Albareda was on duty now. He explained that he usually worked the day shift, but that last night he’d been filling in for his friend who was home sick. He told the detectives that he didn’t get home till two o’clock last night, and he had to be at work again at 8:00 this morning. He told the detectives that he was very tired. He told them all this with a marked Spanish accent.
“Look, shithead,” Ollie said reasonably, “this is the fuckin’ garage, you unnerstan’ English? This is where they were, and I want you to start rememberin’ right away, or I’m gonna kick your little spic ass all around the block, you think you got that?”
“If I cann remember them, I cann remember them,” Albareda said. He shrugged and looked at Carella.
“We questioned him fully last night,” Carella said. “If the man can’t remember them, then he can’t re...”
“That was last night,” Ollie said, “and this is today. And this is Detective Ollie Weeks,” he said, turning to Albareda, “who don’t take no for an answer unless somebody wants to be in serious trouble like for spitting on the sidewalk.”
“I dinn spit on no si’walk,” Albareda said.
“When I hit you in the mouth, shithead, you’re gonna be spittin’ blood and teeth on the sidewalk, and that’s a misdemeanor.”
“Look, Ollie...” Hawes said.
“Keep out of this, Red,” Ollie said. “We’re talkin’ a quarter to ten, somewhere in there,” he said to Albareda. “Young girl in a red dress, her picture’s all over the newspaper today, she got killed last night, you unnerstan’ that, shithead? With a guy twice her age, has a mustache like yours, okay, Pancho? Start rememberin.’ ”
“I don’ r’member nobody with a mustash like mine,” Albareda said.
“How about a young girl in a red dress?”
“I don’ r’member her.”
“How many fuckin’ girls in red dresses you get here at a quarter to ten? What were you doin’, Albareda? Jerkin’ off in the toilet with Playboy, you didn’t notice a girl in a red dress?”
“We get lotsa girls they wearin’ red,” Albareda said defensively.
“At a quarter to ten last night? You had lots of girls wearing red?”
“No, not lass night. I’m juss sayin’.”
“Who else was working here last night? Were you all alone, you dumb spic shithead?”
“There wass ony two of us. There wass s’pose to be t’ree, but...”
“Yeah, your amigo was home in bed suckin’ his own dong. So who else was here?”
“Thass not why there wass two of us.”
“Then why?”
“’Cause another man s’pose to be here, an’ he wass sick, too.”
“A regular epidemic, huh? What’re you all comin’ down with, herpes? So who was the other guy with you?”
“Anìbal.”
“Annabelle?”
“Anìbal. Anìbal Perez. He works all the time d’night shiff.”
“The night shiff, huh, Pancho? You got his number?”
“Sì, I haff his number.”
“Call him up. Tell him to get his ass down here in ten minutes flat or I’ll go find him and hang him from a lamppost.”
“He lives all the way Majesta.”
“Tell him to take a taxi. Or would he like a squad car pulling up in front of his house?”
“I’ll call him,” Albareda said.
Perez arrived some forty minutes later. He looked very bewildered. He glanced at Albareda for some clue as to what was going on, and then he looked at the one he figured to be the most sympathetic of the cops, a fat man like himself.
“Whass goin’ on?” he asked.
“You here last night at a quarter to ten?”
“Sì.”
“Talk English,” Ollie said, “this is America. You see my two friends here last night askin’ questions?”
“No.”
“He wass upstairs when they come aroun’,” Albareda said.
“Very sloppy,” Ollie said to Carella, “you didn’t check to see there was more than one guy here. Okay, Pancho,” he said to Perez, forgetting he’d been calling Albareda the same name, “now you’re downstairs, and now we want to know did you see a young girl in a red dress last night about a quarter to ten with a guy about forty years old, brown hair and brown eyes, a mustache like your amigo here got.”
“Sì,” Perez said.
“I tole you to talk English,” Ollie said. “You saw them?”
“I saw them.”
“Young girl nineteen years old? Red dress?”
“Yes.”
“Guy about forty wearing a brown suit...”
“Yes.”
“Okay, now we’re getting someplace,” Ollie said. “What kind of car was he driving?”
“I don’ r’member,” Perez said.
“You the one who got the car for them?”
“I’m the one, yes.”
“So what kind of car was it?”
“I don’ r’member. We get lots of cars here. I drive them up, I drive them down, how you ’speck me to r’member what kind of car this car or that car wass?”
“When you talk to me, you get that tone out of your voice, you hear me, Pancho?”
“Yes, sir,” Perez said.
“That’s better,” Ollie said. “So you don’t remember the car, huh?”
“No.”
“Was it a big car, a little car, what kind of car was it?”
“I don’ r’member.”
“You’re a great pair, you two fuckin’ spics,” Ollie said. “Where do you keep your receipts?”
“What?”
“Your receipts, your receipts, you want me to speak Spanish, or is this the United States?”
“Puerto Rico is also the United States,” Perez said with dignity.
“That’s what you think,” Ollie said. “When a guy comes in to park his car, there’s a ticket, right? You fill in the license plate number on both halves of the ticket, right? And you tear off the bottom part and you give that to the customer for when he comes back to claim his car, right? You followin’ me so far? That’s called a claim check, what you give the guy who parks his car. Okay, you throw the top part of the ticket in a box, and when the guy comes back with his half of the ticket, you match them up, and that’s how you know what floor you parked his car on. So where do you keep them tickets, the receipts?”
“Oh,” Perez said.
“Comes the dawn,” Ollie said. “You got them receipts someplace?”
“In d’cashier’s office. Lass night’s tickets, you mean?”
“That’s what we’re talking about here, last night. You also stamp those tickets, don’t you? With the time the guy came in, and the time the guy comes back to claim his car. Okay, I want to see every ticket for anybody came in around eight o’clock and left around a quarter to ten. Now that’s easy, ain’t it? In fact, that’s what my friends here shoulda done last night, but better late than never, right? Show me the tickets.”
“The cashier hass them,” Perez said. “In the office.”
The cashier was a black girl in her late twenties. She looked up when the detectives came into the small office. Ollie winked at Carella and then said, “Hello, sweetie.”