Moon Music (34 page)

"It scares you to take care of me," Emma stated.

"Not at all."

"Lying through your teeth." She laughed, but it was brittle. "Us Poes. We're all a pack of liars. I know I scare you. But you'll get used to it. Your father did." Her eyes moistened. "Although not for very long."

Poe looked away. He hated it when she talked about his father. How their lives might have been if he hadn't been driving that rainy night. "We'll get along fine."

"We'll fight like cats and dogs. I'm impossible to live with. But at least I'm honest." Emma coughed. "Give me my water."

Poe gave her the glass, watched her down the contents. Then he said, "How about bed now?"

Emma looked around. "Still trying to get rid of me."

"Actually, yes, I am."

The old woman managed a desiccated smile. "Now you're fighting fire with fire. Okay. Walk me in."

He helped her to her feet. Such an insubstantial body. He held her bony arm, guided her to her bed. When she reached the mattress, she let the robe slip off her frail frame, her nightgown hanging on her like a jacket on a scarecrow. She sat down and he lifted her legs over a pillow. Carefully, he brought the duvet to her shoulders.

"Comfy?"

She sneered, "I feel sick to my stomach, I'm as bald as an eagle, and I look like a witch."

"You look beautiful." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. With the moonbeams spotlighting her face she looked as gray as dust. "Good night, Mom. I'll see you in the morning."

She picked up a slip of paper from the duvet, looked at it, then at her son. "This fell out of your pocket."

Poe looked at what she was holding—the newspaper clipping he'd taken from Alison's house. "It looks familiar, doesn't it?"

Emma held it to the moonlight. "I know these people. The circled one is…was Linda Paulson…or Linda Hennick. This one is Elizabeth Adams. This is Abby Taylor. This is Helen Raymer…her brother was in my class."

"Linda Hennick was a year behind you?"

"Two years."

"Do you know when this picture was taken?"

"Probably mid- to late fifties. It looks like their senior class picture. I have one just like it. Back then, Mormons separated the boys from the girls."

And that's why it looked familiar. Poe had probably seen his mother in the same pose. "Where was it taken, Ma?"

"Probably in St. George High—" She squinted. "No, no, no.
I
remember this picture. This was on their senior field trip to NTS. Got themselves in the paper and everything. It was a big deal…not to go to NTS, but to get your picture in the paper."

"NTS?" Poe regarded his mother. "Are you talking about the Nevada Test Site?"

"Yep. Every year the seniors would take a one-week trip through southern Nevada and on to Las Vegas. 'Course, they didn't show good Mormon children the Strip…which wasn't much to look at back then. Though Vegas did have a few casinos.
I
wouldn't have minded seeing it. But they didn't take us there. They took us to the Mormon church and to the Desert Museum and the Paiute Reservation…to the shops where the women sold their baskets." She sighed. "They made such beautiful baskets and sold them for a pittance. After the reservation, they took us to visit the ghost towns and—"

"Mother, why in the
world
would your school take you to the Nevada Test Site?"

"The bomb was big back then. Our weapon against Stalin and the Commies."

Far as Poe knew, the bomb was still big. "What did you actually do there?"

"Where?"

"At the test site?"

"What do you think? We watched the bomb explode."

"Where? They took you underground?"

"No, no, no. We went in the days when they tested aboveground. After you were born, they moved underground. Finally figured out that radiation was bad for you."

Poe opened his mouth and closed it. "Your senior class trip was watching an
atomic bomb
explode?"

"Back then, Yucca Flat was a big tourist attraction."

Poe was stunned. Yucca Flat boasted the honor of being the most bombed surface on earth. It was pocked with craters from multiple bomb drops. In the sixties, the Apollo astronauts had used it as training ground because the terrain had become similar to the lunar surface. About as likely to find life there as well. The place was a sea of radiation.

Emma became entranced in her memory.

"They took us there very early in the morning…before dawn. It was dark and cold and a little spooky. We had to hunker down in these little troughs that the soldiers had dug a couple of years before. We were just these kids, giggling and telling scary things because we were all nervous. But we were excited, too. When we looked up, we could see the plane circling overhead. We knew we were seeing history."

"If you want to call it that."

Emma became defensive. "It
was
history, Romulus! Seeing the plane, knowing what was going to happen. And then they started the countdown…"

She took a breath.

"Over the loudspeaker. Clear as a bell. Ten! Nine! Eight, seven, six…finally down to zero. And then the plane dropped its load—the big one! We covered up our eyes, of course. You had to cover your eyes. Still, even with my eyes closed and covered with my arms, I still saw this…this fantastic burst of light shooting through my skin…like God creating the universe. And then…at the same time…you felt this big blast of heat…sizzling through your clothes. And when they said you could look up, you did. And there it was. Right there in the sky…that famous mushroom cloud…what a thrill!"

"If you call megatons of radiation a thrill—"

"You had to
be
there."

"I suppose."

"It was a big favorite with the schools and with the tourists. They'd bring in busloads of people at a time."

"Wonder who did the NTS public relations? Betcha it's the same guy who keeps selling that Brooklyn Bridge."

"You're being sarcastic, but it
was
a tourist attraction. You get an old poster from the Chamber of Commerce…well, I guess this would have to be the early,
early
sixties. The poster shows the Strip—let's see, back then there'd be the Hacienda at the south end. Then maybe the Flamingo and the Last Frontier and the Dunes and Sahara and Stardust, going down straight through to downtown Vegas. Which was pretty seedy back then. Before all this fancified stuff with Glitter Gulch. There was the Horseshoe, the Lady Slipper—"

"I know the hotels, Mom."

"Anyway…the poster has a picture of the neon skyline with a big ole Vegas Vic tipping his big cowboy hat. Now this was before
he
went neon. Right there, right behind Vic, there's a mushroom cloud."

She nodded for emphasis.

"That was Vegas—bombs and gambling. Don't know which one is worse for your health."

"Bomb-watching for your senior class trip." Poe rubbed his face. "It's different."

"Well, you didn't look right at it. The light would blind you, it was that strong. You could see your bones through your hands—"

"That's because you were getting whole-body-X-rayed, Mom."

"They were careful 'bout it. There was this whole procedure. How you shouldn't get too close, how you shouldn't look. They passed out these booklets—"

"Who passed out booklets?"

"I don't recall. Maybe the government or maybe it was from the Las Vegas Chamber of Commerce. This isn't a big secret, Romulus. There were lots of articles written about the drops. Right there in all the papers. And being the good Americans we were, we all supported it. It's all part of Nevada state history."

"I know that. I just thought that maybe someone would think twice about taking a bunch of schoolgirls into a hot zone."

"This was the heart of the Cold War. If the government told us we needed the bomb to hold back the Reds, well then, it was our patriotic duty to test 'em, and we were honored to be a part of it. 'Course we didn't know back then that the government lies like a pack of thieves. And no one knew that the radiation was danger—"

"You know, it's a wonder that this city isn't full of mutants." A pause. "I guess it is. We just can't see it." He waited a beat. "Mom, when did we move here from St. George?"

"Here?" She swallowed dryly. "Nineteen sixty-four. You and Remus were three years old."

"And when did they stop testing aboveground? 'Sixty-one?"

"'Sixty-three."

"So I missed it."

"Yep. Good thing, too. When those critters exploded, they made such a noise…I swear you could hear it clear down in St. George. Both you and Remus were poor sleepers. That's all you would have needed. Bombs going off."

"You know, Mom, radiation hangs around for
years—"

"What are you thinking? That the radiation has something to do with my cancer?"

"That's exactly what I'm thinking."

"I thought about that, Romulus. But look at my friends here. Practically all of them are living and healthy to boot. Well, Bessy. She has breast cancer. Had it for years. And Katherine has diabetes. But she is over sixty and weighs about two hundred pounds. All in all, we don't seem like a real sickly crew."

"Maybe they never got as close to the bomb as you did."

Emma thought about it. "You think we could sue the government? At least get them to pay my hospital bills?"

"I know there've been some class-action suits—victims with thyroid cancer. What would it hurt to look into it?"

"Well, I don't reckon you'll find too much. Lots of tourists came and went during those years. If they all got sick with leukemia, I think we would've heard about it. And I do think the NTS were pretty careful about the wind factor. If it was blowing too hard, they'd cancel the drop."

"Like I said, radiation hangs in the air. Say they made a drop on a calm morning. Then a week later, the winds kicked up. And you know how the winds can kick up. Man, they'd spread that crap all over the place. You know, I never could understand why Las Vegas city officials would let NTS get away with aboveground testing when it's only, what…about sixty miles away from here. Talk about fouling your own nest."

"They didn't know—"

"That's bullshit, Mom. They did know. They'd been testing the shit in the South Seas years before."

"Such language." Emma held her ears. "You don't understand the times back then. The Commies were our enemies—a
real
threat to our safety and welfare. The bomb was our safety net."

"A net with very big holes."

"Yeah, looking back, it was probably all smoke and mirrors. Life is funny." She handed him back the clipping. "You still want this?"

Poe took the picture. "I need to return it. It doesn't belong to me."

"Linda Hennick's been dead for years. Does it belong to Gerald or Alison?"

"Alison."

"You're still sweet on her?"

"A bit."

"That's too bad. I like your India Indian friend much better."

"Actually, I like Rukmani better, too."

The old woman smiled. "Actually showing some maturity. What's the occasion?"

"In your honor."

"Just as long as you don't get
too
mature." Emma winked at her son. "One Remus in the family is enough."

THIRTY-TWO

O
NE-TWENTY REMAINING
in the envelope. Poe said, "You gave a dirtbag who spit in your face over three hundred and eighty dollars?"

Patricia thought a moment. "No, I gave him one-fifty. The rest of the money went to other people. That averaged maybe fifty a pop. Sorry, but you can't buy anyone for less than a twenty." A shrug. "At least I brought something back."

Poe pocketed the bills, sat back in his desk chair. "You check the sheet on this jack—What's his name?"

"Lamar Larue," Patricia answered. "Fat guy. Must have weighed around two-eighty. I actually
flipped
him!"

"The woman doesn't know her own strength."

"He's got a rap sheet longer than a premium toilet roll."

"How long has he been in Vegas?"

"Two years."

"Long time," Poe replied. "Wonder why we haven't nailed him before." A beat. "He's probably done favors for some big boys. They've kept him loose. What about the Arab he mentioned? Did you run him through NCIC?"

"So far, Nali Abousayed hasn't popped up in any of the criminal databanks. But that doesn't mean anything. Rumor says he's royalty—a prince in some emirate. I'm sure he has diplomatic immunity."

"Where'd you hear these rumors?"

"A couple of dealers…cocktail waitresses. I spoke to several Lady Slipper people around six this morning—
after
they got off shift. I'm
sure
Larue immediately ratted to Abousayed or his bodyguards that a fat broad cop was gunning for him. I didn't want to charge in without sizing up the situation. I wanted to be as discreet as possible."

"Good idea, especially if Mr. Prince has bodyguards."

"He has an entire entourage—wives, mistresses, kids, nannies, doctors, cooks, tutors, translators, guards—"

"So he's untouchable."

"Appears that way."

"Just like Lewiston." Poe drummed his desktop. "Too bad loathing a person isn't ground for arrest. Now let me get this straight. Larue told you that the sale of underage girls was done through Lewiston's brokers."

"Yes, through his whores." Patricia paused. "Actually, we never mentioned Lewiston by name. We kept referring to him as the big man."

"No name?"

Patricia shook her head.

Poe sighed. "Did you feel that Larue was telling you the truth…or at least
part
of the truth?"

Patricia said, "You know, Sergeant, I hate to say this. But I'm very gullible. Someone could pass wind and convince me it's perfume."

Poe laughed. "I think you're just being modest."

Patricia smiled. "Sir, I believe there were elements of truth in Larue's story. Abousayed may be untouchable, but he isn't invisible. I think we should take pictures of his whores. Try to identify them. Maybe we could tie one of them as being the broker for Newel or Yarlborough. I know this town has an infinite supply of hookers. But when
two
of them get murdered, that's not good for the profession. Everyone talks."