He took a different approach this time. No hurt feelings and anger again. Oh, no, this time he was going to evade any serious discussion by throwing a sweaty arm around my shoulder and saying, ‘Dev, we’re buddies. Look at all the ups and downs we’ve been through together. I was coming apart yesterday and I apologize for that. I’m sure I scared the shit out of you.’ The arm came down. ‘I’m ready for the battle now. Let’s go have some of Mrs Weiderman’s great coffee and talk about what we do next.’
‘In other words, you’re not going to tell me what you’re hiding.’
He was pretty damned good, I’ll give him that. Following a whoop of a laugh, he said, ‘That’s the Dev I love. One incorrigible sonofabitch!’ Smiling as he said it.
I had not learned one thing.
Fifteen
The call came on my cell as I was nearing the city limits. When I heard the first ring I knew who it would be. Don’t know how. I just knew.
‘Mr Conrad?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m calling from a pay phone so don’t try and have this traced. It won’t do you any good.’
‘I appreciate the information.’
‘I’m Howard Ruskin’s girlfriend. My name is Sarah Potter. I have some information for you.’
‘Information is always good.’
‘But I’m pretty scared and so is Howard.’
The bellman who’d described her had said that she looked like a hippie. I kept trying to picture her.
‘All right, Sarah.’
‘This is very delicate, what we have to do.’
‘Will Ruskin be joining us?’
‘Not this time, I’m afraid.’
‘Later?’
‘That depends on how this works out. You and I.’
‘So where do you and I meet?’
‘There’s a neighborhood bar named “Rick’s” at 3654 Fulmer Avenue. I’ll be watching you from my car at eight thirty.’ Then, ‘I mean, would that be OK?’
The last line reminded me of my daughter when she’d been ten or so. She’d come over and stand in front of me and make a very adult presentation of what she wanted to do, and then she’d break my heart with, ‘But I don’t want you to be mad or anything.’
I liked this Sarah Potter a whole hell of a lot.
‘That’ll be just fine, Sarah. I’m easy to talk to and easy to deal with.’
The way she exhaled I could tell how tightly wound she was.
‘Oh, God, that sounds so good. I looked you up on YouTube and saw a couple of your interviews. You have very kind eyes. So I was hoping you’d at least listen to me.’
‘It’ll be my pleasure, Sarah.’
Rick’s was three blocks east of a large shopping center. It was painted a dark green with an outsize electrical sign on its roof and another one on its northern side. Both depicted the glowing golden profiles of a man and woman about to kiss. I’m sure somewhere there was a full-size version where they were making electrical love.
Since part of my business is working with both demographics and psychographics, I judged the customer base to be white, thirty to fifty, blue collar. There was a big screen that showed some sporting event — when all else failed there was always the Peruvian marble championship — but Rick or whoever had the grace to keep it low so the customers could shout at each other over the jukebox that played pickup truck music with a vengeance.
I ordered Bud in a bottle and a glass.
When she came in a few of the men along the bar gave her a quick glance then went back to their conversations or the TV set. She was entombed in this heavy, black, winter long coat — ready for a Russian winter — leaving her sweet, small, homely face seeming very small indeed. It was all wrapped up in a blue headscarf. She moved quickly toward me, the blue eyes frightened and fixed on me as if I was the star guiding her through a room full of monsters.
She slid into the booth, leaned toward me and said, ‘I might have been followed.’ Not till then did I realize she was out of breath.
‘Who’d be following you?’
‘That’s just it. I can’t be sure and neither can Howard.’
‘Most people call him “Howie.”’
‘He’s sick of that name. He said it makes him sound like a little boy.’
‘Would you like something to drink?’
‘No, thanks.’
The bartender was watching me. Waiting for an order. I shook my head.
She took her scarf off and let her scruffy blonde hair fall free. She was a tiny thing, a miniature. But the wrinkles spoke of long and troubled years.
‘I know you probably hate Howard, Mr Conrad. I wouldn’t blame you, either.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say that I like him a lot.’
She had a tiny laugh that seemed to touch her eyes more than her lips. ‘You’re being kind.’ Then, ‘He needs your help.’
‘Now that’s a surprise. A hell of a surprise.’
She glanced around as if half-a-dozen men in fedoras had suddenly appeared. ‘He said he can’t trust anybody in his party because it’s changed so much. The people he used to work with are out of favor. The new people scare him. They’re so far right they’re off the charts.’
Howard ‘Howie’ Ruskin afraid of his own people. Too good to be true. This could all be some kind of elaborate scam but I needed to follow wherever it led.
‘Why me?’
‘He said he’s been aware of you for years. He says you’re dirty but not dirty enough to be really bad. And that makes you clean enough for him to talk to.’
My laugh was loud enough to win the bartender’s attention. ‘I guess there’s a compliment in there somewhere.’
‘Well, if you knew Howard you’d know he talks like that all the time. So convoluted.’
‘What’s he afraid of?’
I’d flipped a switch. The playfulness of our conversation ended then and there. She pushed her little face toward me and said, ‘I have no idea. But if he’s this afraid — and I’ve never seen him this scared before — then I’m afraid, too, because whoever’s after him will be after me as well. They’ll think that I know something.’
‘And you don’t?’
She sat back. ‘Oh, I know lots of things Howard has done. Fairly recent things. He usually tells me that so-and-so has hired him to do such-and-such. He did some dirty tricks for a few politicians during this past primary season and made a lot of money. But this thing, he’d never talk about it; not from the start and not now. That’s why I’m so worried. He likes to brag about how well he’s doing and most of the time it’s fun to listen to. But it’s only about the usual stuff. The really important stuff he keeps secret from everybody, including me.’
‘When did you get into town?’
‘Three nights ago.’
‘Were you with him yesterday?’
‘In the morning.’
‘When was the next time you saw him?’
‘Just after midnight last night. I knew something was wrong right away.’
‘How?’
‘He seemed upset.’
‘Did you ask him about it?’
‘I always ask him but it rarely does any good. He wouldn’t tell me, of course. After all we’ve been through together. I’m planning to marry him. We’ve talked about it many times. And then he treats me like this. Something bad happened and he won’t tell me what it was.’
Perhaps even for Howard ‘Howie’ Ruskin, killing somebody was too much of a burden. Maybe he was coming apart.
‘What does he want to talk to me about?’