Send Out The Clowns (Frank River Series) (13 page)

Buddy paused and wiped his brow. "Oh, by the way... If
you're coming to the shower, our pattern's registered at Foley's. My sister finally
bailed me out." He paused. "Well, actually my half-sister. She's a
hermaphrodite... I went down to the courthouse the other day. Tried to register
as a sex offender... They told me fantasies don't count... My dad used to tell
me a picture was worth a thousand words. About once a month, he'd say, 'Boy, a
picture's worth a thousand words.' I finally figured out he'd subscribed to
Playboy. Dad's a great guy. A little hard of hearing though. He went to the
doctor. The doctor told him to get some Viagra. He came home with Niagara. He
said it works fine... It's just a little cold when you first spray it on."
Loud laughter came from the audience.

"Oh yeah, be sure to use the 'delicate' setting on your
iron. Another thing my dad used to tell me, 'Boy, money can't buy happiness.'
Evidently, he's never been to one of those massage parlors out on South
Main." Bigley paused and gaped like a fish. "Sorry, folks, but I'm
just not myself this evening." Another pause, head ducked. "We buried
my favorite uncle today." He looked up. "It was weird. People would
walk up and look at him and say, 'he looks so natural.'"

The audience chuckled quietly, sounding like a bad sound
track.

"Now, here's a guy laying in a box," Bigley
continued, "in a twenty year old suit he wouldn't even be able to wear if
it wasn't split up the back. Make-up all over his face, and they thought he
looked natural. If they wanted him to look natural, they should have just put a
can of beer in his hand."

More laughter than Frank thought the line deserved.

Gretchen interpreted his reaction. "Bigley's a good
comic. If you hang around for his late show, you'll hear something completely
different."

Frank looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

"The boy is a serious student of the game. He keeps
ring binders with every joke he ever delivered, the type of audience, and their
reaction. He's like all good entertainers, adjusts his act on the spot. This
early crowd isn't as sophisticated as some, so he'll go for cheap laughs."

Bigley continued, "I would have been here sooner, but
the funeral took forever. Well, it wasn't actually the services... Aunt Mabel
insisted that the procession stop by the insurance office..." laughs...
"Then the dating service... She said there was no need making two
trips..." Good reaction... "We did talk her out of stopping at the
Cadillac dealer."

Even Frank chuckled at that one.

"I sure miss my uncle though. We used to talk a lot. He
just had one leg, and he'd tell me about how he'd get phantom pains in his
toes, even though they were gone. Made me think... Those subliminal messages
I've been getting must be from my foreskin."

Frank could feel the rapport with the audience building.

"Speaking of cars...I got a new one a couple months
ago. Nice car, but I'll never use that finance company again. At least, that's
what they said.... Talk about a bunch of two-faced people. When I bought the
car they were so nice, and now, just a couple months later, I'm getting these
hateful letters from them. 'Dear sir: Perhaps you've forgotten...' Stupid! They
know damn well I haven't forgotten. Anyway, they said they'd repossess the car.
I told them I'd like to see them try... Anybody going toward Pasadena after the
show?"

The comic seemed to be on a roll. Frank wondered if he would
be the next one to turn up in a parking garage in a clown suit.

"Hey, any of y'all ever go over to the casinos in
Louisiana?" The crowd reacted with mumbling in the affirmative.

"I went to one of the boats at Lake Charles the other
day to play the slots. Only found one machine that was paying off, and it quit
after a while. I finally figured out it was the ATM... I've got this friend
that's always telling me I should stop wasting my money over there, and invest
it in the stock market. I told him it's the same thing, except his broker doesn't
give him free drinks."

Bigley hit a roll and the audience hooted and cheered at the
end of his act. Some even stood as they applauded. When the ovation settled to
a low buzz and the house lights came up, Chuck Wood announced there would be an
intermission. Some people filed out to the restrooms and others motioned for
the waiters to bring new rounds. Some headed for the bar to speed up the
services. After a slight rush subsided, Frank indicated to Gretchen that he
wanted another beer. When she delivered it, he asked.

"Where's Mars tonight."

"Called in sick." Gretchen frowned. "If I was
sick as often as that girl is, I'd begin to worry about funeral expenses. She's
usually shacked up with Buddy when she don't show up, but he's here, so maybe
she really is sick."

Frank took a sip of his beer, making a mental note to review
the information he had on Marsha, and dig a little deeper into her past.
Actually, he decided to dig a little deeper into the background of all Rankin's
employees.

After leaving The Fashion Center, Gerry stopped at the
railing and looked down on the floors below. Even though the Galleria might be
considered past its prime, age-wise, it still impressed a girl born and raised
in the fourth ward. She felt her cell phone vibrate in her jacket pocket.

"Hey, Frank. Where are you?"

"I just left the Ha Ha House. I'm sitting here in the
car wondering where to go next. Anything important happen today?"

"As a matter to fact, I got some good stuff looking
into OD's from peyote. We need to discuss it."

"Where are you now?"

Gerry looked around and decided it wasn't a good idea to
tell Frank she was at the Galleria. He was too quick not to suspect she was
messing in his relationship with Pauley.

"Doing some shopping is all." She cringed. "Want
to meet?"

There was silence for a moment before Frank answered.

"Unless you say otherwise, I think it can wait until
morning. We've both had a long day. I'm beat."

"Must be hell to get old," Gerry laughed, fighting
not to let her relief affect her voice.

"Yeah, I'll let you know when that happens."
Frank's voice sounded peeved. He was tired.

Gerry didn't reply.

"Get some sleep. We can fill each other in early
tomorrow."

"Keep smilin'," Gerry answered and broke the
connection. She almost skipped after she pocketed the phone and headed to the
far end of the mall, happy that her partner hadn't wanted to meet and talk
about the day's work. It wasn't often she had a date, and was looking forward
to meeting Roger Harrington.

When she reached the hall that led into the Twin Oaks Hotel,
she went back to the rail and scanned the food court. Roger sat near the
barrier to the skating rink, reading a newspaper with a cup of coffee in his
hand. If she hadn't known who he was, she wouldn't have made him for a cop. He
wore dark gray slacks, a gray and black silk sports jacket and a white Henley
shirt. He may have looked like a stock broker, but his training and experience
brought his head up, and his eyes focused directly on hers the moment she saw
him. No smile. Only a slight, nearly imperceptible nod.

She smiled and headed for the escalator. By the time she
reached the lower level, Roger had disposed of the newspaper and had two fresh
coffees sitting on his table. He smiled and rose to greet her.

"Been waiting long?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. I hadn't even reached the point
where I expected you not to show up." He kissed her on the cheek and
pushed her to arm's length. "You look stunning."

She blushed and waved him off as she slipped onto the chair
and reached for the coffee.

"You look pretty handsome your own self."

Roger sat and leaned back with one arm hoisted over the back
of his chair. "So, how did things go with Miss Heyer?"

"Went well. She's a neat lady. I can see why Frank's
trying to hang on to her."

"Think he will?"

Gerry took a sip of her coffee, shaking her head. "No.
I don't think they have a snowball's chance in the long haul."

"She jealous of you?"

"No. At least I don't think so. She doesn't like Frank
being a cop, and she's paying special attention to her own career right
now."

"You think she resents Frank being a cop, or just that
he's in homicide?"

"I'd guess it's the homicide part. No woman likes her
man dragging murder close to them. But I don't think she understands it that
way. At least she's not putting it that way. She's more in tune with her need
to worry about his safety than she is about fear for herself."

Roger seemed satisfied about Paulette's welfare. He took a
gulp of coffee and leaned forward with his arms on the table. "You hungry?"

"Starved. Lunch was more than seven hours ago."
"Feel like going to a Pappas' someplace? I've been craving seafood."

"Sounds good." She looked down for a minute.
"Do you mind driving to the one on the Northeast Freeway in
Kingwood?" She gritted her teeth and looked embarrassed.

Roger smiled. "Since there are Pappas' all over town,
you must want to kill two birds, and do a little work."

"Nothing big time, but I got a lead today from Smoky
Bones and thought I could do a quick follow up. Shouldn't take more than ten or
fifteen minutes tops."

"Old Smoky Bones. I didn't know he was still
alive."

"He sure is, and he hasn't lost a beat. He invited me
into his home for afternoon tea."

"His home?"

"A neat spot behind a cyclone fence down near the
Southwest Freeway."

"What did he give you?"

Gerry finished her coffee and stood.

"Come on. I'll fill you in on the way."

Frank drove into the parking area at his apartment, sat for
a moment after the car had stopped and thought about how tired he was. He
pulled his hand across his face and looked up at the window to his flat. The
lighting, or rather the lack thereof, told him Pauley wasn't home yet. He
sighed and climbed out of the car, went to the trunk and removed his briefcase
and a six-pack of Keystone, and trudged to the front steps. The flight up
seemed steeper than usual. He waved at Senora Coneger who lived next door and
would be watching from behind her blind, and inserted the key to unlock the
door. The morning paper was still on the mat, telling him not only that Pauley
wasn't home, but that she had left early that morning.

He dropped the paper on the table in the kitchen and put the
briefcase on the seat of the chair nearest the refrigerator. When he opened the
refrigerator door to deposit the Keystone inside, he discovered one beer can
remaining from earlier. He grabbed it with a smile and popped the top. The
phone by his chair was flashing - he had messages. After enduring the whine of
an insurance salesman, a man who wanted him to accept a new low-interest credit
card and some political survey probes, Pauley's voice caught his attention.

"Hey, Cisco, welcome home. I know you're tired after
working all day, so I'll be brief. There's an important dinner meeting at that
new restaurant in Katy with the group that needs to approve my new contracts.
It will no doubt run late. Don't wait up. You need your rest. See you later.
Bye."

Frank deleted the messages and carried his beer to the back
balcony. One of the reasons he had rented this apartment was the luxury of
having two small balconies: one off the main bedroom facing north and another
off the kitchen looking east. He had stood on each of these, depending on his
mood, and looked at the sky and the lights of the city. The north facing one
was his favorite. Less light pollution, allowing him to view a few stars, and
have more solitude, even if it was more illusion than fact.

That was the one he chose tonight.

He took a sip of beer before placing the can on the wooden
railing and stepping back into the bedroom long enough to turn on his CD player
and select "I'll Be Seeing You: The Best of Big Band Ballads." Steve
Wingfield wasn't his choice of the modern Big Bands that reprised the days of
his father's youth, but Pauley had bought it for him and it seemed best suited
to his present mood. The first cut was "In a Sentimental Mood." Got
that right, he thought. He went out onto the balcony and picked up his beer.

Off to the right he could see a huge commercial jet
approaching Bush Intercontinental, its headlights dwarfing the colored running
lights on its wings. It settled into the pine trees and disappeared silently
onto the runway.

There were probably more than three hundred passengers
shuffling in their seats, ready to meet loved ones or business associates or no
one, but all relieved to be landing in Houston. Three hundred individual souls,
their lives filled with grief, happiness or anticipation, beginning a new phase
in their awareness, and uninterested in the murder of a clown or two, or in his
tribulations with Paulette Heyer.

Don't wait up.

He forced his thinking away from Pauley's message to growing
up with his father. Senor Riojas had built a good business in Brenham, Starting
by mowing lawns and expanding to a full service lawn and landscaping service
that he turned over to a brother to manage so he could develop an interior
remodeling enterprise, his first love. Frank considered his father an artist:
cabinets; floor tiling, especially Saltillo tiles; decorative facing for
fireplaces and the like; roofing; decking; re-plastering; and any kind of
framing that upgraded houses throughout the area. Often he would send crews or
go himself to Houston for contracts. Frank never experienced near poverty
conditions like Gerry. He had grown up in an upper middle class family. The
memory brought a grin.

He tried to take a sip of his beer and realized the can was
empty. He went in to the kitchen and retrieved the new six-pack. Back on the
balcony, he placed the package on a slatted redwood table and dropped into a
webbed lawn chair. He popped open another beer and leaned back and shut his
eyes, picking nonchalantly at the side of the can.

A shiver coursed through him when "Here's That Rainy
Day" came out of the CD player. He told himself he had forgotten that
selection was on this CD, but he knew it wasn't true. He questioned whether
that was the real reason he had played this particular album. There was no way
he could hear the music without thinking about Pauley and the last time they
broke up. They had been dancing on New Year's Eve at the Pavilion Ball Room at
the Warwick Hotel downtown. Pauley's body had suddenly stiffened in his arms.
She looked up at him and said, "Sorry" and walked off the floor

He tried to think about the case, but had lost the ability
to make his mind go where it didn't want to go. That had been the beginning of
the first rift. This, apparently was the beginning of the second one. He felt
helpless to do anything about it. He sipped his beer and listened to
sentimental music, watching the lights of airplanes in the active Houston sky.

Don't wait up... Too late for that.

Get some rest... Always the concerned Pauley.

The last sound he remembered was hearing "At Last"
from the CD player and the plop of a half-full beer can as it slipped through
his fingers and landed on the balcony deck.