‘How come you never told him his wife was playing around behind his back?’ As a child, Mallory had learned many things by listening in on her foster parents’ late-night conversations. ‘You knew Angie was a slut. But even after the divorce, you never told Riker. He still doesn’t know you held out on – ’
‘You wouldn’t be threatening me, would you?’ Baily leaned on the bar. ‘I wouldn’t like that, kid. And if you say one word to him, I’ll mess your face up so bad.’
Mallory smiled, for she was younger, faster, and had no healthy sense of fear. Oh, and she was the one with the gun.
Riker had arrived. He stepped out of the car at the curb and watched Deluthe drive off in search of a parking space.
The two women fell into an uneasy silence. The bar’s lighting was low key. Mallory and Baily had no worry of being caught in an act of voyeurism, for Riker was standing in bright sunlight, and the plate glass would act as a mirror. He was slowly turning round, responding to Angie, who hailed him with waving arms. His ex-wife left her children on the curb and crossed the street, dodging traffic and mouthing a happy Hello! As the former Mrs Riker drew closer, Mallory realized that Peg Baily’s new hair color was the exact same shade of carrot red.
Riker faced the window again, pretending interest in the posted hours of his favorite bar as his ex-wife came up behind him. Angie was still a pretty woman, but he would not look at her. She stood beside him, cheerful and chattering, probably asking how he had been – as if they did not see one another all the time. His own apartment was only a block away from hers. However, it was enough that Riker could be near this woman, and that he could see her face every single day; he never spoke to Angie anymore – he never would again. It was just too hard on him.
The woman put one hand on her ex-husband’s sleeve.
Peg Baily’s hands curled into fists.
Riker lost his slouch and stood up straight, rigid and stone silent. He stared at the window, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. Angie’s shrug said, No hard feelings. Then, giving up on him, she crossed back to the other side of the street.
Not wanting to witness any more of this, Peg Baily walked off to fetch a glass of club soda for her ex-partner, who never drank on duty. Mallory continued to watch the man lingering on the sidewalk, staring at his shoes and collecting his sorry wits. She was now convinced that there had been no affair between Riker and Sparrow. He was still in love with his ex. And why would he take up with a whore when Peg Baily was still waiting for her own turn?
He entered the bar and waved to Baily. She started to slide his soda down the bar when he put up one hand to stop her, then ordered cheap bourbon.
More trouble.
He loosened his tie as he sat down beside Daisy, and the hooker promptly ordered a champagne cocktail.
Riker was working on his second shot of bourbon as he listened to the prostitute’s slow drawl, so like Sparrow’s. Years ago, the hookers had been the best of friends, two small-town southern girls against the city. So far, the interview had turned up nothing useful, and now he stirred up a memory of old times. ‘Remember that little blond girl who used to run with Sparrow?’ ‘Wasn’t just Sparrow. That kid used to work a battalion of whores.’ Daisy signaled Baily for another champagne cocktail.
‘What was her name?’
‘Oh, darlin’, she had a lotta names. One hooker called her the Flyin’ Flea, and Sparrow called her Baby.’
‘And you?’
‘Hey Kid – that’s what I called her. First time I ever saw her was in a crackhouse.’ The hooker paused to inhale her drink. ‘She came in lookin’ for Sparrow. What a dirty little face. And those eyes – tiny green fires, but so cold. Nothin’ warm and cuddly ‘bout that little girl. And mean? Oh, darlin’, you got no idea. Ah, but her face – I saw it when it was clean. God don’t make angels that pretty. But I don’t mean to say that God made her. I don’t blaspheme. My mama raised me better.’
This was going to take a while. Riker had no idea how Daisy made a living on the city streets, where time was money. She hailed from a more temperate climate, where customers and cops could wait around all day for a whore to finish a thought.
‘So, like I was saying, I’m in this crackhouse, and I hear a noise in the dark. At first, all I see is her eyes – cold, empty. Scary eyes. That little girl had no soul. She comes up to me and hands me a cigarette case – real silver. And she gives me this ratty old book with cowboys on the cover. Not my taste. Well, she swipes away the needles and trash so she can sit down beside me. Then she kicks out one little foot to make the rats run. And she says, „Read me a story.“ She don’t say please, nothin’ like that. Just says, „Read me a story,“ like that’s my job in life.’
‘So the kid couldn’t read?’
‘Oh, yeah, she could,’ said Daisy. ‘Better’n me. She helped me with the hard words. But that night – that first time – she lays her head down in my lap and waits for her story to begin. So I read till she fell asleep. Then I sat up all night long to keep the rats away from her. I had to, don’t you see?’
Riker nodded. ‘You were her mother that night.’
‘Other nights it was other whores – when she couldn’t find Sparrow.’
Riker looked up from his drink. Mallory sat at the other end of the bar. If she lowered the dark glasses, would Daisy recognize her? Not likely, but the long green slants of her eyes had never changed. They might spook a whore who believed in ghosts.
‘So you looked after the kid,’ said Riker.
‘Sometimes,’ said Daisy. ‘Well, she could never count on Sparrow. That junkie whore was always gettin’ stoned and wakin’ up in strange places. Lucky the kid knew how to fend for herself.’
Yeah, what a lucky little girl.
Sometimes Kathy had lived out of garbage cans, finding a cold supper there. ‘You remember the day Sparrow got stabbed?’
‘Oh, darlin’, I’ll never forget. I went to the hospital to visit. The kid was there, too. Poor baby, she fell asleep sittin’ bolt upright on the edge of Sparrow’s bed. Too tired to lie down or even fall down. That’s the last time I saw the kid alive.’
‘Remember anything else? Did Sparrow say who stabbed her?’
The hooker was wary now.
‘Hey,’ said Riker, ‘I don’t need a witness. That stabbing is old history. This is a personal thing, okay?’ A twenty-dollar bill slid across the bar. ‘Do you know who stabbed her?’
‘I’d be guessin’.’ The prostitute’s hand closed over the money. ‘Only guessin’ – hear me? Sparrow might’ve mentioned Frankie D. You remember that twisted little bastard?’
Riker nodded. Frankie Delight had been that rare drug dealer who was not strictly cash-and-carry. ‘So Sparrow was trading skin for drugs?’
‘No, she’d never do that freak for a fix. I don’t care how bad she was hurtin’. No, darlin’, she was tradin’ brand-new VCRs. Still in the cartons. One of Tall Sally’s jobs went wrong and – ’
‘I know that story,’ said Riker. And ten-year-old Kathy Mallory would have been on the stealing end of that arrangement.
The great VCR heist.
He remembered the report from Robbery Division. A patrolman’s log had mentioned sighting suspicious persons in the vicinity of the crime, among them a little blond girl with green eyes. Lou Markowitz had read him the details, then said, in a tone between awe and pride, ‘The kid robbed a damn truck.’
Daisy nudged Riker’s arm to call him back to the world, asking, ‘Whatever happened to Frankie?’