by John Locke
I think about Kimberly, and how she wanted to shock me by telling me she’s having sex with the pet salesman. I wonder how shocked she’d be to learn I’ve been dating a 20-year-old hooker named Miranda.
When she’s done milking the crowd, Shirl moves down the stage, not far from where we had the altercation with Roy a few minutes ago. With nothing to go on but a hunch, I put an X on the picture of the penny, meaning, I think when she takes her top off later, the aureole circling her nipple will prove to be smaller than a penny.
Next girl up is Tina. She’s heavy, maybe five-four, one-eighty. She’s wearing a cow girl outfit, but again, a real bra and panties. I put her down for the half-dollar. Third is Allison, who’s about thirty. Allison’s dressed in a business suit, complete with reading glasses. I figure her for a quarter.
The game continues through the progression of eight, then several guys go through the crowd, inspect the cards, sign them, and collect the pens. The emcee calls out “Girl number one!”
Shirl comes to the front of the stage and removes her bra. Guys are yelling now. Some are screaming “Penny!” Others, “Nickel!” They’re all claiming to be right. The emcee makes a few demeaning jokes about the size of her chest that piss me off, then Shirl produces a coin, pushes it onto her nipple, ending all speculation.
Shirl’s a nickel.
Guys are hollering at each other in a good-natured way.
Carmine smiles. “Helluva game, right? Really gets the crowd worked up. Great for business!”
“Gwen came up with this idea?” I say.
“She did.”
I’m thinking Gwen’s creativity might be a good thing for Ropic Industries. Then I remember she doesn’t want me around to see it.
The heavy-set girl, Tina, amazingly, is a penny.
“You’re not very good at this, are you?” Carmine says.
I shrug.
Allison, the business woman, is indeed a quarter.
“One out of three!” I say, more enthusiastically than I would’ve expected.
By the time the last woman proves her size, I end up with a paltry two out of eight. I’m amazed to see three men on their feet, holding up their cards, claiming to have gotten them all. One of the winners is Tony Spumoni.
He’s got an enormous cast covering one side of his head. Looks ridiculous.
“You did that to his ear?” Carmine says.
“How’s it possible three guys got them all?” I ask, realizing I’m more interested in the contest than Tony’s condition. What does that say about me?
“They’re regulars,” Carmine says. “We always bring in one or two housewives to make it interesting, but the rest are our girls.”
“So the system rewards those who support the club day in and day out.”
“Pretty clever, right?”
It is clever. Proving Gwen has a lot more going for her than a great face and killer body.
Before they bring the next stripper out to break the tie, Carmine says, “Come with me.”
We get to our feet and start walking toward his office. As I pass Tony I say, “I’ll meet you after you collect your lap dance.”
He nods.
In Carmine’s office, I move the chair he wants me to sit in so that I have a clear view of his office and bathroom doors.
“It’s in your nature to disrespect me,” he says.
“Too much respect can get a guy killed.”
23.
“Reason I wanted to talk to you,” Carmine says, “this thing with little Gwennie has my stomach all tied up in knots.”
“I know how you feel.”
“You been fuckin’ her,” he says. He puts his hand up. “You don’t have to answer. It’s between the two of you. I also know she had something to do with killing Lucky. Figure your girl’s the one who did it. What’s her name? Callie something?”
I say nothing.
He waves his hand. “Whatever. None of my business. I’m an old man.”
“You’ve still got teeth,” I say, referring to his power.
He chuckles. “A few.” Then he says, “That was nice of you, crushing Roy’s hand like that.” He chuckles again. “Bad for Roy, though.”
“You gave him a good slap.”
“I should’a killed him.” He sighs. “In the old days…” his voice trails off.
“What about little Gwennie?” I say.
“That,” he says. “I gotta wonder. How did things get so bad between you?”
I shrug. “Tell you the truth, I thought we were getting along really well.”
He nods. “Women, right?”
“The smart move is to kill her.”
He nods. “I know.” He pauses, looks at me.
“What?”
“I’m an old man,” he says.
“You said that.”
“See? Old people repeat themselves.” He laughs. “Anyway, what I was gonna say, this thing that’s got her angry, whatever it is, maybe you can work it out between you. What I’m sayin’, you got a little time here. Maybe you can figure it out. I don’t know. Buy her flowers, a mink coat, you know?”
“Women don’t wear mink these days.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Does it matter?”
He slaps his hand against his forehead. “No wonder I can’t get any pussy!”
We laugh. Then I say, “You really think if I bring her flowers she won’t try to have me killed?”
“How the fuck do I know? What I do know is, you give a woman a gift, it forces her to speak to you.”
“She spoke to me today. Many times.”
“Was she mad?”
“Quite the opposite.”
“She catch you cheating?”
“Nope.”
He shrugs. “Women, right?”
“Women,” I say.
We’re quiet a while, two guys in the office of a strip club, wondering how we could possibly know so little about women.
“Don’t tell her I said anything,” Carmine says.
“I wouldn’t do that.”
He nods. We both know it’s important for Gwen to believe she has his confidence.
I say, “She offer you money?”
“For the hit? Nah. We didn’t get that far.”
“Because?”
He looks at me. “I told you.”
“Yeah. We’re friends. I know. But why didn’t you take the hit? You know she’ll inherit money from the estate. Eventually.”
“Don’t dismiss the friendship part so easily.”
I wait.
He says, “The other part is, I got no one good enough. I can’t afford to lose any more shooters.”
Finally. An honest answer.
Carmine says, “Did you know Tony was gonna be here tonight?”
“He’s the one that called when I was on the phone with you. He wants to talk.”
“Do me a favor?”
“Name it.”
“You decide to tear off his other ear, do it outside, okay? Customers see that sort of thing, it’s bad for business.”
“Got it. No tearing off ears inside the club.”
He stares at me a moment. Then says, “How do you do it?”
“What, tear a guy’s ear off?”
“Yeah. What I’m askin’, does it come off clean?”
“With practice.”
He looks at me like a proud father looks at his son after watching him hit a game-winning home run. Then chuckles. “You kids these days. Jeez.”
I smile. Truth is, it only requires seven pounds of pressure to rip a guy’s ear off his head. Take a dozen sheets of typing paper, hold them together with one hand, tear them with the other. That’s an equivalent effort. The trick is to hook your fingers as far behind the ear as possible, grabbing as much tissue as you can. Don’t try to pull the ear off. There’s too much connective tissue. You want to tear from the top of the ear downward. At first you might have proble
ms shearing the entire ear off in one motion. Like I say, it takes practice.
24.
“Let’s take it outside,” Tony says.
We’re standing at the end of the bar. He’s looking past me, watching a young pole dancer. His eyes widen slightly. I turn to follow his gaze. She’s upside down on the pole, doing a split.
“Talented girl,” he says.
I wonder if he’s got some thugs in the parking lot, waiting to ambush me.
“We can talk here,” I say.
“It’s too public. What I want to say requires privacy.”
“Follow me,” I say.
We go down the hall. When we get to the bathroom, I open the door.
“After you,” I say.
“What? We can’t meet in the friggin’ bathroom,” he says.
“Why not? I can keep people out.”
He looks at me like I’m insane. Doesn’t bother me. I probably am insane. He enters the room, I follow close behind. When the door’s closed he says, “Creed.”
“Yeah?”
“Should I call you Donovan?”
I shake my head. Poor, pitiful Tony.
“You’re right,” I say. “Let’s take it outside.”
When we get outside, I motion him to join me in my rental car. He looks around a minute, then climbs in. Before he can speak, I punch his temple and he goes out like a light. I start the car and drive to the edge of the parking lot and wait till traffic is moving at a good clip. Then I floor the gas pedal, squeal the tires, and force my way into the line of fast-moving cars. While I’m doing this I reach over and rip Tony’s shirt open, pull the microphone off his chest, and throw it in the street. Then I cross lanes, reverse direction, and roar past the detectives as they’re leaving the parking lot, heading the wrong way.
When Tony starts coming around, I punch him again. Next time he comes around, we’re in the parking lot of Wildrose Memorial. I get out, walk around the front of the car, open the passenger door.
“Where are we?” Tony says, looking around.
“Quick lesson, sport. Next time you wear a wire, don’t start the conversation by asking the mark his name.”
“They made me say your name like that! We practiced!”
“Yeah? Well, I’ve been practicing, too!”
I pull him out of the car, grab his good ear between my thumb and fingers, and tear it cleanly from his head. It’s a vile, messy business, this ear-tearing thing. Generates far more blood than you’d expect. As Tony starts to go into shock, I hand him his ear and point him toward the E.R.
I start heading to George Best’s house, but get sidetracked by Callie’s phone call.
“Mr. Cohen?” she says. “There are two detectives at my condo. Is there any way you can meet me?”
I look at my watch. “This time of night? They must think they have something.”
Callie says nothing, so I say, “I can come right now, but I don’t have my lawyer business card with me.”
“That’ll be fine,” she says. Then adds, “They don’t understand why you’re representing both Gwen and me.”
I smile. Callie makes it easy to read between the lines. “I’ll be glad to explain it to them when I get there.”
“Thanks, Mr. Cohen.” She tells me her address and what floor she’s located on, since the attorney, Mr. Cohen, wouldn’t know.
“I’ll be there in five minutes,” I say.
25.
I’ve got A key to get in, but we don’t want the detectives to know that, so I buzz Callie’s penthouse and she clicks the lobby lock open. I take the elevator to the top floor and knock on her door. When she opens it, I see two plainclothes detectives looking very disgusted by my presence on the scene. They look so much alike, they could be brothers. One has a brown suit on, the other’s wearing navy. Both are wearing ties. Callie leads us into the living room. I study Gwen’s face for any sign that might indicate she asked Carmine to kill me. But her expression offers nothing. I catch myself thinking she’d make a great agent for me, if I could trust her a little more. Or at all.
“Don’t worry boys,” I say to the detectives. “You’re going to love the way I work.”
“Oh yeah?” brown suit says. “Why’s that?”
“Because I’m going to let my clients answer all your questions.”
“You’re what?”
“That’s right. They’ve got nothing to hide.”
“If that’s the case,” navy suit says, “you don’t need to be here at all.”
“True. Except that my presence will keep you on your best behavior.”
“I’ve never seen you, never heard of you,” brown suit says. “You got proof of representation?”
“My proof is my client called me and asked me to come. When I got here, she let me in.”
“I’m-”
I wave him off. “Look, I don’t care what your names are. You’re brown suit, he’s navy suit. I’m Carlos Cohen.”
“Carlos?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
Brown suit starts to say something, thinks better of it. Turns to Gwen and says, “You don’t seem very upset about your husband’s death.”
“I’m not.”
The detectives look at me, stunned. Not only have I allowed Gwen to incriminate herself, I motion them to continue.
They look at each other.
Blue suit shrugs and says, “Your husband was murdered in cold blood and you’re not upset? Why?”
They look at me again. When I continue to say nothing, brown suit says, “Are you sure you’re a lawyer?”
“I knew you’d love working with me. Just wait till you hear her confession!”
“Her what?”
To Gwen I say, “You may answer the detective’s question.”
“I didn’t love my husband,” Gwen says. “He lied to me, and cheated on me.”
Brown suit is so befuddled, he has to regroup.
Blue suit says, “Mrs. Peters, do you own a handgun?”
“Nope.”
He turns to Callie and says, “Do you?”
“Do I look like the kind of woman who needs a handgun?”
Both suits look at me.
“Please answer the question, Miss Carpenter.”
“No. I don’t own a handgun.”
“May we verify that fact by conducting a quick search?”
“Define ‘quick,’” I say.
“A cursory search. Ten minutes, max.”
“That’s all you need?”
“That’s all we need.”
I look at Callie. She nods. “I’ll allow it, subject to ground rules. You stay together, we go where you go. No questions during the search. You’ve got ten minutes, starting now.”
Ten minutes later blue suit says, “We can wrap this up in five minutes.”
“You’re done,” I say. “My clients have been completely cooperative, and we utilized your time frame.”
“We can come back with a search warrant,” brown suit threatens.
“I wish I could be there when you ask the judge.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked for ten minutes to search the premises. I asked if that was all you needed and you said yes. My clients consented to the search. You did, in fact, search the premises, and found nothing.”
“There’s sufficient cause to conduct a more thorough search.”
“This will be fun to hear. Please enlighten us.”
Brown suit points at Gwen. “Her husband was murdered in her house.” He points at Callie. “And her lover was murdered at the same time.”
“Is that your sufficient cause?”
“Probable cause,” blue suit corrects.
“And did you just now learn that both my clients were connected to the victims?”
“We knew it the night of the murder,” brown suit says.
“Which means you knew it before you asked for ten minutes to conduct your search,” I say. “So you’ve already used up you
r probable cause search.”
They don’t like what they’re hearing, but they’re veterans. While I may be confusing them, I’m not intimidating them.
Brown suit says, “You may be right. We can let the judge decide.”
“Then let’s,” I say.
We go back into Callie’s living room.
“Miss Carpenter,” brown suit says. “Was Eva LeSage your lover?”
“I’m not going to answer any questions I’ve covered with the police. Gwen and I have cooperated fully, and you know these answers. I’ll give you a quick synopsis, and then you can either ask me something new, that no one has asked during the last four sessions, or you can leave.”
“Let’s hear the synopsis,” blue suit says.
“Eva and I were lovers. Lucky Peters hired Eva for three-way sex on Tuesdays. Sometimes Gwen participated, sometimes she didn’t. Gwen and Eva were friends, which is how Gwen and I met and became lovers. On the Tuesday night they were murdered, Gwen and I were here in my apartment. You’ve spoken to the neighbors. They told you we were here all evening.”
“They told us you were here all evening.”
“That’s because Gwen was already in the house when they saw me come home that afternoon.”
“Can you prove it?”
“My proof is she’s alive.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. She could’ve killed them.”
“Right,” Gwen says. “That’s exactly what happened. I killed the two bodyguards, killed Eva and Lucky, drove to Callie’s condo-wait-I must’ve flown here, because my car was and still is at my house. Anyway, I killed everyone with a gun I don’t possess, flew here on my broomstick and entered Callie’s condo in such a way that none of the neighbors heard or saw me.”
“There’s the confession I promised!” I say. “Now if you boys will go ahead and arrest Mrs. Peters, we can take it straight to the courtroom. And don’t worry about a search warrant. We’ll provide the broomstick now, so you can enter it into evidence.”
