He drew his upper body back, as if I’d just spattered something on the bar.
“I can tell you’ve got a point to make,” he said, the friendliness dissipating. “Why don’t you just come right out and make it.”
“Okay. Devon was flirting with you last weekend, and she may have even invited you and Tory up there just so she could try to win you back. I think you went to her room Saturday night.”
He smirked and shook his head.
“Who told you that—Tory?”
“Tory said you were missing in action for over an hour.”
“Yeah, I was missing in action. I was sick of her bony-ass whining.”
“So you went to Devon’s room. Why didn’t you notice how ill she was? Surely you must have seen it.”
“Because I didn’t go to Devon’s room. I hooked up with that little redhead waitress who helped at dinner. She was giving me the eye the whole night.”
“Laura?” I exclaimed, not able to contain my surprise.
“Was that the chick’s name? I didn’t ask. Anyway, I’d overheard her say something to that other woman—the one with the tooth you could carve up a cow with—about staying in the garage apartment rather than driving home. I decided to pay her a little visit.”
“Was it around one fifteen?”
“Yeah, maybe. I don’t keep a log on my sex life.”
My mind raced, reviewing the details Laura had shared with me that night as well as the guilty aura she’d displayed. I’d assumed at the time that she’d felt troubled about having fallen back to sleep after Devon called, but that’s not what was nudging her conscience. She’d promised to bring water to Devon, but when the visiting Rock Star had showed up—probably moments later—she decided to attend to his randy needs instead.
“Did you call Laura’s room later—after you got back to yours?” I still had no clue who had made that second call.
“Call her?” he said, snickering. “You mean, like, Hey, that was special, let’s do it again sometime? I don’t think so. Why all the fascination with some townie? I’ve got better stories to share than that one if you want a little fun.”
“Why my fascination? I’m just a little surprised—I could have sworn things were starting to heat up with you and Devon again,” I said, refocusing. “I heard she’d been pretty upset when you two broke up, and it looked like she was hatching a plan to get back together again.”
“I guess she was bummed. But I wasn’t interested in having a ball and chain wrapped around my dick.”
“You met last February?”
“That’s when we hooked up. But we’d actually met a few months before at some party.” He shrugged. “She told me later that it was like being hit by a thunderbolt when she met me. We got into a serious make-out session, but she was a little coy about going any farther. Then she secretly hatched this big plan to meet again, like, two and a half months later—she got friends to bring her backstage after a concert.”
“Do you think she wanted to restart things last weekend?”
“Like I told you before, Devon was a real mind fucker. Who knows what she was thinking?”
“Did that make you mad?”
“Mad? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, she was kind of toying with you. That couldn’t have been much fun.”
“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough with you. I had plenty of action last weekend.”
“By the way, did you know Devon had a miscarriage around the end of last year?”
He narrowed his eyes, clearly taken aback.
“Well it wasn’t mine. Like I said, we didn’t get down and dirty until February. Besides, I don’t do kids. Can’t stand the little bastards. . . . Look, I thought you wanted to have a nice friendly conversation. You’re starting to sound like a cop or something.”
Suddenly there was the discordant sound of electric guitars being tuned in the back. Tommy craned his neck in that direction.
“I’m sorry if I’m tossing lots of questions at you,” I said, attempting not to lose his interest. “But there’s a reason for it. I think someone might have caused Devon’s death—by aggravating the symptoms of her anorexia.”
That had his attention. He spun back in my direction.
“Is that what the cops are saying?”
“No. It’s just a theory I have. Any ideas?”
“Read my lips,” he said. “I don’t know anything about eating disorders or any shit like that. As far as I’m concerned, I’m never hooking up with another model. I want a chick with some meat on her bones. That redhead didn’t have a clue what to do in the sack, but at least there was something to hold on to.”
“Okay, so you don’t know anything about eating disorders, but Tory might. Do you think she wanted Devon dead? Because Devon was after you again?”
He started to do the shoulder shrug again, but I saw the idea snag in his brain. He took a long swallow of his drink, staring into the glass.
“You’re gonna have to ask Tory that,” he said. “But keep it short so she can understand what you’re saying.”
“I—”
“I gotta get back there. I’d ask you to stay, but you don’t seem like the type who can just chill and listen to music.”
“One more thing,” I said, as he slid off his stool. “Do you know Sherrie Barr?”
“Devon’s old lady? Yeah, I had the unfortunate experience of meeting her once—and I’m really not looking forward to watching her slur her words on Saturday. Look, I really need to get back there.”
He started off and then unexpectedly turned back to me, his gray eyes boring into me. “Be careful getting home,” he said. “It gets a little sketchy down here late at night.”
Oh, thanks, I thought. Mr. Chivalry. I snaked my way through the crowd and stepped outside into the cold night air.
Though the bar had been mobbed, the street outside was deserted and most of the lights in the converted tenement buildings were off now. With no traffic at the moment and none of the usual hip crowd spilling out into the street, it wasn’t hard to imagine the pushcarts and carriages that had once rumbled along here.
What I needed at the moment, though, was a cab, not a pushcart, and I could sense right away that it was going to be tricky to find one. I gave it a minute, though, hoping there might be some canvassing the area even at this hour, but no such luck. Stupidly, thinking I’d be out for only a short time, I hadn’t even bothered to wear gloves, and my fingers would soon be freezing.
Just as I was about to bag the location for another, a gypsy cab pulled up, the kind that patrolled late at night when there was a scarcity of regular taxis. Gypsy cabs were unlicensed car services, but because they fulfilled a need, there was a live-and-let-live attitude toward them. I’d taken them on several occasions when I was desperate, but I didn’t feel that desperate at the moment. The driver made eye contact and raised his chin, as if asking if I needed a ride. I shook my head, stuffed my hands in my pockets, and started to walk, headed north.
The first intersection I passed was Rivington, and there was no sign of a cab there. I walked another block north to Stanton. It was a relief to see a few more people in the area, but they seemed to be looking for cabs too. I had no choice but to head another block north to East Houston. I already had that sinking sense you get when a little voice in your head tells you that at least as far as tonight goes, there’s no way in hell you will find a taxi.
There was a ton of traffic on Houston, but it was all just regular cars barreling along. Ten minutes passed with my hand in the air and me flicking my head left and right, searching futilely with my eyes.