“You’re here since last fall,” Honey said, “but wait till you smell like rotten meat before stopping by?”
“Was October I got my release and come here to do business with Walter. Up till yesterday I’m busier’n that one-legged man y’all of heard about. I’m comin’ down from Flint in the refrigerator van, two calves aboard startin’ to stink to high heaven and my generator cut out on me. I hooked on the back of a semi with a chain the guy had and he towed me to a gas station. We stood around talkin’ about the calves and meat rationin’ till I went across the street to get somethin’ to eat at a hamburger joint. I’m done, I start out the door, they’s state police over there looking at my van. Here I am, I don’t know are they checkin’ on ownership or the smell comin’ off the calves.”
Jurgen said, “Didn’t you buy the truck at auction?”
“Actually I swiped it off a lot in Toledo, down there with a buddy of mine. I told Walter I paid eighteen hunnert for it used and got him to go halves with me, so I’m not out nothin’.”
Honey said, “Why’d the calves smell so bad?”
“They was already dead when I picked ’em up. They’s layin’ in a pasture and this farmer said take ’em if I could hoist ’em in the van. So they didn’t cost me nothin’ either. I thought I’d take the calves to Walter and have him look ’em over in case they had a disease. If Walter told me to get rid of ’em I would. But I could see him cuttin’ out the livers and startin’ to slice onions.”
“You had to leave the van,” Honey said.
“I had to get outta there. I hitched a ride back to Flint and took a bus and another one out to Walter’s and he tells me he’s done with the meat business. He’s goin’ down to Georgia to assassinate the president. I said, ‘Where’s that leave me? I been workin’ my ass for you.’ Walter says, ‘Do what you want.’ I started to yell at him but thought, What’s the use? You can’t tell a Kraut’s already made up his mind nothin’.”
Honey said, “He told you he’s gonna assassinate the president?”
“In Georgia. The president don’t live in Georgia.”
“You tell him that?”
“Hell no, let him find out hisself.”
“Poor Walter,” Honey said, “nobody believes him.”
Jurgen said, “Has he ever done anything?”
“Nothing I know of,” Honey said, and looked at her brother. “This was yesterday and you still smell?”
“It’ll wear off afterwhile.”
“If you’re through rustling cattle you can take off your spurs.” She watched Darcy grin at her and Honey said, “You have something else on the fire, don’t you? Another way to break the law?”
“It’s what outlaws do, Sunshine, how they make their livin’. I’m done workin’ beef. I’m lookin’ at an item now hardly weighs anything a-tall, nylon stockings. I could sell all I get my hands on, twenty bucks a pair. Twenty-five even.”
“I could too,” Honey said, “if we had any.”
“You gonna tell me you don’t have nylon stockings put away for your best customers, the ones use that Hudson’s credit coin?”
“We haven’t had nylons in two years. Du Pont’s still making parachutes. I doubt we’ll have any till Japan surrenders,” Honey said. “Why don’t you join the navy, see if you can shorten the war.”
Darcy said, “All right, but if you did have these stockings put away, where would you hide ’em?”
Honey rolled her eyes at Jurgen. Jurgen said to her, “You swear you don’t have nylons?”
“Cross my heart.”
Jurgen turned to Darcy. “You were telling us you became too busy with meat to call on your sister. You said you were busier than that one-legged man we know about. Tell me, what busy one-legged man did you mean?”
“The one in the ass-kickin’ contest,” Darcy said. “You heard me mention that coin you use at Hudson’s to buy on credit? What if you got some brass and stamped out your own coins, as many as you want, with names on ’em you make up?”
“Now he’s a counterfeiter,” Honey said.
“You dress up in a suit and tie, use one of the coins to charge big-ticket items, a fur coat for the wife-”
“Muriel would drop dead,” Honey said.
“I don’t give it to her. I return it and get cash.”
“If you charged it, they take it off your bill.”
She watched Darcy standing in her living room thinking, looking for loopholes. She watched him step toward her club chair done in a beige cotton tapestry she’d bought at Sears, Roebuck for $49.95, her favorite for reading. Honey told her brother if he sat down in it she’d kill him. “I hate to say it, Darcy, but you don’t go with my decor. You’re more the outdoorsy type, good at rustlin’ cattle. Why don’t you go out West and be a cowboy?”
“They’s no money in cowboyin’,” Darcy said. “Don’t worry your head, I’ll get into somethin’ makes money. This mornin’ I made a deal with that swishy boy, Bo?”
Darcy grinned.
“One time I’m deliverin’ meat, the door opens, the back one, here’s Bo wearin’ a black shiny dress. He says, ‘May I help you?’ like we never met before. He has perfume on, earrings, rouge, lipstick. You had to keep from kissin’ him. But that wasn’t this mornin’. This mornin’ he had on men’s clothes, pants and a coat.”
“How does he get in touch with you?”
“Leaves a message with Walter’s Aunt Madi. I called him this morning, he said come on over, he needed me to get hold of something for him.”
“A standing rib?” Honey said.
“You get three guesses.”
“A car,” Honey said.
“I sold him mine on the spot. A Model A, looks like everybody else’s.”
“Cops are watching the house,” Honey said. “If you parked in front they’ll run the license number and find out you stole the car.”
“You are my Sunshine,” Darcy said, “my only only. No, I parked over by the cathedral, like I’m makin’ a visit.”
“What’d you get for it?”
“I’ll show you,” Darcy said. “I got it in the car.”
“The same car?”
“A different one, but they’re both Model A’s. And Jurgen’s cowboy hat’s in the car. You should’ve told me when I buzzed he was here, save me a trip.”
Darcy left.
“No one changes,” Honey said. “He used to blame me all the time when he did dumb things.”
They were in the kitchen now, Jurgen sitting at the table in Honey’s kimono sipping his coffee. He said, “I can’t believe he’s your brother.”
“The outlaw,” Honey said. “I could see growing up he’d never be smart. But I love to listen to him. He tells good stories, semi-true ones.” She said, “I bet the cowboy hat’s way too small for you.”
The phone rang, sitting by itself on the counter. It rang three times before Honey picked it up and turned away from Jurgen at the table.
Carl’s voice said, “You’re home.”
“I’ve been home, ducking Walter. He’s upset ’cause he can’t find Aubrey and has to get to Georgia.”
“Aubrey’s dead,” Carl said. “Get hold of today’s Detroit News. The front page, ‘Prominent Doctor in Murder-Suicide.’”
“Dr. Taylor?”
“It looks like his wife popped him and then shot herself. Somebody else was shot in the bathroom but isn’t there now.”
“You think it’s Aubrey?”
“Kevin says he’s the only one missing. If the doctor’s wife shot him he’d still be there. So Homicide thinks somebody else did all three. You know Vera’s gang,” Carl said, “who do you see as the shooter?”
She almost said, “Bo,” seeing him in the sweater and skirt, but without a good reason for naming him said, “I don’t know.”
“Who were you gonna say?”
“Couldn’t it be somebody who broke in?”
“It could, but who were you thinking of?”
“Bohdan.
”
Carl said, “We all like Bo.”
“You have a reason?”
“He was in a death camp,” Carl said, “and got away with killing three of the guards. Cut their throat while they’re asleep. I mentioned the Bureau has a file on him? It goes back to Odessa.”
There was a silence on the line.
Honey said, “Carl?”
He said, “How do you know how to cut a man’s throat?”
He was quiet again before saying, “Listen, I’m at the scene with Kevin. I’ll call you later. I want to hear about last night.”
She hesitated. “I may not be here.”
“You don’t want to help me out?”
“All right, I’ll be here,” Honey said and hung up the phone.
She turned to Jurgen saying to her, “That was Carl?”
“He’s at Dr. Taylor’s,” Honey said and told Jurgen about the murder scene and what Carl had to say.
“If it must be someone from Vera’s group,” Jurgen said, “I would say Bo. He eliminates the spy ring and there’s no one left to point a finger at Vera.”
“She calls him her guardian angel,” Honey said.
“They’re lovers,” Jurgen said. “They’ve lived with death so close to them, they have intense sex together because they’re still alive.”
Honey said, “But he’s a homosexual.”
“Or plays the part or does it both ways. I was beginning to like Bohdan, the restrained transvestite in soft cashmere.”
“But he does flaunt it, if you can believe Darcy.”
“I suppose, but last night everyone at Vera’s thought Bo looked quite nice.”
“He did,” Honey said. “I have a skirt and sweater set like that only it’s black, and isn’t cashmere.”
“You wear black, of course,” Jurgen said, “you don’t need color, it’s in your eyes, your lips . . . ” He said, “Why didn’t you tell Carl I was here? You’re having second thoughts? You’re not sure he’ll simply come to visit?”
“I think about it now,” Honey said, “I’m not at all sure what he’ll do. I’m holding off, if you’re wondering what I’m up to. But I’m in it now. I’ve given comfort to the enemy in a big way, and I may as well tell you, I loved it. I think if you and I had time, or there wasn’t a war . . .”
“We would be keeping company,” Jurgen said.
“I should tell you though,” Honey said, “I’m older than you are. You might think I don’t look it, but I’m twenty-eight.”
“I wouldn’t care if you were thirty-one,” Jurgen said. “You know I’m madly in love with you.”
She did, she knew it, but said, “Really?”
He was coming at her in his quiet way, not as quiet as Carl’s, but coming with love now and the next thing on the program they’d be back in bed. She did love making love to this boy who blew up British tanks and was tender and knew how to hold her. Still, she’d need time to quit thinking about Carl.
She touched Jurgen’s face looking up at her.
“I love you in my kimono, but you’d better get dressed.” She kissed him, nibbling his mouth and Jurgen gave signs of wanting a lot more.
“Darcy’s coming back,” Honey said.
“Don’t let him in.”
The boy full of love.
“Let’s save it for later,” Honey said and got him to go get dressed. She poured herself a rye, just a nip to settle her down.
If Carl wasn’t in the picture she could speed it up with Jurgen. She was already calling him Hun, Jurgen hearing it as hon. Hun and Honey. What a cute couple.
Carl. Not available but interested. Told her he did not want to fool around, have fun with a girl if she wasn’t his wife. If he could help it. He did say that. But was he leaving it open or being funny? She had to believe that once he saw her bare breasts he’d be getting pictures of them flashing in his mind and he’d be thinking about her, trying not to become involved but keeping a foot in the door. The poor guy. She should quit tempting him. Jurgen was younger, better-looking. She loved his tan lines, midthigh and around his hips. Jurgen was thoughtful and had tender feelings for her. Carl, he could be tender, he was patient. Jurgen was ready for sex at a moment’s notice. Carl, he had to be at least horny. She could walk off into the sunset with Jurgen. Except if he got caught and she was with him, she could be charged with treason. Carl was married to a marine who had killed two men, shot them on different occasions, once to save Carl’s life.
Was that how you won his heart, shoot somebody?
Darcy came in holding a light beige western hat in both hands and presented it to Jurgen, still in the kimono, saying, “I got this Stetson specially for my pard.”
Honey watched Jurgen take the hat into the hall by the bedroom and try it on in front of the mirror. She was surprised the hat was new. He put it on to rest straight on his head, then pulled it down a little more in front and stared at himself in the mirror.
“It’s the businessman’s range hat,” Darcy said, “the choice of Dallas executives. You understand I’m startin’ you out in less hat. You become a cowboy you can get one with a big scoop brim. You don’t, you got a hat you can wear anywheres and get nods of approval.”
“It fits him,” Honey said. “How did you know his size?”
“I told the colored guy at Henry-the-Hatter’s, ‘This boy is tough, has a mop of hair and he’s smart. I know he’s got a bigger brain’n me.’ I put this’n on, it come down to my eyes and I said, ‘Wrap her up.’”
But it wasn’t wrapped or in a bag or a hatbox.
“I like it very much,” Jurgen said, “thank you, amigo.”
“You could pass for American,” Darcy said. “She loosens up on you, stuff some toilet paper in there behind the sweatband.”
Honey was dying to ask Darcy how he’d swiped the hat, but was more interested in what Bo had paid him for the stolen car. “You said you’d show us what Bo gave you?”
“For my car,” Darcy said. “I got another just like it over at the Sears, Roebuck parkin’ lot.”
Honey said, “You already told us you have another car.”
Darcy said, “Here,” zipped open his jacket and brought a pistol out of the waist of his pants and held it up, “a German Luger, what officers have in the war.”
“They used to,” Jurgen said. “Now it’s the Walther, but you see Lugers. I had one since 1939 until the MPs took it from me.”
Darcy said, “You shoot anybody with it?”
“Not with a pistol, no.”
“This baby’s ready to fire,” Darcy said. “I told Bo to load her up and gimme a box of nines.” He said to Jurgen, “What would you say she’s worth?”
“I have no idea. There must be hundreds of thousands of them. They go back to 1908.”
“Bo says it’s worth five hunnert easy.”
Honey said, “What were you asking for the car?”
“Five hunnert.”
“If you got a dollar, you’d still be ahead.”
“I know I could get a good price for this gun,” Darcy said. “I ain’t about to pack it. My record, I get pulled over for a broke taillight I’m back inside.” He said to Honey, “Sunshine, how about if you hold on to my German Luger for me, till I get situated?”
Twenty-five
Carl came in the afternoon to visit the murder scene, police cars filling the circular drive. Kevin said the Homicide people were calling it a triple now. “I told them the guy they wanted to talk to was Bohdan Kravchenko. He likes jewelry, doesn’t he? There’s a mess of Miz Taylor’s jewelry missing, according to the maid, Nadia-she’s from over in Central Europe someplace. And the doctor’s medicine cabinet’s been cleaned out.” He told Carl in the living room, “Here’s where the doctor was lying on his back, with his wife lying over him facedown, still holding the Walther.”
He told Carl the bodies had been removed to the Wayne County morgue downtown, a few blocks from 1300 Beaubien, Detroit Police headquarters. “They all refer to it as
just Thirteen-hundred. They’re busy down there,” Kevin said, “homicide, major crimes, bomb disposal, firearms examiners.” Kevin grinned. “You ever hear of the Big Four? Four good-size guys, detectives, in a Buick sedan, two in front, two in back. They prowl the streets looking for trouble.”
Carl said if there was time he wouldn’t mind meeting these boys. “Sounds like they get right to the point with offenders.”
He phoned Honey while he had the chance and told her about the murder scene, they talked and he said he’d call her later. She said, “I may not be here.” Serious, not sounding like Honey the fun-lover or Honey on the make. He almost said, “Are you working for me or not?” But couldn’t tell what was wrong from her tone. Why get tough? He said, “You don’t want to help me out?” It moved her enough to say she’d be there.
He could go see her right now, ten minutes away. Seven Mile down to a block this side of McNichols, that everyone called Six Mile. Or cut through Palmer Park. He hung around the scene thinking about her, and his mind would wander to street names in Detroit; they had some good ones like Beaubien and St. Antoine, Chene, an old French town now full of war plants. Finally he told himself to quit fuckin’ the dog. Go on. Show you can be alone with the girl in her apartment and not tear her clothes off. It wouldn’t happen anyway, she’d have ’em off already. He thought, What if you went to bed with her . . . No, really, what if you went to bed and made love, but it was only to find out something or prove a point of some kind . . . Or, he thought, what if you just fucked her socks off and got it over with?
He followed Wellesley to Lowell to Balmoral in the Pontiac, winding through Palmer Woods with the big English-style homes and polite maids who told the homicide dicks going door-to-door, “No, sir, Missus says we never heard nothin’ last night.”
Carl came to Seven Mile and stopped. He could turn left to Woodward, take it south to Honey’s, or turn right and take Pontchartrain through the park. A car was in his rearview mirror. Stopped, the first car he’d seen in Palmer Woods, parked or moving, outside of cop cars today. Like it was waiting for him to make up his mind, a ’41 Model A Ford.
Up in Honey's Room cw-2 Page 19
