In the Midst of Death (13 page)

"You're just an old-fashioned girl, Elaine."

"That's me.Crinolines and lavender sachets and all those good things. 'Notherdrink?"

"Just a touch."

When she brought it I said, "MannsorManch or something like that. I'll see if that goes anywhere. I think it's a dead-end street anyway.

I'm getting more and more interested in cops."

"Because of what I said?"

"That, and also something some other people have said. Did she have somebody on the force that sort of looked out for her?"

"You mean the way you used to for me? Sure she did, but where does that get you? It was your friend."

"Broadfield?"

"Sure. That extortion number was pure bullshit, but I guess you knew that."

I nodded. "Shehave anybody else?"

"Could be, but I never heard about it.And no pimp and no boyfriends, unless you countBroadfield as a boyfriend."

"Any other cops in her life?Giving her a hard time, anything like that?"

"Not that I heard about."

I took a sip of Scotch. "This is off the subject a little, Elaine, but do cops ever give you a hard time?"

"Do you mean do they or have they ever? It's happened in the past.

But then I learned a little. You have somebody regular, and the rest of the guys let you be."

"Sure."

"And if I get a hard time from somebody else, I mention some names or I make a phone call and everything cools down. You know what's worse? Not cops.Guys pretending to be cops."

"Impersonating an officer? That's a criminal offense, you know."

"Well, shit, Matt, am Igonna press charges? Like I've had cats flash badges at me, the whole number.

You take a green kid who just got to town and all she's got to see is a silver shield and she'll curl up in a corner and have kittens.

I'msupercool myself. I take a good look at the badge and it turns out to be a toy thing that a littlekid'll get to go with his cap pistol. Don't laugh, I mean it. I've had that happen."

"And what do they want from you?Money?"

"Oh, they pretend it's a gag after I pick up on them. But it's no gag.

I've had them want money, but mostly all they want is to get fucked for free."

"And they flash a toy badge."

"I've seen badges you'd swear came out of crackerjack boxes."

"Men are weird animals."

"Oh, men and women both, honey. I'll tell you something.

Everybody's weird, fundamentally everybody is a snap. Sometimes it's a sexual thing and sometimes it's a different kind of weirdness, but one way or another everybody's nuts.You, me, the whole world."

IT wasn't particularly difficult to discover that Leon J.Manch had been appointed assistant deputy mayor a year and a half ago. All it took was a short session in theForty-second Street library. There were a variety ofMannses andMantzes in the volume of the Times Index I consulted, but none of them seemed to have anything significant to do with the current administration.Manch was mentioned only once in the Times Indexes for the past five years. The story dealt with his appointment, and I went to the trouble of reading the article in the microfilm room. It was a brief article, andManch was one of half a dozen people treated in it; about all it did was announce that he'd been appointed and identify him as a member of the bar. I learned nothing about his age, residence, marital status, or much of anything else. It didn't say he was a toilet slave, but I already knew that.

I couldn't find him in theManhattan telephone book. Maybe he lived in another borough, or outside of the city limits altogether. Maybe he had an unlisted phone or listed it in his wife's name. I called City Hall and was told that he'd left for the day. I didn't even try for his home number.

I called her from a bar onMadison and Fifty-first called O'Brien's.

The bartender's name was Nick, and I knew him because he had worked at Armstrong's a year or so ago. We assured each other that it was a small world, bought each other a few drinks, and then I went to the phone booth in the back and dialed her number. I had to look it up in my notebook.

When she answered I said, "It's Matthew. Can you talk?"

"Hello. Yes, I can talk. I'm all alone here. My sister and her husband drove in from Bayport and picked up the children this morning.

They'll be staying out there for, oh, for a while, anyway. They thought it would be better for the children and easier for me. I didn't really want them to take the kids, but I didn't have the strength to argue, and maybe they're right, maybe it's better this way."

"You sound a little shaky."

"Not shaky. Just very drawn, very worn out. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"I wish you were here."

"So doI ."

"Oh, dear.I wish I knew how I felt about all of this. It frightens me.

Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes."

"His lawyer called earlier. Have you spoken to him?"

"No. Was he trying to get in touch with me?"

"He didn't seem very interested in you, as a matter of fact. He was very confident about winning in court, and when I said that you were trying to find out who really killed that woman, he seemed- how shall I put it? I got the impression that he believed Jerry was guilty. He intends to get him acquitted, but he doesn't really believe for a minute that he's really innocent."

"A lot of lawyers are like that, Diana."

"Like a surgeon who decides it's his job to remove an appendix.

Whether there's anything wrong with the appendix or not."

"I'm not sure it's exactly the same thing, but I know what you mean. I wonder if there's any point in my contacting that lawyer."

"I don't know. What I was starting to say … Oh, it's silly, and it's hard to say. Matthew? I was disappointed when I picked up the phone and it was the lawyer. Because I was hoping, oh, that it would be you."

Pause. "Matthew?"

"I'm here."

"Should I not have said that?"

"No, don't be silly." I caught my breath. The telephone booth had gotten unbearably warm. I opened the door a little. "I wanted to call you earlier. I shouldn't be calling now, really. I can't say I've made very much progress."

"I'm glad you called, anyway. Are you getting anywhere at all?"

"Maybe.Did your husband ever say anything to you about writing a book?"

"Me write a book? I wouldn't know where to start. I used to write poetry. Not very good poetry, I'm afraid."

"I meant did he say anything about the possibility of him writing a book."

"Jerry? He doesn't read books, let alone write them. Why?"

"I'll tell you when I see you. I'm learning things. The question is whether or not they'll fit together into something significant. He didn't do it. I know that much."

"You're more certain of it than you were yesterday."

"Yes." Pause. "I've been thinking about you."

"That's good. I think it's good. What sort of thoughts?"

"Curious ones."

"Good curious or bad curious?"

"Oh, good, I guess."

"I've been thinking, too."

I wound up spending the evening in the Village. I was oddly restless, possessed of an undirected energy that enervated me and kept me moving. It was a Friday night, and the better downtown bars were crowded and noisy as they always are on Fridays. I hit the Kettle andMinetta's and Whitey's andMcBell's and the San Giorgio and the Lion's Head and theRiviera and other places the names of which I don't remember. But because I couldn't settle in anywhere I wound up having only one drink to a bar and walking off most of the effect of the alcohol between drinks. I kept moving and I kept drifting west, away from the tourist area and closer to where the Village rubs up against theHudson River .

It must have been around midnight when I hitSinthia's . It was fairly far west onChristopher Street , the last stop for gay cruisers on their way to meet the longshoremen and truckers in the shadow of the docks. Gay bars do not threaten me, but neitherare they places I habitually seek out. I sometimes dropped in toSinthias's when I was in the neighborhood because I know the owner fairly well. Fifteen years back I'd had to arrest him for contributing to the delinquency of a minor.

The minor in question had been seventeen and jaded, and I'd only made the collar because I'd had no choice- the boy's father had lodged a formal complaint. Kenny's lawyer had a quiet talk with the boy's father and gave him an idea what he would bring out in open court, and that was the end of that.

Over the years Kenny and I had developed a relationship somewhere in the uncertain ground between acquaintance and friendship. He was behind the bar when I walked in, and as always he looked a young twenty-eight years old. His real age must be just about doublethat, and you have to stand very close to him to spot the face-lift scars. And the carefully combed hair is all Kenny's own, even if the blond color is a gift from a lady named Clairol.

He had around fifteen customers. Seeing them one at a time you'd have no cause to suspect they were gay, but collectively their homosexuality became unmistakable, almost a presence in the long narrow room. Perhaps it was their reaction to my intrusion that was palpable. People who spend their lives in any sort of half-world can always recognize a cop, and I still haven't learned how to avoid looking like one.

"Sir Matthew of Scudder," Kenny sang out. "Welcome, welcome as always. The trade around here is rarely quiteso rough as your estimable self.Still bourbon, darling?Still neat?"

"Fine, Kenny."

"I'm glad to see nothing changes. You are a constant in a madcap world."

I took a seat at the bar. The other drinkers had relaxed when Kenny hailed me, which may well be what he'd had in mind in making such a production out of it. He poured quite a lot of bourbon into a glass and set it on the bar in front of me. I drank some of it. Kenny leaned toward me, propping himself up on his elbows. His face was deeply tanned. He spends his summers onFire Island and uses a sunlamp the rest of the year.

"Working, sweets?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

He sighed. "It happens to the best of us. I've been back in harness since Labor Day and I'm still not used to it.Such a joy lying in the sun all summer and leaving this place for Alfred to mismanage. You know Alfred?"

"No."

"I'm certain he stole me blind and I don't even care. I only kept the place open to accommodate my trade. Not out of the goodness of my heart, but because I don't want these girls to find out there are other establishments in the city that sell liquor. So as long as I covered my overhead I was blissfully happy. And then I wound up showing a slight profit, which was nothing but gravy." He winked,then scuttled the length of the bar to replenish some drinks and collect some money. Then he returned and posed once again with his chin cupped in his two hands.

He said, "Bet I know what you're up to."

"Bet you don't."

"For a drink?You're on. Let me see now- its initials wouldn't just happen to be J. B. by any chance, would it? And I don't mean the Jim Beam you're drinking.J. B. and his good friend P. C.?" His eyebrows ascended dramatically. "Heavens, why is your poor jaw plummeting halfway to the dusty floor, Matthew? Isn't that what drew you to this den of ubiquity in the first place?"

I shook my head.

"Really?"

"I just happened to be in the neighborhood."

"That's quite remarkable."

"I know he was living just a few blocks from here, but why does that tie him to this place, Kenny?

There are dozens of bars as close to his apartment on Barrow.

Were you just guessing that I was on his case, or did you hear something?"

"I don't know if you'd call it a guess.More an assumption. He used to drink here."

"Broadfield?"

"The very same.Not all that often, but every once in a while. No, he's not gay, Matthew. Or if he is, I don't know it, and I don't think he does, either. He's certainly given no evidence of it here, and God knows he wouldn't have had any trouble finding someone who would have been thrilled to take him home. He's absolutely gorgeous."

"Not your type though, is he?"

"Not my type at all. I like dirty little boys myself.As you well know."

"As I well know."

"As everybody well knows, sweetheart."Someone tapped a glass on the bar for service. "Oh, keep it in your pants, Mary," Kenny told him, in a mock British accent. "I'm just having a spot of chat with a gent from the Yard." To me he said, "Speaking of Limey accents, he brought her here, you know. Or didn't you know? Well, you do now. Another drink? You already owe me for two doubles- the one you drank and the one you lost in the bet. Let's make it three." He poured a generous double, set the bottle down.

"So naturally I guessed why you were here. This is not, after all, your normal watering hole. And they had been here both separately and together, and now she's dead and he's in the hotel with the bars on the windows, and the conclusion seemed inescapable. M. S. wants to know about J. B. and P. C."

"The last part is certainly true."

"Then ask questions of me."

"He came here first by himself?"

"For the longest time he came here only by himself. He was by no means a frequent visitor at first. I'd say he first showed up perhaps a year and a half ago. I would see him a couple of times a month, and always alone. Of course I didn't know anything about him at the time. He looked like law, but at the same time he didn't. Do you know what I mean? Maybe it was his clothes. No offense, but he dressed terribly well."

"Why should I be offended?" He shrugged and moved off to tend to business. While he was gone I tried to figure out whyBroadfield would patronizeSinthia's . The only way it made much sense was that there had been times when he wanted to get out of his apartment but didn't want to run into anybody he knew. A gay bar would have suited his needs perfectly.

When Kenny came back I said, "You mentioned he showed up here with Portia Carr.When?"

"I can't be positive. He could have brought her here during the summer and I wouldn't have known about it. The first time I saw them together was- three weeks ago? It's hard for me to fix events temporally when I had no idea at the time that they would turn out to be important."