Send Out The Clowns (Frank River Series) (12 page)

Skip's eyes showed animation when he talked about Garcia's
history. Frank nodded, "I remember now. You told me, and I remembered he
was here when I worked as an officer. One of the other officers pointed him out
and told the story."

Skip resumed the far-away look. "Even though I'm
enjoying the air conditioning and time off from my job, I am wondering what
brings you here."

"You aren't buying it as a friendly visit then?"

"Look Frank, we were never really friends. We were
partners and got along all right, but we come from too different a background
to be buddy-buddy. I resented you getting the best of me and puttin' me inside,
but it didn't take long to realize it was my own doin' that got me screwed up.
I don't have any bitch with you, but I haven't been pining away wondering when
you were going to come and see me."

"It's different with me. I agree we weren't exactly
soul mates, but I enjoyed working with you, and I miss your insight and street
smarts. I think about you almost daily, on the job and off."

Skip pursed his lips and looked at the ceiling. Frank didn't
know whether he was embarrassed by hearing Frank say he cared about him, or
thought Frank was a Pollyanna fool and didn't want to say so. Skip made no
attempt to explain the mystery when he looked back at Frank.

"Who's your partner now?" he asked.

"Oh, I've had several lately, but not any for long.
Most of the others in the department find it difficult to work with a cop who
sent his partner to the penitentiary."

"You tell 'em that if you hadn't taken up for me, I'd
probably be on death row?"

Frank shook his head. "I've no need to apologize for
doing my job. I figure it's their problem."

Skip nodded, and smiled for the first time. "Maybe I
did manage to teach you something, College Boy."

"My most recent partner is a lady named Geraldine
Gardner. She prefers Gerry. We seem to be getting along well enough. She was in
vice over at Kingwood before getting transferred downtown."

"Ah, vice. My original gig."

"Yeah, That's one reason I came up to see you. When you
were in vice, I understand you broke up some drug markets working out of comedy
clubs."

Skip stroked his chin. "That was a while back. As I
recall, that club on Gray was a nest of druggies. There was a smaller dope shop
on Westheimer. If I remember right, the same guy owned both, but we busted him
and he sold out to a fellow named Rankin."

"Reuben Rankin."

"That's him. He was a local guy who got shot up in
Vegas and became confined to a wheelchair. He bought both places and renamed
the one on Gray 'The Ha Ha House.' I forget the name of the one on
Westheimer."

Frank gave Skip a run-down on the case, leaving out specific
details. "So I like Rankin for the murders, but I can't put my finger on a
motive."

"You know me, Frank. I could usually tell if someone
was a possible suspect. Rankin never struck me as the type to kill, let alone
in the bizarre way you describe. After he took over the clubs, we staked him
out to see if he inherited the drug traffic. Nothing. He showed clean, so it
would surprise me if he suddenly took up serial killing. Hell, he won't even
let his acts do a coke joke, and insists they don't get too raunchy. Says it
isn't necessary. But if he's not the doer, you need to find a reason to settle
your suspicions and get on the right trail."

"Do you know how or why he got shot? The information in
the files is rather vague. He told me he rolled over on a drug cartel in Vegas
and they sent a hit man."

"That's right, and the really odd part is the guy that
made probably be on death row?"

Frank shook his head. "I've no need to apologize for
doing my job. I figure it's their problem,"

Skip nodded, and smiled for the first time. "Maybe I
did manage to teach you something, College Boy."

"My most recent partner is a lady named Geraldine
Gardner. She prefers Gerry. We seem to be getting along well enough. She was in
vice over at Kingwood before getting transferred downtown."

"Ah, vice. My original gig."

"Yeah, That's one reason I came up to see you. When you
were in vice, I understand you broke up some drug markets working out of comedy
clubs."

Skip stroked his chin. "That was a while back. As I
recall, that club on Gray was a nest of druggies. There was a smaller dope shop
on Westheimer. If I remember right, the same guy owned both, but we busted him
and he sold out to a fellow named Rankin."

"Reuben Rankin."

"That's him. He was a local guy who got shot up in
Vegas and became confined to a wheelchair. He bought both places and renamed
the one on Gray 'The Ha Ha House.' I forget the name of the one on
Westheimer."

Frank gave Skip a run-down on the case, leaving out specific
details. "So I like Rankin for the murders, but I can't put my finger on a
motive."

"You know me, Frank. I could usually tell if someone
was a possible suspect. Rankin never struck me as the type to kill, let alone
in the bizarre way you describe. After he took over the clubs, we staked him
out to see if he inherited the drug traffic. Nothing. He showed clean, so it
would surprise me if he suddenly took up serial killing. Hell, he won't even
let his acts do a coke joke, and insists they don't get too raunchy. Says it isn't
necessary. But if he's not the doer, you need to find a reason to settle your
suspicions and get on the right trail."

"Do you know how or why he got shot? The information in
the files is rather vague. He told me he rolled over on a drug cartel in Vegas
and they sent a hit man."

"That's right, and the really odd part is the guy that
made the hit, Gus, is one of Reuben's brothers."

Frank couldn't suppress his amazement. "His
brother?"

"Yeah, Reuben is the middle of three brothers. They're
all, or rather were before the shooting put Reuben in the chair, big muscular
dudes. Reuben seems to be the only one with enough sense to tie his shoes. I
understand that's why he squealed on the narcotics ring. Both his brothers were
workin' for a local kingpin. He wanted to get them out of the business."

"So when Gus tried to blow him away, Rankin took
responsibility for his brother's behavior and has old bro on a short
leash?"

"Something like that."

"Do you know the other brother's name?"

Skip shook his head. "No, but I know that Rankin wanted
to help him be respectable too. I doubt it would take a lot of digging to turn
him up."

"You're a good cop, Skip. Always were."

"Lot of good that'll do me." He looked around at
the facilities. "Might get me iced in here."

"What's your line for parole?"

"If I survive, and if I keep my good time points, I
might be back on the street in about six years." He shrugged. "Who
knows?"

"What then?"

"I don't know. I have plenty of time to make plans. I
never did anything but police work, and that's out of the question. Maybe I can
get set up with some sort of private security job."

Neither man said anything for a while. Finally, Skip placed
both hands, palms down on the table top and pushed himself out of the chair.
Frank stood and extended his hand. Skip slapped it rather than complete the
common handshake.

"Thanks for gettin' me out of work today, College
Boy."

"I'll come back again soon. We can talk some
more."

"Whatever. Oh, by the way, stop putting money in my
account."

"Who said I was?"

"Come on, Frank. Two hundred dollars a month since I
went under didn't come from the tooth fairy. I got no other ties that would put
that on the books."

"I figured you could use the dough. No insult
intended."

"It looks like a pay off. Guilt money. I don't need
that. Fact is I don't need charity period. I'll make it or not make it on my
own."

"I don't have any guilt, Skip, but I still consider you
to be a friend."

"Then don't do me any favors. All right?" Skip
walked away, not looking back, across the library floor, up the steps, stopping
momentarily to show the officer his pass, then pushing through the doors to the
ramp and the courtyard outside. Frank watched Skip's back as long as he could,
and then stared at the toes of his shoes, re-running the conversation with his
ex-partner, trying to assess all that had been said and all the more that had
been left unsaid.

The drive back to Houston passed quickly while Frank
embedded himself in replaying the tape of his meeting with Skip in his mind, and
trying to put everything in perspective. At Conroe, he realized that the
afternoon traffic rush was in full bloom, so he opted for a sit-down dinner to
avoid risking a game of 'bumper cars' with the commuters. He endured the usual
heavy traffic from the local Wal-Mart on Loop 336, and parked in front of one
of his favorite steak houses, The Hofbrau, on Plantation.

He ordered a T-bone, baked potato, house salad and a beer,
and then tried to contact both Pauley and Gerry on his cell phone while he
waited. It was after hours for Pauley at the Galleria. He got her message
service and hung up without saying a word. He tried her at home and got the
same result. He left a message there, telling her not to expect him until late
because he had some work to do.

Gerry was also not responding to calls. He left her a brief
summary of his meeting with Skip, hesitated, and then told her he planned to go
by the Ha Ha House before calling it a night. In a sense he'd lied. He'd had no
intention of going to the Ha Ha House until he heard the words coming out of
his mouth. He shut down the phone and took a sip of his beer. The sounds
surrounding him grew loud as he thought about why he wanted to go by the comedy
club tonight. The clink of utensils on china sounded like dinner bells. The
buzz of conversation roared in his ears. A television across the room blared.
He became aware that the waitress was clomping toward him with his meal. The
spur of the moment plan to visit the Ha Ha House made sense. Like Skip
indicated, if Rankin wasn't the doer, he best get past that and on the right
trail.

Gerry eased the cruiser into the parking lot for the
Galleria. She heaved a deep sigh and pulled down the windshield visor, studying
herself in the mirror. She'd never thought of herself as attractive, but had
come to accept the fact that other people did.

She had heard the comments often, had noticed men staring at
her when she entered a restaurant or coffee shop. She thought her mouth too
big, her ears too flat against her head, her hands beefy for a girl, and the
creases under her eyes and around her smile made her look like she hadn't slept
for a day or two. Tonight though, she looked as good as she could. Not bad.

She raised the visor and grabbed her purse, sliding out of
the car and making certain it was locked. Another big gasp for breath. This was
crazy. She had no good reason to visit Paulette in her work place. If she
wasn't careful about what she said, it might end up doing more harm than good.
Frank and his partner might split the blanket regardless of what she could
accomplish, but she had found the best working relationship she ever had, and
she wanted to make certain that Frank didn't end up losing his squeeze.

She braced herself and headed for the entrance to the mall.
When she found "The Fashion Center," it was closed. Early, she
thought, but felt a wave of relief at not having to walk in and make intimate
talk with a stranger. Since she was here, she peered through the front windows,
assessing the brands and styles of what Paulette offered her customers. She was
admiring a long, white over-shirt featuring distinctive floral embroidery when
she noticed a shadow move in a room at the rear of the store. Paulette or
someone was in the office area. What to do?

She rapped on the window. She saw the back of a secretarial
chair beyond the doorframe, and then an attractive brunette appeared. Gerry
lip-read, "We're closed. Come back tomorrow." The figure disappeared
behind the doorframe.

Gerry took the wallet showing her badge from her purse and
rapped on the window again. When the face re-appeared, looking a tad more
irritated, she held the badge to the window and mouthed, "I need to talk
to you," using a broad smile and hand motion to indicate it was not
serious business. The distant face looked startled as recognition set in. The
chair moved into full view and the figure stood. Gerry's first impression from
her view of Paulette was that she was a very attractive lady. Gerry could see
why Frank was drawn to her.

While Paulette worked to unlock the security restraints and
open the door, Gerry took in her dress. Casual, with China blue corduroy
pull-on pants and matching 'Boyfriend' jacket showing side slits and notched
cuffs over an ivory mock turtleneck sweater. Her shoes were masculine looking
brogans of cordovan leather, and a braided belt of matching color held the
slacks tight at her waist. Gerry decided that no matter how this meeting went,
she would like to shop in Paulette's store. She loved the styles she'd seen so
far.

The door swung out and Paulette held it with her right arm
to let Gerry enter. "You've got to be Frank's new partner," she
smiled.

"Yes, I am." Gerry waited a beat while Paulette
relocked the door. "Geraldine Gardner, and I'm more nervous than when I
had my first date in high school."

Pauley faced her with one hand in the pocket of her jacket.
Her long hair fell slightly below her shoulder, resting casually on her right
shoulder and cascading down her back on the left. Dark eyes showed a hint of a
smile as she appraised Gerry with unabashed candor. Gerry couldn't decide if
she was seeing Paulette's professional congeniality or whether she was being
sized up as a competitor. She decided the stare was more a matter of curiosity,
and she was confident that her appearance was well chosen: a suit of black with
a prominent pinstripe of white, black shoes of hand burnished calfskin with
topstitching and a white, splayed collar shirt accented by an onyx pendant
necklace.

"I like your outfit," Paulette said.
"Nordstrom's?"

Gerry nodded. "I shop there often, but from what I see
here, I may change my habits. I like your shop. You've got some neat
clothes."

"Thanks. It keeps me on my toes trying to have the
latest fashions available."

An awkward interim followed, each woman smiling at the
other, and neither willing to break the moment. Paulette was first to give in.
"Please excuse me, Geraldine. I'm being rude. There's coffee in the back
and chairs where we can relax."

"I could use a cup of coffee," Gerry answered.
"It'll give me something to occupy my hands."

Paulette still didn't show a friendly smile, but her
features softened. "Come on then, we need to get acquainted." She
walked toward the back room and Gerry followed.

"I took a chance coming here like this," Gerry
volunteered as she walked, "and it's good of you to accept my intrusion on
your time. I know you must be busy."

"I'm never too busy to meet Frank's new partner."
She poured coffee from a Mr. Coffee machine into two mugs and handed one to
Gerry. "The last several didn't work with him long enough for us to meet.
Cream or sugar?"

"I prefer it black."

Paulette indicated a side chair, and seated herself in the
chair in front of a small steel desk covered with invoices and a ledger book.
Gerry noted the VTECH wireless phone, keyboard and flat-panel monitor, and a
calculator on the desk under a small Tiffany glass lamp. A two drawer, steel
filing cabinet sat between the desk and the door with an
hp-printer/scanner/copier on top. On the other side of the desk was a shredder,
wastebasket combination. An efficient workstation. Gerry decided to get to it.

"I love my job, Miss..."

"Paulette, please," Paulette interrupted.

"Okay, Paulette. My working relationship with Frank is
the best I've had since I've been on the force, and I wanted to ensure you that
it is totally professional, in case you were worried about anything else."
She spit it out as fast as she could talk, afraid if she didn't, she would lose
her nerve.

Paulette flashed a genuine smile for the first time. Her
face lit up, telling Gerry why Frank liked this woman.

"That's getting directly to the point, Geraldine."

"Gerry or G.G., please."

"I like Gerry. I also like you for coming here and
telling me what you just did." She took a sip of her coffee to punctuate
her compliment and shift gears slightly. "I do wonder though, why you
thought it was necessary. It's almost like an acknowledgement that I had
something to worry about."

Gerry looked away, surprised by the comment. Had she made a
big mistake and kindled a flame where no ember existed? She framed her answer
with care.

"Frank is an attractive man. Any woman would be
flattered by his attention, but nothing like that has happened. I know he's
devoted to you, and although he never talks about your relationship, I've come
to know him well enough to know something has happened since we started working
together that has him despondent. It was, is, my intent to put this potential
suspicion to rest. I felt like I needed to let you know I don't fish in someone
else's pond."

Paulette smiled again. "Frank and I go way back. We met
in college. I was in Nacogdoches at Stephen F. Austin when he was at Sam
Houston State. We used to give each other hell over the football teams. We've
had our ups and downs, but the low points have always been because of conflicts
in our professional choices and not otherwise. I would never chide Frank about
another woman. If he were to find someone he preferred rather than me, we would
break it off in a friendly way, each happy for the other. But right now our jobs
seem to be taking us in different directions. We may be growing apart. If so,
it's not anybody's fault, it's simply life."

There was silence while both women sipped coffee and stared
at their cups, each thinking about the impact of what Paulette had said.

"This recent case," Paulette remarked without
looking up, "must be a tough one. Frank won't talk about it, but it's
consuming him." She looked at Gerry. "Can you help me
understand?"

"I can't."

Paulette snapped her head up.

"Can't or won't?"

"It isn't ethical to talk about a case, particularly
one in progress."

"Ah, therein lies the rub. I never know what Frank is
doing, how much danger he's in, or what causes his bad dreams. I can't share
the most important aspect of his life, and that damages a relationship quicker
than anything else."

"Do you share everything about your work with
him?"

Paulette lowered her head again, reacting to Gerry's sharp
retort.

"Touché... I try, but he isn't all that
interested." "Sounds like critical mass is building." "Yeah
it does, doesn't it? Actually you've helped me formulate what I've been
sweeping under the rug. Hearing myself talk is revealing."

Silence again, and study of near empty mugs. Paulette
glanced at her wristwatch.

"Hey," Gerry grinned. "You're a busy person and
I'm stealing your time." She started to rise. Paulette pulled a face and
waved her off.

"No, it's not that. I have an appointment in an hour
and it's not too far away. I was thinking more than working when you knocked on
the window. I'm generally open for business at this time, but my worker called
in sick, so I closed to catch up on some invoices. Please, don't feel like you
need to rush away."

More silence. Gerry grew uncomfortable. She liked Paulette
and didn't want the meeting to end on a down note. She stood and beamed her
best smile.

"Well, if we're not going to be enemies, can I try on
that long white shirt you've got in the window? It's calling my name."

Paulette laughed. "You bet, Gerry, that's one of my
favorites too."

The time it took Frank to eat his meal worked well as a
delaying tactic. Traffic had thinned out by the time he got back on the
highway, and he got back to downtown Houston by 6:30. The Ha Ha House was open
for business. The marquee announced the headliner of the night—Buddy Bigley, a
local performer who seemed to be on his way up. There was no one on stage yet,
so Frank walked over to the bar.

Gretchen The Grinch smiled as he approached. Marsha was
nowhere in sight. A young man with long, blown-dry blonde hair was serving a
customer.

"Hey, Copper," The Grinch joked. "What can I
do you for? Is this business or pleasure?"

"A little of both," Frank answered, returning the
friendly smile. "Give me a beer."

"What's your choice?"

"I doubt you have Keystone?"

"Not tonight."

Frank decided that answer would be the same every night.

"Make it a Coors Light."

"You got it."

Before Gretchen could get the can opened and in front of
Frank the lights dimmed and the emcee ran on stage into a spotlight. Frank
noticed that the crowd didn't fill the pit, but it

was a nice size.

"Good evening, everyone, Welcome to the Ha Ha House.
I'm Chuck Wood. I know you've come to be entertained so I won't bore you
further. Let's give a big hand to Buddy Bigley."

Gretchen sat the beer on the bar and leaned on her forearms,
gazing at the stage. Frank laid a twenty dollar bill on the bar. Gretchen
pushed it back.

"You're a VIP around here. Reuben passed the word your
money's no good until further notice. I guess he likes you."

Surprised, Frank picked up the twenty, put it in his pocket
and slipped a five into Gretchen's hand. "I'm still allowed to tip, aren't
I?"

Gretchen smiled and the five disappeared somewhere in her
apparel.

The comedian walked slowly onto the stage. "Hi folks.
Y'all havin' a good time? Great! This is a little strange to me. I normally
work as a stand-up comic at a nudist camp. I don't tell jokes... I just stand
up... Hey, did you have a good weekend? Man, mine sucked. I went down to
Galveston to the nude beach... Well, come to find out, they don't have one... I
went to court Tuesday... You ever been in jail? You sure can meet some
interesting people there. Met this one guy named 'Bubba.' Of course, that was
probably his pen name. He must have been about eight foot tall and meaner than
a gorilla. I remember the first thing he said to me... 'Bend over, boy.' But
enough of that... Come to think of it, that's what I told him."