„Cause that’s his job.’ Belle recited words from the first page of almost every book. ‘His life is the law.’
‘Right. But all he’s got is two six-shooters and no extra bullets. It’s a cloudy night, no stars, not one, and that’s the worst of it for him. He believes he’s never gonna see their lights again. And he’s lost without ‘era – no markers in the sky to help him find his way. So he reins in his horse and sits awhile. He wonders what his life is all about. He’s lost his faith, he’s lost his way. Can’t even see the badge on his chest – it’s so damn dark. The book ends when the sheriff digs in his spurs. He rides into the canyon at a gallop, knowing it’s a trap – a fight he can’t win. The rustlers open fire. He looks up and sees the bright lights of guns firing from every ridge – like stars.’ ‘That’s beautiful,’ said Belle, rising from her chair. Riker nodded to the next woman in line. ‘Your turn.’ The second prostitute’s name was Karina, and she had a few questions of her own. ‘Did I hear right? You talkin’ about Frankie Delight? Whatever happened to him? Not that I care about that squirrelly little bastard. Just curious is all.’ ‘Last time I saw him,’ said Riker, ‘he was toast – dead on a slab in the morgue.’
Mallory’s eyes snapped open. How could Riker know about the murder of Frankie Delight? The drug dealer’s body had been destroyed in the fire. No one could have put a name on that charred corpse.
Crazy Frankie.
She closed her eyes again and called up the jittery image of a drug dealer in a deserted building on Avenue B, a skinny white boy in dreadlocks, ripped jeans and gold chains.
The jewelry? Was that how Riker had identified the body?
She could see the deserted building again, deep in shadow, half the interior walls knocked down and rats everywhere – only one way out. She could pinpoint the moment when Sparrow had realized that Frankie planned to rob her, to take the VCRs without paying. No knives had come out, not yet, but whore and dealer circled round and round.
Unconsciously, Detective Mallory’s hand made the shape of a pistol as Kathy the child drew her pellet gun on the drug dealer. It was happening all over again. Frankie Delight was in her sights when he dropped to one knee, holding his sides because he was laughing so hard it hurt. Pointing to her plastic gun, he giggled out the words, ‘Oh, you’re gonna make a big hole with that sucker.’ He turned to Sparrow, saying, ‘Hey, bitch. Your needles make bigger holes.’ Not done with humiliating a child, he turned back to Kathy as he rose to his feet, still in good humor. ‘You could really mess up a big-assed cockroach with that thing. You shoot that bug in the leg, and he’ll never walk again.’
And Sparrow was laughing, too – when he jammed his knife into her side, then twisted it to rip her up some more.
Oh, the look of surprise in the whore’s eyes.
How Frankie had laughed at the comical sight of Sparrow sliding down the wall, leaving a smear of blood in her slow descent. His laughter had drowned out the screams of a child.
Riker lit Karina’s cigarette. ‘So you’re the one who set up the meeting.’
‘Yeah, Sparrow wanted to unload some VCRs. A little kid ripped ‘em off. Can you beat that? Well, I knew this half-assed drug dealer, the only one who’d deal for goods. Everybody else was cash or nothin’.’
‘Sparrow wanted to swap the VCRs for drugs?’
‘Yeah, but what she really needed was cash. Her rent was way past due. So she figured to get drugs for the VCRs, then change the drugs into money on the street – selling to the Johns.’ Karina exhaled a cloud of smoke. With all the authority of a jailhouse lawyer, she said, ‘That’s twice removed from the truck robbery.’
Riker smiled. It was the first instance ever of laundering illegal proceeds with drug money – very creative.
May smiled at Charles, showing him all her broken teeth and one gold cap. ‘What happened after that ambush in Shadowland?'
‘It’s still going on when the next book opens,’ said Charles. ‘The gunslinger was clear of the canyon before the rustlers opened fire on the man who was chasing him.’
‘Sheriff Peety.’
‘Right. Well, it looks like there’s no way out for the sheriff. He’s almost out of bullets. But then the Wichita Kid turns his horse around and conies riding back into the canyon to save him.’
‘I knew he would,’ said May. ‘But there were forty rustlers up on the ridge. How did Wichita shoot all of them?’
‘Oh, he didn’t shoot any of them. He shot the sheriff.’
May’s head tilted to one side to say, What? And now she leaned far forward, her expression clearly implying, You’re nuts. And aloud she said, with great conviction, ‘Wichita would never do that.’
‘I swear that’s what happened.’ Charles was perplexed by the sudden hostility. It was only a story. ‘He shot the sheriff. Mind you, it was only a shoulder wound, but it knocked Sheriff Peety right out of the saddle. Actually, it was quite a clever ruse. You see, when the rustlers thought the old man was dead, they stopped shooting at him.’ Not that there had been much danger of them hitting their target in darkness described as absolute. ‘The rustlers even cheered the Wichita Kid for making this really great shot from a galloping horse.’ In fact, it was an impossible shot, but logic was not the author’s forte.
‘I love that boy.’ The prostitute clapped her hands together.
‘My turn,’ said Charles. ‘Now the last time you saw Sparrow was how long ago?’
‘Four months, maybe longer.’
Charles looked up at the woman behind May’s chair. ‘Madam, you’re next.’
Mallory found it difficult to concentrate on conversations in the next room. A cascade of pictures were dropping into her mind, and she could not block them out. Through the eyes of a child, she watched Sparrow writhing on the floor, losing a river of blood from the knife wound in her side and crying, ‘Jesus! Jesus!’
Kathy knew Jesus, too. He was the King of Pain, crowned with thorns and stabbed with nails. And she had sometimes called on Him in this same way, with no expectation of help -just another ritual like the story hour.
Riker recognized the woman now, but not by her face, not even by her name. The prostitute’s neck scarf dropped to give him a glimpse of a familiar scar, a souvenir from the man who had slit her throat rather than pay for her services. He would tread carefully with this one. She was the hooker who had tied Sparrow to the little girl who died in the fire, and all for three seconds of fame on the evening news.
The whore gave no sign of remembering the detective. All cops and customers must look alike to this aging parody of a dead actress. Marilyn’s red mouth was drawn well outside the lines of her thin lips, but her voice was breathy and sexy, so close to the real thing.
‘Sure I remember,’ said Marilyn. ‘It was maybe fourteen, fifteen years ago. I brought Sparrow’s stuff to the hospital. That was the day after she got stabbed.’
‘Her stuff. You brought her heroin?’
‘Oh, just a taste, a snort. Not enough to mess her up. I had a personal interest in Sparrow’s health. She owed me money. God, she was strung out. What I gave her didn’t help much.’
Riker leaned over to light the woman’s cigarette. ‘Did the little girl ever visit her?’
‘Uh huh. When I came in, she was sittin’ on the edge of the bed. Sparrow was feeding her off the hospital tray. The kid was eating an apple one minute, and then she was dead asleep. Her eyes closed, and the apple just rolled out of her little hand. Ain’t it funny – the things that stay with you for years?’