by Dorien Grey
He still hasn’t started to calm down?
Yeah, he starts, then something comes along to stir him all up again.
What this time?
You can’t guess? I’d imagine Steve’s suggesting the possibility Ricky might have been involved really got him going. Lots of Ricky impressions and images, though I did manage to get “Phelps Chrysler” out of it, for whatever that’s worth.
Thanks! That was probably where Ricky was working when he lost his job. If they’re out of business I don’t know how I can verify he worked there, but it’s a start. Still…well, Bruno did say he first met Ricky at the Lucky Horseshoe, and hustlers aren’t unheard-of there. Damn, I hate being cynical!
There’s a pretty thin line between a cynic and a realist at times.
Thanks. That helps. Not a lot, but it helps.
*
Steve’s alarm did not go off in the morning, and he had to scramble to get ready for work and leave on time. Elliott didn’t have a chance to tell him of his conversation with John.
But something John had said kept niggling at him all morning—Phelps Chrysler. He knew the name, and remembered its being on Western, but something wasn’t right. And then he remembered—Phelps Chrysler had gone out of business two years before. Which meant that if that’s where Ricky told Bruno he had worked until just before they met, he’d lied. And if there was one lie…
He made up his mind to have a talk with Ricky then pushed everything aside to concentrate on work.
He’d told Steve he’d be going directly home Thursday. It was much too easy to wait around until Steve got home then spend the night with him, and he wanted to resist the temptation to move too quickly toward what he accepted was their inevitable moving-in together. But he called as soon as he knew Steve was home to tell him about Phelps Chrysler and his intention to talk to Ricky.
“Well, it’s possible Ricky really did work for Phelps,” Steve said.
“Yeah, but nearly two years before he met Bruno? What was he doing in the meantime?”
“Good question. Maybe he couldn’t find a job and was hustling. I don’t know. And if he had worked for Phelps, then it wasn’t totally a lie.”
“So, it’s possible Bruno might not have met Ricky quite as casually as he first told me. Maybe that’s why John says Bruno went off into another one of his cyclones when you suggested Ricky might be involved.”
“Possible. Has John ever told you how he—how Bruno—manages to know what he knows about what’s going on with everybody and everything?”
“No, and I probably wouldn’t be able to understand it if he did. But with John, at least, it seems to be pretty selective. If he wants to know what’s going on, he just knows.”
“Then why doesn’t Bruno know who killed him?”
“Good question. Obviously, there are limitations to what even a spirit can do.”
He waited until after dinner to call Ricky, and Jesse answered the phone. They talked a few minutes, catching up on what had been happening in their respective lives, and Jesse announced he and Adam were leaving for Europe on Saturday morning.
“A long-overdue vacation,” he explained. “Sort of a spur-of-the-moment thing. We’d been putting it off until we knew just how we’d stand after the house remodeling, but decided we could manage it.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Only ten days—that’s all the time Adam can spare from work. Ricky will look after everything while we’re away. And as soon as we get back, we’ll have to have you and Steve over for dinner.”
“We’d like that. Have a great time and take lots of pictures. And give Adam my best.”
“Will do. And if you’ll hold, I’ll go get Ricky for you.”
After a minute’s wait, Ricky picked up the phone. “Hi, Elliott, how have you been? How’s Steve?”
“We’re both fine, thanks. Look, Ricky, there are some things I’d like to talk to you about, and was wondering if we could get together.”
“Sure. Any time.”
“How about this weekend? Maybe Saturday afternoon?”
“Sure. You want to come over here and see where I live? I don’t think you’ve seen the house at all since Jesse and Adam moved in. I know they wouldn’t mind.”
“Fine. How about two thirty?”
“That’ll be great. I mow the lawn every Saturday afternoon, but as you know it isn’t a very big yard, and I’ll be sure to be through by then.”
*
Friday night was, by mutual agreement, a movie/dinner/bar night, ending at Elliott’s condo. They talked over dinner of Elliott’s pending visit with Ricky, and what might be gained from it. They also talked of the nearing-completion gallery space, though neither of them speculated on when the gallery might actually open.
Elliott was mildly relieved when Steve said, “While you’re over with Ricky, I think I’ll spend some time online checking out what’s available in movable wall panels. There’s plenty of time, but it’s good to plan ahead.” He really wanted to talk to Ricky one-on-one without making him feel he was being ganged up on, but didn’t want Steve to feel he was being left out. He suspected Steve realized it and wanted to let him know he didn’t expect to be invited to go along.
“Good idea. And maybe you can take a look at commercial flooring, too. We’ll need to order it as early as next week. I’ve got a couple of catalogs around here somewhere—I’ll be glad to have the office done so I’ll have somewhere to put all this stuff—but see if you can find something you like to give us an idea.”
*
Declining Elliott’s offer to drive him home Saturday after breakfast—“The el’s a straight shot, no problem”—Steve suggested they get together for brunch Sunday.
“I’ve really been neglecting my painting, and I’d like to spend as much of today as I can catching up. But I’ll be ready for a break tomorrow.”
“We can skip brunch if you want. I feel guilty for taking up so much of your time.”
“Hey, you’re not taking anything I’m not willing to give. So, twelve thirty tomorrow?”
Chapter 9
He’d only driven past Jesse and Adam’s place since he’d finished the renovation, but seeing it again, from a more objective perspective, Elliott was impressed. It really stood out from its neighbors, and they’d done a great job landscaping the small front yard. The tiny square of grass had just been mowed, and remembering there was a slightly larger back yard he was curious to see what they’d done with it.
His knock at the front door was answered almost immediately by Ricky, who welcomed him in.
“I told Jesse and Adam you were coming by,” he said, “and they said to be sure to show you around.”
“They got off all right this morning?”
“Their plane left at noon, but Adam insisted they get to the airport by ten, so they left at eight thirty. Come on, let me give you the tour.”
He remembered the layout of the rooms and the changes he and his crew had made, but it was the finishing touches Jesse and Adam had added that had turned it into a real home. Ricky’s room was in what was originally the attic, a large, comfortable space with its own bathroom.
He couldn’t help but notice a framed photo of Ricky and Bruno on the dresser, next to a champagne bottle with a half-burnt drip candle. There was nothing else he recognized as having come from Bruno’s condo.
Returning to the living room, Ricky gestured him to a seat.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thanks, I’m fine.”
Taking a seat himself, Ricky said, “So, what did you want to talk to me about? I did talk to the police about the certificate, by the way. They suggested I get a safe deposit box for it, and I told them I would. I haven’t had a chance yet, though.”
Elliott didn’t ask where it was at the moment but hoped Ricky would take the detectives’ advice.
“I was curious about a couple of things you might be able to help me with.”
“
Sure, if I can.”
“Bruno told me you met at the Lucky Horseshoe.”
Ricky’s quickly suppressed look of embarrassment didn’t escape Elliott’s notice.
“Yes.”
“And he said you’d just lost your job at Phelps Chrysler.”
“I worked there for two years.”
“But they closed at least two years before you met Bruno.”
Ricky stared at the floor, and he nodded.
“I lied. I didn’t want to let him know I’d been out of a job as long as I had. I really tried to find work, but…”
“Were you hustling?”
He nodded slowly. “But I didn’t hustle Bruno. Honest. After we got to talking, and he was so really nice to me, I couldn’t tell him I was hustling. The only reason I ever hustled was to make money. I never told my folks I’d lost my job, and I’d always sent money home to them, and when I lost my job and my unemployment was running out, one of the guys I worked with suggested I hustle, which is what he was doing. So, I did. And then, when I met Bruno, I was so afraid he’d find out.”
Elliott detected a hint of Old Spice in the air.
He was tempted to ask Ricky why he hadn’t looked for a job after he got together with Bruno but was fairly sure, knowing Bruno, that he wouldn’t have wanted him to.
“I wasn’t being critical, Ricky, but I was curious. I appreciate your being honest with me.”
“So, did they find out who took the stamps? I still say it had to have been Cage.”
“Not that I know of. But I’m sure they’re working on it.”
It suddenly occurred to Elliott the police might never have told Ricky Bruno’s death hadn’t been an accident, that he had been murdered. He had no intention of asking.
He did have one question that rose to the surface of his mind from something John had said about Bruno having looked up as he was falling and seen someone wearing a pair of pants.
“This is an odd question, but when the police arrived and woke everybody up after Bruno fell, was everybody fully dressed?”
Ricky’s puzzlement showed clearly on his face. “Yeah. Why?”
“So, everybody was wearing pants?”
The puzzlement deepened. “Yeah. Well, Chaz had spilled a drink all over his and had put on a pair of Cage’s cut-offs, but yeah.”
“When was this?”
“About an hour before everybody went home. What do pants have to do with anything?”
Elliott shrugged. “They don’t, really. I was just curious.”
Though Ricky said nothing, it was clear he thought that was a pretty weird thing to be curious about.
Changing the subject, they talked for another half-hour or so, but other than learning Chaz wasn’t wearing pants and therefore wasn’t the person in Bruno’s flashback of going over the balcony, Elliott didn’t find out anything he didn’t already know. He did come away with the impression Ricky had told him the truth as he knew it. That he didn’t know more about how Bruno was dealing with his other problems could be chalked up to Bruno’s trying to shield Ricky from them.
Driving home, the small swirling cloud of frustration of which he’d been aware ever since Bruno’s death grew noticeably. Though it was in his own mind, it was probably, he thought, not unlike John’s description of the cyclones surrounding Bruno’s present state. So much he did not know, and without access to knowledge of what the police were doing, and with no real authority to do anything on his own, he felt basically powerless.
For him to call Cabrera or Guerdon would undoubtedly be considered unwelcome meddling or interfering with police business, and might cast a bad light on Brad for having a nosy brother-in-law. But, he thought, he could call Brad to see if he knew anything at all, or could find out without stirring up suspicion.
But that had its own, closer-to-home dangers. Brad was already more than a little suspicious of how Elliott had come by the details that had helped catch two killers in the past. For it to happen again was risky, at best. Still, he felt he had little real choice.
He had just parked in the garage and was walking toward the elevators when his cell phone rang.
“Elliott, it’s Cessy.”
“I thought I recognized the voice from somewhere.”
“I’ve left a couple messages on your machine. I didn’t want to bother you if you and Steve were busy. Is he with you now?”
“No, I’m just getting home. What’s up?”
“Well, Brad got the urge for chili, and we made a huge pot, and we haven’t had you over for dinner in such a long while, we thought maybe you and Steve might like to come by, if it’s not too short notice.”
“Steve’s spending the weekend working on his painting, but I’m game, if I can come without him.”
“Well, of course, you can. Five thirty? That way you and Brad can have time for your beer before we eat.”
“Anything I can bring?”
“Just yourself.”
“Five thirty, then.”
Giving a silent thank-you to the gods of serendipity, Elliott picked up his mail and went upstairs. He thought of calling Steve but decided not to interrupt him and to wait until they got together to fill him in.
*
“So, how’s the building coming?” Brad asked as they went into the living room with their beer.
“Really well. Cessy probably told you the top-floor apartment’s been rented, and we’re pretty well along in finishing the ground floor. It’ll be nice to have a real office for the business, and there’ll be plenty of room in the basement for storage. We’ve always had to rent storage space before if we didn’t have room to put things at the worksite.”
Brad had a ball game on the TV, but knowing Elliott had little interest in it, he kept the sound turned low. They drank their beer in silence for a while until Elliott decided to take the plunge.
“I’ve got a favor to ask.”
Brad, eyes on the TV, grinned. “Let me guess—Bruno Caesar.”
“Well, yeah. It’s not that I don’t think Cabrera and Guerdon are doing everything they can, but since they didn’t know Bruno personally, there’s no way they could be as aware of everything that was going on in his life as someone who knew him.”
“Like you.”
“I didn’t know him as well as some of the other people around him, of course, but I do think I had a better general overview than most. Those closest to him may have been too close. I was maybe at just the right distance.”
“So, what do you want me to do?”
Taking a swig of his beer before replying, Elliott said, “I really don’t know. I thought maybe we could kick it around and come up with something. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—I am not a cop, and I have no interest in being one. I don’t want to step on any toes in the department, and the last thing in the world I want is to get you in any kind of trouble. But on the positive side, I’ve had something to do with a couple of murderers ending up behind bars who might otherwise not be there.”
“I remember. Your hunches. What hunches do you have on Caesar?”
“Very few, at the moment. But I have been checking a bunch of things out and getting some insights Cabrera and Guerdon might not have gotten simply because they’re the police and I’m not. I can ask questions without spooking people the way a cop asking the same questions might. I’m not a threat.”
“Unless you ask the wrong questions of the wrong people, and then you could be dead.”
Brad was right, and Elliott knew it.
“Tell you what I’ll do. George and Frank switched shifts from eleven-to-seven to seven-to-three. I’ll see if I can talk to them individually, and I’ll tell them about the help you gave us on the John Doe and Stiles cases, and ask them if you and they can pool some information. I can’t promise anything, and even if they’re willing, you know there are some things they won’t be able to tell you. But having the three of you on the same page, even if some of the pages have marked-out passages, can’t hu
rt in finding out who killed Caesar.”
“That’d be great, Brad, thanks. I really appreciate it.”
They’d just finished their beers and were watching the game when Cessy came in to call Jennie and BJ downstairs for dinner.
*
It ain’t easy being dead.
Let me wake up and get a pencil for that one. It ain’t easy being alive, either, in case you don’t remember. What, specifically, are you talking about?
Ricky’s having been a hustler. That was a shocker to Bruno.
How do you know? Are you actually talking, finally?
No, but it came through as clearly as a lightning bolt. Stilt it was just an initial reaction, and there was no follow-up thunder, so I think that, while he was shocked, it didn’t change the way he feels about Ricky.
Well, that’s good to know.
And he was touched by the fact Ricky has his photo on his dresser. Again, images, not words.
He didn’t know that before?
No. We’re getting into another one of those existential philosophical mumbo-jumbo things I hate because it’s nearly impossible to explain so it makes any sense.
For people like Bruno--and me, and Aaron, if you’ll remember—who don’t just go straight on through the gate, arriving on this side of the fence is like finding yourself in an impenetrable fog. It’s the trauma of the transition, I suppose, and for most of us, the fog dissipates over time. For some it takes longer than others. And if we’re lucky, we can make a connection with someone—like you, for instance—who has the ability to sense us, and who we depend on to help us get the answers we need. But usually we don’t know any more dead than we knew alive. Death doesn’t bestow omniscience; we don’t automatically know anything we didn’t know before. It’s up to people like you to find out for us. Everything you’re learning about Bruno he didn’t know before he died is news to him.
You’re right, it’s nearly impossible to understand.
Yeah, I guess you gotta be here.
I’ll take my time, thanks.
*
When he picked him up for brunch, Steve was carrying a large envelope. “Walls and flooring,” he said, noting Elliott’s attention to the envelope. “I printed up some possibilities in case you want to run any of them by your guys. Oh, and I also looked at some pedestals for holding sculpture. Hey, if I’m gonna dream, I might as well dream big.”
