"Right away—"
"And a vodka," Y grumped. "Straight up. And make it Stoly. None of that bar crap."
She smiled. "Certainly, sir. For you, it's complimentary."
After she left, Y said, "You can't eat in the casinos."
"That's why I asked for it to go."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"What about my job?"
"What job?"
Poe brought his hand to his eye, pressed down on an imaginary shutter button.
"Already done that." Y stopped playing. "Did the pictures help?"
"By the time I came back from the motel, the processing places had closed."
Y placed another quarter in the machine.
Poe said, "You can ask me about it."
Y played with his braid, twisting the end around his pinkie. "Nothing to ask. If you knew something, you'd tell me."
"And if you knew something, you'd tell me."
The old man pushed the draw button. "You think I'm holding back?" Y ended up with a king high.
"Where do you think they might have gone—" Poe covered the machine's quarter slot. "Y, I'm talking to you. Look at me."
"I'm looking. You're ugly."
Poe said, "I think Alison may be trying to imitate her mother."
Y fed the machine.
"You've got to talk about it, Chief." Poe became grave. "Too many people have died. I can't cut you any more slack."
"Can't help you, Rom." He asked for three cards. "I never understood Linda, let alone her daughter."
"Then tell me what you knew about Linda."
"Not here."
"So let's leave."
"What about my sandwich?"
"Fine. We'll wait for the sandwich."
"So I'll play while we wait." He put in a coin and drew up a two-pair hand.
The waitress returned with the to-go sandwich, the vodka, and the brew. Poe sipped suds, watching Y nurse his drink and play out his hands. This time the old guy won twelve dollars.
"You're doing fine," Poe said.
Y polished off his booze, picked up his winnings and the sandwich bag, then got up. Poe took a last guzzle, then put down his beer and followed the old man outdoors. They walked down the Strip, neither speaking. Just two guys enjoying the night. Y took out his sandwich and took a bite. "Myra makes them better."
"I'll tell my boss."
Another bite. Y said, "She should put a poker machine inside the restaurant. Right now all she has is a couple of dinky slots. One-coin odds. Typical tourist shit. You want a bite of my sandwich?"
"No thanks. I'm doing Indian with Rukmani in an hour."
"So late?"
"She's working."
Y finished his food and tossed the bag into a garbage receptacle. He bent down and picked a vibrant red flower from one of the hotel's lavish frontside plantings. He gave it to Poe. "For Rukmani. A true Indian."
Poe smiled, took the bloom. "How gallant. Talk to me about Linda Hennick."
Y slowed his walk. "She wasn't happy in her marriage."
"What in particular?"
Y looked up at the cloud-covered sky.
Poe said, "Gerald didn't do it for her?"
"Gerald's a good man. A good Mormon and a good father."
"But she was looking for someone more interesting."
"She seemed fascinated by Paiutes. Thought we were different."
"Exotic."
"She told me we had bigger penises."
Poe started coughing. Y pounded his back and said, "I didn't debate her impression. But it gave me an idea of what was wrong with Gerald. We didn't last as an item too long. She was beautiful. She moved up quickly."
"Why did she marry Gerald in the first place?"
"Why do you think?"
"She was pregnant?" Poe paused. "So Gerald wasn't such a good Mormon after all."
"Who said it was Gerald's?" Y started walking. "Still, he married her, took in Alison as his own. She might even have been his own. Alison's kid looks just like Gerald."
"Harrison. Yes, he does."
"Linda had it narrowed down between Gerald and two others." Y licked his lips. "But she wasn't no fool. She could handle her men. She came and went as she pleased, no questions asked. She'd still be doing it today if it wasn't for Lewiston."
Poe stuck his hands in his pockets, looking at his feet as he walked. "You've left out Linda's mental illness."
"Her mental problem was Gerald. She didn't like him. He wasn't any fun."
Poe cleared his throat. "Putting it bluntly."
Y shrugged. "To Gerald, it was easier to have a sick wife than a bored wife. So he made up all these stories to explain her nighttime exploits. Told the world she didn't remember…. Well, that could be true. When Linda tripped the light fantastic, she drank herself comatose."
"She was under psychiatric care, Y. You don't become institutionalized for being a party girl."
"You did back when. Housewives were supposed to be meek and mild, not randy women. Gerald checked her in. He thought her problems were in the head. 'Course, the minute she got out, it started all over again."
"So where did Parker Lewiston fit in?"
"Linda was beautiful. He had an eye for beautiful women."
"So they had an affair? How does that add up to Lewiston murdering her?"
"I don't know why he did it. I just know he did it. Like I told you, anyone who knew anything was paid off."
"So why are you against me reopening the case?"
"On what grounds?" Y asked.
"That's my problem. Just give me some names—"
"No." Y picked up his speed. "It's past history."
"Slow down." Poe held his arm. They walked slower. "You know, she left a suicide note."
Y stopped. "That's bullshit."
"No, it's not."
"Then it was planted."
"It was her handwriting."
"Then it was forged!"
"Would you like to know what the note said?"
The old man looked down, didn't speak.
"It said: This is for what I did."
Again, Y became agitated. "That's bullshit, Rom. The note was put there by the cops to take the heat off Lewiston. He paid them to do it!" He started jogging away.
Poe went after him, grabbing his arm, forcing him to stop. "Assuming you're right, how do you know all this?"
Again, Y looked away. "I just know."
"How? Some mystical god came down and whispered the facts in your ear? C'mon. Don't you want to find out what really happened?"
"I know what happened. Lewiston killed her. Now let go of my goddamn arm."
Poe held his hands in the air. "Happy?"
Y hailed a cab. "Where's my fucking camera?"
Poe pulled a disposable out of his pocket. "I'll walk you in—"
"I can do it myself."
Y got in the cab and slammed the door, leaving Poe in limbo, as if stood up for a date. He took out his portable phone and paged Patricia. A minute later, she phoned back. Party noises in the background. She was probably at Barry's eating ziti marinara with Nate.
Poe said, "Have you heard anything concerning Jensen?"
The question brought her down. "No, sir, not a thing."
"No whereabouts on the car?"
"Nothing."
"Gerald Hennick didn't call back, did he?"
"Sir, if he had, I would have told you right away."
Poe let out a sad laugh. "Yes, I'm sure you would have. Take care. If I learn anything I'll let you know."
"Vice versa."
She sounded glad to get off the horn. First, Poe made the obligatory call to Rukmani's house and spoke to Emma's nurse. Mom was sleeping—tired, but otherwise fine. Then Poe phoned Rukmani at the coroner's office. "How close are you to dinnertime?"
"Pick me up in a half hour."
"How about if I come down now and just wait for you?"
A pause. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you sounded lonely
."
"I am lonely. I miss you." A beat. "The only redeeming feature of this otherwise miserable day was being with you."
Another pause. "You're waxing sentimental. I like it." A laugh. "I really do."
"I'll be there in ten minutes."
"I'll be waiting."
Poe paused, then he cut the line. He had almost said it. Had come this close to uttering those three words. So close. He was very proud of himself.
And, at least this time, he had thought it.
The phone rang, waking him out of that groggy state of almost sleep. He reached for his cellular, then realized it was Rukmani's line that was ringing. She answered, her voice heavy with slumber. Eyes half closed, she stretched out her arm, hand clutched around the receiver. "For you."
He took the phone. "Poe."
"You know any place that develops pictures at this time of night? I think I got something that might interest you."
"What? Y?" Poe sat up. "Where are you?"
"Right outside the Slipper."
"I'll be right down—"
"No, don't come down here. I'll take a cab to Havana. I'll meet you there."
Y hung up. Poe started dressing.
"What?" Rukmani asked.
"It's Y. I sent him to the Lady Slipper to take pictures of the Arab guy…Abousayed. Actually, pictures of his women."
"So what does Y want?"
"He wants to develop the film. At this moment! He obviously wants to show me something. Y sounded serious and sober. To me, that's dangerous. Know any twenty-four-hour processing places?"
"Not offhand. The phone book's on the kitchen counter. Want me to come?"
"No, you sleep."
She rolled over and shut her eyes.
Poe finished dressing, then went into the kitchen. After thirty seconds of searching her paper-strewn kitchen counter, he found the phone book under a pile of old medical dictation. A moment later, he heard padded footsteps.
He glanced over his shoulder. Her form seemed more erect. Her face not quite as white.
He said, "Hey, Mom, how are you doing?" He stopped his frantic search. "Get you some water?"
"Yes, I'll take some water." Emma sank into the kitchen chair. "What are you doing?"
Poe gave her a filled glass, then went back to the phone book. His finger slid down a list of photo shops. "I'm looking for a twenty-four-hour film-processing place so I can develop a roll."
"Are you still planning to move me on Sunday?"
Poe forced himself to stop. He managed a smile. Slow down. Mom's more important than a case. "Of course I'm going to move you in. Just as soon as Remus gets down—"
"I want to go home, Romulus."
"Home?" Poe licked his lips. "You mean back to Reno?"
The old woman nodded, her eyes leaking tears. "I miss the boy. Why did he kick me out?"
Poe took her hand and sat. "Remus didn't kick you out. You know how much he loves you. He's just very busy—"
"Not nearly as busy as you are."
Guilt stabbed Poe's heart. "Mom, you started treatment here. Finish up the treatment. Get your strength back. And then we can talk about you going back to live with Remus."
"I haven't been easy, Romulus. You think he'll take me back?"
"Of course he will."
"I'll be good—"
"Mom, he loves you just the way you are." A pause. "If you could cut out the drinking, it might be helpful."
"I know. If I live through this…this thing, I'll try."
"Of course you're going to live. You'll probably outlive us all, driving us crazy along the way."
A slight smile. "Maybe."
"You want more water, Mom?"
"I'm fine."
"I'll walk you back to your room."
Emma nodded. Poe put his arm around the frail woman's waist and slowly escorted her back to bed. He pulled the covers up to her chin. "Comfortable?"
"You're going out?"
Poe nodded and kissed his mother's forehead. She wrinkled her nose. "What'd you eat for dinner, Romulus?"
Poe's taste buds still buzzed from the spicy chutneys he had eaten last night. "That strong?"
"Loaded with ginger."
"That's true. Have a good sleep." He paused. "Mom, how well did you know Linda Hennick?"
"Not that well. She was white and I was brown. We ran in different social classes."
"Did she have…a reputation?"
"She had her share." A sly smile came to her lips. "Didn't we all."
Poe laughed. "I don't want to hear this."
"She was worse than most, better than a few. But she always held herself classy. Like Natalie Wood in Rebel Without a Cause."
Poe remembered the photographs. "Yeah, she went through kind of a sullen stage, didn't she?"
"Sullen 'cause she didn't get what she wanted."
"What did she want?"
Emma's smile became a broad grin. "Your father."
THIRTY-NINE
IF MOM had kept her secrets, he might have been excited about Y's call. Instead, Poe was plagued by a niggling suspicion. He knew his father had made occasional trips back to St. George after the family had moved—purportedly for business. He knew his father had died in St. George in a one-car crash…on a lonely stretch of icy road. But that was about all he knew. Despite repeated questions, Poe had never understood exactly what business his father had done. Mom had always been vague: something about arranging bus junkets from the Rockies states to Las Vegas. At the time, both Remus and Poe had believed everything Emma told them. Back then, their mother had been their hero. Maybe in a way she still was.
Poe stopped at Flamingo Avenue, his eyes fixed on the strobic flashes of colored lights.
Mom had rarely talked about his father. All Poe's information had been gleaned from biased relatives. Dad had been a charmer but a scamster, a ladies' man and a thief. He had been a failure as a gangster, being as he had only been part Italian. He had spent whatever money he had on trinkets. He had often turned mean when he drank.
Then when Emma walked into the room, they would immediately hush up, as if someone had pushed an imaginary mute button.
The traffic light turned green. Poe depressed the accelerator.
A ladies' man making trips back home. Back to where a beautiful lady awaited him.
Linda had it narrowed down between Gerald and two others.
If Linda Hennick and his father had…then that would mean that he and Alison were…which would mean that he had…
A very distasteful thought.
Better to think that nothing had happened. And with Harrison Jensen looking exactly like Gerald Hennick, it probably was the truth. Still, he was enough of a detective to be curious, even if it was in bad taste. A pity that the only two people who could tell him positively were six feet under.
He wondered if his mom had known something. The glee on her face when she told him that she had bested Linda Hennick. But if she had known, she had never made any move to stop the relationship between Alison and him.
Certainly Gerald Hennick had never said anything.
Which left only one unanswered question in his mind.
Did Alison know something?
Could that have been the reason why she had broken off with him once she had reached high school?
He thought a moment.
Now he was using cheap rationalization. They had broken up because she hadn't wanted him anymore. She had simply dumped him.
While waiting for the film to be developed, they smoked cigarettes and drank tepid coffee at the counter of a nearby diner. Making idle chitchat because Y didn't want to talk about the pictures. Poe didn't push him: everything in due time. They talked about Emma, they talked about Alison.
No idea where she could be?
Y always answered with a shrug.
When the requisite hour had passed, they got up, paid the waitress with a twenty (keep the change, ma'am), and went back to the nearby strip mall which held the proces
sing store—a hole in the wall that doubled the normal charges for nighttime developing. But beggars don't look at a gift horse's dental work, so Poe paid the price without flinching.
Moon Music Page 35
