“You two okay?” he asked breathlessly.
I threw my arms around him.
“Yeah, and damn am I glad to see you,” I said, bear-hugging him. “Where the hell did you come
from?”
“When we left the place there was a joker standing up the street under a light,” Stick answered. “So
we stopped at the edge of the park for a couple of minutes, just in case.”
“So that‟s what that was all about,” Lark pouted as she brought up the rear. “I thought it was love.”
Stick gave her that crazy look of his. “It was both, darlin‟,” he said. “I doubled up.”
“Whatever that means,” she said.
“It means we‟re still alive,” I said, “for which we‟ll be eternally grateful.”
“Just part of our twenty-four-hour service,” he said gleefully. “Keeps us on our toes.”
I helped DeeDee off the platform and she sighed and fell up against me. I could feel her heart
thumping against my chest.
“C‟mon, we‟ll follow you pal,” Stick said, pulling roe up the alley by the arm. “Dutch is right. You‟re
dangerous when you‟re out alone.”
52
DEEDEE
At DeeDee‟s suggestion, she and I went back to her place. It was ten minutes away, in the restored
section of town not far from where Della Norman and Tony Logeto had died a few days ago.
On the way she asked, “Shouldn‟t we report this to somebody?”
“I‟m one of the somebody‟s you report it to,” 1 said. “Besides, the car‟s probably registered to some
nonentity. By now they‟ve either dumped it in the river or dropped it at some body shop. We‟ll never
see it again.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about these things.”
“It‟s what I do.”
“I thought you just did investigative work.”
“Sometimes it upsets people.”
“Upsets people” she cried. “Is that what you call it?”
The house was tucked among shaggy oaks, a two-hundred-year-old Revolutionary house that had
been meticulously restored, as had the others on the street. It was like stepping into the eighteenth
century. The inside was just as authentic. It was a museum piece, filled with bric-a-brac, old etchings
and maps, and antique furniture that was as authentic as it was uncomfortable. There wasn‟t a cushion
iii the living room.
“This was my inheritance,” she said. “Dad didn‟t have much, but he bought this house for a song
when it was a falling-down wreck. He and Tony did most of the restoration work themselves. It took
them years.”
“Does Tony live here with you?”
“Sometimes,” she said vaguely. We made small talk for ten or fifteen minutes, trying to talk past the
awkwardness of the situation. Finally I got Lark‟s phone number and she went off to make coffee.
Lark answered the phone after eight or nine rings. Her voice was still sultry, but not quite as pleasant
as earlier in the evening.
“Hello?” she said tentatively.
“I‟m sorry to bother you,” I said. “DeeDee gave me your number. I need to talk to the Stick. It‟s very
important.”
“Who?”
“Mickey.”
“You could have waited just about two minutes more, you know,” she said, “just two little minutes.”
“This‟ll take about thirty seconds.”
“Trash. The spell is broken.”
A moment later Stick‟s whiskey tenor rasped its hello.
“Sorry to bother you,” I said, “but there‟s something I didn‟t tell you back there.”
“Yeah?” His interest was lukewarm.
“I got a good look at the shooter in the car. It was Turk Nance.”
“Is that supposed to be a surprise?” he replied.
“Just thought you‟d like to know,” I said.
“Breakfast,” he said. “I‟ll meet you at the hotel at nine. We‟ll grab some groceries and go hunting.”
“You sound out of breath. Have you been jogging?”
“Fuck off, Kilmer.”
Click.
DeeDee returned with the coffee. We sat on matching high-back deacon‟s benches, facing each other
across a rock maple serving table.
“Okay,” I said. “Where were we?”
She stirred cream into her coffee and tasted it before she answered my question.
“I haven‟t seen or heard from Tony since Saturday. It‟s really uncommon for him to go more than a
day or two without a call.”
“Maybe he‟s out of town,” I suggested.
“He said he‟d be back Sunday night or early Monday.”
“That‟s only a couple of days.”
“I have this dreadful feeling something‟s wrong,” she said, then after a moment of thought, added,
“Maybe I should start from the beginning.”
“That would help.”
“Tony‟s been in trouble before.”
“Oh?”
“Three years ago. He and this friend of his, who‟s a shrimper, were caught smuggling marijuana.”
“How much?”
“A lot. Two or three hundred pounds.”
“That‟s a lot.”
“He was sentenced to two to five years. It could have been worse, but it was his first offense.”
“How much time did he do?”
“Almost a year.”
“Has he been clean since then?”
“Clean?”
“Out of trouble?”
She nodded.
“Why did he do it? I mean, was there anything other than the money?”
She toyed with her coffee, thinking about the question.
“He wanted something he couldn‟t afford,” she said finally. “All the money in the world couldn‟t buy
it.”
“Doe Findley?”
“Raines.”
“Right, Raines.”
“So you know about that?”
“That‟s all I know.”
“It was the same with Tony and Doe as it was with you and me, except you never gave me a second
look. I was always the caretaker‟s ugly little kid.”
“You don‟t know that,” I said. “I happen to be a one-woman man.”
“Still?” It was a gentle pass and I passed it gently.
“Still.”
“That was my ego talking. Anyway, I think Tony‟s been in love with Doe since the first time he ever
saw her. I don‟t blame her for what happened. Harry Raines was busy running around the state
politicking for the gambling laws. She was lonely and Tony was always around. It just happened.”
“So he decided to make a quick killing and take her away from all that?”
“No, it was over before he got in trouble. But in his mind, I think Tony feels if he has a decent car and
money in the bank. . . oh, I don‟t know. Maybe he was just rebelling against the whole system, getting
even for things he never had. He never really talked about it. When he went to prison, all he said was
that he was glad Dad died before it happened.”
“And you think he‟s mixed up in dope again?”
“That‟s what I‟m afraid of. He left Saturday morning. We went to dinner Friday night and he told me
he had this job to do, that it was absolutely safe. „Not to worry,‟ he told me, „I‟ll be back for Sunday
brunch.‟ I haven‟t heard from him since.”
“He didn‟t say what the job was?”
She shook her head. “Things have been rough for him this past year. I offered to help, but he turned
me down. I think he was desperate.”
“Did he say anything about narcotics?”
“All he said was „After this, we‟ll be as good as the rest of them.‟ He wouldn‟t say any more.”
“Did he drive when he left?”
She nodded. “A white Mustang. I think it‟s a „79. But it looks brand-new.”
“How about the license?”
“I‟ll get it for you.”
She got up and rooted through a large mahogany desk, leafing through papers until she found a
duplicate of the car registration. She handed it to me, along with a photograph from her wallet. It was