"Morris says he'd like to make a financial contribution to the project," Ronnie said.
"Which project is that?" I said.
"Snuffing the Dell."
"How about Mary Lou?"
"Leave her on her own."
"You mean don't look after her?" I said.
"Let things develop," he said. "Stay focused on the Dell."
"How much of a financial contribution is Morris likely to make?" I said.
"You could pretty much name it," Ronnie said. "If you can deliver."
"But no manpower," I said.
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Morris figures you don't need it."
"How flattering," I said.
"Chollo and Bobby Horse are good," Ronnie said.
"You are too kind, senor," Chollo said.
Ronnie nodded at Hawk. "This guy's good," he said.
Hawk registered nothing.
"You can tell?" I said.
"I can tell," Ronnie said. "You too."
"You know anything about Dean Walker?"
"Police chief out here, isn't he?"
"Know more than that?"
"Nope."
"How do you know that?"
"I'm alert," Ronnie said.
"What about Mark Ratliff?"
"Movie producer," Ronnie said, "except he don't produce no movies."
"Anything else?"
"Nope."
"And how do you know about him?"
Ronnie smiled the thin smile again. "Alertness," he said.
"I'm pretty alert myself," I said. "And I notice that Morris is hiring me to do what he said he'd kill me for a month ago."
"Things change," Ronnie said.
"But you wouldn't know why?"
"I wouldn't," Ronnie said. "Like I said, Morris only tells me what he thinks I need to know."
"Why don't I believe you?" I said.
"Because you're a cynical and suspicious guy?" Ronnie said.
"That must be it," I said.
We sat. Hawk leaned. I tried to think of some clever way to trick Ronnie into telling more than he wanted to. I couldn't. I was cynical and suspicious, but not that bright.
"Tell Morris that I will decline his kind offer, and if anything happens to Mary Lou Buckman I will come to L.A. and fry his ass."
"I'll pass that on," Ronnie said.
He got up and headed for his car. Hawk watched him all the way. Chollo didn't move but I realized he was watching Ronnie, too. Ronnie went around his car and opened the driver's-side door. He looked back at us.
"Have a nice day," he said.
Then he got in the car and closed the door and backed it slowly out of the driveway.
Chapter 45
IT WAS BERNARD'S turn to cook breakfast. He valued presentation. He always put out a tablecloth and matching flatware. He put the juice in a pitcher and the milk in another. No cartons on the table. He served the meals from the counter instead of slopping the food out of the cooking pan at the table. Today he was serving apricot pancakes with syrup made from some sort of cactus pear. "Bernard," Tedy Sapp said, "you sure you're straight?"
"Damned right I'm straight," Bernard said. "Anybody says I'm not I'll fight him."
Sapp grinned.
"When a gay guy calls you queer, it's not an insult," he said.
"You think I wouldn't fight you?" Bernard said.
"I think you would," Sapp said. "Just not for long."
Bernard put three pancakes on a dinner plate and brought it to the table.
"Well you just mess with me," he said. "We'll find out how long."
Sapp's grin grew wider.
He said, "I wouldn't mess with you Bernard."
Bernard put my pancakes down in front of me. They were carefully arranged on the plate so that they didn't overlap. I put just enough honey on and cut off a bite and ate it.
When I had swallowed, I said, "You can really cook for a straight guy, Bernard."
"Don't you start with me," he said.
"Why would Morris Tannenbaum send Ronnie here?" Chollo said.
"I figure he got double-crossed," I said.
"By who?"
"Everybody involved."
"Which is who?" Hawk said.
"I'll get back to you on that," I said.
"He has many resources," Chollo said. "Why not send Ronnie and some people out here, straighten it out himself?"
"Why," I said, "if we'll do it for him?"
"Why does he wish to pay us for something we're going to do even if he does not?"
I looked at Hawk.
"'Cause he been double-crossed," Hawk said. "And he can't let no one do that and get off. So he wants it to be him paid us."
Chollo looked at me. I nodded.
"Be my guess," I said.
"You have not ever met the man."
"Magical, ain't it?" Hawk said.
"So why not permit him to pay us?" Chollo said.
"Step at a time," I said. "First let's shove The Preacher a little."
"About time," Vinnie murmured.
Hawk looked at him. Vinnie shrugged and didn't say more. Vinnie looked up to Hawk.
"We going to go in after them?" Chollo said.
"Not yet," I said. "We interfere with their ability to do business, see what it brings us."
"You think you can get them to bargain?" Sapp said.
"He thinks he can get them to tell him who killed Buckman."
"He does?" Sapp said.
"That how he is," Hawk said.
Bernard came from the counter with his own plate of pancakes and sat down. He tucked his napkin into his collar, and picked up his knife and fork.
"Why's he care who killed Buckman?" Bernard said.
"Hawk's right," Chollo said. "I worked with him before, what was the name of that place where we found the broad?"
"Proctor," I said.
"Yeah, Proctor," Chollo said. "Up outside Boston. When I was up there with him, he worried about things that the rest of us don't worry so much about."
Chollo looked at Sapp.
"'Cept maybe him," he said.
"That's a mean thing to say to me," Sapp said.
"Today's Wednesday," I said. "The Preacher and his associates come in to town on Thursday and collect money from the town."
"You going to brace them then?" Sapp said.
"He won't do nothing that simple," Vinnie said.
"We're going to watch them," I said. "See who they collect from, and when. Then we look around town and figure out, knowing the collection pattern, we see if we can develop a game plan, which does not involve shooting a bunch of civilians while we're bracing them."
"See?" Vinnie said.
Bobby Horse had said nothing, eating six pancakes in the process. Now he looked up.
"Good plan," he said.
"Might make sense," Hawk said. "We go in today, look around."
I had just poured a second cup of coffee. I added milk and a lot of sugar and stirred it carefully.
"It would," I said. "But not as a group. Just drift in individually, maybe couple guys together."
"I'll go in with Tedy," Bernard said.
"I'd be honored," Sapp said.
"What you going to do?" Hawk said.
"How do you know he's not going to go in with us?" Bernard said.
Hawk smiled and didn't answer.
"I'm going to go and talk with Mary Lou."
" 'Bout time," Hawk said.
"It is," I said.
Chapter 46
THE RATTLESNAKE CAFE was long and narrow with an open kitchen to the right and high-back wooden booths along the left wall. The ceiling was tin. The booths were painted with desert scenes. The tabletops were Mexican tile. Mary Lou Buckman and I sat in the first booth, and I, mindful of Wild Bill Hickok, sat facing the door. We were reading the menus. Among the choices were a chicken breast sandwich on sourdough bread with sprouts; blackened salmon; a Desert Burger with green chili relish; and
a Cactus Club Sandwich.
Bernard J. Fortunato's apricot pancakes were sticking grimly to my ribs, and, an oddity for me, I wasn't very hungry. Mary Lou decided on the Desert Burger. I ordered the Cactus Club, to be sociable. We both had iced tea.
"What is the occasion for this lunch?" Mary Lou said. "Not, of course, that I'm not thrilled to see you."
She was wearing a white baseball cap, the kind where you can adjust the size by moving a plastic strap in the back. Her blond hair was spooled through the adjustment opening and hung in a long braid to her shoulders. Her dark blue tank top revealed a little self-effacing cleavage, and I had noticed when she walked in that her white shorts were well fitted.
"That would be one reason," I said. "The other is that I'm your employee. It seems appropriate for me to report to you now and then."
She had applied her makeup so adroitly that she looked as if she wore none, except her eyes were bigger and her lashes were thicker than God had intended. She still smelled of good soap, and her tan was still even. Except for the plain gold wedding ring on her left hand, she wore no jewelry.
In memoriam.
The food arrived. The Cactus Club contained chicken, tomato, bacon, and lettuce, but no cactus.
"Very well," she said, and smiled a little, "report."
"I've been to L.A.," I said.
She had a bite of Desert Burger in her mouth. She raised her eyebrows and said nothing.
"There are several people there who allege that both you and your husband fooled around."
She blushed. It had been so long since I had seen someone blush that it took me a moment to be sure what she was doing. She swallowed, and took her napkin from her lap, and patted her mouth with it, and put the napkin back in her lap.
"Steve and I had an open marriage," she said.
"People allege that a couple of the people you fooled around with are Mark Ratliff and Dean Walker."
She stared at me without speaking for a time. I waited.
Finally she said, "Why do you feel the need to investigate my private life?"
"It's what I do," I said. "I investigate stuff."
"It is not what you were hired to do."
"While I was in L.A. a big old ugly hoodlum warned me to stay away from you or he'd kill me."
"My God."
"He also told me to stay away from the Dell."
Mary Lou seemed to have forgotten her Desert Burger.
"What does this all mean?" she said.
"It means that a guy who pretty much runs the rackets east of L.A. is interested in you and the Dell. It means that two men, at least, who knew you, ah, intimately, appear to have followed you out here."
"They didn't follow me."
I nodded.
"I never had anything to do with either one of them."
"Guy who warned me off is named Morris Tannenbaum," I said.
"I never heard of him," she said. "I don't know what all this is about."
"I'm just reporting," I said. "And this is what I've got to report."
"Well it doesn't feel that way," she said. "It feels like you are accusing me."
"Of what?"
"I don't know of what. Do you think I killed my husband?"
"It would have been sensible, when you hired me to look into his death, if you'd told me a little more about your past and its connection to your present," I said.
"I don't even know what that means," she said.
She seemed like she might cry soon.
"I'm alone here. A gang of thugs killed my husband. I turned to you for help. I had nowhere else to turn."
"What do you suppose is out here that would interest Morris Tannenbaum?" I said.
"The racketeer," I said. "Remember?"
"Oh. Yes."
"What would be his interest?"
"I can't imagine."
"You worked once for the DWP in L.A.," I said.
She stared silently ahead, not making eye contact. Then she began to moan softly.
"I wanted you to help me," she said between moans. "Why won't you help me?"
"You had a job in water resource," I said.
"I can't do this," she said. "I can't."
She stood up and walked out.
Chapter 47
IT WAS COOLER once the sun went down. Hawk and I sat on the front porch of The Jack Rabbit Inn drinking Coors beer from long-neck bottles, and looking at the darkening street. "So Mary Lou told you shit," Hawk said.
"She told me I was the only one who could help her," I said.
"Probably the first guy she ever said that to."
Hawk was wearing faded blue jeans and a copper-colored silk tweed jacket over a white shirt. His mahogany-colored cowboy boots gleamed with polish. Everything fit him flawlessly. I knew that he was wearing his gun at the small of his back so as not to break the drape.
"I'm very special to her," I said.
"Un-huh. She say anything about Walker and Ratliff?"
"She said they weren't intimate."
"We believe her, don't we?" Hawk said.
"There's a lot she isn't saying," I said.
"We knew that 'fore you talked with her," Hawk said.
"Well, we know it again," I said.
"Skilled interrogation be the keystone of detective work," Hawk said.
"Yes it be," I said.
"Snooping around town work pretty well, too."
"The Dell came in for collections," I said.
"Un-huh. Two Jeep loads. Actually one a Jeep, the other one an old Scout, don't even make anymore."
"I've seen it," I said. "What time?"
"10:20 in the morning," Hawk said.
"Not early birds," I said.
"Still got themselves a worm though."
"Preacher come with them?"
"Casper the ghost," Hawk said. "Skinny? No hair?"
"That's him."
"He done the collecting," Hawk said. "Started down there, head of the street, at the Western Wear Store, and worked right down Main Street."
"How much backup?"
"Seven, besides him. Four in each vehicle. When he went in the stores, a big fat guy went with him. Carried the black bag."
"Pony," I said.
"Pony?"
"That's his name."
"Guy's big enough to haul a beer wagon."
"Maybe they're being ironic," I said.
"Tha's probably it," Hawk said. "I bet there's a tot of irony out there in the old Dell."
"What'd the other guys do while The Preacher was collecting?"
"Moved along down the street with him," Hawk said. "Stayed in the vehicles while Preacher and Pony went in."
"Weapons?"
"Handguns probably. I didn't see anything bigger."
When Hawk was engaged by something, he occasionally forgot his mocking black accent. It was how you could tell he was engaged.
"This is beginning to sound easy," I said.
"It'll be easy," Hawk said.
"They know we're here," I said.
"Probably. But The Preacher's been the stud horse around here a long time. He's so used to not having trouble that he forgot there is any. My guess, he don't care if we're here."
"You working on a plan?" I said.
Hawk nodded toward the head of the street
"We park Sapp in one car up there," he said. "And we put Bobby Horse in the other car, at the bottom of the street. Chollo in the alley there."
Hawk pointed with his chin at a point midway along Main Street.
"The little Vegas guy…"
"Bernard," I said. "Bernard J. Fortunato:"
"Him," Hawk said. "Across and down a little, between the bakery and the drug store. And Vinnie in the hotel window, top floor."
"Why Vinnie?" I said.
"Best shooter," Hawk said.
"I'm not sure he's better than Chollo," I said.
"He ain't worse," Hawk said.
"No. You're right. Vinnie's in the window. Which leaves you and me to
brace Pony and The Preacher."
"Best for last," Hawk said and took a pull at his beer.
"Okay," I said. "That'll work."
"'Course it'll work," Hawk said. "You just jealous you didn't think it up."
"How hard was it to think up?" I said.
"Tha's not the point," Hawk said.
"Of course it isn't," I said. "Next week we'll implement your plan."
"Hot diggity," Hawk said.
Chapter 48
J GEORGE TAYLOR asked me to come talk with him. Except for J. George, the office was empty when I got there. "Mary Lou says you've been questioning her," he said after I was seated in his client chair.
"She does?" I said,
"She feels you were somewhat accusative."
"And she complained to you?"
"We're friends. Since her husband's death, I have been looking out for her, sort of like a father."
"Sort of," I said.
"And I really think she needs a gentle touch. For God's sake, her husband was murdered."
"By the Dell." I said.
"Of course, by the Dell."
"You know this."
"Everyone knew that he was standing up to the Dell. Everyone knew they had threatened him."
"Who did the actual threatening?"
"The Dell."
"Which one?"
"The Preacher."
"You heard him?"
"No. It was his, ah, brute-Pony."
"You heard Pony threaten Steve?"
"Of course. Half the town heard him."
"Who besides you, specifically?"
"Oh, for God's sake," J. George said. "The mayor heard him. Luther Barnes. Mark Ratliff. Henry Brown. About two dozen other people in the bar."
"Which bar?"
"The bar at The Jack Rabbit."
"Tell me about it."
"Nothing to tell," J. George said. "Steve was at the bar, having a beer. Pony walked in and went right up to him and threatened him."
"With death?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"Pony? I don't remember exactly. They had an argument and Steve was shouting, and Pony tapped him on the chest with his forefinger and said to him, `You're a dead man.' "
"How did Steve react?"
"He just stared at Pony. He wouldn't admit it later, but I think he was scared. Pony is… my God, Pony is terrifying."
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