Dead Money (39 page)

The little moron. Who else is going to help him?

I can’t answer that question. Not enough information. It does,
however, betray a rather excessive amount of self-regard.

Damn, I said.

What?

I got a call last night. Just before yours. I ignored it. Probably that was him. Calling from the station.

Could be.

I’m going down there.

Not without me, you aren’t.

I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.

Okay. Give me a few. I’ve got to make a couple of calls. Cancel a few things.

Dorita left. My chest felt tight. I thought about Steiglitz. Shit. I didn’t want to think about Steiglitz. I didn’t want to think about anything.

I eyed my empty shot glass. It looked lonely. I reintroduced it to some mediocre Scotch.

WE FLAGGED A CAB
. It smelled strangely of pickles. Dill, I thought.

I took that to be a good sign.

At the station there was a mob. Television trucks and vans lined the entire block. Reporters were shoving microphones into any face that moved.

The obligatory beefy boy in blue blocked the entrance to the station.

I’m Jules FitzGibbon’s lawyer, I said.

Says who? he asked.

His cynicism was concealed under a thick layer of cynicism.

Says me, I said.

That ain’t gonna do it, he said, standing his ground.

Butch Hardiman in there? I asked.

Butch? Maybe, he said.

Ask him, I said. He’ll vouch for me.

He looked at me impassively for a moment. He took my name. Turned to a diminutive female cop.

Charlie, he said, come here.

She came over.

Hold these guys right here, he said. I’ve got to check something out.

Okay, she said. She stepped between us and the door. She put her legs apart. She put her arms on her hips. Right next to the gun.

We amused ourselves watching the police-cruiser flashers’ red, white and blue turn the mob scene outside into a patriotic disco party.

Mr. Beefcake came back. He whispered something to Charlie. Charlie stepped aside. Mr. Beefcake gave us a nod. We stepped in.

Butch was waiting for us just inside the door. He didn’t look happy.

Butch, I said. Why didn’t somebody call me?

It’s a zoo in here. I’m not sure you were the first thing on anyone’s mind.

You’ve got a point. Where’s Jules?

Last I heard he was in with Donegan. Give me a sec.

He went through the swinging doors to the back of the precinct house.

Donegan? Dorita asked.

I know him a bit, I said. He’s a lifer. The kind of guy was born with a police-issue .38 strapped to his waist.

Ouch. Poor Mom.

I think you used that one already.

It’s still funny.

Right. He’s a big guy, with a bigger head. Not too bright, but dogged as hell. After twenty years they finally made him detective. He outlasted them.

Sounds charming.

Actually, he’s an okay guy. I think.

I guess we’ll find out.

Butch came back through the swinging doors.

Donegan says you can come back, he said. But the kid says he doesn’t want to see you.

What?

That’s what he says.

Did he give any reason?

No. Just said he doesn’t want to see you.

A tiny tattooed thing flung itself around my neck, cried out, Mr. Redman! I’m so glad you’re here!

I pried its arms off me. Asked it to calm down a bit.

Dorita raised her eyebrows.

Dorita, I said, this is Lisa. Lisa, my friend Dorita.

Friend? said Dorita.

Pleased to meet you, Lisa said, more demurely than the circumstances called for.

She held out a hand. Dorita took it.

The same, I’m sure, said Dorita, with a jaundiced glance my way.

They tell me Jules doesn’t want to see me, I told Lisa.

Oh God, she said. He’s been so weirded out by all this. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying. I’ll go talk to him.

Okay, I said. I’d appreciate that.

She pushed through the swinging doors, back to the inner sanctum.

So, said Dorita, that’s your little temptress.

Yes, indeed. Captivating, isn’t she?

Other words come to mind.

Tiny and tattooed?

Sure. That, and way too young for you.

Oh, I don’t know. She’s legal. That’s my bottom line.

I was afraid of that.

Lisa came out and beckoned to us.

We followed her back.

She seemed to know her way around the place.

She led us to an interrogation room. In the room were Donegan and Jules. Jules didn’t look up. The front of his white T-shirt appeared to be streaked with blood.

Jules, I said, what happened to you?

Nothing, he said, without looking up.

He’s been cutting himself again, Lisa whispered.

It’s none of their goddamn business, Jules barked at her.

I looked at Donegan. He shook his head. It was clear that he was overmatched.

Can I have a few minutes alone with my client? I asked him.

Sure, he said, they’re all yours.

On his way out he gave me a subtle shift of the head. Come out here for a second, it said. I followed him out.

Just thought you should know, he said. The kid’s been …

I know. I saw the shirt. He does that.

You didn’t see what’s under the shirt. This kid isn’t playing around. We got somebody watching. Just in case.

Okay. I got you. Listen, they haven’t charged him or anything, have they?

Nothing new, anyway.

Donegan left. Gave me a wink on the way.

I had no idea what it meant.

When I got back into the room Lisa was sitting next to Jules, her arms around his neck.

Jules didn’t react.

Jules, I said, I’m so sorry.

What about? he asked, with hooded eyes and a disturbingly calm air.

Your father. Look, I know you didn’t always get along.

He snorted in derision.

But it’s always tough, no matter what.

It’s not tough. Nothing tough about it.

I looked at his blood-streaked shirt.

He didn’t follow my lead. He looked steadily at me.

Jules, I said. I think I understand. I just want you to know that we’re here to help you. If we can. Anything we can do.

Who’s the we?

Oh. I’m sorry. This is Dorita. She’s my partner. She’s helping me out on your case.

My
case? he asked with a sneer.

The Larry Silver case, I said gently.

I’m not worried about that.

That’s good. That’s good. Listen, Jules, what have they been doing with you here? Do they think you’re a suspect in your father’s death or something?

I don’t fucking know what they’re doing. They picked me up. They brought me here. That fathead cop’s been asking me all kind of shit. Where I was last night. Where I was this morning. Where I was when I was born. All kinds of shit.

Did they arrest you? Read you your rights?

Nah. They asked me to come down. But they did it like if I said no they’d make me.

Then you can leave anytime you want, you know.

Sure, I know that.

Okay. And you don’t have to talk to them.

I got nothing to hide.

That may be true, Jules, but they can twist things around. You shouldn’t be talking to them. Especially without a lawyer. What did you tell them?

I didn’t tell them shit.

About where you were last night. What did you tell them about that?

I told them the truth.

And what was that?

I was with Lisa.

She smiled and nodded at me.

Where?

Around.

Where around?

All over around. Here, there. Everywhere.

Jules. I’m trying to help you here. You don’t have to play these games with me. I thought we got over that.

That was before.

Before what?

Before you started fucking with Lisa.

Jules! Lisa cried out.

I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jules, I said, with as much outrage as I could muster.

What are you talking about? echoed Lisa.

Never mind what I’m talking about, he said, looking straight at me. Just get the fuck out of here.

His look was not one that allowed for negotiation. I nodded at Dorita. We got up. I glanced back as we went out the door. He was still giving me the hairy eyeball. She was still clinging to his neck.

We went out front. We asked for Butch. It took a while.

Butch, I said when he finally appeared. Can you find out for me what’s going on with Jules? Is he being treated as a suspect or something?

Everybody’s a suspect, he said. Until the case is closed.

Yeah, yeah. I know that. But seriously?

I can’t really say.

He gave me an apologetic shrug.

I looked around. The room was packed with cops. Reporters. Guys in raincoats. Folks whose function there I couldn’t place. I gave Butch the benefit. Even if he wanted to tell me something, he couldn’t do it there.

WE WENT TO THE BAR
across the street. The joint was crawling with reporters, technicians, hangers-on, scandalmongers. We found a relatively quiet spot in the back.

That’s one fucked-up kid, I said.

Sure, said Dorita. And you’d be Mother Teresa on Valium in his situation.

Hey, I’m not judging. He’s got a lot to deal with. But all the same. What’s with this self-mutilation thing?

We all have our means of coping.

I guess.

Just because his is visible.

I suppose you’re right.

Lung and liver lesions.

Not visible.

More deadly.

Can’t argue.

Don’t try.

Won’t.

Okay, what now?

I don’t have a clue.

Give up?

Right. Like you have that bone in your body.

I need two, she said. One for me and one for you.

Don’t worry about me. I got a bone.

I’m not touching that one. Let’s get back to the question.

Let’s get hold of Butch. There was stuff he wasn’t telling us.

Can you get him out of there?

I’ll try.

I paged Butch. I didn’t expect an immediate response. I didn’t get one.

We felt helpless. We ordered another round.

Dorita asked about Steiglitz.

Later, I said.

She insisted.

I gave her the short version.

She wanted more.

Later, I said.

I changed the subject. I talked about basketball. Could the Knicks pick it up? Not just make the playoffs, but go far? Go all the way? That was a bit much to ask. But please, could we have a team that was fun to watch?

My cell phone rang.

Butch? I said.

Yo.

Can you get away?

Give me half an hour.

White Stallion?

I’ll be there.

We’re buying.

You’re all heart.

Dorita put her hand on my knee. I felt electric pulses up my thigh. In spite of all the ruckus, my libido still was operational. Thank the Lord for small mercies.

We made our way to the White Stallion. Butch had beaten us there. He was drinking a beer at the bar. He looked exhausted.

Man, I said, you look exhausted.

What you see is what you get, he said.

Sorry, man. I don’t want to add to your troubles.

Nothing next to yours, he said with his big smile.

Hey. Don’t worry about that. I’m coping.

He looked at Dorita.

I see, he said.

Nice to see you too, Dorita said.

I changed the subject fast.

So Butch. Can you fill us in? What the hell is going on over there?

Chaos. Chaos is going on over there. Nobody’s in charge. FitzGibbon was a big fucking cheese.

I think we knew that.

And now everybody’s pointing fingers. Why didn’t they follow up the Jules thing properly.

They’re making a connection?

They don’t know if there’s a connection. They don’t know anything. Problem is, everybody figured Jules was a lock for this Larry Silver thing. No point in wasting resources on it. But now they don’t know. They’re
afraid somebody’s going to find something they missed. The press is all over it like blackflies in North Bay.

North Bay? You been up there?

Nah. Just sounded good.

Good call. Okay. They have anything to make them think there’s a connection?

How should I know?

I thought you were plugged in.

Plugged in to what? The circuits are all shorted out, Rick. The breakers are blown. It’s dark in there.

Jesus, Butch, I never knew you were such a mean man with a metaphor.

I have my moments.

Listen, Butch, I said. Are the twins being held?

Not that I know of. Questioned.

Are they suspects?

Don’t know. Really, I don’t. Like I said, it’s chaos in there.

Can you get us in to see them?

That’s a tall order. That’s a very tall order.

That wasn’t the question.

You’re right. Okay. I’ll see what I can do.

Much obliged, I said, raising my glass.

Hey. I owe you.

I still didn’t know what for.

Butch called minutes later. By the time he’d got back to the station house higher powers had intervened. Shut the place down like the Baghdad Green Zone. We were going to have to wait til the twins got out of there. Try to find a way to get them to talk to us.

I knew enough to leave that part to Dorita.

I WENT HOME
to get some sleep.

I didn’t get much.

The phone rang. Dorita.

We’ve got an audience, she said.

Good work.

I know. Be there in an hour.

Where?

The Park Avenue Palace.

I’m on my way, I said.

I drank two cups of coffee. I grabbed a cab. It smelled of clove cigarette smoke.

I almost gagged.

When we got to the Palace, Ramon was at one end of the living room, Raul at the other. A detail that did not escape me. I asked Ramon to join us at the sofa end of the room. He walked reluctantly over, perched on some kind of uncomfortable over-carved antique. Raul remained seated on his throne.