“Hello, Alonso,” Meyer said.
Quadrado got soap in his eyes. He said, “Damn it!” and began splashing water onto his face. He was an exceptionally thin man, with narrow bones and a pale olive complexion. The Pancho Villa mustache over his upper lip was almost bigger than he was.
“Few more questions we’d like to ask you,” Carella said.
“You picked some time,” Quadrado said. He rinsed himself off, turning this way and that under the needle spray. He turned off the shower, picked up a towel, and began drying himself. The detectives waited. Quadrado wrapped the towel around his waist and walked into the locker room. The detectives followed him.
“I just got done playing handball,” he said. “You play handball?”
“I used to,” Meyer said.
“Best game there is,” Quadrado said, and sat on the bench, and opened the door to one of the lockers. “So what now?” he said.
“Do you know your cousin’s dead?” Meyer asked.
“Yeah, I know it. The funeral’s tomorrow. I ain’t going. I hate funerals. You ever been to a Spanish funeral? All those old ladies throwing themselves on the coffin? Not for me, man.”
“She was cut, do you know that?”
“Yeah.”
“Any idea who did it?”
“No. If Lopez was still alive, I’da said it was him. But he’s dead, too.”
“Anybody else you can think of?”
“Look, you know what she was into, it coulda been anybody.”
He was drying his feet. He reached into the locker, took out a pair of socks, and began putting them on. It was interesting the way people dressed themselves, Meyer thought. It was like the different ways people ate an ear of corn. No two people ate corn the same way, and no two people got dressed the same way. Why was Quadrado starting with his socks? Black socks, at that. Was he about to audition for a porn flick? Meyer wondered if he would put on his shoes next, before he put on his Jockey shorts or his pants. Another of life’s little mysteries.
“What was she into?” Carella said.
“Well, not exactly into it, not yet. But working on it, let’s say.”
“And what was that?”
“The only thing she inherited from Lopez.”
“Spell it out,” Carella said.
Quadrado reached into the locker again. He took a pair of boxer shorts from where they were hanging on a hook, and pulled them on. “Lopez’s trade,” he said, and reached into the locker for his pants.
“His dope trade?”
“Yeah, she had the list.”
“What list?”
“Of his customers.”
“How’d she get that?”
“She was living with him, wasn’t she?”
“Is this a real list you’re talking about? Names and addresses? Written down on a piece of paper?”
“No, no, what piece of paper? But she was living with him, she knew who his customers were. She told me she was gonna move on it, get the coke the same place he was getting it, make herself a little extra change, you know?”
“When did she tell you this?” Meyer asked.
“Right after he got shot,” Quadrado said, and put on his shirt.
“Why didn’t you mention this the last time we talked?”
“You didn’t ask me.”
“Did this sound like a new thing for her?” Carella asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Dealing.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“She wasn’t working with him before he got killed, was she? They weren’t partners or anything?”
“No, no. Lopez? You think he’d share a good thing with a chick? No way.”
“But he told her who his customers were.”
“Well, he didn’t say, ‘This guy takes four grams, and this guy takes six grams,’ nothing like that. I mean, he didn’t hand her the list on a platter. But when a guy’s livin’ with somebody, they talk, you know what I mean? He’ll say, ‘I got to deliver a coupla three grams to Luis today,’ something like that. They’ll talk, you know?”
“Pillow talk,” Meyer said.
“Yeah, pillow talk, right,” Quadrado said. “That’s a good way of putting it. Judite was a smart girl. When Lopez talked, she listened. Look, I’ll tell you the truth, Judite didn’t think this thing was gonna last very long, you know what I mean? After the guy hurt her... I mean, how much can a chick put up with? He was a crazy bastard to begin with, and he still had other women, never mind just Judite. So I guess she listened a lot. She had no way of knowing he was gonna get killed, of course, but I guess she figured it wouldn’t hurt to—”
“How do you know that?”
“How do I know what?”
“That she didn’t know he was going to get killed?”
“I’m just assuming. You guys mind if I smoke?”
“Go right ahead,” Meyer said.
“ ‘Cause I like a little smoke after I finish playing,” Quadrado said, and reached into the bag on the floor of the locker, and pulled out a Sucrets tin. They knew what was in the tin even before he opened it. They were surprised, but not too surprised. Nowadays, people smoked grass even on the park bench across the street from the station house. They watched as Quadrado fired the joint. He sucked on it. He let out a stream of smoke.
“Care for a toke?” he asked, blithely extending the joint to Meyer.
“Thanks,” Meyer said drily. “I’m on duty.”
Carella smiled.
“Who were these other women?’ he asked.
“Jesus, who could count them?” Quadrado said. “There’s this one-legged hooker he was putting it to, you know Anita Diaz? She’s gorgeous, but she’s got only one leg, they call her La Mujer Coja in the neighborhood, she’s the best lay in the world, you ever happen to run into her. Lopez was making it with her. And there was... you know the guy who owns the candy store on Mason and Tenth? His wife. Lopez was making it with her, too. This was all while he was living with Judite, who knows why she put up with it for so long?” He sucked on the joint. “I figure she was scared of him, you know? Like, he was all the time threatening her, and finally he burned her with the cigarette, so that must’ve really scared her. So I guess she figured she’d just keep her mouth shut, let him run around with whoever he wanted to.”
“How’d she plan to supply these people?”
“What do you mean?”
“Lopez’s customers. Where’d she plan to get the stuff?”
“Same place Lopez got it.”
“And where was that?”
“From the Anglo ounce dealer.”
“What Anglo ounce dealer?”
“The one Lopez used to live with. The way Judite figured it, bygones are bygones, and business is business. If the chick was supplying Lopez, why couldn’t she also supply Judite?”
“This was a woman, huh?”
“The blonde he used to live with, yeah.”
Carella looked at Meyer.
“What blonde?” he said.
“I told you. The Anglo chick he used to live with.”
“A blonde?” Meyer said.
“Yeah, a blonde,” Lopez said. “What is it with you guys? You’re hard of hearing?”
“When was this?” Meyer said.
“A year ago? Who remembers? Lopez had them coming and going like subway trains.”
“What’s her name, would you know?”
“No,” Quadrado said, and took a last draw on the roach before dropping it on the floor. He was about to step on it when he realized he was still in his stocking feet. Meyer stepped on it for him. Quadrado sat, pulled on a pair of high-topped black sneakers, and began lacing them.