Leavin' Trunk Blues (25 page)

She thought about Stagger Lee grabbing her by the neck as she rubbed the purple spots circling her throat like a necklace. If that man touched her again, she’d buy a new knife and carve his ass like a turkey. Get all that dark meat.

Annie watched Peetie’s eyes. See if he was screwing with them. He didn’t flinch. There was a dark light in there she’d never noticed before. It was as if another soul had been sucked in his body and his old shuck and jive had been flushed away.

“Can’t believe you talked Stagger Lee into this,” Annie said.

“We split the money?” Fannie asked.

“Yes.”

“Even?” Annie asked.

“Like cuttin’ up a pie.” Peetie puffed on the sweet cigar and blew a smoke ring into the cold sky. More flakes fell from the blackness and about an inch of snow covered the ground. Their shoes made squeaking sounds in the fresh snow as they tramped along to the open barn.

She could see a bunch of backslapping crap going on inside and hear a small blues band playing in a far corner. Six-foot heaters sat in the center of the room with their big mushroom heads glowing red hot.

A black couple, decked out in some high-dollar holiday fashions, passed Annie, Fannie, and Peetie heading into the door. The woman gave a real sour-faced look to the girls as if they were nothing.

“She think we some skanky hos,” Fannie said.

“Well, this is a ho-down,” Annie said as the wind scattered tiny bits of ice into her face. She wrapped a scarf around her neck and gave a big, game-show grin. “Let’s go inside.”

“Man’s having a Christmas party,” Peetie said, smiling.

“What are they eating?” Annie said, looking at a long line forming inside. People passed a linen-covered table with men in chef’s hats cutting off thick slabs of bloody meat. She saw more stacks of steaks and ribs.

“Roast beef?” Fannie asked.

“Yeah,” Annie said. “Roast beast. What did we eat last year?”

“Shit on a shingle?” Fannie asked.

“Shit on a shingle,” Annie said, slowly. “Now, what is up with that? This Elmore King guy getting to live it up eating the beast while we’re on the outside. Don’t seem fair.”

“I guess you’re right,” Fannie said.

“I know I’m right.”

Annie marched inside as a plump, black woman with about two tons of eye makeup met her at the door. She had on a long mink coat with a flute of champagne in her hand. Her plastered grin dropped when she saw the girls. Guess she wasn’t a fan of leather and lace. The woman tilted her head in question. She looked like she was in her fifties with stiff black hair all woven into some kind of Aretha Franklin thing. Rings on her fingers and gold chains around her neck.
You’re rich, we get the idea.

“Hello, are you with the band?” the woman asked.

“No,” Annie said. “Your husband invited us.”

“Yesssss, Big Daddy be ‘spectin’ us,” Fannie said, sliding into her street accent as Peetie wandered away.

“You girls know my husband?” the woman asked, looking them up and down. Her face shriveled like a dead flower.

“Oh, well kind of,” Annie said. “He said he just couldn’t get through Christmas without seeing his sweet thangs.”

Fannie walked ahead into the room and over to a table filled with chips and dip and big pecan pies. Little cookies with red and green sprinkles. Annie shrugged her shoulders and followed.

The men seemed to brighten and part as the girls walked through the party. The women’s eyes just narrowed and they began to whisper. Black, white, yellow. All kinds. All rich. She could smell their cologne, their new suits, and the alcohol on their breath. Poor people didn’t smell like that. Poor people smelled like mothballs and cabbage soup.

Fannie stared over at a teenager, ran her tongue around her lips, and then poked it through a cookie. Made Annie feel butterflies just watching. Peetie grabbed a cold beer, sat down on some folding chairs, and finished his cigar. He tried to act important, like he didn’t know them.

Guess they would just have to put on a show. Annie joined her partner near the treats. She cut a slab of pecan pie and topped it with M&M’s.

The rich black woman looked like she’d faint when Annie picked up the pie with her hands and ate it like pizza. The woman and some white chick with a hard face walked over to them. The white woman wore one of those queer sweaters you make at home. Rudolph made of glitter and red balls. The thing looked like a fucking carpet.

“My husband will be with you shortly,” the rich black woman said. She stood there, trying to make a big deal about being quiet. The white woman staggered behind her like she was about to spit out a little venom.

“That’s just fine,” Fannie said. “Don’t take too long for Big Daddy to get his rocks off.”

Annie could’ve kissed her as she watched the white woman begin to choke.

“That’s right,” Annie said. “Ever since he got a hold of that old man dick pill, he been wantin’ it all the time. We always used to hassle him on the street. We said, ‘Daddy, how come you don’t want no pussy?’ But one day, he say, ‘Okay, missy. Come give me a taste.’”

The black woman was hyperventilating. Someone get the woman a paper bag or slap her in her fat ass.

“He do like a little nasty,” Fannie said, licking sprinkles off her fingers.

Peetie watched, looking down at the end of his cheap cigar. He pointed the moist end at some old fossil in a blue suit and laughed. The man had a wild Afro, almost like Don King’s, and fat bags under his tired eyes. He placed his fists on his hips.

“The rabbit done died, sir,” Annie said. “Please have kindness upon your child. I told you we should have used a rubber.”

“I made my coat out of little Bunny,” Fannie said. “You should come over to my closet and feel the little girl. Poor Bunny. She loved those carrots.”

“You two get out of here,” the man said. His black eyes looked like they were about to poke out of his head. “I said now!”

“C’mon, Big Daddy,” Annie said.

“I’ve never seen either of you in my life,” the man said. “Get out.”

A small group formed around them. The blues band stopped playing as the harmonica player hit an off note. Everyone stopped talking as a slim black man wearing a long western coat, cowboy hat, and boots wandered into the room. He had a big plug of tobacco in his cheek and spit on the floor when he saw the women.

“Ladies, ladies,” he said, wiping off his lips and smiling like he was in heat. “Do we know each other?”

The man in the suit just stood there staring. He adjusted his tie and took a step back. “Elmore, these your guests?”

Elmore kept smiling and spit again on the floor.

“What’s your name, little mama?” King asked.

“Fannie.”

“Lord, Lord, Lord.”

The old woman snorted like a bull and walked away, leaving her husband standing in the dusty bam, a dozen onlookers watching him. Peetie strutted over to the group, switching the cigar around in his mouth, and stood a few feet from the cowboy man’s face. He raised on his toes and blew smoke in his eyes.

“We’ll talk later, Peetie,” King said. “Now, get these people the hell out here.”

“1 think we need to talk now,” Peetie said. “Stagger Lee wants you to make a little donation to the annual Billy Lyons Christmas fund.”

King looked like he choked on his wad of tobacco.

Nick watched the Chicago River’s cold water churn under the Michigan Avenue bridge in a slushy brown mess and thought about Ruby Walker, dying young, broken promises, and second chances. The gray Tribune Tower loomed over the bridge like a gothic castle. Spires. Flying buttresses. He half expected Batman to scale down the wall anytime as big chunks of ice fell from another bridge like melting glaciers. Nick studied the orange end of the Marlboro burning in his hand and took a warm breath of black smoke.

He flicked the grayed ash into the cold river and stomped his feet on the bridge. Second chances. He tucked his hands into his thread-bare wool coat as businessmen in fedoras and camel hair overcoats walked by, leaning into the wind as if someone held a strong hand to their chest. The Hawk had made its presence known. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kate walking across the metal grate, her brown hair whipping across her face in a white turtleneck, peacoat, and faded jeans. She held a manila folder filled with loose papers in one hand and an extra large cafe latte in the other.

“Sure you don’t want one?”

“No, got a deal on this supersize cup at a gas station,” he said. “They call it El Burro. Damn thing won’t spill over. I could get you one for Christmas. Only ninety-nine cents. Free refills.”

“You look like shit,” she said, out of breath.

“Thanks.”

“Was that a joke?” she asked, handing Nick the file and pulling her windblown hair from her brown eyes. “About the women?”

“I gave a ride to this woman last night from Rosa’s.”

“Is this X-rated?” she said with her hands around the cup and tapping her feet on the concrete. “Because if it is, I don’t want to hear it.”

“She was drunk,” Nick said, raising an eyebrow. “And I didn’t want her wandering around.”

“Always the gentleman.” Kate pursed her lips and made a sarcastic grin. She took a sip of coffee and started to walk back toward the Tribune Building. Nick followed, his coat flapping in the wind. His feet warm in two layers of wool socks and battered boots.

“Anyway,” he said, almost bumping into a guy talking on a cell phone. Asshole. “When I got her home this other chick hops out of a closet with a knife and they both start beating the shit out of me.”

“So, you were in her house?”

“Yeah, I tried to leave . . . but then she tied me up.” He frowned. “Look, 1 know this sounds bad.”

“Quit while you’re ahead,” Kate said. Her voice bourbon over cracked ice. “Poor kid, women just can’t get enough of your ass.”

“Tony said he’d never seen her before. I can’t remember the cab company or where the hell the apartment was. I admit I had a few.”

“A few?”

“Listen, someone wants me to stay away from Ruby.”

“Now you’re just being paranoid. Get a grip, Travers, no one wants to kill your broken-down ass over this. You almost got rolled by a couple of whores. Bad luck.”

“I don’t believe in luck.”

“Did they ask you about her?” Kate said, stopping. She took another sip of coffee, steam seeping from the lid. In front of the doors to the Tribune Tower, a rush of people scattered around them in heavy clothes, walking with impatience. Nick readjusted his hat, completely content in the moment. Just standing there with a knocking beat in his chest with Kate so close. Just standing in the freezing cold, two feet from Kate Archer. “No.”

“Did they say anything about any of the people you interviewed? Or seem to know who you were?”

“No.”

Kate smirked.

“Why would I make this up?”

“Who knows why you do half the things you do, Travers. Sympathy. Trying to get into my pants.”

“Yeah, right.” A perfect slash of lips. Dimpled chin. A diamond carat in each ear.

“Shit. Don’t try to con me, Travers.”

“Please. Listen, these women were attractive. I mean, beautiful women.”

“Whores can’t be beautiful?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, Nick, I don’t know what you mean.” She looked at the door to the Tribune and then back into Nick’s eyes. “I think you got what you deserved. Going home with some woman you don’t know and then surprised when she tried to rob you. C’mon. Don’t try to play games like I’m one of your dumb-ass blondes. How drunk were you?”

“Like I said, I had a few,” he said swallowing. His mouth filled with cotton.

“Looks like you made Tony plenty of money last night.”

“She played me for a reason.”

“Ruby Walker has been in jail for forty years,” she said. “Why would a couple of young girls care if you were trying to talk to some of her friends? It doesn’t make sense, Nick.”

“You have the greatest eyes.”

“Up yours,” she said.

He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. She pulled the folder from the crook of his arm.

“And you owe me big-time for this one ... we found Florida. My buddy in research, David, decided to check marriage licenses for a Florida Thomas. He found one from 1974. She married a man named Whitaker. After that it was easy as shit. He Auto-Tracked Florida Whitaker’s car registered a couple of years ago. Address. Everything. All right here.”

She shoved the papers into his chest. He read her notes rustling in the heavy wind, her handwriting so clean it looked like type. Nick let out a long breath. He thought about kissing her. Then thought better of it.

“A green Nova? Has to be one of the last ones still on the street.”

“Why didn’t Ruby know where she was?” Kate asked.

“She disappeared after Ruby was charged.”

“Ruby know why?”

“She helped Ruby move the body.”

They stood in front of the glass doors to the Tribune Tower for a few moments looking at each other. The world swirled by; the stoplights changed color from red to green in the never-ending grayness, and a light snow began to fall.