“That’s okay, officer. Don’t you worry none, go get a drink at the bar.”
I was going to tell him I wasn’t a cop, but what was the point? Everyone in the place was watching and knew I was armed. Just in case someone had been asleep and missed my entrance, he called to the bartender as I stepped away.
“Charles, give the good officer a drink, on the house.”
The wooden floor was worn, the room was dim, neon beer signs illuminated the back of the bar. The place had a musty smell and at barely five in the afternoon the clientele looked like they’d already been there for quite a while. Despite the statewide smoking ban there were more than a couple of cigarettes glowing. Something like hip hop or rap assaulted my ears and my headache returned with a vengeance.
People resumed talking but the level of conversation was decidedly muted. Charles the bartender gave me as slight a nod as possible when I stepped in front of him. I placed both my hands on the bar.
“Charles, I think I’ll have a Coke, please,” attempting polite kindness.
“On duty,” he said not really asking.
“No, I’m not a cop, honest. Your doorman made a mistake.”
“A mistake,” sounding not at all convinced.
“I’m just here to meet someone.”
“Well, in that case, since you’re not a cop, its two-fifty for the Coke.”
There, I’d made my point and I could relish in the fact I was deliberately overcharged for the soft drink poured into what I guessed was a fairly dirty glass.
When Charles returned with my change I worked at being polite.
“I’m supposed to meet Da’nita Bell here. Has she been in yet?”
“What you want with her ass?”
I felt myself beginning to harbor ill will toward Charles. I decided to smile and fake it.
“Look Charlie, how’d you like it if the city inspector showed up in here tomorrow and shut you down for a week or two because of code violations? Then maybe someone might call the license inspector and have him look into reports of underage individuals being served in your fine establishment. Maybe some reports of controlled substances being sold on the premises could reach concerned ears. Would that make your day, Charlie?”
He seemed to think about that for a moment, looked me up and down, then came up with the right answer.
“That’s her, at the end of the bar.”
I looked down the bar but couldn’t see anyone, the place was dim but not dark.
“Where?”
“End of the bar, you can just see her head. Hey, Da’nita,” he yelled. “Wave your hand for the nice officer.”
A small hand slowly rose above the bar. I could just make out dark, curly hair an inch or two above the top of the bar.
I walked down the length of the bar, rounded the corner, and nearly knocked over a small woman in a motorized wheelchair. I spilled a little Coke on her.
“Watch where you’re going, asshole. You’re spilling on me, wasting good whiskey,” she shrieked. As she did I caught the flash of her silver tooth, caught the subtle hiss when she called me asshole.
“Da’nita?”
“Maybe, maybe not, what’s it to you?”
“I wanted to talk to you for a moment, I…”
“I haven’t done anything. You get away, leave me alone,” she shrieked again, then began hurriedly reversing the wheelchair, ramming into a table behind her, and knocking over a couple of beer bottles. I reached over her and righted the bottles, said to the couple at the table, “Oops, sorry about that, let me get you a couple more. Ouch, damn it.” Da’nita raced across my foot, gaining speed backing toward the ladies room. Fortunately no one made a move to come to her aid.
“Hey, Da’nita, hold up will you? I just want to talk, it’s me, Devil. Remember from the phone?”
That stopped her, although she kept her hand firmly on the throttle, just waiting for an excuse.
“Devil?”
“Yeah, that’s me, I was always calling for Kerri, remember?”
She thought about that for a moment, then said, “I might. A drink might help me remember.”
“Sure, sure thing. What’ll it be?”
“Make it a Cosmopolitan, with a shot of Grand Marnier on the side.” The way she said it made me think it wasn’t the first time she placed that order.
Chapter 19
I didn’t believe Charles knew how to make a Cosmopolitan, and I was sure this dump didn’t stock Grand Marnier. I was wrong on both counts. I returned with her drinks after dropping two beers off at the table she’d rammed. The couple at the table grabbed the beer bottles and never said thanks. I set her drinks on a back table, sat down and pulled a chair out so she could wheel in. She did so hesitantly. I wasn’t sure what she expected me to do. Finally she reached for the Cosmopolitan, sucked down a goodly portion of the thing and didn’t even blink.
“Da’nita. I’m hoping you can help me. I’m having trouble getting in touch with Kerri and I need to talk to her.”
She downed the Grand Marnier without so much as a shudder.
“You see that bitch, you tell her she better not cross where I’m driving, I’ll run her down.”
She looked serious, hit and run with a wheel chair.
“You two have a little falling out?” I asked.
“Falling out? That’s your term. Shit, more like getting pushed out. The bitch fired my ass is what she did.”
“Fired? When did this happen?”
“Just the other day. Middle of the afternoon she runs in all hot and bothered. Cleans out her desk in about one minute flat, literally pushes me out the door, and leaves me sitting in the damn hallway with my thumb up a hole. Then she locks the door, runs out to her car and drives off. Never looks back. I still got all my shit in there. Think she cares? Hell no. She don’t give a damn bout little ole Da’nita,” she said, then drained the last of the Cosmopolitan and quickly pushed both empty glasses toward me.
“Where was this office?”
“I might take a minute to try and remember,” she said, glancing at the empty glasses.
“I’ll be right back,” I said.
“She didn’t tell you why she locked up and ran off?” I asked, sitting back down with the next round.
“She didn’t say a thing.”
“Where’d you say this was, again?”
“You’re slick Devil, I didn’t. Right next door to that Russian store. You know the one, on West Seventh?”
I nodded.
“Kerri was always eating that red cabbage, I couldn’t touch it, lord save me, fartin’ like a race horse.”
I gathered she was growing a little more accustomed to me because she only downed a third of the Cosmopolitan.
“Bitch Kerri just ran in, mumbled something about closing the business. Them damn Russians, who can even tell?”
“Russian? She’s French. Isn’t she?” I asked.
“French? You fall for that too, dumb ass? She was always saying that and everyone always believed her, idiots.”
“She’s Russian?”
“That’s what I said. Were you paying attention?”
“What about her sister?”
“Sister?”
“Yeah, Nikki. She said that…”
“That, God Nikki isn’t her sister. Nikki was the only smart one. She ran off after what happened to Mai. You ask me she’s probably long gone from this town.”
“Mai?”
“Yeah, little Mai. She got connected, but they had her ass on the street. Had her turning a dozen tricks a day.” She was back to draining the Cosmopolitan.
“This Mai, was she Asian, small, big boobs, with…”
“Those are fake, Devil, bolt on’s, and are you listening? Why do you think she’s called ‘Little’? It’s not because she’s tall.”
“Did she have a tattoo, a sunburst around her navel?”
“Her bellybutton? Yeah. Gee, Kerri and now little Mai, wow, you are a player, aren’t you, Devil?” She looked at me slyly.
“No not really. But I might have seen Mai just lying around. Has she got a last name, Mai?”
She pushed the empty glass in front of me, downed her shot, and set the empty next to her Cosmopolitan glass.