Gator Aide (21 page)

“Does he have a file on you, Santou?”

Leaning back to grab a box of toothpicks on the kitchen counter, he pulled one out and began to chew it to bits. “I suppose he does, at that.”

“Does he have one on Charlie Hickok?”

“Porter, he’s probably already started one on you.”

The thought put a stop to the rush I’d been feeling.

“So, if you wanted to find out about someone, all you’d have to do is take a peek inside his files, is that right?”

Santou finished off the wine. “Don’t even think it. They’re kept under lock and key I don’t know where, and I’m not sure I want to. I’ve just about used up my nine lives already. I’m trying to hold on hard to this last one.”

By now, the roar in my head had died down to a mild throb. “The last thing I remember during the march was being slammed on the head by a sign encouraging me to vote for Hillard. Do you think he could have been behind what happened today?”

“No way,
chère
. Don’t waste your time on that end. He’s not stupid enough to chance it, not this close to the election. Too many votes would be lost if he openly sided with the rednecks. Besides, he’s found Jesus, remember?

“Hell, Porter. Today’s ass kicking could have been from any number of groups. We’ve got Confederate Hammer Skins, the Aryan National Front, White Aryan Resistance, and Church of the Creator. Take your pick. We’ve even got splinter groups of the Nationalist Skinhead Knights and the Fourth Reich Skinheads. Any one of them could have been responsible. They’re so damn disorganized most of the time, it’s hard to keep a finger on them. They form; they break up; new ones start.

“That’s not to say that someone close to Hillard couldn’t have organized the butt kicking, though. This was a solid-gold opportunity for a little right-wing political consciousness raising, and if that were the case, I’d have to put my money on Buddy Budwell.”

The name sounded vaguely familiar. “Who’s that?”

“One mean ol’ fat boy who’s come a hell of a long way from his roots. He used to be poor white trash from back in the swamp. He worked his way right on up through the ranks in Hillard’s gator scam. There ain’t nothing too down and dirty for ol’ Buddy to stick his hands into. Whatever’s going to get him his pot of gold is his religion. That and being a Nazi. He was Hillard’s second-in-command when Hill headed up the delta contingent. Buddy’s like a son to him. Hell, he could
be
his son. I hear Hillard used to pop his mama regularly; could be Buddy was a product of that loving union.”

I remembered now where I’d heard his name before. It had been through Trenton.

“So Buddy’s still at Hillard’s beck and call?”

“Who’s to say? Buddy’s a respectable businessman these days. Deals legally in gator skins, selling them around the world. Shit, he even sells to rock stars. He’s made a fortune at it. If Buddy’s dipping his fat little fingers into something illegal, he has a hell of a cover. Up till now, we’ve never had any reason to look into it. Fact of the matter is, we still don’t.”

That was something I disagreed with him on. Buddy was a man I wanted to meet soon. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out Valerie’s necklace and plunked down a fortune in diamonds next to Santou’s plate.

“Jesus, Porter! Where in the hell did you find this?”

“Yeah, I’ve grown kind of fond of it myself. The question is, how come you guys didn’t discover it?”

Picking up the necklace, Santou ran his fingers over each stone. I tried to envision it around the neck of either Dolores or Valerie, but neither fit the bill.

“Hell, as far as I know, that place was torn upside down and right side up.”

“Obviously not inside out. Someone forgot to check her freezer.”

Santou’s fist tightened around the necklace. “She kept a fortune in diamonds next to some frozen chopped meat?”

“She had it buried inside ice cream.”

His eyes drilled into me until I felt like a bug about to be pinned and dissected. “You dug through ice cream in a dead woman’s freezer? You want to tell me how you happened to come up with that idea?”

I decided to skip over the details and just give him a broad outline. “I used to work off the books in New York. I ended up with lots of cash, and needed some place to stash it. I figured a container of ice cream would be the last place anyone would ever look.”

Santou shook his head as the corners of his mouth twitched into a grin. “And they wonder if the sexes think differently. How did you know what you were looking for?”

“I didn’t. I just knew that Dolores Williams’s jewelry was being siphoned off by Hillard and ending up around Valerie Vaughn’s neck.”

“And how did you know that?”

“Dolores told me.” I pulled out the card for Global Corporation, placing it next to the diamonds. “This was under the necklace when I found it. It might be worth looking into.”

Santou picked up the card and turned it over. “How many jewelry stores do you know of on Mulberry Street, Porter?”

“That’s exactly what I thought.”

Leaning over, he kissed me lightly on the lips. “Good work. I’ll clean up.”

Santou washed the dishes as I sipped some more wine. If this was what togetherness could be like, it wasn’t half-bad. So far, I’d made it my business never to stop long enough to wonder if I might be missing out on something. Biological clock was still a distant phrase, even though mine was running out fast. Even my mother was beginning to give up hope I’d ever settle down. After my last relationship ended, I’d sworn to myself “never again.” Now I was beginning to wonder if perhaps I’d been too hasty. The riot had shaken me more than I liked to admit. Getting smacked in the head made me realize I was vulnerable. Being with Santou made me aware of just how lonely I sometimes felt.

“You going to be okay here by yourself tonight, Porter? I could camp out on your couch if you like.”

For the briefest moment I was tempted not only to tell him to stay, but to forget about the couch.

“It’s a nice offer, but the couch has more springs than fabric on it. I don’t want you impaled in your sleep.” Hesitating, I decided against it, still not ready to take the plunge. “Thanks, I’ll be fine.”

I handed him the key to Vaughn’s apartment as he headed toward the door. Pulling it halfway open, he turned back around to face me. Looking at his unruly mop of hair and those eyes that penetrated me, my pulse began to race, and I was prepared to change my mind. All he had to do was ask.

“Listen, I wasn’t going to bother telling you before, but you’re bound to find out. I got a call from Dolores Williams. Somebody poisoned her dog.”

It was late that night as I was drifting off to sleep, courtesy of another Percocet, that I realized what had irked me about Santou during dinner. He never bothered to ask if I had made it as far as Vaughn’s apartment before getting caught in the riot. It was as if he already knew. But something troubled me even more, something I was only able to tap into as I began to fall asleep.

Dragging myself out of bed, I searched through the pockets of my torn pants until I found what I’d been looking for. I closed my hand tightly around it and sat back down on my bed, hesitating for a moment before opening the drawer of my nightstand. Santou’s garnet-and-onyx rosary beads lay nestled inside, the ones he had given me that first night. Then I opened my fist. The beads were an exact match to the rosary I now held in my hand. The one that had been secreted away inside Valerie Vaughn’s jewelry box.

My body ached as I crawled out of bed the next morning, cramped muscles protesting my decision to work that day. Three cups of coffee and a Percocet made me feel only slightly better. The makeup I applied did little to hide the damage that colored my skin various shades of purple. This was a job that required Terri’s expertise. His fine hand would have worked magic, camouflaging the profusion of bruises that had mysteriously appeared overnight. But Terri was occupied with his own injuries at the moment, leaving me to realize just how much I’d come to depend on him for everything from friendship to beauty tips. Weary from a dream-filled night of running feet and the rat-a-tat barking of one very dead dog, I headed over to the Garden District, past the esplanade on St. Charles, and on to Hillard’s lemon meringue pie of a mansion. There had been no love lost between Fifi and me, but I felt bad for Dolores. The dog had been her lifeline. I was worried what would happen to her now.

Vinnie answered the door at his usual lackadaisical pace, eyeing my bruises up and down before saying a word.

“Youse been playing football on ya time off, New Yawk?”

Seeing him in his lime green shirt and white polyester pants, I knew Vinnie couldn’t have been the one who had done the dirty deed of killing Dolores’s dog.

“Hey, if some punk boyfriend did that ta ya, say the word and he’s dog meat.”

I appreciated the sentiment, but all it did was remind me of Fifi. “Speaking of dogs, that’s why I’m here. What happened?”

Vinnie motioned me inside. “I know how ya hates ta sweat. Seems like something the mutt ate in the backyard didn’t agree with her.”

“Do you know what it was?”

“I got a good idea. I seen a guy looking the same way once at a restaurant in the Bronx. Big swollen tongue you couldn’t of rolled back in his mouth. The wise guy with him blamed it on the shellfish. I say it pays ta know who’s doing the cooking. Personally, I like ta cook for myself.”

“So, what was Fifi eating?”

“The mutt kicked off on a nice chunk of lean ground sirloin. Her favorite. Course, I’d been wondering what happened ta the makings for my meatballs. I always buy the best for my sauce, ya know. So I was pretty p.o.’d about the whole thing.”

“Where was Mrs. Williams at the time?”

Vinnie scratched absently at his crotch. “Now, that’s the funny thing. She was sleeping it off upstairs in her room like she does every afternoon, ya know. But she always kept Fifi in bed with her. Damn mutt even has its own pillow. Youse oughta see the thing. We’re talking lace, with its name, whadda ya call it, hand sewn, in the center. Anyways, I’m at the stove cooking some sauce when the old bat starts screaming at the top of her lungs, ‘Where’s Fifi? Where’s my little Fifi?’ How the hell am I supposed ta know where her damn dog is, if she don’t?

“So’s, we start looking for the damn thing. I’m down on my hands and knees checking under beds, inside closets. She even had me move the damn furniture, like that little porker could squeeze into a tight space. Finally, she’s screamin’ and cryin’ that her dog’s been murdered. Listen, that was one nasty mop of hair with sharp teeth. But what kinda person is gonna kill a little dog, am I right?

“So we hit the backyard, and there’s Fifi, a chunk of meat still in her mouth, lying on her side like she’s taking a nap. I wouldn’ta put it past the mutt to play dead just so’s it could nab me. But I let Mrs. W. go and check it out. Sure enough, Fifi’s stone-cold dead. Not even a twitch from the stump. Now she’s screamin’ that one of us murdered her dog, and says we’re gonna all have to take some kinda lie detector test. Wants me ta go down ta the police. I mean, I hated that mutt, but I ain’t no dog killer.”

I believed him, but I also felt sure the dog had been intentionally poisoned.

“Was anyone else besides you and Mrs. Williams here at the time?”

Vinnie finished manicuring a fingernail with his teeth, spitting the loose clipping onto the floor.

“Mr. W., he was out somewhere’s, I don’t know where. I don’t keep tabs on the old man. And the Kraut? That sneaky sonofabitch could be behind me right now, and I probably wouldn’t know it.”

“Do you think I could speak to Mrs. Williams?”

“She’s locked herself in her bedroom and said she ain’t coming out. I’m just supposed ta keep putting a glass of bourbon and ice outside the door every half hour. She’s slugged down about a pint so far this morning. Good thing I keep it well stocked.”

“I think it would be a good idea for me to take Fifi’s body and have it autopsied. That way we could begin to figure out what kind of poison was used, and possibly trace where it came from.”

Vinnie sniffed the air as the scent of lasagna wafted out from the kitchen.

“Whadda ya, kiddin’ me? She’s got the damn dog locked up in there with her. Ya could always try gettin’ it away from her, but youse are on your own with that one.”

The last thing I needed to do was get in a tussle with Dolores over the body of her dead dog. Anxious to get back to the kitchen, Vinnie cut me some slack.

“Listen, kiddo. I don’t like no animal killers any more than you do. I mean, if you’re gonna snuff someone, you should pick on a guy your own size, you know what I mean? I got something that might help ya out. I picked up what meat was left on the ground where Fifi keeled over. I don’t want nothing else dying, ya understand? I still got it. Ya wants it, it’s yours. Wait here and I’ll dig it outta the freezer.”

The meat would be almost as good as Fifi herself. I waited beneath the crystal chandelier, the sun scattering miniature rainbows on the polished floor around my feet. The morning light felt like sharp lasers drilling into the back of my eyes, and I found myself concentrating on the kaleidoscopes of color in order to take my mind off the steel pincers of pain beginning to form in the back of my head. I was taken by surprise when the door to Hillard’s private chamber opened. Gunter walked out, looking as cold and distant as the newspaper photo I now had of him. He wasn’t alone. His companion was a scrawny weasel of a man with a long, thin nose reminiscent of the hose attachment on a vacuum cleaner. His eyes squinted, darting back and forth as they took me in. Wearing a sneer, along with a toupee that resembled roadkill, the man was dressed in the uniform of a state agent for the Louisiana Department of Fish and Game.

A hint of a smile flitted across Gunter’s lips. “Agent Porter. What an unexpected surprise. Are introductions necessary here, or do you two already know each other since you are both in the same line of work?”

The state agent wiped the palms of his hands up and down his legs, leaving track marks of sweat on his pants. “She don’t know me none. Not a hotshot fed like herself. They don’t have nothin’ to do with us state boys who work hard for a livin’. But I sure as hell know who she is.”