“Frankie?” One of the prostitutes spoke up. She’d been leaning her blue-haired self up against the wall with the greatest disinterest up until this point. “Frankie Morrell? I didn’t know he was missing?” She was a little older than most working girls. A little bit more make up around the eyes. She wore a short red skirt, black halter top, and heels that under other circumstances (more pleasant ones I assure you) could be used as lethal weapons.
I made a mental note to get a pair just like them.
Mother turned around and spoke to her. “You … you know Frankie?”
“Tall guy — like about six foot two? Grey haired swept back from his forehead? Glasses that always slipped down on his nose?” Blue Hair answered. “Yeah, I know Frankie.”
“When did you see him last?” Noel and I both asked at the same time.
She teetered left, teetered right. “Can’t remember. Maybe it isn’t even the same guy.”
Mother turned back around. She didn’t look up at me. It was the same guy I could see it in the blush of Blue Hair’s cheeks. I could see it in my mother’s eyes
This was one more kick in the ass my mother did not need.
Okay, so now there was a tie for that coveted place on the top of my shit list.
“So you want us here all night, Deputy?” the second officer, J. North asked. “Right here or down the hall?”
“Right in front of the doors, Officer North.” He looked at both of them. “This woman is an escape artist. She can’t be left alone for a minute. Can’t be trusted. Keep an eye on her. And if she gets out of here, I will hold both of you personally responsible. Do I make myself clear?”
He did. To everyone.
Of course, he thought he was pissing me off. Well, I guess that was a given. But I was pleased nonetheless that Mother would be ‘watched’ all night long. Just in case something went wrong. Guess I wouldn’t be kicking Almond in the nuts after all. Which would have ruined the shoes.
And realistically as much as I would have enjoyed a good nut-kicking, I could do mother more good outside of jail than inside. Could and would.
Like get bail money ready.
I was going to post bail if it cost me every last dime I had and every last favor I could call in. I hadn’t called Peaches Marie yet. There wasn’t a hell of a lot she and her girlfriend could do at the present time while backpacking through Europe. Last email was from somewhere around Glasgow. But if I had to, I’d email Peaches to get money from her.
Goddamn it! I’d do whatever it took.
~*~
I’d called Dylan on my cell phone just as I’d arrived at the station, filling him in on what had transpired. He’d listened to everything (and yes, maybe a little bit too silently when I told him I’d been out on a strictly-business meeting with Almond at the fancy French restaurant). I asked Dylan to find a lawyer. The best in criminal law in Pinellas County. Hell, in all of Florida.
As I walked back out to the unmarked police car that would be driving me back to the Wildoh, Dylan called me with a name. I saw the officer shift when I repeated that name. I repeated it twice more, just to be sure, and saw the tightening of the hands on the steering wheel.
Yes, apparently the name Cotton Carson was a familiar one to the police. And not a well-received one. Good.
Dylan elaborated: Cotton Carson was the senior man in Carson, Carver and Associates, attorneys at law. Smart as they come. Tough as nails. Expensive as hell.
I’d pay.
Cotton had thirty-five years criminal law experience. He was known as the Black Suit of Death to local prosecutors. Not only because the man always dressed in black from head to toe, but because he kicked ass in court.
Why, I liked him already!
He’d be at the bail hearing in the morning. Had his secretary shifting things around at this very minute to accommodate it.
“And Dix,” Dylan said. “Cotton had one piece of advice he insisted your mother follow.”
“That is?”
“Under no circumstances is she to talk to the police unless he’s there.”
I thanked Dylan. Told him I’d see him later. I clicked the phone shut, and knew Mother would follow the advice I’d given her earlier.
~*~
I arrived bearing gifts. Well, not my gifts. But I carried them.
I arrived at the door to Dylan’s room at the Goosebump Inn bearing the basket of goodies Mrs. Presley had packed with the remnants of her spicy pepperoni spaghetti — still enough to feed an army (and when I considered the great big hulking sons Mrs. P usually cooked for, I didn’t wonder why) — and fresh rolls from Mona.
Apparently, Mona had insisted Mrs. P take the rolls when she delivered the spaghetti. Mother and Mrs. P had gone over to Mona’s before the big arrest scene, but hadn’t stayed long. Tish was there — with her feet up on the coffee table and a drink in her hand while Mona ran around the condo baking and cleaning.
I just didn’t get that — Tish was such a bitch, and Mona just seemed to cater to her. But it wasn’t just Tish’s presence that prompted Mother and Mrs. P to leave. Mona had been busy baking a cake for her upcoming birthday party. Two days from now. Which I thought was kind of sad, that she had to make her own cake.
But it was Big Eddie’s cake for the party really, Mrs. P explained. There was going to be a potluck for Mona. (“And it’s a surprise, Dix, so don’t go blabbing it.”) But Mona was making a special dietetic cake. While Mother, Mona and most of the others would be enjoying the finest of ice-cream cakes, a few Wildoh residents (Big Eddie and Harriet included) were diabetic. This was generous of Mona. Well above and beyond what most people would think to do.
A hell of a way above and beyond what I would have done.
I’d told Mrs. P what was going on as soon as I arrived home from the police station. And she gave me her first-hand account of what had happened when the cops had come — in multiple squad cars with sirens blaring. Just as Deputy Almond had wanted, every Wildoh resident had dashed out to witness my mother’s arrest. To see her humiliation at being placed in handcuffs.
According to Mrs. Presley, Roger Cassidy had looked angry.
Harriet Appleton had looked smug and satisfied.
Mona had cried. Tish was drunk.
Big Eddie had shaken his head. “But really, I’m not surprised,” he’d declared to the crowd in general.
Mrs. P sat on the couch and listened quietly as I filled in the other blanks. I was tempted to leave out the parts where I told Deputy Almond that mother was such a great escape artist, but I didn’t. I told Mrs. Presley everything — starting at point A and moving on to Z, hitting all points in between, even when those points weren’t so pretty. And I told her about Cotton Carson.
She nodded. “Things’ll be fine, Dix. You’ve got it under control. The lawyer will have your mother out in the morning, and you’ll have this case solved in no time flat.”
I sighed. I believed her on all accounts, but still this had not been a banner day.
“You say you racked up Almond’s bill?” A smile played around Mrs. Presley’s face.
“With the desserts and champagne, I’m thinking by at least a grand.”
“Wouldn’t you like to see the look on his face when he gets that bill, eh?”
I snorted a laugh. “Oh, I’d love to.”
Mrs. P got up and went to Mother’s room and shut the door. I know she made a call or two in there because I could hear the murmurs through the wall. And then this dear sweet little old lady (ha!) told me with all of her usual warmth, “Get out, please.”