by Ed McBain
‘One thing has nothing to do with the other. I’m in jail, for example, but I’m not necessarily a loser.’
Parker nodded sympathetically.
‘But this second husband was a loser, you said.’
‘A loser, how?’ Genero asked.
‘Bad investments, like that. Also, he did dope.’
‘Ah,’ Parker said. ‘And Alicia?’
‘She dabbled.’
‘Ah.’
‘What’s his name? The second husband?’
‘Ricky Montero. For Ricardo.’
‘A spic?’ Parker said.
‘Dominican.’
‘What kind of bad investments?’
‘You name them.’
‘Is he still here in this country, or did he go back home?’
‘Who knows? She divorced him, it’s got to be ten, twelve years ago. I never liked him. He played trumpet.’
‘Is that why you didn’t like him?’
‘I got nothing against trumpet players. I’m just saying he played trumpet, is all.’
‘So that’s the bad company she kept, right?’ Genero said. ‘These two husbands. Al Dalton and Ricky Montero.’
‘I didn’t say “bad.” That’s your word.’
‘You said half of her friends should be in here doing time.’
‘That don’t make them bad.’
‘No, that makes them sweethearts.’
‘I’m doing time, and I ain’t bad.’
‘No, all you did was stab somebody twelve years ago, and then stab somebody else, right here in jail, two years ago.’
‘That don’t make you bad at all,’ Genero said.
‘That makes you an angel,’ Parker said.
‘You done breaking my balls? Cause I don’t know who killed my sister, and I don’t give a shit who did.’
‘Sit down,’ Parker said.
‘Sit down,’ Genero said.
‘Tell us who these other friends of hers were.’
‘From days of yore.’
‘These people who should be in here doing time.’
‘My sister started young,’ Hendricks said.
‘Started what young? Dabbling in dope?’
‘Started everything young. You consider thirteen early?’
‘You consider junior high early?’
‘That would’ve been Mercer, right? You both went to the same junior high, right?’
‘I was a year behind her.’
‘Where’d she go after she left high school?’
‘She got a job. My father was dead, my mother…”
‘Job doing what?’
‘Waitressing.’
‘Where, would you know?’
‘A neighborhood restaurant.’
‘What neighborhood?’
‘The Laurelwood section of Riverhead.’
‘That where you were living at the time?’
‘That’s where.’
‘Remember the name of the restaurant?’
‘Sure. Rocco’s.’
‘What’d you do after high school?’
‘I went to jail.’
The detectives looked at each other.
‘I was sixteen when I took my first fall.’
‘What for?’
‘Aggravated assault. I’ve been in and out all my life. Fifty-four years old, if I spent twenty of those years on the outside, that’s a lot.’
‘Tell us some more about these friends of your sister’s.’
‘Go ask her husbands,’ Hendricks said.
* * * *
Kling was hovering.
It was close to eight P.M. and he was still in the squadroom, wandering from the watercooler to the bulletin board, glancing toward Carella’s desk, where he was busy rereading his DD reports, trying to make some sense of this damn case. Strolling over to the open bank of windows, Kling looked down into the street at the early evening traffic, shot another covert glance at Carella, walked back to his own desk, began typing, stopped typing, stood up, stretched, started wandering the room again, hovering. Something was on the man’s mind, no question.
Carella looked up at the clock.
‘I’d better get out of here,’ he said.
‘Me, too,’ Kling answered, too eagerly, and immediately went to Carella’s desk. ‘How’s it going?’ he asked.
‘Nothing yet,’ Carella said. ‘But we’re on it.’
‘Give it time,’ Kling said.
Idle talk. Not at all what was really on his mind.
‘Sure,’ Carella said.
Both men fell silent. Kling pulled up a chair, sat. ‘Mind if I ask you something?’ he said.
Carella looked across the desk at him.
‘I’ve had a serious argument with Sharyn.’
Carella nodded.
‘I thought she was running around behind my back. Turned out she and this colleague, handsome black doctor, were trying to help another colleague, a woman who… well, it’s a long story.’
‘What was the argument about?’
‘Sharyn thinks I betrayed her.’
‘How?’
‘By following her. By not trusting her.’
Carella nodded again.
‘You agree with her, huh?’
‘I’ve never followed Teddy in my life. Never will.’
‘Yeah,’ Kling said. ‘But I thought…’
‘Whatever you thought.’
‘Yeah.’
They were silent for another moment.
‘She doesn’t want me to call her.’
‘So don’t.’
‘For a while, anyway.’
‘Is that what she said?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, that’s a good sign.’
He was thinking, Man, you don’t tail a woman you love.
‘I want this to work,’ Kling said.
‘Then make sure it does,’ Carella said.
‘I love her, Steve.’
‘Tell her.’
Again and again and again, he thought.
‘When do you think I should call her again?’
‘Was me?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I’d call her every minute of every hour of every day until she knew how much I loved her.’
‘I’m afraid she’ll…”
He shook his head.
‘I’m afraid I’ll lose her,’ he said.
‘Tell her.’
Kling nodded.
He was already trying to think what he might say the next time he phoned.
* * * *
Ollie Weeks was still thinking about last Friday night. The dinner with Patricia and her family. Or, more accurately, what had happened in the parking lot after dinner. That was almost a week ago, and all he could do was still think about Patricia Gomez.
To tell the truth, he was beginning to feel a bit conflicted, so to speak. This was probably because Patricia had kissed him good night on the lips. This after her brother had clapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘You got cool chops, dude.’ Meaning the way he played piano. This after her father had told him, ‘I like a man with a hearty appetite.’ Meaning the way he ate.
Ollie had told Patricia she didn’t have to come downstairs with him, it was late, and she’d said, ‘Hey, I’m a cop.’ Took the elevator down with him, the hallways and the elevator doors all covered with graffiti, salsa music coming from inside all the apartments. Walked him to his car, and kissed him before he even unlocked the door. On the lips. With her mouth open. And her tongue working.
Which was why he felt so conflicted, so to speak, this Monday evening, when he was about to call Patricia to propose a quiet little dinner alone in his apartment, which he himself would prepare.
Was he merely out to lay Patricia Gomez?
Or was this something more serious, God forbid?
He wished he had someone he could discuss this with.
He wished he knew Steve Carella better.
Only other person he could think of was An
dy Parker.
* * * *
The two men met for a drink at nine that night. Parker suspected something was on Ollie’s mind, but he couldn’t imagine what it was until Ollie began talking about this great Spanish dinner he’d had last week up Patricia Gomez’s house.
‘You still seeing her, huh?’ Parker said.
‘Well, yeah, every now and then,’ Ollie said.
‘Is that why you’re on this diet of yours?’
‘What diet?’ Ollie asked.
‘Or maybe not, a Spanish dinner.’
‘Patricia says it’s okay to go off it every now and then.’
‘So it was her idea, is that right?’
‘No, no, her idea. Come on.’
‘Then whose idea was it, if not hers? If she’s the one can say it’s okay to stay on it or go off it, then whose idea was it? The Pope’s?’
‘So we talked about me losing a few pounds, so what?’
‘Looks to me like you lost a lot more than a few pounds. I hardly recognized you when you walked in here.’
‘Really?’ Ollie said, pleased.
‘You gotta be careful, losing so much weight so fast.’
‘Ten pounds is all,’ Ollie said.
‘That’s a lot. She must have some grip on you, this girl.’
‘Naw, come on, whattya mean, grip. Come on. We just see each other every now and then.’
‘So long as it’s just that,’ Parker said, and nodded emphatically. ‘You drinking beer cause of the diet?’
‘Well, hard liquor has a lot of empty calories,’ Ollie explained.
‘You want another beer?’
‘I’m okay with this,’ Ollie said.
‘I’ll have another scotch, if it won’t offend you, that is.’
‘Why should it offend me?’ Ollie said.
‘Who knows, these days?’ Parker said, and signaled for a refill and then gulped it down in almost a single swallow. ‘You hear the one about the Caddys?’ he asked.
‘Which one is that?’
‘If a white man driving a white Caddy is white power,’ Parker said, ‘and two black men driving a black Caddy is black power…” He grinned in anticipation. ‘What’s three Puerto Ricans driving a maroon Caddy?’
‘Puerto Rican power?’ Ollie guessed.
‘Grand Theft, Auto,’ Parker said, and burst out laughing.
Ollie nodded, sipped at his beer.
‘What’sa matter?’ Parker asked.
‘Nothing. Why? What’sa matter?’
‘You din’t think that was funny?’
‘Not very.’
‘Grand Theft, Auto? You din’t think that was funny?’
‘I thought it was Grand Theft, Auto, is what I thought it was. It coulda been any three guys driving the car, that woulda been Grand Theft, Auto, if they stole the car.’
‘Yeah, but these were three spics, which is what made it Grand Theft, Auto, which is what makes the joke funny.’
‘Okay, so it’s funny,’ Ollie said. ‘Ha ha.’
‘You know what’s wrong with you all at once?’ Parker said, and jabbed his finger across the table at him.
‘I didn’t realize anything was wrong with me all at once,’ Ollie said.
‘Yes, all at once you are losing your you-ness.’
‘My what?’
‘Your essential Ollie-ness.’
‘And what is that, my essential Ollie-ness?’
‘Your capacity to laugh at niggers and spies and wops and kikes…”
‘I told you “ha ha,” didn’t I?’
‘Yes, but you didn’t mean it. You are losing your ris de veau.’
‘My what?’
‘Your ris de veau. That’s French for “joy of living.” When the French say a person has ris de veau, it means he enjoys life.’
‘Too bad I ain’t French.’
‘I got another story to tell you,’ Parker said.
‘What’s this one?’ Ollie said. ‘Four Jews in a blue Caddy?’
‘No, it’s about this puppy dog walking along the railroad tracks…’
‘Is he white, black, or Puerto Rican?’
‘He is a little white puppy dog, and this train comes along, and the wheels run over his tail, and he loses the end of his tail. And he’s very sad about this. So he puts his head down on the tracks and he begins crying his heart out, and not paying any attention. And just then another train comes along, and runs him over again, cutting off his head this time. You know the moral of that story, Ollie?’
‘No, what’s the moral?’
‘Never lose your head over a piece of tail.’
The table went silent.
‘You understand me?’ Parker said.
Ollie figured maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea, after all.
3.
THEY FOUND THE first of Alicia’s husbands in a salsa club called Loco Tapas y Vargas on Verglas Street, downtown on the edge of the city’s Garment District. Ricky Montero was playing trumpet in one of the club’s two ‘top-name Big Band Orchestras’; neither Parker nor Genero had ever heard of either of them.
Montero’s band was rehearsing when they came in at ten thirty that Tuesday morning, the twenty-second day of June. He explained that both bands played mambo, cha-cha, rumba, son, merengue, guaracha, timba, and songo. He told them each of the bands played both ‘On Two’ and ‘On One’ music…
‘On Two is a mambo style where the break step…”
‘The what step?’
‘The first long step, the break step, comes on the second beat. No pauses.’
‘Uh-huh.’
“With On One, the break comes on the first beat…”
‘Uh-huh.’
‘… and the dancers pause on the fourth and the eighth beats.’
Parker nodded.
So did Genero.
Neither knew what the hell Montero was talking about.
‘Many dancers prefer the On One style.’
‘I can see why,’ Parker said.
‘On Two is based on percussion,’ Montero explained. ‘Not like On One.’
‘What’s On One based on?’
‘Melody.’
‘Right,’ Genero said.
Parker felt like ordering a beer. So did Genero.
‘Tell us about your ex-wife,’ Parker said.
‘Somebody offed her, huh?’ Montero said. ‘I read about it in the papers. Some kind of serial killer, huh?’
‘Well, we don’t know that yet.’
‘All we know so far is she was sexually promiscuous at an early age.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say that.’
‘You had no reason to believe that?’
‘Well, she had a healthy appetite, let’s say.’
‘For sex, right?’
‘Well, sex, yes.’
‘Which means she was sexually promiscuous, right?’
‘Depends on how you define promiscuous.’
‘How do you define it, Mr. Montero?’
‘Well, yes, she was sexually promiscuous, I would say, yes.’
‘How about drugs? Was she using drugs?’
‘Well.’
‘Because we understand you yourself do…’
‘No, no.’
‘…a little dope.’
‘No, that’s not true. Long ago, maybe. Not no more.’
‘How long ago?’
‘Ten years? When we were together, yes, we experimented a little, you might say.’
‘With what? Crack?’
‘No, no, crack was on the scene much earlier, the crack rage. Alicia and I split ten years ago. Heroin was back by then. All we did was a little shit every now and then.’
‘Just dabbled, would you say?’
‘Oh, yes, nothing serious.’
‘Not even little teeny-weeny chickenshit habits?’
‘No habits at all. Nothing. Like you said, we just dabbled.’
‘Who helped you with all this dabbling?’
‘No
t all this dabbling. Come on. It was just every now and then. Recreational, you might say. Recreational use. Hey, I’m a musician.’
‘Alicia wasn’t a musician, though.’
‘Well, we were married. Look, this wasn’t such a big deal. Don’t try to make it into such a big deal.’
‘Was she working when you were married?’
‘Yes.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Manicuring.’
‘Would you remember where?’
‘No. This was before she got into selling beauty products.’
‘Why’d you divorce her, Ricky?’
‘I didn’t.’
The detectives looked at him blankly.
‘She was the one wanted the divorce.’
‘Why?’
‘Different lifestyles, she said.’
‘Dope?’ Genero said.
‘No, we were both experimenting along those lines.’
‘Sex?’
‘I didn’t mind that.’
‘Then what?’
‘I have no idea. She just said our lifestyles were too different.’
‘About this experimenting…’
‘Just a little.’
‘Just a little shmeck every now and then, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Who supplied you?’
‘Shit, man, you can score on any street corner in this city, don’t you know that? I mean, you’re cops, you don’t know that?’
‘Nobody in particular? No favorite dealer?’
‘Nobody I’d remember.’
‘Would you know if she kept on using? After you split?’
‘I haven’t seen her in ten years.’
‘So you wouldn’t know if she was still “dabbling”?’
‘ “Experimenting” ?’
‘How would I know?’
‘But if she was…’
‘I don’t know what she…”
“… you wouldn’t know who might have been supplying her nowadays.’
‘I wouldn’t know anything about her. I just told you, I haven’t seen her in ten years.’
‘Wouldn’t know if she owed some dealer money, for example?’
‘Is there a problem with the sound in here? What is it you don’t understand? I haven’t seen the woman in ten years. I don’t know if she was shooting dope in her arm or in her eye or even up her ass.’
‘How do you know she was selling beauty products?’
‘Huh?’
‘If you haven’t seen her in ten years, how do you happen to know that?’
‘I heard around.’
‘From who?’
‘I forget who told me. She was selling nail polish and shit. Was what I heard. She was like a sales rep, is what they call it. Look, if you got any more questions, make it fast, okay? I gotta get back on the stand.’
