Red House Blues (19 page)

“How do I know you’re invited?” he asked.
What do I need, a secret password, she wondered. She didn’t even
know the name of the birthday boy.

“My friend Marla invited me.”

That must have been the password. She was
in.

At first glance it looked more like a
funeral than a birthday party. The room was crowded but people were
talking in subdued voices in small groups. A tape played in the
background what Suzan assumed was a Grid album, considering that
the guy with the birthday had played in that band. She hadn’t
exactly expected balloons and party hats, given the venue, but the
mood was thicker than Goth mascara.

Where was Marla? She
scanned the gloomy crowd and spotted her by the bar talking to two
guys in black.
Naturally.
If one of them was the birthday boy he wasn’t
celebrating. Suzan’s hopes for a fun evening with interesting
people swigging beer evaporated with the look on Marla’s
face.

It was too late to make an unobserved exit.
Marla had seen her. Suzan squeezed through to join her and the men
at the bar.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” she said, making
it sound like an accusation. “Suzan, this is Joe and Bag. Want a
beer?”

“Nice to meet you. Sure, a beer would be
good. Thanks.”

Joe and Bag made polite greeting noises but
didn’t go out of their way to be friendly.

“What happened to that bitchin’ leather
jacket of yours?”

At the last minute Suzan had thrown on her
trusty loden green L. L. Bean barn jacket, about as appropriate for
the venue as opera gloves at a mud wrestling tournament.

“Thought it might rain later.”

“This is Seattle, ‘course it’ll rain.”

Marla turned toward the bartender and bought
her a bottle of Miller Light as Joe and Bag wandered away into the
throng.

“I didn’t mean to run them off,” said Suzan,
accepting the beer.

“You didn’t. They’re not feeling social at
the moment.”

“I thought this was a party. What’s the
deal?”

“Everybody’s in a shitty space right now.
Last night someone we know got hurt. He’s in Harborview Hospital,”
she said. “It brought back the whole thing about Kiki. That and
something that happened a while ago to a friend of ours. Owned deli
up on Union.” She dug around in her jeans jacket and produced a
pack of cigarettes, offering one to Suzan.

“No thanks. What happened to the deli
guy?”

“Found sitting in his Lexus a mile from his
store, shot through the head. The cops haven’t found the asshole
and probably don’t care anyway. Ronny was Black. If you’re not a
nice clean whitey from Magnolia they don’t bother.”

“Seattle hasn’t a patent on crime, Marla.
I’m sure Portland gets its fair share, doesn’t it? I know
Bellingham does, though you might not believe it.”

“In this case you don’t know what you’re
talking about. Lot’s of people here take it personally. First Kiki,
then Jonson and now . . .”

“Wait, you can’t be saying the killings are
related. Wasn’t Kiki Zell killed years ago? And they solved
that.”

“Yeah, ten years,” said Marla. “But the
District is like a small town in lots of ways. Everyone knows
everyone. People say crazy things. Half the people in this room
thought the cops didn’t get the dude who actually killed her.”

Marla finished her beer and motioned the
bartender for another.

“Ronny was one of the ones who didn’t
believe it,” she said. “And just as the fisherman goes to trial
somebody shoots Ronny two blocks from where they found Zell. The
fisherman didn’t off Ronny, that we all know. He was already in
jail at the time.”

“It has to be a coincidence, Marla.”

“Too many of those lately. Look what
happened to . . . what was his name? Sean?”

Right, thought
Suzan.
Here we go. Marla, you’re trying
too hard. Might as well put it in neon and hang it on the wall with
the beer sign. She wants me to conclude that Sean’s death was
connected with the other two murders and by implication that I
might be next on the hit list.
What’s her
motive? Trying to scare me out of town?

But how could Sean’s death have anything to
do with Kiki Zell or the deli guy? All they had in common was the
same neighborhood. Plus the murders were all different. Zell was
raped and strangled, the deli guy was shot, and a car ran down
Sean. These sad, unexplained things happen in any city the size of
Seattle.

“Marla, what makes you think this attack
last night had anything to do with the murders?”

She looked confused. “Attack? I didn’t say
anyone was attacked.”

“The guy last night, who’s in the
hospital?”

“That was an accident.”

“Sorry. You were talking about murders,
guess I just made the leap. So, then why are people connecting it
with Kiki Zell?”

“The coincidence. The Grid is doing a
memorial concert to benefit a self-defense program for women we
started after Kiki was killed. The Grid was going to give the dude
a chance to play keyboards with them.”

She stubbed the cigarette out on the neck of
the beer bottle, ashes scattering across the bare bar top.

“I don’t want to talk about this any
more.”

Marla looked out over the crowd toward the
stage where a d.j. was switching tapes. As the music began, a woman
at Suzan’s elbow stifled a sob.

“Was it the guy with the birthday?” she
asked Marla.

“Who?”

“The guy who was hurt last night. Is this
his party?”

“No. The party’s for Teddy. He’s sitting
over there with Alexis.” Marla nodded toward a table by the stage.
“The dude who got hurt was Alexis’ housemate.”

“What happened to him?”

“Let’s talk about something else. So, what’s
been going on with you? Are you ready to leave this hellhole
yet?”

Suzan wondered if
“hellhole” referred to Seattle in general or the Comet Tavern in
particular. She didn’t know Marla well, that was true enough, but
to this point she’d been candid. Or appeared to be. Now suddenly
she clams up.
She’s worried or afraid.
Either that or she wants me think that.
What after all could frighten a woman as street smart as
Marla?

Suzan’s eyes stung from the smoke. This
wasn’t the kind of night she had anticipated when she started out,
and the mood burrowed deep, her thoughts drifting in the inevitable
direction of loss and sorrow, her own and that of these strangers
gathered together in a closed tavern, the songs of a dead woman
running through their heads. It wasn’t even eleven o’clock.

“I think I’m ready to pack it in for the
evening, at any rate,” said Suzan. “I’d better call a cab, Marla.
Maybe we can get together another time. When are you going back to
Portland?”

“Tomorrow. No sense hanging around here,”
she said. “Hey, if you wait a minute I’ll drive you back to your
place. I have a rental.”

“That’s okay. Stay with your friends.”

“Nah, this place is doing my head in. I need
to talk to Teddy and Alexis for a second, then we can go.” She
pushed her way through the crowd toward the front table.

The man known as Teddy got up as Marla
reached the table, gave her a half-hug. Marla said something to him
and kissed his cheek. The woman Marla had identified as Alexis
stayed seated. There was a short exchange between the two women.
Suzan wished she could lip-read. The tension was thicker than the
cigarette smoke. Marla glanced over her shoulder toward where Suzan
stood nursing her beer. She couldn’t read the expression on her
face any better than she could lip-read but as Marla rejoined her
at the bar there was no mistaking the murderous look Alexis shot at
her retreating back.

“Finish that beer, princess, and let’s blow
this joint.”

“Something wrong?”

“Tell you later.”

Suzan trailed Marla through the crowd to the
exit at the rear of the tavern. What lay behind the hostility
between the two women, she wondered. Rivalry over the birthday boy
or something not that simple? Certainly they were far from being
best buddies.

Marla led her out the door and down the
alley to a small Diamond Parking lot. The rental car parked under
the only light standard was a gray Toyota Corolla. It made a comic
contrast to the driver’s spiked hair and tattoos. Only, Marla
wasn’t looking at all amused. She had the keys out and the doors
unlocked fifteen feet from the car.

“Get in.” she said, flinging herself behind
the wheel.

Before Suzan could get her seat belt
fastened the door locks clicked and Marla was gunning the Toyota
out of the parking lot.

“Hey, what’s the hurry?”

“Not now.”

Marla floored it up the block, squealed to a
rolling stop at the crest of Capital Hill, then took a free right
onto Broadway. Suzan checked the side mirror to see if they were
being followed. There were headlights a couple of blocks back but
the car turned onto another street. They were now speeding south
toward Seattle University.

“I’m staying on Alder,” said Suzan. “It’s
not a through street, so take a left on Boren, then left on Spruce.
It’s just around the corner off Sixteenth.”

“We’re not taking you home right now,
Suzan.”

“Why, where are we going?”

“I want to show you something.”

When they hit Boren, Marla took a left all
right but just past the intersection with Spruce she pulled the car
over to the curb and shut off the engine. Boren is one of those
Seattle streets that give San Francisco competition in verticality,
plunging off Capital Hill into the Yesler housing projects before
it turns a corner in Little Saigon and becomes Rainier Avenue.
Where they were parked the Toyota was doing a headstand pointing at
the intersection below.

“Time we had a little chat, Suzy-Q.”

“We’re in a no parking zone.”

“Never mind about that. I want to know what
you’ve been up to.”

“What do you want me to say? What’s this
about?”

“I thought we’d been getting along pretty
good, sweet-pea, but I hear you’ve been holding out on me. When
were you planning on telling me you’ve been hanging around Fir
Street lately?”

“Fir Street? What are you
talking about?”
And what possible business
could it be of yours? “
That’s where Sean
lived, but I haven’t been ‘hanging around’, as you put it. I
dropped by the other day to talk to someone. I told you I’m here to
find out what happened to him.”

And why do I feel the need to defend
myself?

“
How did you find out I was
there?”

“From Alexis Harding. Which, by the way, I
do not appreciate since I’m not her biggest fan,” said Marla. “She
sees us together and she wants to know who you are. She says, and I
quote, ‘who’s the blond bitch in the geeky green jacket’, because
apparently there’s been a blond in a green jacket nosing around Fir
Street.”

“I don’t get it. What’s the connection? I’ve
never seen her before so how does she know what I’m doing and why
should she care?”

“She cares about everything that goes on in
that house. It’s her house. Well, next best thing. She’s the
landlady of that particular roach ranch.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Not by half.”

“So the guy I talked to told her I was there
asking questions about Sean.”

“That’s what I got from what she said.”

“And she didn’t like that I was there
because? I still don’t understand what the problem is.”

“I can’t speak for her but I can see why
she’s suspicious,” said Marla. “Back at the Comet you asked about
Nick’s accident. This is where it happened. Right here on this
hill. That’s why we’re here. I wanted you to see it. What happened
was he was heading home down this street last night when a wheel
flew off his ride and he flipped sideways into a truck at the
bottom of the hill.”

“I’m not getting your point. What has this
accident to do with me?”

“I wish I knew, princess. But Alexis hears
someone has been sniffing around Nick and suddenly he has a nearly
fatal accident. It smells bad even to me.”

“Nick? The guy who had the accident was the
guy I talked to? Are you sure?”

“Hard for me to believe you didn’t
know.”

“I didn’t, I swear to God.” Suzan couldn’t
get her head around it. Could it really be the cute guy with the
rusty Vespa? “How is he doing?”

“
Not good but Alexis says
he’ll live.”

“I can’t believe it’s the guy I talked to.
He didn’t tell me his name but he had an old Vespa?”

“That’s the guy.”

“He was the only one home when I went to the
house. He told me he moved in after Sean and didn’t know anything
so I left. That’s the whole story, not that it’s Alexis’ business
or anyone’s business but mine.”

“Can you see how she might disagree with
you?” said Marla. “In fact I disagree with you, come to think of
it. I think it’s my business when bad things happen to people I
know and you seem to be right in the thick of things.”

“I didn’t know you knew any of them until
just now, Marla. And I only met Nick that once.”

“And I can believe that why? You’ve lied to
me six ways to Sunday since I found you sleeping in the shower
stall.”

“Suit yourself, Marla. Personally I find it
pretty weird you know the very people I came here to see. What am I
supposed to think about that? More coincidences? Maybe we mark it
down to you and Sean gravitating toward the same sort of
people.”

“
What sort of
people?”

“Musicians, artists, independent creative
types. And as you pointed out, the Central District is like a small
town.”

Suzan had been careful not to add junkies to
the list. She doubted Sean stayed clean after he left rehab. No one
would confuse the crowd at Jax’s or the Comet with a church choir.
If she missed the signs of drug use in Sean why would she pick them
up in Marla? Those tattoos could be concealing any number of
scars.