Telling Lies

by Wendy Hornsby

  The coat was buttoned up under my neck, but there was a lot of sparkle and leg left over below it. “You weren’t such a prude last night,” I said.

  He leaned forward and put his face near mine. “If you have any class, you won’t bring up last night.”

  “Mike, I had to listen to the tape. Anyway, it just sort of fell into my hand. I’m sorry you’re upset,” I said. “You can have the tape back. It’s out in the car.”

  “Damn right, I can have it back. A lot of good that does now. It’s tainted. How do I know you didn’t alter it? No court will accept that tape now.”

  “I said I’m sorry. I’m sorry your feelings are hurt. If I could kiss it and make it better, I would. Except that’s how we got here, isn’t it? So, maybe I have something for you that’s better than the tape. A peace offering.” I handed him the note from Emily. “What do you think?”

  He read the note. “Where’d this come from?”

  “A bum, a man named Caesar, gave it to me last night.”

  “And you’re just getting around to showing it to me?”

  “I just read it. I didn’t pay any attention to it last night.”

  “Okay, so?” He wasn’t going to let me off easy.

  “I traced the bum to Skid Row, but I need some help locating him.”

  He put the note into his shirt pocket and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Please, Mike, will you help me find Caesar?”

  “I can’t take you into an area like that. Thanks for the information. Now go home and let the police handle it.”

  “You won’t know if you find the right man. I have to go with you.”

  “Forget it. I said, this is a police situation. The police will handle it. Got it?” He stood up and headed for the bar. I followed.

  He ordered another beer.

  “Please, Mike,” I said, standing beside him.

  “Do it, Flint,” I heard behind me. “Or move over and let me do it for you.”

  Flint didn’t acknowledge the comment. He was watching a gaggle of young latinas who had just come in the door, all dressed up, looking for a good time.

  “Mike?” I said.

  “I’ve said all I have to say to you.” He picked up his beer. “I’m on my own time now. I’ve been waiting for the El Sereno bus all night. Now it’s here. I’m a busy man. Catch you later.” His step was none too steady as he walked over to greet the new material.

  A glass of wine appeared on the bar in front of me. I turned and looked at the owner of the hand attached to it. He was tall, maybe forty, with nice eyes and a starched collar.

  “You look like white wine to me,” he said. “Fine white wine. Sorry this is the best I can offer you.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Jack Riley,” he said, touching the tip of my finger. “Known Flint long?”

  “Since yesterday.” I noticed Mike was watching me. Riley rested a foot on the brass rail under the bar. I put the toe of my shoe next to his, letting the coat and the skirt fall away from my leg. Riley was too close to see anything, but I knew Mike did. He turned his back.

  “Thanks for the wine, Jack,” I said. “I have to go.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” he said. He smiled. “Merry Christmas.” “Merry Christmas to you,” I said, smiling back as I stepped away from the bar. “Your white wine line is a good one. Keep it.”

  He laughed and gave me a thumbs up. On my way out the door, I turned and saw him giving the same glass to a young woman officer who was sitting all alone by the rock garden doors.

  Flint had quickly involved himself with a pair from the El Sereno bus. There was nothing more I could say to him—he had made that clear.

  I felt bad, I felt cheap. I just opened the door and walked out.

  The rain had let up some, but the wind whipped it into a stinging mist that hit me in the face, made me even more miser-able. I struggled against the wind as I picked my way back down to Max’s car. Before I did anything else, I planned to stop at Emily’s and change. And I vowed that I would never again wear sequins.

  I ducked into Max’s car, but the wind pulled against the open door and I had to get out to pull it shut. I was just getting back in when Mike Flint reached out through the dark and grabbed the door.

  “Slide over,” he said, and pushed his way inside.

  “Slide over” is also a great line, or was before bucket seats. I didn’t slide over, I clambered over the console and cellular phone apparatus. It was a less than graceful progress. After some tugging and pulling, I managed to rearrange myself in the passenger seat.

  I ejected the tape in the tapedeck and handed it to Mike. He sat looking at it and not at me.

  “Last night,” I said, “things may have gotten out of hand when we went back to the Bonaventure. I was terribly upset and I got a little drunk. You had been very nice about everything, Mike. Very sympathetic. I want you to know the reason I went along with you later. The only reason.”

  “Yeah?”

  I put my hand on his arm. I wanted to.”

  Finally, he looked at me. He had a sheepish grin. “The only reason I got so pissed when you took the tape was, I really liked being with you.”

  “Good.” I touched the soft little hairs at the back of his neck and kissed his cheek. “Will you take me back to Emily’s so I can get out of these clothes?”

  “You don’t waste much time with the preliminaries, do you?”

  I laughed. “I have to change before we go down to Skid Row.”

  “That again? Maggie, it’s just a plain old bad idea for you to go down there. I have a loaded Roscoe and two extra clips on my belt, but I’m not sure that would be enough if something went down.”

  “It’s late. Everyone I saw on San Pedro Street was either asleep or bombed, or otherwise out of his mind. How much harm can they do us when they can hardly walk?”

  “Plenty. You wouldn’t go down there alone, would you?”

  “I may be a pain in the ass, but I’m not stupid,” I said. “Mike, I know this man, Caesar, went to the Weingart Center tonight. He was turned away because he was drunk. So he’s probably still in the neighborhood. Please. I’m so afraid we’ll lose him if we don’t move fast.”

  Mike rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “He seems to be a local. Be easier to find him in the morning.”

  “I had a date with my sister at four o’clock yesterday afternoon, and she didn’t make it. I’d hate for something to happen to Caesar before we could talk to him.”

  “Okay,” he sighed. He opened the door and started to get out. “You win. Let’s go.”

  “Go where? It’s too wet to walk.”

  “I told you, this is police business. If we’re going, we’re going in my car.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I don’t know what you were afraid of, Mike,” I said. It was just after midnight and we were walking around Skid Row, looking for our contact, a hooker named Latonya. “Everyone’s so gosh darn friendly.”

  “Sure, you’re with The Man,” he chuckled. “But you never know. Things can turn ugly in a hurry.”

  “Evenin’, officer.” A passing loony tipped his hat. A fifty-one-fifty Flint would have called him, mental incompetent. “Evenin’, ma’am.”

  “See,” I said to Mike. “Nice as pie.”

  “Uh huh.” He nudged a body sprawled across the sidewalk. When the body roused, Mike gave him another nudge and ordered, “Get to steppin’.”

  The body scuttled away.

  “What would you have done if that man hadn’t gotten up?” I asked.

  “Called the coroner to bring the scoop.”

  “Assuming that the man was dead.”

  Mike swaggered just a little. “The only reason he wouldn’t have gotten up was if he was dead.”

  “You’re some tough guy, Flint.” I laughed.

  “So you keep telling me. But down here, I’m the only law west of the Pecos.”

  He made me laugh again. We had walked
about three blocks through scuzz that made the Inferno look like the Home Show.

  Looking for Latonya. Flint told me she was an old friend of his. I didn’t want to ask how close a friend, or anything else about her. She had left word for me at the Weingart that she knew where Caesar was cooped for the night and had heard there was twenty dollars in it.

  Seventh Street and Wall was her home corner, according to Mike. She seemed to be away on business when we came calling. So we were just moseying around, staying visible until she came back.

  As we walked, Flint, The Man, the police, cut a wide swath. No one molested us or panhandled us with very much conviction. I had this great sensation of power just being with him. Besides, he was great company, one outrageous war story after another.

  As we turned off Wall Street, a monstrously obese woman barreled down upon us. She had YO BABY YO spray-painted on her short-cropped hair.

  “Officer, officer,” she wailed. “He’s stealin’ all my stuff.”

  “Who is?”

  “My boyfriend. See him? He’s takin’ all my stuff.”

  Indeed, a youngish man was snatching dark-looking garments out of a shopping cart that had been spilled onto the weedy verge. Flint just shook his head. “Why is he taking your stuff?”

  “He’s gonna sell it. He says I owe him money.”

  “Do you owe him money?”

  “No way.”

  “Yes she do.” The boyfriend joined the fray, tattered clothes spilling over his arms, tangling around his feet as he tried to walk. “She done took my weed. Thirty dollars worth.”

  “Do you have his weed?” Flint asked, bland as a schoolmaster.

  “No, I don’t,” she said, indignant.

  “Yes you do,” the boyfriend screamed.

  “I ain’t got it,” she screamed back. “I done smoked it.” I thought the boyfriend would weep.

  Flint, who had listened to all of this stone-faced, raised his hand and they both shut up. He pointed down the sidewalk to the left and spoke to the boyfriend:

  “Drop all of her stuff right now and get yourself movin’ down the street in the direction I’m pointing. It’s over, understand? If I hear of you coming back and trying something, you know what I’ll do. Right?”

  “Yes, officer.”

  “Then be on your way.”

  Meekly, the boyfriend dumped the clothes and headed off. But the woman still had some unspent fight in her.

  “Officer,” she said. “He done got everything all wet, dumpin’ it that way.

  Flint pointed down the street to the right. “You heard me. It’s all over. Pick up your stuff and beat it.”

  She muttered, but she did as he said.

  We walked on.

  “I’m impressed,” I said. “Solon couldn’t have handled that better.”

  “Who’s Solon?”

  “Never mind.”

  We walked back up to Latonya’s corner. There was a woman strutting up and down the street in a silver Weingart poncho, flashing passing cars, snuggling up to the derelicts who walked by her. She was skinny. No, she was bones in a push-up bra. There was so little flesh on her legs, I couldn’t see how she stayed atop her spindly, rundown heels. The weather was still a little drizzly, and no one seemed interested in stopping. She yelled obscenities at every car or bum that spurned her advances and passed on by.

  “A fifty-one-fifty?” I asked.

  Flint grinned at me as he impelled me by the elbow. “That’s our girl.”

  “Latonya?” Police or not, I didn’t think Flint was enough protection to keep me safe from this creature. She looked contagious. “Hey, Latonya,” he called.

  She wheeled, saw us, completely disregarded me, thank God, and came running up to Flint.

  “Mikey, Mikey,” she squealed as she rubbed herself against him. I hung back. Mike turned and grinned nastily at me. I thrust my hands deep into my pockets and just glared back.

  “What brings you down to this ‘hood, Mikey?” she crooned. “You come to see me?”

  “You left word at the Weingart that you knew where to find Caesar.”

  “Maybe I do,” she said coyly. “And maybe I don’t.”

  Mike handed Latonya a brown paper bag with a bottle in it. “Brought you something for your trouble,” he said.

  She tucked the bottle away in her clothes somewhere without looking at it. “My favorite, Mikey. You’re so nice to your lady.”

  “You taking us to Caesar?” he asked.

  “What did I hear about a twenty-dollar bill?”

  “The usual terms, baby,” he said. “Payment on delivery.”

  “You just come with me, sugar.”

  It was all I could do to walk behind them. I couldn’t stand it that he let her get so close. I was six feet away and I could smell the dimestore cologne and eau de Thunderbird that enveloped her. All the way down the block, Latonya cuddled Mike’s arm and wiggled against him. I couldn’t hear what she was whispering to him, but he was laughing a lot.

  Latonya gave me a malevolent glance, and I flipped her off. Ordinarily, I would have recognized the bile at the back of my throat as jealousy. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself, and I hated myself for being such a twit.

  She turned down Sixth Street and pointed out a dumpster behind a sweatshop.

  “There he is,” she said.

  “Show me,” Flint said.

  When she started to go behind the dumpster, I shied back further and scoped out an escape route. It was really dark behind there. Flint hung in with her, so I swallowed my better judgment and went along with them. I didn’t want to look like a wimp after all the hard talking I had done to get Flint to bring me along. Besides, I thought he needed some looking after.

  The wind whipping down the street was bitter. Behind the dumpster, there was some shelter. We came upon a silver poncho-wrapped bundle lying on the pavement. Latonya toed the bundle.

  “That’s him,” she said.

  “You’re sure?” I asked.

  “Damn sure,” she huffed, offended. “Fool say, ‘Do me now, I pay you tomorrow.’ This whore ain’t takin’ none of that shit. Uh uh. That’s Caesar, you be sure. He smells like dog.”

  Mike slipped her something and patted her back. She strutted off down Sixth Street toward San Pedro, her poncho flapping open to display her fleshless wares.

  “Friend of yours, huh?” I said.

  “Be nice,” he admonished. “She gave you what you wanted.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “We’ll see.” Flint squatted down and gave the bundle a good shake. “Caesar, we want to talk to you.”

  Caesar’s voice was muffled by the stuff covering his head. “Go way, man.”

  “I said, we want to talk to you.”

  “What I say? Go ‘way.”

  Flint chuckled and gave him a rough push. “Did I forget to say, this is the police? Get out of there, and get out of there, now. You know how we are.”

  Caesar’s face appeared out of the silver poncho. I could not have described him to anyone, though I recognized him as soon as I saw him again. He looked up, first at Mike, then at me.

  “Am I dreamin’?” he asked.

  “You’re asking me?” Mike laughed.

  Caesar grinned. “Hello, pretty lady. Nice to see you again.”

  “Hello, Caesar,” I said. I knelt down beside Mike. Latonya had been right; the man reeked of dog, among other things. And Mike now reeked of Latonya.

  Caesar wiped his nose on the edge of his blanket. “What you doin’ down in this ‘hood?”

  “I came to talk to you,” I said. “Last night you gave me a note.”

  “Yes I did. Doc give the note to me, say here’s a message.” “Do you remember where you saw her, and about what time that was?”

  I don’t have me no watch,” he shrugged. “It were still day-light. I’m startin’ to think about dinner.”

  “Where did you see the doc?” Flint asked.

  “I’m hangin
’ by the wishin’ well, you know? Down there in Chinatown?” He spoke in a fast and steady stream. “Sometimes I can hook me some coin, get me somethin’ to eat. So I’m standin’ there, an’ I see the doc a comin’. She runnin’ a little, you know? Then all of a sudden she stop, like she forget somethin’. She start to go back the way she come. Then she see me. She call me over, she write me this paper. She say, ‘This is a message for my sister, go pin it on the door up at my house.’ I say, ‘Yes, ma’am.’ She give me a dinner ticket for the Center here. Then she go on her way.”

  “Where did she go?” I asked.

  “Nowhere. She just hang there, by the wishin’ well.”

  “Dr. Duchamps gave you the note and paid you,” Flint said. “But you didn’t put the note on her door.”

  I mean to, officer. But see, this dude I know, he see what go down, an’ he say, ‘Give you a dollar for that dinner ticket.’ I figure on eatin’ at the mission anyhow, so I say, what you say, man? We trade, dollar for dinner. I was goin’ up to the doc’s house, like she say. But first I stop, get me a short dog to tide me over. Then I guess I forget ‘bout the note for a while. I don’t remember ‘bout it ‘til I hear the doc gets herself shot up. I think to myself, maybe the note mean somethin’. And I don’t want it in my pocket no mo’. Like I say, I’m goin’ up to her house, when I runs into you, pretty lady. An’ I gives you the message, the true words, don’ I? Anyway, I figure that’s way better than pinnin’ it on no door. Man, it be rainin’ hard.”

  “Yes it was,” I said. “How did you recognize me? I don’t remember ever meeting you.”

  He smiled. “The doc, she puts on the TV at the mission all the time, and she say, ‘See her, she’s my baby sister.’ I know you real well. You ever try makin’ some comedy? You show some sad shit on that TV, man.”

  Flint laughed.

  “Something to think about,” I said. I doubted whether I could get funding for anything funnier than war or famine.

  “After the doc gave you the note,” Flint said, “did you happen to see her again, maybe down the street or inside a shop?”

  “No, officer, that were the very last time,” Caesar said, shaking his head sadly. “I go back to the wishin’ well later, lookin’ to hook me some coin, like I say. She be gone.