Scavenger hunt

by Robert Ferrigno

  "Congratulations."

  "See how clear their eyes are? Hooked not more than a couple hours ago, one right after the other, just when I was about to give up and go home. No gaff. Netted. Just plucked from the sea, not a mark or a bruise on them. Look at them, Jimmy. Yellowjack is the best eating on earth."

  Jimmy yawned again. "I'll make us some coffee."

  "Now you're talking." Brimley laid the fish back into the cooler.

  Jimmy filled the teakettle and pulled mugs and a jar of instant coffee out of the cupboard. "You want a Band-Aid?"

  "What for?"

  "Your cheek."

  Brimley wiped at the scratch and looked at the blood on his fingers. His eyes were exhausted and wild, his hair sticking out.

  "You okay, Sugar?"

  "Never better, but thanks for asking. You don't mind me dropping in unannounced, do you?"

  "No, I did the same thing to you."

  "That you did. By the way, were my notes any use? You find anything I missed?"

  "I'm still going over them."

  "Well, if anybody can catch me, it's you. I asked around about you. Lot of people don't like you, but they all say you know your stuff. I think you can tell a lot about a man by the quality of his enemies."

  "You sure have a way with a compliment." Jimmy turned away as the kettle started to whistle, then poured water into the mugs, stirring up the coffee crystals. "Black, right?"

  Brimley blew on his coffee and took a sip. "One of those Kreamy Kruller doughnuts would hit the spot right about now, wouldn't it? Wish I had thought of it on the drive over. They got an outlet in Newport Beach." He slurped the coffee. "I drank plenty of lousy java in my time. Some even worse than this."

  "Thanks." Jimmy put a couple of extra spoonfuls of instant in his cup. It was bitter and sludgy, but it goosed the brain cells. He had made a few calls after leaving the porn shoot yesterday. Trunk Jones said he had never heard of April McCoy, but he promised to ask around at vice. His voice was so soft and weak that Jimmy was sorry he had called. A search in the county records had been more fruitful; Jimmy found a business license in April's name for an office in Paramount. He was going to drive over there later today, see if anyone knew what had happened to April's secretary, Stephanie. Office gossip was more reliable than the headlines.

  Brimley set his mug down onto the counter-he had a strange smile on his face, weary and excited at the same time. He pulled a wadded-up black plastic trash bag out of his pants pocket and shook it out. "Thanks for the java. Time for me to get down to business." He whipped out his knife, the curved blade flashing, and if he noticed Jimmy tense, he didn't show it, reaching into the cooler. He set the fish down gently into the sink and rinsed them off under cool running water. "I got an urge just after sunset last night. Decided to head out toward Catalina and see what happened." He lightly held the smaller fish, his knife rasping across it, scales flying. "Didn't get a nibble all night. Then about an hour before dawn, these two beauties introduced themselves. Yellowjack-they're not just good eating, they're fighters. They make you earn it."

  Jimmy leaned against the counter and watched the big man rake the flat of the knife across the fish, working from the tail up, scales flying, iridescent in the morning light.

  "Figured I'd share these yellowjack with an old buddy of mine who lives in Balboa," said Brimley, head bent, concentrating on the task. "Got him a place right on the water. Did that guy ever hit the jackpot! Married some rich dame already gone through three husbands, thought she'd try an ex-cop now that she didn't need money anymore. I docked my boat next to his and rang the bell for five minutes before the maid answered." Brimley shook his head. "Arnie Peck with a maid. I seen it all now. Arnie walks out from the master suite scratching his rump, and I hear his wife yelling at him from the other room. What a sound. Voice like that should be a felony."

  Jimmy enjoyed the knowing movement of Brimley's hands, the blade an extension of him as he scaled the fish. A guy changing a tire or laying brick, Jane Holt going over a crime report, her eyes alert- watching someone who knew what they were doing, really knew-it was better than going to a museum and checking out the dead art.

  Brimley put one hand in the fish's gills and lifted it over the sink, then plunged the tip of the knife into the belly, just below the head. The blade worked its way down toward the tail. "Arnie said he didn't want any fish. Man used to live to throw a line in the water. Now he says if he wants fish, he just tells the cook. Doesn't even use his boat anymore, just lets it sit there collecting cankworm. I got out of there as fast as I could. Then I thought of you. I wasn't sure I could find my way back to your place after taking you home that one time. I dearly hate to see fresh fish go to waste." He looked at Jimmy. "You like fish, don't you?"

  "Yeah, sure."

  The yellowjack trembled in Brimley's grip, as the knife sliced a perfectly straight line down its midsection. "Arnie-he loaned me his car. I'm not saying he was happy about it, but he did it. Made the maid cover the seat with plastic trash bags, though." He put down the knife, spread the fish open with one hand, and deftly scooped out its guts with the other, a dark mass flopping into the sink. He looked up at Jimmy. "I tell you, a woman will ruin a good man faster than cancer. The wrong woman anyway. Head on or head off?"

  "On."

  "Good man." Brimley set the cleaned fish onto the counter.

  "How about a beer?"

  "A beer? Don't mind if I do." Sugar waited while Jimmy took a couple longnecks out of the refrigerator, opened one with a twist of his wrist, and handed it over. Waited while Jimmy did the same for himself. They clinked bottles, and neither of them came up for air until the bottle was half-empty. Sugar wiped his mouth, leaving a single fish scale glistening on his upper lip. "You can always tell a bachelor. He's the man not afraid to have a cold one first thing in the morning. He's the one who doesn't have to answer to anyone." He took another long swallow. "You ever been married?"

  "No."

  "Girlfriend?"

  "Yeah."

  "Is she the right one, Jimmy?"

  "I don't know. Maybe."

  "Maybe? I think you'd know if she was the right one."

  Jimmy shook his head. "I'd have better luck explaining the theory of relativity than why a woman is right or wrong for me. I found a good woman, but don't ask me if she's the right woman."

  Sugar finished his beer and set it down hard on the counter. "A good woman-you are a lucky man."

  "So far."

  Brimley chuckled. "If you found a good one, don't let her go. That's my advice. Free advice is worth what you pay for it, but that's the best I got. You find a good woman, you hang on tight. There's better things in life than standing around drinking beer in your skivvies, chasing any wild hair that comes along. What's your girl's name?"

  "Jane."

  "Jane. I like that." Sugar nodded. "Jane. If I had ever found a good woman, I tell you, Jimmy, I'd have never let her go. I'd have kept a grip." He turned away, embarrassed, and started in on the other fish, his movements jerky now.

  "What's wrong, Sugar?"

  The knife tore roughly at the flesh. "Here I am, talking your ear off like some old fart can't get anyone to listen to him." He kept his face averted. "I haven't been myself lately."

  "What's really bothering you? Did something happen?"

  "You happened, Jimmy." Sugar forced himself to slow down, the knife gentler now, smoother. "That's what happened."

  Jimmy put down his beer. Standing there in his own kitchen, the first warm light of dawn easing in through the curtains, Jimmy felt a shiver run through him.

  "I had a pretty sweet thing going on until you showed up looking for me," said Brimley, working away. "Puttering around on my boat, fishing when they were running and fishing when they weren't, store-bought pies and football games on satellite TV. Then you come along and dredged up a lot of bad memories. I haven't been sleeping so well. I wake up and I'm not rested." He looked up at Jimmy and tried to smile. "Man like me n
eeds every minute of his beauty sleep. Otherwise he ends up in a strange kitchen spouting off about love and marriage, making a fool of himself."

  "You didn't make a fool of yourself, Sugar, and I'm not going to apologize for trying to find out the truth."

  "No apologies, huh? I like that. Me, I'm the exact same way. No wonder I took a shine to you." Brimley gutted the fish with one swipe of his hands, rinsed out the cavity with cold water, and set it down on the counter beside the other one. "I just hope this project of yours, this story or profile or whatever it is, I hope it's worth what you're stirring up."

  "It's worth it."

  "If you say so." Brimley rinsed off his hands. "You got some newspaper I can use?" he waited until Jimmy fetched him yesterday's paper, then wrapped the larger fish, tucking the ends in before slipping it back into the cooler. He wrapped Jimmy's fish equally carefully and put it into the refrigerator.

  "Any tips on how I should clean my floors or iron my shirts?"

  Brimley didn't answer, still bothered by something. He cleaned out the sink, put the innards and scales into the plastic garbage bag, and rinsed the rest down the sink. Then he hit the garbage disposal, watching Jimmy as it churned away, and flipped it off. The silence echoed. "You think Heather was targeting Walsh the day she was killed, don't you? That's where you're going with this. Just like Walsh's lawyers." He washed his hands with soap and water and worked the lather under his nails. He tore a paper towel off the roll, almost tearing the roll off the wall. "You think she tried to flirt her way into the movies?"

  "I'm not sure." Jimmy liked Sugar, and Sugar had helped him, but he wasn't about to tell him what he had found out about Heather and April McCoy. The only people he trusted with the truth were Jane and Rollo, and even with them-well, "The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth"-that was just courtroom bullshit, something judges and lawyers used to fool the rubes.

  "There's plenty of girls would have sex with a kid popping popcorn in the cineplex because they think he's in show business, but that don't mean Heather was one of them." Brimley's eyes hardened. "Even if she was, it don't change that fact that she's dead and that Garrett Walsh killed her."

  "I'm not trying to insult her memory or step on your work, Sugar. I appreciate all the help you've given me. I know you didn't have to. It's like I told you at the beach house, you're not the bad guy here."

  "Then how come I feel like the bad guy?"

  "You had evidence and Walsh's confession. No one could fault your work."

  Brimley balled up the paper towel in his big hands and tossed it into the garbage. "You want to do justice to that yellowjack, rub it inside and out with kosher salt and crushed black pepper, then slip a half-lemon and a dab of butter inside, maybe a pinch of fresh tarragon. Put it in a hot oven, a very hot oven, and roast it until it's crispy. Angels in heaven don't eat so well."

  "Why don't you sit down for a while? We'll have another beer."

  "No, I got to get going, but thanks." Brimley gently laid a big hand on Jimmy's shoulder. "After I found Heather Grimm… after that I had to see a shrink. I didn't want to, but it was departmental policy, so I went. I was glad I did." He gave Jimmy a squeeze. "You find out I messed up, you tell me. I can take it."

  Chapter 35

  The Healthy Life Cafe smelled of lentil soup and carrot juice and roasted garlic. Men in short-sleeved dress shirts were hunched over the small wooden tables, gobbling down soy burgers while they read the sports pages. An emaciated woman with bulging eyes and bright red lips sipped at a green milkshake-she reminded Jimmy of a dragonfly. Handmade banners on the walls proclaimed FREE TIBET! and MEAT IS MURDER and DEATH BEGINS IN THE COLON! He wondered why vegetarians always used so many exclamation points.

  "Table for one?" asked the hostess, a clear-skinned young thing in a paisley sarong.

  "I'm looking for some women from the McMahon Building. I was told they ate here."

  The hostess waved a hand toward the back patio. "Smoker's gulch."

  Jimmy heard laughter as he opened the door to the patio. He made his way through the haze to a table at the rear of the deck, where three women were puffing away over their salads, large women in loud dresses, their eyeglasses big as scuba masks. They quieted slightly as he approached. "Do you ladies work in the McMahon Building?"

  "Who wants to know?" said a matron with a Kool Light bobbing at the corner of her mouth.

  "I bet he's the guy Barbara talked about," said a younger, henna redhead, dropping ashes onto her enormous salad. "Barb said he walked sexy."

  "You the one's been asking all over about Stephanie?" said a busty blonde with black roots, her eyes undressing Jimmy. "Why don't you walk for us, let us decide?"

  "I like to hold back, maintain a little mystery." Jimmy pulled a chair up to the table, smiling. "I'm Jimmy Gage. I'm looking for Stephanie Keys."

  "Not Keys anymore," said the bottle blonde, dipping pita bread in the dip. " 'First comes love-' "

  " 'Then comes marriage,'" said Kool Light.

  " 'Then comes Steffy with a baby carriage,'" singsonged the bottle blonde, grabbing Jimmy's leg.

  Jimmy howled along with the three of them.

  "What do you want with Stephanie?" said Kool Light. "She's a good kid."

  "Not like me," said the bottle blonde, blowing smoke in Jimmy's face. "My old man works nights, and I'm sick of making love to my pocket rocket."

  "Angie, you're awful," said Kool Light. "Is Stephanie in some kind of trouble? She run up her credit cards?"

  "I just want to talk to her about her old boss, April McCoy."

  "That was so sad," said the henna redhead.

  "No, it wasn't," sneered the bottle blonde. "April treated her like crap."

  "April was depressed, that's why she killed herself," said the henna redhead. "My brother is the same way. He's on Prozac now."

  "Everybody is on Prozac now," said the bottle blonde. "That don't mean you can treat people like crap."

  "Suicide is a sin." Kool Light stubbed out her cigarette in the hummus.

  "Stephanie took it hard when April killed herself," said the henna redhead. "She changed overnight. In some ways I guess it was good, because Stephanie had been in a real rut, overeating and letting herself go. April's suicide was a wake-up call for her soul."

  "Like on Oprah," said the bottle blonde.

  "Like holy communion," said Kool Light.

  Jimmy rocked in his chair, listening to the conversational rhythm they had going. The three of them had probably been having lunch together for the last ten years, working on their moves, graceful and fluid as double Dutch street champs. Jimmy could watch them eat and smoke and talk all afternoon. He wondered if Stephanie had been part of the group. He hoped so. She would be honest then too, and straightforward. She would tell him whatever she knew.

  "You got a nice smile, mister." The henna redhead bit a carrot in half. "Don't he have a nice smile, girls?" She chewed noisily. "Anyway, after April did her thing, Stephanie went to work for this homecare-products distributor on the second floor and lost just a ton of weight. What was Stephanie on? Jenny Craig? Herbalife?"

  "Weight Watchers."

  "Slim-Fast."

  "Whatever," said the henna redhead, "she lost a lot of weight. It seemed like every time she came back to visit, she had dropped another ten pounds."

  "She's not working on the second floor anymore," said Jimmy. "Her last employer said she moved in with her boyfriend and that was the last he saw of her."

  "The boyfriend didn't last six months. I told her he was all wrong for her," said the bottle blonde, "but she didn't want to listen to me. I've only been married three times-what could I possibly know about the male of the species?" She flipped her cigarette over the hedge surrounding the patio. "The boyfriend was some kind of sweaty sex machine or something from the way she talked."

  "That gets old," said the henna redhead.

  The three of them burst out laughing. Jimmy pretended to be embarrassed.

>   "Stephanie dumped the sex machine and found a hard worker willing to marry her," said Kool Light. "She said he was a hard worker, anyway."

  "I couldn't find a marriage license issued in her name," said Jimmy. "I checked."

  "Aren't you the eager beaver?" Kool Light narrowed her eyes. "Stephanie got married in Mexico. She showed me pictures of the ceremony. It was beautiful. The water there is bluer than ours. At least in the pictures."

  "I got married in Vegas," said the bottle blonde. "Dipshit lost five hundred dollars shooting craps, and we had to come home the next day."

  "Do you know where Stephanie is living now?" said Jimmy.

  The henna redhead shook her head. "Someplace out in the desert, I think. She sent me a Christmas card a couple years ago. Her little girl was dressed as an elf. Even fixed her ears so they looked pointed."

  "Did you write down the address?" said Jimmy.

  "No, sorry." The henna redhead brightened. "I might have kept the card, though. I got a big box full of pictures and photographs that I'm saving for this big decoupage project. I want to do all my kitchen cabinets in pictures of little kids. My husband's sterile-at least he says he is-but I like kids."

  "Decoupage is so over," said the bottle blonde.

  "Could you check your box of pictures and see if you kept the Christmas card?" Jimmy asked the henna redhead.

  The bottle blonde picked up the check and fished a calculator out of her purse. "Okay, I had the potato blintzes, the hibiscus iced tea"-her manicure flew across the keys-"and the eggplant appetizer, which we split three ways."

  "I hardly touched the appetizer," said Kool Light. "Eggplant gives me gas."

  "What's Stephanie's married name?" asked Jimmy.

  "I had the hummus, the wheatgrass surprise-" The henna redhead glanced at Jimmy. "Something Spanish, I think. Or Jewish. One or the other."