Fire Lake (26 page)

36

After LeRoi left I just sat there on the sofa, the
gun dangling in my hands. Karen came out of the bedroom and sat down
beside me.

"You hear?" I said, glancing at her.

She nodded. "Most of it."

"He set me up, Karen," I said. "Lonnie
set me up."

"Maybe he didn't, Harry," she said gently.
"Maybe he was just being Lonnie--playing all the angles, like a
big shot."

"Big shot!" I said with a bitter laugh. "He
told that bastard LeRoi that I was his partner. He signed my name at
the fucking motel. He ran away from the apartment, after I'd saved
his bacon, knowing that I'd have to take the heat."

"He also tried to kill himself, Harry,"
Karen said with a sad look. "He couldn't have known that all
this was going to happen, before he went out to the motel--that Cal
and Jenkins were going to take him off and that he'd end up owing his
soul to LeRoi. He wouldn't have gone out there if he did. He's not
that stupid."

"But why use my name?" I said, feeling the
injustice like a biblical smoting. "Why tell LeRoi I was his
partner?"

She shrugged. "Maybe he wanted to think you were
his partner. Maybe it made him feel safer. He didn't really have a
friend he could trust on this deal. He didn't know Cal or LeRoi or
the bikers; Norvelle's been zonked out for years; and I wasn't around
anymore to hold his hand. Maybe he got scared, afraid that something
could go wrong while he was dealing with all those strangers. Maybe
he thought that he might need an old friend to get him out of
trouble. Or to bail him out of it. You're a tough guy, Harry. Lonnie
always admired that. Deep down, I think he always wanted to be a man
like you."

I didn't say anything, although I was mystified by
the fact that she was defending him.

Karen stared at me for a moment. "Can you get
the money?"

"If I have to," I said. "But I'll be
goddamned if I'm going to pay for Lonnie's mistake anymore."

"Tell me about it," Karen said, with a
hopeless look.

I suddenly felt embarrassed for the way I'd been
grousing. I had a right to be mad, all right. But compared to Karen,
I'd gotten off easy. She'd had fifteen years of Lonnie Jackowski.
Fifteen years of Fire Lake. And in spite of all she'd been through,
part of her still loved the amoral bastard.

"He's got to take care of himself now, Karen,"
I said, pulling her to me. "You can't do it anymore. And I
won't."

She rested her head against my shoulder. "Then
what are we going to do?"

"I don't know." I glanced at my watch.
"It's a quarter to one. I'd like to pay Cal a visit and find out
if he really does have the crack, but to be honest, I don't know if
I've got the strength."

She smiled at me. "Even tough guys have to
sleep."

"I don't know if I can do that, either," I
said nervously.

"Where the hell did Lonnie get two thousand
dollars? Can you tell me that? And who the hell killed Jenkins?"

"LeRoi could have been lying," Karen said.

"So could Sonny," I said, feeling lost. "I
don't know. I thought I had this fucking thing figured out."

"We'll figure it out,
Harry," Karen said bravely. "Tomorrow."

***

I didn't realize how truly worn-out I was until I lay
down on the bed beside Karen. I took a look at her lush body and
wanted like hell to make love to her--to make up for the scene with
Sonny. Karen knew that was what I wanted, but she also knew I was too
dead tired to do anything but sleep.

"It's all right, tough guy," she said,
hugging me tight. "Just get some rest."

I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, cold
sunlight was filtering through the bedroom window. I glanced at the
clock on the nightstand-it was eight-thirty--and tried to sit up. The
stiffness was still there, in my back and my shoulder. But the pain
wasn't as bad as it had been the day before, and that cheered me.

I glanced at Karen's side of the bed. She wasn't
there.

For just a second, I felt panicky--the way I'd felt
waking from the dream in the hotel room. Then I heard her moving
around in the living room, and my heartbeat slowed down.

"Are you up?" I called out.

"I'm making coffee," she called back.

I pulled myself out of the bed and stared out the
window, squinting against the sunlight. It was a high blue winter
morning without a cloud in the sky. It would have been a beautiful
day, if it weren't for Lonnie. He'd spoiled too many days for me and
Karen. The terror was going to end, I told myself. Today.

I picked up the phone on the nightstand and called
George DeVries at the D.A.'s office.

He answered in a sleepy voice. "You're up mighty
early, aren't you, Harry?"

"It's dues time, George."

"I haven't seen the yard yet," he said.

"Don't fuck with me, George. I'm in no mood to
be fucked with by a cop."

"Yeah, I heard you had a little trouble with one
of our finest."

"It's a continuing story."

"Glen's a vicious bastard, all right,"
George said merrily. "I kind of like him."

"You would," I said with disgust.

"About that problem you have?" George said.
"I guess you already know that the motel murder was
drug-related. You do know that, don't you, Harry?"

"Quit the clowning, George."

He laughed snidely. "Aside from you, Glen's only
got one suspect. A guy named Jackowski. Some biker at the motel said
Jenkins ripped Jackowski off for a shitload of crack. Apparently,
Jackowski came back for his goods. You know what happened."
George paused for a moment. "This Jackowski's a friend of yours,
isn't he, Harry," he said in a vaguely calculating voice.

"Who told you that?"

"Somebody told Glen that--that you and Lonnie
were good buddies."

"Who told Glen?" I said.

"An informer that Jordan uses. A junkie named
Norvelle Thomas."

"Great," I said to myself. Another
betrayal. It was getting to be monotonous.

"And Jordan believes him?" I said to
George.

"Harry, If John Wayne Gacy told Fred that you
were dirty, he'd believe him. He wants you, buddy. In the worst way."

"The feeling is mutual," I said angrily.

"This guy Thomas told Glen that your pal Lonnie
was copping crack for a friend of his. And that that friend had
fronted him the money to cop."

"And I'm supposed to be the friend?" I said
disgustedly. "That's the way Glen is reading it."

It all made a kind of hideous sense. In fact, it was
virtually the same story that LeRoi had heard from Lonnie. For all I
knew, that was where Norvelle had heard it too. From my good buddy,
Lonnie. I'd fronted him two thousand dollars to buv me some crack. It
was neat, all right. And without Lonnie around to explain the lie or
the wishful thinking or whatever the hell he'd call it, it would be
damn hard for me to prove differently.

"All right, George," I said wearily.
"Thanks."

"Harry," he said, dropping the sarcasm.
"I'd be careful this time. Really careful. Glen'll be tailing
you pretty closely, and he's good at his work. When he wants someone
as bad as he wants you, he doesn't fuck around."

"Neither do I," I said, and hung up on him.

I stared angrily at the phone. I felt like pulling it
out of the wall. Instead, I cursed--at the top of my lungs.

Karen came running in from the living room. "Are
you all right?"

I gave her a dirty look. "Hell, yes, I'm all
right. What do I have to worry about?"

She sat down on the corner of the bed. "Tell me
about it," she said.

She looked deracinated in the stream of white
sunlight that was flooding the room. I closed the curtains and the
color came back to her cheeks.

"Norvelle told Jordan the same story that Lonnie
told LeRoi," I said, turning back to her. "That I was
Lonnie's partner. That he was buying the dope for me. That I'd
fronted him the two grand."

Karen dropped her head. "Christ, Lonnie must
have told Norvelle, then, too.

"Maybe, Lonnie was copping for somebody else,"
Karen said, her head still bent to her chest. "And was trying to
cover up his real connection."

"By using to me to do it?" I said
disgustedly. "What a guy!"

Karen looked up at me suddenly, with a spark in her
eyes. "He did go to that theater on Wednesday. What if he didn't
just go to see Norvelle? What if he went to see Leanne, too? I mean,
he had to get that two thousand from somebody."

I shrugged. "She'd have the money all right. But
why the hell would she want to buy twelve thousand dollars' worth of
crack? And why all the comedy at the motel? If Lonnie was copping for
Leanne, why didn't he just deliver at the theater? Or at her fucking
farm?"

"I don't know about the motel business. But
you'd be surprised who deals dope in the suburbs. I told you about
that pharmacist in St. Louis, who used to send us to New York to cop
smack. Christ, he was the most respectable guy you'd ever want to
meet. Had a chain of drugstores around the city, a mansion in Forest
Park, a social-climbing wife and four spoiled kids. It's just not
that unusual, Harry, for your neighbors to be dealing coke--even your
rich, respectable neighbors."

I gave Karen a dubious look. "Are you sure
you're not letting your feelings cloud your judgment?"

"Meaning?" she said sharply.

"Meaning that you don't like Leanne
Silverstein."

Karen gave me an angry look. "Do you have a
better idea?"

"Sy Levy," I said. "He could have used
the money from a score a lot more than the Silversteins could. And he
might have been able to scrape together a down payment on the drugs."

"Sy would never do that," Karen said
flatly.

"Why?" I snapped. "Because you like
him, and you don't like Leanne?"

"Fuck you," Karen said bitterly.

I started at her for a moment. "I'm sorry. I'm
just pissed at Lonnie."

"I'm sorry too." She looked up at me
apologetically. "I can't believe that Sy could have changed that
much."

"Everything else has."

She nodded grudgingly. "So you think we should
pay Sy another visit?"

I shook my head. "Not yet. I think we should
talk to Norvelle first. Don't forget that he was working for Leanne
and that he was a friend of Sy's. If either one of them did give
Lonnie the money to cop, Norvelle could easily have heard about the
deal, and then told Cal and Jenkins about it. Regardless of who
fronted Lonnie the two thousand, I still think it was Jenkins, Cal,
and Norvelle who ripped Lonnie off. I just don't know how they got
him out to that motel. Or who ended up murdering Jenkins. Or why."

Karen laughed. "So we're going back to Cross
Lane?"

"That's our first stop."

"What about Cal?" she said with a nervous
look.

"He and Norvelle live in the same house, Karen.
We've got to confront him sometime."

"Maybe he won't be home," Karen said, as if
she were saying a prayer.
 

 
37

Karen and I walked down to the parking lot. There was
a gray Ford sitting on the corner of Burnett--it was the first thing
I noticed when we stepped out of the shadows of the Delores. I nodded
disgustedly in the direction of the Ford. Karen shaded her eyes
against the brilliant winter sun and sighted toward the corner.

"It's him again," she said, dropping her
hand and turning to me with a fallen look. "It's Jordan."

"The son of a bitch," I said angrily. "He's
not even bothering to conceal himself anymore."

"Is he going to stay behind us all day?"

"If it suits him," I said. "And
there's nothing we can do about it. I just don't drive well enough to
shake him. Plus there's snow on the street."

"But we're on our way to see Norvelle,"
Karen said, aghast. "A junkie."

"What the hell difference does that make? He
already thinks I'm a drug dealer."

I walked quickly down the stairs and over to the
Pinto, got in behind the wheel, and started the car. The engine
turned over like a low-speed drill, sputtered a few times, then
backfired and began to chug. Karen got in the passenger seat,
slapping her arms against the cold.

"You know I'm with you, don't you, Harry?"
she said suddenly, giving me a sweet, shivery look. "To the
end."

I smiled at her with pleasure. "I do know that,
Karen," I said. "But I'm glad to hear it anyway."

I put the Pinto in reverse and guided it out on the
street. As I headed up Burnett the gray Ford pulled out behind
me--its tail pipes steaming in the cold. I could see Jordan in the
rearview mirror. He waved at me with his middle finger.