“You gonna be around for a while?” Earl asked.
“Nah. Sorry to blow and run, but I got work to do.”
Earl jammed his big fleshy hands into his pockets. “Look, we need to talk.”
“ ’Bout what?”
Earl eyed him carefully. “I think you know.”
Tyrone suspected he did. And it was a conversation he didn’t care to have. “Look, Earl, I have things to do. Places to be.”
“Like what?”
Like the Okarche bus came in at 9:02, but he wasn’t going to tell Earl that. “Just takin’ care of business.”
“Then when will we talk?”
“I don’t know, Earl.” Tyrone started toward his car and opened the door. “Maybe at the next lesson.”
“That’s too long.”
“Well, I can’t do it now.” He slid into the seat.
Earl clamped a solid hand down on the steering wheel. “You’re not goin’ anywhere till you tell me when we’re gonna talk.”
“Earl—”
“How ’bout tonight?”
Tyrone shook his head. “Can’t. Got major plans.”
“You ain’t puttin’ me off, Tyrone.”
“I got plans—”
Earl laid his hand firmly on Tyrone’s chest. “Tomorrow night then. No later.”
“Fine. Tomorrow night. Ten P.M. Right here.”
Earl eased off. Tyrone gave him a tiny push, then closed the car door. He shoved the stick into reverse and backed out.
Tomorrow night, he thought, as he zoomed onto Brady. Great. That gave him about forty hours to figure out what the hell he was going to say.
He waited until Earl had disappeared inside the club, then slid the knife back into its sheath.
That had been a close one. He’d been lurking behind the club next to the Dumpsters when the kid came out. He’d started to make his move, but his foot slipped on the gravel and the kid whirled around. He’d have gone for it anyway, but who should stumble by but good ol’ Uncle Earl himself.
He’d had to take cover. Earl could’ve made him, even with the new disguise. He would’ve had to kill them both, and he didn’t want that. The kid, yes—that was necessary. But he was much happier letting Earl boil in the brine. He wanted Earl to suffer. Earl deserved to suffer.
Just as he had suffered.
Well, there would be another time, and sooner than he had expected. Tomorrow night, ten o’clock. That’s what the kid had said. He didn’t know what Earl was so anxious to talk about, and frankly he didn’t care. What they planned to discuss was irrelevant.
Death would be the main topic for conversation.
Chapter 25
BEN CAUGHT GORDO at his apartment. From the looks of him, he had just awakened, although it was almost noon. Come to think of it, Ben recalled, Gordo had been drinking pretty heavily during the poker game; he was probably suffering the aftereffects. His hair was a mess, his chin was stubbly, and he was wearing boxer shorts and a Metallica T-shirt.
“Benji, what’re you doing here?” he said, showing Ben through the door. Whether he’d been asleep or merely comatose, he didn’t seem particularly disturbed by Ben’s arrival. “Come to return to the scene of your poker Waterloo?”
“Actually, I was hoping I could ask you a few questions.” Ben ambled around the apartment, again admiring the quality furnishings and tasteful decorations. Under an end table, he spotted a stack of books he hadn’t seen the night before. They were all Elisabeth Kübler-Ross titles: On Death and Dying, Living with Death and Dying, Death: The Final Stage of Growth, The Wheel of Life: A Memoir of Living and Dying. All had bookmarks jammed in them. “Mind if I sit?”
“ ’Course not. What’s up?”
Ben cleared a place for himself on the sofa. “I wanted to talk to you about the murder.”
Gordo sprawled out in a big overstuffed chair and propped his feet up on the hassock. “Why me in particular?”
“I’m talking to everyone who had access to the stage the night of the murder. And that means every member of the band.”
“Not just the band,” Gordo corrected. “Don’t forget the lovely Ms. Weiskopf, our stage manager. She was there, too.”
A good point, Ben thought. He ought to have a little chat with Diane, too.
“What’s your interest in this, anyway, Kincaid?”
“I’m trying to prevent Earl from being arrested, and then convicted, for this murder.”
Gordo slapped his hands together. “Damn! That’s right. Scat was spreading the rumor that you’re a lawyer. Say it ain’t so, Joe.”
“It’s so,” Ben said dryly.
“No shittin’? Damn!” He slapped his hands again. “And here we all thought you were just some white piano player who didn’t know what to do with himself. And it turns out you were just slummin’!”
“I was not slumming,” Ben said emphatically. “I quit practicing law because I wanted to concentrate on music. But Earl needs help.”
“I guess that’s right. I heard the cops just about hauled his carcass to the pokey yesterday.”
“Twice. And they’ll be back for a third try. So your help would be appreciated. Did you see the man with the rug?”
“No way. I would’ve said something if I had.”
Ben watched his eyes carefully. This wasn’t a poker game, but he still thought he might learn something. Especially since he was not at all sure he was getting the straight scoop. “Did you see anyone?”
“No one who wasn’t supposed to be there. Earl, Scat, Diane. And you, of course.” His eyes narrowed comically. “You know, you’ve always seemed like a suspicious character, Benji.”
“Ha-ha.”
“Not tellin’ anyone what you really are and all. What’re you tryin’ to hide?”
Ben ignored him. “Did you see the body? Or anything that in retrospect might have been a body?”
Gordo thought for a moment. “Can’t say that I did.” He peered toward the kitchen. “Say, would you like some cereal? I’ve got some Froot Loops.”
“Thanks, I already ate.” He plowed ahead: “It seems to me whoever killed that woman went to a lot of trouble to frame Earl. You know any reason why anyone would want Earl put away for a long time? Maybe forever?”
Gordo thought for a moment. “You know, any man lives long enough, he’s likely to pick up some enemies.”
“I need more to go on than that.”
“You know much about him and Scat?”
“No.”
“Well, neither do I. But I know they go a long ways back. Twenty, thirty years. And sometimes when they’re talking, I get the definite impression that there’s some history there.”
Ben knew what Gordo meant, but it still wasn’t very helpful. “If there was some serious bad blood between them, why would Earl hire Scat to play in his club?”
Gordo shook his head. “I don’t know, man. People do strange things.”
Gordo the philosopher. “Well, I’ll talk to Denny, too. Maybe he knows something you don’t. Do you know where he lives?”
A goofy grin spread across Gordo’s face. “I know where he lives, man, but I don’t think you wanna go there.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Gordo scribbled an address on a scrap of paper. “I’ll let you find out for yourself.”
Ben took the paper and shoved it into his pocket. “I don’t suppose you know of any grudge Denny might have against Earl.”
“Well, he doesn’t pay us what we’re worth.”
“No one does. I doubt if that qualifies as a motive.”
“Hard for me to imagine, man. Denny is a gentle guy. Very into harmony. Peace. Staying in tune with nature.” Again the grin. “I get the impression you think one of your band buddies is behind this killing.”