by Blake Banner
She stared down into her glass. She looked humiliated. My head was reeling.
“Was it mutual?”
She shook her head. “No. She had no idea.”
I gave her a moment, trying to think it through. “So how is this relevant?”
“She had no idea until recently, when things started to fall apart between her and Charles. She used to come over in the evenings to talk. Sometimes we’d go out to listen to music. Sometimes we’d stay in, have dinner. She used to say I was her rock. She didn’t know what she’d do without me.” She heaved another huge sigh and finally looked at me. “You know, it’s a lot easier for women to express affection to each other. A bit too easy sometimes.”
She drained her drink and went back to the trolley. She stood dropping ice cubes into her glass. Then a slice of lemon. Then she poured the gin and the tonic. When she’d finished she stayed, staring down at what she’d put together, like she was wondering what it was doing in her hand.
“She was a very loyal woman. Very loyal and faithful, and she loved Charles. It was traumatic for her to realize that she was no longer in love with him. She used to cry, and I would comfort her. We hugged a lot.”
She turned to face me. “If I had been a guy, I have no doubt we would have made love, even if she regretted it afterwards. One night, a few weeks back, a couple of months maybe. We were a bit drunk. She was tearful, telling me how much I meant to her. I misread the signs and tried to kiss her. She freaked.”
I rubbed my face. “Holy shit… It wasn’t complicated enough.”
“What? You want me to apologize? I didn’t just lose a sister…”
“I know. I’m sorry. What happened?”
“We made up. I apologized and she was all sweetness and understanding. But it was never quite the same again. She went a bit crazy. She said she wanted to reinvent herself, discover who she really was. She started painting more, spending time at her studio.” She paused. “She also started seeing men. But, for obvious reasons, she never told me about them.”
I asked the obvious question. “If she didn’t tell you about them, how do you know?”
She gave a small, ironic laugh. “She told me she needed to see men. They were never more than one or two night stands. She would often ridicule them or put them down, as though she was trying to soften the blow for me, or tell me that I was somehow more special than they were. It was complicated, an emotional briar patch. The point is, she never named names.”
I stood and went to the trolley. I poured myself a large whiskey. I stared out the window. It was barely midday but the sky was as dark as early evening, and growing darker.
“You think she was beginning to have feelings for you?”
I heard her voice, sullen behind me. “No. I don’t think so. I think she was in shock. I was all she had left and I had abused our trust. She was desperately trying to find some firm foothold, some way of making sense of it. Like she said, she was trying to find out who she was.”
I turned to face her. She was watching me. I said, “So, what about the painting?”
“I told you, that started shortly after…”
“Don’t be cute, Simone.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The big canvas. The nude.”
Her frown deepened. “She didn’t paint on canvas. She did watercolors.”
“Simone, cut it out. There’s a seven foot canvas at the studio. A nude.”
She didn’t answer for a bit. Her eyes flicked over my face. “You think it might be her killer?”
“I hope not.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s you, Simone.”
Her hand went to her mouth and for a moment I thought she was going to collapse. She shook her head. “Don’t say that. Please, Lacklan…”
I put down my glass and walked over to hunker down in front of her. “Simone, I don’t know what the hell was going on between you and Sarah, and frankly it’s none of my business. But one of these men that she was seeing murdered her and framed my friend. You may not realize it, but you know who it was. Somewhere in your head there is a clue to who did this.”
They were the same words I had used with Bat the night before, and the irony of that fact did not escape me.
She got to her feet and walked away from me, standing in the middle of the floor, blinking away her tears, like she didn’t know which way to turn. I came up behind her and held her shoulders in my hands, speaking close to her ear.
“You said she mocked them, ridiculed them. There must have been clues in the things she said, hints as to who they were. There can’t have been that many of them…”
She leaned against me and rested the back of her head on my chest. “They were all black.”
“Like Hays.”
“She said it was an act of defiance against Charles. He is old school…” There was bitterness in her voice. “He still believes in segregation.”
“But you didn’t believe her.”
“At first I did. But now that you’ve told me about the painting…” She turned around, keeping her body close to mine, and faced me. She placed one hand on my chest. “Maybe she was projecting her feelings for me onto them… Could it be…?”
“Who were these men, Simone? Try to think. There has to be some hint, something you remember.”
Her eyes were distracted. Her body was pressing up against mine. I could smell the lemon from her drink on her breath. She frowned at me and touched my cheek with her fingers.
“Harry, one of them was Harry. She let slip that he ran a club. It had to be Harry.”
Her fingers went up into my hair. My belly was on fire and my heart was pounding. When I spoke, my voice was thick. “Simone, don’t do this…”
“Shut up and hold me,” she said, and her mouth closed on mine.
Thirteen
I lay staring at the ceiling. The overhead fan turned with a throb like a slow pulse, but did nothing to cool the thin film of perspiration on my skin. Outside, I could hear the clatter and rattle of random objects, lifted up and dragged this way and that by the mounting gale. A moaning, wailing voice howled out of the sky, warning that bad things were going to happen.
Simone’s head lay on my chest. She was snoring softly, her body clinging to mine, her bare skin hot under my hand. I taught myself a long time ago that guilt is a useless emotion. Sometimes remorse can lead you to fix something that you have done wrong, but all guilt ever does is twist you inside and make you bitter.
All I felt, then, was regret. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever known, and I had wanted her badly. But not like that, not then.
I slipped my arm from under her and made my way to the bathroom, where I stood under a cold shower for five minutes, like I was trying to wash away my mistakes. But by the time I got out and toweled myself dry, they were still there. All of them.
She was awake, lying with the twisted sheet coiled around her like a snake. I stood in the bathroom doorway, leaning on the jamb, watching her watching me.
She said, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It is what it is.”
She gave a humorless laugh. “You’re not the romantic type, right?”
I picked my jeans up off the floor and pulled them on. “Are you?”
She sat up, dragged the sheet up around her to cover herself. “I don’t know. I never had the chance to find out.”
“I’m sorry. I was never the man to find out with.”
“Do you regret it, Lacklan?”
I bent down and picked up my shirt. “Do you?”
Now she laughed with more humor and I smiled. It was a nice laugh.
“I’m the psychiatrist, remember? I’m the one who is supposed to answer every question with another question.” The smile faded. “Do you regret what we have done?”
I pulled on my shirt and started buttoning it up.
“No. But I wish we had done it at another time, for another reason.”
&nbs
p; She looked sad and turned away. “If it’s any consolation, so do I. Maybe…” She watched me pull on my boots. “Maybe when this is over…”
“Yeah, maybe then.”
I went down to my car with anger twisting inside that I did not understand. I hit 100 MPH going back up 61 and wound through the empty streets of Burgundy till I came to St. Claude Avenue. I parked outside the Blue Lagoon and walked down Desiré to the entrance. I was surprised to find it open, and pushed through the door. It was empty, except for Harry polishing glasses behind the bar. He flashed me a grin.
“We’re closed, my friend, and I don’t know if we gonna be open tonight. But seein’ as you braved Sarah to get here, I guess I have to give you a drink. What’ll it be?”
I sat on a stool and put my elbows on the bar. “Give me a Bushmills, Harry, straight up. Make it a large one.”
He put the tumbler in front of me and a bowl of peanuts, uncorked the Irish and poured me a generous measure.
“You Bartholomew’s friend, right?”
“Yup. Lacklan.”
“That’s bad, what they doin’ to him.”
I nodded. “I know he loved her,” I said. “But I also know he didn’t kill her.” I shrugged and took a sip. “When you serve with a man as long as I served with Bat, you get to know him. Besides…” I put a smile on the right side of my face, where it looked rueful. “He’s a trained assassin, Harry…”
He looked at me like I’d just said he was from Mars. “Bartholomew? A trained assassin?” He burst out laughing. It was a high-pitched screech of a laugh. “What you tellin’ me?”
“Eight years in special ops.”
“Well, I knew he was in some British special ops unit, but a trained assassin?”
I nodded. “The SAS is not just a military regiment. It does a lot of…” I paused to give it meaning. “Specialized work. If Bat had wanted to kill her, he would have made a clean job of it. This…” I shook my head in disgust. “This is amateur. This is a mess.”
“Man. You’re serious.”
“Sure I am. Say, what kind of woman was this Sarah? I heard she slept around a bit?”
He grinned. “I ain’t no gossip. And she was discreet. I’ll give her that. She had class, know what I’m sayin’? She was never scandalous. Never made a scene. She’d come in, listen to the jazz. And you always knew when she had chosen some dude. She’d let it be known, know what I mean? She’d let it be known real cool, with a look or a smile. And after a bit, she would leave.”
I smiled. “You’re kidding. Really? And how would they know where to go? I’m guessing she didn’t take them home. She was married, right?”
“Oh, she was married all right, and Mr. Carmichael ain’t none too fond of colored folk. He was civil enough, but he believed in segregation.”
I frowned like I didn’t understand. “Segregation? What’s that got to do with it?”
“Oh, man, she didn’t like white boys. The woman had taste!” He laughed. “She liked her men of the dark persuasion. You wouldn’t stand no chance!”
He laughed again and I smiled. “How about you? You ever get the wink and the nod?”
He was still laughing his high-pitched laugh. “She would discreetly slip you her number. An’ you would call, and she would tell you where to go. It was kind of exciting.”
“So you did, you old dog!”
He slammed the bar with his palm. “Man! She was hot. I went once. You never went more than twice. That was the word. I went once.”
“When was that?”
His laughter died away. He chuckled a couple of times and then wagged his finger at me. “Uh-uh, no way, man. No way! I see what you’re doin’. I see where you’re goin’. No, uh-uh. I’m gonna ask you to leave now.”
“What’s the matter, Harry? We’re just sharing old war stories. You were one of the privileged few. When did you go see her?”
His face had gone like stone. “Get out, man.”
I shook my head. “No, Harry. I’m afraid not. You’re going to talk to me, and you are going to tell me what I need to know. Don’t fight me, ’cause this is only ever going to end one way. Be smart.”
He leaned under the bar. I knew what he was going to do before he knew it himself. As he swung the shotgun over the counter I slammed it down with my left hand, then yanked savagely on it and gripped the barrel under my arm, making him lurch forward. At the same time I caught the side of his head in a right cross that made his mouth sag and his eyes dilate.
His legs had gone to jelly. He was struggling not to fall. I vaulted over the bar, grabbed the hair at the back of his head and smashed his face down on the bar twice. I heard him gasp, “Oh God…”
I leaned close to his ear and snarled, “Now, this can go one of two ways, Harry. You choose. I can stick that shotgun up your ass and blow your brains out of the top of your head, or you can talk to me. What’s it going to be?”
“Don’t hurt me anymore, man, I’ll talk to you. Just don’t hurt me no more.”
I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him from behind the bar to the nearest table. I sat him down, then collected my whiskey and the shotgun and went and sat opposite him.
“When d’you sleep with her?”
“It was about a month ago. I don’t remember exactly. It was difficult for me.” He gestured at the room around him. “I have the club…”
“So who else? Was there anyone who got real sweet on her?”
He swallowed and looked scared. “Bartholomew. He was pretty sweet on her, man. She invited him over twice. She liked him, too. Liked the way he played the horn. I thought they was gonna get serious.”
“Yeah, I know about that. Who else?”
His eyes became abstracted. “There was that guy. I can’t remember his name. He wasn’t from round here.”
“You shining me on?”
“No man, I’s serious. He was from out of town somewhere. Not from Burgundy. He came in most nights for a couple of weeks.”
“How long ago?”
He frowned. “Now you mention it, it was just before she died. But she wasn’t here that night. Neither was he.”
“I know. What was this guy’s name? What did he look like?”
“He was tall, real tall, maybe six three or four, slim, but you could tell he was strong. Like whipcord, know what I mean? What was his name? It wasn’t his real name. It was a nickname, like Snake or Blade, somethin’ like that.”
“And Sarah liked him?”
“She liked him a lot. I think she liked him because he looked dangerous. A lot of women go for that. He had them black glasses, like Ray Charles, and that big grin with all them real white teeth…” He snapped his fingers. “Ivories, or Ivory, that was his name. Ivory. I remember now. On account of his teeth. ’Cause they was so white.”
“Ivory.”
“That was his name. She was into him, big time. I think she saw him more than twice.” He frowned again, like he was trying to remember something. “I think him an’ Hays was friends. He was askin’ me about him one night, and they got talkin’.”
“No kidding. Where can I find this grinning snake?”
He shook his head. “I swear I don’t know. He came into town for a couple of weeks. Then he vanished. I never seen him before or since.”
“If I find you are lying to me, Harry, bad things are going to happen. Do you fully understand what that means?”
He nodded several times at high speed. “I never seen him before and I never seen him since. I swear, man.”
I broke open the shotgun, took out the shells, and put them in my pocket. I shoved the weapon across the table at him. “This wasn’t necessary. We could have gotten here without the violence. I just wanted to ask you some questions.”
He spread his hands. “Sorry, man. I thought you wanted to put me in the frame…”
“Water under the bridge, but Harry? Don’t ever pull a weapon on me again. I have no more questions I need answering. You understand m
e…?” He looked queasy as the meaning of my words sank in. I nodded and put a hundred bucks on the table. “Let’s be friends instead. Be smart.”
I stepped out into Desiré. In the alley it was almost as dark as night, still and quiet aside from an occasional breeze that moved the trash on the ground. But on St. Claude Avenue, at the end of the cul-de-sac, there was an unearthly whistling and howling. Somewhere, a shutter had come loose and it was hammering with an incessant rhythm. To me in that moment, it sounded like a daemon trying to break out of his infernal cell.
I walked to my car, leaning into the battering air. This was not the hurricane yet. This was just the gale. The real storm was yet to come. I got behind the wheel, closed the door and fired up the powerful engines.
Ivory.
The guy who’d asked about Bat at the bar, the guy who’d offered him the job and taken him to the warehouse, the guy who’d tricked him into putting his prints on the murder weapon. But I was remembering, I’d heard his name somewhere else. I’d been too tired and preoccupied at the time to register it. I was real mad at myself. I could see Sergeant Bradley’s crimson face in my mind’s eye, scowling at me and roaring in his Kiwi accent, “It’s sloppy, fucking carelessness like that, Walker, that gets men killed! Get your fucking act together!”
He wasn’t kidding. I moved down Main Street and turned left onto Route 61, into the storm. Get your fucking act together, Walker. I remembered where I had heard the name. Only it wasn’t Ivory, it was Ive, and a cute babe with Afro hair had told me he sold coke, at the Full Moon.
I wondered if Simone would have called that Jungian synchronicity.
FOURTEEN
I pulled off the road about a mile from the Full Moon, in the lee of a wall of bowing trees and, with my clothes and hair flapping around me, I went to the trunk. I opened it and pulled open my kit bag.
