Cast in Stone (29 page)

"So,
what's the story?" I prodded.

"No
story," said George.

"Don't
make me drag this out of you. I'm not in the mood."

"Nothin'
much to tell, that's all," said George. "She had a little
room on First Avenue, down the hill from the market, upstairs over
that pawn shop by the museum. You know where I mean?"

I
said I did.

"A
buck and a half a month. A single. Dirty. Real piece of shit. Like
something the city puts you in. That's the story."

"Small,"
said Ralph.

"Real
small," affirmed Harold.

"You
could raise veal in it," added George.

"How'd
she pay?"

"Cash.
The day she moved in."

"How
long had she been there?"

"Not
even a whole month."

"Any
line on where she came from?"

"Nothin',"
said George. "All we found out for sure is that she knew she was
leaving."

"How
do you figure?"

"She
gave the super all her stuff."

"Really?
Just gave it to him?"

"Yep.
Told him she and her family was going to the land of milk and honey
and wouldn't be needing it any more. She told him she was going to
get new and

better
stuff "

"Milk
and honey?"

"That's
what he said," said Harold. "Milk and honey."

"He
also said she was a retard," said George.

"Challenged,"
corrected Ralph.

"Who
the fuck appointed you to the political correctness patrol, huh,
birdbrain? Who?" George snapped.

This
time of the morning, they could get nasty in a hurry.

"I've
got an out-of-town assignment for you guys." "Like out of
town where?" George asked. "Like out in the country. Up
north." "Country? You mean like with trees and stuff?"
asked Harold. "Like that, yeah," I said.

"We
don't do country, Leo," said George. "I don't smell bus
fumes, I get real nervous. I break out. Besides that, Ralph starts
doin' his flop act on log trucks he's gonna get killed. Naw. Thanks
but no thanks. No country."

"I
always end up in a cell with some guy named Bubba," groused
Harold.

"Da—da—da,
da, da, da, da, da—daaaaa—" George doing Deliverance theme.

"They
never like me in the country," said Ralph.

"Don't
worry, they'll like you just fine in that dress," snapped
George.

"It's
not a dress; it's a robe," Ralph protested weakly.

"They'll
bug your eyes out like a frog." "Stop it," I said.

"Fucker
thinks he's Tallulah Bankhead." "It's warm," Ralph
insisted. "Don't worry, shitforbrains. They'll have some-thin'
even warmer for ya." I tried money again.

"Four
guys. Seventy dollars a day. Two days at least. Plus I'm good for all
motel rooms and food." No answer.

"You
guys are about to hit the streets again. I'm sure you can use a
little extra money."

“
We
got some money. We'll get more from the house,” said George. "Yeah,
in about two years when the lawyers get through picking -the bones,
you'll be able to split a bottle of Mad Dog."

Still
no answer. I tried again, this time with enthusiasm.

"A
couple of nights in motel rooms. Good meals. You'll have a stake in
your pockets. Huh? Waddaya say?"

"And
treats after we get done working," said Ralph.

Treats
meant booze. Vast quantities of cheap booze.

"Only,"
I said, waving a finger in a wide arc, "after you get done
working. Otherwise no booze. I hold all the booze until we're done
for the day. Swear to God, you get drunk on this job, I'll leave your
ass out there with the hicks. I swear. You can find your own way
back. I'm serious. This thing we're gonna do is the last chance I've
got. If we don't turn something here, I'm going to have to bag it."

The
prospect of seven or eight consecutive hours of mandatory sobriety
produced a pathetic wave of foot shuffling and head wagging.

Harold
tried to hedge. "Maybe just a bracer in the—"

Left
to their own devices, with money in their pockets, the Boys' day
followed a strict pattern. They liked to have a little eye-opener
before attempting anything more serious than getting out of bed.
Something light. A couple or three beers maybe. By ten or so,
were they going to be required to actually venture outdoors, they
would concur on the advisability of a

stiff
mid-morning bracer. Thus suitably fueled, they would immediately
begin the search for just the right place for lunch and a few modest
cocktails. Apres lunch, predictably feeling somewhat sluggish, they
would further medicate themselves with an afternoon pick-me-up or
four, which, remarkably enough, segued neatly into happy hour,
where, as the name implies, all restraints were temporarily
rescinded. No day, of course, could end without a final nip to help
them sleep. Any unanticipated drinking need could be dismissed as
merely a phlegm cutter. You had to admire guys who had their bases
covered.

"That's
how it's gotta be, fellas. No ifs. No buts. That's it. You hear me?"
Nothing. "Is it understood? Somebody tell me they understood."

I
laid the big lumber on them. "If you guys can't manage that,
I'll find some guys who can."

Each
man looked at me hard. This mention of mythical other guys was pure
heresy. They were my guys, and everyone knew it. It was their single
remaining claim to fame. It was their entitlement to preferred
bar stools and sunny park benches. They worked as detectives. They'd
been in the papers. One of them could always produce a caked,
yellowed copy of some old Times article. Now that they knew I was
serious, a long silence ensued.

"You
promise no more than two days?" asked Harold.

"I
promise."

He
looked to George. George sat with his thin arms folded over his
chest, again refusing to make eye contact with me.

"We
bring the Speaker," he said finally.

"No
way," I howled. "I'm not paying a mute to canvass for me."

"The
Speaker," he repeated.

"We'll
take Norman," I countered.

"Norman
needs to watch the house."

"The
Speaker found the girl's place," said Harold.

"We'll
assume that was his moment of lucidity for the nineties. I'll take
Norman, or maybe Waldo or Big Frank, but I won't take the Speaker.
That's final."

"Waldo
could come over and watch the place," said Ralph.

Harold
and Ralph looked to George for a sign.

"Okay,
okay, Norman," he huffed. "How we gonna get there? That
little tub you drive sure ain't gonna get all of us anyplace, not to
mention our stuff. You got a plan for all that crap, Leo?"

"Sure
do, George. I know just where I can borrow us some transportation."

I
saw him before he saw me. He was glad-handing a tall young redhead in
an ankle-length black leather coat when I walked in the showroom
door. He was working his way from little tweaks on her elbow to an
exploratory pat on her ass when he caught sight of me, and froze in
his tracks. Without missing a beat, he guided the woman to the
nearest salesman and headed my way.

Tony
Moldonado stood in close. He was wearing a blue suit with a wide
pinstripe, red carnation in his buttonhole, paisley tie, freshly
shined shoes. He smelled of Old Spice.

"I
knew it," he said.

"Knew
what?"

"I
knew you'd be coming around to shake me down, and I'm tellin' you
right now you ain't getting nickel one—"

"I'm
not here for money," I said quickly.

"You're
not?" His eyes narrowed. "What then?"

"I
need a favor."

"How
much?"

"It's
not a how much; it's a what." "Okay then, what?" "I
need a van."

"Wadda
you, crazy? You think I'm gonna give you a van? You think vans grow
on trees?"

"This
is a community-property state, Tony. Keep that in mind."

In
disgust, he paced a full circle around me, ending back where he'd
started. I decided to make it easy for him.

"I
just want to borrow a van for a couple of days. Nothing fancy. Used
would be fine."

Kindness
was a mistake. "Our insurance doesn't permit—" he
started.

"I've
still got the camera."

"What
camera?"

"The
one with the pictures of you holding your cock in that cheap motel
room. You remember? The room with Bo Peep with her drawers down
around her ankles, and the big bad wolves? That room."

He
gave me a dumb look.

I
playfully bopped him on the shoulder. "You remember. The room
down there by the airport where you'd been poking anything and
everything that walked or crawled in. You remember that room, don't
you, Tony?"

He
shrugged. "Maybe we got a parts van."

"Just
for a couple of days."

"The
seats aren't in it."

"Have
you still got the seats?"

"Sure."

"Howzabout
you put them back in," I suggested. "We could do that."
"And clean it up."

He
shrugged again. As long as I had him on the ropes, I threw a couple
more jabs. "Oh yeah, I forgot. Have your guys fill it up and
check the fluids, will you? Thanks."

His
shoulders sank even further. He looked like the Bridge Troll.

"What
time is it?" I asked.

Tony
cheeked his watch. "Ten-twenty."

"Can
you have it ready by one?"

"I
suppose," he grumbled.

"See
you at one."

Something
about the ringing of a telephone drives reason from my mind. Anything
to stop the ringing. I sprinted across the apartment. "Hello."

"Ah,
Leo." Cousin Paul's strangled tenor. "I was just going to
call you," I lied. "Oh, I'm sure you were. Most assuredly."
"I was," I insisted.

"Hmmm.
Be that as it may, cousin. There remains the matter of the liberation
of your trust fund and our luncheon date."

"There
does indeed," I agreed. "Did you have a date in mind?"

"I
had this afternoon in mind."

"No
can do. I'm leaving town."

"When
then?"

"What's
today?" I asked.

"Wednesday."

"Let's
see. I'm going to be gone for a couple of days. What about next
Wednesday?" "One o'clock." "One o'clock."
"The Seattle Club," "Yup."

"Tie
and jacket. At least tie and jacket. Suits are preferred, but you
know, if you don't have—" "I don't."

"One
o'clock, Wednesday." "I'm looking forward to it." "I'm
sure."

On
my way home from Eastlake Chevrolet, I'd double-parked in front of
the Bovs' house, poked my head in, and told them to be packed and
ready at one. It was just short of eleven. Plenty of time for me to
pack a few things and make a trip to the liquor store.

I
left a message on Rebecca's home phone telling her I was going to be
out of town for a couple of days.

The
phone again.

"Yo,"
I answered.

"Not
very businesslike." It was Marge.

"Sorry,"
I said. "How you doin'?"

She
took a deep breath. "I'm doin'. That's about all I can say."
A pause. "Heck's family all went back home this morning. This is
the first chance I've had to sit down."