“You got that right,” said Milo. “Sal ever hit you up with easy-money schemes?”
“People don’t do that with me.”
“He ever hit up your patrons?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“People drink, their lips flap. Sal flaps a lot even before the first beer. But he never impresses anyone. I ignore all that noise and think about my grandchildren.”
“Hear no evil?”
“Crap floats by me, why would I touch it?”
“Still,” said Milo, “you smell it. What kinds of things is Sal into?”
“Mostly he bitches about how he used to have money. Stocks, bonds, real estate. Back when kids played instruments. You believe that, I’ll sell you GM. Want anything, a soft drink? On the house.”
“No, thanks. Tell us about the blonde.”
“Not much to tell,” said the barkeep. “Quiet, but not friendly quiet, more like nose in the air, she was too good for the place. She’d drink her one Goose, get all fidgety, make Sal leave. He followed her like a puppy dog.”
Lifting the towel with deft fingers, he snapped it midair. “You want Doris, she’s on shift right around now. Don’t tell her I sent you.”
“Doris likes her privacy?”
The old man returned the bat to its hiding place. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what she or anyone else likes. My age, I keep things simple.”
Fat Boy was a holdout against franchise fever, a glass-fronted fifties cube with an upwardly thrusting roof that evoked manned space travel. Breakfast special banner taped to the glass, breakfast smells late in the afternoon. Blue Naugahyde booths, counter stools, and aqua carpeting had long conceded the war against dirt and wear.
The place was empty but for two bearded truckers inhaling bacon and eggs at the counter and a young Hispanic woman tending to them with good cheer and banter. Same unflattering pink uniform as Doris but she made it work.
“You guys can sit up here.”
No sign of Doris. Then she emerged through rear doors, carrying a two-foot stack of yellow paper napkins.
Milo waved.
She ignored him and began filling dispensers. Her name tag said Dorrie.
“Afternoon, Dorrie.”
“To you it’s Doris,” she said. “What now?”
“A few more questions about Sal.”
“I already told you what I know.” Moving on to the next booth, she spotted a crumb, flicked it away before dry-wiping the Formica, pressed the spring-latch of the dispenser, crammed in paper.
Letting go with an audible snap, she did the same at the neighboring booth.
“Soon as you’re done, Doris.”
“I’ll be done in five hours.”
“Doesn’t look too crowded.”
“Rub it in.”
“How about we help you load the napkins, you spare us a few minutes.”
“Soon you’ll be wanting to split tips.”
The truckers turned. Milo stared them down and they returned to their food.
Doris said, “How’d you find out I was here? Adolph told you, right?”
“Who’s Adolph?”
“The mummy pours drinks at Arnie’s.”
“Just a few questions,” said Milo.
“Damn Adolph—look, it’s not like me and Sal are buddies.”
“You mentioned get-rich-quick schemes. What kind?”
“That card you handed out said homicide, not con stuff. What, Sal killed his girlfriend over money?”
“What girlfriend is that?”
“Some blonde. Was it her?”
Milo produced Freeman’s picture.
“That’s the one,” said Doris. “He really did her? Jesus, I never woulda thought.”
“He’s not a suspect at this time.”
She snorted. “You’re here for your health.”
“A woman dies, we look at her boyfriend, Doris. If you’ve got information about their relationship, that would be helpful.”
“He brought her to Arnie’s, that’s all.”
“Often?”
“Sometimes. She never talked to no one, wasn’t exactly fun in the drinking department.”
“Timid drinker.”
“One vodka she sometimes didn’t even finish.” She scowled. “Expensive stuff—Grey Goose. Making like she was superior.”
“A snob,” said Milo.
Doris put her napkins down. “The way she talked, overly pronouncing her words, you know? Like I went to college and you didn’t. Like anyone gives a rat at a place like Arnie’s.”
“Why’d she hang with Sal?”
“How should I know? The other guy I saw her with was a lot cuter. Too young for her, but maybe she was one of those Goldilocks girls, know what I mean? One day it’s too hot, the next too cold. No nose for just-right.”
“Tell us about the other guy, Doris.”
“He’s the one killed her, not Sal?”
“We don’t know who killed her, Doris. That’s why we’re here.”
Doris’s smile spread like a rash. Her teeth were randomly placed. “You didn’t even know about the other guy, did you? Well, don’t get me involved, I just saw him once.”
“Where?”
“Walking down Van Nuys with her. They stop short of Arnie’s, there’s an alcove, this old office building. They duck in there, there’s an overhang, soon they’re in there doing kissy-face. She plants a big one on him, takes his face like this.” Cupping her chin. “In goes the tongue. Blech. We’re talking young enough to be her kid.”
“May-December romance.”
“You could say that. Or you could say they had the hots for each other, I ain’t Dr. Ruth.”
“You saw all this because—”
“I was walking behind them from my bus stop like I always do.”
“What time of day?”
“Two, two thirty, I like to get to Arnie’s, lubricate the throat before I arrive at this gourmet palace. Only reason I noticed her was I’d seen her with Sal. Also her getup. Tight red dress, talk about advertising the goods. I said to myself, Hey, that’s Goose gal but that cutie sure ain’t Sal.”
“What happened after they kissed?”
“She pats him on his cute little butt, he leaves, she goes to Arnie’s. Soon after, Sal shows up, Blondie’s smiling at him like it’s true love. One drink and she’s bugging him to leave, he doesn’t even finish his beer, what a limp onion. So maybe he found out she was cheatin’ and got mad, huh? That’s what you’re thinking, right?”
Calling out to the young waitress behind the counter. “Guess what, Rosie, I’m a big-time detective now.”
Rosie said, “How much they payin’ you, Dorrie?”
Milo said, “How young was this other guy?”
“A lot younger than her—what was she forty, forty-five?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“I’da pegged her as older.”
“What about him?”
“Twenties—twenty-two, twenty-three.”
“Not younger?”
“That’s not young enough?”
“Could he have been a high school student?”
“To me he looked twenties,” she said, “but who knows? He dressed like one of those preppies. Nice buttondown shirt, khaki pants—but tennis shoes, kind of nerdy. Pen protector in the pocket—that I remember ’cause I thought it was real nerdy. But he didn’t look like a nerd, too cute. More like a surfer—the peroxide hair.” Grinning. “Real tight butt. I’d think he could do better than her but guys want one thing. Give it to ’em and they’re burgers on the griddle.”
“Hot?” said Milo.
“Hot and sizzly and bad for your heart.”
“Let’s talk about Sal’s money schemes.”
Doris said, “Who listened—okay, here’s one I remember because it was so stupid. I’m enjoying my drink before work, Sal comes in, sits at the other end of the bar, pretends he’s not gonna talk to me, has a beer and gives out this big sigh. All of a sudden, he’s next to me. Pretends to make small talk, then: ‘Would you believe this, Dorrie, I just got a huge commission check for some tubas’—he sells instruments, or so he claims, I never saw him do nothing but sit and drink. I say congratulations. He says, ‘Problem is it won’t clear for a week, I got a pile of bills, do me a little favor, I’ll make it worth your while.’”