"A chain saw," Avern said. "I'm talking to the head of the gang, the posse the three guys belonged to. I explain to Chino-"
Art said, "That's his fuckin name, Chino?"
"It's what he's called."
"How do you know him?"
Avern was patient with his ethnic hitters, his guinea and his polack. He said, "Again, hanging out at Frank Murphy, where the action is. I explained to Chino how he can enjoy satisfaction for his loss without becoming involved. I said, 'Why take a chance with heat on you? Gang squad cops waiting for you to retaliate.'"
"I live down there," Carl said, "by Holy Redeemer? You go in that Mex neighborhood, cruise down Vernor, you see a big maroon Lincoln prowling the streets, always three to four detectives in it."
"Special ops," Avern said, "known as boosters. The old days they were the Big Four. Rode around in a Buick-four big cops with shotguns, armed to the teeth and looking for trouble. Okay, back to the gay caballeros."
Art said, "The dead guys were queers?"
"Forget I used that expression," Avern said, "it doesn't mean anything."
Art said, "What'd you say it for?"
"I wasn't thinking," Avern said. "Okay. The three Mexicanos delivered a hundred pounds of weed to a dealer's house, a black guy they've been doing business with. But something happened and they end up dead in the guy's basement. Check the house. It might have police tape around it, but no one's there now. It could give you a lead on the guy. I got his name from a kid who works for Professional Recovery Service-they picked up the bodies."
Carl said, "You met this kid at Frank Murphy one time?"
"Actually he's the brother of a guy I once represented," Avern said. "The guy you want to pop, his name is Orlando Holmes."
Carl and Art ordered a couple more Coronas and decided, yeah, they'd do the tequila again. What was on Carl Fontana's mind weren't dead Mexicans or this jig Orlando, it was the guy who'd just left.
"He knows everybody in town," Carl said, "as long as they're felons. Friendly man, isn't he? Runs into Montez, they have a drink and he gets a contract. Runs into Lloyd and has a drink, gets information. Runs into Chloe, who wasn't suppose to be there-"
"And gets fucked," Art said. "What might be happening to us."
"Well, now you're catching on," Carl said. "I never felt right about this one, now I'm starting to see why. Avern says walk in and shoot the old man 'cause Montez Taylor feels sorry for him and will cash in stock the old man gave him to be out of his misery sitting there with that naked girl."
Art said, "I never heard of a smoke owning stock."
Carl said, "I think Avern wants to put us on his dumbest criminals list and tell Lloyd, have a good laugh over it."
"You ever see him?"
"Who?"
"Lloyd."
Carl shook his head. He took a swig of Corona from the bottle. Art did too.
Carl said, "I think Avern had to make that story up in a hurry, about the stock. Threw it out there and kept talking, couldn't wait to get to the dead Mexicans."
Art said, "The one chainsawed, I imagine they cut him in five pieces."
Carl said, "I think Avern and Montez might be partners in this deal."
Art said, "I mean six pieces."
Carl said, "Shit, or it was Avern's idea to kill the old man in the first place. Avern gets his cut as our agent, but what's Montez get out of it?"
"You hear him?" Art said. "Avern hasn't been paid his end either?"
"You believe it?"
"I think he would've tore up the unwritten contract."
"Yeah, but you hear how he talks about Montez? How he trusts him, knows we'll get paid? Shit, Avern's running it. We got to find out what the deal is here."
They picked up their tequilas, flipped the shots down and took swigs off their Coronas.
Carl said, "You want another?"
"I wouldn't mind."
"You mentioned this Lloyd a minute ago."
"I asked did you ever see him."
"If you haven't, I haven't."
"He must live right there."
Carl said, "If he's the houseman. Avern says Lloyd owes him a couple, so he's got him keeping an eye on Montez, find out what he's up to. I believe that. I think part of what Avern said when he was lying was true. See, then when Montez came to him with the contract, shit, Avern knew Montez was looking at a payoff."
Art was listening, nodding his head of John Gotti hair.
"Pissed 'cause he wasn't getting the house. He told Avern what the deal was, to get his help, or he told this Lloyd and he told Avern."
Art squinted with a faint smile. "How'd you figure all that out?"
"Like laying bricks," Carl said.
"All this time," Art said, "I thought it was Connie had you acting weird."
Carl said, "Jesus Christ, don't bring her up." He thought about the situation again before saying, "We put a gun to Avern's head, he'll think up another story and we might believe it. We can't call Montez on it, we shoot him we don't get paid." Carl said, "Shit, I think what we have to do is talk to this Lloyd."
Art waved to Geeja to come over.
Carl said, "How you figure the Mex was cut in six pieces?"
15
Delsa brought Jackie Michaels along with an empty cardboard box to drive Kelly home, telling her, "Jackie can look through Chloe's things, maybe see something I'd miss." He swapped handbags with her, giving Kelly the black Vuitton and taking Chloe's brown one. Kelly didn't say a word in the backseat of the car. They parked at the front entrance and went up to the loft. Delsa noticed the photos still on the kitchen counter. Jackie went into Chloe's bedroom with the box.
And now Kelly said, "Frank, would you help me off with my boots? I forgot when I put them on, you need a roommate to get them off." To Delsa they looked old and worn enough to slide off her feet. She sank into the sofa on her spine and told him to straddle the leg she extended, his back to her, and pushed against his rear end with the other foot as he pulled off a boot and then did it again. Kelly said, "You suppose cowboys help each other off with their boots-out on the lone prairie?"
Delsa tried to picture it and said, "Maybe some." He straightened feeling awkward and watched her pick up a book from the bamboo coffee table, what looked like an old book but still wearing a dust jacket.
"I want to read something to you, get your reaction."
She opened the book to a page with a corner turned down and leafed back a few pages.
"Here it is. The girl says, 'If you want me to, I'll love you. I know you better now.'"
She looked up at him, Delsa in his duffle coat hanging open. "They've just met, but she knows about him. He's a playwright with a recent opening in New York. What she's saying is, if you want to get it on, let's go. Have an affair in this small town in Vermont. And he says"-Kelly looking at the book again-"'Don't love me, Sheila. I can't reciprocate.'"
She looked up at him and Delsa said, "Yeah:?"
"Would you want to see one of his plays?"
"When was the book written?"
"I checked after I read the line, 1967. Did people talk like that then?"
"I was a year old."
"In that situation would you say you can't reciprocate?"
"What's the situation? Do I like her?"
"You barely know her, but she's attractive, easy to talk to, intelligent. She's cool."
"Then I'd probably reciprocate," Delsa said, "before too long."
Kelly said, "Why not, uh?" She said, "How long have you been alone? I mean since your wife died?"
"A year in July."
"I remember you said you don't have kids. What was her name, your wife?"
Where was she going with this?
He said, "Maureen."
"She have a job or was she a homemaker?"
"She was a cop," Delsa said. "She ran Sex Crimes."
Kelly said, "Wow," barely above a whisper.
"You want to know if I'm looking around?" Delsa said. "I thought I ought to wait at least a year."
Kelly said, "Why? Are you Sicilian?"
She didn't smile. Still, he knew she was kidding. What she was saying was why wait.