“Will you speak to him about me?” I said.
“Thought I let you do that,” Tony said, and smiled.
I nodded.
“That will be the hard way,” I said.
“Might be,” Tony said. “Pharaoh like his hookers.”
“Like a father to them,” I said. “Wouldn’t it go easier if you told him to give me the girl?”
“Sure would,” Tony said and smiled at me.
I waited. Tony turned his attention to the huevos rancheros.
“But you won’t,” I said.
“Let you do that,” he said again.
I looked at Spike.
“Tony’s hard to figure,” Spike said. “He’ll help you locate the kid because he wants to stay cool with the Burkes, and maybe because he feels like helping you. Tony’s a whimsical guy.”
“So why stop short?” I said.
Tony continued with his eggs. Spike answered.
“Because it amuses him. He wants to see if you can handle Pharaoh.”
“And why does he want to know that?” I said.
Spike shrugged. “‘Cause he doesn’t know it now.”
“Is that right, Tony?” I said.
Tony smiled at me.
“Sure,” he said.
Ty-Bop boogied to the beat of his own drummer against the exposed brick wall. A couple of waiters set the tables toward the front of the restaurant. Junior watched them blankly.
“Anybody can handle anybody,” I said. “It’s only a matter of how far you’re willing to go.”
“Might be the case,” Tony said.
He was finished eating.
“Can you tell me where I might find the girl?”
Tony stood up.
“Pharaoh turn her out different places,” Marcus said. “You a detective. You’ll find her.”
“Yes,” I said. “I will.”
Tony grinned at me as if he genuinely liked me.
“You go, girl,” he said.
Then he nodded at Junior and Ty-Bop, and they followed him out of the restaurant.
“What the hell was that all about,” I said to Spike.
“What I said,” Spike answered. “He’s never met a female detective. I think he wants to see if you can cut it.”
“Just to amuse himself?”
“Maybe Tony’s not a feminist,” Spike said.
“More’s the shame,” I said.
“I could trail along with you,” Spike said.
“I thought gay guys were supposed to be sissies,” I said.
“Growing up gay is a toughening process,” Spike said.
“You’d stand up to Pharaoh Fox for me?”
“Sure.”
“Thank you, Spike. But I can do this myself.”
“I’m sure you can,” Spike said. “How far you willing to go?”
I grinned at him. “All the way,” I said.
“Heard that about you,” Spike said.
Chapter 12
One of the things I had learned about Julie in the time that had passed since freshman year, when we roomed together, was that in her professional life, she was by reputation a good and wise counselor. Her personal self was an hysteric. For reasons having to do probably with my own perversity, I had always liked that about her. The hysteria was on full display at her son Michael’s sixth birthday party, to which Rosie and I had been reluctant invitees. And we were the cream of the crop.
Others included five other children, aged six or less, bundled up because it was really too cold to have an outside party, but Michael had wanted a pony. There were also a couple of mothers, who seemed as hysterical as Julie, a bored pony, and a guy dressed up in a clown suit who was leading the pony around.
We were on Julie’s front lawn in the suburbs. There was a card table set up with a yellow paper table covering taped onto it. The wind kept tearing the flappy edges of it. There was maybe a third of a chocolate birthday cake on the table, and a carton of half-melted vanilla ice cream. Several children, including Michael, were afraid of the pony. Michael was also afraid of the clown.
“Who wants a ride?” Julie said.
The grim cheerfulness she was grinding out made her voice reach registers I didn’t know she had. Rosie was sitting in my lap. She didn’t like small children any more than I did, but she was more genuine about it. A little girl in a pink dress came over and poked her in the ribs. Rosie growled. The little girl went immediately to Julie.
“That dog wants to bite me,” she said.
Julie smiled maniacally.
“Nice doggie,” she said, “Rosie’s a nice doggie.”
“I wish to bite her also,” I said to Julie. “Where’s Michael senior?”
“Off with the other two, this is just Mikey’s day.”
“And a dandy one,” I said.
Julie did something with her lips that might have been a smile, and shook her head quickly. The pony made a deposit on the lawn, and Julie left me to attend to that.
A small boy who had apparently misunderstood the chocolate cake, and given himself a facial with it, came over with the little girl at whom Rosie had growled. The little girl hung back.
“Does that dog bite?” he says.
“Yes.” I said.
“Bad dog,” the boy said.
“She’s neither bad nor good,” I said. “She’s a dog.”
“Huh?”
I could feel the hair stiffen along Rosie’s back. Her taste was impeccable. Julie appeared from the garage with a snow shovel and a plastic bag.
“Oh, look at Michael’s mommy,” I said. “Maybe you could help her shovel.”
Both kids screamed in horror at the idea of shoveling pony poop. But they went on to watch.
The guy in the clown suit said, “Okay, kids, who wants to ride Pepe the pony?”
The kids hung back. One mother attempted to put her son on it, and he kicked and fought her until she gave up. Julie got her pony droppings into her green plastic bag and carried it over to the garage. The guy in the clown suit bent over and spoke to Michael in a voice that was apparently clownspeak.
“How about the birthday boy, he gets the first ride.”
“Don’t do that,” I said.
But I was too late. The guy in the clown suit picked Michael up and plunked him on the animal. Michael was on the pony he feared, having been placed there by the clown he feared more. He screamed. It scared the pony, who bucked, which annoyed Rosie, who barked. I put Rosie down, held her leash in my left hand, stepped sideways toward the pony who was kicking his hind feet lethargically, and scooped Michael off with my right arm. Julie came out of the garage and across the lawn on a dead run. Michael was screaming, crying, and, incidentally, trying to kick me. Rosie was in full bark at the pony now, straining at her leash, thirty-one pounds of barely (and fortunately) restrained ferocity. Julie grabbed Michael away from me, and held him.
“What happened, honey. What happened, Mommy’s here, what happened?”
Michael cried harder, and hung onto his mother. The guy in the clown suit didn’t seem to have a good read on things. He was leaning down speaking in his clown voice to Michael.
“What’s the matter? Is you scared of old Mister Bubbles?”
“Be better if Mister Bubbles stepped back a little,” I said.
Julie focused on me over Michael’s shoulder.
“What happened?”
“Mister Bubbles put Michael on the pony.”
Julie stared at me, hugging Michael, patting his back. Rosie continued to bark at Pepe.
“Mister Bubbles?”
“The clown,” I said.
“He put Michael on the horse?”
“Yes,” I said. “Pepe the pony.”
Julie turned her head slowly toward Mister Bubbles.
“You dumb fuck,” she said.
“Nice language,” Mister Bubbles said, “in front of the children.”
“Fuck the children,” Julie said. “Take your fucking pony, and get the fuck out of here.”
“Hey, lady, you hired me.”