At the Beauty, I take the double bourbon and the fancy Scotch to where Phil is sitting in one of the chairs with the old-fashioned hair dryers mounted on the back. I pass him his drink and sit on a stool in front of him.
– Thanks, Joe. Sure I can't have my stash back? I could sure use a little boost right about now.
Stash. We'd all like our stash back. I got his in my pocket. God knows when and where I'm gonna get to take care of mine.
– Later.
– Whatever you say, Joe.
He takes a sip of his whiskey and I take a gulp of mine.
– So what's the deal, Phil?
– Deal?
I reach in my pocket and pull out Phil's baggie of pills and the bindle of crank. I fish out one of the pills, a little white tablet stamped with a number. It'll be Dexi-something, pharmaceutical grade from the look of it. Definitely a step up from the cheap black beauties he was carrying the other night.
I show him the pill.
– Yeah, Phil, what's the deal, as in what did Predo tell you?
He jumps again.
– Jeez, Joe, you know better than to use that name. 'Specially down here where the man ain't so popular.
I squeeze the pill between my thumb and forefinger and it pops into dust. Philip's eyes bug.
– Joe!
I hold up another pill.
– I'm going cold turkey, Phil, courtesy of Mr. Dexter Predo. I thought you might want to join me.
I pop the pill. He bounces in the seat.
– Joe! Joe, God, ya ain't even askin' me any questions.
I pop another one.
– Joe! I! Whaddya?
Pop.
– Ohhhhh, maaaaan.
He slumps back in the seat, his head ducked under the hair dryer.
– Said, Go take a look. That's it, man.
I hold another pill before his sad eyes.
– When?
– Morning. Morning for me, Joe. Like four this afternoon. Got a call. Man said, Go to this place, take a look, don't touch nothing.
– Then what?
– Then what, nothing. Take a look. Period, Joe. Peer-e-ud.
– When you supposed to report?
– Said they'd call me.
– When?
– Soon.
I drop the pill back in the baggie.
– Well you better go to ground, Phil.
I stand up, drop the baggie in his lap.
– You can keep those.
He grabs the baggie and goes to stand up, but bonks his head on the dryer. He plops back into the seat and rubs his forehead.
– I gotta be home when he calls, Joe. Worth my life if I ain't home when he calls.
– Find a hole, Phil. Find a hole, crawl in and pull it in after you. If you don't? I find out you been talking with Predo about this? I'll get you a hole. I'll dig it myself.
On the walk home I look over the ATM receipts from Dobbs's wallet. The four digits of the card number printed on the receipt match the last four on Amanda Horde's card. I look at the withdrawal amounts and I get it. Cagey kid.
With my face stuffed in the receipts I don't see the limo in front of my place until I'm right next to it. I look up. She's standing there next to my front door.
– Good evening, Joseph. May I speak with you for a moment?
I stay where I am on the sidewalk.
– I think that might be a bad idea.
– What would be a bad idea?
– You and me talking.
– Where did you get a silly idea like that?
– From your husband.
She smiles.
– All the more reason for you to invite me in.
She puts a hand alongside her mouth and stage-whispers.
– So as to avoid prying eyes.
I open the door. She follows me in.
Marilee Horde has been drinking. And she doesn't want to stop.
– Are you going to offer me a drink, Joseph?
– Bourbon's all I have.
She smiles.
– Of course it is.
She wanders around the apartment while I get the bottle and pour the drinks. We're on the ground floor. The trap that leads to my real digs is sealed. She's peeking in the bedroom. I leave dirty laundry strewn about and the bed unmade; everything meant to look lived in and well used. I hand her a drink.
– Thank you.
My senses are dull, but I can smell that she's not wearing the lavender oil she had on when we first met. She's scrubbed and clean, wearing a low-cut, sleeveless black blouse, short black skirt, and knee-high black leather boots. The uptowner's uniform for a trip to the East Village. Her bare arms are lean, cut muscle. She's not just toned by yoga classes, but hard, conditioned by hours of weight lifting. A sharp vein rides the edge of her right bicep. I can almost see the blood pumping through it. She walks to the secondhand couch and drops onto it, some of the whiskey sloshing onto her leg.
She wipes her finger through the dribble of bourbon on the bare patch of skin between the hem of her skirt and the top of her boots. She licks the finger.
– Not bad, Joseph. What is it?
– Old Grand-Dad.
– Excellent. And I should know.
– Whatever you say.
I sit in the chair across from the couch. She leans to the side and lifts the edge of a curtain to look out at the street. Her limo is gone. I asked her to send it away. Limos aren't all that rare around here, but I don't need one sitting out front collecting eyeballs. She gestures at the window.
– Aren't these a bit of a hazard?
– How so?
– You know.
She makes a little burning noise at the back of her throat and dances her fingers like flames.
I shrug.
She exhales loudly through her nostrils.
– Joseph, you are being positively… reticent. I'm trying to make conversation and you're being reticent.
– Sorry.
She laughs.
– Oh, you are droll.
– That's what my friends tell me.
She leans forward, elbows on knees. Her skirt creeps up a couple inches and I see the lace edge of a black silk half-slip.
– You have friends?
I shrug. She scoots farther forward. The skirt edges up another inch.
– A girlfriend?
I shrug. She shakes her head, reclines back into the seat.
– Positively reticent. So much for my morbid curiosity. I imagine you would prefer to talk professionally.
– I assume that's why you're here.
She rolls her eyes.
– Yes, I suppose it is. Well?
– Well?
– Have you found anything?
– This.
I take the ATM card out of my pocket and offer it to her. She leans forward and reaches, deep cleavage is exposed by several undone buttons on her blouse. She looks at the card. Her face shows nothing.
– So you found her?
– Just the card.
– Where was it?
– Chester Dobbs had it.
– And how did he get it.
I take a drink.
– I'm guessing she gave it to him.
She furrows her brow. I point at the card.
– You said you called him when she first went missing. He said he'd look for her, then called the next day and bailed. Figure he found her on that one day, but she didn't want to be found. She offered him a bribe. The card and her code. Two hundred a day for as long as she wasn't found. Damn sight better than the one-day fee he was gonna get if he turned her right over. Least that's what he thought.
I take out the sheaf of ATM receipts, about a week's worth. All of them telling him the maximum had already been drawn for that day.
She looks at them, starts to giggle and covers her mouth.
– Oh no. Amanda.
– Yeah. She must have been going into the bank right when it opened and getting the max from a teller.
She's looking at the last one.
– But why didn't he just go to an ATM right after midnight?
– The real question is why he didn't stay on the job and collect from both you and your daughter. Looks like Dobbs had a couple holes in his game.