Линда Ла Плант - Cold Blood

Lorraine ticked off on her fingers. ‘We know he went there, we know he pissed off some kids because they were shooting a pistol and shoving it up Fryer Jones’s nose. We know he made them look dumb, we know all of that. We know that Fryer Jones gave Nick a necklace, a gris-gris, which wasn’t on his body when he was found, nor were his wallet or his driving licence. He used to keep them in separate back pockets.’

‘Uh huh.’ The fat face wobbled.

‘Fryer Jones admitted to me that he had met Nick, and I want to know who was in the bar that night. I want to know who was in the bar the following night — in other words I want to know if Nick Bartello went back to Fryer Jones’s bar and somebody there cut his throat. So if it means getting a search warrant, if it means—’

Harper shook his head. ‘You are an impatient lady, that’s for sure.’

‘Well, we only got the room booked for one more night,’ she said with a tight-lipped smile.

‘Okey dokey. This area that your friend went into is well known as the wrong neighbourhood for whites to go drinking in the early hours, unless they are known or trying to score dope. Your friend use dope, did he?’

‘No, he didn’t,’ snapped Rooney.

‘Okay, so he was acting dumb. But we don’t like going into bars like Fryer Jones’s without real good evidence. We don’t like doing that, because Fryer is an informant.’

Lorraine leaned back. ‘Is he? That’s why you arrested him on the night Anna Louise Caley was missing?’

‘Yes, ma’am, we did arrest him and we hadda knock him around a bit. We needed to ask old Fryer if he had heard anythin’, you know, if he knew where she might have disappeared to, because there is nothing down in that section of town that Fryer Jones don’t know about. But we have to always make it look real good, because if it was known, then it’d be old Fryer with his throat cut like your friend.’ Harper rested back in his chair and burped, he thumped his chest with a curled fist. ‘Better out than in.’

Lorraine lit another cigarette and looked up and down the street, inhaling the smoke. Okay, let’s try this another way. You’re telling me you couldn’t get a warrant to search that bar, maybe haul a couple of guys into the station? That is what you are saying, isn’t it?’

‘I guess so. We don’t like to rock the boat.’

‘Right, so what would it cost to rock it?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Come on, you heard me. I am asking you what it would cost to get maybe four or five of you to back me up, get yourselves armed with more than your wooden bars. They can be cops, or they can be cops not acting as cops, if you follow me?’

Rosie could feel the non-alcoholic beer churning in her stomach. Rooney turned to stare down the street but the sweat was trickling off his face.

‘How much?’ Harper asked.

‘You tell me,’ she said softly.

Rooney flicked a glance at Rosie. Her face glistened with perspiration, and she was twisting a bit of the tablecloth round and round one of her fingers.

Harper caught a drop of water running down the neck of his cold beer bottle. He licked his finger. ‘Are you gonna be around until this afternoon?’

‘Back at the hotel, sure, we can wait for you to contact us.’

Harper pushed back his chair. ‘Be in touch. Been nice talkin’ to you, Mrs Page, Bill, and nice to meet you, Rosie.’

He waddled off, seeming to make a wave through the people in the street, his girth not something to push around but to bounce off, his thick neck giving him a thuggish quality accentuated by the thin black moustache on his baby’s lip.

‘How much do you think he’d want?’ Rosie asked.

Lorraine stood up. ‘Why, you worried about parting with your hard-earned money, Rosie?’

‘No, just being cautious. And you should put that cheque in the bank before you lose it.’

Lorraine laughed, and swung her purse round her shoulder. ‘Sure, and I guess you both want a cheque for your cut, but you mind if I wait until it’s actually in my account?’

She walked off, and Rosie reached over for Rooney’s hand. ‘I didn’t like him and I’m getting to not like her.’

They both looked towards Lorraine. She was standing on the pavement, slowly turning to face them as on the opposite side of the road she saw a red convertible Mustang cruise past. It was driven by Raoul Corbello, one hand trailing down over the door, the other lazily holding the white steering-wheel. Rap music blared out, and his eyes, hidden behind the mirrored shades, were checking out a young black chick selling postcards. He drove on, he could do a lot better for himself than a street vendor, and he needed to get to his uncle’s bar, Fryer Jones’s place. Raoul was hyped up on crack and needed to get easy, chill out for a while so he could face his family and see his precious Ruby crowned. That’s what he’d come home for: Mardi Gras.

Raoul Corbello snuck into his uncle’s bar, and stayed near the doors, just where the old wooden counter ended. He leaned back against the windowless wall as the barman sauntered down towards him.

‘Mexican, and a shot of bourbon on the rocks,’ he said, collar turned up, his shades still on.

‘Sure, Raoul, but let’s see your money.’

‘Fuck you, Zachery Blubber.’ But he slapped twenty bucks down.

Zak opened a beer, banged it on to the counter and sauntered back for the bourbon. ‘So how’s LA, man? You get all that fancy gear there?’

Raoul shrugged. His nose was running and he sniffed as Zak leaned against the bar, sliding the bourbon glass forwards.

‘Cool, it’s cool.’

‘You look like you need to chill out.’

Raoul knocked back the bourbon and reached for the beer.

‘Your brothers are workin’ out back.’

‘Uncle Fryer around?’

‘Sleepin’, like always at this time. Place was jumpin’ last night, he played so much he got his big old lips swollen up, but he sure as hell can play that beat-up bugle o’ his.’

Raoul sniffed again, wiping his nose with his shirt cuff. He took out a thick roll of notes and peeled off another twenty. ‘Same again, have one yourself.’

Zak eyed the wad, and slowly moved back along the bar. ‘Don’t mind if I do, brother, don’t mind if I do.’

Raoul had to wait a while as a couple of customers needed refills. He was beginning to get the shakes and wondered why the hell he’d come back. He’d get more than the shakes when he showed his face back home. What had seemed like a good idea was now beginning to pale.

Zak passed another beer and bourbon along, holding up a glass to indicate he’d taken his drink and started to chinwag with two old boys huddled at the far end of the bar.

‘Zak, eh, Zak man, come on down here a second, will ya?’ Raoul said loudly, gulping down his beer.

‘What you want?’ said Zak, handing out beers and tossing the empties into a crate beneath the bar. He kind of knew, so he opened a drawer under the till and took out a packet. ‘This what you want, bro?’

Raoul put his hand over the plastic bag. Zak leaned forward, whispering that it was good home-grown gear, he could vouch for it.

‘You got any skins?’ Raoul asked, peeling off fifty dollars.

‘Shit, man, what you want me to do, smoke it for you?’ He reached into the back pocket of his pants and tossed down a squashed pack of rolling papers.

The two Corbello boys were filthy from stacking all the crates, ready to load up the truck, when Raoul appeared in the back doorway of the bar. They yelled and flung their arms around him, and then sat in the outside John as he rolled up three big joints, one for each of them.

‘How come you workin’ out back here?’ Raoul asked. They were hesitant to begin with but after a few drags they told him that Fryer was getting heavy. They giggled as they said that when their Aunt Juda got hold of Raoul he’d get some heavy-handed activity. Raoul laughed, saying he was cool, and started telling them about his Mustang, his dealin’ and his thievin’ of their aunt’s hoard of cash from under her bed. She could try beating it out of him, but he wouldn’t tell her where he’d stashed what he hadn’t spent. They were both in awe of their older brother, and the more stoned they became the more they got to bragging about carvin’ up a whitey. Raoul listened, his eyes drooping, not really believing their stories, not really caring. They rolled up some more joints, and started messing around as Raoul took a leak, having to prop himself up against the shack wall to piss straight.