“You changed, too,” Tussy said. “Boy, I can understand why nobody would see you, dressed like that. Where did you get all that black stuff?”
“They’re work clothes,” Dett said. “Uh, for when I have to walk around certain kinds of property. Sometimes, you can’t wear good clothes. They’d get ruined in a minute. Stuff like this, even if I get them all dirty, it wouldn’t show.”
“I know what you mean. Some nights, my uniform looks like I’m wearing what everybody had for dinner.”
She placed a steaming mug in front of Dett. He sipped it, said, “This is really good.”
Tussy sat across from him. She lit a cigarette, and left it smoldering in an ashtray while she went to the refrigerator for a small bottle of cream. “Fireball,” she called. “Come on, boy. I’ve got your favorite cocktail.”
“I thought cats don’t come when you-” Dett interrupted himself when he saw Fireball enter the kitchen and stalk haughtily over to the saucer of cream Tussy had placed on the floor.
1959 October 06 Tuesday 02:48
“You’re out pretty late tonight, Holden.”
“Well, there was a lot going on, Sherman. ‘Specially for a Monday night.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, sir! I got my logbook all ready for you,” Holden said. “See?”
“You do a beautiful job, Holden,” the big detective said. “I wish I had ten men like you. Let’s have a look. Hmmm… a couple of new ones, huh? Never saw these before.”
“The Buick? There was a man and a girl in it. Well, not so much in it. They was standing around, talking.”
“You hear what they were talking about?”
“Sort of. It wasn’t any of the stuff you said to be sure and listen for, Sherman, I know that. Just about growing up and things. The girl told him about her parents being killed.”
“Killed?” Sherman Layne said, taking care to keep his voice level.
“By a drunk driver,” Holden said, proud that he had remembered. “It was a long time ago.”
“A blond girl? Kind of short? Chubby?”
“That’s right! Boy oh boy, Sherman. You must be as smart as Sherlock Holmes in the movies.”
Tussy Chambers? He repeated the name to himself, as he copied down the license number of the Buick Holden had discovered.
“And I got something else, too!” Holden said, excitedly. “About the Cadillac? I never seen it before. And I couldn’t see the people inside, neither. Where they were parked, I couldn’t get close enough to hear what they was saying, but I know the voice, Sherman. Of the girl, I mean.”
“Who was she?”
“I don’t know her name, Sherman. But I know her voice. It was a colored girl.”
“Out here? In your section?”
“Yes, sir! And that’s not all, Sherman. I know her name. Part of her name, anyway.”
“Slow down, Holden. Easy… That’s right. Let’s you and me go sit in the car, where we can discuss this like professionals.”
“In your car, Sherman? The police car?”
“The unmarked car, Holden. Detectives don’t use black-and-whites, right?”
“Right!”
The two men walked over to Sherman’s Ford and climbed in. Sherman let Holden devour the interior with his eyes for a couple of minutes, then said, “Tell me about the girl, Holden.”
“She was a colored girl, Sherman.”
“Yes. I wrote that down, Holden. But you said you knew her name…?”
“Kitty,” Holden said. “That’s what the man called her.”
“You sure he didn’t say ‘kitten,’ now? That’s what some guys call their girlfriends. You know, like ‘honey,’ or something like that?”
“No, sir. I heard it plain. ‘Kitty.’ He called her that a lot. ‘Kitty.’ Plain as day.”
Might be a street name, Sherman thought to himself. But I can’t see any Darktown working girl coming way out here to turn a trick.
“But, listen, Sherman. There’s something else. See, the man she was with, I heard his name, too.”
“And what was that, Holden?” Sherman said, feeling his interest fade. Holden always tried his best, but…
“Harley,” the forest prowler said. “Harley was what she called him.”
1959 October 06 Tuesday 05:41
As Carl showed up for work, early as always, Dett and Tussy were falling asleep together, she in her beloved house, Dett in Room 809.
Dioguardi was at his weight bench in the cellar of his restaurant, stripped to a pair of gym shorts and sneakers, seeking that almost-exhausted physical state that unleashed his mind.
Rufus daydreamed of fire.
1959 October 06 Tuesday 08:01
“Come on, Beau. It’s a real Indian-summer day. We won’t have many more like this before it gets cold out.”
“Not today, Cyn. I’ve got too much work to do.”
“You always have work to do. So do I. So does everyone else. But you never get any sun, Beau. That’s no good for you. Remember what Dr.-”
“I haven’t believed a doctor since I was a kid,” Beaumont said, flatly. “Why should I?”
“Oh, forget the doctor, then. But you need to get out, get some fresh air. You could play a few games of horseshoes with Luther. You know he loves it when you do.”
“Luther’s fine.”
“Beau, please.”
“Cyn, you know how long it takes to roll this damn wheelchair out of here?”
“Well, you could go straight out the back, through that little doorway, if you’d only let me-”
“What? Tear the cellar apart, rip out the stairs, build a whole bunch of… We can’t have that kind of work done on this house, honey. We can’t let outsiders down there. And if we just used our own men, it would take months. The garage, that’s our escape hatch, remember? We could leave from there and never go near a main road for miles. So it was worth whatever time and money it took to get that built. But just so you could wheel me straight out to the backyard? No.”
“Well, even if you won’t let me build what it takes to make it easy, that doesn’t mean you can’t go at all,” Cynthia said, walking behind Beaumont and pulling the wheelchair toward her. “Now, come on!”
1959 October 06 Tuesday 08:19
“You know full well I’m meeting Royal Beaumont himself this very afternoon, Sean,” Shalare said to the bulky man seated across from him in his upstairs office.
“I do, Mickey. And your timing is a thing of beauty, as always.”
“So I need to know,” Shalare went on, as if the other man had not spoken, “what it is, exactly, I’ll be offering him.”
“Offering him? Why, this whole town, son. And everything in it. Dioguardi’s been told, and he’ll do as he’s told. Once the election’s over, for all we care, they can go at each other like rats and terriers.”
Shalare templed his fingertips, touched the tip of his nose, then said, “The way Beaumont looks at it, offering him this town, Sean, that’s like offering a man sex with his own wife.”
“Oh? You did say Beaumont’s worried enough about Dioguardi that he’s brought in a specialist.”
“I did.”
“Doesn’t seem to have actually done anything, this man, does he?”
“There’s those two of Dioguardi’s men that-”
“Ah, you’re not telling me that Beaumont had to send for outside help to handle something like that, are you?”
“No. You’re right there,” Shalare admitted. “But, just because you can’t see the miners, it doesn’t mean the coal’s not being dug.”
“Let me tell you something about trains, Mickey Shalare,” the bulky man said, pointing a stubby finger for emphasis. “You can control the conductor, you can control the engineer, but it’s the men who lay the tracks who get to say where it ends up going.”
“That’s all well said,” Shalare replied, unruffled. “But we’ve been watching Locke City a long time, now. Getting the feel of the land before we plant our crops. And this is what I know about Royal Beaumont: he’s one of your hard men. The genuine article. Hear me, the man’s a pit bull, veteran of a hundred fights. You pull his teeth, he’ll still try and gum you to death. A man like him, he may come at you like a locomotive, but it’ll be on tracks he laid himself.”