Jim and Raymond sat on either side of him. Mackie exchanged pleasantries with the bartender, Jangle, a thin, sun-darkened man with skin like jerky. Against all odds, he wore a bow tie. Jangle set up Mackie with a shot of Wild Turkey and a Bud. Jim and Ray got coffee. Eggs and bacon were on their way.
“Tell us about Monday night again,” said Raymond. “Don’t make anything up. Don’t leave anything out.” He produced a pen and a small notebook from his coat pocket.
Mackie looked appraisingly at Jim, then at Ray. “Monday night,” he said, “was a night like many others.”
Stretching out the drink ticket, thought Jim: This might be a long breakfast. But Raymond always had a way with drunks.
Ray leaned into Ruffs face with an earnest expression. “Hey, Mackie? Cut the shit. You don’t talk sense, you don’t drink. Got it?”
“And, in some ways it was quite different.”
“Ante up, Ruff. You either saw a cop car or you didn’t.”
Ruff glugged down some beer, then lifted the shot glass to his mouth with a trembling hand. Down went the booze. “It was hard to see because of the fog. I was sleeping and I heard the girl scream. Who was this girl, anyway? What’s the big deal?”
Jim explained that the woman was his sister, Ray’s wife, Poon’s daughter.
Mackie seemed first bewildered, then fixed. “The one that used to read a book while she roller-skated?”
Jim nodded.
“I’m sorry. How’s Poon taking it?”
“He’s handling it in his own quiet way.”
“What did you say he was doing these days?”
Jim sighed. “He’s in real estate. Has been for ten years.”
Ruff nodded, then reissued the same story he’d told Innelman.
“How’d you know he was a cop?” asked Ray.
“Because he got into a cop car and drove away. You guys don’t rent those things out, do you?”
“No, we don’t, Mackie,” said Ray. “That’s a stupid question for you to ask. Now, you followed him to the car?”
“Not exactly. I listened after he ran by and heard the engine start up. So I walked up toward the road and saw the car.”
“What did it look like?”
“You ought to know, you drive ’em.”
“Describe the car, Mackie.”
“White with a big dark sticker on the side, and a bunch of lights on top. You guys got to admit, a cop car is a cop car.”
“Could you see the... sticker?”
“I just told you I did.”
“What did it say?”
“Beats me. It was foggy.” Mackie drank deeply and shook his head. “That little Ann was a cutie.” For a moment, a look of deep loss etched itself into Ruff’s face. He shook his head again and looked down, as if contemplating a huge regret.
And with that movement, Jim guessed that Ruff knew something he wasn’t telling. Raymond caught it, too, looking over Mackie’s shoulder to behold Jim with a wide, open expression.
“Mackie,” said Jim. “If you couldn’t read it, how’d you know it said Newport Beach?”
Ruff’s faced reddened and his eyes went narrow. “I never said what it said. You guys said I said what it said. It was a cop car. It coulda been a Detroit cop car, for all I know. I’ve seen Sheriff cars down there, I’ve seen PacifiCo security cars down there, I’ve seen Highway Patrol cars down there. Take your pick.”
“Was it a black and white or just white?”
“Just white.”
Raymond pushed Ruff’s beer closer to him. “Mackie, when you saw the guy run, what color was the uniform? This can really help us.”
Ruff looked at Weir with an expression of complete annoyance. He sighed into his beer, drained it, and ordered another. He pushed the empty shot glass up behind the beer bottle as an afterthought. “What is it with you guys? Don’t you listen? I didn’t talk about any uniform because I didn’t see any uniform. The guy was wearing regular clothes, some jacket that flew up while he ran and a pair of plain old pants. Hope they fit better than these damned things,” he said, looking down at his filthy trousers.
How had Innelman missed this? Jim thought. He caught Raymond’s glance behind Ruff’s shoulder again, then put the photograph of Horton Goins on the bar. Mackie picked it up, shook his head, and put it down. “I couldn’t see that good. Pants and a coat. Coulda been a chick, for all I know.”
“Is that what you told Innelman?”
“I didn’t tell him nothin’. Didn’t like his attitude.”
Raymond smiled at Ruff and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re doing great, Mackie. I’m proud of you.”
Mackie turned to Weir, and for a moment another look of great sadness came to his face. “Annie,” he said. “Little Annie Weir.”
Jangle brought the breakfast. Ruff finished his in two minutes, then ordered a bag of peanuts, two pickled eggs, a candy bar, three packs of smokes, and another beer.
“Feel like I’m on a game show,” he said.
“You think this is a game,” said Ray, “I’m going to kick your stinking ass all the way back to jail.”
Mackie looked at Jim with an expression of appeal. Jim shrugged. “The woman who died down there, Ray loved her a lot. He’s got a short fuse these days.”
Ruff’s mouth hung open as he turned to Raymond. “Sorry, Lieutenant.”
“Don’t be sorry. Be helpful.”
Mackie was nodding. He wiped his face rather formally with the napkin, tossed it onto his plate, then unscrewed himself from the stool and stood. “If you guys could give me a ride home, I think I got something to help.”
“I think you do, too,” said Ray.
Ruff’s “home” was a precarious collection of cardboard and scrap wood that was tucked into the far recess beneath the Coast Highway Bridge. Cars thundered by, a few feet overhead. The earth was damp and oily and packed, and the “walls” slouched at perilous angles, held in place by old tires, rocks, a five-gallon canister full of dirt, and the remains of a shopping cart. A collection of fishing rods leaned against the cement pylon of the bridge, no doubt scavenged by Mackie from forgetful fishermen on the bay. Ditto a red fuel tank, a diver’s mask and snorkel, a pair of good thermoses, and assorted bathing and wet suits.
Jim squatted on his haunches in front of Ruff. Raymond leaned against a pylon. Each passing car on Coast Highway sent a taut vibration into the ground, up the heels of Jim’s boots, straight into his ears. From this shaded lair, the bay looked glaringly bright. The bridge cast a thick angular shadow against the embankment, which seemed to divide Ruff’s dark world from the one just beyond it in the light. Weir watched Mackie lower himself into a reclaimed beach chair whose bottom was ready to tear out.
Ruff pursed his lips. “I got a legal question for you. Suppose a man knew something he didn’t tell the cops at first? How long in jail?”
“That depends on what it is, and how long he waits, and why.”
“I didn’t say it was me. I said ‘suppose.’ ”
“I didn’t say it was you, either,” said Weir. “But, just say for instance it was you, nobody would get too alarmed. You’re the kind of guy who’s been around the Bay a long time. You know everybody. You’re a solid citizen. When a guy like you offers something, everybody’s happy.”
Two Newport uniforms appeared above them, gazing over the bridge railing. They climbed over and slid down the embankment, straight into Mackie’s living room. It was only then that they recognized Raymond. “Checking out a complaint,” said the older one, Oswitz.