Authors: Faye Kellerman

Moon Music (36 page)

People at high risk included uranium miners (Mom was out of this category), subjects of human radiation experiments (had Mom ever been an experimental subject?), military personnel involved in weapons tests (to his knowledge, Mom had never been in the military), and the downwinders.

The
downwinders.

Poe hit his head.

Of course, you
idiot
! The
downwinders!

Because weather moved
down
wind—from west to east. Which meant that the fallout also moved from west to east. Land due east of NTS was at extremely high risk for excess radiation: eastern Nevada…Arizona…Utah. And east of NTS was forgotten land—sparsely populated areas, lots of grazing ground, and small towns of good Mormon stock. Especially in the 1950s when Mom had been a teen.

God, apple pie, and Chevrolet.

Patriotism.

America: Love it or leave it.

God bless the USA.

Unimportant, expendable people.

Bunkerville in Nevada. In Utah, there was Cedar City, American Fork, Ephraim, Kanab—and St. George.

When Poe had lived in St. George, aboveground testing had still been going on. Huge clouds and winds of radiation enveloped the air he had breathed as a baby. And Emma, a young mother taking out the baby stroller for long walks with her sons through the countryside. Her two tiny infants—little babies with developing brains, and developing thymus glands, and developing thyroids, and developing
pituitary
glands. The three of them, breathing in mouthfuls of radiation with each gentle, passing breeze.

What had it done to Remus and him?

What had it done to his mother?

What had it done to Linda Hennick?

And what
has
it done to Alison Jensen?

THIRTY-THREE

N
OT THAT
it was now or never. Things could always be changed…or altered…or redefined physically and mentally, as it were. But being that the old man and the boys were settled in Los Angeles, it left long stretches of time alone to assess the situation.

No one knew where they were. And no one even bothered to look for them. Because of the temporary leave of absence.

A smile on the face.

It just worked out perfectly. Long days and nights to make things right…to do things correctly.

It was good to be correct.

It was very good to be perfect.

Because perfection was an asset in this world. So few people are really careful…really observe.

So the time was right.

Now all that was required was balls to do the deed.

Go out in style. Like that oldie song.

Good-bye cruel world, I'm off to join the circus.

Because life was a circus—a crudely constructed theater of the absurd. Living in a cesspool while fending off blows from insignificant people who pummel and smash your self-esteem. Until you get so sick and tired of all of it that you lash out and—

Well, what does it really matter?

Because…because…
all the world's a stage.

Or at least a bad Hollywood movie.

Lights! Camera! Action!

And here were the director, the producer, the writer, and the star—all wrapped up into one.

Now for the title.

How about "Predators of the Night."

Or "Night of Prey."

Or "Death Under the Moonlight."

Or "Moondance Death."

Or "Moon Music."

Dancing to the rhythm of the nightcall.

Be it alive or be it dead, I'll grind the bones to make my bread.

"I've got a job for you, Y."

The old man said nothing as he put a dollar token in the poker-machine slot.

Poe stared at the Chief's silvered fingers. "Why don't you use a money card, guy?"

"Too sterile," Y responded. "Don't feel like you're playing the machine."

Poe chuckled, but understood exactly what Y was saying. He said, "Anyway, my job's a simple one. I'll even pay you."

"You always pay me." A beat. "How's your arm?"

Poe rotated the limb, flexed his wrist. "Still intact. You know, Mom's waiting for her medicine man."

"I'm negotiating."

"Negotiating?"

Ping! went the token as it plunged into the machine's infinite coin cavern. "These things take time. Lots of charlatans in the business. Even the good ones…they smell money, they get greedy. Tell her a couple more days."

"Will do."

Suddenly the machine started singing as its lights flashed strobic blips of blue and pink. Y gave out a small smile which seemed to crack his leathered skin. "Look at this!" He pounded Poe's back. "Royal fucking flush!" He jabbed Poe's ribs. "How much is that?"

Wryly, Poe said, "As if you don't know—"

"How
much
?"

"How many coins did you put in?"

"Five."

"Then it's four grand. Unless you're playing progressive."

"Four fucking grand!" Y grinned. "Pretty good, huh?"

"Very good."

"Where's my ticket?"

"You've got to wait for an attendant to clear—"

"Where's the fucking atten—"

"Here I am!"

A chipper forties-plus lady in black slacks, white shirt, black tie, and striped vest took out a key. She inserted it into a lock, opened the slot, and pressed several buttons. In a moment the machine was cleared.

She handed Y a ticket. Her smile was friendly and inviting. It said:
You're on a roll. Try again. Play back those winnings
. Aloud she said, "Congratulations, sir. Can I get you a celebration drink?"

"Vodka straight up for me, a beer for my friend—or you want a scotch, Rom?"

"Beer's fine."

"One vodka straight up and a beer. Any particular kind, sir?"

"Heineken."

"Right away."

As soon as she left, Y put another dollar into the machine.

Poe said, "What are you doing?"

"I still got a half roll left."

Poe took the coins from the old man. "What do you say you quit a winner tonight?"

"I can play off everything in my pocket and still be a big win—"

"Let me tell you about this job."

Y kissed his ticket. "Don't need your job."

"Then do me a favor."

"A favor I'll consider." He faced the kid. "What?"

"I need you to take some pictures. Private…discreet."

"Porno?"

Poe rolled his eyes. "No, not porno." A beat. "What do you know about Nali Abousayed?"

Y shrugged. "Some kind of Arab sheik."

"Dangerous guy?"

"Anyone with power and money is dangerous."

Poe rolled his wrist a few times. "Beyond the usual hankypanky, has he even been implicated in serious crimes?"

"Such as?"

"Sex with kids?"

"Beats me."

"You're just a wealth of information tonight."

"The wealth part is true." Again, Y kissed his winning ticket. "Why are you curious about Abousayed?"

Poe leaned over and spoke softly. He went into his story, starting with his suspicions about Parker Lewiston, ending with Nali Abousayed and his whores provided by Lewiston. As Poe spoke, he saw Y's face darken and turn stony. Alarming. Poe knew he had struck a nerve.

Still, he continued. "According to this scuzzball, one of Abousayed's hookers has been in Naked City acting as a broker for a power guy."

"Lewiston?"

"I'd assume Lewiston, since Abousayed gets his whores from Lewiston. Maybe one of the whores brokered Sarah Yarlborough. Or at least someone who knew Yarlborough or even Brittany Newel. I'm just looking for some kind of connect—"

"Give it up," Y interrupted.

"What?
Why?"

Chirpy cashier came back with the drinks. Y nudged Poe. "Tip her a C-note."

"Me?" Poe stared at the old man.

Y said, "I'm good for it."

As she laid down the drinks, Poe slipped a hundred-dollar bill into her pocket. When she'd left, he said, "Look, Y. It's just some pictures of Abousayed's whores. No big deal."

"Then you do it."

"They know me at the Slipper. As soon as I walk through the door, I'm marked."

"And these same people won't figure out that you sent me?" Y rolled his tongue in his cheek. "Romulus, you're the only one left who still talks to me."

"Just go in there and play your machines. When you go to the john, snap some photos."

"I never play in Lewiston's places."

Poe paused. "Why not?"

"I don't like the man." Y downed his vodka in a single swig. "Let's get out of here."

He bolted from the chair. Poe had to fast-walk to keep up with the old guy.

"Think you should claim your winnings before you leave?"

Y stopped walking. "I suppose that would be a good idea."

Together, they went over to the cashier's cage. After ten minutes of waiting and ID checks, Y left the casino with a $4,100 check. They walked along the Strip, underneath a modern art canvas of neon and moonlight. The night was mild, and Poe took off his jacket.

He said, "I don't like Lewiston either. So let's get him."

Y shook his head. "You're gonna lose, Rom."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it's true."

Poe placed his hand on the old man's shoulder to get him to stop walking. Carefully, he evaluated Y's expression. "You've gone up against him before, Chief?"

Y muttered, "Back when I was spitting mad, I didn't have the balls. Now I have the balls, but don't have the anger."

"What did he do to you?"

His eyes grew distant. "He stole a woman, turned her into maggot meat."

Maggot
meat. Interesting choice of words. There had been only one woman in Y's life who fit that description. "Linda Hennick."

Y said nothing, chewed on nonexistent tobacco chaw.

"Did he have something to do with her suicide?"

"He killed her, Romulus."

Poe absorbed his words. "It was an unusual suicide—"

"'Course it was
unusual
!" Y snapped. "Because it wasn't a suicide. It was a homicide! Four Aces had been one of Lewiston's babies. A big moneymaker in chump change. Later, the Gaming Commission made him sell it off after he bought the Bucking Bronco. Regulations about one person not owning too much. And something about antitrust. But back then, twenty-five years ago, Aces was his. Everyone was paid off, Romulus. From the cops to the clerk to the room service man to the witnesses. Everyone."

The two of them resumed their walk at a slower pace.

Poe rubbed his forehead. "You get me some names, I'll press to reopen the case."

"What's the point?"

"The
point
?" Poe was incredulous. "The point, Y, is to bring a killer to justice. Now, I know it happened twenty-five years ago. Some of the parties involved might be dead. But certainly others would be alive—"

"Leave the dead in peace."

Poe stopped walking. "You can't be
serious
." Y kept on going. Poe jogged a few steps and caught up with him. "You just accused Lewiston of murder."

"I did."

"Now you're telling me to let it go."

"Linda Hennick's dead. Stirring up the pot won't bring her back to life."

Again Poe stopped Y in his tracks. "I thought you
loved
this woman!"

Y's face turned to stone. "I did."

Poe waited for an answer.

"I caused Gerald Hennick enough heartache." Y looked up at the sky. "Don't want to cause him any more grief."

Poe let out a small snort. "Well, I'll be damned. You're actually capable of guilt."

Y walked away. Poe caught up with the old man and grabbed his arm. "Stop being so damn touchy. Are you going to help me or not?"

"Not if you drag up Linda's memory."

"This isn't about Linda Hennick. It's about nailing Lewiston for chewing up young girls…. Slow down, Grampa. You're going to give yourself a heart attack."

"Then everything I own is yours."

"Cash your winnings first. Then you can die."

Y slowed. Poe sighed. "Look, if you don't want to help me out, I'll do it myself. And if I fail, it's no big whoop. Failure is an old friend. Now, what about Abousayed? Are you going to help me? Yes or no."

Y licked his dry lips. "Just for tonight?"

"A week would be better. Once I have pictures of his women, I'll take them to Larue. See if he can identify any of them as Lewiston's broker."

"Going through all this trouble on the word of a piece of buffalo turd."

"Yes, informants are shits and unreliable, but they're all we have. Just a few measly pictures, Y. Please?"

"Give me the freaking camera."

Poe stopped walking. "It's in my car."

"Where's your car?"

"In the opposite direction." They reversed their steps. "Thank you, Gramps."

Y didn't answer.

Poe said, "Hold your check for safekeeping?"

Y took out the slip of paper and gave it to him.

"You want me to come with you to the bank tomorrow?"