Blowing Smoke

by Barbara Block

  I watched an old, rusted-out Honda Civic chug by. I should call. I knew I should. I should call before it was too late. I’d told myself that before, but this time I actually took my cell phone out of my backpack, and before I had time to think, punched in the old, familiar number, but the moment I heard my mother’s voice on the line, I pressed the disconnect button and called Manuel on his cell instead. I guess I was scared. At least that’s what the therapist I used to go to would have said.

  “Speak to me,” Manuel said.

  “I am, moron. You got anything for me on Debbie Wright yet?”

  “I do. I do.”

  “Well,” I said after a moment had gone by.

  “I think this might be worth more than a hundred bucks . . .”

  “Manuel, I am not in a good mood,” I told him as I fished around in my backpack for my cigarettes. I took one out, then put it back. I’d been smoking way too much lately.

  “Okay. Okay. She’s moved out of her family’s house and is livin’ over on Catherine Street. She works at one of those toy stores in the mall part-time and deals dope on the side. Nothing big. Some pills, a little E, pot, dabbles in smack once in a while. Strictly amateur night.”

  “This is not a big surprise.”

  “What?” he squawked. “You know how long it took me to get this info?”

  “Knowing you as I do, you probably knew it already.”

  “Come on, Robin. Don’t be cheap.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve been out to the casino again.”

  Manuel was suddenly silent.

  “You’ve got to stay away from there.”

  “I know. I know. You know what else Debbie told me?”

  “What?” I asked as I eyed the street.

  “She said that Bethany’s dad is shipping her off next week and that he’s got her under house arrest.”

  “Manuel, what did you expect? Hold on a second. Debbie’s boyfriend is here.”

  “The weirdo?”

  “That’s so politically incorrect.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Never mind.”

  Louis was walking up the other side of North State Street. His height and weight made him impossible to miss. He would have stood out in the middle of a crowd in Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Not that that was a problem, since at the moment there was no one else on the street.

  “Man, I don’t get it. Debbie, she wouldn’t give me anything, but she’s hooked up with this guy who wears dresses.”

  “Maybe she gets off on making him up.”

  As I watched Louis enter the club, I began to feel sorry for Rose Taylor despite myself. She’d asked me to tell her what I found out about her children. The way things were looking, she was going to get way more than she bargained for. I asked Manuel to go to my house and walk Zsa Zsa and hung up.

  The wind had died down. Everything was still. A man wheeling a shopping cart filled with dirty clothes walked down the middle of the street talking to himself as I studied the marquee. I realized that someone had made a mistake and put an apostrophe between the n and the s. I wondered if I should say something as I locked up and went back inside.

  It took a minute for my eyes to readjust to the dim lighting. I glanced around the room and spotted Louis sitting at the bar. Which surprised me. I’d expected him to go directly to his sister’s dressing room. Or maybe he already had. Maybe he’d made his delivery and come straight back out. In any case, he was sitting opposite the door, watching something outside my range of vision, off to the left. When I walked in, Russell had just finished putting a beer down in front of him. I went over and said hello.

  “My, this is a coincidence,” I chirped, slipping onto the bar stool next to Louis’s.

  He turned around to face me.

  “I almost didn’t recognize you dressed like this.”

  He looked down at his polo shirt and khaki shorts, then back up at me. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”

  “No. How was the party?”

  “I never got to go.”

  “I hope you’re not blaming me for that.”

  Louis grunted.

  “You’ll be happy to hear my jaw is fine.”

  He took a sip of his beer. I couldn’t take my eyes off his hands. They were so large, they nearly hid the glass. No wonder my jaw still ached. I was lucky it wasn’t wired shut.

  “I wasn’t worried.”

  “That’s not what Debbie said.”

  He grimaced. “Debbie doesn’t know shit. I told you I used to box pro. You shoulda listened. What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I came to hear your sister sing.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Oh. I was thinking you might have come for another reason.”

  Louis’s eyes narrowed. “Such as?”

  “You might have brought her something she needs.”

  He tapped the counter with his fingertips. “And what, pray tell, would that be?”

  “I don’t know. Throat spray. Lozenges.”

  Louis gazed at me for a few seconds, assessing me, his face expressionless, before turning back to his drink. “She takes care of those things herself.” He took another sip of beer. As I watched him, I could hear one of the guys at a table near us telling his friends what a dead place Syracuse was. “Hillary is good,” Louis added.

  “So I’ve been told,” I agreed.

  “Too good for here,” Louis observed. He picked up his napkin and began shredding it. Then he took the shreds and placed them in the ashtray next to him.

  “So how come she is here?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think she owes the owner a favor.”

  I thought back to the scene I’d witnessed between Hillary and Johnny Q. Somehow that wasn’t the impression I’d come away with.

  “It’s amazing this place is still open.” His eyes took in the surroundings. “It reminds me of a factory.”

  I didn’t tell him that was the whole idea.

  “Why anyone would want to come here is beyond me.”

  “It doesn’t look as if many people have.”

  He gave me a half-smile. “I keep telling Hillary she should get out of here and go down to New York City.”

  “Why doesn’t she?”

  Louis shook his head. “She went down when she was younger. Something happened—I don’t know what—and she never went back.”

  “Is anyone else in your family musical?”

  “My mother is. She has a very good voice. Amy and I can’t carry a tune.” He took another sip of his beer and lifted his glass. “Hey, let me buy you one of these.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”

  “I insist. To make up for your jaw.” He called to Russell, who’d been talking to someone down at the other end of the bar. “Bring her whatever she wants,” he said to him when he came over.

  “Can’t stay away,” Russell said to me.

  “It’s your compelling personality.”

  “Oh, I thought it was the beer.”

  Louis shot me a puzzled look.

  “I was here a little earlier,” I explained. “I liked your sister’s singing so much I decided to stay around for the next set.” I turned to Russell. “Do you have Black Label?”

  Russell shook his head. “We have Johnny Walker Red.” He put both hands on the bar and leaned toward me. “You look familiar,” he said, scrutinizing my face. “Why is that?”

  “Because you saw me earlier this evening?”

  “No. I thought that when you came in the first time. Are you someone I should know?”

  “Doubtful. I have a generic face.”

  Russell snapped his fingers. “They did a story on you a while ago in the paper. You found someone’s dog for them or something. You’re some kind of pet detective or something weird like that . . .”

  “She investigates things, for God’s sake,” Louis said.

  “Did Louis lose his Chihuahu
a?” Russell asked.

  I smiled unpleasantly. “No. I’m investigating you.” What can I say? The man irritated me.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “And this place.”

  “I thought you had to have a license to do that kind of thing.”

  “I work under Paul Santini’s,” I lied.

  “Find out anything yet?”

  “No. But I’m sure I will.”

  Russell grinned. “You want a private Q & A, all you got to do is ask me.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  He wiped his hands on the towel he’d slung over his shoulder. “So, did you say you wanted a Sex on the Beach?”

  “No. I said I wanted a shot of Red Label with a glass of ice and water on the side.”

  “If you insist.” And he winked at me. “But you’d like my suggestion better.”

  Russell poured my drink and moved down to the other end of the bar.

  “What a schmuck,” Louis muttered, nodding in Russell’s direction. “He has to come on to anything that walks.”

  “So how’s Debbie?” I poured the scotch over the ice, then added a little water.

  “Debbie’s fine.” Louis pointed to the ceiling. I followed his finger. “They had a tin ceiling here, and Johnny just ripped it out and threw it away. You know how much it was worth?”

  “As much as Pat Humphrey’s necklace?”

  Louis studied the room for a few seconds before answering. “I know I have a problem.”

  “Several.”

  “I’m seeing a therapist.”

  “And that gives you carte blanche?”

  “I didn’t say that. But Pat understood.”

  “That’s not the impression I got.”

  “She did.” Louis frowned. “I apologized. I was going to return it.” Louis took another sip of his beer. “I haven’t been to Wolfe Island in years. Not since they redid the docks. Amy and I used to catch frogs there.” He took a handful of peanuts out of the bowl near him, then shook his head as if to clear it. “It’s a shame what happened to Pat. I liked her.”

  “Who?”

  “Pat Humphrey.”

  “Your sister didn’t,” I told him while I watched Johnny Q come out from the back and walk over to the bar. He lifted up a hand and beckoned to Russell, who drifted over.

  “You mean Hillary, I take it?” Louis said.

  I nodded.

  “She’s a very jealous person.”

  “But you’re not?”

  “Not of her.”

  “What would you say if I told you Pat Humphrey was your half sister?” I asked him, watching his face carefully to see what his reaction was.

  “I’d say wow.” He’d opened his eyes wide in a caricature of girlish astonishment, the gesture making his face look grotesque.

  It was obvious Louis wasn’t surprised by the news, either, even though he was trying hard to act as if he were. And if he knew, Amy probably did, too. The question was: When had the three of them found out? Before Pat Humphrey was shot or after? And how had they found out? Rose had sworn she hadn’t told anyone. And I more or less believed her. At least if she had a reason to lie, I didn’t know what it was. Which meant that Pat Humphrey was the one who had talked.

  “I’d say you were crazy.” Louis paused for a few seconds to study my face. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

  “No.” I told him what I’d told Hillary as the lights in the bar dimmed even more and she and her pianist came back onstage.

  Hillary looked calmer. Her brow wasn’t furrowed up. Her hands weren’t shaking. Obviously, she’d gotten what she needed. The question was: Had she gotten it from Louis or from someone else?

  I took another sip of my drink and settled down to listen to her sing. Louis excused himself and walked toward the back, where the bathrooms were located. I noticed he stopped to chat for a minute with Russell and Johnny Q before continuing on his way. The pianist had just sat down at the piano when Johnny Q came over and sat down next to me.

  “You know Louis?”

  “We’ve met.”

  Johnny Q played with the zipper of his shirt, revealing a tuft of chest hair. He shook his head and gestured toward the club. “So whaddya think?”

  “I like it.”

  “I’m getting tired of it myself. I think things should always be changing, you know?” He twisted the band of silver he was wearing on the upper portion of his thumb. “You got to reformat. Otherwise it gets boring. Speaking of boring, you must really like Hillary to stick around for her second set.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No. She’s old.” He pronounced the word as if it were a disease that he was going to do his damnedest not to catch. “That stuff she sings should stay in the forties where it belongs.”

  “Then why is she here?”

  He clicked the metal ball in his tongue against his teeth. “Because she’s paying me.”

  “Paying you?” I asked as I wondered why he’d gotten his tongue pierced and how much it hurt.

  He grinned. “Yeah. This is like a showcase.”

  “That’s fairly low rent. Kind of like one step up from a scam.”

  He didn’t even look affronted. “You think? I’m just doing what everyone else is—trying to stay afloat and make a buck. And anyway, it’s hard to say no to family.”

  “I didn’t know you’re related.”

  “Very distantly.” Johnny Q rubbed his tattoo. It was impossible to hide. A black band of abstract shapes, it came halfway up his neck like a choker. I wondered what he’d do if he ever went corporate. “So you and Hillary kissed and made up?”

  “We’ve come to an understanding.”

  “Good. Because I wouldn’t want to have to throw her out.”

  “And lose that money.”

  “Hey,” Johnny Q protested. “Do you have any idea how much it costs to keep a place like this going? The liquor, the help, the electricity, garbage pickup . . .”

  I interrupted. “How much is she paying you?”

  “Enough. Enough to make it worthwhile.” He looked down at my glass. “What’s in there?”

  “Johnny Walker Red.”

  “Don’t drink that crap.” He raised his hand and beckoned to Russell. “Bring her some from my private stock.” Then he turned toward me. “Russell says you’re an investigator. He says you’re investigating the club.” And he moved closer, grazing my leg with his. I glared at him, and he moved his leg away—fractionally.

  “Is that why you’re here?”

  “No. I’ve always wanted to meet a lady detective.”

  “Then you should go back to your office. I just said that because your bartender was pissing me off.”

  “Well, Russ does have that ability.” He put his elbow on the bar, leaned his head on his hand, and studied me. “Would you tell me if you were?”

  “Investigating you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “What tactic I think would be most effective.”

  “It must be a dangerous job. Especially for someone like you.” And he favored me with a nasty smile.

  “You mean, because I’m a woman?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’ve found that weapons equalize things.”

  “Not always.” He straightened up. “Not when you can’t see things coming.”

  Russell set a glassful of an amber liquid in front of me, then moved away.

  “Meaning?” I said.

  “Nothing. I was just making an observation. Here. Try this,” Johnny Q said, pointing to the glass. “It’s the real deal. Single malt. Aged twenty-five years.”

  He watched my face as I took a sip. The taste exploded on my tongue and moved to the back of my throat. “Good, isn’t it?”

  “Very.”

  He clicked the metal ball in his tongue against his teeth again. “That’s what they’re selling down in the city. Can’t keep the stuff
in stock down there, but I can’t push it up here. No market. If I go through a bottle every two weeks, I’d be doing well. The people that would buy it don’t have the money, and the ones with the money have taste up their asses.”

  I took another sip and rolled the scotch around in my mouth before I swallowed it. “Why did you pierce your tongue?”

  Johnny leered. “Ask some of my girlfriends. They’ll tell you.”

  “I think I’ll pass.”

  He grinned. “Oh, well. No harm meant. You are an investigator, though. Russell was right about that.”

  “Yes. But I’m not here in that capacity.”

  “Then what capacity are you here in?”

  “I already told you. Hillary and I had some business we had to settle.”

  “And what kind of business is that?”

  “The none-of-your-business kind.”

  “You don’t look like the type of people she usually does business with.”

  I shrugged. “I can’t answer that, since I don’t know what those people look like.”

  “They’re definitely on the scummier side of the equation, the kind that deal dope out of the front seat of their cars.”

  I turned slightly and watched as the pianist seated himself at the bench and began to play. No one in the room paid any attention. Hillary walked up to the microphone and adjusted it. It let out a loud screech. For a moment people were startled into silence, then they went back to chattering.

  Johnny Q tapped his fingers on the bar. “I’ll be glad when she’s gone,” he muttered in my ear.

  “Despite the money she’s paying you?”

  “Yes. I don’t need the kind of trouble she brings with her.”

  I watched Johnny take another sip of his drink. “Besides that, she’s a downer. People want to go out and have a good time, not listen to the crap she’s singing.”

  “Then why do you let her up there?”

  “I already told you,” he replied.

  “I just thought there might be more to it.”

  He clicked the ball in his tongue against his teeth. “Like what?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be ask-ring.”