“One might think that,” Durant said, “but it still doesn’t tell us what plans Imperlino has for our fair city.”
Overby looked at both men suspiciously. “What do you guys really care?”
Wu smiled, showing most of his big, broad white teeth. “We might want in. Quietly, of course.”
“Then again, we might not,” Durant said. “So why don’t you front for us, Otherguy. Why don’t you see the man?”
Overby looked at them again, his gaze more suspicious than before “It’ll cost.”
“We know,” Durant said. “Ten thousand, wasn’t it?”
“That’s just to talk.”
Durant nodded. “We know. Pay him, Artie.”
Wu took a thick manila envelope out of his breast pocket and counted a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills on to a table. “Ten thousand.”
Overby rose, moved over to the table, counted the bills, then looked at Durant. “Expenses,” he said. “You guys mentioned something a while back about expenses.”
Wu counted some more bills on to the table. “Two thousand. Expenses.”
Overby looked around the room and frowned. “Maybe I oughta move into a better place. Maybe like all of a sudden I came into some big money. It’d look good.”
Wu glanced at Durant. Durant’s expression didn’t change, but Wu started counting out some more bills. “That makes four thousand in expenses.”
“You want a receipt?”
“Well, no, I don’t think so, Otherguy.” Durant smiled. “But we’d certainly like you to stay in touch.”
Wu took a notebook from his pocket and wrote two phone numbers on it. “You can usually reach us at one of these.”
Overby nodded and pocketed the numbers. He took the sheaf of bills, shaped them into a roll, found a rubber band in an empty ashtray, and snapped it into place. He tossed the roll up into the air a couple of times, but not far, and then tucked it away in his pants pocket. “Okay, I see Simms, keep you out of it, find out what I can, and then get back to you, right?”
“Right,” Wu said. “But there’s one more thing you can do for us.”
“What?”
“This Congressman who got killed.”
“What about him?”
“Find out about it.”
“His wife shot him. Everybody knows that.”
Wu shook his head patiently. “Find out about it.”
Overby stared at him and then licked his lips. “Why?”
Wu smiled, but not very pleasantly. “Because we told you to.”
Part Two
Chapter 12
It was nearly seven o’clock that Friday evening when Icky Norris cautiously swung the big twenty-nine-foot Winnebago Custom into Sea Breeze Lane — a narrow, one-way alley in Venice that separated some rambling, patched-up beach cottages from a row of two- and three-story houses, all of which needed paint and nearly all of which wore faded ROOM FOR RENT signs.
Norris stopped the motor home and looked down the alley, which was choked with cars. Most of the driveways and garages that faced the alley bore stern signs warning, NO PARKING — VIOLATORS WILL BE TOWED AWAY AT OWN EXPENSE.
“Where we gonna park this mother?” Norris said.
Tony Egidio, who was seated in the swivel seat next to him, searched the alley until he found what he wanted, a small, crudely hand-lettered sign that said, PARKING 50¢.
Egidio pointed. “There.”
Norris eyed the narrow alley, made even narrower by the parked cars. “Shit, man, I don’t know if we can make it.”
Egidio stuck his head out the side window to look and judge. “You got plenty of room.”
Icky Norris made his own assessment. “Maybe we got plenty of room on your side, but we damn near scrapin’ on mine.”
“You want me to drive?”
“Shit, man, I don’t want you to drive. I can drive this mother all right. Just askin’ how much room we got, that’s all.”
Norris slowly drove the big vehicle down the alley and carefully turned it into the unpaved parking lot that seemed to be empty except for two derelict Ford sedans, both of them products of the early 1960s. Using his rearview mirror, Norris backed the Winnebago into place. Then he switched off the engine and sighed his relief.
“You had plenty of room,” Egidio said.
“Yeah, well, maybe you wanta explain to Solly how you went and got his brother-in-law’s new Winnebago all scratched up, but I sure as shit don’t.”
They climbed out of the motor home and locked it. As they started to move away, the door of one of the derelict Fords opened and a slight, starved-looking man of no more than twenty-two got out. He had a long, matted beard that clean might have been ash blond in color. Now it was a gritty gray, as was his equally long hair. The hair stuck up from his head in a crown of carefully twisted spikes. He was twisting a new spike into shape, apparently not conscious of what he was doing, as he shuffled slowly toward Egidio and Norris. He wore a filthy green tank top and old, patched jeans. He could have used a bath.
“That’ll be a dollar,” he said.
Egidio looked at him and then at the sign. “Sign says fifty cents.”
The man with the spiky hair turned to look at the sign. His eyes were a wet, glittery gray and probably a bit mad. They examined the sign — or perhaps something a thousand yards on the other side of it. Then he turned back to Egidio and Norris.
“The printed word,” he said bitterly, and then shook his head to express his contempt. The spikes writhed — a bit like snakes. “That’ll be a dollar.”
Egidio started to argue, but Norris said, “Pay the fucker.”
The man accepted the bill, looked at it curiously, then examined Egidio and Norris. He shook his head again and the hairy spikes danced once more. “You eat meat, don’t you?” he said, turned, and shuffled barefoot back to the 1962 Ford that was his home.
Egidio grimaced, spat, and said, “Fucking dope fiends.”
When they reached the alley they paused. “Which one?” Norris said.
Egidio nodded. “That one.”
The building Egidio had nodded at was a moldering six-story apartment hotel built out of red brick. It was located on the ocean side of the alley, and the black-and-white sign that stretched across one side of it just below the roofline had been painted there in 1928. The sign, almost obliterated by time read, SEASHORE HOTEL–VENICE’S FINEST — ROOMS $2.50 AND UP.
Egidio and Norris walked along the side of the hotel until they reached its front, which faced a broad cement sidewalk and beyond that the beach. They went through a glass door into a vacant lobby. An elevator with a green door was to the left of the alcove that once had been the hotel reception area. The area held garbage cans now, most of them full.
The elevator’s red IN USE sign was on, but Icky Norris punched the Up button anyway. Then he sniffed a couple of times, wrinkled his broad nose, and said, “Dead cat somewheres.”
Egidio sniffed, frowned, and then nodded his agreement.
The elevator hit the first floor with something of a bump, the red IN USE sign went off, and the door clanked open. An almost pretty girl started out of the elevator, but hesitated when she saw Egidio and Norris. She was young, very young, probably still in her teens, with wary brown eyes and a small mouth that was now shaped into a terrified O. She at first shrank back from the two men and then forced herself to sidle around them.
“Boo!” Icky Norris said.
The girl yelped and fled across the lobby and out the door.