Mammoth arms crossed a convex slab of chest.
Milo said, “What have they done to bother you?”
“Done? Same damn thing, over and over,” said Chamberlain. “Since they moved in, it’s been hell. They’re out all day scoring and shooting, come back at three, four, five a.m., mistake my door for theirs, try to open it, wake me up with all the scratching and banging. Company that manages this dive is useless. Then I call you guys, you send officers over, by the time they arrive it’s quiet, they knock on those lowlifes’ doors, no one answers, they say they can’t do anything. One of your guys had a bad attitude, trying to make me feel I was paranoid. Actually said, ‘You live in a place like this, you can expect bad stuff.’ So what now, they finally did something violent?” He sneered. “Cat and Jeremy. Living off the parents, shooting everything right up the arm.”
“We’re not here about that, sir.”
“What? Jesus. Then what?”
“Could we come in, Mr. Chamberlain?”
“For what?”
“A few minutes of your time.”
“About what?”
“Cherie Sykes.”
Chamberlain squinted. “Cherie? She okay?”
“Could we come in?”
Chamberlain’s arms dropped heavily. “She’s not okay? Oh, man, don’t tell me something bad, it’s too early in the day for bad.”
“She’s fine, Mr. Chamberlain. Could we come in? And I will make sure someone with authority knows about those tweakers.”
“Cat and Jeremy,” said Boris Chamberlain. “Lowlifes like that, it’s only a matter of time, right?”
Milo nodded. Took a step forward.
Chamberlain didn’t budge.
Milo pointed past him.
Chamberlain said, “Sure, fine. But there’s nowhere to sit.”
No false advertising; the front room was devoid of furniture and the adjoining kitchen looked unused. Bottles of protein shake and a blender crowded the counter. A single window was blocked by a blackout shade. A low-watt bare bulb in the ceiling allowed in some drear.
The basses were a four-string Fender Precision that looked vintage and a six-string Alembic. Serious gear, same for the Bassman amp in a far corner. The barbell disks added up to three hundred pounds, not counting the bar. The brown vinyl of the bench was ripped and sweat-stained.
The room stank of exertion.
Boris Chamberlain said, “I’m not much for entertaining. So what’s up with Ree — with Cherie?”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
“The last time … had to be a couple of weeks ago. Why?”
“What about William Melandrano?”
“Winky? What about him?”
“They both seem to have left town. Possibly together.”
“Left? No way. Why would Winky do that? We’ve got a gig every — we’re in a band together. Left? What for?”
“We were hoping you could tell us.”
“Me? First I’ve heard of it. You’re sure you’ve got your facts straight?”
“What was their relationship?”
“Ree and Winky? Friends. We all are. From junior high, we go way back. Why? What’s this about?”
“Far as you know they weren’t intimate?”
“Intimate?” Back went the arms, closing across thorax. The resulting sound was a side of beef slammed against a meat-locker wall. “I don’t really want to be having this conversation.”
Instead of replying, Milo produced his cell phone. Punching a preset, he said, “Petra? Milo. Listen, I happen to be here on your turf, got a concerned citizen who’s not getting the service he deserves from your blue meanies.”
He went on to summarize Chamberlain’s woes with Cat and Jeremy. “Yeah, I know Scott, that would be great, kid. And hey, I might be saving you some work, ounce of prevention, you know? These two sound like they’ll cause problems.”
Boris Chamberlain’s mouth had dropped open during the conversation.
Milo said, “That was a Hollywood detective named Connor. She does homicide but she’s passing the information along to a narcotics detective named Scott Perugia. Will contact you personally regarding your neighbors. That doesn’t satisfy you, you call me.” Handing over his card.
“Okay … thanks.” Chamberlain’s eyes dropped to the card. “Homicide. What’s going on?”
“We’ll get to that but first please answer my questions. Were Mr. Melandrano and Ree Sykes intimate?”
“Did they ever do it?” Chamberlain’s cheese-face turned pink. “Yeah, sure, but a long time ago. Fact is … whatever.” He tapped a foot.
“Ree was your band’s groupie?”
“No, no, nothing that tacky. We all knew each other, did some traveling together.” Chamberlain’s eyes rounded. “Oh, that’s what you’re getting at. Them hitting the road because they’ve got a thing? No way, I’d know if that was the plan. What the hell’s going on? These are people I care about, if something happened to them—”
“Are you aware of Ree’s problems with her sister?”
“Connie? Trying to steal the baby? What a bitch, she always was. One of those brainiacs but you don’t have to make other people feel stupid.”
I said, “She lorded her smarts over everyone else.”
“Megatons of attitude. We had nothing to do with her. No one did, she was a loner. And way older than us. Then all of a sudden Ree comes in looking like someone died, we say what, she says Connie’s trying to steal my baby. Ree loves that kid, she’d do anything for it and Connie saying she’s unfit? What bullshit. But Connie’s got money, she can keep torturing Ree, that’s the way the system works.”
“Ree’s still worried about that,” I said.
“Could you blame her? Taking her to court in the first place was evil. Making her go broke so she’ll give up?”
“Nasty.”
“Evil.”
“Winky have feelings about that?”
“We all do, who wouldn’t?” said Chamberlain. “Ree’s good people. Got a heart out to here.” His arms uncrossed and spread.
I said, “Ree’s raising the baby all by herself and now she has to deal with Connie on top of it.”
“Evil,” he repeated.
“What about the father?”
“What about him?”
“If she had a partner it would be easier.”
“Yeah. Well, she doesn’t.”
“You have no idea who the father is?”
“Ree never said.”
“Connie had theories.”
“Did she.”
I said, “Two names came up in her lawsuit.”
“Did they.”
“You have no idea.”
“What’re you saying?”
“In court documents Connie named Winky and you as possible fathers.”
Pink turned to vermillion. “That’s bullshit! No way. That kid was born like … a couple of years ago and we …” He trailed off.
I said, “The baby’s sixteen months old.”
“Even more true. Ree and me haven’t been — we were never really like that, anyway.”
Milo and I said nothing.
“Oh, man,” said Chamberlain. He waved Milo’s card. “You got to tell me: Did someone get killed?”
Milo said, “Connie did.”
“What? Fuck. When?”
“Couple of nights ago.”
“Oh, man — you’re thinking Ree had something to do with that? No fucking way. Ree’s like the most nonviolent person in the world.”
“We keep hearing that.”
“That’s ’cause it’s true.”
“What about Winky?”
“Winky? Let me tell you about Winky,” he said. “Back in the day, Lonesome — the band, we’re Lonesome Moan — back in the day we toured all over the country, did a lot of dives. Sometimes we’d end up in situations, you know? People drinking or smoking too much, assholes get hostile.”