Paloma: A Laurent & Dove Mystery (24 page)

Driving now to the donut shop, Max rolled down his window and pumped up the volume of a Percy Sledge classic
.
Barreling down the 190
amid the soulful refrain of
When a man loves a woman,
he inhaled the blue sky and sequined river. Life was grand. 

Continuing on, he exited the highway and wove through the narrow streets on Buffalo’s west side. The neighborhood was rocking. Kids were shooting hoops. Women walked with groceries. Salsa music blared from chop-shopped Toyotas low to the ground, in psychedelic colors and gleaming chrome. Life teemed around him. And for the first time in a long time Max felt part of something.  

Pulling into a spot, Max glanced at the donut shop. Marie Catoni sat in the window, restrained in her wheelchair. Max shook his head.  Calling Adult Services would be an option, but maybe the Catoni’s private hell was worse than an institutional one. Smiling, Max turned off the ignition. God, he loved putting the screws to these guys. He got out of the car and crossed the street. 

Parked in front, between two
No Parking
signs, was a ten-year-old El Dorado, baby blue. Max cupped his eyes and glanced through the passenger window. Sunglasses and a newspaper folded open to the racing results sat on the front seat. Joey was in. 

He entered the donut shop. The girl from two days earlier sat at a table playing solitaire, cracking gum, looking bored. Tony was at the register. The moment he saw Max, he looked away. 

Max felt a smirk coming on. “Wat up bro?”

Tony yelled over to the girl. “Watch the register, will ya. I got to run out.”  

“Relax,” Max said. “I’m here to see Joey.”

Tony walked to the rear of the place.

Max followed. “Slow down bro.”

Before going into the kitchen, Tony stalled. “Joey ain’t here. Order whatever you want, then get the hell out.” He then barreled through the swinging door. 

Max remained in pursuit. “Really? Car’s out front.”

Tony turned on the tap and filled the sink with a cup of soap. Someone was getting nervous. 

“Thought you were headed out,” Max said.

“Screw  you.”

“Do you want to call him down or should I go up?”

“I said he ain’t here.”

“I need five seconds with him. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Tony threw some dirty bowls into the water.

“When are you going to learn that covering for that shit brother is taking years off your life. Here you are stuck with the business, working like a dog and for what?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He’s doing drugs again. You know that, right?”

No response.

“And gambling of course. I only hope he’s not doing the books for this place.”

Tony faced Max. “What you saying?”

Finally, the cretin’s attention was snagged. “What I’m saying is that drugs and gambling don’t mix with business, and if you’re not careful you’ll lose everything. And for what? Haven’t you and your mother suffered enough because of him?”

Without answering, Tony reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell. He punched the keys then handed the phone to Max. “Keep me out of this,” he said.

The phone rang four times. A tired sounding voice answered. “Yeah?”

“Laurent here. I need to speak with you.”

What sounded like a stifled yawn followed. Joey then said, “Laurent, I heard you were looking for me. Unfortunately, I’m a little indisposed at the time, but if you –”

“I’m downstairs. I’ll wait two minutes. If you don’t show, I’m talking to Fenton. Your call.”

“Playing hardball? That’s funny.” The line clicked, disconnected.

Max handed the phone back to Tony. “I’ll wait for him out front.”

“Wait,” Tony called out. “What kind of drugs is he doing?”

“Cocaine.”

Tony’s face drained of color. For a moment Max almost felt sorry for him. Sometimes blood was a life sentence. “Just so you know, if he doesn’t come down I’m making a phone call.” Without waiting for a response, Max pushed through the door and took a seat at the counter.  

The young woman came over. “What can I get you?”

“Cup of coffee.”

The girl was attractive and made the best of what God gave her. Tight jeans and T-shirt showed it. There was plenty to hang on to. Women were beautiful creatures.

She placed the coffee in front of him. “Anything else?”

“No thanks.” She had pretty brown eyes. “Have you worked here long?”

“About two months.”

“Like it?”

“It’s okay.”

“Do you see much of Joey?”

“Tony’s brother. Hell, no. If I did, I’d quit.”

“Why’s that?”

“Guy’s creepy.”

Max sipped his coffee. The girl looked past him over to Marie. “Stop groaning, I’ll be right there.” Max realized Mrs. Catoni had been moaning since he sat down. The old woman must have remembered who he was.  

Without warning the rear swinging door sprang open and slammed against the wall. Max twisted around. 

Joey, shirtless, entered from the back. He hadn’t changed much except for a droopy eyelid that he’d gotten after a brawl in prison. He still retained his thin physique, now covered in tattoos. Dark hair hung over his ears, curled onto his neck. Joey, the ex-cop, had been Marie’s youngest, a spoiled rotten kid who, with his swagger and snakelike charm, could do no wrong. But what everyone noticed, had trouble forgetting were his piercing blue eyes, almost too pale to be believed, ice cold.

“Get me a cup of coffee,” he said to the girl as he rubbed his chest.

The girl fumbled with a cup and saucer.

He put his hand into the pocket of his low-slung jeans, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighter, then straddled a stool two seats away. “What ya want?”

“How you been?”

He put his finger in his ear, did a few digs, then flicked out some wax. “Good, working, staying out of trouble.”

“Right. So tell me something.”

Another yawn. “What’s that?”

“Seen Agnes recently?”

He lit a cigarette. “López?”

“Right.”

“Hell no.”  

“Someone’s been bothering her.”

He exhaled. “Doesn’t surprise me. Man, she was one good lay for a cripple. Still got that tight ass?”

Max stiffened.

Joey took another drag and smirked. “Hey, now I remember. You always had the hots for her. I saw the two of you in court, making goo goo eyes. Man, I wanted to tell you then. The girl was skank. But well we weren’t on speaking terms.” His eyes followed the waitress’s body. “Minga, still nothing like a little Rican pussy.” He bit his lower lip. “But you already know that.”

Max wanted to lunge for the guy’s throat. Stay calm. “Just so you know, anything happens to her and you’re doing life.”

“What are you saying? Someone’s after her sorry ass? That’s a waste man. That girl could perform, ya know what I’m saying?”

Max stood and left a five spot on the table. “Remember, she slips on a banana peel and you’re back to being a boy toy.”

He blew smoke in Max’s direction. “Whatever.”     

Max smiled. “So keep those knee pads handy.”

“Screw you.”

“Whatever,” Max echoed and walked out.

The outside was a welcomed relief. Joey was smart going for Max’s Achilles heel. But it didn’t work, never would. In any event, Max got the information he needed – if Joey were behind this he’d want Agnes to suffer. A shooting would be too short and sweet. With Joey out of the picture, he was back thinking about Paloma. Finding a man in a straw hat in New York City would be tough, but not impossible. On the other hand if he could catch a break in Chicago with the white car, narrowing down the field would be easier. No matter what, as long as Paloma stayed put, they could buy some time and do things right.

Max’s next stop was to the lounge at the
Villa Cannes
where Lola sat at the window reading the newspaper.

“How’s my girl?” he said pulling up a chair.

She put the paper down. “Max, I’ve been thinking about you. How’d it go?”

“Terrific, thanks to you.”

“Really?” She clapped her hands together. “Tell me every detail. Enquiring minds want to know.”
   

Max scratched his head, not sure where to start. “We talked.”

“Talking’s good, and…”

“We had dinner.”

“Candlelight, I assume.”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Max, you’re a heartbreaker.”

“Hardly.”

“Anything else?”

Max wasn’t sure how much to tell Lola. What had happened between him and Paloma was private. Still, he needed some advice.

“When a woman’s the aggressor, what does that mean?”

Her eyebrows rose. “You mean sexually?”

He nodded. “Is that a good sign?”

“I should think so.”

“But it’s strange isn’t it?”

“How so?”

“It’s as if women are becoming more like men. You know, casual about sex.”

“Like everything, I suppose it depends on the person.” 

“Take this situation for instance.”

She smiled and leaned forward. “Go on.”

“I’m feeling a certain way, but I’m not sure how she feels. I’m sort of getting mixed messages.” 

“Mixed messages, like what?” 

“Aloof one minute, then not so aloof the next.”

“Max that shouldn’t surprise you. You’ve just become reacquainted.”

“Yeah, but my feelings are so clear to me.” 

“Sometimes it takes awhile for relationships to fall in sync. Take it slow. Get to know each other.” 

“So I shouldn’t get the ring just yet.”

“That may be a bit scary.”

“Scary? Why?”

“Spontaneous combustion burns fast and quick. You need to let things smolder.”

“Like you and Ari?”

Her eyes twinkled. “Actually, both of you do sound like me and Ari. That’s why I’m giving you the opposite advice.”

Max laughed. “Lola, you’re one in a million.”

“Max, we’re two in a million.”

Before leaving, he kissed her cheek. “Thanks again. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she said waving good-bye.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled into his drive and gathered the long white box with a peppermint-striped bow. Inside were a dozen deep red roses. Already, he was drunk from their heavy scent. Wielding the flowers, he kicked the car door shut, then climbed the few stairs.   

After pressing the latch, he bounded in. “Paloma,” he called out.

The first thing that registered was the shrill beep of the smoke alarm, then the haze. He sniffed. The burnt smell was clear. He looked down the short hall and into the living room. The desk drawers were tossed onto the floor, their contents spread everywhere.

“Paloma,” he yelled, fearing the worse.

 Following the smoke, he doubled-stepped to the second floor.

The bathroom door was open. He walked in. The scene was all too familiar – ashes in the bathtub. He set the flowers on the sink and looked more closely. The remnants of his accordion file were undeniable. Damn. He barreled into her room. 

Boxes from the closet had been pulled out and pried open. Her bag and shoes were nowhere around. The incessant beep continued. Halfway down the hall, he yanked the smoke alarm from the ceiling, ripped off the back, and pulled out the battery. 

Glancing toward his room, he saw more stuff strewn on the floor. He rushed inside and noticed the upturned wastebasket. What the hell happened? 

Then he knew – her torn picture, reconstituted, sat atop his dresser. 

He crumpled onto the bed. “You’re such an idiot,” he said to himself. “Now what?” 

His options were two – follow her or follow the trail. His decision was simple – a dead girlfriend was no girlfriend. He reached across the bed and picked up the phone. 

In record time, he was scheduled on a flight to Chicago and his bag was packed.   

As he left the house, he noticed the Greg Norman hat that his cousin Reggie’d dropped off the previous evening. Somehow it had fallen to the vestibule floor. Without a second thought and before he locked up, he picked up the straw hat and placed it back on the hook. 

Chapter Twenty-Three

On the bus back to New York City, Paloma still reeled from her stupidity. It had been Max all along. The proof was overwhelming. How else could she explain the ripped picture, the gallery of his photographs taken over the years, the straw hat? Did he really want her dead? But she wasn’t dead because all he wanted to do was scare her, then show up and be her savior. And poor Mrs. Humara, she’d died because of it. God, what a sicko. To think she had slept with him and actually thought… Forget it. Don’t even go there. Stalkers don’t love, they obsess, control. And what would he do now? A chill went through her. At least in New York she’d be on her own turf, and if necessary, have the ability to lie in wait.

The bus driver’s voice came through the intercom. “We’re pulling into Rochester for a ten minute break. Take any valuables with you.”

Paloma looked out the window. They were in another metropolitan area, a carbon copy of tall buildings, concrete, and streams of traffic. Whether she was breathing or keeled over from a bullet, life went on. Suddenly, she felt desperately lonely, inconsequential. She only had one lifeline and decided to give her a call. 

In the station, she stood at the phone. Once again Daisy accepted the call. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

“
Hija
, the tides have changed.”

“What happened?”

“I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Max?”

“Yes. Anyway, I’m headed back to the City and need a place to stay. Can you get me a room somewhere? I’d get it myself, but I’m too exhausted to –”

“Paloma, you sound terrible. Why don’t you stay at my place?”

“That’d be the first place he’d look.”

“Yes, I see. A room then, no problem.”

“If you need a name use Eleanor Rennin.”

“Hold on, let me write that down. When will you be needing the room?”

“Tonight.”

“And tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, go to the Wellington in Soho. I’ll call ahead.
Ese hombre es malo, verdad
?”