by John Lutz
“I never thought you killed her,” Nudger said. Which was true.
“My Luanne was mixed up with some bad types. Drug addicts, dealers . . . them kinda people.”
“Them folks would as soon kill you as take a piss,” Bobber said.
Nudger had found that to be true.
“Mr. Nudger and me, we trust each other,” Norva said to her giant cousin. “He’s a man with a good heart and he speaks the truth.”
Bobber gazed down at Nudger. “That more or less the case?”
“It is right now,” Nudger said.
Bobber said, “So tell us somethin’ that’s surely true.”
Nudger thought that one over. He knew Bobber wouldn’t be interested in philosophical edict; this was something of a test. “When you two leave here,” he said, “I’ve got no choice but to call the police.”
Bobber smiled.
Norva said, “We know that. You got your professional obligations and all. We talked it over and decided to come here anyways, ’cause you’re the one I want.”
Bobber was still smiling. “Norva says there ain’t no one like you, Nudger. I told her that was true of everybody and fingerprints and DWI prove it.”
“That’s DNA.”
“What counts is if you ain’t just different, but if you’re special.”
“Oh, he’s special,” Norva said.
“Thought he might be when I seen his picture in the paper. Somethin’ unique about that man, I said to myself. His manner of carriage and dress, like. So yeah, he’d be the one we want.”
“Want for what?” Nudger asked, just beginning to get an inkling, to feel the draw of the whirlpool.
“We wanna hire you to find Luanne’s killer,” Norva said.
“We’ll pay good,” Bobber assured him
Norva said, “Bobber’s got him a special interest in this matter. I mean, even beyond us being cousins.”
“Norva, there’s a murder warrant out on you. I can’t—”
“I told Norva you’d most likely cooperate,” Bobber said, “knowing the score as I thought you did, just lookin’ at your picture. Shit, I could tell by your eyes.”
“We know you gotta level with the police every step of the way,” Norva said. “We don’t mind that. It might even help convince them I didn’t have nothing to do with Luanne’s death.”
“You wouldn’t be breakin’ no laws by helping us,” Bobber said. He reached inside his untucked shirt and pulled out a white envelope. “This here’s a thousand dollar retainer.” He tossed the envelope on the mattress near Nudger’s feet. “We ain’t even gonna ask for a receipt. We’ll call you now and again, find out what you learned.” He moved around the side of the bed, very near to Nudger.
Norva said, “Bobber! Mr. Nudger’s reasonable as well as trustworthy.”
“Well, I expect he’ll work for us, then. Help us out.”
“It ain’t like you got no choice,” Norva said.
“No,” Bobber said, “just not much of one.”
Nudger’s throat was dry. His tongue was thick and foul. His throat and stomach felt as if he’d gulped down drain cleaner. With Bobber looming over him, the threat of King Chambers and Aaron didn’t seem so ominous. He did feel reasonable. Besides, he believed in Norva’s innocence. If she were guilty, she wouldn’t have come here. He was sure of it.
“You’re my client again,” he said to her.
“Now, didn’t I tell you he’d help?” she said to Bobber. She hopped over and snaked her arms around Nudger’s neck. Kissed him on the cheek. Bobber looked on with seeming disinterest.
When Norva had straightened up and was standing next to him, Bobber said, “You got your duty, so you go right ahead and call the cops soon as we walk out the door. We’ll be gone every way but Sunday by the time they get here.”
“Fair enough,” Nudger said.
Norva grinned toothily and said, “I do thank you, Mr. Nudger. We both do.”
Nudger shrugged. “I felt compelled.”
The Beanes moved to the bedroom door. Bobber switched off the light. Just before blackness closed in, Norva raised a hand in a shy wave.
“What I think I liked about that picture,” Bobber said, “was that suit.”
Nudger sat in darkness, listening to them blunder through his dark apartment, then down the stairs to the street door. A few minutes later, he barely heard a car engine start.
Then silence.
He gave his clients another five minutes before he switched on the lamp by the bed and dragged the phone over to him.
Hammersmith, he decided, sitting with the phone in his lap. If I’m going to wake someone at four in the morning, it’s going to be Hammersmith.
The Maplewood police came immediately, in a fury of light and sound. Then came the Major Case Squad. Then Springer and Hammersmith. Nudger drank coffee and told it all to Springer, exactly as he had to Hammersmith on the phone.
“So who the fuck is this Bobber Beane again?” Springer asked.
“Norva’s cousin. From Possum Run. Or around Possum Run.”
“So why’s he here sharing her problems?”
“They’re kin,” Nudger said.
Springer rolled his eyes, shook his head. “If he cares so much about her, he oughta convince her to get an attorney, turn herself in.”
“I told him that,” Nudger said. He hadn’t actually. He should have, he knew. But damnit, he’d been awakened from an uneasy dream about Aaron and King Chambers. Norva and Bobber Beane were too much for him at 4:00 A.M. in the real world. He hadn’t been jolted out of sleep. to sit straight up in bed with his heart pumping pure fear, and then calmly mulled over his options. Any cop would understand that. Any cop other than Springer.
“You can’t have those people as clients,” Springer said. “You’ll be interfering with an official homicide investigation.”
“The law’s not exactly clear on that.”
Hammersmith made a face at Nudger over Springer’s shoulder.
Springer said, “You call your lawyer or something?”
“Sure,” Nudger said. “Wouldn’t you, if you were going to have to deal with you?”
“No. Why would I call your lawyer? You stop trying to wise off, trying to fuck with me, Nudger. It’ll only get you in the deepest shit.”
Behind Springer, Hammersmith was stonefaced.
“This Bobber Beane touch anything?” Springer asked.
“Nothing. He only stood near the bed and talked. I don’t think you need his prints anyway. Norva said he was her cousin, and he probably is. You can check with whatever law there is in Possum Run.”
“Uh-huh. Sheriff Andy or some such.” Springer scrunched up his rodent features as if he smelled something foul. “I don’t take for granted this guy is her cousin, or even that his name’s Bobber Beane. How can you take for granted anybody’s got a name like that? The Beane woman’s a mental case who thought Luanne Rand was her daughter, so she kidnapped her and things went sour, so she killed her. That’s how it looks, and most likely how it was. Why would she come barging in here in the middle of the night and tell you the truth, of all things?”
“Because she’s innocent. She wouldn’t kill her own daughter.”
“I told you it’s probably not her daughter. She’s just some dumb-ass yokel with a mental fixation. Like the guy that shot Lenin.”
“He didn’t think John Lennon was his son.”
“Not John. The other Lenin. In Russia.”
“That Lenin wasn’t shot to death.”
“You say. I guess you believe the Russians, too, just because they split up. Like they’re not still holding something back.”
Nudger decided Springer resented having to climb out of bed and drive over here and was taking it out on him. If Nudger mentioned that King Chambers and Aaron had also called on him, Springer wouldn’t at all mind the inconvenience. But then, Springer probably wouldn’t believe him.
“The Rands are plenty pissed, Nudger.” Spring
er sprayed Nudger’s bare arm with spittle. “They want Norva Beane found and they want you arrested as her accomplice.”
That doesn’t make sense,” Hammersmith said, finally unable to keep quiet. “Nudger’s the guy that stopped her from shooting Rand.”
“That don’t keep him from aiding and abetting her in kidnapping and murdering Luanne.”
“Or shooting Lenin,” Hammersmith said under his breath.
“Whazzat?”
“Nothing. What was Norva Beane wearing?” Hammersmith asked, changing the subject.
“Levi’s, white sleeveless blouse, sandals.”
Hammersmith made a show of writing that down.
“We already got all that shit,” Springer snapped at him. “Got all we need from this jerkoff.” There was only one uniform in the apartment, Springer’s driver, a young cop named Charles. “Let’s get down to the car,” Springer said to Charles, who’d appeared to be asleep on his feet but snapped instantly awake.
“Grab some sleep, why don’t you, Nudge,” Hammersmith said, following Springer and the driver to the door.
“It’s too late to go back to bed. I’ll probably stay up, have some breakfast, listen to some Beatles records.”
Hammersmith said, “Do everybody a favor and stop smarting off.”
Springer liked that. He was smiling as the door closed behind the three men. Bourgeois bastard.
CHAPTER 29
She was planning on riding the bus to school this morning. Bright girl striding along the littered sidewalk, on her way to the bus stop and her summer classes. She was ignoring the jeers and suggestive remarks of the same two street-corner loungers, who apparently lived curbside at this intersection. The skinny one who danced yelled something to Nan Grant then did a neat spin while giggling and clutching his crotch. The other one glared at Nudger; maybe it was the same glare from last time he was here. They were both staring as he drove the Granada slowly past them to intercept her.
She was on the opposite side of the street but there was no traffic, so, feeling like a child molester, Nudger swerved over next to her and cranked down his window. Warm air rolled in to displace the moderately cool breeze the car’s air conditioner was offering. “Want a ride to school?” he asked. Like a cookie, little girl?
She didn’t hesitate. Without answering, she stepped down off the curb and walked around the front of the car. He thought she might be putting on a bit of a show for the loungers. She got in and shut the door, then stared straight ahead with her books in a neat stack on her lap. Still without talking.
“Wha’s he got we ain’t?” one of the loungers yelled. “Hey, sweet stuff! You hear?”
“Mus’ be his caaaar!” the skinny one shouted. Nudger saw him pirouette in the rearview mirror. The guy really did have some great moves.
Nan said, “Ignore them. I do.”
Nudger eased down on the accelerator and pulled away from the curb. “What do you think of Luanne being killed?”
Her grip on the books tightened. “It shook me up at first. I’ve seen people killed before, though. This neighborhood, you know? Gangs are starting to take over. Even older guys like those dorks back on the corner are scared of them. ”
“The cops think Luanne’s real mother kidnapped her then killed her,” Nudger said.
Nan didn’t answer. They passed the bus stop that had been her destination. An old woman and a very young boy stood side by side near the battered metal bus-stop sign, looking as forelorn as if they were going to a funeral. Maybe they were.
Finally Nan said, “Cops probably got that wrong, like most everything else.”
“So who do you think might have killed her?”
From behind her protective veneer, Nan said, “I got my ideas, but I’m keeping them to myself. World the way it is, loose lips can sink the whole damn navy.” Was this kid in the strategically torn jeans and high-top joggers actually talking like this?
“Naval warfare aside, will you give me some straight answers, Nan? I see your point and I won’t pry if you say I’m off limits, but I want to find Luanne’s killer and I need more than you gave me last time we talked.”
“You think what the cops do? About Luanne’s real mom killing her?”
“No.”
“But that woman really is her mom, right?”
“I think so.”
She looked off to the side, at the depressing view of moribund buildings gliding past like a bad dream. She said, “Radio work in this thing?”
He reached out and switched it on. News. Nan punched buttons until she was satisfied with the music, then turned up the volume. Rap music. Nudger hated rap music. He gritted his teeth while deep bass notes and staccato insult pulsated through the car.
Over the noise, Nan said, “Go ahead and ask.”
“How deep into drugs was Luanne?”
“Deeper’n people knew. She was a hard-core addict. It pissed off her father, and that pissed her off, ’cause he’s a user himself.”
The radio screamed, Got a yearn to burn, got a fit to hit!
“Has he got a habit as bad as Luanne’s was?”
Nan made a little hopeless gesture and let her hands drop back to her books. “Who knows? Maybe. It bothered Luanne, the way he’d now and then advise her to stop using, telling her it was ruining her life. You know, that just-say-no business. People can’t even quit smoking cigarettes but they’ll try’n cram it down everybody’s throats.”
“Luanne ever mention Labor Day?” Nudger was shouting like Nan to be heard above the rap. Well, it would have to be that way, or she might decide to hold her silence. It was like having a conversation next to a jet plane.
“The holiday? No. Why?”
“It’s come up a couple of times, that’s all. Probably it isn’t important.”
“There’s a school orientation the Friday before Labor Day, and Luanne was gonna be a guide. That’s the only connection I can think of.”
An’ the brotherhood gonna spill some blood!
An old man on a corner where Nudger had slowed for a yield sign stared curiously at him. The music must be audible for some distance outside the car.
“What did Luanne really think of her parents?” Nudger asked. “The ones who raised her.”
“I don’t believe she gave them much thought except as people who got in her way from time to time with their silly rules. I can’t even say she really hated her father, you know? She was confused by what was going on. We used to talk about it a lot, and she couldn’t understand why he did things.”
“Ever hear of a man named King Chambers?”
“Not.”
“Off limits?”
“Just no.”
“We said we were leveling with each other,” he told her.
“We are. Far as it goes.”
“So I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m not sure about King Chambers, but I think you know the other man I asked you about at the mall. Fella named Aaron, wears a dangling gold swastika earring. I think you’re a user and he’s your supplier. Maybe he even has you dealing. Am I right?”
She seemed undisturbed by his allegations as she turned to stare at him with her knowing dark eyes, but there was a faint tightness around her lips. “You’re prying now.”
“Okay. Sorry.” He slowed down and rounded a corner. They were in a better neighborhood now, the world Nan aspired to live in someday on a regular basis. He said, “Tell me something I don’t know about Luanne.”
She ran her fingers slowly back and forth over the faded purple cover of the top book, as if its rough texture might convey some message in braille. “There’s probably lots neither of us knows. She was scared of something.”
Nudger glanced over at her calm profile. “What was the something?”
“I don’t know. And I’m not saying that ’cause you’re prying. I really don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me or anybody else.”
So you better pray, ’cause you be in the fray!
“What did she say
—what did she say or do that made you think she was afraid?”
“Nothing I could tell you that’d mean anything. But we were good friends. She couldn’t hide it from me. When I asked her what was frightening her, she wouldn’t tell me, but she didn’t deny she was scared.”
“The problem with her father, maybe?”
“No, that bothered her but it didn’t scare her. It wasn’t her father.”
“Then what? Got any kind of guess?”
“No. But whatever it was, I think it killed her.” She shifted in the seat and adjusted the stack of books in her lap. She looked so small and vulnerable then, so young, that Nudger felt an overwhelming pity and admiration for her. Too much had been loaded on her, more than any child should be asked to bear, asked to accomplish. But here she was, engaged in the the slow war of attrition that gradually devoured the soul. School instead of summer camp, drugs instead of junk food, study instead of childhood. It would wear on her, and maybe the eventual victory wouldn’t be worth it. Maybe the only difference between her and her less opportunistic sisters in the ghetto was that someday she’d OD with an MBA.
She glanced over at Nudger and said, “Think you can drive a little faster? I got a test this morning.”
He thought, “every morning,” and pulled out into the fast lane.
She smiled and turned off the radio. Teenagers.
When they reached the school, Nudger steered the Granada to the curb and left the engine idling. “Thanks for your help, Nan.”
“If you wanna learn some more about Luanne,” she said suddenly, “you maybe oughta talk to him.” She pointed through the windshield at a tall, gangly boy with a bald head. He had on baggy, pleated pants, a multicolored T-shirt, and was lugging a canvas bookbag slung over his shoulder on a long strap.
“What was he to Luanne?” Nudger asked.
“Boyfriend, sorta. For just a short time. But Chuck’s the last guy she had anything at all to do with—here at school, anyway. ”
“Chuck got a last name?”
“He’s Chuck Wise. A senior. Or he would be if he could get himself straightened out.”
“What’s his problem?”
Nan tapped her nose and sniffled, giving Nudger a confidential glance. Then she opened the door and got out, smiled at Nudger, and slammed the door hard enough to make the fillings in his teeth jump.
