Stone Quarry (14 page)

Jimmy jumped from the chair, moved to Alice's side. He folded an arm around her shoulders, spoke her name softly, but she pulled away. She wiped her eyes, leaving her face streaked with grime.

"I want to go home," she said, voice quavering. She pulled together her mittens, hat, car keys. "You don't need me now. I can go."

"Baby—" Jimmy reached out a hand; she shrugged it off.

"Alice, wait," I said.

"Why?" she asked unhappily. "Jimmy has you now. You'll know what to do. I just want to go home."

"It's not him I'm thinking about. It's you."

She pulled on her mittens, stood thin-lipped, waiting.

"Remember I said I wasn't the only person looking for Jimmy? One of the other people is Frank Grice. He offered me a thousand dollars."

Jimmy's eyebrows shot up. "What the hell for?"

"You."

They were both silent, digesting that.

I went on, "If I found you, Alice, Grice can too. He's not a nice man."

She threw Jimmy a confused look, then back to me. "I don't understand. What do you want me to do?"

"I don't want you out there in that house by yourself. Is there someone you can stay with?"

"That's ridiculous!" she snapped. "It's my home. I've always lived there. I'm not afraid of those people."

"That's a mistake," I said. "I am."

That stopped her. "Well . . ." She frowned. "Laura and her husband live in Schoharie."

"Good," I said. "Go there tonight. And I don't want you alone during the day. You know Grice by sight?"

She nodded.

"You even think you see his shadow, call the state troopers." I described Arnold to her, and Otis and Ted. "And if anyone does ask you anything, do you think you can lie better than you did to me?"

She flushed crimson, and for the first time she smiled. "I think so."

"Good," I said again. "You haven't seen Jimmy since he started cheating on you and you threw him out." Jimmy started to protest; I ignored him. "You don't know where he is, and you hope he rots in hell. Right? Tell them to go ask his new girlfriend. And tell them if they find him not to bother to tell you about it because you really couldn't care. Can you do that?"

"Yes." Her voice was clear again.

We looked at each other, the three of us, in the cold, dingy room. The kerosene lamp sputtered.

"If you need me," I said, "you have the number; or try Antonelli's."

Alice opened the door, shut it silently, and was gone.

Jimmy watched at the window as the yellow Plymouth backed into position, headed down the stony road.

He sat down, nodded toward the door, gave me a shamefaced smile. "I messed that up, huh?"

"Big time," I said. "Was it worth it?"

He shook his head.

I lit another Salem, tried to taste the tobacco through the mouth-numbing menthol. "Okay," I said. "Let's get to work."

He grinned his old grin. "You're the boss. What do we do now?"

"I ask, you answer. Who killed Wally Gould?"

"Oh, man, I
told
you, I wasn't there!"

"No, you didn't. You only said you didn't kill him."

"Well, I wasn't. Happier?"

"Lose the attitude, Jimmy. This isn't a game."

His grin spread, and he reached for a cigarette. "Sure it is, Mr. S. It's a big fucking game, and you're my ace in the hole. You're gonna pull it out for me, just like before."

I pushed to my feet so fast the box I'd been sitting on fell over, clattered on the floor. I took two steps across the room, grabbed Jimmy's parka, slammed him up against the wall. His cigarette dropped and his fists clenched but all he did was stare at me through eyes suddenly grown huge.

"What the flick—!"

"Shut up, you stupid bastard!" I felt the blood rush hot to my face. "Now listen to me! There's no game. A man's dead: the game's over. I don't know if I can pull it out for you, but I know this: there's only one way now. My way! You got that, Jimmy?"

He didn't answer, didn't move.

Our eyes locked in silence. In his eyes I saw the kid who, years ago, had skated out onto a frozen pond on a dare, triumphantly clowning at first, then hearing the ice crack.

I didn't know what he saw in mine.

I spoke slowly, controlling my voice. "You're going to give me everything you know."

I released him urgently, took a step back, drew in a long breath. My Salem had scorched the table where I'd left it. I set the box on end again, sat down.

Jimmy still hadn't moved.

"You never knocked me around before," he said, angry and accusing but with a note of wonder. "My dad did, and Tony, but you never did."

"Maybe I never thought it would do any good before."

He pushed off from the wall, yanked his parka back on straight. He turned the chair around, straddled the seat, arms crossed along the back. I took another drag of the Salem, dropped it and crushed it.

"My way?" I asked.

Jimmy nodded.

I began: "Who killed Wally Gould?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there."

"You don't have any ideas?"

He shrugged.

"Why was he killed at the bar?"

"I don't know, unless to make me look bad."

"Who'd want to do that?"

He smiled a little. "Mostly, Wally."

"All right, try this. Frank Grice tried to soften Tony up the other night. Why?"

Surprise stiffened his body. "Frank? Tony? What happened? Is Tony okay?"

I told him about the fight, Gould, and the gun. "Grice told Tony he had something on you, and it would cost him to keep it quiet. What does he have?"

"Oh, shit, Mr. S.! What the hell could he have? I've been clean, man,
months
now. You know, working. Allie could tell you . . ." He gestured toward the door, left his sentence unfinished.

"She did tell me." I opened another beer; my mouth was as dry as the rock dust that coated everything in the shack. "She also told me that a couple of weeks ago you started fooling around with Ginny Sanderson."

"Yeah" was all he gave me, and that reluctantly.

"Where'd you meet her?"

"At the Creekside."

"Grice's place?"

"Uh-huh."

"I thought you told Alice you were through with those people."

"I just stopped by for a beer, man. Just a beer, with the guys. They were all starting to say stuff. You know, about how I wasn't hanging out no more . . ."

"Yeah, Jimmy. Okay. Where's Ginny now?"

"Where's Ginny? How the hell do I know? Who cares?"

"She dropped you for another guy. Who?"

He pulled out a cigarette, tapped it on the pack. "I don't know."

"She didn't tell you who it was?"

"Uh-uh. She only said he was tougher than me. That's what she likes, tough. She thinks she's tough, too." He lit the cigarette, licked his thumb and forefinger, squeezed out the match. It made a sizzling sound. A smudge of smoke rose, broke up, and vanished. "She told me to get lost. She said . . ." He trailed off.

"What?"

He glared, but he answered. "She said she was tired of little boys."

"Jimmy," I said, "she hasn't been home for two days. Her father's worried."

He laughed. "Worried? That jerk? He's lucky she didn't split a long time ago."

"Why should she have?"

"He's on her case all the time. Won't leave her alone. He's the king of
don't,
like she was a kid or something.

Don't do that, don't go there, don't hang out, don't be late. He's a tightass with money, too. She hates him."

"She told you that?"

"Uh-huh."

A gust of wind shook the window in its frame. A storm was coming up. There were scratching sounds as pebbly dust was flung against the shack.

"You know Eve Colgate, Jimmy?" I asked. "She lives along Ten outside of Central Bridge."

"Sure. Tony used to work for her, long time ago. Sometimes he took me over there with him. She used to give me, like, cookies and stuff. I mean, I was a kid." He flushed self-consciously.

"Last Friday she was robbed," I said. "She lost some pretty valuable stuff, but it's not stuff just anybody could unload. I want to know who did that job, Jimmy. Was it you?

His face was the face of a kid who'd been smacked even though, for the first time in his life, he'd been nowhere near the cookie jar.

"Oh, man!" he said. "No, it fucking wasn't! What do I got to do for you, man, draw you a picture? I'm clean! Ask Allie. Ask Tony. Ask fucking
Frank!"

"Okay, Jimmy," I said, "Okay. It wasn't you. Who was it? Frank?"

"No way. Even if it was his idea, it wouldn't've been him. He keeps his hands clean. Only he'll find where to fence your shit for you later, for the right price. What the hell's the difference, anyway? I got a murder rap hanging over my ass and you're asking about a robbery I never even heard of! What do you want from me?" He stood abruptly. "You keep asking me all this shit I can't answer. What do you want?"

"I'm trying," I said evenly, "to dig your ass out of a hole so deep it hasn't got a bottom. Your keys to the bar were found next to Gould's body."

His face went white, stranding his eyes, big and dark and frightened. "What?" he almost whispered.

"Your keys to the bar, on a ring with some other keys. Door keys, car keys. Where's your truck?"

"My what?" He looked blank; then the color rose in his face again.

"Oh, come on, Jimmy. Ellie Warren says you bought a four-by-four. It's not up here. Where is it?"

"I don't know," he said.

"You don't know? What the hell does that mean, you don't know?"

"I don't fucking know! One of the guys must have borrowed it. They do sometimes, you know, like when I'm working and shit."

"How long is it that you don't know?"

He paced the small room. "Couple of days, maybe. How the hell'd my keys get in the bar?"

"You tell me."

"Oh, man! I wasn't there. I wasn't! I didn't know nothing about it, until I heard it over the goddamn scanner." He stopped pacing, turned to me hopefully. "They were left there on purpose. Like Wally was killed there: to make me look bad."

"Planted? Maybe. Who had the truck?"

"Oh, shit, Mr. S.! I don't know! One of the guys took it, Andy or Rich, somebody. I leave the keys in it sometimes when I'm at work. Bad habit, huh?" He tried to grin.

"Same keys? The ones on the silver ring?"

"Yeah. I guess so."

I pushed to my feet, stood facing him. "This is a load of crap. You don't just lose track of a new four-by-four. I don't know how that truck figures into Gould's murder, but your keys say it does. I want to know who had it. Was it Frank?"

"Frank? I wouldn't lend Frank a nickel, forget about my truck!"

"But you did lend it to someone. Andy and Rich didn't just come and take it, did they?"

"No, man, I told you."

"You told me bullshit."

"Hey! Hey, you don't like it, go to hell!" he exploded. "No one asked you to come up here, man! You don't owe me nothing. I don't need you. I was doing great before you came!

"Were you?" I asked quietly.

He turned away with a curse, pounded a fist on the wall. Wood groaned, glass shivered. He stared out the window at the bleak plain. The shaky flame of the kerosene lamp was mirrored in the glass.

I put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't turn around but he didn't shrug me off, either.

"Okay," I said. "I'm leaving. I'll do what I can. I'll be back when I can. Jimmy?" I waited for an answer. I got a grunt. It was enough. "If they find you, give up. Let them take you. Don't shoot it out, Jimmy. You'll lose. I don't want that."

He didn't answer again. I zipped my jacket, stepped out the door into the moonless, starless night.

Chapter 11

There were more cars than usual in the lot at Antonelli's. I parked up by the road, watched the tin sign swing in the wind, blowing stronger now, out of the north. As I left the car two guys I'd seen around over the years came out the bar's front door, talking, smoking. One poked the other's ribs, said something low as I passed. I felt their eyes on me as I crossed the gravel, pulled the door open.

Inside was crowded, for Antonelli's, for a Wednesday in late winter. There were new faces and faces only half familiar. The winter regulars were sitting at tables along the walls as if they'd been stranded there by a flood.

Marie passed, looking harried, carrying plates of burgers and a bowl of chili. I winked at her and she smiled ruefully.

There was an empty stool at the end of the bar and I put myself on it. Tony spotted me, nodded. I waited for him to finish mixing two 7&7s that Marie came back and snatched up off the bar. She called, "Scotch rocks, two Buds, and a Fog Cutter."

Tony stared. "An' a
what?"

Marie lifted her shoulders helplessly.

Tony looked at me. "Grenadine, mixed fruit juice, one- fifty-one rum," I said.