Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 12 - Murder Among Friends (9 page)

My head exploded and, for a moment, I fought against
a wave of dizziness.

I must have lost the battle, for the next thing I knew I
was staring up into the grim face of a paramedic who was tending the hen egg on my forehead just above my eye. He
lifted an eyebrow. “Split the skin, buddy, but not bad. BandAid will take care of it”

After another few moments making sure my brain wasn’t
scrambled, hands helped me off the floor into a chair. A
cold glass of water appeared before me. Not even an icecold beer ever tasted so good.

I tried to collect my thoughts, but they were tumbling
about in my head like a bunch of crazed acrobats. And then
the events of the last few minutes cut through the fog in my
head. I looked around. “The guy I was with, the one wearing the denim jacket. Where’d he go?”

The bartender shrugged and pushed his long greasy hair
back over his shoulders. “Out the back with them two right
on his tail. I ran out there, but they was disappearing around
the corner of the alley on Neches Street”

I tried to rise, but my legs grew shaky. Hands guided me
back down into my chair. “Take it easy, pal. You need a ride
home?”

“No,” I muttered. “Just let me sit here a few minutes. I’ll
be all right.”

I hoped.

During the drive home, I tried to sort my thoughts, but
all I remembered about the two thugs was that Acne Face
wore a black leather jacket, and the second one a red Windbreaker.

My head was pounding when I pulled into the driveway
at my apartment. A relaxing shower and a clean change of
clothes would make me feel better. But I hadn’t counted on
my old man.

He was up and about, ticked off because I’d been gone
all day and all he had to eat was frozen pizzas. I snapped at
him, “Well, you had beer, didn’t you?”

He snorted. “You can’t live on beer.” He eyed my black
eye and swollen forehead.

I rolled my eyes. That remark from a drunk who’d lived
on nothing but beer and wine for at least thirty years. I
studied him, once again asking myself just how his bonethin body survived the ravages of alcohol for all those
years. Based on every twenty-million-dollar report I’d seen
from various governmental agencies, he should have been
dead twenty years ago.

On the other hand, the truth was probably closer to an
observation made by my doctor that booze won’t kill you,
but it will embalm you and leave you a walking mummy. In
other words, if it doesn’t kill you, it’ll pickle your brain.

I glanced at the clock. Almost 8:00. If I were going to
see Judith Perry, I didn’t have any time to waste. “All right.
I’ll pick up some frozen dinners. What do you like, beef,
chicken, turkey, what?”

He shrugged. “No difference as long as it ain’t pizza.”

“I’ll bring it as soon as I finish my appointment.”

He glared at me. “What am I supposed to do until then if
I can’t leave this dump?”

I bristled at his remark, but I held my temper. “Well,
then, John Roney, I suppose you’ll just have to starve”

“Not me” He shook his head and eyed me defiantly. “I’m
going out to get me a hamburger and a bottle of wine”

I clenched my teeth. “You do, I promise you, you’ll spend
the night in jail, and I won’t get you out until your trial.” I
paused and for good measure, added, “And don’t expect me
to post your bail a second time”

I stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door. I grimaced when I looked in the mirror. I had a good-sized knot
covered by a Band-Aid over my left eye, which was almost
black. “At least,” I muttered, “Perry won’t recognize me”
Hey, I almost didn’t recognize myself.

Contrary to my hopes, I didn’t feel any better after my
shower. My head still pounded. Ignoring my old man, I
went into the kitchen and downed a couple of Excedrin. I
jabbed a finger at him before I left. “I’ll be gone a couple
of hours. Don’t step outside this door” I glared at him, and
he glared back.

I swung by the Bo Peep Lounge. Perry’s Mustang was
gone. I crossed my fingers that she was home.

To my delight, her Mustang was in its parking spot. I
checked myself out in the rearview mirror. Even without
the knot on my head, I presented a different image from my casual dress that morning. A business suit, white shirt, and
tie make a world of difference.

In the PI business, often we resort to pretext, which is a politically correct term for lying. It’s a sneaky business at times,
and that’s when you have to use sneaky means to gather information.

I have four or five identities, all of which I have used at
one time or another over the last several years. For each, I
have a driver’s license, business cards, all the accoutrements
essential in convincing a mark of my occupation.

My identities included PIs, salesmen, meter readers, cab
drivers, and even a minister. Tonight, I opted for the PI.

Just after 9:00, I rang her doorbell. I could hear the TV
inside. I stood in front of the peephole in the door. Moments later, the door opened a crack and a pair of eyes
looked out. A wary voice said, “Yes?”

I stepped back a couple of paces, giving assurance that I
wasn’t about to throw a shoulder into the door. “Sorry to
bother you, miss, but I’m looking for Judith Perry of TriDistrict Credit Union.” I extended my arm, offering a business card through the crack between the door and jamb. “My
name is Mort Tavin. I’m a private investigator. I’ve been
hired by a law firm out of Dallas to inquire into the activities
of a Mr. Marvin Busby” I paused and indicated the knot on
my head. “I know I look like something from a bad movie,
but to tell the truth, I ran into a door at the motel”

She took the card, scanned it, and then muttered through
the crack. “I don’t understand. What activities?”

Glancing up and down the gallery, I replied, “I would prefer to come in, but if you’re concerned about your safety, we
can meet tomorrow” I handed her my driver’s license and a
copy of my PI license. “Perhaps these will ease your anxieties about me”

She looked the licenses over and then closed the door. I
heard the safety chain being removed, and the door opened.
“Please, come in, Mr. Tavin” She returned the licenses and
gestured to a chair at the end of a couch.

Except for removing the billowing pink bow about her
neck, she had not changed from her work clothes, slacks
and a lacy pink blouse. She nodded to a half-full glass on
the coffee table. “I was having a drink. Care to join me?”

“No, thanks,” I replied with a bright smile. “I know it’s
late, but I have a sick child back in Dallas, and you’re my last
person to interview. I plan to drive back tonight” As long
as I was laying a lie on her, I figured I might as well lay it
on thick.

“I’m sorry,” she replied, sitting on the edge of the couch
and crossing her legs. “Serious?”

“Our first. Everything is serious with that one”

She frowned, for I knew she could tell at a glance I was
not one of those proverbial spring chickens.

“I married late,” I explained. “So naturally, I’m sometimes overly concerned about the little girl”

Judith leaned forward, her square face framed by soft
brown hair. Somehow her regular features glittered with a
charming beauty. “I hope she’s okay”

“Thank you” I pulled out a notepad on which I had jotted a couple of questions. “Now, about Marvin Busby. One
of my sources, and I’m sorry, but you understand by law, I
cannot identify them, suggested you and Busby were longtime acquaintances”

She leaned back slightly, suggesting a wariness of the
direction questioning might take. “Yes. We’ve worked together for many years”

“Fine. Now, there are a couple of issues I’ve been hired to look into. First, his financial status. Do you know if he
has any problems in that regard?”

She shrugged, and I could see her brain whirling. “Probably no more than most of us”

“Now, he’s divorced, and-”

“Certainly. I would never go out with a married man”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, you and Mr. Busby have dated?”

A faint grimace flickered across her face. “A couple
times”

I shrugged. “No matter.” I glanced at the notepad.

“Tell me,” she said, interrupting. “What is this all about?
What is Marvin supposed to be guilty of?”

Then I dropped the bombshell as gently as I could.
“Well, I guess I can mention it. There have been a couple
of accusations of paternity.” Her eyes grew wide. I hastily
continued. “But I have found no evidence of it” I paused,
and then casually added, “Although I do have a few more
individuals to interview in another city”

She stammered a moment. “Paternity! You mean-”

I held up my hand. “I don’t know. All I know is accusations, according to his lawyer, have been made, but-” I
hesitated, giving the impression I was wrestling with my
conscience, and then added, “I shouldn’t say this, but so far
I’ve found nothing to support it”

“Paternity!” If the word could be spat out, she spat it out.
“Why, that-” She turned up her bourbon and downed it.
She glared at me, her face turning various shades of red.
“Let me tell you about Marvin Busby. He’s a no-good, twotiming jerk. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t also
accused of bigamy.”

I knew I would hate myself the next morning, but I
couldn’t resist. “Well, I wasn’t going to mention that, but-”

She stared at me in disbelief. “You-You mean-”

I nodded and held up two fingers.

All she could do was sputter.

“Naturally, the plaintiffs are demanding support, and if
their accusations are true, which I don’t know, then-”

“Then they should have it,” she blurted out. She grabbed
the bourbon bottle and splashed several ounces into her
glass. She held the bottle out to me, but I declined. Her eyes
blazed. “Let me tell you about Marvin. He’s been going
through the change of life for the last ten years. He fancies
himself a playboy and gambler. Five or six times a month,
he heads to casinos out of state. I don’t know how much he
owes, but his credit cards are maxed. He’s into me for almost twenty thousand, and now it looks like he’s latched
onto some other fool.” She downed a couple of gulps and
then, very unladylike, wiped her lips with the back of her
hand, smearing her lipstick. “And I’ll bet if you check with
his ex-wife, he hasn’t paid her any support in years.”

Nodding while I jotted on my notepad, I asked. “Would
you happen to remember any of the casinos he visited?”

She hesitated a moment, pursing her lips. “Well, there
was Harrah’s in New Orleans, the Thunderbird in Santa
Rosa, New Mexico, and the Star Shine in Las Vegas.”

From all she had told me, I figured Marvin Busby was
one fairly solid suspect. He had motive and, if he were at
work that day, he had opportunity. I wanted to ask her about
Carl Edwards, but I was afraid she might begin to wonder
what he had to do with Busby’s problems.

Maybe I could finesse some information from her. I
closed my notepad and slipped it in my pocket. “I guess
that’s about it.” I stared at the ceiling. “Tri-District Credit
Union. Seems like I heard something about it a few weeks
ago”

She arched an eyebrow. “You did. We were robbed of half
a million dollars °”

“That’s it” I nodded. “I knew I’d heard something. They
catch the thieves?”

By now her eyes were getting glassy. “No. Not the money
either.”

“They got any ideas?”

“Yeah. They think the first vice president, Carl Edwards,
did it” She chewed on her bottom lip, and then added in a
slur, “But I don’t think he did”

“Oh, why not?”

She emphasized the reason by jabbing the glass of bourbon at me. “Decent guy. He didn’t need the money. Personally, a louse like Marvin Busby would be more likely to do
something like that”

In wide-eyed innocence, I asked, “Was Busby at work
that day? I mean the day of the robbery?”

Either my question or the bourbon confused her. “Yeah,
yeah. Marvin-at least one thing I can say for that snake is
that he never misses work. Gets a kick out of turning down
loans”

I pushed to my feet and extended my hand. “You’ve
given me more than enough, Miss Perry. Thank you very
much”

Sitting in my pickup, I stared up at her porch light. Now
I had to find out just how deep in debt Busby was. Surely
Danny knew the proprietors of the three casinos. I glanced
at my watch: 10:30. He’d still be awake.

He was, but he was out. “No problem” I handed his soldier a note. “Give this to him for me, if you don’t mind.”