Maxwell Street Blues (21 page)

“I know she’s the drug fiends’ tattoo artist of choice. I know a meth-head dialed your personal phone number. Do you think he wanted to discuss graduate programs?”

“What? My business card and a phone call?” Tate stared into the floor. “I love that girl,” he finally said. “And she knows I love her. What in god’s name would motivate her to have a man killed and then frame me for murder and drug dealing? I just can’t believe it.”

“Snooky was in love with her. Do you agree?”

Still looking at the floor Tate said, “Of course he was. All men our age fall in love with young women like Audrey—and I’m no different.”

I waited, unsure of what I had heard. “That comment suggests something extremely disturbing. Care to rephrase?”

Tate lifted his head. “Men desiring younger women is completely natural. As long as it’s consensual and she’s of legal age, what does it matter?”

Up to this point, I had felt a degree of compassion for Tate. Now he encompassed every loathsome and sickening image my brain could offer. “But we’re talking about your
daughter
—you sick bastard!”

The red shot up from his neck to his white hairline like one of those cartoon thermometers that ends up spurting through the top. “You’re crazy!” he shouted. “Who told you that?” He stood over me, ready to tear me apart.

“Audrey,” I said.

“Audrey told you that,” he said quietly and buried his head in his hand. “She wants to ruin me.”

“Why does your daughter want to ruin you?”

Tate pulled his hand away. “For god’s sake, she’s not my daughter!”

“Do you even have children?”

“Yes! I
have
a daughter. She lives with her mother. At least I think she lives with
her mother—in California. Oh, for chrissake! I don’t believe this.”

“Then why don’t you tell me who Audrey is, and maybe I can figure out why she wants to ruin you.”

His head dropped back. He stared at the ceiling awhile and then popped up. “I met her at that club you saw me at. She sat next to me at the bar.”

“What did you talk about?”

He seemed not to have heard me. “She bewitched me. It sounds idiotic, but that’s how I felt. At sixty-two years old, I was an infatuated teenager. The long dark hair, the big black eyes. And her attitude. Her brazen disinterest in the world. She seemed to know who I was, but how was it possible? I don’t remember what we talked about except that she had recently moved here from Los Angeles and wanted to start her own business. She needed to buy equipment. Of course, I helped her.”

“Why do you think she picked you?”

“They tell us what we want to hear. I know I’m in good shape for my age. I took care of her. I listened to her stories. I gave her whatever she wanted.”

“When did things change?”

“A few months ago, she started coming over less often. She said her business was taking more and more of her time. Snook verified that her shop had increased revenues. He was concerned with the amount of cash she kept on hand. And he was worried about some of her clientele. Naturally I, too, became concerned and asked her to be more discriminating in who she worked with. She accused me of being elitist and from that point on, it was clear that she was done with me, although every now and then she would pop in and act like nothing had changed.”

“What if Audrey knew about the dirty dealings around Maxwell Street and was going to expose you and the others? Snooky couldn’t allow this, so Audrey lashed out—had him killed. What do you think?”

“But why? I just can’t imagine her doing that.”

I pondered his question a moment. My last conversation with Knight popped into my head. “Got any enemies in Los Angeles?”

Tate scratched his chin and looked around. Then he startled me with a laugh that was as phony as it was loud. “Well, I have an ex-wife in Los Angeles,” he said, as if he were about to tell a joke. “But it’s been over ten years, so I think she would’ve exacted her revenge by now.”

“Wanna tell me how to get in touch with her? Or you gonna make me dig it up?”

“I really don’t see the relevance—”

“Oh, c’mon, Tate. Just
pretend
you know I’m on your side.”

Tate walked into the kitchen then returned with a piece of paper. “That’s her name,” he said as he handed it to me. “Jane Prenevost. At least that’s her maiden name. She went back to it after the divorce. I don’t have her number—and she could’ve remarried and taken a different name for all I know.”

Los Angeles. My gut told me I had to make the trip, if only to talk with someone who knew Tate in a context removed from Chicago politics, and to see what the girl called L.A. was like two thousand miles away from Audrey. Unexpectedly, I now had a story of my own. Once upon a time there were three women. Two were from Los Angeles, two were tattoo artists, and two had direct connections to Tate. What were the chances that a third connection would give the story the ending it deserved?

47

I still didn’t know where Audrey lived, but I had a hunch. “You just figured that out?” Susie said after getting over the shock of my eye. We were splitting a vegan meatball marinara sub at the diner across the street from Taudrey Tats.

“So in the back, there’s a full bath?”

“You ever wonder what that cinderblock wall was for? Behind it is a cozy suite the owner of the building put in to cheat on his wife during business hours. Definitely a building code violation.”

I asked if she had seen Audrey’s friend and described L.A. to her. “She shows up every few weeks,” Susie said. “I’ve never met her.”

Susie finished her portion and excused herself to open the boutique. I remained at the table and watched for signs of life at Taudrey Tats. As noon approached, Susie propped open the door to her store, and soon after Audrey turned over the “Open” sign. I paid the bill and crossed the street.

“You grimace with each step,” Audrey said as I walked in. She was sitting in The Kitschen chair sipping coffee while paging through a magazine on her lap. She looked somber. Maybe she was human after all.

“Cracked ribs don’t heal in four hours,” I said and sat on a drafting stool. I looked around. The place was spotless. “Was there a party here last night or was I dreaming?”

“You’re angry. I don’t blame you.”

“Where’s L.A.?”

“She takes the cheap overnight flights. We cleaned until her ride picked her up
around three.”

“Home to Los Angeles?”

Audrey held her gaze on me and nodded. “She’s barely legal, Jules. The perfect age for the over-thirty crowd.”

“Tell me about Voss.”

She hesitated. “Who’s that?”

“A few days after the murder, you called me and said a cop stopped by. He wanted to know if I had Snooky’s payoff book. I referred to him as Detective Kalijero, and I told you there was no book. The next day you gave me a description of the man. It wasn’t Kalijero; it was Voss.”

Audrey shrugged. “He was a cop. That’s all I know. Since you acted like you were sure you knew who it was, I assumed you knew what you were talking about.”

“Did Snooky tell you that Voss wanted information from him to use against another cop named Kalijero?”

“I never heard of Voss before that day he just showed up.”

“You’d never seen Voss before that day you called me?”

“I just said that.” She had an edge in her voice. Any residual feelings of guilt had disappeared. She returned her attention to the magazine as if I had left the room.

I laughed and said, “Did you ever see Snooky’s Steuben Glass animal collection?”

Audrey closed the magazine and walked to the display rack. She stared at the drawings until I saw a smile creep onto her profile, and she said, “He was very proud of it.” Just like that, the coquettish little girl returned. “The ‘Mouse and Cheese’ was my favorite.”

“Mine was the ‘Contented Cat.’ ”

“Are you going to keep the collection? I’m sure Snooky would approve.”

“The house was ransacked. Everything was smashed to pieces, including the glass animals.”

Audrey turned to me with a genuine look of sadness. “I didn’t know that. But why? I mean, even if they were looking for something, why destroy those figurines? Obviously nothing could be hidden in them.”

“Bad guys like to send messages. Although one of the animals survived—the glass elephant. I took it home.”

Audrey thought for a moment and then giggled. “I remember it. It was cute but out of place with the rest.”

“Why?”

“It was just a cheap imitation. It wasn’t crystal like the others.”

“I think you’re wrong,” I lied. “It refracts beautifully on my wall, just like lead crystal.”

Audrey rolled her eyes. “So when you’re not solving murders, you’re an expert in crystal? Trust me, it’s a fake.”

“Trust me, Audrey. I knew Snooky. He didn’t buy imitation
anything
.”

“The elephant was given to him, smarty-pants. He didn’t buy it.”

Audrey had swallowed the bait. Voss would never have spent good money on lead crystal to send as a message. She knew it was fake because she knew Voss sent it to Snooky. Audrey took one of the drawings off the rack, laid it on the light box, and started to draw. I walked over to her and watched as she worked on the texture of saliva drops falling from a wolf’s fangs.

“Audrey, who gave Snooky the elephant?” I said, knowing the answer but giving her some more rope.

“One of those police detectives.”

“Who?”

Audrey turned to me. “Voss. Or maybe the other one you mentioned—” She caught herself and returned to the drawing.

“You don’t
know
Voss, but you chatted long enough to know he gave Snooky a glass elephant. Did you make a deal with Satan, Audrey?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why would you want to help Voss get information on Kalijero? What did you get in return? Was it worth Snooky’s life?”

Audrey dropped her pencil and turned to me. Her eyes had become narrow black slits. “You’re making up crazy stories because
you
don’t know how to figure it all out. You’re at a dead end. Well, that’s not
my
fault. Stick with the facts!”

“How about this fact: Voss told me he gave Snooky that elephant. If you knew it was a gift, then you must’ve known this
fact
before Snooky was dead. Since you said you had never heard of Voss until
after
the murder, it’s a
fact
you’re a liar.”

Audrey shook her head wildly. “You’ve got me all confused. I don’t know who gave the elephant to Snooky. Why don’t you just get out of here!”

“Another thing. Tate told me you’re not his daughter. He said you picked him up at that sugar-daddy bar.”

“He’s a liar!” she said and shoved me in the chest. I stumbled in agony toward the door, cursing loudly, employing every vile word I had ever learned regarding females. Before leaving, I glanced back and saw Audrey sitting in the tattoo chair crying into her
hands. I didn’t pretend to know why.

Bent over on the sidewalk, I breathed through the pain. At some point, I was aware of a hand resting lightly on my back. I looked up and saw Susie’s face.

“I heard the shouting, and here you are,” she said. “What can I do? Do I need to take you to the hospital?”

“There’s nothing to do. I just have to avoid getting shoved around.”

“You want to come in and sit awhile?”

“No,” I said but didn’t like the sound of my voice. I took her hand. “I mean, I would, but I better get home and lie down.” I told her I would be going out of town and asked if she would take care of Punim. She agreed and we made plans for her to come over that evening for a meet and greet.

“What’s in Los Angeles?” she said.

“It seems to be a common denominator for some characters in my investigation, including an ex-wife, Audrey’s red-eyebrow friend, and a
Partisan
writer who knows more than he’s telling me.”

48

Parked in front of my apartment building was Frownie’s beloved 1935 Lincoln Model K Roadster convertible. He sat behind the wheel, reading a newspaper.

I rapped my knuckles against the rumble seat before coming up to my mentor on the driver’s side. “Are you lost, mister?” I said.

Frownie turned his head and looked in horror. “My god. Your face is all fucked up again?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks. What brings you here?”

“Why you holdin’ your side like that? Someone hit you in the ribs, too?” Frownie shook his head. “I’m here to take back what I said about not wanting to hear from you again.”

“I didn’t take you seriously,” I said, which wasn’t completely true.

“You see, when you get old like me, you sometimes decide you don’t want to deal no more with your friends and such gettin’ hurt.” He stopped and then said, “I got guilt, too. I knew your old man didn’t want you doin’ this kind of work. But I liked that you wanted it and were so enthusiastic and all. And I thought, it’s your life, why the hell not learn the gumshoe business?” Frownie reached out and grabbed my arm. “Anyway, I’m
here for you, kid. While I’m still aboveground, I’m always here.”

I took Frownie’s hand in both of mine. “I’ve got to go to Los Angeles for a couple of days. For the case.”

Frownie nodded. “Got enough money?”

“I’m fine.”

Frownie took his hand back and stared through the windshield. I could tell he was recalling some friends or associates from long ago. “I used to know a lot of people in L.A.,” he said. “I wish I could make a few calls for you, but they’re all dead.” Frownie laughed. “I’ve outlived my usefulness.”

“Bullshit,” I said. “I’ve got a lot more use for you if you’ll just stop worrying.”

Frownie looked at me and smiled. “Okay,” he said. “I’m glad I saw you.” Then he started up the roadster and drove off.

* * *

Susie came over at five-thirty with two orders of vegetable chow mein. Punim displayed a passing interest in our guest then disappeared.

“Maybe she’d like to meet a lovable orange tabby guy,” Susie said.

I discouraged the idea, explaining that Punim had reached the point where personal space was her highest priority and that one male in her life was enough. I showed her the container of organ meat. Susie pretended not to be revolted.