying two large tan suitcases. Soft leather, obviously expensive. Carol smiled. “Good to have you back, Jeff. We thought you might have gotten lost.”
Barrows set down the suitcases. “Some old guy downstairs almost talked my ear off. Frank, the bondsman.” He turned to Streeter. “Your partner?”
“Yeah.”
“That guy must have a million stories.” Barrows shook his head and grinned. “I could listen to him all night.”
Streeter suddenly felt better about the cop. “You might end up doing just that before this is over. Get him in the right mood, Frank’ll talk a blue streak.”
“Could you put those in the bedroom, please?” Carol asked the officer. “We’re trying to figure out our strategy. We’ll need your ideas, too. I want all the help I can get.”
Barrows nodded. “My idea is simple. Stay close to me and the other cops, don’t go out much, and try to relax. Just let the police do their job.” Then he glanced at Streeter. “I hear you’re trying to find Swallow, too.”
“I’m asking around.”
Barrows nodded and slowly looked back at Carol. “You’ll be safe here. When you go out, one of us’ll be with you.” His eyes narrowed and his voice lowered. “As far as I’m concerned, Kevin Swallow’s dead meat. We’ll get him.”
“I love it when you get so decisive on me like that,” she said. Barrows didn’t seem to know how to react, so he picked up the suitcases and walked into the bedroom. She turned to Streeter. “I’d appreciate you letting me know how you make out tomorrow.”
“When I get something solid, you’ll be the first to know.” He could see Carol was getting her hopes up and he wished he hadn’t mentioned the new lead. From now on he wouldn’t tell her anything until he nailed the information down tight. Like Frank always advised him, “No point in telling me what you almost did.”
ELEVEN
Far-southeastern Aurora is an interminable sea of strip malls, cutesy townhouse enclaves, and winding streets. This pattern is interrupted periodically by nondescript, squat office buildings, mostly for low-end professionals like chiropractors, accountants, and insurance agents. The suburb sits to the immediate east of Denver and runs the length of it from north to south. Gino Gallo lived in an area where the streets circle and twist in agonizing patterns. Their names tend to sound the same, and about every third one is a short cul-de-sac.
“You look on a map and it’s like the whole place was designed by a bunch of honked-off winos in rehab trying to hide something,” as Frank once described the area. Streeter always allowed himself extra time to find addresses there.
The homes on Gallo’s street were built in the seventies, and featured small windows and long driveways. All were fairly well maintained and landscaped. Gino’s place was kept up better than most. It was painted a pale blue, and the yard, containing only one tree and few shrubs, was groomed like a pool table. There was a sparse severity to it that Streeter didn’t expect from a bartender-bookie.
The bounty hunter pulled his brown Buick Belvedere up behind an older gray Chrysler in the driveway. Gallo’s car was as clean as the rest of the place. Streeter leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the steering wheel with his hands together on the top. In the yard next door, an elderly woman was raking leaves. She stopped, nodded, and gave him a half-amused, half-perplexed look. He nodded back and got out. When he went to the front door, he could hear a mechanical, wheezing sound inside. It seemed to move. Unable to place it, he knew he’d heard it before. He pressed the doorbell. No answer. Then he pounded hard with the heel of his hand. It had been cool the past few days and the door felt stiff. From inside, the wheezing sound stopped.
“Hold on,�
�� came from within. “I’ll be right there.”
In another minute or so the door creaked open. A blast of what smelled like cleaning fluid belched out. Instinctively, Streeter pulled his head back.
“Yeah?” the man at the door asked. He was short and round, with a face to match. A sad, bandito mustache divided his features horizontally. There were puffy, bluish bags under each eye. The face looked older than the man behind it, who was in his late thirties. But his most striking feature was not really his own. He wore a slick paintbrush toupee the color of gas-station coffee. It was too large and it clashed with the graying sideburns of the man under it. Perhaps to keep it from sliding, Gino held his head so stiff it looked like he was balancing a book on it. He wore a green polyester shirt with a gold zipper running halfway down his chest. Faded navy sweat pants sagged under a potbelly.
“I’m looking for Gino Gallo,” Streeter said.
“We’re all looking for someone.” The man’s face pulled back as he spoke, his cheeks fattening briefly in a mild belch. For such a short, ugly man, he wore a confident smile. “Or something. It’s just that most of us just don’t know who or what.”
Streeter frowned. “You could be right, but I’m one of the lucky ones. You are Gino, aren’t you?”
The man looked past Streeter now, his face wincing in concentration, the smile still in place. “Before I answer, tell me who you are and what you want with Gino.”
“My name’s Streeter. I was talking to somebody who said he knows you. Or should I say, knows Gino? He suggested I talk to Gino, that he could help me out with a little problem I’m having.”
The man nodded graciously. “I am, in fact, Gino Gallo. What kind of problem?”
“I’m trying to locate someone. This guy who told me about you said the person I’m after might know your sister, Gina. Could be living with her.”
Gino’s smile faded and he pulled his head back a shade, still careful not to disturb his hairpiece. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything.
Streeter took a half-step back. “Kevin’s the name of the man I’m looking for. We used to call him Kev. You ever heard of anyone named Kev? Kevin Swallow?”
“I tell you, friend, you’re opening up a whole new avenue of questions here. How do you know Gina?”
Gino’s smile returned as he spoke. Evidently, Streeter reasoned, there was little connection between it and whatever the man was thinking or feeling. “I don’t know her. But I’m a friend of Kev’s. I haven’t seen him in ages and I want to find him, so I’m here asking about Gina’s friend Kev. This doesn’t have anything to do with your sister, per se.” He was losing patience but his voice remained even.
Gallo’s eyebrows shot up and his head moved almost imperceptibly to the side, indicating the living room behind him. “I want to show you something.” With that, he pushed the door open wider and stepped aside for the man on the porch to enter.
The invitation surprised Streeter. “Sure.”
Gino shut the door behind him as he walked in. Once he was inside, the cleaning-fluid smell became stronger. At about fifteen feet by twenty-five feet, the living room was larger than one might expect from the outside. But it was barely furnished. Actually, there wasn’t room for much furniture. Squarely in the middle was the biggest, most detailed model-train set Streeter had ever seen. He stared at it in silence.
His host seemed to read his mind. “Bet you never saw anything like that before, did you, brother?” Gino asked with obvious pride. “It’s the old Burlington Northern line running outside of Vail.”
Streeter nodded. So that was the wheezing sound he’d heard from the porch. The set rested on a huge L-shaped plywood table about three feet high and propped up by sawhorses. It depicted a mountain scene around a village. There was snow on the top of the hills and a small lake at one end. Two rail lines ran through numerous round tunnels in the largest mountains. The whole setup had remarkable detail; even the tiny people in the town wore hand-painted expressions. Whoever put this together definitely fell into the Get-a-Life category. Streeter glanced over at his host, who was also staring at the layout. Gino’s grin had turned almost maniacal.
Suddenly, the smile faded and Gallo turned to his guest. “It was that little thief, the burglar, who sent you to me, right?” There was an evangelical tone and cadence to his words that gave them authority. “I tended bar over at The Gold Coins until they cut back the staff. But I remember talking to some people about Gina and her friend. One of them was that bozo who steals from people’s homes and then brags about it in bars. I can’t recall his full name, but ‘Kenny’ comes to mind.”
Streeter didn’t say anything. On the wall behind Gino’s head was an ornately framed painting of a train scene. Next to that was an autographed black-and-white photo of Dean Martin.
“Gina.” Gallo grunted the word, looked off to the side, and continued. “There’s a lost soul. Poor girl was raised right but she fell hard to temptation. She smokes and she drinks and she fornicates.” He looked back, and his expression had become sad. “And all in the house my mother left for her. But Gina’s not alone. We’re all sinners, Mr. Streeter. Born sinners. You put a pencil in front of a little baby and what happens? The baby’ll steal the pencil. Now, that’s a fact. We have to accept Jesus Christ. Do you accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Saviour, Mr. Streeter?”
“Up to a point.” He could see by Gino’s pained expression that that was not a terrific answer. He changed his approach. “Actually, you can find me in a church every day of the week. I practically live there.”
Much better. Gino’s face softened again and he nodded sagely.
The bond forged, Streeter pressed on. “Am I on the right track? Is your sister living with old Kev?”
“All I know is,” Gino said, glancing back at his train, “she said something to me about being with a Kev. At least it sounded like Kev. Then, later, she said his name was indeed Kevin. From what she described, he’s a real prize. I believe he’s spent time in our state-prison system.”
“Can you tell me where they live?”
Suddenly, Gino looked back at his guest, his voice getting hard as he asked, “How is it that you know a man like Kevin?”
Careful, Streeter thought. Don’t appear too close to Swallow. “We used to bowl together. I didn’t know he got into trouble. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him. All I wanted to do was say hello.”
Evidently, it was not very convincing. Gino said nothing.
“I can look up your sister’s name in the Jefferson County property-tax records and go find her myself,” Streeter continued. “I know she lives near Evergreen.”
Gino nodded as if to agree, but then replied, “The place isn’t in her name. Not under ‘Gallo,’ I mean. It’s still in our mother’s maiden name. And you can check with the operator up there, too. Gina has no phone in her name.”
True. Streeter had called directory assistance the day before. There were no Gallos in or near Evergreen. He had also called the Jefferson County real estate tax records office that morning. Again, nothing under Gallo. Gino was his best shot at finding the man named Kev and Streeter knew it. The time for talk was over. He pulled out his wallet and took three twenties from it.
“Will you accept a humble donation from one sinner to another?” he asked. “I’m sure you can do more good with it than I can. Losing your job must be a horrible blow, financially speaking.”
Gino took the bills and studied them. “I haven’t been up there in maybe twelve years. I’m not sure I can even recall how to get to the place. But the county records people should be able to get you the address and maybe even give you directions. Just ask for the paperwork on the Stewart place. Evie Stewart was our mother. That’s the name the property’s under.”
“Is that S-T-U-A-R-T?”
“No, S-T-E-W, as in beef, with an A-R-T on the end. Got it?”
Streeter nodded. “Thanks. That should do it.”
Gino turned his attention back
to the railroad set and was silent. The smile was gone and he looked down to where a striped train-engineer’s cap was lying on the tracks. He stuffed the twenties into his shirt pocket and grabbed the cap. “I expect so, brother. I wish you luck in your search.”
“Amen to that, brother. I’ll just show myself out.” The bounty hunter was backing up as he spoke. Gino said nothing. When he opened the door, Streeter glanced back once more toward the trains. Gallo, the hat in his left hand, reached up to the top of his head with his right. Slowly, he pulled the ratty toupee off and replaced it with the engineer’s hat.
Streeter closed the door quickly behind himself on the way out.
TWELVE
Terry Blue Nathan walked into the Cruise Room of the Oxford Hotel, squinted, and looked for Laurie Cullen. In the subdued Deco lighting, the cigarette smoke seemed almost tangible. It added to the elegant atmosphere. There was a row of high, pale booths against the left wall, with the long bar fronting most of the right. Laurie was sitting at the third booth in, smoking while running an index finger around the rim of her martini glass. That woman never could just sit still, Terry thought as he walked toward her. Probably even twitched in her sleep.
There were two reasons he chose the Cruise Room to meet Laurie.
First, he was sure Brian wouldn’t show up. The drinks cost too much and, although it was in a remodeled turn-of-the-century hotel within a few blocks of their office, Brian hated the punker chic of the place.
“Forget it,” was how he’d put it to Terry. “You got those snooty little broads with purple hair and nose rings. On top of that, you got a bunch of lawyers and investment guys trying to act like hot shit around them. No way I go back to that joint.”
Second, Terry chose it because, with its more urbane clientele, he could have a drink there with a white woman and not feel like a child molester. Mixed-race couples still weren’t the norm in Denver.
Laurie was wearing a sleeveless green top. Her hair was shorter than usual. Terry didn’t like it as much that way, but he had to admit she was still attractive. Blond hair, body out of a gym ad. And she wore enough liner to set off her hazel eyes just about right.
Streeter Box Set Page 28
