Patience wasn’t one of Bull’s strong points. When it came to something that required finesse he really had to work at it. Actually, if he had the slightest hint Summers knew something that would help Sam, he’d as soon bounce Summers off the walls until he came up with the information. But that kind of play wasn’t called for yet.
“When the cops checked you out after they caught up with Hymes — can you think of any names you didn’t give ’em?”
“Who says I gave them any names?”
“Why wouldn’t you? I’m sure Sam probably gave them your name, and you gave them his. It’s a natural thing to do. They were trying to pin a heavy rap on you and you gave them somebody else to look at. What I want to know is if you thought of someone who might really’ve been in with Hymes, and kept it to yourself ’cause it was the healthy thing to do.”
Summers leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread this around, Bull. I gave the cops every name I could think of. It wasn’t like finking on anybody. I still don’t know who was tied into those jobs with Ollie. I just dropped some names to get them off my back.”
“So who else did you give ’em besides Sam?”
Another deep breath with an accompanying frown. “Hell, I guess it ain’t hurting nothing now. There was Mac Tremain, Fingers Howard, both of the Brown cousins, Richy Richards, and Lou Two-Step. But half of them cats are dead now, and I ain’t seen the others in years.”
“Did you throw them Dave Tucker?”
“Tucker? What for? Cops were looking for somebody my size. Tucker’s as big as a house. ’Sides, he and Ollie didn’t get along. He said Ollie cheated him in a card game once and Ollie busted him up pretty good — put him in the hospital for a week.” He brightened. “Hey, Tucker always talked about settling things with Ollie, even after Ollie was sent to prison. Maybe he’s your man, Bull.”
“Could be. You seen Tucker lately?”
“Not for a while. Heard he was pushing papers on the west side.”
Bull didn’t feel he was going to get much further with Summers just now. “Spreadin’ the crap around in a poker game is one thing,” Sam had said years ago. “But it’s the folks who volunteer lies ya have to watch out for.”
It was something, like many things Sam had taught him, that he never forgot.
Bess Warren lived in a housing complex of three-story brick jobs the city had made quite a fuss over five or six years ago when the complex was new. Inferior workmanship and materials had quickly turned the complex into a dump, while the city officials looked the other way.
The chick who answered the door could have been a beauty if she took a little more time with her makeup. She was young — early twenties, no more. Her afro was snarled, her eyeliner too heavy, and her rouge didn’t blend in with anything.
“Haven’t you cops bugged us enough?”
“I’m not the heat, lady, and I could be a friend.”
The anger in her face melted and he got a quick glimpse of what she would be like with all the junk washed off. She could be more than a match for the toy he’d met at Summers’ store.
“Look, I’m sorry for jumping at you, mister. It’s been kind of a rough day.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s about Hymes that I’m here. I’d like to see Bess Warren if I could.”
“With all the cops parading in here, Mama’s not up to too many visitors right now.”
“I’ll make it short. Please.”
She hesitated for a long moment, then stepped back and let him in. The place was just as rundown inside as out. A faded cover was thrown across a lumpy couch. An armchair sat next to a curtained window, cotton showing through one armrest. An old TV stood in a corner, one of its antennas hanging at an awkward angle. Throw the TV away and it could have been his place when he was a kid.
“You got a name?” she asked.
“Your mother might’ve heard of me. Bull Benson.”
The anger was back — tight eyes, curled mouth. “How many friends do you want? Isn’t Sam Devlin enough?”
“Look, I’m not trying to jive you, doll. Your mother doesn’t want Hymes’s killer caught any more than I do. I just don’t happen to believe Sam did it, that’s all.”
She settled some, but not much.
“All I want to do is ask her a few questions. I’ve known Sam for a lot of years. Believe me, he’s not capable of killing anybody.”
“Carol, who’s that out there with you?”
She looked over to the far wall where a door stood slightly ajar, then back up at him, the curl in her lips still there.
“Carol?”
She let loose with a short harsh sigh, said, “Come on,” and started for the door.
Bess Warren seemed to be sinking into the mattress she was on. There was a wheelchair at the side of her bed, but from the looks of her she hadn’t gotten much use out of it lately. She was bone thin. Her skin seemed dry and slightly ashy, her eyes dark, circled with shadows, and her short grey hair was matted about her head. She’d been a knockout in her day from all reports, but the only claim she had to that now was her daughter.
“Bull Benson — yeah, I remember you. Of Sam’s protégé.” Her voice was weak — calling to her daughter seemed to have sapped what strength there was. “Sam talked you up a lot, boy. Ollie always planned to sit in on a game with you.” The tears swelled up suddenly, and she dabbed at her cheeks with a crumpled tissue she’d been holding.
Carol had left them alone, and he now felt completely out of place. Bess Warren needed comforting, not questions. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“No, no, that’s all right. I’ll be O.K. It’s just that I waited so long for my man to come back to me, and now he’s gone again. We pay for our sins, I guess.”
He didn’t try to answer her. He figured there was something in everyone’s past that they’d have to do penitence for one day.
“I lived a wild life, Bull, wilder than most, and I didn’t slow down when Ollie and me got together. We were some pair, and he was good to me. Treated Carol like she was his own. Ollie was the closest thing she had to a real father, and he was only around her for a little while.” She paused, licking at her dry chapped lips. “Did Sam kill him, Bull?”
“I don’t believe he did.”
She nodded. “You say no, the cops say yes. Who knows the answer?”
“Maybe a dude name Dave Tucker. Know him?”
A wrinkled smile broke across her lips. “Davey? Sure. We went together once. Damn, I’d almost forgotten about him. It was at a poker game Davey took me to that I met Ollie. Ollie came on real strong. A lot of smooth talk and flashing a big roll. I left the game with Ollie. He was big time. I never missed the chance to do better for myself. They tangled about a week or so later and Davey ended up in the hospital. You can’t tell from the way I look now, but it wasn’t the first time I had men fighting over me.”
“I bet,” he said, winking.
“Bull—” the tired eyes looked at him firmly “—Davey carried a big hate for Ollie from then on. If he’s still around, maybe he’s the one.”
Carol was waiting for him when he left the bedroom, and she walked him to the door. She was more relaxed now, her expression less challenging.
“I overheard you and Mama talking,” she said. “I guess I’ll try an apology that sticks this time.”
“No need.”
“But I want to. I’m really sorry, Mr. Benson.” She paused, looking away from him for a moment. “You see, Ollie getting killed has kind of blown things apart for me too. I was six when he was sent to prison and Mama had her accident. Grandma came to live with us and took care of me and Mama while I was in school. Then Grandma died when I was in my senior year of high school, and that just ended any plans of college or a personal life.