Drawing Dead (49 page)

I’ll join you, said Kelley.

Kelley didn’t smoke. She didn’t drink, either. Or have any other known vices, other than a terminally sardonic edge. But she had a fundamentally altruistic nature—when a small child, she always offered her cookies to the other children before she’d have one herself—and couldn’t abide the notion of poor Peter out there in the heat smoking by himself.

Or maybe it was just a cue.

I was alone with Madeleine. Clearly, she’d been briefed by Kelley and Peter about her dissolute dad. Though what she knew and what she didn’t I had no idea. I probably never would. It’s one of the burdens of fatherhood. But there was one thing, of course, that I didn’t know, and felt that I had to know.

Do you think it might be time to tell me about your mother? I asked.

Madeleine lowered her eyes. Watched her napkin for a while.

You don’t have to tell me now, I said.

No, no. I want to tell you. It’s just that …

I waited.

It’s just that I don’t know any more than you do. Probably less.

I waved at the waiter. Held up two fingers for a double.

Um, I’m not sure I understand, I said.

She died in childbirth. I was put up for adoption.

Madeleine kept her head down.

Oh my God, I said. I’m so sorry.

There’s nothing to be sorry about, she said, raising her face to mine. It wasn’t your fault.

If I’d known—

You didn’t. Everything’s fine. My adoptive parents are wonderful.

They would have to have been. Look at you.

She smiled through the tears. It means a lot to me, she said.

I’m sure they do.

No, not them. I mean, them, too. But I meant this.

This?

To meet you. Warts and all.

Warts and all, I laughed. Mostly warts.

No, she said.

That was all I needed.

It was nice to have someone around who was invested in me being less than all warts.

Kelley and Peter returned, with a saunter and a flounce, respectively. Distributed knowing looks all around.

I’d been the victim of another piece of theater.

But this one was nonfiction.

Thank you, I said. Thank all of you.

Oh shut up, said Kelley.

Get a grip, said Peter. Tell us about your big case. We’re dying to know.

Which one? I asked.

There’s more than one?

Oh Jesus, I thought. I hadn’t told them about Brendan. Well. I had to now. It would be all right. Kelley and Peter hadn’t known him well. It wouldn’t hit them so hard.

I told them the story.

Jesus, said Peter.

Oh, Daddy, said Kelley. I’m so sorry.

There wasn’t anything I could have done, I lied. I think it was kind of, I don’t know, predestined.

I feel bad, said Peter.

Why should you feel bad?

I just brushed off those things you were telling me. Maybe if I hadn’t—

Oh, cut it out, guys, I said. We don’t even know what happened yet. He could have had a heart attack.

Um, yeah … said Peter. But listen, tell us everything about it. Maybe we’ll have an idea!

I told them as much as I dared.

Oh, said Peter.

Yes?

Well, that place you’re going to check out?

Yes?

See if there’s a back room. A hidden room.

More hidden rooms.

Why? I asked.

Um, I know you’re a sensitive guy, Dad, he said.

Oh, shut up.

So I’ll spare you all the details. But there’s a certain kind of crowd—I mean, I’m not part of that crowd, don’t get me wrong, but you hear things, you know.

Yes, I think I know.

And, Dad?

What?

Can I come along?

Not a chance, Peter.

Aw, come on. Adventure. Excitement. Tight asses in tight pants.

I’m not going to put my surrogate son in the line of fire, Peter.

The line of fire. That’s so … sexy.

Oh, for God’s sake.

Well, if I can’t go, you have to make sure to follow my advice. Look for a back room. All will be revealed.

Peter’s flight of fancy actually wasn’t implausible. These places were like warrens. And there was the red door …

All right, I said. I’ll make sure we cover that angle.

I could think of a joke, said Peter.

Please don’t.

B
UTCH CALLED
. I took the phone into the bathroom. Sat on the toilet. I didn’t tell him that.

I got some stuff, he said.

Shoot.

No. Meet me at Skully’s.

I’m on my way.

I liked Skully’s. The bartender was this Mexican kid, short and pudgy with a heavy accent and a stringy mustache. One of those ridiculously friendly guys. Soon as he found out you were from New York, he started up the chitchat about the Knicks and Giants. Of course, if you were from San Diego, he was all of a sudden a Chargers fan. You knew he was trying too hard, but you liked him anyway. He always bought you a drink. You’d always tip him extravagantly. See you again, you’d say when you left. And you knew that somehow you would.

Butch wasn’t there yet. I tried not to speculate about his stuff. Could be news. Could be he’d run into a sale on vintage Italian ties. I thought about the Brendan thing. The Eloise thing.

I tried to approach them like poker hands. They were, after all, problems of incomplete information. Just like any poker hand. If you could see your opponents’ cards, poker would simply be a mathematical exercise. Compute the probability of winning; compare to the ratio of the bet to the pot. Conclude. No fun at all. At least, not for those of us aspiring to a higher rank than Lance Corporal in the I-am-a-Nerd Army.

In any case, it didn’t do me a bit of good. I was as confused as ever.

Butch arrived. He wasn’t looking happy. He took a stool.

What’s up? I said.

He rubbed his temples with his hands.

He turned to me.

Brendan, he said.

I waited.

Inconclusive.

What the …?

The autopsy was inconclusive.

Jesus Christ. What the hell does that mean?

It means he didn’t die of a gunshot wound. Strangulation. Overdose. Shock. Distemper. Bovine encephalitic fever. What the fuck do you think it means?

Is there such a thing as bovine encephalitic fever?

I don’t fucking know.

Okay. So.

So we gotta go back to that club. Figure out what you missed.

That would be the idea. And thanks.

Anytime.

I see you got your costume on.

Yup, he said, holding out his feet to show off the shiny boots. You? Where’s the hat?

You can count on me, I said, reaching behind my chair and placing the magical sunshade on my head. You got Pandora?

Damn right I do.

Good. We might need her.

You got yours?

Yup .

We slagged down a couple more doubles. Improved the coordination. We flagged down a cab. It smelled of burnt bacon, and anticipation.

We wound down the wrought iron stairs. The mammoth black-clad silver-toothed nonentity at the bottom took one look at Butch, stepped immediately in front of him.

You got a problem? Butch said.

You can’t come in here.

Why the fuck not?

You know why not.

Butch paused at that. I had no idea what the guy was talking about. I was not sure Butch did either. Had the guy pegged Butch as a cop, that easily? It wasn’t because he was black. I’d seen lots of black guys in these clubs. And women. And every composite in between.

Butch stood up to his full height. I was mildly surprised to note that he was only an inch or so shorter than His Vastness.

Get the fuck out of my way, he said.

His Vastness stared him down. Butch reached into his jacket. Paused.

His Vastness got the message. Stepped aside. Opened the door.

Right this way, gentlemen, he said.

As we walked in, I could see him talking into his neck. Warning the troops, no doubt. That was all right. We were ready for them.

We each paid our fifty bucks. Negotiated the black corridors quickly, to the second door. I remembered the way.

I guess I had some rat in me after all. Or fish. Whatever.

We pressed the anus in the door. The door opened an inch. A sallow face peered out. Butch kicked the door open. The owner of the face pitched backwards onto the floor with a convincing squeak.

Sorry, said Butch, not nearly as convincing.

I went straight to the bar, Butch trailing.

Hector was there. In all her … glory wasn’t quite the right word.

Hey, I said. Is Delgado here? Andy?

Sure, she said. Back room.

The back room. Check.

Don’t you want to stay with me for a drink or two? she asked with a charming pout.

We’ll take a couple of doubles to go, I said.

She raised her eyebrows at me, at Butch.

My friend, I said. Butch.

Well, hell-o, Butch, she said, deftly pouring the drinks.

Hi, he said, in a fuck-you tone.

That only seemed to inflame Hector’s interest.

Oh, Butch, she said. You do seem so very … manly.

Let’s go, Rick, Butch said.

We stood up.

We’ll see you later, I said to Hector.

Well, I dooo hope so, she said.

We headed for the back room. Or at least the back room that I knew about.

There was a confab going on. A bunch of folks on mushroom chairs around a small round table, talking earnestly.

I recognized Delgado, or Andy. Whatever the fuck his name was. Lola. Randy, the usher from the first time I’d been there. And …

Bruno.

What the fuck? I said.

What the double fuck, said Butch.

I was momentarily paralyzed. Circuits overloaded.

Butch strode right up. Stood over the group.

I followed. I didn’t want to. I thought about the distance to traverse, back through the silver halls, the vast middle room, the door, the dark snaking corridor, His Vastness at the gate, the spiraling staircase. If we couldn’t handle whatever was about to come down, we were seriously fucked.

But it was too late. They were looking up at Butch, with various airs of bemusement. Bruno had spotted me. The mammoth Bruno Grin was spreading across his pompous face.

I had to put on a good show.

I calmly adjusted the cowboy hat on my head. Tilted it slightly forward. Pondered the presence of the Mauser under my left armpit. Ah, yes. The Great Equalizer. So long as someone wasn’t packing a Greater one.

The tableau was set. Butch standing, big and menacing. The locals sitting, somewhat cowed, a little bit curious. Bruno smirking.

Bruno, I said. The fuck are you doing here?

The fuck are you doing here? he echoed.

Looking for some information. You got some?

I got some.

Yeah?

Yeah, he said. You’re a fuckin’ loser. And you still owe me one.

I nodded my head. Pursed my lips. The pace of the conversation was allowing me time to formulate exactly the right response. A rare luxury.

I felt the Mauser under my arm. The power. The jam. The I’ll-Say-Whatever-the-Fuck-I-Want.

I scoped the situation. I wasn’t stupid. I was just drunk. Shit was falling into place. If nothing else, Bruno knew a lot of shit. Shit that was going to illuminate a lot of other shit. It was like a shit problem. I mean a chess problem. You saw an idea. It wasn’t the right idea. You figured that out easily enough. But your brain kept coming back to it. There was something there. You saw another idea. Rook here, knight there. There was something to it. Back to the other idea. Queen here, check. He has only two squares. Unfortunately, they seem to be enough. King here, King there. As long as he has one or the other, the King escapes. But if you took the first idea, combined it with the second idea, reversed the move order, interpolated a bishop move … there it fucking was.

You got it.

You loved yourself.

Bruno, I said. You’re here, with these particular lowlifes …

I gave the lowlifes a quick smile, let them know I meant no disrespect.

We’ll take it as a compliment, said Andy. Long as you remember we’re high-minded lowlifes.

Noted, I said. So listen, Bruno, you’re here with these high-minded lowlifes. Which tells me, call me paranoid, you’re involved in some of the shit they’ve been involved in. Shit I happen to have a particular interest in. So …

You’re gonna make me tell you.

He turned to Andy and company with the big smile. They smiled back. A touch nervously.

Butch had his hand under his jacket. I shook my head. We weren’t there yet.

No, I’m not going to make you do anything, Bruno. I couldn’t if I wanted to. I’m going to ask you.

Ask me.

I just did.

He laughed. It was a laughing-in-my-face kind of laugh.

I can make trouble for you, Bruno.

Oh, Ricky, he said. Scare me some more.

You’re not the only one that knows shit. And we’re in with the cops here. You know who Butch is, don’t you?

Bruno looked at Butch. Yeah, he said. He’s the cockroach I stepped on the other night.

Butch stepped forward, hand going for Pandora again.

I put a hand on his arm. I had to apply a lot of pressure.

Easy, man, I muttered at him. Let’s see where this goes.

Butch relented. But I knew it was only for a moment. If the persuasion mode didn’t pan out, he was going for the iron solution.

He’s a cockroach who happens to be a cop, I said. Who’s in with the locals. Who might be real interested in some of the shit you’ve been dealing around here.

It was a bluff, of course. I had no idea what shit Bruno was into. I was reasonably sure, on the other hand, that he was into some kind of shit. Wouldn’t be natural if he wasn’t.

Bruno snorted. Narrowed his eyes. Looked at Butch. Looked at me.

You don’t know shit, he said.

Calling my bluff.

This called for some table chatter. I waded deeper into the bullshit zone.

Bruno, I said. You want to be smart about this. You know some shit. I know it, and you know I know it. So we can get it out of you. Me and Butch here. Maybe you got friends. Maybe we got more important friends.