“What would you do if you were me?”
“I’d get off my duff and get a shower.”
The voice came from a small window above my head. I turned around and looked up. Laverne was smiling and waving at me.
“Rough night, Val?”
“Kind of.”
“One night you’re pulverizing porcelain, the next you’re camping out with a piggybank. What’s up with you?”
I sniffled. “Same-old-same-old.”
“Aww. Come on, sugar. Tell me about it over a cup of coffee.”
“Have you got a bra on?”
“Ha ha! No. But neither do you.”
I looked down. I was wearing one of Tom’s t-shirts and a pair of his boxers. Geeze. I must have gotten way drunker than I thought. I stood up. My head thumped like a bass fiddle. I sniffed away my tears and pouted at Laverne.
“It had better not be decaf.”
WHILE LAVERNE POURED the coffee, my eyes poured over her décor. Laverne’s house was a museum of Vegas memorabilia. Her white leather couch was covered in playing-card pillows – red hearts and diamonds, black clubs and spades. Framed posters of headlining shows and entertainers lined the walls. Towering behind the sofa was a nearly life-sized vase of a white tiger. Its jug handles featured the miniature figures of Siegfried and Roy.
The red Lucite clock in Laverne’s kitchen sported actual white dice to mark the hours, each rolled to the correct number. Two die were used for numbers higher than six. An inscription on the clock read: “In Vegas, It’s Always Pair-a-Dice.” But the real show stopper was a huge picture hanging over the kitchen table. In it, Elvis himself was crooning away at a beautiful redhead in a glittery, feathery showgirl outfit. I did a double-take.
“Is that you, Laverne?”
Laverne handed me a blue, turban-shaped cup filched from the Aladdin.
“Yeah, that’s me, doll. Used to be, anyway.”
“What happened? I mean...why did you leave Vegas?”
“Nobody lasts forever in Vegas, honey. My time was up. It was either leave as a glamour girl or stay and work the buffet ’til I dropped dead of fallen arches. Speaking of dead, you look like death warmed over, sugar. What’s up?”
I took a sip of coffee.
“Man, that’s good coffee, Laverne!”
“Learned from the best. Frankie taught me how.”
“Frankie as in Frank Sinatra?!”
“I didn’t get to live this long by telling secrets. I know when to keep my mouth shut. So spill it, gal. You’re safe with me.”
I blew out a breath. What the hell.
“I’ve been accused of murder and of cutting off someone’s finger. And I just found out Tom’s cheating on me.”
“Dang, child! You want some Kahlua in that coffee?”
“If I thought it would help, I’d drink the whole bottle.”
“Ah, sugar. I’ve lived through worse and I’m still standing. Life has a way of working things out.”
“You really think so?”
“Sure. Who’s the stiff?”
“Huh?”
“The guy they say you murdered.”
“I don’t know.”
“Any way to find out?”
“Not that I can think of. Wait. I do know a guy who works in the morgue.”
“Good. Call him. Now, who’s this finger guy?”
“A guitar player. He’s missing an eye and a tooth, too.”
Laverne looked at me sideways.
“I didn’t take them.”
“You talking about Mickie?”
“What?! Yes. You know him?”
“Sugar, when you’re as old as me, you know just about everybody. I’ve seen him playing gigs around town. Why on earth does Mickie think you took his finger?”
“Long story short, because I had it. I gave it to the police.”
“Hmmm. Well there you go, honey.”
“What?”
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law. Everybody knows that.”
I’D JUST GOTTEN BACK from Laverne’s house when the phone rang.
“Is this Valiant Fremden?”
Crap. “Yes.”
“Yes, well, I’m Ferrol Finkerman. I’m calling...”
“Look, whatever you’re selling, I’m not in the mood.”
“Ms. Fremden, this is serious business. I’m calling on behalf of my client, Harden Michaels. He’s named you as the responsible party in a personal injury case.”
“I don’t know anyone named Harden Michaels.”
“Oh. You might know him by his...um...street name. Hard-on? Mickie the Guitar Man?”
“What!?”
“Yes. My client identified you as the assailant who removed his finger by, shall we say, force. At any rate, he’s suing you for personal injury, mental anguish and loss of lifetime career earnings.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. How much does he – do you – want?”
“How much have you got? Tell me and I’ll settle for half. Don’t tell me and we’ll go for the whole enchilada.”
“You’re a total piece of dog crap, you know that?”
“Hey, with a name like Ferrol Finkerman, I was doomed. Save your insults for your husband. So, what’s it gonna be, your money or your life behind bars? If we settle out of court, there’s no need to get the cops involved. Mr. Michaels will drop any and all criminal charges for the right price.”
What the hell! What was going on here? I needed time to think.
“Mr. Finkerman, can you give me a week to sort this out? I’ll prove to you that you have the wrong person.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“Because you called me Mr. Finkerman. You’re trying to butter me up.”
“No. It’s not that...”
“Listen. You had the finger, right?”
“Uh...yes.”
“I’ll give you two days. And some advice on the house. It doesn’t look good for you. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, you know.”
I CALLED LAVERNE AS soon as I got off the phone.
“Ferrol Finkerman? That guy is the biggest shyster outside The Strip.”
“Why would he sue me?”
“Honey, you don’t go digging for gold in a dumpster.”
Crap! “I’ve gotta go, Laverne. I’ve got some errands to run.”
“Honey, as long as you’re out and about, could you give me a ride to my nail salon? I broke a nail and I can’t drive.”
“You can’t drive because you broke a nail?”
“No, silly! I broke a nail trying to fix my car. You know anybody handy with old engines?”
“Yes, I think I do.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“GET IN, LAVERNE. WHERE’S the nail salon?”
Laverne opened the passenger door and plopped her skinny butt on the bucket seat, her back toward me. As she twisted her torso to face forward, she folded her long legs and carefully swung them around. Her knobby knees bumped against the glovebox. Dressed in a gold velour workout suit and a million gold chains, she looked like a hip-hop grasshopper from outer space.
“What’s with the grand entrance?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“The legs.”
“Oh. Habit. These gams were my money-maker back in the day. One cut or bruise and I’d be off the cast until it healed. One bad scar and a girl’s career could go down the drain faster than a bottle of cheap wine.”
“Wow. I had no idea.”
I turned the ignition. “So, where’s the salon?”
“Over off of 22nd and 34th.”
“Okay. Pops’ place is right around the corner from there.”
I cruised out of the driveway and headed toward Gulf Boulevard.
“Pops’ place?”
“Oh. Earl Popkins. Pops for short. He’s the old man I bought Maggie from when I was broke last year. I gave him $125 down and a handshake to pay another hundred every month until I paid Maggie off or h
e died, whichever came first.
Laverne shot me a dubious look.
“That’s pretty harsh, honey.”
“Hey! It was his idea, not mine. So far I’ve been sticking to the deal, more or less. But today Mr. Methuselah’s gonna hit pay-dirt. I’ve got the rest of his cash in my back pocket.”
“Miss Big Bucks.” Laverne winked at me. “Bet he never thought he’d live to see the day.”
I shrugged and grinned.
“Neither did I.”
“So who’s this guy Winky? The one you said could fix my car?”
“Just a guy I met at the beach last year. He fixed the air conditioning at my house last week.”
“Oh. Did he get you one for a house instead of a train?”
“Uh...yes. That’s what he did all right.”
“Good. I wish that company would quit ripping people off.”
“Right. Me too. We’ll stop by Water Loo’s on the way and see if Winky’s there.”
“Should you call him first?”
“He doesn’t have a phone. But he should be there. Or his girlfriend, Winnie, will be. She’ll know how to reach him.”
I pulled out of Bahia Shores and chugged along Gulf Boulevard past 107th. The sky was blue and the air was still April fresh. It was good to get in a top-down cruise while the fair weather lasted. I pulled into Water Loo’s parking lot and hit the brakes.
“Fair warning, Laverne. This place is a dump.”
She shot me a wry grin.
“I lived in Vegas, remember?”
I opened the door and took a look inside. Water Loo’s was deserted except for the corner booth. Loo and a guy I’d never seen before were having a discussion that faded away to cautious stares when Laverne and I stepped inside.
“Hi. I’m looking for Winky?” I asked.
“Who the hell’s Winky?” the stranger asked.
Loo started to say something, but the man kicked him in the shin. The man sitting with Loo sported a headful of thick, grey hair styled in an Elvis pompadour. He also had the King’s lips and his famous sneer.
“What?” Loo asked the guy, then turned to me. “He ain’t here.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said. “I guess I’ll be going, then.”
I turned and saw Winnie coming out of the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee.
“Hi, Val!”
“Hi Winnie. Looking for Winky. Do you know how I can get a hold of him?”
“Not really. He ain’t got a phone. But he usually shows up here at the end of my shift. Around three?”
“Okay. Here’s my number. Have him give me a call?”
“Sure. Who’s your friend?”
“Oh. This is Laverne. She needs some car rep –”
“Hey kid with the coffee! Get your butt over here,” yelled the man sitting next to Loo.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
Winnie shrugged, rolled her eyes and shuffled off to serve the coffee. Laverne and I stepped out of the dingy brown hovel and into the glaring sunlight.
“What a jerk that guy was,” I said.
“Yeah. He reminds me of some dirt-bag back in Vegas. What was his name? Buffalo Bill?”
“Buffalo Buffoon?” I suggested.
Laverne laughed.
“Yeah. That could be it.”
LAVERNE AND I TOOLED back down Gulf and hung a left on 107th. We crossed the bridge spanning the Intracoastal and skirted through the tiny community of Treasure Island. A few blocks later we were on the mainland. We passed by Ming-Ming’s on our way to 34th street.
“There’s the scene of the crime.” I nodded toward the restaurant as we drove by. “That’s where I saw Tom and Milly together.”
“You know, back in Vegas, at the casino buffets I tried every food under the sun. I never could warm up to sushi.”
“Yeah. I’m starting to lose my appetite for it as well.”
“Now don’t you go and do that.”
“Do what?”
“Let a man spoil something for you. Honey, if I did that, I’d be down to drive-through donuts and coffee.”
“But Laverne, how do you separate the two – I mean, Ming-Ming’s was our place.”
“You know for sure he’s cheating?”
“No. But come on. Milly’s gorgeous. So is Tom. They’d make the perfect pair.”
“There’s a lot of beauty in imperfection, sugar. It makes you real. Bing told me that.”
“Bing Cr...? Never mind. What’s the address of the salon?”
“Uh...let’s see.”
Laverne fumbled around in her purse and finally pulled out a card. I hung a left onto 34th Street.
“Card says it’s 2330 34th Street. Why?”
“Well, odd numbers are on one side of the road, even on the other.”
“Oh. I never knew that. But zero – it’s not even or odd, is it?”
I started to answer, then my face went slack.
“I never thought about it. I guess you’re right, Laverne. Let’s just call it even.”
“Ooops! There it is, sugar. You just passed it.”
“Crap. I’ll turn around.”
“I’m not in any hurry, honey. Tell me, how old is this Pops guy, anyway?”
“Probably older than you. But his wife is younger.”
“Just my luck.”
“Still want to come along for the ride?”
“Sure.”
I cruised past 22nd Avenue and took a right. A few blocks down, I took another right. A neighborhood of small, run-down 1950s block houses just like mine came into view. But, as Florida realtors were fond of saying, “location location location.” Without the waterfront venue, the value of these homes was about a tenth of what mine was worth.
It was one of those neighborhoods where nobody minded a couple of extra vehicles parked up in the yard. Concrete blocks instead of tires were also acceptable, and once the weeds had half-covered them, abandoned appliances were considered garden sculptures. Despite the obvious signs of neglect, the little community tugged at my heartstrings. It reminded me of my mom’s place up in Greenville – minus the bass boats, ATVs and chickens running loose.
I pulled up on the street in front of Pops’ house. Painted seafoam green with teal trim, it was easy to spot. Pops was out in the yard polishing the chrome on a 1970s-era gold-colored Cadillac. His black arms glistened in the sun, and looked surprisingly muscular for a man pushing eighty. If his hair hadn’t been pure white, I’d have placed him in his late fifties.
“Well now, there she is!”
Pops waved his dirty polish rag at me.
“How’s the old girl running?”
“Not bad, thanks for asking,” Laverne yelled across my lap.
“Ha ha! Who’s the looker with you, Val?”
“Laverne. Straight from Vegas,” I answered.
“Well, is she now?”
Pop stood back, put a finger to his chin and stared at Laverne. I climbed out of the car.
“I’ve come to pay you off, Pops.”
He didn’t hear me. His eyes were fixed on the strawberry blonde. I took $475 out of my back pocket and waved it in his face. That got his attention.
“I said I’ve come to pay Maggie off, Pops. Here’s the rest of what I owe you. Thanks for trusting me to pay her off in installments.”
Pops counted the money, one eye on the bills, the other on Laverne.
“It’s all here. We’re square. But wait, have twenty back.”
Pops stuck a twenty in my hand.
“What? Why?”
“You just won me a bet with my wife. Worth every penny for the braggin’ rights. I was right about you. Now I get to wag it in her face.”
“What? I don’t get it.”
“Velda said you’d never pay me back. She don’t trust people like I do. See, I got an eye for knowing who I can lend to and who I can’t. Take this Caddy, here. This woman came by the other day. Wants that Caddy real bad. But I wouldn’t let her have it without a fl
at thousand dollars down. The woman gave me five hundred and said she’d be back the next day with the rest. She never did do it. I knowed something wasn’t right about that crazy-eyed woman.”
“I guess you win some and you lose some, Pops.”
“Yep. Shore enough.”
Pops eyed Laverne longingly, then turned toward me and put a hand on my shoulder.
“Oh, speaking of losing, Val, sorry about your piggybank. I hope you got it back in one piece.”
“What? That was you? You took it?”
“Well, yes and no. I knew about it, but it was Velda’s doings. We was driving by one day, and saw little Maggie parked at the drugstore. You were a day or so late with a payment. My wife made me pull over. She wanted me to go inside the store and shake you down for the money. But I wouldn’t do it. Well, she got mad and swiped that piggybank instead. As collateral, mind you. She didn’t trust you like I did. Velda thought that little peanut bank was full of the money you wasn’t paying us. But when she opened the bottom, wasn’t nothing but dust inside. I carried that bank around with me for months, trying to see if I could get it back to you. I finally did a couple weeks ago.”
“‘Sorry, Mr. P.’ That was you.”
“Yep. Hope it wasn’t no inconvenience.”
Nope. Just made Glad miss her own funeral. “No worries.”
“Good. Now don’t go blaming Velda. We’ve got cheated a few times. In this business, it happens. Like that crazy woman wantin’ this Cadillac. She called me a week ago, trying to get her deposit back. Said some guy called Bingo was gonna get her. You ever hear such nonsense? She was a looney bird. I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her since.”
“Bingo! That’s it!” Laverne said.
“That’s what?” I asked.
“Bingo Bob. That’s the name of that jerk at Water Loo’s.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“WHO’S BINGO BOB?” I asked Laverne as I hit the gas and waved goodbye to Pops.
“Just some low-life who ran one of the bingo games at the Gold Digger Casino back in Vegas. I heard he was a bookie for sports games, too. But that was what...fifteen years ago? I wonder how he ended up here in Florida.”
Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 1 Page 36
