When Old Men Die (15 page)

"Have a seat," I said.

Minor looked at the couch with distaste.

"It's clean," I said.
 
"The cat hasn't started shedding yet this year."

Minor sat down.
 
I left him there and went into the kitchen.
 
Nameless was standing patiently by his bowl, and I put about half a pack of Tender Vittles in it.
 
He started purring and eating at the same time.
 
I don't know how he does that.

Minor was still on the couch when I went back into the living room.
 
I'd sort of hoped he'd be gone, though of course I'd known he wouldn't.

"They tell me you find people," he said.

I sat in one of the chairs.
 
"Who's 'they'?"

"Cop named Barnes."

It figured.
 
If you're a guy like Minor, you want to let the cops know you're in town.
 
They're going to find out soon enough, and if you've already talked to them, you're covered.

"He's wrong," I said.
 
"I
used
to find people.
 
That was a long time ago."

"That's not what Barnes says.
 
He says you're looking for some guy right now."

"Barnes has a big mouth."

Minor nodded.
 
"Cops are like that."
 
The voice of experience.

"Who did he tell you I was looking for?" I asked.

"Guy named Harry."

There was no use in denying it.
 
"All right.
 
I'm doing a favor for a friend.
 
What does that have to do with anything?"

Minor put his right ankle up on his left knee.
 
His shoes were handmade and worth more than Dino had paid me so far.
 
I thought about asking for a raise.

"I'm looking for the same guy," he said.

Somehow I wasn't surprised.
 
"Why?"

"I'm an attorney," Minor said.

Now
I was surprised.
 
"An attorney?"

"Right.
 
Like I went to law school, passed the bar.
 
You got a problem with that?"

The problem was that he didn't look like an attorney.
 
He looked like somebody's hired muscle, if not something worse.
 
Naturally I didn't want to tell him that.
 
He might take the opportunity to prove that I was right.
 
He certainly looked as if he'd enjoy it.

"No problem," I said.
 
"I was just wondering why you were looking for Harry.
 
What's his last name, by the way?"

"What, you don't know it?"

"Not until today," I said.
 
"And he's been around here all my life."

"It's Mercer, Harry Mercer.
 
And don't ask me his middle initial.
 
I don't know it."

"Why are you looking for him?"

Minor didn't hesitate.
 
"He has some money coming to him."

I held in a laugh.
 
"Money?
 
Harry?"

"He had a sister," Minor said.
 
"In Dallas."
 
He pulled an envelope out of his suit coat and handed it to me.
 
"It's all in there."

I took the envelope and removed the letter.
 
The sister,
Gennie
Mercer, said she was employing the firm of Minor and Douglass to look for her brother in the matter of an inheritance.
 
It could have been written by any one; it could even have been genuine.

"I didn't know Harry had a sister," I said.

That didn't bother Minor.
 
"You didn't know his last name until today."

He had me there.
 
"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to help me find Harry Mercer," he said.

W
hen Minor had gone, I went into the bedroom, put on the five-CD set of Elvis' 'fifties recordings, set the player to shuffle, and listened for a while.
 
Nameless came in, but he didn't listen long.
 
He went to sleep.

Minor was lying about why he wanted Harry, and he was no more an attorney than I could sing like Elvis.
 
Barnes would have known that too, and he'd probably
sicced
Minor on me just to stir the pot and see what rose to the top.

I figured that Minor was tied in with one or the other of the gambling interests, maybe even the same people that Macklin had been hooked up with.
 
If that was the case, then he was in town to find out who'd killed Macklin.

If that weren't the case, Minor might even be the killer.
 
He certainly looked the part.

But how did he know about Harry?
 
The answer had to be Barnes again.
 
I'd underestimated Barnes.
 
He'd figured out from my questions that I thought Harry was in the Retreat when Macklin was killed.

Minor would have gone to the cops first, found out all they knew, and then start using it.
 
He would have had plenty of time to fix up the phony letter.
 
The right people, and he would know them, could have told him all about Harry.
 
Even that he had a last name.

Minor's attorney cover didn't have to stand up to close inspection.
 
All he had to do was stay out of trouble long enough to find Harry.
 
Then Harry would tell him who killed Macklin.
 
Or Minor would kill Harry to eliminate the only witness.
 
I didn't know what Minor's job would be after that.

I'd told Minor the same thing I told Lytle, that I already had a client and that I couldn't help him.
 
He tried to make it "worth my while," as he put it, but I didn't let him.

He took my refusal better than I'd thought he might, but I knew that didn't mean a thing.
 
I'd have to watch my back from here on out.
 
If Minor couldn't find Harry on his own, he'd be lurking around.
 
Of course I'd been intending to keep a close watch on my back.
 
After all, I'd already been shot at.

Which reminded me.
 
I got out of the chair and walked to the little closet in the side wall of the room.
 
I had to reach high up on the shelf to get the box I wanted.
 
I took it over to the bed and opened it.
 
The sheepskin-lined leather case was still there.
 
I took out the case and undid the zipper.
 
The 7.65 mm Mauser -- you can call it a Luger if you want to -- was inside.
 
I returned the box to the closet.

There was another box I had to get, but it was in a drawer in the kitchen.
 
I follow gun safety precautions.
 
I keep the pistol and the cartridges in separate rooms.

Of course, if anyone were to break in the house with evil intentions, I'd be dead before I could find the pistol, run to another room for the cartridges, and load the clip.
 
On the other hand, I would never shoot myself with a pistol that was supposed to be unloaded.

I took the cartridges into the bedroom and got the pistol.
 
Nameless watched me with gray-green eyes, not any more interested in what I was doing than he was interested in the voice of Elvis Presley, who was now singing "I Was the One."
 

I took the pistol and cartridges into the living room.
 
The TV set was on a cabinet with sliding wooden doors.
 
My pistol cleaning gear was in the cabinet.
 
I got it out and enjoyed the oily smell of the rags for a minute before I cleaned the Mauser.
 
Then I loaded the clip.

OK, so it was against the law to carry a pistol.
 
I was going to take the chance; it would be a lot more effective against a threat on my life than carrying something equally illegal like, say, a half dozen dildos.
 
If someone took another shot at me, I was going to shoot back, though I didn't intend to kill anyone, not if I could avoid it.
 
I just didn't like working at a disadvantage.

I put the pistol back in the case and zipped it up.
 
I read a few more chapters in
Look Homeward, Angel
, and then it was time to go to work.

I
t wasn't really work, however.
 
I was talking to Cathy Macklin again, so it was more pleasure than business.
 
For me.
 
She looked at things a little differently.

"I told you before, Mr. Smith.
 
I don't really know anything about my father."

"Call me Truman," I said.

She smiled at that.
 
It was a very nice smile, and it lit up her blue eyes.
 

"I didn't know anyone was named Truman anymore," she said.

"There aren't very many of us.
 
But we're all men of sterling character.
 
Also we're hungry all the time.
 
Would you go to dinner with me?"

She didn't know how to take that.
 
Maybe I was rushing things a little.

"It might be easier to talk over a meal," I said.
 
"And you might even find out that you liked me."

"Anything's possible," she said, though she didn't sound as if she really believed it.

"Is that a yes?"

"I have a motel to run," she said.
 
Then, seeing my disappointment, she added, "But I suppose I could get Barbara to take over."

I asked her who Barbara was.

"She's a friend.
 
She's also my assistant manager when I need a break.
 
She comes in and answers the phone, takes reservations, handles registration for the drop-ins."

"Do you take a lot of breaks?"

"Very few, actually, but you look like you might be worth talking to."

"Some people think I tell interesting stories," I said.
 
"Most of them are a lot older than you, though.
 
The people, I mean, not the stories."

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to take a chance," she said.
 
"I don't take many of them, either, and Barbara tells me I should take a few more."

I liked Barbara already.

W
e went to Gaido's, which I liked because of the giant mutant crab perched over the door as much as the food, even though the food was quite likely the best on the Island.
 
It was also considerably more expensive than my lunch had been, though that didn't matter.
 
The company made up for it.

During dinner I found out a little more about Cathy Macklin, about how she felt about growing up with an absentee father, about how easy and difficult at the same time it was to plan a funeral for him, about her college days at TCU, about the husband who'd left her after a brief marriage, about how much she liked living on the Island and being able to walk across the street anytime she felt like sticking a toe in the Gulf.
 

"A lot of BOIs don't like the Gulf," I said.

"That's their problem," she told me, cracking a crab claw.
 
"I love it."

I told her a little about myself, too, about coming back to the Island to look for Jan, about finding Dino's daughter, about the murdered alligator.
 
I didn't tell her much about looking for Harry, however.
 
Finally, over a truly decadent dessert -- vanilla ice cream rolled in pecans and topped with hot fudge -- I got around to asking about her father's old enemies.

"There were probably a lot of them," she said.
 
"But that was a long time ago."

"Can you remember anyone in particular?
 
Anyone who might still be around?"

"I don't see what this has to do with finding your friend," she said.

I decided to trust her.
 
You have to trust someone, and I didn't trust anyone else in this mess.
 
So I told her my idea about Harry having witnessed the murder.
 
I also told her about Alex Minor.

"So you have some competition," she said.

"That's right.
 
And I don't want him to find Harry before I do."

"Why do you think he came to you?
 
Was that smart?"

I'd been wondering about that, myself, and while I had an answer, I wasn't sure it was the right one.