Over coffee, Lucius admitted to hearing about the Lazy 8 and what kinds of transactions went on there. Although he never would have ventured close to a place like that, he made two remarks that got Vera to thinking. “All kinds of things go on over there, you know. Rough trade and hard heads always did make for a horrible morning after. Everybody’s got to make a living, but I wouldn’t think of choosing one that might get you killed. From what I hear, you’d be lucky to leave that motel alive. I hope your client didn’t remember the dead guy from a party they had at that place?”
Vera leaned back in her chair at the breakfast nook. “Lucius, you are a genius.”
“I know that, but what’d I say to let you in on it?” he quipped.
“You reminded me that my client remembered something. He remembered knowing the dead guy.”
“Yeah, so?”
“That means his memory is coming back. I’d bet that’s why he knew to come to Dallas of all places.”
“Why did he look you up as soon as he did?” Lucius gasped dramatically, his hand placed over his heart.
“He didn’t. Rags said he was in town a few days then ended up at my door. Maybe he remembered something about me, too. Lucius, you ever heard of retrograde amnesia?”
Lucius smirked at Vera’s question then answered truthfully. “Heck, no. Don’t get me to lying. The human mind has always been one big riddle to me, girl. What makes retrograde any different from regular amnesia?”
“His memory is subject to come back a little at a time or all at once with a sudden jolt or a shocking experience,” Vera told him. Her big riddle was working on her overtime now. “You also said a person would be lucky to make it out of that motel alive. Maybe Rags was just that lucky.”
At Vera’s behest, Lucius searched newspaper archives on the Internet. Side by side, they scanned over newspaper articles, looking for shootings that happened up to sixty days before Rags was found in that central Texas hunting cabin. Several stories had been written about the infamous motel, the goings-on there and Newel’s death. However, they couldn’t find one shred of evidence to implicate Vera’s client in it. Once again it appeared Rags was innocent of murder.
Then Lucius ran across a front page headline about a dirty narcotics officer, shot down in the street two days after the other murder. Vera thought it peculiar that the article was sketchy at best. An exhaustive search did not produce any additional stories concerning Officer Warren Sikes’s demise or impending investigations. If Newel and the slain cop were up to something that got them executed, it likely didn’t have anything to do with Rags. However, if his dreams were tied to either crime, Vera was duty-bound to turn him in. There were no two ways about it.
After searching the police department’s database, she climbed into her second-hand Explorer with the article and an outdated photocopy of Warren Sikes in his first year as a patrolman. He had the world in front of him. He was young, thin, and alive.
Nine
After brunch with Lucius, Vera was so off balance it felt like she’d misplaced her purse. Ms. Minnie hadn’t called her cell phone and possibly did not intend to ever again. As she spent time thinking about the older woman’s premonition, Vera’s mind began to swirl. It all seemed so silly before, to go getting worked up over a white man who hadn’t come through one of the normal referral channels. Typically, former clients who walked away from Vera’s office with exactly what they paid for sent others her way. In the three years she’d been in business for herself, Rags was her first white unicorn; a white man throwing money at her instead of employing more reputable firms where he’d feel more comfortable. That was just another in the train of lingering questions still eluding Vera. She couldn’t find one reason why Rags was drawn to her, not one.
Vera spent several hours, running personal errands, before heading back to the office. She parked along the street in front of her building. Her pockets were full but her head was ringing. A strange chill crept up her back as she turned off the engine. Once more, she experienced an unnerving feeling that someone had her under their surveillance. Vera quickly checked her rearview and side mirrors. No nondescript panel vans idled next to the curb as far as she could see. There wasn’t one single unmarked police car on the avenue. Just before dismissing the thought altogether, Vera turned toward the opposite side of the street. Her tired brown eyes met with a pair of green ones staring back, from inside the small diner.
From the moment Vera dropped him off, Rags had been gazing out of the large window waiting for something to happen, anything that could have possibly helped him. Becoming increasingly consumed with despair and guilt, he had been renting the booth, biding his time and hoping that Vera returned with some news. Whether the news was good or bad didn’t matter. Rags had grown darn tired of wondering what amends he’d have to make for sins of his past. Watching Vera stare at him as if he was a stray dog she didn’t fully trust, Rags put ego and humility aside for the sake of truth. Just when it appeared Vera had decided to turn away from him, the beleaguered cowboy stood from the booth calmly as a plea for her company and an up-to-date report on her progress.
“Hell,” Vera mouthed, as she marched across the street. “I must be crazy.” She offered a faint smile to Rags through the window after stepping onto the sidewalk. After he felt sure she would join him, Rags returned to his seat at the booth. “Hell,” she cussed again, while trying to guess how much more breathing she’d be allowed to do before someone was nailing shut her coffin.
“Thanks for coming over, Vera,” Rags whispered, low and slow like a stubborn apology. “I thought for sure you’d see me, then turn tail and scoot in the other direction.” When Vera didn’t bother to sit or respond, he began to fiddle with a stale cup of coffee on the table. “Truth be told, I wouldn’t blame you if you had.”
Vera’s hard expression softened after she took a seat. She signaled for the waitress to slide by with two fresh cups of java. Vera hadn’t ever eaten at the greasy spoon because it didn’t look all that clean from her office. Now that she was inside, the small restaurant didn’t appear to be half bad. Each of the ten tables had been wiped down from previous customers and the floor was fairly spotless. “I wouldn’t tell me that again if I were you. It’s hard enough turning over rocks in someone else’s backyard anyhow.”
“I can’t say that I understand,” he muttered, uncomfortably.
“Meaning, the only rock worth a damn had a dead male prostitute under it.” Vera neglected to share what she’d learned about the slain officer. If Rags had something to do with it, she didn’t want to tip him off that she suspected it. “Look Rags, I’m working hard on your case. That hasn’t changed. While there might not be anything to find, I’m going to keep looking anyway. But I need to know a thing or two from you.”
“Like what?” he asked anxiously.
Vera thanked the waitress then sprinkled a pink packet of sweetener into the piping hot coffee. “Well, it would pay to know exactly how far you’re willing to go with this?” She could tell by the way his eyelids shuddered that he didn’t fully comprehend that question either. “What if I come across some very damning evidence that could send you to prison or worse?” Suddenly his eyelids closed like he was mulling over her answer. When his head fell forward, Vera leaned in to get a closer look at him. “Rags, you all right? Rags?” she said, pulling at his wrist lying on the table.
“Yeah, yeah,” he whispered quietly. “I’m up. I’m up.”
With both her eyes trained on his, Vera realized that he’d simply fallen asleep. Regardless of what she may have found underneath other unturned rocks, Rags was suffering from sleep deprivation. There was no telling how many days he’d been awake or what little rest he did get since arriving back in Dallas.
“What?” Rags grunted, with an oversized yawn. “Did I miss something?”
“By the looks of it, too little shuteye to go on this way,” she told him. “I’ve seen what a lack of decent sleep can do to a person’s mind. Believe me,
the paranoia ain’t pretty and that’s just the beginning.”
“I could pal around with you some. You know, help you while seeing how my money is being spent.”
“No way in hell that happens,” she objected. “I’m too busy to babysit you. That’s not in my job description. I’d like to clear you or give you enough rope to hang yourself, if you want, but I have too many corners to turn to have you falling asleep every five minutes and slowing me down.” Vera took two meager sips from her cup. “Rags, is there any chance you’d been involved with the police department as an informant, like that Newell guy?”
“Sorry, but I can’t recollect what I was,” he replied honestly.
“Yeah, you’re right,” said Vera, “you can’t recollect. I’ll tell you what you can and will do though, get back to whereever you’re staying, lie down and close your eyes for as long as possible. You need it and I’ll work better without having to check in on you.”
“Just don’t stop digging,” he pleaded. “However it turns out. I need the dreams to stop. I need to know about me.”
Vera stared across the table at Rags, his narrowed bloodshot eyes. He was very close to falling asleep again. “Uh-huh, you and me both,” she heard herself admit aloud before leaving him with his head slumped on the table. Vera wanted to wake him but realized immediately that every bit of rest he managed to get was long overdue. The waitress informed her that Rags had been napping off and on. None of the customers seemed to mind and since he’d given the waitress a fifty-dollar tip on a six-dollar bill, she didn’t mind either.
It had begun to sink in just how desperate Rags’s situation had become. The way he’d internalized it couldn’t have been healthy, Vera thought as she hustled back to her office. “I need to talk to you about one of the names on that list,” Vera said into her telephone. “Harold Newel was clipped at the Lazy 8, that rundown gay motel off Loop 12.”
“I know the place. Can’t help but to,” Detective Beasley said. “Lots of bad things go on down there.” He wanted to say “I knew it,” but didn’t. He figured that Vera had her teeth deep in something and wasn’t ready to let go. He’d been there before, foolishly following leads that seemed to go no place in particular although his gut kept telling him to push ahead. “Okay, I know how this works, Vera. You tell me something, hoping I’m interested enough to return the favor. Well, you’re out of luck. That’s not one of my cases and it’s unsolved for a reason. There were no suspects and no reason to think the attack was anything but a jilted lover getting even. Gay druggies and murder aren’t the combo you want to stand too close to, trust me. Homo-cides can get very nasty,” he jested.
“Yeah, but,” she started to say before Beasley cut her off playfully.
“Hey, I’m too old for wild goose chases. Didn’t we already go down this road before?”
“There’s more to it now,” Vera answered, in a manner that forced the detective to put down his jellyroll. “My client knew that guy who got done in. I showed him the list of names and he recognized Newel’s but didn’t know for sure from where.”
Beasley picked up the second half of his pastry then, deciding what Vera dangled wasn’t enough to stop him from eating. “Maybe your guy was soliciting this Newel. Maybe they partied together back in the day. Who knows and who cares? I know I don’t.”
“Would you care if I told you that Newel had nine narcotics arrests, zero convictions?
“You’re saying he was protected, a snitch?” Beasley asked, while nibbling from the pastry. “And?”
“And two nights after someone clapped him, a narcotics detective was killed. His death was all over the papers, then dropped from the front page like it never happened. You probably knew him, a thirteen-year vet named Warren Sikes. From where I stand, it seems like a janky coincidence. Someone clips the snitch, then . . .” she added, to stir the pot.
“Okay, now you’ve stepped over the line, Vera. This is not a conversation I want to have and I’m not having it over this phone. I’m about to leave my desk. Don’t go too far.”
Donald Beasley called Vera from his cell phone in the back of the police dressing room. He searched among three rows of locker to make sure he was alone before explaining how Internal Affairs had the Sikes shooting under wraps from day one and added that the slain detective must have been dirty, because the departmental brass prohibited any of his friends from working the investigation. The entire case was sewn up tight and put away quietly. “Someone high up was looking down on that shooting and pulling all of the strings,” he said, as an afterthought. “I’m surprised you don’t remember it, Vera. Sikes was shot near your office. If my memory serves me, the botched robbery that got him killed went down at that diner. What’s it called? The name is something kinda catchy, Midnight Snack or, oh, yeah, Leftovers.”
Goosebumps ran up Vera’s arms when Beasley informed her where the crime had taken place. The exact location wasn’t mentioned in the articles she read. To think that Rags was probably still in the restaurant asleep made her cringe. The first thought that came to her was criminals returning to the scene of the crime. Now, there was a pressing desire to learn everything she could about the particulars of the case, including why Detective Sikes was shot and why the police department threw up the blue wall of resistance to keep a lid on the investigation.
With her heart rate climbing, Vera raced to her office window. She couldn’t conclude if Rags was still renting a booth with outlandish tips, but she had a major concern, getting some answers without him doing something stupid like stowing away in her vehicle again, or worse. Vera thanked Detective Beasley for the information then thought long and hard what to do next. Beasley folded his flip phone closed and did the same. As soon as he exited the locker room, someone flushed the toilet a few feet away from where he’d discussed the “don’t ask” police homicide that he shouldn’t have, especially with the wrong somebody listening in.
Ten
Vera paced back and forth in her office, waiting on a phone call to set off her next move. She’d reached out to Glow with a voice message telling her that it was urgent she get back as soon as possible. Vera wouldn’t go into detail because Glow would weigh her options if she had too much information. Vera didn’t want to be put on hold while her girlfriend debated which was more pressing, picking up extra work on the side or hatching her own money-making scheme. When Glow came strutting, knocking at the door, in a black sweatsuit and running shoes, Vera had her answer.
“You got my message,” Vera said, with a smirk. Her words came out more in the manner of a statement than a question.
“I’m here, ain’t I?” Glow answered flippantly. She huffed then folded her arms. “Why didn’t you leave word and tell me what you wanted? You know how I hate that.”
“Hate what, Glow, me trying to put some money in your pockets?” Vera spat, in a noticeably edgy tone. “Well, I hate it when I do leave you a message and then don’t hear back from you for two or three days.”
Glow’s frown faded into a perfect smile. “I was just finished with my kickboxing workout and was about to set up this old guy at the Beverly Hotel, which would have taken about . . . two or three days.” She snickered when Vera nodded her head knowingly. “Okay, so you figured me out. I’m here, what do you want me to do?”
Vera leaned back in her chair and interlocked her fingers beneath her chin. “I want you to sit on somebody for me. It shouldn’t take but a day or two and I need a second set of eyes on him to make sure he doesn’t cause any trouble.”
“Who you want me to sit on?” Glow said, with a naughty leer. “Is he cute?”
“You’ve met him,” Vera informed her. “Rags, the client you bumped into the other day.”
“That fine cowboy?” Glow asked excitedly, as she took a seat across from Vera. “He’s rough around the edges. It might be interesting at that.”
“Not so fast, girl, hold your horses. There’s something I need to spell out. I’ve been doing some digging and skeleton bo
nes are starting to turn up. I told you about Rags’s dreams. Well they might be the kind that came true. I can’t prove it, but he’s likely knotted in an unsolved murdered informant case and a slain cop who supposedly showed up at a botched robbery.” Glow listened to everything Vera had gleaned from Lucius, Cecilia Montez and Detective Donald Beasley. While all the dots seemed to be on the same page, there was no clear connection as far as she could see.
At the end of Vera’s pitch, Glow contemplated what risks were involved and then she had only one question. “How much you interested in paying me to sit on this guy?”
“Two hundred a day,” Vera replied evenly, “if you’re up for it.”
“I’m up for it at two-hundred plus expenses.” Although her slight negotiating maneuver didn’t sound like much, it was a bone of contention. Glow once turned in an expense report for three grand, when she followed a kleptomaniac for Vera. Glow said she had to buy something to keep from looking suspicious in the mall herself. The tennis bracelet was returned immediately, along with the padded expense account.
“Let’s make it three hundred then, and no funny business this time,” Vera bartered. “Good, Rags is over at that diner. He’s been dozing off for the past hour or so but there’s no way he’s staying put all evening. I tried to talk him into finding a place to lay his head but he didn’t bite.”
“Maybe you were saying all the wrong things,” Glow smarted in a peculiar way that Vera didn’t approve of.
Pointing her finger, Vera reminded her part-time associate to keep her guard up. “Glow, don’t go getting in way over your head. We don’t really know this man. I’d hate to discover he’s a bad one and have you standing too close to do anything about it if I needed to.”
Sleep Don't Come Easy Page 18
