Send Out The Clowns (Frank River Series) (17 page)

"Lot of these old guys follow the pros around the
course in carts," Chad offered. "Vicarious exercise, I guess."

Frank turned his back on the garage, shoved his hands in his
pockets and stood thinking. His cell phone interrupted his thoughts. He walked
to the edge of the driveway and took the call, teetering on the lip of the
concrete, the toes of his shoes bobbing over the shredded cedar around the
euonymus shrubs. When he snapped the phone off, Sherman was still surveying the
inside of the garage.

"Sting's in place," he told Chad. "Gerry
starts her show tonight."

Chad nodded.

Frank gave the officer the once over as though he was a
tailor assessing him for a suit. "Where do you live?"

Chad furrowed his brow. "I rent a place on Campbell
between Long Point and the Northwest Freeway. Why?"

"We're going to the club tonight to catch Gerry's act
and you don't need to look like a cop." Chad showed a skeptical grin as he
scanned Frank. "I know what you're thinking, but in civilian clothes,
people at least have to guess." Frank turned his eyes to the sky, judging
the rain would no doubt resume soon. "I've got an errand to run." He
looked at Chad. "We'll go by your place so you can change and then drop in
to a place I know near Town and Country Village Shopping Center. We can get a
bite to eat and be at the Ha Ha House in plenty of time."

Frank was wrong about the timing. He and Chad hurried the
last few blocks after they found a parking spot, hustling through the door only
ten minutes before Gerry was due to be introduced. Mars was filling a beer
case, looking more confused and vacant than usual, and The Grinch was busy with
a customer. She looked up as they approached the bar. Frank had a sense of deja
vu, reminded of the first time he had entered the place, with one major
exception. The Grinch flashed what for her was a big smile.

"You should do that more often," Frank grinned.
"That's a charming smile."

"I save it for you, Sugar."

"Too bad you're married. I might sit up all night
watching you smile."

"Sounds good to me, but we wouldn't be up all
night." Frank found her brazen stare discomforting. "I might not be
as married as you think."

Frank hid his astonishment at the inference, choosing to
smile and keep his eyes on her. She looked away first, pretending to suddenly
see Chad, although Frank guessed that she missed very little going on at the
bar, and was using the "distraction" to kill the silent liaison. Chad
got the full "I hate cops" expression Frank had received when he
first came into the club.

"This your partner?" The Grinch asked, her voice
ringing with insolence.

Frank looked at Chad. Like many men who wear uniforms most
of the time, he seemed out of place in civilian clothes. The selections were
well chosen: olive, corduroy pants; a cream-colored, lightweight, ribbed,
cotton pullover; and a khaki-colored, pseudo-suede sports jacket; but instead
of giving him a casual, self-assured appearance, he looked uncomfortable.
Nothing fit exactly, although Frank was at a loss to determine why he thought
so. Maybe the style was more a 90s look, or Chad's body shape was better suited
for another type of ensemble, but whatever the cause, the man looked like he'd
been dressed by a wardrobe director for a part in a B grade movie. Frank
wondered if other people saw him in a similar light.

"Yeah. This is Chad Sherman. Chad, this is Gretchen
Sullivan. She keeps this place running, and she doesn't like cops."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. Sullivan." The
Grinch didn't answer, merely glared. Chad had to force himself not to look
away. He was relieved by a disturbance to his right that gave him an excuse to
break the standoff.

The door to the office opened, and Reuben Rankin came
wheeling out. It was one minute before eight o'clock. When Rankin saw Frank at
the bar, he broke into a broad smile and headed his chair toward the detective.
He stopped short of running into Frank and stuck out his hand.

"Detective Rivers. I'm happy to see you here." He
seemed truly sincere about what he said.

"Rankin," Frank mumbled without a smile. "Ah,
I'm still a suspect. Capital."

Frank turned to Chad. "Officer Sherman, meet Reuben
Rankin. He owns this club and some others around town. Mr. Rankin, this is my
partner, Chad Sherman."

Rankin shook Chad's hand. "You must be delighted to be
teamed up with the best detective in Houston, Officer Sherman." He turned
to The Grinch. "Take care of these two, Gretchen. Consider them my special
guests." Rankin turned back toward Frank and Chad and started to say
something when the lights dimmed, a spotlight swept across the darkness
following Chuck Wood as he ran on stage.

Rankin motioned with his head and said, "Come on,"
although Frank couldn't hear the words over the applause from the crowd. Rankin
maneuvered his chair to the rail where he was center stage. Frank and Chad
followed and took positions like bodyguards, flanking Rankin and the chair.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Chuck Wood exclaimed.
"The Ha Ha House is pleased to present a special treat tonight. Our next
performer is unannounced, but some of you may know her because she's been a
headliner around the Houston area for the past several years. We hope you
welcome her and that she'll grace us with her presence for a long time. Put 'em
together for Miss Bea Black." Frank laughed to himself at the
introduction. He wondered if anyone else knew she hadn't been a headliner in
Houston, or anywhere else.

The spotlight swept from center stage and Chuck Wood,
illuminating the left wing as Geraldine swaggered onto the stage, casting a
stern, provocative stare at the crowd, conveying an
"I-know-you-people-and-I-know-all-your-tawdry-experiences,"
expression. She made her way to center stage and brought a hand-held microphone
to her lips. She continued to scan the audience with frowning assessment
without saying a word. The applause dwindled to nervous twitters. Some
individuals made low-voiced asides to their partners.

Frank pursed his lips to prevent his mouth from dropping
open. Gerry had been right when she said he wouldn't recognize her on the
stage. Somehow, she had padded herself to look thirty or forty pounds heavier,
yet her figure and swagger gave off a bawdy, sensual aura that altered the
ambiance of the club and touched everyone in the audience.

She wore purple, a tight fitting gown reflecting the
spotlight with a shimmering glow that changed color with each subtle movement.
Her hair dropped around her shoulders, glistening in long open curls. Lavender
nail polish sparkled in the light, and adamantine jewelry, which would appear
gaudy in any other environment, accented her dark skin in a way that Cleopatra
would envy.

The silence swelled with anticipation. Gerry milked it for
every ounce of amusement. Suddenly, she flashed an enormous smile,
overshadowing all the other spangles about her.

Frank felt shivers along his skin. This was talent—she had
this audience in the palm of her hand and had not uttered a word. That was
something that couldn't be taught. It came from some ephemeral muse deep within
a person, not a studied and stilted technique.

"Hi, folks. That's me, Bea Black. How do you like me so
far?"

The audience whooped. She hadn't said anything funny or
original, but she had the crowd mesmerized with expectation.

"Bea Black... I call myself that because I do be
black." She went back to her stern studied scan of the audience. "You
sure ain't though. I ain't seen so many white folks since I was an exchange
student in the KKK."

Most people glanced around the room, with tentative
chuckles, confirming that the crowd was indeed plain vanilla.

"Hey, that's okay. You look like pretty good folks...
even if you are white. Besides, if I were bigoted, I wouldn't be after you. I'd
be after those undocumented workers. Uh huh, you know who I mean... what the
government used to call illegal aliens and we used to call wetbacks. That was
before we decided to be politically correct. As if Houston traffic ain't bad
enough, them undocumented types make it worse. How should I say it? Mobility
challenged? It's something ain't it? 

did you ever notice the freeways? There you'll be... Speed
limit seventy... Black folks drivin' eighty... White folks drivin' eighty...
One Mexican dude doin' forty three point friggin' seven five miles per damn
hour... In the center lane... I finally figured it out... That sucker's drivin'
in kilometers."

Frank watched the audience. They appeared a little uneasy,
laughing at ethnic humor after being reminded they were white, but the smirks
couldn't hold back the chuckles. Gerry's expression changed to mournful. She
brought the back of her hand to her forehead. "I won't keep you long. I
got to go back and sit down. I ain't feelin' too good. Even went to the doctor
the other day..." Snickering... "Now don't get ahead of me... This
ain't gonna be one of those stirrup stories..." Scattered twitters...
"I didn't even do that stuff with my first husband... That sucker was such
a prude..." Guffaws... " 'Course, he ain't my husband anymore, either."

Gerry focused her attention on a young woman sitting alone.
"Hey, your man must have been like that too, huh? Anyway, I went to this
doctor. Told him I had headaches, nausea, and diarrhea. He gave me a
prescription. I got it home and looked at the bottle... It read, 'Caution,
possible side effects include headaches, nausea, and diarrhea..' Now how the
hell am I gonna know when I'm cured? I learned to start reading labels after I
swallowed all those big damn pills for my yeast infection. Hey, couldn't you
imagine if other stuff had to have warning labels too? A can of beer would say
'Warning - side effects may include a loud mouth and broken teeth...' And bacon
might say 'Warning - May cause a hickory scented breath and a shiny coat.' Man,
those doctors are something though. My brother, Leroy... now, y'all know that
ain't his real name. Ain't no Afro-American family gonna name their boy Leroy
these days... I call him that so he can't sue me... Know what I mean?"
Gerry paused, giving the audience a chance to nod their heads knowingly.

"Anyway, Leroy went to the doctor a couple months ago.
The man told Leroy he needed to check his prostate. Leroy asked him what he was
going to do. The doctor explained it to him. Leroy said, 'Oh no, sucker. You
ain't gonna do nothin' like that to me unless I can do you too.' Yeah, it's
easy for you to laugh... I had to fly to Boston for the wedding. Anyway, I
stopped in New York on the way home. Them people up there are weird. I don't
know what their state flower is, but their state bird's the middle
finger." She waited for the hoots aimed at New Yorkers and Yankees in
general to subside.

"Let me tell you, I was riding over here this
afternoon. Saw a sign. It said 'No Center Line.' Why those suckers be spendin'
my tax money tellin' me something I could have figured out for myself? I try to
obey signs though. If a sign says 'Stop,' I stop. If one says 'Yield,' I yield.
Saw one the other day that said 'Water on Road..' Well, about that time, a cop
came by. He asked me what I was doing. I pointed to the sign... He looked at
that sign, looked back at me, nodded and said, 'I'll go behind the car.'"

Gerry paused to let the laughter subside. Frank realized it
allowed her to change her subject and manner of delivery.

"You know, I've been thinking. Can you imagine what a
good salesman the guy was that sold the first customer ever a telephone? And
what did he think he needed it for? I can just see it. Everyday, he'd pick it
up. The operator would answer. 'Hi, Bob... Nope, not yet... Don't worry, I'll
give them your number.' At least his kids weren't on it all the time... Hey, I
went to Wal-Mart the other day. I walked inside and started looking around. I
told myself, them people have everything but a funeral parlor. Then, I started
thinking. Why not? Couldn't you just see it? The little old man that greets you
at the entrance would say, 'You here for the Smith services? Aisle seven, the
other side of House-wares'. If you want flowers, the Garden Section is to the
left... Here's a basket.' And for those folks that want to be frozen after they
die, there's plenty of room right next to the Blue Bell."

A loud male voice came from the audience. "Get off the
stage!"

Frank watched, wondering how Gerry would handle a heckler.

"What's your problem, sucker?" she asked calmly.

"You ain't funny," The man shouted back.

"Yeah, and you ain't handsome, but I didn't try to tell
everybody."

"You need to get some new writers."

"And you need brain surgery... I know a good
proctologist."

It was clear that Gerry had the audience. They hooted and
cheered. One man stood and made a dismissive gesture at the heckler. Even the
heckler broke out in a broad grin, and gave a friendly wave.

Frank watched Rankin. The proprietor said something to Sammy
Sullivan and swiveled his chair, heading toward a hulking man standing near the
office. Sammy retrieved a bunch of flowers wrapped in tissue paper from behind
the bar and handed them to Marsha Meyers who headed for the dressing rooms
backstage. Acknowledgement of Bea Black's success. Classy move.

It took Frank a moment to realize the man Rankin was talking
to was Roger Harrington. Roger's change in appearance was as dramatic as
Gerry's. During his time as a homicide detective, Frank had been involved in
several sting operations, but Gerry and Roger took to being under cover better
than anyone he'd ever worked with.

Rankin and Roger talked long enough for Frank to finish his
second beer, then the proprietor headed back to the bar. Meyers had not come
out of the backstage area. Frank glanced at the bar. The Grinch was busy.

"What did you think of my new act?" Rankin asked.

Frank shrugged. "I'm not much of a judge. Seemed all
right to me."

Rankin pulled a face. "I agree. You're definitely not a
good judge. She had the audience rapt. Once she took charge of the stage, she
could have recited the Preamble to the Constitution and they would have
laughed." He glanced around. "Where did your partner get to?"

Frank nodded toward the front door. Chad was ambling toward
them. "He had a call from nature."

Rankin waited until Chad was standing beside Frank before
flashing his infectious grin.

"I understand you tried to get a search warrant for my
home and got turned down?"

Frank couldn't hide his surprise. "How did you know
that?"

"I've got friends at City Hall. How do you think I
compiled those files on you? All that information wasn't in the
Chronicle."

Frank didn't say anything, but acknowledged to himself there
was definitely a leak at HPD.

"Any time you want to come by the house," Rankin
continued, "I'd be happy to show you around."

"I'm not interested in your taste in decor," Frank
answered. "Would you be willing to waive preemptory rights?"

"Of course. Particularly since it wouldn't make any
difference. Any good lawyer can get preemptory evidence thrown out of court.
But regardless, I have nothing to hide."

"How about early in the morning?"

"That all depends on what you call 'early.' I work
nights, remember."

"Your call."

Rankin extended his hand. "See you about ten?"
Frank shook the hand and watched Rankin spin the chair and head for his office.
Gus stood in the open doorway glaring over Rankin's head at Frank and Chad.

Gerry sat in her dressing room staring in the mirror. She
was appraising her performance, evaluating what had worked and what didn't,
injecting punch lines that would have been better, evaluating her timing and
assessment of the audience. She decided that the routine had gone well,
considering how rusty she was. She opened the drawer in the table and withdrew
a dog-eared spiral pad, reviewing the notes for the delivery she'd chosen for
the next time. She mouthed the jokes as she dabbed on cold cream and wiped off
her stage makeup with a tissue. She chuckled as she studied her facial
expressions through the mottled mess of makeup.

The door opened behind her and a woeful looking blonde came
in carrying an armful of flowers. The woman appeared lost and apprehensive.
Gerry figured this must be Marsha Myers, the employee Frank said they called
Mars.

"These flowers were sent by Mr. Rankin," the girl
informed her. "He always sends them if he likes the act."

"How nice," Gerry smiled as she stood and accepted
the gift. "And who might you be? If I read your attitude correctly, you
don't agree with the boss."

"Hey, don't pay me no mind. I just work here, and I've
seen acts come and go. You did all right, I reckon."

The East Texas phrase, "I reckon," didn't come off
as though Marsha felt comfortable using it. Gerry recalled what she had read in
Marsha's file. There was little to remember: Name: Marsha Meyers; Vitals: five
feet six inches, blonde hair, blue eyes; Weight: 130 pounds (approximate); Age:
28 (approximate); Employment: The Ha Ha House - Bar back and wait staff;
Profile: Emotional, loyal, unsophisticated - Frank had said flaky and Gerry
decided to add petulant, sometimes vacant; Previous history: Unknown. Gerry
decided to try to fill in some of that.

"You sure don't sound like an East Texas girl,
Marsha."

Marsha squinted and focused on Gerry for the first time
since entering the room. "I don't know what you mean. I was born right
here in Houston."

"Yeah? That may be, but I get the feeling you spent a
lot of time elsewhere."

Marsha shrugged. "Maybe so. Off and on." She
turned and left.

Well that got me absolutely nowhere, Gerry thought. Now I've
got to be careful, or the next time it'll be obvious I'm probing.

Frank and Chad left the club and headed for Chad's
apartment.

"I'll pick you up in the morning early. We'll check in
with the task force and be at Rankin's by ten. Don't wear your uniform."

"Okay, Frank, but I'm going to need a clothing
allowance if I stay at this detective game long. I don't have a closet filled
with civilian clothes."

Frank didn't respond.

He dropped Chad at his home and cruised along I-10, debating
whether to go to his apartment and call it a day, or to do the other chore
first. He'd bought a potpourri of audio-surveillance equipment from a man he
had busted several years earlier. Shawn Worley had been in his early twenties
when Frank uncovered his felonious activities as a computer hacker and
all-purpose electronics wizard. Worley was a merchant who asked no questions of
his customers, obtaining and distributing 

information about anything or anyone as long as the price
was high enough to provide funds for his expensive hobby. One of his customers
was a gun for hire and Frank had nailed Shawn as an accessory. After his prison
term, Worley opened a legitimate business, manufacturing and selling all manner
of electronic systems.

Before Frank and Chad had gone to the Ha Ha House, Frank had
paid a visit to Worley's shop and purchased what he needed to bug every room of
Gerry's new apartment. Probably a waste of time and money. Gerry had moved to a
"safe house," a motel room actually, which was already rigged for the
maximum security HPD could afford, but each of the victims in this case had
been killed at their place of residence, and he had no intention of taking any
chances with his new partner's life.

He tried to reach Pauley by phone and drew a blank at both
the mall and their apartment. Her cell phone was out of service. He decided to
plant the devices before he went home to the empty apartment.

After turning on Fowler, he drove past Gerry's townhouse,
scanning the bushes and any place he thought someone could possibly be
concealed. Not that he expected anyone to be watching him, but it paid to be
careful, and also, he wanted to have a comprehensive knowledge of the area for
future reference.

He parked the cruiser at the end of the block facing in the
opposite direction and sat in silence, memorizing each nuance of the
neighborhood. He pulled a plastic shopping bag from the back seat, fished into
the bag and found the roll of electrical tape. Another look around told him it
would be safe to open the door without anyone noticing the interior light. He
did it quickly, depressing the switch with his foot while he pulled off strands
of the tape. It took pressure and care to ensure that the tape would prevent
the light from coming on. He climbed out and eased the door closed without
allowing it to latch, waiting several minutes to see if the tape was going to
hold. Convinced, he crossed to the side of the street where Gerry's entrance
was located and strolled toward the townhouse with his hands jammed in his pockets,
the plastic shopping bag looped around his wrist and dangling at his knee.

Frank had no trouble recognizing Gerry's new digs. He stood
in the shadow of a large oak tree and listened to the noise from the freeway,
filtering out that background the best he could, to rune into any sound that
came from the neighborhood. Satisfied no one was about he picked the lock and
let himself into the family room and kitchen area. The cartons and clutter he
had seen during his first visit were gone, either put in their proper place or
hidden away in a closet. Frank assumed the latter to be the case, since Gerry
hadn't had enough down time to do much housecleaning.

He surveyed the lower floor and decided to install a
standard audio bug in the hall. Shawn Worley had convinced him the microphone
would pick up voices from a distance farther than either the family room or
kitchen was from the hall. He also planned to place a phone-activated bug in
the downstairs telephone. He climbed the stairs and found an ideal spot for a
traditional bug that should cover voices from either bedroom. Once these
devices were in place, he retrieved the final apparatus from the shopping bag.
It looked like one of those toys consisting of numerous small magnets that can
be arranged into odd shapes by bouncing or jiggling, but its form was solid. It
was a fake. Shawn Worley had sold him this listening gizmo in the conviction
that anyone sophisticated enough to sweep the house for bugs would use a
magnetic detection device. This "toy" would not alert anyone's
suspicions and would work better than any other type of bug. Frank smiled,
remembering the ex-con's pride in his own invention as he placed the jumble of
metal on the table beside Gerry's bed.

He completed the wiring and tested each bug. They were all
voice activated and designed to transmit to a portable receiver and recording
system no larger than a hand-held cell phone. That receiver needed to be within
30 yards of the house, but it had a built-in relay that linked to his phone,
and he could retrieve the message from anywhere within the local cell. He hid
the receiver in a half whiskey barrel filled with camellias on a small patio
off the kitchen.

Once the bugs were in place, Frank frowned at the third
level. The loft was probably not a place where the killer would try to harm
Gerry. It was too far from the bathroom and too difficult to transport a body,
living or dead, up and down the stairs. He decided to take that chance and left
the loft without a listening device. He took a last look around to insure he
had cleaned up any evidence he'd been here, and let himself out the front door.

Frank drove to a service station and deli on I-10, telling
himself since he had done an illegal act by bugging Gerry's house without
permission from anyone, he needed to dispose of the evidence. He said to
himself, "You know that there are numerous ways to get rid of this
shopping bag without going to a business that sells alcohol." He had
already broken an age-old dictate not to drink on duty by having beer at the Ha
Ha House. "But I wasn't officially on duty. I went to catch the new
act." That rationalization wouldn't wash. He told himself he had chosen
the stop to buy enough beer to replenish the supply he had depleted with his
self-indulgence the night before. He wouldn't drink any of the stuff tonight,
but have it on hand for later.

He emptied the shopping bag by hand, distributing scraps and
wires throughout the dumpster. When the bag was empty, he tore it in shreds and
shoved it into a greasy cardboard carton that had held potato chips and been
used to dump the scrapings from the hot dog rotisserie. He went inside the
store and directly to the restroom to wash his hands, telling himself as he
passed the beverage display, he wouldn't buy beer. On the way back to the
front, he snagged a 12-pack of Keystone and paid the cashier. This will last me
more than a week. Yeah, Right!

When he pulled into the parking spot for his apartment, he
was astonished to see Pauley's car parked in her usual spot. He glanced up at the
window and determined the lights were indeed on. She was there. Damn! I don't
think I'm ready for this right now.