“For what?”
“His responsibilities.”
“To who?”
“All that sperm he shot around, like it was drain water.” The cuffs had been removed from the girl’s slender wrists. The heavy theatrical makeup she’d worn for her role-play with the dentist glowed salmon-orange in the bright light.
“A fertile guy,” said Baker.
He and Lamar were proceeding cautiously. The girl had made what could be construed as a spontaneous confession during her tirade against McAfee: if one construed “him” to mean Jack. But who knew what a judge would make of that? They hadn’t Mirandized Greta Barline out of fear that she would lawyer up.
And because they had no grounds, just the certainty that came from years of dealing with the messes that people made of their God-given lives.
Baker sensed the girl was a sociopath. But he wasn’t totally without sympathy. In the end human beings were frail beings.
Now she said, “Fertile turtle,” and laughed at her own wit. Her brown eyes were hot and a little scary, maybe to the point of craziness. When they traced her NCIC records, they found out she was twenty-eight, not the twenty, twenty-one they’d assumed.
Pushing thirty and old beyond even those years.
Ten-year history of bad checks, trespassing, soliciting, forgery, petty larceny. She’d served maybe a total of half a year, all of it in county lockups. There were muscles in those smooth little arms. A butterfly tattoo in the small of her back. Lamar remembered how much effort it had taken for both of them to restrain her. When they booked her, she came in at a hundred and eight, fully clothed.
He said, “So what was he supposed to stand up for?”
“Not what, freak-a-leak, who!” she said. “He was supposed to stand up for me- his flesh and blood.”
“You know for a fact that you’re kin?”
“My mama told me and she don’t lie about things like that.”
“When did she tell you?”
“As long as I can remember. I never had a live-in dad, just foster assholes and assholes who’d come in and out to see Mama.” Another laugh. “Plenty of in-and-out. Mama was always talking about him: Jack this, Jack that.” Wicked smile. “Jack had a nice little beanstalk on him.”
“How’d she meet him?”
“He and Denny and Mark did a concert in San Antone.”
Talking about the other two members of the trio like they were favorite uncles.
“And?” said Baker.
“And she had a friend who was working security and he got her a backstage pass and she got to meet all of them. They all liked her, but Jack liked her the most. She used to be real sexy before she put on a hundred extra pounds.”
Pantomiming a watermelon paunch and sticking her tongue out in disgust.
“So Jack and your mama started hanging out,” said Lamar.
“They fucked all night is what they did,” said Gret. “And the result is moi.” She pointed to her chest.
Nipples poking through the yellow tee, darn, he should’ve thought of a bra. Lamar said, “You’ve known your whole life.”
“I followed his career when I’d see a computer, like in an Internet café, I’d Google him. There wasn’t much happening in the last…ten years, but I still did it. Trying to figure out if I should try.”
“Try what?”
“Try to meet him. Maybe he’d see me and…” Nervous laugh. “People meet me, they like me.”
“I can see that.”
She batted her lashes. Arched her back.
Lamar said, “So you finally decided to…”
“I moved to Nashville about six months ago. For my singing career, you know. So it seemed like fate when I found out he was coming here.”
“Were you living in the Happy Night right from the beginning?”
“A couple other places before that. Happy Night was the best of ’em.”
“Then you got yourself a job at The T House.”
“Yeah.”
“How’d that happen?”
Gret drank from the Starbucks they’d brought her and rattled off the chronology. The horn-dog dentist had been one of many who’d showed up at the motel. Since he was richer, she extended herself to him and his little stage productions. Being long-divorced with no one else in the house, McAfee decided to move the show to Brentwood for occasional fantasy games. When the tourist family complained, she figured it was time to relocate permanently.
“When did you find out he owned a club?”
“Soon after,” she said. “I saw the bill for the karaoke machine, he told me what it was for. I said that’s bogus cheap shit, you should get a band. He said no way, I’m losing money as is.”
“Then you started working at the T.”
“It was the perfect match,” she said. “I got my stage and he got me. I need to sing.”
“Creative drive,” said Lamar.
The term puzzled the girl but she smiled and nodded.
He said, “So when did you intend to meet up with Mr. Jeffries?”
“Mister Jeffries,” she said, shaking her hair and taking a long time to fluff the yellow strands. “He don’t deserve the title. He’s a dog, just like Mama said.”
“Why’d she say that?”
“He left her knocked up and never returned her letters.”
“Why didn’t she file a paternity suit?”
“She tried, got a stupid San Antone lawyer. He wrote a letter and got a call from a big-time Beverly Hills lawyer who told her the choice was take some cash now and shut your face forever, or go to court and go broke because they had the money to drag it out for years. She took the money.”
“Your mama told you all this,” said Baker.
“All the time,” said Gret. “All the all the all the time. It was like her favorite bedtime story.”
“When you were a kid?”
“Even after. What I’m saying is she told it so many times it put her to sleep.” Laughing. “She snores like a pig.”
“What happened to the money?” Lamar asked.
“Well, let’s see. Hmm- oh, yeah, she drank away half of it. The leftover…uh, let’s see. Oh, yeah, she smoked that away. I figure there had to be more where that came from. I’m owed.”