"Well?" Lewis demanded.
Even as she silently chastised that she was getting as goosey as Lewis, the hair remained erect on her arms, despite the hundred-degree heat.
"What were we talking about?"
Lewis sighed, "You said to never give anyone an out. Make them give it up. And to breast my cards, whatever that means."
"It means don't show them your hand," Frank answered, relieved to be back on familiar terrain. "You want to have something to surprise them with. Watch somebody long enough and their actions'll usually tell you more than words. Did you notice me get closer to the Mother before I asked her about Echevarria and Hernandez?"
Lewis shook her head.
"I wanted to get close enough to see her pupils. Right as I said Danny'd been hanging around some Nicaraguans, they dilated. It was a slight and completely involuntary reaction, and it gave her away. She didn't even know she was doing it. She tightened her lips and her eyes narrowed too. Just a fraction, but enough. When you drop something on them they don't think you know about, they can go through dozens of involuntary reactions like that. All the way from pupils dilating to shitting their pants."
The image of the old beggar faded as Frank talked.
"And pay attention to what they call you. Notice how she went from calling me child to Lieutenant and then back to child? In the beginning she was in control and I was child. Then when she got a little rattled I was Lieutenant. When we were leaving and she told me about the red dog, she felt she had the upper hand again and called me child. Did you notice that?"
"No," Lewis pouted.
"You will," Frank reassured. "It'll all come with time."
Frank checked the world moving by. A nail salon and a cell phone store. Metal works. A discount store. Two long-haired girls pushing strollers. A young man in a Walkman funked out toward them. Everything was normal.
"I was listening to you with Kim this morning. You gave her all the answers. Don't do that. Let them think you're clueless. Makes them think they know more than you do. Makes them feel more comfortable, confident, and that's what trips them up."
"Yeah, but she was cooperating. She was being up front with me."
"Happily or reluctantly?"
"Reluctantly," Lewis admitted.
"Yeah, like you are now. And if I push too hard you're gonna cop that famous Joe Lewis attitude on me and clam up. What would happen if I treated you soft and respectful-like?"
"It'd make it easier to talk to you."
"Yeah, you'll open up to me. What if I beat you over the head with what I think you're doing wrong?"
"I'ma be in your face," Lewis chuckled.
Frank nodded.
"If you make some suggestions and let your wit come to the conclusion you lead him to, then he feels like he's got some power in the conversation, some control. Makes him feel pretty good, then he'll want to keep sharing. N'mean?"
Lewis grinned, "You just did that, didn't you?"
Frank returned the grin.
"You're gonna be all right, Lewis."
The sun felt good and Lewis was pleasant company. Frank had written off the odd deja vu at Mother Love's even as it happened, and already she was ascribing the blind stare as nothing more than the old fuck in the blankets recognizing the nostalgic purr of a Mercury engine. By the time they got to Norm's, the unnerving incidents were forgotten. But not for long.
10
The Mother laughed. Her daughter-in-law and sons looked up from their plates.
"What's so funny?" Marcus asked. He'd been pissed all day. Tired of being ordered around like a fucking nigger. Do this, do that. Maybe Danny'd been right.
"That girl coming around here this morning. Loo-te-nant Franco." The Mother danced the title around. "Makes me laugh, is all. My daddy used to say, that dog don't know what it's bit into."
"Maybe you don't know what you bit into," Marcus mumbled around a piece of bread.
He didn't see the knife leave her hand. It hit Marcus in the temple.
"Goddamn!" he sputtered, bread flying from his mouth like snow.
"Don't you ever doubt me, child. Not while you're in my house, sleeping under my roof. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, ma'am," he sulked, dabbing his head for blood.
His mother stabbed at her chicken breast.
"Word," she grumbled, "you two are just like your father. Him"—she lifted her head at Lucian—"frettin' all the time, and you sulking the whole day. Uh-huh. You got his temperament, all right."
Yeah, and you little Miss Fuckin' Sunshine, Marcus thought. He shoveled rice and green beans into his mouth faster than a crack-head could hit off a rod. He couldn't wait to get out of this ugly, dark-paneled room. His mother think she living in fucking England or something?
"It seems funny, is all, that girl. She's younger than I thought she'd be. And a fool, too."
That was just like his mama, be thinking everyone a fool. Well that bitch hadn't looked like no fool snooping around in the supply room. What else had she gotten into before he and Lucian caught up to her?
His mother broke her bread and leaned toward him. As if she knew what he was thinking, and often she did, she confided, "You see, son. That's what I was laughing about. This ain't about police business. It ain't about that at all. It's bigger than that."
Her grin iced his blood.
"That Loo-tenant? She don't even know what this be about. That's what's so funny."
Marcus didn't like the sound of that, wondering what world of trouble his mother was getting them into now. He turned his head from her to his empty plate. Like a ten-year-old, he asked to be excused.
11
The next night Frank held a double Scotch in the air while she worked her way through the melee of the Alibi. Snagging an empty chair, she twirled it next to Noah's and straddled it. She leaned into his ear, asking, "What's your wife doing tomorrow?"
"I don't know. Why? You gonna run away with her?"
"Nope. She's too smart to have me. Think she'd have time to go shopping with me?"
"Shopping?"
"Yeah, I gotta find something to wear to the opera."
"Opera?"
"Yeah. The opera."
"The opera?"
"What are you, a fucking parrot?"
"Give me a break," Noah laughed. "Since when are you a fucking opera buff?"
Noah kept saying the word like he was choking on it.
"Mag liked it. I got into it from listening to her play it all the time."
Noah's eyes slitted and he asked, "You goin' with the doc?"
"No fooling you, Detective Jantzen. So you think I could call her? See if she'd help me find something?"
"Sure. Markie's got practice at 2:30 and I think Les's is at 1:00, but we can work something out. Jesus," Noah said wonderingly. "You dressed for the opera. Will you take pictures for me?"
Frank ignored him and leaned across the table.
"You talk to any of Danny's homes?" she shouted at Lewis.
"Yeah," Lewis yelled back. "Echevarria and Hernandez."
Noah said, "Smokin' Joe Lewis, here, called 'em the most sorrowful excuse for men she'd ever seen. At first they're giving us the three monkey routine—see no evil, hear no evil—then I lay it on 'em that they're looking like our prime suspects. That they cut Danny Duncan out of the business to keep overhead down. Then they just caved. Started crying, blubbering in Spanish, snot runnin' all over. Man, they were just pitiful."
Noah gave Lewis the nod and she picked up the story.
"Yeah. Turns out they didn't want to be in business with Danny anymore, not because of the money but because of auntie. They're afraid of her. Especially now with Danny dead. They claim she's a witch and that she's been planting curses on them. The one dude, Hernandez, he found a black cat hanging from his porch one morning, then a few days later he steps on this little sack under the door mat. He said he paid his neighbor to throw it away for him."