“Lookin’ like a big storm,” he observed.
“Big flakes, little storm,” I said. “Old Yankee adage.”
I took the Mass Ave bridge across the Charles. When we passed Symphony Hall a few minutes later, Zerk said, “Where you takin’ me?”
“For a drink, like I said.”
“I figured the Ritz, or Copley Plaza. Something befitting two successful young attorneys with business to transact. I’m young, anyway. And you do have business you want to transact, I assume?”
“More or less.”
“We gonna iron out Ms. Kriegel’s condominium? Your client prepared to submit an offer? A buyout, maybe? ’Cause if that’s the case, you can ply me with good booze till I pee my pants and it won’t change a thing. She ain’t movin’, man.”
“Is that your negotiating posture, Zerk?”
“Hey, I learned how to do all this shit from you, my man. But, just because it’s you, old mentor, I’ll tell you straight out that the lady has every right to keep her pad, and the only way she’ll lose it is if I fuck up. Which I ain’t gonna do.”
“The fact is, I quit the case. Thought Heather might’ve told you.”
“You quit? Damn! I was lookin’ forward to some good hardass headknocking.”
“That’s a fascinating mixture of metaphors, Zerk.”
“Ms. Kriegel didn’t mention anything to me about you quitting.”
“And the Woodhouse clan hasn’t had their new attorney rapping on your window?”
“Nope. Maybe they decided to drop it.”
“That,” I said, “I doubt. That was my advice. They didn’t like it. That’s why I quit.”
“So you’re off the case.”
“Actually, I’m off all Woodhouse cases.”
“Hey, no shit! Good for you. I didn’t think you had that much integrity, my man.”
“I often wondered, myself,” I said.
I had taken several back roads I knew, and we now were on Washington Street, headed in town toward the Combat Zone. It had stopped snowing. I slowed down and began studying the signs over the establishments along the way.
“Look for the Sow’s Ear,” I told Zerk.
“You’re shitting me.”
“Nope.”
“That’s where I’m getting my drink? The Sow’s Ear? You know what that place is?”
“A dive,” I answered, quoting Al Santis.
“That’s a quaint way to put it.”
“You’ve been there, then?”
“I’ve heard of it, that’s all,” said Zerk. “It’s got a certain reputation. Unsavory.”
“There it is,” I said. The sign, in winking red and blue neon, spelled out “The Sow’s Ear.” It had a blank brick front decorated with peeling old posters and spraypainted graffiti. It was flanked by Buddy’s on the left, and the Midnight Lounge on the right.
“We have arrived at the very cultural hub of the universe,” I said.
A block up the street I found a parking lot. I gave the attendant a twenty-dollar bill and asked him to keep an eye on my BMW. Then Zerk and I headed back towards the Sow’s Ear. “This is probably a wild goose chase,” I told him. “Stu Carver had a matchbook from this place on him when he died. Maybe he was here that night.”
“You’re still into crime-bustin’, I see,” grinned Zerk. “Woulda been thoughtful of old Stu to have gone to Locke Ober’s if he was gonna leave these clues around when he got himself killed.”
“I got a photo of him from Heather. Let’s see if anyone recognizes it.”
“A long shot.”
“Granted.”
“And you need me for protection?” Zerk’s face broke into a broad smile.
I tapped him on the shoulder with my fist. “You’re my main man.”
“You bring your weapon?” His smile widened.
“I’ve learned some lessons. The weapon is locked in my safe. Where it shall remain.”
We pushed open the door and went inside. An L-shaped bar extended along the left and rear walls. On the right was a low stage where five scruffy guys and one definitely un-scruffy girl were singing and sawing, plunking, and strumming at a variety of stringed instruments, making country and western noises. The male musicians all wore dirty blue jeans, flannel shirts, and baseball caps bearing the logos of breweries and heavy farm equipment manufacturers. The girl was young and blonde. She had a wholesome smile, a tight little leather skirt that stopped halfway down her thighs, and a surprisingly good singing voice.
Her lyrics were filthy.
In front of the band was a small open area where a skinny black man wearing a red bandanna around his head clutched a much larger white girl. They swayed back and forth, more or less in sync with the music. Each of the man’s hands had a firm grip on one of the girl’s ample buttocks.
The rest of the floor was cluttered with small tables and chairs. Across the other wall was a row of high-backed booths.
The lights in the place were dim and pink, the music loud, and the few patrons clad mostly in denim and leather. When the band finished its number, no one bothered to applaud. The girl said into the microphone, “Well, thank y’all very much. Thank you very kindly. I know you wanna hear more, but we’re gonna take a little break here, so y’all just sit tight.” She gave a mock curtsy, and one of the band members gave the finger to the sparse audience.
Zerk and I sat at the bar.
“Man,” he said, “if I’d known you were takin’ me to a real fancy place I woulda dressed for the occasion.”
I surveyed his natty gray three-piece suit. “You look fine to me,” I said.
“Fine for the Ritz. Fine for the Copley Plaza. Not good enough for the Sow’s Ear.”
“Loosen your tie. You’ll fit right in.”
The bartender was a red-headed woman whose stained white blouse was tolerating considerable stress as it stretched across her ample front. The red smear of lipstick on her mouth clashed with the orange of her hair.
She made a pass in front of us with her rag. “Help ya, boys?”
“Beer,” said Zerk.
“We got Miller’s on tap, Bud, and Löwenbräu…”
“What’ve you got in bottles?”
She cocked her head at him. “Why dontcha tell me what you want, I’ll tell you if we got it.”
“Beck’s.”
“Try again.”
“Heineken.”
“You want fancy beer, you came to the wrong place, mister.”
“Schlitz, then.”
“Two Schlitz?”
“I don’t—” I began.
“Two. Yes,” interrupted Zerk.
She turned away, and I said to Zerk, “I don’t want beer. It’s cold outside and I want bourbon. What’d you do that for?”
“You come to a place like this,” he said, “you want something out of a bottle. Then you know what you’re getting. Hey, if you took me to the Ritz you could have had Wild Turkey.”
“I don’t want beer,” I mumbled.
The redhead slid our beers in front of us, each bottle with a glass overturned on top. “Twelve bucks,” she said.
“Jesus,” I said, reaching for my wallet.
“Look,” she said, “we got no cover, no minimum here, so you just sip away, take your time, look around, see what you like, okay? Just don’t piss and moan about the prices.”
I took two twenty-dollar bills from my wallet and laid them on the bar. She picked up one of them. “I’ll get your change.”
“Take them both. Keep the change.”
“A big-timer, huh?”
“Wonder if you might be able to help me out?”
She put her thick forearms on the bar and leaned toward me, grinning and nodding her head. “I thought when you first came in. Then I said, ‘Nah. They’d know better than to dress that way.’ Then I figured maybe private eyes, not cops. So, one or the other, anyway. Probably not cops. Cops don’t like to pay. Anyway, don’t tell me. Let me guess. You’re gonna show me
a picture. A girl, probably, right? Young one. Runaway. See if I ever saw her before, maybe few nights ago. Right? Am I right?”
“Well…”
“Forget it,” she said. “I’ll get your change.” She pivoted around, leaving one of the twenties on the bar.
“Wait a minute,” I said. I glanced at Zerk, who was smiling and drinking his beer from the bottle. “We’re not police or private investigators. You’re right, though. I do have a photo.” I took out the picture of Stu Carver and put it on the bar. “Please look at it.”
She turned back to face us. “What the hell are you, then, anyway?”
“Just private citizens like you, ma’am,” I said.
“Private citizens,” she said, as if it were a curse.
“New Year’s Eve,” I said. “Was this man in here? That’s all I want to know.”
She barely glanced at the picture. “I didn’t work New Year’s. I was home New Year’s.”
“Is there anybody here who might’ve worked that night?”
She stared at me for a moment, then glanced down the bar. I followed her gaze to a black-haired girl who was smoking a cigarette and studying the row of bottles lined up behind the bar.
“Her?” I said.
“Maybe.”
“Would you ask her if I could buy her a drink?”
She shrugged. “Sure. You’re the guy who’s giving me the big tip.”
She moved to where the girl was sitting. I saw them exchange a few words.
“It ain’t gonna work,” said Zerk.
“Why not?”
“Watch,” he said.
The bartender came back. “Trixie says no thank you.”
“Trixie?” said Zerk. “That her name?”
The redhead smirked. “Trix. Yeah.”
She took the two twenties and walked away.
“Wait here,” said Zerk.
He took his beer bottle with him. He strolled down to where the black-haired girl was sitting, leaned over, and spoke into her ear. She glanced up at him, hesitated, shrugged, and shook her head. Zerk settled onto the stool beside her. A moment later he gestured to the bartender, who smiled and produced a bottle of champagne. Zerk and the girl huddled together, their heads close. Now and then I could see them laughing and smiling and rubbing shoulders. Zerk kept filling the girl’s champagne glass.
The band returned to the stage and began to play. The place was slowly filling up. It was a middle-aged crowd, more men than women. They slouched in wearing heavy shapeless coats and bland, defeated faces. They sat by themselves, most of them. They drank shots with draft beer chasers and drummed their fingertips on the tabletops to the beat of the music. A few of them danced. They didn’t seem to be having much fun. The Sow’s Ear didn’t appear to be the sort of place you brought a date to.
“You want another, or what?”
“Huh?” I spun around on my barstool. The bartender was going through the motions with her rag. “Okay. Sure. Another bottle of Schlitz.”
“Your friend’s makin’ out okay, huh?”
Zerk and Trixie were sitting facing each other, their knees touching. She was holding her champagne glass for him to drink from. “He’s got a way with women,” I said.
“There are plenty of other girls in here, you know.”
“That’s all right,” I said.
She fetched my beer for me, and I put a ten on the counter. “Where does a place like this get a name like the Sow’s Ear?” I said.
“Fella who owns it is lookin’ to get a fancy place down in Quincy Market. Wants to attract the tourists and the rich folks from the suburbs. That’s what he wants. This is what he’s got.” She shrugged. “Not real fancy, you know?”
I nodded.
“If he gets that fancy place he wants, he’s got the name all picked out for it.”
“Don’t tell me,” I said.
“The Silk Purse,” she said. “The owner says you can’t make a silk purse out of this dump, see?”
“So it’s the Sow’s Ear.”
“Cute, huh?”
I thought of the fatal wounds Stu and Altoona had received, and wondered idly whether the owner of the Sow’s Ear had some sort of ear fetish. “Where’s the owner?” I said.
“Vegas,” she said. “Been there all winter. He’s got half interest in a joint down there. He don’t like the cold.”
So much for that theory.
The bartender wandered off with my ten dollar bill, and a minute later Zerk and Trixie came over and sat on either side of me.
“Darlin’,” he said, his dark face solemn, “this is my good friend, Mr. Coyne.”
She extended her hand. I held it briefly. “Pleased to meet you,” I said.
“The pleasure is mine, I’m sure,” she said in a low husky voice.
“Trixie was here on New Year’s Eve,” said Zerk. “She says she might be willing to look at that photograph.”
I took it from my pocket and handed it to her. She picked it up and squinted myopically at it. The pink tip of her tongue showed between her teeth. She nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Yeah. I remember this guy.”
“He was here New Year’s Eve?”
She gave the picture back to me. “Yeah. He and the other guy were sitting right over there. In that booth.”
She pointed across the room toward the corner booth.
“Are you sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. He was wearin’ a beard, but it was him. The eyes. I recognize his eyes. I sat with them for a few minutes.” She grinned. “Shoulda known, though. Pair of fairies.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, they were nice enough. Even bought me a drink. But I could see there was no future in it. Like, I was interrupting them, you know?”
“Interrupting?”
“Xerxes, honey, would you pour me another glass of champagne, please?” Zerk did, and she downed it. “A lover’s quarrel, you’d call it. Not screaming and pulling hair, understand, But the other one—not this one here in the picture, but the other fella—wanted this one here to leave with him, and he wouldn’t. Something like that. That’s all I got out of it, really. I left them. Waste of my time.”
“What did the other one look like?”
“Older. Pudgy. Glasses. Not all that good-looking.”
“So you sat with them, and they were arguing. Can you remember anything they said?”
She bit on her thumbnail and frowned. “Not exactly. The fat one kept saying how he missed this guy, he wanted him to come home. And the guy in the picture was saying how he couldn’t, he was into something—yeah, that was it. He kept saying how he was into something—or maybe he said he was onto something—something important. He couldn’t leave it, he said. The fat one wasn’t buying it, but, see, they were trying to be polite, I guess because I was sitting right there. When I got up to leave they didn’t ask me to stay. I guess they wanted to be left alone.”
“What were they drinking, do you remember?”
She frowned. “Scotch, I think. Yeah, it was Scotch. They ordered a round while I was there. The young one, he was getting pretty sloshed, actually. Really puttin’ ’em away. The other guy was nursing his.” She nodded several times, as if to emphasize the accuracy of her recollection.
“Can you remember anything else?” I said.
“Well, the fat one was dressed nice. Too nice for this place. Like you boys. The other one fit right in. Grubby, that beard, kinda rough looking. Good-looking, though. I wouldn’t of pegged him as a queer.”
I nodded, encouraging her to go on.
She shrugged. “So, that was it. I left them. Few minutes later I remember looking over and the fat one was gone. The younger one stayed a little longer. Left after midnight, I remember, because everybody yelled and stuff when midnight came. You know, the new year and all, and I remember seeing him, still sitting there by himself, not looking real happy. Pretty drunk, is what he was.”
I smiled at her. “I appreciate
your help, Trixie.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” She turned to Zerk. “You ready, sweetie?”
He reached across in front of me to touch her hand. “I don’t think tonight, Trixie.”
She frowned. “Something wrong?”
“No. Another time, okay?”
“But…?”
He got up and moved to the empty stool on the other side of her, kissed her cheek, then whispered something into her ear. She pulled her face back and smiled at him. “Okay, honey. See ya, Mr. Coyne.”
She moved back to her stool at the far end of the bar.
“Nice kid,” observed Zerk.
“She seems to be.”
“Barmadam,” he called. “Another Schlitz, if you please.”
“I’ll be damned,” I muttered.
“That help you any?” he said.
“Yes. Yes, it did. How the hell did you do that, anyway?”
Zerk widened his eyes. “Trick of the trade.”
“I never taught you anything like that.”
“Not that trade, man. Trixie’s a hooker, been around a bit, and she assumed we were cops. Naturally. I mean, a white guy and a black guy in suits come into a place like this, we gotta be cops, right? So if you’re a hooker, you don’t want to talk to us. You sure as hell don’t want to get yourself into a position where you might be soliciting. So you steer clear of cops. However, if one of those cops should proposition a girl, then she’s in the clear, dig? Matter of fact, she’s got him right by the short hairs, since the last thing a cop wants to get caught doing is propositioning a hooker.”
“So you propositioned her?”
“Even better. I paid her in advance. Forty bucks. Which I assume will be reimbursed.”
I nodded. “Sure. I’ll reimburse you. Business expense.”
Zerk’s beer arrived. I paid for it, too.
“Any idea who the other guy was?” he said.
“Yes,” I said. “I have a very good idea who it was. Listen. I have to go to the men’s room. Be right back.”
I maneuvered my way among the tables to the back corner of the place, where I found a door labeled “Men.” I pushed it open. There were two urinals, a stall with the door missing, and a sink. The empty frame of what had once been a mirror hung over the sink. I eased myself into position in front of one of the urinals, trying to avoid breathing through my nose. The urinal had not been flushed for some time, and the sharp odor of stale vomit hung in the air.
Marine Corpse Page 14
