Slate (17 page)

“In other words, he was blackmailing them,” said Clarisse.

“Yes,” said Mr. Fred, frowning at the baldness of the word. “And not just the scientists, he blackmailed the girls, too. It's grand larceny when you get on a payroll under false pretenses. Grand larceny is a tough rap,” added Mr. Fred, with the air of imparting a lesson to the lawyer-to-be. He took a bite of another hot dog—before it got cold, he explained in a mumble. Then he took up the thread of the story again. “But when Sweeney tried to blackmail Susie, Julia found out about it—this was right after they started living together. Julia saw six shades of scarlet and got some of her girlfriends together one day, and they went down to the Hungry Eye, and they told Sweeney off like nobody's business.”

“They told him off?” asked Clarisse. “That was it?”

“Actually, they pulled him across the bar and smashed a lot of beer bottles over his head. Oh,
and
Julia broke his arm in two places—she just twisted it around behind him till the bones snapped. She also threatened to stick her glue gun in his mouth and pull the trigger. She said after she finished with him he'd better never spread dirt again in his life.”

Clarisse looked at the back of Julia's head and frowned.

“So,” Mr. Fred resumed, pausing once more to swallow the last of his hot dog, “Sweeney blew the whistle like a banshee on speed. All hell broke loose. Three of the scientists were fired on the spot, and Birkin Hare had to give back all the grant money. A major
scandale
, even though it was kept pretty hush-hush. All the girls lost their jobs, of course. They tried to beat Sweeney up again, too, but he had hired a bodyguard, and they couldn't get near him. The bodyguard's name was Rosa. Real sweet, but needed to lose some weight. A major
scandale
,” he repeated, in conclusion.

“I'd say so,” said Clarisse. “Did the police ever find out that Sweeney had been blackmailing all those people?”

“It never went to court. Birkin Hare made sure of that,” said Mr. Fred. “They had had enough bad publicity already. But it didn't leave any good feelings between Susie and Julia and Sweeney. Which was hard on me, because I was friends with everybody.”

“When did all this happen?”

“About five years ago. Right after Julia and Susie moved in next door.”

Clarisse was about to respond when the entire audience rose to its feet, shouting. Bewildered, Clarisse stood on tiptoe to see what was happening in the ring.

Two white-coated attendants, who had raced to ringside, were strapping one of the Vermicelli twins onto a stretcher. She was writhing and screeching and trying to get loose, but they hoisted the stretcher and headed quickly out of the arena. One of the Harlem Hellcats leaped onto the referee's back and got her hands over his eyes so that he was blinded. She gouged her heels into his sides and rode him around and around the ring. Her screeching partner flung the second Vermicelli twin into the ropes. The dazed young woman was shot back with such force that she turned a flip in the air and landed in the Harlem Hellcat's arms. The Vermicelli twin recovered her senses instantly, wriggled her way to a standing position, seized the Hellcat, and flung her out of the ring. She fell to the floor at the feet of a knot of large Italian women who screamed and slapped savagely at her with their net bags. Her partner leaped from the back of the referee, grabbed the ropes, and jumped down out of the ring. She rescued her partner. The Hellcats and the remaining Vermicelli twin fled into the darkness between the bleachers toward the dressing rooms.

The fans were on their feet in an ecstasy of cheering, whistling, and catcalling as the timekeeper furiously rang the bell. Clarisse used the sudden commotion to edge out past Miss America and Mr. Fred. She made her way around the back of the bleachers and was about to step into the darkened corridor that would take her back to the lobby, when a strong hand suddenly clutched her sleeve. Clarisse turned in surprise. It was Susie. Susie leaned forward, and for a few moments her breath was hot in Clarisse's ear as she whispered to Clarisse over the tumult of the crowd behind them. Clarisse stood stock still. Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. When Susie was done she pulled back and looked Clarisse straight in the eye.

“You're positive?” said Clarisse.

Susie nodded once, then turned abruptly away. She strode back toward the ring and did her part to increase the crowd's noise by shouting alternately, “Foreign object!” and “Check it out, ref!”

Clarisse made her way back to the main lobby and out to the rainy street. She raised her umbrella and began waiting for a taxi to pass.

T
WENTY-FIVE MINUTES later, Clarisse emerged from a taxi at the corner of Berkeley and Chandler streets about two blocks from home. She slammed the cab door shut and walked to the side entrance of the bar called Fritz.

Inside, Clarisse marched straight to the bar and ordered a vodka and tonic. She took a stiff swallow of it as soon as it arrived and before the bartender had brought her change and then made her way toward the back of the long, narrow room. It was Saturday night, but so many people had gone away for Thanksgiving that the place was uncrowded and relatively quiet.

She found Valentine sitting on the cushioned banquette that ran the length of the outside wall beneath the smoketinted windows. Linc, directly across from him, was raptly playing a video game on a table machine. The silver-gray Levolors were lowered but open. Outside, the streetlamps shone murkily through the mist of rain. The twisted limbs of a thriving honey locust scraped against the windows now and then.

Valentine rested one foot on the edge of a low oak table in front of him and idly watched Linc's score on the machine mount. He took a swallow of his bourbon and glanced up as Clarisse dropped her umbrella on the table, opened her coat, and dropped down wearily beside him.

“Hi!” said Linc, but did not look up.

“Your fur is very wet,” he remarked. “Was the fund-raiser held out-of-doors?”

“No,” she said.

Something in her voice prompted him to ask, “It wasn't quite what you thought it would be?”

“No, it wasn't quite what I thought it would be. I never before connected fund-raisers with severe personal humiliation. In other ways, however, it was quite revealing. What did you two end up doing this evening?”

Valentine glanced at Linc, absorbed in the game. “We went over to the Cyclorama. A friend of his was singing in the AIDS cantata—the part of the homosexual Haitian hemophiliac who comes on near the end and gives everyone hope.” He shook the ice in his nearly empty glass. “Did you talk to Mr. Fred?”

“Did you talk to Linc?” she asked. She finished off her drink when Valentine didn't answer. A passing waiter took their order for another round.

At last finishing his game, Linc looked up and saw Clarisse. He smiled. “I get absorbed,” he apologized.

“Here are some quarters,” said Valentine, fishing them from his pocket. “Keep at it for a while. Clarisse and I have to talk.”

Linc took the quarters with a bright light in his eyes.

In a low, confidential voice, Clarisse told everything— or nearly everything—that she had learned at the wrestling match. Valentine paid for the drinks when they were brought.

“So what do you think?” she asked when she finished.

“I don't think either Julia or Susie would kill Sweeney because of something that happened five years ago.”

“The desire for revenge never dies,” said Clarisse.

“Of course it does. Maybe not as quickly as love or sexual desire, but it fades with time, just like everything else. You can't hold a grudge for five years.”

Clarisse appeared offended by this observation. “I don't know about you, but I certainly can. And have. And do.”

“I know,” said Valentine. “But I don't think Julia and Susie have quite your…strength of character. If they were going to kill Sweeney, I think it would be for something he did to them that night. And as far as I know, all that he did to them that night was to insult them. Of course, maybe he was blackmailing them again.”

“About what?”

“I don't know,” said Valentine. “But you know how protective Julia is. She doesn't even like Susie to have friends.”

“Unless they have thick wallets and don't mind opening them after half an hour's acquaintance,” Clarisse pointed out.

“And even if it was Julia or Susie,” Valentine went on, “they wouldn't do it in their own building. That would be too stupid.”

“All right then,” said Clarisse thoughtfully. “But let's think about it. There may be something we haven't quite figured out yet.” She told Valentine what Joe had said about seeing Sweeney's column on Ashes' desk. “But he was confused, and couldn't be sure if it was actually the
last
column or not.”

“Sweeney saved everything,” said Valentine, “so it might have been the draft of an earlier column. But I think we ought to get it straight one way or the other.”

They sipped at their drinks. “There are a few other things we have to get straight tonight, too,” Clarisse said.

“What else?” asked Valentine.

Clarisse just smiled. Without even looking in that direction, she reached across the table and placed her hand atop Linc's on the controls of the video game machine.

“Hey!” he cried in protest. His hang glider smashed into a utility pole and burst into brief video flames.

Turning with a smile, Clarisse said, “Game's over. We'd like to talk to you for a few minutes.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Please sit over there,” said Clarisse, pointing to a chair on the opposite side of the table. Linc got out from behind the video machine and slipped into the chair she'd indicated. “Something's come up,” Clarisse said pleasantly.

“About the bar?”

“No. About you.”

“Me?” He glanced questioningly at Valentine, who suddenly seemed uncomfortable. Linc then looked back to Clarisse.

“In the past month, as far as Val and I know, you've told at least three stories about your past life. All of them different. So we've been wondering which one of them was true. The one you told me, the one you told Ashes, or the one you told Val.”

Now it was Linc who was uncomfortable. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“We're talking about your past—what your life was like before you moved to Boston and became a carpenter.”

“Why?”

Clarisse pondered this for a moment. “Stories about people's pasts are a little like job recommendations. They don't actually matter very much if they're true, but if they're false, they become pretty important.”

Linc glanced from side to side. “You think I lied to you?”

“We think you told three different stories,” Valentine put in diplomatically.

“Boston is a small town,” Clarisse said flatly. “People talk. If you don't tell the truth, you get caught up. Did you ever live in New Orleans?”

“Yes,” said Linc.

“When?” asked Valentine.

Linc glanced away. He replied quietly, “The summer after my freshman year at the University of Maine. I came out there.”

“But you didn't go to Tulane,” said Clarisse.

“I did go there. One day. On the bus.”

Valentine and Clarisse nodded.

“And you had a lover there, who was into S&M,” Valentine said after a moment.

“He wasn't exactly my lover. Actually, we just had a few dates—just sort of fooled around. He wanted me to put handcuffs on him. He told me he loved me and wanted to marry me—ceremony and everything,” he added with quiet incredulity.

“California?” inquired Clarisse.

Linc sighed and shook his head. “My parents took me to Disneyland when I was seven.”

“And they're not divorced?” asked Valentine.

“They have problems.”

“So do you,” murmured Valentine.

“Are they poverty-stricken?” asked Clarisse.

“No,” said Linc. “They're rich. They're both psychiatrists.”

“I might have guessed,” said Valentine.

“In other words,” said Clarisse, draining the vodka in the glass, “none of what you said to any of us was true.”

“The truth was
boring
,” Linc maintained. “You didn't want to hear about my rich psychiatrist parents. You didn't want to hear that I went to the University of Maine at Orono for four years. You didn't want to hear that I spent three months in New Orleans and got laid exactly five times.”

“Five times?” asked Valentine in surprise. “That's all?”

“All in August,” said Linc glumly. “Listen, I wasn't trying to hurt you or anything. I wasn't trying to put one over on you or anything. I was just trying to…”

“To what?” Clarisse prompted.

“To make myself seem more…experienced. Does this mean you hate me?”

“Of course not,” said Valentine. “But I don't like being lied to, either.”

“Nobody does,” said Clarisse with a sigh.

Slouched in his chair, Linc looked from one to the other. Clarisse signaled the waiter for refills for Valentine and herself, then pointed at Linc. “And a Miller.”

“Don't bother,” said Linc, getting to his feet. “I'm taking off. I'll come by tomorrow morning and pick up my tools and my clothes. I won't ever bother you again.”

“Sit down,” said Valentine. “You're not leaving me without a master carpenter when the bar opens in five weeks.”

“But I can't—”

“Yes, you can,” said Valentine. “And you will. We have a deal, and you're a businessman, and I'm a businessman, and we both have a big interest in seeing Slate open on time. If you don't finish this job, it's going to be known all over town that you reneged. If you do finish it, and finish it right, it will mean a whole lot more work for you.”