Fiddlers

by Ed McBain

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Parker said again.

  ‘Other dope, too,’ Jenny said. ‘All kine’a heavy shit.’

  ‘You think she might’ve been doing any of the heavier stuff?’

  ‘No,’ Jenny said. ‘No, no. She a good girl. Jussa li’l pot ever now and then. Dass all.’

  The detectives said nothing.

  ‘Ever’body do a li’l pot ever now and then,’ Jenny said.

  They still said nothing.

  ‘Why? You think dass why somebody maybe shoot her?’ Jenny said.

  ‘Maybe,’ Parker said, and shrugged.

  ‘What do you think?’ Genero asked.

  ‘I think I so sorry she dead,’ Jenny said.

  * * * *

  ‘So tell me about yourself,’ Reggie said.

  The top of the Jaguar was down, they were tooling along soundlessly on back roads, her red hair blowing in the wind. He had bought a billed motoring cap at Gucci’s, cost him four hundred dollars, the tan leather as soft as a baby’s ass. He wore it tilted jauntily over one eye. All he needed was a pair of goggles to make him look like some kind of Italian playboy.

  ‘What would you like to know?’ he asked.

  She was wearing a white T-shirt and a green mini. She’d kicked off her flat sandals, and was leaning back in her seat now, her knees bent, the soles of her feet propped up against the glove compartment. The radio was tuned to an easy-listening station, the volume up to combat the rush of wind around the car. It was a bright beautiful day, and she was a bright beautiful girl. He could almost forget she was a hooker.

  ‘Well, for example,’ she said, ‘what kind of work do you do?’

  ‘I’m retired,’ he said.

  ‘What kind of work did you do?’

  ‘I was in sales.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘I left the job just recently.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Tired of it.’

  Reggie nodded, brushed hair back from her eyes.

  ‘So what’ve you been doing since?’

  ‘Loafing.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘Past few months.’

  ‘You can afford to do that?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘I guess so,’ she said, and giggled, and opened her arms wide to the car. Music oozed from the speakers, swirled around them.

  ‘How old are you, anyway?’ she asked.

  ‘Fifty-six,’ he said.

  ‘Bingo, no hesitation.’

  ‘Is that okay?’

  ‘Yeah, I like it. It’s called being honest.’

  ‘Or foolhardy.’

  ‘Fifty-six. You look younger. I guess it’s the bald head. How long have you worn it that way?’

  ‘Past few months.’

  ‘I like it. Very trendy.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You ought to get an earring.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘For the left ear. Right is a signal to fags.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Music swirled around the car, drifted away behind them.

  ‘I’m enjoying this,’ she said.

  ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘I ought to be paying you,’ she said, and then immediately, ‘Don’t get any ideas!’

  They both burst out laughing.

  * * * *

  Huntsville, Texas, is about 70 miles north of Houston and 170 miles south of Dallas/Fort Worth. Not for nothing is it known as the ‘prison city’ of Texas: there are eight prisons in Huntsville, and some 15,000 inmates are imprisoned there. This means that every third or fourth citizen of the city is a prison inmate. It further means that the Texas Department of Criminal Justice is the city’s biggest employer; only two percent of Huntsville’s citizens are out of work.

  Walker County prison records showed that Alvin Randolph Dalton was released on parole almost twenty years ago, and subsequently granted permission to move out of state. Parole records here in this city indicated assiduous attendance. He’d paid his debt to society in full, and was now free to go wherever he chose to go, and do whatever he chose to do within the law. But, no longer required to report to anyone anywhere, his whereabouts were a mystery until they checked the phone books, and found a listing for an A. R. Dalton on Inverness Boulevard in Majesta.

  A phone call confirmed that he was the man they wanted.

  Parker told him to wait there for them.

  Dalton said, ‘What is this?’

  Same as Hendricks asked up there in Castleview.

  ‘Just wait there,’ Parker said.

  * * * *

  The Walker County prison records gave Dalton’s age as fifty-seven. Remarkably fit, jailhouse tattoos all over his bulging muscles, entirely bald and wearing an earring in his right ear, he greeted them in a black tank-top shirt and black jeans, barefooted, and told them at once that Wednesday was his day off. What he did was drive a limo for Intercity Transport, mostly airport pickups and dropoffs, but sometimes trips to the casinos upstate or across the river.

  ‘So what’s this about?’ he asked.

  ‘Your wife got killed,’ Genero said.

  ‘I don’t have a wife,’ Dalton said.

  ‘Your former wife. Alicia Hendricks.’

  ‘Yeah. Her. That’s too bad. What’s it got to do with me? I haven’t seen her in fifteen years, it must be.’

  ‘Lost track of her, is that it?’

  Dalton looked at them.

  ‘What is this?’ he said again.

  ‘Routine,’ Genero said.

  ‘Bullshit,’ Dalton said. ‘You guys get a dead woman whose ex done time, all at once your ears go up. Well, fellas, I’ve been clean for almost twenty years now, a gainfully employed, respectable citizen of this fair city. I wouldn’t know Alicia if I tripped over her, dead or alive. You’re barking up the wrong tree.’

  ‘How long you been wearing your head bald?’ Parker asked.

  ‘Why? Some bald-headed guy do her?’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘My hair began falling out in stir. Before I got busted, I was living in D-Town, wore it long like a hippie. All of a sudden, I’m a white male inmate with a bald head, the hamhocks hung a racist jacket on me, made my life miserable.’

  ‘When’s the last time you saw Alicia?’

  ‘Whoo. We’re talkin fifteen years ago, that’s when we got divorced. We’re talkin Johnny Carson leaving The Tonight Show. We’re talkin the invasion of Kuwait. We’re talkin the first Gulf War. We’re talkin ancient history, man!’

  ‘Was she doing dope back then?’

  ‘Who says she was doing dope ever?’

  ‘That’s what you went down for, isn’t it? A dope violation.’

  ‘I learned my lesson.’

  ‘Was she doing dope?’

  ‘Nothing serious.’

  ‘Nothing serious like what?’

  ‘Little griff every now and then.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Same thing. Marijuana never hurt nobody.’

  ‘That right?’

  ‘Marijuana’s the most frequently used illegal drug in the United States.’

  ‘Tell us all about it, professor.’

  ‘Over eighty-three million Americans over the age of twelve have tried marijuana at least once.’

  ‘Including Alicia, huh?’

  ‘Big deal.’

  ‘She ever move on to the heavier shit?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. Not while we were married, anyway.’

  ‘How about after you split?’ Genero said. ‘You sure she never went hardcore?’

  ‘Is that a trick question, Sherlock? I told you I never saw her after the divorce. Why? You think some dealer did her?’

  ‘We understand she was keeping bad company.’

  ‘Not on my watch.’

  ‘On your watch, all you did was blast a little stick every now and then, right?’

  ‘That’s not all we did.’

  ‘Ju
st two happy airheads…”

  ‘Don’t put the marriage down,’ Dalton warned. ‘In many ways, it was a good one.’

  ‘In what ways was it a bad one?’

  ‘Why’d you get a divorce?’

  Dalton hesitated.

  ‘So?’ Parker said.

  ‘She was running around on me.’

  ‘But that wasn’t bad company, right?’

  ‘It was the company she chose. That didn’t mean I had to go along with it.’

  ‘Where were you last Friday night at around eight o’clock, Al?’

  ‘Airtight,’ Dalton said.

  ‘Let’s hear it.’

  ‘I was driving a van to an Indian casino upstate.’

  ‘We suppose you have wit…’

  ‘Six of them. All high rollers. Check it out.’

  * * * *

  The waiter possessed the good grace not to card Reggie. Then he spoiled it by saying, ‘I’m assuming your daughter is twenty-one.’

  ‘Yes,’ Charles said.

  The waiter nodded and padded off.

  ‘Did that bother you?’ she asked.

  ‘A little.’

  ‘When he comes back, I’ll kiss you on the mouth.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘You realize there are guys dying in Iraq who can’t order a drink in this state?’

  ‘It was that way when I was a kid, too. We used to bitch about it all the time. Being in the Army, not allowed to order a drink.’

  ‘What war was that?’

  ‘Vietnam.’

  ‘You were in that war?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘That seems so long ago.’

  ‘To me, too.’

  ‘Are you from here originally? I don’t mean here, this state, I mean the city,’ and with a jerk of her head indicated its general direction.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I was born and raised in Denver,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve always wanted to go out West.’

  ‘Maybe we can go out there together sometime,’ she said.

  ‘Well… maybe. Yes.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to?’

  ‘Here we go,’ the waiter said, and placed their drinks on the table. ‘Did you folks want to hear the specials now, or would you like to enjoy your drinks first?’

  ‘Give us a few minutes,’ he said.

  ‘Take your time,’ the waiter said, and went off again.

  ‘So you were in the Army, huh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘See any action?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When did you get out?’

  ‘1970.’

  ‘I wasn’t even born yet!’

  ‘Shh, he’ll hear you.’

  ‘Fuck him,’ she said. ‘I think I will kiss you on the mouth.’

  And reached across the table, and cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him openmouthed, her tongue searching.

  * * * *

  All of Jenny Cho’s salons had the word ‘Blossom’ in their names. Plum Blossom - where the detectives were now headed - Peony Blossom, Pear Blossom, Cherry Blossom, Apricot Blossom, and the eponymous flagship establishment Jenny herself ran, Lotus Blossom. It would have been simpler to call each and every one of these places to ask questions about Alicia Hendricks. But Genero and Parker were still pursuing the ‘drug-related’ angle, and were trying to find out whether her supplier - if indeed such a supplier existed - might be someone she’d met at any of the regular stops on her schedule. Besides, you couldn’t gauge reaction on the telephone; that’s why legwork was invented. That’s why it took so much time to track down a person’s story. In police work, everyone had a story. Was Alicia’s story dope? Getting the story straight was often the answer to solving a crime.

  The first thing the manager of Plum Blossom Nails said to Parker was, ‘Pedicue ten dollah ex’ra.’

  He was pointing at Parker’s shoes.

  The two detectives had barely set foot in the shop, guy tells Parker it’s ten dollars extra. He looked down at his feet.

  ‘I don’t want a pedicure,’ he said.

  ‘Manicue same price,’ the manager said. ‘Pedicue ten dollah ex’ra.’

  ‘I don’t want a manicure, either,’ Parker said. ‘Why is it ten dollars extra for a pedicure?’ He was thinking of busting this little bald-headed gook for price gouging or something.

  ‘You man,’ the manager said. ‘Big feet.’

  ‘But you save on nail polish,’ Parker said.

  ‘Big feet,’ the manager insisted, shaking his head. ‘Ten dollah ex’ra.’

  ‘That’s sexist,’ Genero said.

  ‘Exactly,’ Parker said. ‘If this was a man’s barbershop, and you charged a woman ten dollars extra for a pedicure, she’d take a feminist fit. Am I right, ladies?’ he asked, playing to the house now, hoping for a little female support here.

  ‘Right on, brother,’ one of the women shouted, and thrust her clenched fist at the air. The others kept reading their magazines.

  ‘I feel like getting a pedicure just for the hell of it,’ Parker said. ‘Make this a test case.’

  ‘Sure,’ the manager agreed. ‘But ten dollah ex’ra.’

  ‘You in charge here?’ Genero asked, and showed his shield.

  ‘Why, wassa motta?’ the manager asked.

  ‘We’re investigating a murder,’ Parker said, using the word ‘murder’ instead of ‘homicide,’ which they probably didn’t understand in Korea. Scare the shit out of the little gook, he was thinking. Ten dollars extra for a fuckin pedicure! ‘Does the name Alicia Hendricks mean anything to you?’

  The manager looked at him blankly.

  But he was scared now. Fear in his eyes. Well, sure, a murder investigation.

  ‘Works for Beauty Plus,’ Genero said.

  ‘Lustre Nails,’ Parker said.

  ‘She’d have come here selling nail polish, cuticle remover, nail hardener, all that related stuff. A sales rep.’

  ‘Ring a bell?’

  The manager was shaking his head.

  ‘We’re trying to work up her story’

  ‘Find out who might’ve wanted her dead.’

  ‘Remember her?’

  Still shaking his little bald head. Eyes wide in fright. Well, murder.

  ‘You’re not in any trouble here,’ Genero assured him. ‘This is like a background check.’

  ‘Alicia Hendricks,’ Parker said.

  ‘Nobody,’ the manager said, shaking his head. ‘No. On’y Korean girl work here.’

  * * * *

  In the car on the way to Pear Blossom Nails, Parker asked, ‘Who said she worked there? Did anybody tell him she worked there?’

  ‘No, we told him she was a sales rep.’

  ‘And who said she wasn’t Korean?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Did anybody say Alicia Hendricks wasn’t Korean?’

  ‘Well, no, but the name…”

  ‘They all take American names. You ask any of the Korean girls in there what their names are, they’ll tell you Mary or Terry or Kelly or Cathy or whatever. So why couldn’t Alicia be Korean?’

  ‘Well, Hendricks. That don’t sound Korean.’

  ‘She could be married to an American. Nice Korean girl married to an American, why not? My point is, what made that little bald-headed jerk think she wasn’t Korean? Ten dollars extra, can you imagine that?’

  ‘You think he knew her, is that it?’

  ‘I got no idea he knew her or he didn’t know her. Of course he knew her! She goes there all the time to sell her nail polish, she’s a regular like Clairol or Revlon, all at once he never heard of her! Tells us all the girls in there are Korean, when nobody said she wasn’t Korean!’

  ‘You think he’s hiding something?’

  ‘He better not be,’ Parker said.

  * * * *

  Because she couldn’t drive and sign at the same time, Teddy pulled the car into a roadside Starbucks, and
talked to her daughter over lattes. This was after April’s Wednesday afternoon ballet lesson; she was sweaty and sticky and wasn’t expecting an ambush.

  ‘Who told you that?’ she asked at once.

  Mark, Teddy signed.

  ‘I’ll kill him!’

  No, you won’t kill anyone. He did the right thing.

  They were sitting almost knee to knee on the front seat, mother and daughter, facing each other, look-alikes.

  Teddy’s latte was in the cup holder, April’s in her right hand.

  Why didn’t you tell me yourself? Teddy asked.

  April said nothing.

  April?

  ‘I couldn’t tell anyone, Mom. That was the thing of it. Not you, not even Mark at first. And I can just imagine what Dad’s reaction would’ve been if I casually mentioned that Lorraine Pierce had shoplifted a five-dollar bottle of red Revlon Crayon polish #34 from the local drugstore! Mr. Morality himself? Break out the handcuffs!’

  He’d have done no such thing! And you know it!

  ‘Well, I wasn’t sure. The other thing was… Lorraine’s my very best friend on earth. We sit together in every class in school, spend all our free time together, do things together, talk about things together, secret things… we’re like sisters, you know? It was like forget the petty bullshit, Ape, what’s a little bottle of nail polish between friends to the end?’

  Teddy said nothing about her language.

  Or that someone was calling her daughter Ape.

  ‘It was really difficult, Mom,’ April said. ‘Really.’

  I want you to promise me something, Teddy signed.

  ‘Mom, please don’t ask me to stop seeing Lorraine.’

  No, I won’t do that. But if anything like this ever happens again…

  ‘I promise,’ April said.

  You’ll tell your father or me right away.

  ‘Yes, I promise,’ April said.

  * * * *

  The word was out. No question about it. If the reaction at Plum Blossom was merely a harbinger, the responses at Pear Blossom and then Apricot Blossom were clear indications that nobody was about to tell them anything much about Alicia Hendricks.

  This wasn’t quite the ‘Nobody Knows Nothing’ stonewalling you got in the Eight-Seven hood, or even in Washington, D.C, for that matter; the managers of the Blossom shops couldn’t very well deny the existence of a woman who visited them regularly to promote and sell Beauty Plus’s line of nail-care products. Instead, they all nodded and bowed and smiled in the Oriental manner, oh yes, we know Alicia, oh yes, she very nice girl, come here alia time, we buy many nail polish from her, oh, she dead? So sorry to hear. Nice girl.