“I wouldn’t mind.”
He wouldn’t mind. Dr. Tommy scratched his stomach looking up at the deck. Elvin wouldn’t mind shooting the policeman. He wouldn’t mind shooting the judge. Hector wouldn’t mind shooting Elvin, or pushing him down those stairs… What is it, Dr. Tommy thought, you wouldn’t mind? More than anything.
Right now?
Well, a twenty-five-dollar rock and a decent bong, not a beer can, to start with.
21
T
hey drove out to his house in what Gibbs called “the Dodge Motorcade,” a green-and-white leading and two unmarked cars following the one they were in, Wesley the TAC cop driving, Gibbs talkative.
He said to Kathy, “I miss my pickup. You know what’s a kick? Drive over to Palm Beach for a function and have one of their cops stop me. Wait for him to swagger up to the window and then let him have it. I’ve been to places, these big condo layouts, drive up to the gate going to a cocktail party, the security guard says, ‘No trucks after five p.m.’ I look at him. ‘Boy, you happen to know who you’re addressing?’”
He said, “I’m getting too much attention of the wrong kind. What I need is a good capital felony, an open-and-shut first-degree murder. Send the defendant up to sit in Old Sparky and get my image restored.” Kathy saw Wesley’s eyes in the rearview mirror and Gibbs said, “Boy, watch the road. Never mind what’s going on back here. You TAC guys are on the ball, but I can’t say you’re fun to live with.” Two inside the house at all times, he told Kathy, another four placed around the property. The TAC guys in the cars following them would relieve the crew that was here all day. They turned into the gravel drive, Gibbs saying, “They’re quiet as mice, but you know they’re around. We’ll sit and relax, have a drink, talk of something pleasant for a change. Then I’ll show you my garden.”
“I’ve seen it,” Kathy said.
• • •
H
e told Ms. Spunky, well, you haven’t seen everything.
She was not as appreciative as Stephanie, now selling real estate, damn it, in Orlando. Steph would love the motorcade, all the attention. He might’ve misread this one. She didn’t just talk to be talking like most girls he knew. Barely spoke till they were in the garage, going in the house, then looks at the pile of trash waiting to be picked up and asks if they delivered pizzas way out here. He told her he wouldn’t know. Cops ate pizza, he didn’t.
Now they were settled on the porch with drinks and the first thing she said, looking at the patched screen:
“I was surprised, the guy on the phone mentioning the alligator.”
He should never have put that call on the speaker.
“It surprised me too. Least I won’t get any calls here, the number’s unlisted. I’ll have to play the tapes for you sometime, the ones called hoping to see me killed. You imagine the kind of person would do that?”
“He seemed to think you’d know who he was.”
“Well, last week I fined a poacher five hundred bucks. I mentioned him, Dicky Campau? Shot a gator in the Palm Beach Canal.”
“But he was talking about the one in your yard.”
Bob Gibbs saw he had to take another tack. He hated to act dumb, give this girl the wrong impression. “Well, the only thing I can think of… he’s the same one brought the gator. Put it in the yard beforehand, mad as hell,
knowing
he was gonna get a heavy fine. What do you think?” He saw her start to tell him and moved on saying, “The guy’s wife was in court at the sentencing. Now there’s a woman
looks
like an alligator, homeliest female I ever saw.” Hoping to slide off the subject.
No, Ms. Spunky stayed with it saying, “Didn’t he want to make some kind of deal?”
Why was she asking these questions? A girl. Cops, you told them how you saw it and they got the picture, fast, they knew how the system worked. He wasn’t worried about Dicky Campau. Maybe he was for a minute there on the phone till he realized, hell, whatever story Dicky told would be an offender’s word against his. So pick him up, let him say whatever he wanted.
Now he couldn’t remember what it was she’d asked him.
It didn’t matter. She had another question. “You think he’s the one shot at us?”
Gibbs almost said, Who, Dicky? before he realized it wasn’t a bad question. Why couldn’t it be Dicky? Kept a rifle in his pickup. He’d even mentioned it to the TAC cop. When he did, though, he wasn’t thinking of Dicky as the shooter. He saw Ms. Spunky waiting to know what he thought.
“Honey, are you reading my mind or what? I thought of Dicky Campau as we lay there on the ground, before the shots had even faded out. How’s your drink?”
“It’s fine. But you didn’t mention him to the sheriff and his guys.”
“I wanted to think about it awhile first.”
“Did you mention him to anyone before he called?”
“Let’s see now. All last week I had a full schedule, plus these TAC guys in my hair… You could use some ice.”
She said, “How would he know where Dale was?”
Gibbs had their glasses now, leaving the porch. “I’ll be right back.”
In the kitchen he dialed his buddy McKenna’s home number.
“Bill, I think they’re picking up Dicky Campau on one of the anonymous calls.”
“They already have,” the colonel said.
“They should look for his rifle.”
“They have it too. It’s in the lab.”
“Let me know, all right?”
“Soon as I hear.”
He doused their glasses with bourbon and took a good sip of his, beginning to believe he might have to strangle this girl if he couldn’t get her drunk. Maybe this wasn’t a good time to be thinking of romance. Gibbs opened the back door and stepped into the garage. Wesley and another TAC guy were out in the driveway talking. Gibbs said, “Wes?” and watched him look this way.
“Sir?”
“Ms. Baker’s ready to go home.”
• • •
W
esley had the radio tuned to a top-forty station before they were out of the drive. He asked Kathy if she wanted something else. She said no, that’s fine. But then reached over and turned down the volume.
They were on Southern Boulevard before he said, “So you’re a friend of the judge’s, huh?”
She shrugged, her mind on something else.
“You want my opinion, he’s too old for you.”
“He is,” Kathy said. “You ever stay at his house?”
“You mean, on security detail? Every night.”
“What do you have to eat?”
“What do we
eat
?”
“What kind of meals do you have? You cook or send out?”
“We cook on his grill.”
“You know any evidence techs?”
With each question he’d glance at her.
“I know every one of them.”
“Would they bring pizza on a job?”
“Pizza?”
“Last Thursday night, at the judge’s house.”
“When the guy shot at him?”
“Yeah, would they bring a pizza?”
“You kidding? With the sheriff there?”
They didn’t say anything for several minutes. Wesley turned the volume up a notch. Coming to Military Trail he asked if she’d like to stop for a beer. Kathy told him she had to pick up her car at the courthouse and get home. They drove along. Wesley turned the volume down again.
“I usually work undercover.”
“When you’re not baby-sitting?”
“Yeah.” He liked her remembering that and grinned. “I make buys, set up the bust. Since I’ve been with TAC we’ve busted seventeen dope houses I was in on. One time I run around to the backyard and here’s this dude coming out with a MAC-ten in his hand. I’m cocked, I got the tension off the trigger. I go, ‘Put it down, man, or you’re fuckin’ dead.’ I mean it was close.”
“Have you ever shot anyone?”
“Not yet.”
• • •
S
he drove home on that one. “Not yet.” Dark now, almost seven. Traffic on the freeway erratic, slow drivers in the fast lane. Have you ever shot anyone? Gary said no; her brothers, even Tony, said no and she had the feeling they hoped they’d never have to. But there were cops who believed it would happen or who looked for the chance.
Not yet
. Maybe the next time he was cocked, tension off the trigger… She parked in the lot in front of her apartment building, got out, locked the VW. A door slammed in the dark.
Gary walked up without saying a word and kissed her. He tried to step back, but she had hold of his tie and wouldn’t let go until they’d kissed again, putting some meaning into it. Now they could play around.
She said, “I think my affair with the judge is over. I ask too many questions. How was your day?”
He said, “I heard about Dicky Campau and I learned Dr. Tommy has a dark-brown penis. It’s almost black.”
She said, “We always have something to talk about, don’t we? Let’s go upstairs and have a beer.”
He said, “How about coming with me first. I want you to meet somebody. It won’t take long, she has to be at work by nine.”
“What is she, a hooker?”
He smiled. “Part-time. There’s your cop instinct again. Earlene dances topless at a joint on Lake Worth Road and turns tricks on the side.”
“To buy crack and beam up,” Kathy said. “Outside of that, and having a name like Earlene, what’s her problem? No, wait. Her pimp beats her up and she’s pregnant.”
“I’m sorry I mentioned your instinct. You want me to tell you, or you’d rather keep guessing?”
“She owes her dealer and
he
beat her up.” Talkative because she was glad to see him.
“It’s nothing like that. This girl, Earlene, told a friend of hers about a guy she was with and the friend, who did sell drugs at one time, happens to be a confidential informant of mine. He tells me about it, says she’s afraid of this guy and doesn’t know what to do. I’m interested, so my informant gets back to her. Will she talk to me? Well, she’s a little nervous about it and he has to convince her it’s okay.”
“This is a very devoted snitch you have.”
“He cooperates with us, like any good citizen.”
“Or you’ll put him away.”
Gary said, “We all have choices to make, don’t we? But he does want to help his friend. He’s worried about her.”
“So you got to talk to her?”
“Just a little while ago. What’s bothering her, a John she was with told her he’s going to kill somebody. He said he’s already killed one guy. Now he’s going to do it again, and if she doesn’t believe him, watch for it in the paper.”
“Elvin,” Kathy said.
“Maybe. He took her to a house in Delray.”
“It’s Elvin. Can she identify him?”
Gary smiled at her in the dark.
“That’s where you come in.”
• • •
K
athy waited in the backseat, the Dodge double-parked in front of a rundown apartment house in Lake Worth. Gary brought her out to the car: a girl in her early twenties, long hair, pale skinny arms in a tank top, a small shoulder bag in her hand, holding on to it. Don’t leave home without your stash, or at least something. Gary opened the door for her and she hesitated, seeing Kathy in back. Gary said, “Earlene, this is Kathy Baker, the probation officer I mentioned. The guy we’re talking about might be one of her cases.” He got her in and closed the door.
Kathy said, “How are you, Earlene?”
No answer. Earlene tossed her head, getting her hair out of her eyes, watching Gary circle the car. He acted different. As soon as they were moving he said, “We’re off,” like they were going for a ride in the country. Then, on the way, gave his views of the weather, the traffic, ethnic restaurants along Federal Highway: Gary making small talk—it was funny—to the part-time prostitute smoking cigarettes, nodding to some beat in her head, not saying a word. Earlene had told Gary she remembered the street in Delray but didn’t know the address. Maybe if she saw the house. Kathy asked what night it was he brought her there. Earlene said Saturday. Kathy asked if the guy wore a cowboy hat and Earlene said, hey, yeah, that’s right. Gary turned into the street of old frame houses and trees. Pulling up in front of Dale’s he said, “Is this the one?”
Earlene wasn’t sure. She said, “I can tell by the inside, but I’m not going in if he’s there. No way.”
Gary looked at Kathy in the backseat. “You mind?”
“You can see no one’s home.”
“For Earlene?”
For Earlene—for Gary. Save him the trouble of getting a warrant.
“If the door’s locked, do I break in?”
“My guys checked yesterday. You can push it open.”
That’s what Kathy did, walked in and turned on the lamp without a shade, then the lights in the kitchen and the bedroom. Gary brought Earlene in. She said, “This’s the house. Man, all the beer bottles and shit.” She crossed to the bedroom but didn’t go in. “This’s where he practically raped me.”
Gary said, “Practically?”
“He was so rough, and he smelled. I go, ‘How can you live in a rat hole like this and drive a Cadillac?’ and he got pissed.”
Gary glanced at Kathy.
“He was driving a Cadillac? You didn’t mention that.”
“Yeah, a black one.”
Earlene walked over to the kitchen, Kathy watching the way she moved in her short skirt and backless heels in a kind of confident slouch, a low-speed sway to her hips. She kept her hand on the small beaded purse hanging from her shoulder. Earlene was looking in the kitchen now.
“Jesus—see that thing? He stuck it up my nose.”
The shank made from a spoon, lying on the kitchen table. Gary edged past her and picked it up. “I thought he didn’t threaten you.”
“It was when I said the place looked like a rat hole? He goes, ‘You calling me a nigger?’ I forgot that part. See, it was right then he told me he had killed a guy and was gonna do it again.”
Gary prompted her saying, “And if you didn’t believe him…”
“Yeah, I’d see it in the paper.”
“But even if there was a story about a homicide,” Gary said, “how were you supposed to know he did it?”
“He said it would be a big headline on the front page, with a picture. Not some nigger got killed.”
“You went in the bedroom then?”
“Yeah, and the bed smelled worse’n he did.”
“He mention it again, after? About killing someone?”
“Not a word.” Earlene turned from the kitchen. “Or last night either.”
She moved in a kind of slow motion that seemed natural to her, heels scuffing the floor. Gary came out of the kitchen shaking his head at Kathy. One surprise after another.
“Earlene? You were here again last night?”
“We went to a guy’s house, over on the beach.”