Fiddlers (8 page)

�How long have I known you, Pete?�

�Too long, Lou.�

�Do me this favor.�

�No. We�re on it. It�s under control. We�ll file with Fitz at the end of the day. That�s the deal.�

�They�d better come up with something, Pete.�

�We�re working it, Lou. We just made a goddamn drug bust!�

�Soon,� the Chief warned.

�We�re working it,� Byrnes said again.

* * * *

4.

IN THIS CITY there were some 4,000 nail salons scattered hither and yon, most of them in small, modest, fluorescent-lighted spaces in walk-up buildings, some more luxurious, with chandeliers, sculpted vases, silk-embroidered divans, and even stained-glass windows. A tenth of the city�s estimated Korean population was employed in these salons, some 50,000 in all, mostly all of them women. An industrious woman could earn as much as a hundred dollars a day, plus tips, giving manicures, pedicures, or - in the fancier establishments - green-tea treatments, Asian foot massages, or painted nail extensions. Moreover, instead of having to stand on her feet all day in a Dunkin� Donuts or a factory, a girl could sit while she worked in one of these nail parlors. It sure beat wading around in a rice paddy.

The woman who owned and operated Lotus Blossom Nails had a rags-to-riches story, and she was not at all reluctant to tell it. Looking like the madam of a whore house in some forties movie set in Shanghai, as loquacious as a Jewish yenta, Jenny Cho - for such was her Americanized name - told the detectives that she�d opened her first salon fifteen years ago, with a $30,000 start-up investment, after a ten-week course that gave her a license in manicuring. Before then, she�d clipped, filed, and polished her own nails at home�

�Korean girl have very strong nail,� she told them. �No need nail salon. We do for ourselves.�

� and now she ran a string of six manicure salons scattered all over the city, all with the word �Blossom� in their names. Yon had been her Korean name, before she changed it to Jenny. It meant �lotus blossom.�

The detectives listened politely.

At ten that Wednesday morning, there were women all over the place, sitting in these high, black-leather upholstered chairs, feet soaking in tubs of water, nails getting painted, or dried, reading magazines. One of the ladies with her feet in a tub was sitting with her skirt pulled up almost to Seoul. Parker was tempted not to look.

�Who you looking for?� Jenny asked.

�Know a woman named Alicia Hendricks?� Parker said.

�Beauty Plus?�

�Lustre Nails?�

�Oh sure,� Jenny said. �She come here alla time. Nice girl. She okay?�

�She�s dead,� Parker said.

Jenny�s eyes immediately shifted. Just the very slightest bit, almost as if the light had changed, it was that subtle. But both these men were detectives, and that�s why they were here in person, rather than at the other end of a phone. They both saw the faint flicker of recognition; both realized they might be getting close to something here.

Jenny was no fool.

She caught them catching on.

Saw in their eyes the knowledge of what they�d seen in hers.

�I so sorry to hear that,� she said, and ducked her head.

They allowed her the moment of grief, authentic or otherwise.

�When did you see her last?� Parker asked.

�Two,�t�ree week ago. She come by with new line. What happen to her?�

Sounding genuinely concerned.

�Someone shot her.�

�Why?�

You tell us, Parker thought.

�How long did you know her?� Genero asked.

�Oh, maybe two year. T�ree?�

�Did you know she was doing drugs?�

Straight out. Made Alicia sound like a cotton shooter or some other kind of desperate addict, but what the hell. It certainly caught Jenny Cho�s attention.

The word flashed in her brown eyes like heat lightning. She knew Alicia was doing drugs. Dabbling. Experimenting. Whatever. But she knew. And she wanted no part of it now. The alarm sizzled in her eyes, they could feel her backing away from the very word. Drugs. Shrinking away from the knowledge.

But she was smart.

�Yes, but not so much,� she said. �Some li�l pot, you know?�

�Uh-huh,� Parker said.

�Any idea where she was getting it?� Genero asked.

�You go An�rews Boul�vard, you buy pot anyplace. All over the street, anyplace.�

�Uh-huh,� Parker said again.

�Other dope, too,� Jenny said. �All kine�a heavy shit.�

�You think she might�ve been doing any of the heavier stuff?�

�No,� Jenny said. �No, no. She a good girl. Jussa li�l pot ever now and then. Dass all.�

The detectives said nothing.

�Ever�body do a li�l pot ever now and then,� Jenny said.

They still said nothing.

�Why? You think dass why somebody maybe shoot her?� Jenny said.

�Maybe,� Parker said, and shrugged.

�What do you think?� Genero asked.

�I think I so sorry she dead,� Jenny said.

* * * *

�So tell me about yourself,� Reggie said.

The top of the Jaguar was down, they were tooling along soundlessly on back roads, her red hair blowing in the wind. He had bought a billed motoring cap at Gucci�s, cost him four hundred dollars, the tan leather as soft as a baby�s ass. He wore it tilted jauntily over one eye. All he needed was a pair of goggles to make him look like some kind of Italian playboy.

�What would you like to know?� he asked.

She was wearing a white T-shirt and a green mini. She�d kicked off her flat sandals, and was leaning back in her seat now, her knees bent, the soles of her feet propped up against the glove compartment. The radio was tuned to an easy-listening station, the volume up to combat the rush of wind around the car. It was a bright beautiful day, and she was a bright beautiful girl. He could almost forget she was a hooker.

�Well, for example,� she said, �what kind of work do you do?�

�I�m retired,� he said.

�What kind of work did you do?�

�I was in sales.�

�When was this?�

�I left the job just recently.�

�Why?�

�Tired of it.�

Reggie nodded, brushed hair back from her eyes.

�So what�ve you been doing since?�

�Loafing.�

�For how long?�

�Past few months.�

�You can afford to do that?�

�Oh yes.�

�I guess so,� she said, and giggled, and opened her arms wide to the car. Music oozed from the speakers, swirled around them.

�How old are you, anyway?� she asked.

�Fifty-six,� he said.

�Bingo, no hesitation.�

�Is that okay?�

�Yeah, I like it. It�s called being honest.�

�Or foolhardy.�

�Fifty-six. You look younger. I guess it�s the bald head. How long have you worn it that way?�

�Past few months.�

�I like it. Very trendy.�

�Thanks.�

�You ought to get an earring.�

�You think?�

�For the left ear. Right is a signal to fags.�

�I didn�t know that.�

�Sure.�

Music swirled around the car, drifted away behind them.

�I�m enjoying this,� she said.

�I�m glad.�

�I ought to be paying you,� she said, and then immediately, �Don�t get any ideas!�

They both burst out laughing.

* * * *

Huntsville, Texas, is about 70 miles north of Houston and 170 miles south of Dallas/Fort Worth. Not for nothing is it known as the �prison city� of Texas: there are eight prisons in Huntsville, and some 15,000 inmates are imprisoned there. This means that every third or fourth citizen of the city is a prison inmate. It further means that the Texas Department of Criminal Justice is the city�s biggest employer; only two percent of Huntsville�s citizens are out of work.

Walker County prison records showed that Alvin Randolph Dalton was released on parole almost twenty years ago, and subsequently granted permission to move out of state. Parole records here in this city indicated assiduous attendance. He�d paid his debt to society in full, and was now free to go wherever he chose to go, and do whatever he chose to do within the law. But, no longer required to report to anyone anywhere, his whereabouts were a mystery until they checked the phone books, and found a listing for an A. R. Dalton on Inverness Boulevard in Majesta.

A phone call confirmed that he was the man they wanted.

Parker told him to wait there for them.

Dalton said, �What is this?�

Same as Hendricks asked up there in Castleview.

�Just wait there,� Parker said.

* * * *

The Walker County prison records gave Dalton�s age as fifty-seven. Remarkably fit, jailhouse tattoos all over his bulging muscles, entirely bald and wearing an earring in his right ear, he greeted them in a black tank-top shirt and black jeans, barefooted, and told them at once that Wednesday was his day off. What he did was drive a limo for Intercity Transport, mostly airport pickups and dropoffs, but sometimes trips to the casinos upstate or across the river.

�So what�s this about?� he asked.

�Your wife got killed,� Genero said.

�I don�t have a wife,� Dalton said.

�Your former wife. Alicia Hendricks.�

�Yeah. Her. That�s too bad. What�s it got to do with me? I haven�t seen her in fifteen years, it must be.�

�Lost track of her, is that it?�

Dalton looked at them.

�What is this?� he said again.

�Routine,� Genero said.

�Bullshit,� Dalton said. �You guys get a dead woman whose ex done time, all at once your ears go up. Well, fellas, I�ve been clean for almost twenty years now, a gainfully employed, respectable citizen of this fair city. I wouldn�t know Alicia if I tripped over her, dead or alive. You�re barking up the wrong tree.�

�How long you been wearing your head bald?� Parker asked.

�Why? Some bald-headed guy do her?�

�How long?�

�My hair began falling out in stir. Before I got busted, I was living in D-Town, wore it long like a hippie. All of a sudden, I�m a white male inmate with a bald head, the hamhocks hung a racist jacket on me, made my life miserable.�

�When�s the last time you saw Alicia?�

�Whoo. We�re talkin fifteen years ago, that�s when we got divorced. We�re talkin Johnny Carson leaving The Tonight Show. We�re talkin the invasion of Kuwait. We�re talkin the first Gulf War. We�re talkin ancient history, man!�

�Was she doing dope back then?�

�Who says she was doing dope ever?�

�That�s what you went down for, isn�t it? A dope violation.�

�I learned my lesson.�

�Was she doing dope?�

�Nothing serious.�

�Nothing serious like what?�

�Little griff every now and then.�

�And you?�

�Same thing. Marijuana never hurt nobody.�

�That right?�

�Marijuana�s the most frequently used illegal drug in the United States.�

�Tell us all about it, professor.�

�Over eighty-three million Americans over the age of twelve have tried marijuana at least once.�

�Including Alicia, huh?�

�Big deal.�

�She ever move on to the heavier shit?�

�Not to my knowledge. Not while we were married, anyway.�

�How about after you split?� Genero said. �You sure she never went hardcore?�

�Is that a trick question, Sherlock? I told you I never saw her after the divorce. Why? You think some dealer did her?�

�We understand she was keeping bad company.�

�Not on my watch.�

�On your watch, all you did was blast a little stick every now and then, right?�

�That�s not all we did.�

�Just two happy airheads��

�Don�t put the marriage down,� Dalton warned. �In many ways, it was a good one.�

�In what ways was it a bad one?�

�Why�d you get a divorce?�

Dalton hesitated.

�So?� Parker said.

�She was running around on me.�

�But that wasn�t bad company, right?�

�It was the company she chose. That didn�t mean I had to go along with it.�

�Where were you last Friday night at around eight o�clock, Al?�

�Airtight,� Dalton said.

�Let�s hear it.�

�I was driving a van to an Indian casino upstate.�

�We suppose you have wit��

�Six of them. All high rollers. Check it out.�

* * * *

The waiter possessed the good grace not to card Reggie. Then he spoiled it by saying, �I�m assuming your daughter is twenty-one.�

�Yes,� Charles said.

The waiter nodded and padded off.

�Did that bother you?� she asked.

�A little.�

�When he comes back, I�ll kiss you on the mouth.�

�You don�t have to.�

�You realize there are guys dying in Iraq who can�t order a drink in this state?�

�It was that way when I was a kid, too. We used to bitch about it all the time. Being in the Army, not allowed to order a drink.�

�What war was that?�

�Vietnam.�

�You were in that war?�

�Oh yes.�

�Wow,� she said. �That seems so long ago.�

�To me, too.�

�Are you from here originally? I don�t mean here, this state, I mean the city,� and with a jerk of her head indicated its general direction.

�Yes.�

�I was born and raised in Denver,� she said.

�I�ve always wanted to go out West.�

�Maybe we can go out there together sometime,� she said.

�Well� maybe. Yes.�

�Wouldn�t you like to?�

�Here we go,� the waiter said, and placed their drinks on the table. �Did you folks want to hear the specials now, or would you like to enjoy your drinks first?�

�Give us a few minutes,� he said.

�Take your time,� the waiter said, and went off again.

�So you were in the Army, huh?�

�Yes.�

�See any action?�

�Yes.�

�When did you get out?�

�1970.�

�I wasn�t even born yet!�

�Shh, he�ll hear you.�

�Fuck him,� she said. �I think I will kiss you on the mouth.�

And reached across the table, and cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him openmouthed, her tongue searching.