Sleep Don't Come Easy (22 page)

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Authors: Victor McGlothin

BOOK: Sleep Don't Come Easy
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“Nah, that's not possible. What I do need is a hookup on a last known address for Sinton Johnson.”
There was a grunt on the other end. “Oomph, Sin Johnson? That's a name I haven't heard in a long while. Is he back on the streets?”
After Vera explained that's why she was calling, Cecilia pulled him up on the computer. She missed on the address but she did have information on usual hangouts and known affiliations. Vera nearly hollered when Cecilia mentioned Vendetta Lewis's name among Sin's old friends. “Vendetta Lewis?”
“Yeah, she used to be a mule when she was shaking her ta-tas at the nudie bar,” said Cecelia. “I could see if she's in the system.”
“No, that won't be necessary, chica, I know where to find that tramp. She works at the bar with Bullet now.”
“Uh-oh, sounds like someone's been tramping around someone else's chocolate. Call me if you need backup.”
“Good luck with Ramón tonight and try to keep your panties on, at least through dinner.”
Cecelia giggled with her hand placed over the phone to muffle her outburst. “I thought you knew. I don't even wear panties.”
“Uh-uh, that's too much information,” Vera howled. “I'll get with you later. Bye, girl.”
With two burritos sitting on her stomach like boulders, Vera figured to get some relief by cashing in that good deed she performed for the former stripper and get Vendetta to lighten up while giving up the goods on Sinton. “She'd better give up that chump,” Vera grunted, on the way over to the 3rd Round. Unfortunately, some things were easier said than done.
Thirteen
T
he parking lot in front of Bullet's place was so packed that Vera spent several minutes waiting on a parking space. When she stepped inside, the wait for a table was just as long. The chattering crowd, saturated with fitness nuts, fell head over heels in love with Turkey Burger Thursdays. Although it was Vera's idea to add healthy alternatives on the menu, she'd planned on staying away on the days they were offered. Bullet stood behind the bar, mixing virgin frozen drinks and fruity cocktails by the dozens. He tossed a puzzled expression at Vera when she camped by the door with the other customers, then he waved her up to the bar area.
“I was going to wait my turn on a table,” she said, eagerly approaching him. “I've been waiting on everything else. Why do workout weirdos act like there's only one restaurant in town with turkey burgers? I've had 'em, they taste like chicken.”
Bullet filled three ten-ounce glasses with ice. He whipped up three Shirley Temples in a jiff and then grinned at Vera. “Hey, baby, and how is your day going?” he asked sarcastically. “I've got no complaints, because as you know I started it off with a bang. And, as you can see, my woman's idea was a hit, my customer base is about to pop and I even heard that people are outside fighting over parking spaces.”
“Tell me about it, I was one of them not five minutes ago. Sorry to come in on a bad note.” Vera thanked Bullet for the cranberry juice on the rocks he poured her while she looked around the restaurant for the Sinton Johnson associate she came to shake down. “Hey, where's Vendetta?”
“Uh-uh, don't start that today,” he protested, fearing she was up to picking a fight. “We're too busy to fool with any unnecessary trouble.”
Vera hopped off the barstool when she spotted Vendetta heading to the kitchen. “You don't feel me, Bullet, this is very necessary.”
“Hold on, Vera!” he shouted, while trying to control his voice. “Damn, that woman's gonna get somebody hurt.” He wanted to chase the bull traipsing through his china shop, but the drink orders continually rang in.
The waitress whizzed through the double swinging doors at the kitchen's entrance. She was in Vera's sights. Cooks and waiters took notice when Vera followed her prey into the frosty walk-in refrigerator. It was no secret that the two women couldn't care less for one another. Vera heard someone utter, “My money is on Vendetta. She's mean as hell,” as the door closed behind them.
Vendetta spun on her heels. “What are you doing back here? Just because you sleep with the owner don't mean you get to harass the workers.”
“Just like it's not any of my business who you open your legs for, don't get to thinking who gets between mine is any of yours,” Vera sniped in return. “I don't have time to play, li'l girl. I just want an answer to where I can get with Sin Johnson and I'm gone.”
The waitress swung her hip to the side with one hand resting on it and a quart of salad dressing in the other. “Why should I help you do a damned thing when all you do is look down on me?”
“You can't think that. I put my ass on the line for you,” Vera huffed, to remind the once wayward woman why she was not doing a major bid in prison. “I'm not asking for you to repay me, Vendetta. I'm simply asking for a li'l common courtesy.”
“Good, because I don't owe you a damn thing,” she smarted back. “Now you can do me the common courtesy of backing up out of my goddamned way.”
Vera crowded her pathway even more then, daring her to make a move she'd regret. “Ohhh, by the way those veins are popping out of your neck you think you can take me? I ain't no pushover.”
“And I ain't no punk,” the waitress barked.
“Jump up and get beat down then,” Vera threatened. She'd wanted to pop Vendetta in the mouth for a long time and this was her chance, especially since she wouldn't spill the beans of Sin's whereabouts. Vera drew back her right hand. Bullet ripped open the cooler door and caught her by the arm.
“Let it go Vera, Vendetta,” he snarled. “I don't even want to know what's up, who started it or why. I just don't need it going down here. Vera, get on back out there.” Bullet stiff-armed her when she prepared another plan of attack. “Vera, I done told you once. You shouldn't be back here in the first place.”
Vera was shocked. She stared at Bullet peculiarly. “You're a trip, taking her side.” The cold glare in Bullet's eyes froze Vera on the spot. “Okay, okay. I'm leaving.”
“You'd better run,” Vendetta teased. “Next time your boyfriend ain't gonna be around to save you.”
Bullet hustled Vera into his office and slammed the door. “What's gotten into you, Vera? You come up in here, my place of business, acting like it's a schoolyard?”
Seething, Vera cast her eyes toward the ground like a bad girl. “If you hadn't stopped me, I'd have mopped her ass up too. She should have told me what I needed to know and—”
“And nothing, Vera,” Bullet protested. “Don't forget I own this place and I plan on keeping it that way. If you hurt that girl, it'll belong to her and her lawyers. Is hating her that important to you? You know better than anybody Vendetta's on probation. If she gets fired, there's no telling where she'll end up. Vera, I swear.” He was outdone that she'd acted so selfishly.
“Not that it's an excuse, but I may have taken a case from a stone-cold cop killer. I think Vendetta used to run with the man who can tell me something about him. And when she tried to hold out on me after the chance I took for her, I wanted to slap some respect upside that cheap weave of hers. I'm sorry.”
Pulling Vera close to him was as natural to Bullet as breathing, so he reached out his strong arms and drew her in. “Come here, baby. Why don't I talk to Vendetta for you?”
“Hellll, no!” Vera objected heatedly. “That'd be right up her alley, then you would be owing her. Hellll, no!”
“You've got a good point, Vera. However, I don't want you to stay on this case if it's getting you jammed up or second-guessing your first mind. You can't think that about your client or you'd have dumped him as soon as you suspected it. Can the man, whose name you were about to beat out of Vendetta, help you break it down?”
“I've got other ways of finding Vendetta's old buddy. Shouldn't have to though,” she said, pouting for effect. “You've got a packed house out there. I'll get out of your way and Vendetta's.”
“That's my girl. Thank you for being the better woman,” Bullet cooed with a kiss.
“That's because I am the better woman,” Vera asserted with utmost sincerity.
“Vendetta said that wasn't no weave,” Bullet added, while leaving the office. “Said something about being part Indian.”
“She was about to become an honorary Jackaho until you stepped in. Okay, I'm going.”
Vera left the restaurant as promised. The only thing worse than a missed opportunity to beat down her trifling rival was vacating the premises empty handed. The list of hangouts she'd gotten from Cecelia didn't pan out either. After Vera called on several backroom dice parlors and local marijuana dens, she found herself in the same predicament, with no handle on what Warren Sikes was involved in before his unfortunate demise.
Because Vera couldn't talk herself out of it, she found herself pulling up to the home of Sharon Sikes, where she expected to find the slain cop's grieving widow. The house was a step up as far as policemen's homes went, a two-story buff-colored brick set-up with red shutters and trim. A sporty red Chrysler coupe blocked a late model Mercedes Benz in the driveway. At first glance it appeared that The Missus had moved on to a two-car family as well, until Vera read the name on a wooden placard nailed to the front panel of the house.
Sikes. The Missus hadn't remarried,
she reasoned.
Doesn't look like she's going it alone though.
Vera knocked on the door for a few minutes then she beat on it louder when The Missus took her time answering. Suddenly and to Vera's surprise, a thin, fair-skinned black woman snatched the door open. She jeered at Vera before realizing that her visitor didn't scare easily or appear to be fazed by her attempt at warding off strangers. “Could you please not beat on my door? I do not except solicitations.” She tried to cover her night gown with a housecoat but Vera had already seen it and made some definite observations. Sharon Sikes was a drunk and had probably been one for longer than she cared to remember. Bloodshot eyes centered in dark circles made that clear. This woman was a functioning alcoholic, who should have gargled with mouthwash before coming to the door.
“Good, because I have nothing to sell,” Vera said eventually, while watching the woman's skinny hands tremble. She wasn't frightened, just behind on her liquor. “I'm Vera Miles, a private investigator. If you're not too busy, I'd like to ask you a few questions about your husband Warren.”
“You could have called first,” she grunted, before glancing into the house over her shoulder.
Vera didn't respond, blink or move an inch. She stared at the widow, with an intense gaze in her eyes. The thought of calling Mrs. Sikes for an interview didn't sit right with her. Vera discovered years ago how prior warning provided people the time to get their lies straight. She was after pure and unadulterated truth, the kind forced by showing up unannounced.
“I guess you're here now,” Mrs. Sikes sighed, her fingertips dangling nervously. “You may as well come on in.” It was painfully obvious that she experienced a decent amount of agitation from being disturbed. Vera picked up on another, more subtle, nuance when the woman invited her inside. Sharon Sikes hadn't gotten over her husband's sudden departure. There was no other reason to explain her willingness to discuss him while another man kept out of sight in her home. Vera was certain of it once Mrs. Sikes returned from her bedroom with a pack of cigarettes and a stiffer resolve. “So, what do you want to know about Warren and who sent you?”
“Who employs me is highly confidential but I can tell you that my next stop is the Federal Building. There's a special agent on my investigation list,” Vera answered assuredly, in a tone so serious she actually believed it herself.
“FBI?” she squealed, while flicking ashes into a ceramic vase on the coffee table. “You think the feds care that Warren's dead? He ain't any use to them now.”
“So he had decided to offer testimony?” Vera said, as if she'd known it all along. “That explains why they interrogated witnesses at the scene of his death.”
Mrs. Sikes was deliberating now, whether to disregard the marching orders from her bedroom associate and go after the answers to the questions she hadn't asked for years. She sucked profusely on her cigarette, then cocked her lips at the corner of her mouth to exhale the smoke in the opposite direction of her guest. “I went there, you know, to the scene,” she said eventually, with her eyes downcast and blank. “The next day, I went to the morgue first, but he wasn't there. How a place like that loses a body is beyond me. I couldn't have a decent burial for my own husband. The police department had this memorial service, you know. It wasn't nearly the same.”
At a time perfectly scripted for waterworks, Vera didn't see a single tear fall from Sharon Sikes's eyes. “That's one of the questions I've been dying to ask you, and please don't take offense. You haven't changed your name, which wouldn't prohibit you from receiving Mr. Sikes's pension if you did. That leads me to believe you still love him.”
The woman nodded slowly, then caught herself when reminded of a third party listening in. “None of that matters anymore, Ms. Miles,” she answered sadly. “I was his wife, but gone is gone.”
Vera had successfully lulled Mrs. Sikes into a false sense of security by exploiting a nostalgic love gone by. Her next question was pointed even closer to the heart. “Mrs. Sikes, it couldn't have been easy wondering if Warren's shooting happened like everyone, including the newspapers, reported it. I mean, that is why you showed up at the diner crying on your sleeve?”
The Widow Sikes clenched her teeth, once again torn over where to place her loyalties. “I'd been a cop's wife for ten years when the call came that I'd lost my husband. No woman wants to believe it'll be her phone ringing in the middle of the night.” She lit up a second cigarette and inhaled deeply before pushing anxiety and smoke out of her body. “You can't imagine what I felt when no one had any real answers. Not the coroner's office and sure as hell not Warren's superiors. The blue wall went up and that was that.”
Since the woman was on a runaway train with her mouth wide open, Vera threw out a line of questions that begged to be asked. “Every cop's wife knows when he's in trouble on the job. I'm sure you knew about him agreeing to turn state's evidence. It must have been difficult being put aside when you needed answers the most?”
“You don't know the half of it. Warren was mad as a bandit one day, then the perfect mate the next. Yeah, I knew something was going on, I just never learned what exactly. Cops get real secretive like that at times. The police department brass didn't have two words to say when I told them his murder didn't look right to me.”

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