“We sold dope, man.”
“What kind of dope?”
He whispered, “Grass, mostly grass.”
“What else?”
“Sometimes hash. But hash is hard to get.”
He was holding something back. “You sold more than that, didn’t you? You sold coke, and crack, and horse and if you don’t tell me that truth real quick, I might kill you here.” I half-meant it. When he saw me put my hand inside my jacket he bought the other half.
“No, no, we didn’t sell that. I wanted to, but Joe wouldn’t go for it. He said the risk was too big, that we couldn’t get high enough up the food chain. I wanted to, Mister, but I swear, he wouldn’t let us.”
“Then what are you holding back, Rudnow? You didn’t just sell grass.”
He looked away as if he hoped that when he looked back I’d be gone. I wasn’t.
“Every once in a while we would do a job on a drugstore. He’d take the cash, I’d take the goods. He said it kept me off his back.” Rudnow poked inside his mouth with his finger. “Jesus man, you messed up my teeth.”
I kept looking ugly. “You did this shit in Perth Amboy?”
“No way. We’d cork our faces and hands and wear masks and drive to Newark. Hell, we didn’t even need to do that. You rob a drugstore in Newark, everybody figures it’s gotta be a junkie spade.”
He was proud of their ingenuity. I had underestimated him. He had been outside Perth Amboy. If you can call Newark outside of anywhere.
“You do this often?”
“Every few months. We were good at it.” His greasy pride made me sick, though his information pleased me. Now that he’d begun, he enjoyed talking. I knew if I let him continue I would hit him again. I lifted my hand to signal him quiet and watched him cringe. I held my position longer than necessary, and let the silence sit there ominously.
“Who did the actual entry work?”
His eyes tightened and his tongue ran lightly over his lips as he checked the bleeding.
“Don’t lie to me now.”
“Joe got us in, Mister.” He didn’t know whether to be relieved or ashamed. “He was good at it.”
I stood. “I’d watch your back, Sonny, if I were you.” He nodded while I almost laughed out loud. The encounter was straight Grade B, but I got what I came for no matter how ridiculous the style. I was finished with this slimeball. Next stop home.
But first a storm. It had gone from bad to worse while I’d been in the tavern. The sewers were backed up and the wind was pushing the rain with cutting force. I sloshed back to the car and sat dripping as I watched the harbor’s water roil, and white-tipped peaks on an angry, hostile ocean.
I thought about returning to the motel to wait it out, but the idea felt more claustrophobic than driving through the gray sheet of wet. I checked the map and plotted my way to 95. The Pike was bumperto-bumper with the shoulder of the road under water. I was clammy with sweat from the amount of concentration needed to drive safely.
Route 95 was better. Instead of 15 mph I could do 30. Visibility improved and, although the storm continued, conditions were good enough to think about things other than driving.
It took me ‘til New Haven to weave the information into a tapestry that made sense. Although I still couldn’t get the dates to fit, I understood what triggered the burglaries, but specific conclusions were fainter than an unremembered dream. No matter how I turned it over, I couldn’t figure Clifford, or why Starring was dead. From where I sat, this was some serious overkill.
It was almost midnight when I finally pulled into the alley behind my building, bone tired. I thought about rushing up the stairs and collecting the records, but I figured everyone to be asleep. Driving and thinking had left me numb and needing a long hot shower. Everything else could wait until the morning. Including me.
In bed I thought about how much I had wanted to hurt Rudnow. Between the street of cottages and the bar, too much of my own early life had been jolted loose. I felt guilty about picking on the little prick, and resolved to keep better control. My resolve lasted until I fell asleep and saw myself slamming Rudnow’s head into the table and felt myself laugh out loud. Then it wasn’t just Rudnow. A cast of familiar characters all had their chance to chin the table.
The next morning I felt fresh and eager. Curious to learn, if I could, why Starring was dead.
I was busy rolling my morning joint when the phone rang. Without thinking I reached out to touch someone.
“You fucking prick,” Boots’ voice hissed.
“What’s the matter, Boots?”
“It’s just like old times; I call, you don’t answer. What drug stupor have you been in now?”
What was left of my good mood evaporated. “None, Boots. I’ve been away working.” I grew sullen thinking about the taped message on her machine. “Alone.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing, forget it.”
“Am I supposed to forget that you ruined Fran’s marriage?”
“Whoa, Boots, wait a minute …”
“I’m not waiting for anything. I told you that if you did anything to hurt Fran I’d have nothing to do with you. And I won’t.”
The receiver crashed and for an instant I was flooded with angry rejoinders, but I just pushed the telephone away. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t told Simon anything, or that Fran’s ruined marriage had more to do with libido than me. My nasty remarks went the way of the day’s pleasure and I lit the joint; innocence had nothing over my guilt.
Gloria’s records had stopped burning a hole in my ceiling and became just another chore, so I moved to the living room and stretched out on the couch. I puffed at the dope and watched my two closest friends go up in smoke. I tried to push their faces outside of my head but just succeeded in creating more taunting versions.
I decided to call on Julius. At least I could find out if they got the fucking files. I debated wearing the gun. It was becoming a little too comfortable. Rudnow’s bleeding face flickered across my eyes and I decided to leave the gun home. Half out the door, I changed my mind. I pretended the house was under siege by Gloria’s assailant.
I rapped on Julie’s door and waited while he grumbled it open. He didn’t seem surprised or displeased to see me. I followed his back and thought about commenting on the darkness but let it pass. I wasn’t gonna look for trouble. Too much had already found me.
Julie led me into the living room and motioned toward the couch. He walked over to the windows and drew the shades up a quarter. I was reaching into my pockets looking for my Kools when he returned to the chair across from me. I didn’t have anything with me but the gun.
Julius pointed to the Camels on the end table. “Help yourself.” He sat down and nodded toward the shoulder holster as I leaned across the table to get the smokes. “You trying to be A1 Capone, slumlord? Now that you’ve added to your empire you think you got to shoot the tax collectors?”
“Nah. Just feels good. You heard about the thing with Lou?”
He looked at me balefully. “Hard not to with Charles strutting like a rooster. You still haven’t explained the gun. You here to hold me up?”
I lifted my palms. “No shit today, I can’t take it. I’ve had too much already.”
He raised his eyelids. “You find what you were looking for on your sojourn?”
“Some. I’m pretty sure that the kid who turned up dead broke into 290. He came up here with something out of his stepfather’s past and parlayed it with what he got in the building. The information was worth a brand new Lincoln.”
“What information?”
“Good question. I’m hoping the records that Dr. James reconstructed will tumble the specifics.”
“You working like a real shamus.”
I shrugged, “What I can’t figure is why Clifford did him.”
That got his eyes three-quarters of the way up. “You think Clifford killed him?”
“Yeah. First covered for him, then killed
him, but I don’t have any proof.” The conversation was pushing Boots’ phone call further away and I could feel my interest returning.
Julius reached across the coffee table and tapped me on the holster. “If what you say is true, you best stay geared. You’re not chalk against Clifford.”
I got annoyed. “You make book too? Did you get James to her office?”
“Lighten up, shamuslord. No insult intended. Yes, we went to the office and yes, she did her work.” He lit a cigarette and offered me another. “She’s a tough cookie, that one.”
I looked at him through the smoke of our cigarettes. “How so?”
“It was a lot of work, and she wasn’t feeling too good from the jump.”
“Did she finish?”
He stared at me. “You have a jones about this, don’t you?”
“It takes my mind off my new tax status.”
He almost smiled and pulled a joint out of his shirt pocket. “Here. This will help.”
I reached over, took it, and lit it. “Did she?”
“Did she what?”
“Finish the damn work?”
“Yes, she finished the work. I told you she was a tough one. Hell, if I believed in head shrinkers I’d almost figure her a good one.”
“Why do you say that?”
“While we were in her office she took a call. From what I could hear she did good.”
“Man of a thousand trades, are you? Did you have any hassle with the transport?”
“No eyes anywhere.”
“You’re sure?”
He didn’t say anything and I grew uncomfortable with the silence. “I’m sorry. If you say there was no one around, there was no one around.”
“That’s right. One more thing.”
“What?”
“The honkie that broke into her house and broke her arm was a loser who works for Armour Security Company. Way down the ladder. Him and the company. Rent collectors.”
Julie must have seen my eyes light up. “There’s no way to squeeze him. Long gone.”
“You did some work.”
“Like I said, she’s a good one.”
I sat there smoking the dope. Extortion or blackmail I could figure, but cops, corpses, and security guards left me underwater.
“Matt.”
I looked up. Julius didn’t call me Matt very often.
“I don’t want you to take this wrong, but you are in way over your head.”
I grimaced. “What else is new?”
“No bullshit now. Somebody be beaten, somebody got their arm broke and almost raped, and somebody be dead. If you’re half-right about Clifford, the town’s wrapped up.”
His words went in one ear and out the other. “Look, I can’t go to the police and I’m not going to hire someone else. That leaves me, don’t it?”
We smoked and sat there quietly while I waited for inspiration to shatter the dull drone in my head. None came and after another Camel, I accepted that all I had left was the perspiration side of the creative equation. I thanked Julie for his help and found my way back to my apartment.
But not before Charles found me. “You’re back!” He reached his arms out wide as though welcoming the return of a long-lost relative.
“I was only gone for a day, Charles. How are things around here?”
He ignored my sarcasm. “Very exciting, Matthew. Richard spoke with Lou and they got along famously. Richard said that underneath his tough Chicago exterior, Lou’s a sweetie.”
It surprised me someone thought of Lou as having a tough exterior, but I might be too close to tell. “Lou’s homophobia didn’t act up?”
“Darling, after living with yours for as long as we have, who cares if someone’s homophobia shows?”
“Fuck you too.”
He batted his eyes. “Promises, promises.”
I had to laugh.
“Seriously, Matthew, we are determined to start this project. Richard is crucial to the renovations, but if my job is to be as you said, what will you do for work? I just want you to consider things, Matthew. Knowing you, you won’t want to fire me. I know you are doing these cases now, but when you solve them …”
“If I solve them.”
He tilted his head. “When you solve them, what will you do? Are you certain you want to do detective work?”
“Charles, I’m not sure I even know what detective work is, much less that I want to do it. But I’m sure I don’t want to do the building.” I watched as I slammed the door on another part of my life. Charles put his hands on my shoulders, neatly avoiding any direct contact with the gun, and kissed me on the cheek.
When I got to my apartment I picked up my cigarettes and had one before I went upstairs: I knew it upset Mrs. S. that I smoked. I sat down and looked at the phone. I had a sudden longing to call Boots, and Simon. I thought of how nice Julius and Charles had been to me, and wondered why the ones who got away were always the ones you want.
I stubbed out the cigarette and unstrapped the holster. If I looked like Big A1 to Julius, I’d look like Attila the Hun to Mrs. Sullivan. And I didn’t need any psychological interpretations from Dr. James. I tried to remember what it felt like being the client. It was surprising how quickly a four-year role could disappear, though it was hardly the first piece of my life that had vaporized. I pushed myself away from myself and headed upstairs. Time to look for someone else.
The women were pleased to see me. Mrs. Sullivan was dressed in her usual flowered housecoat, Gloria wrapped in a huge terrycloth robe. She rested in the living room with her feet on a hassock. Her bruises were midnight blue and her eyes looked tired behind her tortoiseshell reading glasses. It wasn’t any easier to look at her.
“Still not very pretty, am I?” she asked. Her lips were puffy and her words slightly slurred. “Carol told me this would happen. The healing process and all that.”
“You look all right,” I lied. “But don’t speak. Take it easy.”
“Now you worry about her taking it easy?” Mrs. Sullivan stood beside me. “She was out all yesterday afternoon on that bloody errand of yours. It didn’t help her mend, I’ll tell you.”
I felt pushed out of the nest. “Seems like the two of you are hitting it off.”
Mrs. Sullivan started to say something but Gloria interrupted,
“Now, Mary, stop. I had to go yesterday. Matthew knows what he is doing.”
At least someone thought I did. In any event it seemed to mollify Mrs. S. She offered tea and I readily accepted, though it stirred images of Mrs. Starring. I looked at Gloria’s face and jerked back to the present. While Mrs. Sullivan was out of the room preparing the refreshments I moved to the couch, sat down, and forced myself to keep my eyes on Gloria’s face. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Julius said it took a long time.”
She nodded. “I hadn’t realized how disorganized my session notes were.”
“Session notes?”
“Yes. After each session I scribble information which I use when I develop my formal records. They just contain raw data.”
“And you save the session notes?”
“Yes. Not very orderly though. I basically stuff them in boxes and cart them down to the basement. I have a storage area there. Didn’t Julius tell you about his schlepping?”
“No.” I’d have to buy him a bottle. Or something.
“He’s a good person. The people in your life care about you.”
I felt uncomfortable. “Yeah.” Her comment made me think of Boots and Simon, so my tone was a little sharper than I intended. “Isn’t saving all those things a little compulsive?”
She didn’t notice the edge. Instead she started to giggle but tears quickly filled her eyes. “Please don’t make me laugh, it hurts too much. I’m a packrat when it comes to records. Eban pokes fun at me all the time.
“Of course he hardly writes anything down.” She looked at me. “Anyway, don’t complain, be thankful for small favors.”
I stood. “
Where are the notes?”
She pointed toward the bedrooms with her good arm. “In there is a huge cardboard box. I’d get them but …”
“Nobody is getting anything before a cup of hot tea,” Mrs. Sullivan announced from the living room doorway. “I’ve a mind to force the two of you to drop all this until Gloria recovers, but both of you will gang up on me.”
I walked over and put my arm around her shoulders. “Nobody is going to gang up on you, Mrs. S. From the smell of it, you’ve got more brewing than tea.” I was rewarded with a cracked-lipped smile from Gloria and a sigh of resignation from Mrs. Sullivan. “Well, at least help her into the kitchen, will you?”
“Gladly, ma’am, gladly.”
I scooped Gloria off the couch and paraded down the hall. She started to protest then went silent and put her arms around my neck. I was aware of her body pressed against my chest. I was both relieved and disappointed when we got to the kitchen.
It looked like Mrs. Sullivan had been baking since I’d left for New Jersey. Despite breakfast I wolfed down two pieces of Irish soda bread with great pleasure. Gloria sipped at her cup and began to slip into a funk as the pleasure of my arrival wore away. I wished I could buoy her spirits but I couldn’t think of anything to say—a familiar form of helplessness. I forced my thoughts back to Starring and the cardboard box in the bedroom. “Can I get the files?”
Before Gloria could respond Mrs. Sullivan interjected, “Let her finish the tea.”
Gloria waved her hand wearily, “That’s all right, Mary, the sooner we deal with this the better.” She looked at me warily. “Is this a fishing expedition? I’m not excited about letting you nose around in my clients’ business. I don’t care how long it took me to resurrect these things.”
“It’s not a fishing trip in the way you mean it.”
“What does that mean?”
Mrs. Sullivan busied herself at the stove.
“I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for but I’ll recognize it when I find it.”
“That sounds like a fishing expedition to me.”
The Complete Matt Jacob Series Page 26
