Men of the Mean Streets

by Greg Herren

  The back door swung open, and Maureen smiled at me, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Oh, hello, Joe. I was just washing up some dishes.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you—”

  “It’s no bother at all. Now what can I do for you?”

  “It’s about the washing machine, Maureen.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Well, I need to use them, Maureen.”

  “Well, go on and use them, then!”

  “I’ve been trying to for the last couple of days.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand you.”

  “Every time I try to do my laundry, you’re doing yours.”

  “But, Joe, you said I could use your washer and dryer whenever I wanted to!”

  “Yes, yes I did. But—”

  “I’m just doing what you said.”

  “But, Maureen—”

  “First you said I could use your machines whenever I wanted to. I did what you said and now you’re acting like I did something wrong. I really don’t understand you, Joe. That doesn’t make any sense to me.”

  “Maybe what I should have said was you could use them whenever I wasn’t.”

  “But, Joe, you’re never using them when I go over there. They’re just sitting there, empty.”

  I took a deep breath. “Maureen, the point is you’re using them constantly. Constantly. I went over there this afternoon and you were doing a load that was just a dish towel. So I waited, and when it was done, I took it out and put a load of mine in. When I went back later, you’d taken my clothes out of the washer, were drying the dish towel, and had started another load—with two bath towels, while my laundry basket was sitting there and you could clearly see I had more laundry to do.”

  “Did you want me to do your laundry? Is that what this is about?”

  I stared at her in disbelief. “No, that isn’t what this is about. What this is about, Maureen, is me being able to do my laundry.”

  “Because I’m not going to do your laundry.”

  “I’m not asking you to!”

  “I don’t understand.”

  I counted to ten in my head, trying not to lose my temper. “Maureen. I am telling you that I also need to do my laundry. You and Joe aren’t the only people on this property who need to wash clothes. Has it never occurred to you that I might need to do mine?”

  “But Joe, like I said, the machines are never in use—”

  I cut her off. “What do you think it means when there’s a load of my clothes, wet, in the washing machine and a laundry basket with more clothes in it on the floor, Maureen?”

  “But you just left the clothes in the washer and I had things that needed to be washed, Joe. I mean, that wasn’t very considerate of you especially when I had some things to wash. Did you just expect me to wait around all day for you?”

  “Maureen, you had two bath towels. That could have waited until I was finished with mine, is all I’m saying.”

  “But I can’t just wait around for you all day.”

  “I really don’t care, Maureen! IT’S MY WASHER AND DRYER! If you want to use them, you need to be more considerate of my needs!”

  “But you said I could use them whenever I needed to!”

  “Maureen, if you have a load that can’t wait and my clothes are in the washer—and I don’t care if they’ve been sitting there for three fucking days—you can take your load of two towels to the goddamned Laundromat on the corner if they can’t wait! That’s why I bought a washer and dryer! So I could use them whenever I want to! I don’t want you touching my clothes!”

  “But it would be silly to spend the money to wash two towels at the Laundromat.”

  “So if you want to save that money, Maureen, you need to be more considerate of my needs. You use my machines twenty-four seven. They’re running practically day and night. You’re going to wear them out. Are you going to replace them when you do?”

  “You said I could use them.”

  “Okay, let me explain this to you one more time. I have another load of clothes to do. You are not to touch the goddamned washer and dryer until all of my clothes are finished. Is that understood?”

  “It’s not fair, but okay.”

  “In fact, I don’t want you using my washer and dryer again today. Tomorrow’s fine. But today, no.”

  “Okay.” She nodded and shut the door.

  *

  “I’m surprised you were able to hold your temper. That must have been incredibly frustrating.”

  I laughed. “You have no idea. It was like there was a synapse in her brain that wasn’t firing, you know? It was like in her mind I was being an ass by trying to restrict her access, I was being unfair and unreasonable. But I was able to get my clothes washed. Later on that night, I was actually feeling a little guilty about the whole thing, and I decided to apologize if I was rude the next time I saw her.”

  “That was really nice of you.”

  “I’m a nice guy. But before I saw her again, Bill stopped by that night to talk to me. He’d been drinking. I’d noticed him walking around outside before with a beer or a drink in his hand, but I’d never thought much about it. It was about nine o’clock, and I was upstairs…”

  *

  I came running down the stairs. “I’m coming!” I shouted. Someone was pounding on my door, hard angry knocks. I unlatched the door and swung it open. “Bill! What are—”

  He reeked of alcohol, and his eyes were half-closed. “Can I talk to you?”

  “Sure, I guess. Come in.” I shut the door behind him. He plopped down on my love seat. I crossed my arms and leaned against the door. “What can I do for you, Bill?”

  “Hear you had a little run-in with the wife today.” He laughed. “You’ve never been married, have you?”

  “I was.”

  “Me, I always need a wife. They keep dying on me, though. When the last one died—it was kind of unexpected, kind of fast, dropped dead right out of nowhere—I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. Then I found Maureen, and I married her. Don’t know what I’m going to do when she’s gone. Guess I’ll find another one.”

  “I don’t really—”

  “I know she’s a bit much, Joe, but she’s old. She’s not quite right in the head, you know. It’s starting to go on her. And being here while I work on the house is hard on her, you know. Back up in Monroe, she’d watch her stories and Oprah all day while I was working. Here she ain’t got nothing to do. We don’t got a TV here. So she cleans. She don’t like to be idle—idle hands and the devil, you know how that goes, don’t you, Joe?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that before. But I don’t see—”

  “So she’s a little bit nuts about the laundry. Can’t you cut her a break?”

  “Bill, I don’t care if she does laundry from sunrise to sundown. Every day, all day, I don’t care. But when I need to do mine, she needs to let me. And I don’t have a lot of free time—so it’s enormously frustrating—”

  “I know, Joe. That woman would try Job, I swear to God. There are times when I just want to give her a good smack, see if that’ll shake the brains free a little, knock some sense into her. But you got to remember she’s an old woman. Her brain don’t work like it used to. And doing the laundry—keeping busy—makes her happy. And that makes me happy.”

  “Like I said, Bill, I don’t care if she uses the washer—”

  “She can’t be hauling the laundry up to the corner. She’s old, Joe. And if she can’t keep busy she won’t be happy here. And if she’s not happy here, I’m not going to be happy here. And then we’re going to have to go back to Monroe, if you catch my meaning.”

  “I think I do.”

  “And then Mildred’s going to have to find another contractor. And that ain’t going to be easy—there’s more work here in New Orleans than there are contractors. No telling how long it’s going to take Mildred to find another contractor. And you’re not happy living here in the carriage house, are you?” He got up and w
alked over to me, leaning into me until his face was inches from mine. The sour alcohol on his breath made me a little queasy.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “So that’s just going to delay your getting back into your house, isn’t it?”

  In that moment, I would have gladly killed him. “I understand what you’re getting at, Bill.”

  “Good!” He clapped me on the back, his face wreathed in a smile. “I’m glad we’ve come to a kind of understanding. You want to come over for a drink?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “Quite sure.”

  I shut the door behind him.

  *

  “So, basically, he was blackmailing you?”

  “Exactly. I had to let her do as she goddamned well pleased with my washer and dryer, and just suck it up and not say anything, or he’d quit. And you know as well as I do it could have taken months before Mildred could find someone else to work on the house.”

  “Contractors are scum.”

  “They certainly are! Did you have problems with one?”

  “I lived in New Orleans East. There was no saving my house. I took the insurance money and sold it as is. But in my line of work—well, let’s just say there are a few honest contractors out there doing good work, and a lot of criminals who should be strung up. The stories I could tell you—”

  “I’m sure. I read about some of the scams in the paper the other day. Really makes you wonder what the world’s coming to, doesn’t it? You sure you don’t want some coffee?” I got up and refilled my cup, emptying the pot. “I can make more—it won’t take two seconds.”

  “No, I’ve had plenty today.” She winked at me. “Trust me.”

  I sat back down in my easy chair. “So, no, it really doesn’t surprise me he’d kill her, you know. Like I said, she was a pain in the ass. And he drank so much…”

  “Did you ever talk to Mrs. Savage about the situation?”

  “I did a few times, and she was sympathetic, but she never did anything about it.” I shook my head with a sad little laugh. “I can’t hardly blame her. I mean, here I was living under my own roof, really, while she and her husband were staying with friends. I know she just wanted to get back on the property as soon as she could…who wouldn’t? She just would tell me to be patient, she’d have a chat with them, but nothing ever changed, you know? I even tried setting up a schedule. I sat down with her and told her she could do the laundry every day, but I would do mine on Wednesday and she would have to respect that.”

  “More than reasonable, I think.”

  “Yeah, you’d think, wouldn’t you? But she was crazy. Absolutely crazy. After we set the schedule, the next Wednesday morning I got up and went over there, and sure enough, she had a load going in the washer. I thought my head would explode.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “I wish I was. I was so angry I was ready to kill them both.” I laughed, and gave her a broad wink. “I guess I shouldn’t say that to a cop.”

  “Should I consider you a suspect, Mr. Spencer?” She smiled at me.

  “Like I’d kill someone over using my washing machine!”

  “You’d be surprised what will push someone to kill…but no, at this moment you’re not a suspect. It seems pretty cut and dried to me. Did you hear them arguing last night?”

  “No, like I said, I’ve gotten used to turning the television up really loud, so I wouldn’t hear them.”

  “Do you know what they used to argue about?”

  “No, I mean, I never could make out what they were saying. All I heard was the noise—and it was definitely angry noise, if you know what I mean. His drinking and her—well, whatever it was—I always thought it was a potentially lethal combination.”

  “What time did you go to bed last night?”

  “I guess it was around ten thirty, or just after. I always watch The Daily Show before I go to sleep. What time did he,” I swallowed, “you know?”

  She didn’t answer my question. “How did they seem yesterday to you?”

  “I didn’t really talk to either of them…Maureen did stop by for a moment.”

  *

  There was a frantic look on her face when I opened the door. She was clearly agitated, looking from side to side, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She was wringing a dish towel in her hands. “Why hello, Maureen.” I smiled at her. “Is everything okay?”

  “Where is my laundry?” Her voice shook.

  “How would I know?”

  “I took a load over there half an hour ago and it’s not there!”

  “Maureen, dear, are you sure?”

  “Joe, I took a load of towels over this morning, I know I did. I remember going over there…”

  “Then where could it have gone?”

  “I was hoping you knew.”

  “How would I know, Maureen? I haven’t been over there since two days ago when Bill showed me how the place was coming along.”

  “You’re sure you don’t know?”

  “No, I don’t, Maureen. Just like the other day when you accidentally put the red dye in with your whites.”

  “I don’t remember doing that…why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know, Maureen. It doesn’t make any sense. I guess you were just a little confused,” I said soothingly.

  She nodded. “Confused. I’ve been really confused lately.”

  “Why don’t you go lie down for a little while and get some rest?”

  “That—that might be a good idea.”

  “Why don’t you just go take a nap and forget about it?”

  “Oh, oh, okay.”

  I shut the door and smiled to myself. “Stupid bitch,” I said to myself as I walked behind a stack of boxes. I picked up Maureen’s laundry basket—two towels—and walked back over to my door. It was almost too easy, I reflected, as I opened the door and walked around to the front of the house. Bill was sawing some plywood, set up on two sawhorses. “Bill?”

  Bill stopped the saw and smiled. “Oh, hi there, Joe.” His eyebrows came together. “Why you bringing your laundry around to the front?”

  “It’s happened again, Bill.” I set the laundry basket down on the ground. “This isn’t my laundry, it’s yours.”

  “What happened this time?”

  “Maureen just came by, extremely upset, because her laundry had disappeared. She said she took the load over and put it in the washer, but when she went back to put it in the dryer it was gone. She thought maybe I knew what happened to it.”

  “Go on.”

  “So I told her to go lie down, and I went over to the laundry room. Bill, the basket was sitting there on top of the washer. If it was a snake it would have bit her.”

  “Dear God.”

  “It’s getting worse, Bill. I mean, what’s going to happen next? Is she going to leave the stove on when she goes to the grocery store?”

  “She wouldn’t do that,” he whispered.

  “Well, a week ago she wasn’t putting red dye in with the whites, either. I had to run three cycles of bleach through the washer to get that dye out, Bill. She’s not getting better, and you know it. She needs help. Aren’t you afraid what might happen if you go to the hardware store or the lumberyard and leave her here alone?”

  “I—”

  “I mean, it was one thing when she was just forgetting things. But this is really serious.” I sighed. “Well, I’ve said my piece. I’ll leave the laundry basket where I found it.”

  *

  “So, she was getting even more forgetful?”

  “I guess he just lost patience with her one last time. It’s sad, just terrible.” I got up to answer the door. I shrugged as I turned the knob. “She really went downhill quickly, detective.” I opened the door and smiled. “Detective Tujague, was it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Come in. You want to speak to Detective Casanova?”

  “Actually, I want to ask you something.”
/>
  “Me? All right.”

  “Did you see Dufour last night?”

  “No. I was just telling Detective Casanova about the last time I saw him. It was about two or three yesterday afternoon. I can’t be more specific than that, I’m sorry. Why do you ask?”

  “Dufour says that he came over here last night and you two had drinks together and talked about the situation with his wife. He got tired and you helped him back to his apartment, and that’s the last thing he remembers before waking up this morning next to his wife’s corpse.”

  “I’m sorry, but he’s obviously mistaken. I don’t drink. So he doesn’t remember killing her?”

  “Well, that’s his story. You’re certain he wasn’t here?”

  “I couldn’t be more certain. I don’t drink. You can do a blood alcohol test on me if you like. But he was not here last night.”

  “Okay, thanks. Venus?”

  “That’s about all I need. Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Spencer.”

  “If I can be of any help—”

  “We will need you to come down to the station at some point and make a statement.”

  “Just let me know when.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Spencer.” Venus smiled at me as she walked outside. “I really appreciate your help.”

  I closed the door and leaned against it. I exhaled.

  They didn’t suspect a thing.

  *

  Bill had come over, around nine thirty. I invited him in, and he took a seat on the love seat. He was carrying a plastic go-cup.

  “Hi, Bill. How is she?”

  “She was almost hysterical. When she gets like that, man, she really drives me to drink. I told her to take one of her goddamned pills and lay down, she was giving me a headache.”

  “What are you drinking?”

  “Whiskey. Tonight’s a whiskey night. Man, that was a tough one. After she went to sleep I called her daughter. That one’s a real bitch. Didn’t want to hear a word I was saying. Wants to fly out here and see for herself. I told her I don’t need her permission to put Maureen in a facility, thank you very much, and to try to keep a civil tongue in her goddamned head. Just like her mother, doesn’t know her place. No wonder that one couldn’t keep a man.”