“People will talk,” Ridgeway told her, his tone playful.
Janice snorted. “A grizzled veteran police officer once told me how to respond to people talking like that.”
“How?”
“I think he said, ‘Screw ’em.’ Or something equally eloquent.”
Ridgeway grinned. “Yeah. Screw ’em. I like that. Who told you that?”
Janice chuckled. “Some idiot.”
“Who?”
“You.”
Ridgeway let out a hearty laugh. He finished his drink in a gulp. “All right, Jan. You win. Let’s go.”
Janice reached into her purse, but Ridgeway waved her action away. He tossed a twenty on the bar and raised his hand to Johnny. The bartender waved back, a hint of relief showing on his face. Despite not seeming overly concerned, Janice knew the bartender had been monitoring the situation.
Outside in the parking lot, the warm night air smelled of weak beer and auto fumes. Janice tried to hold Ridgeway by the arm to support him, but he must have found that degrading as well. Instead, he slipped his arm around her shoulders. That fulfilled the same purpose of allowing her to support him, so she didn’t protest.
When they reached her Saturn coupe, she unlocked the passenger door and Ridgeway flopped onto the front seat. She swung his legs in with little help from him and shut the door. Then she went around to the driver’s side, got in and started the car.
Ridgeway sat silently as they drove, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Then he turned slowly to Janice and asked with a snarl, “Is this a little Jap car?”
“No.”
He didn’t seem to hear her answer. “Because if this was made by those little market-greedy zipper-heads, you can just let me out right now. Little yellow bastards. Shot up my Dad in World War II, killed my brother in ’Nam. Tried to shoot me in ’Nam, but couldn’t do it. Then you know what they did?”
“Mark-”
He slapped the dashboard, ignoring her. “The little sonsabitches came over here and bought the auto plant my Dad worked. Then they laid him off. Maybe they were pissed about not killing him in the war and thought they’d come over here and finish the job.”
“Mark-”
“Worked, too. He died six months after he got laid off.”
“Mark!”
Ridgeway turned to her, surprise registering on his face. “What? You don’t have to yell, Jan.”
Janice took a deep breath and let it out. “This car is a Saturn. It’s not Japanese. It’s made in the USA. And there’s a difference between Japanese and Vietnamese. They’re two completely different-”
“Made in the USA? No kidding?”
“Yes. Mark, you know all this. I know you know cars.”
Ridgeway shrugged. “It’s not the same as it used to be. Cars used to have a particular look to them, a distinctive style. Now they all look alike. There’s a thousand makes and models now. Nothing is the same as it used to be.” He shook his head, then repeated softly, “Nothing.”
Janice didn’t answer. She continued to drive.
Ridgeway was quiet a long while, then asked her, “Really now, this is made in the USA?”
Janice nodded. “Made in Tennessee.”
“No kidding. You’re my kind of girl, Janice, driving an American car.” He turned in his seat. “Hey, do you have a gun at home?”
“Of course.”
His eyebrows went up slightly. “What kind?”
“A.357 magnum.”
He nodded his approval. “Nice gun. Smith and Wesson?”
“I think so. Why?”
“Just wondering.” Ridgeway sighed. When he spoke, his words slurred noticeably. “You are just about the perfect woman, Janice. Are you an NRA member?”
“No. I’m not into politics. Every two years I vote for the person I think will do the best job. That’s about it.”
“Well, everyone has a flaw,” Ridgeway mused. “But damn near the perfect woman. I should have married you, Janice.”
“You’re drunker than a skunk.”
“Maybe so, but I still should have married you.”
Janice drove the rest of the way to Ridgeway’s house without saying another word. She didn’t want to remind him that the chance had been there sixteen years ago. Or that she hadn’t seemed so perfect to him then.
Ridgeway’s house stood in the middle of the 5000 block of North Atlantic. It was a typical two-bedroom, middle class rancher, perfect for a couple with no kids. Janice pulled up in front and shut off her lights. She looked at Ridgeway, who now dozed in the passenger’s seat.
Somehow, Janice got him awake and walked him clumsily to the front door. She found his keys in his jacket pocket and let them inside. Ridgeway staggered through the door and flopped onto the couch.
The house struck her as surprisingly well-kept for a house with a single male living in it. The dishes were done in the kitchen. She filled a glass with tap water, then went into the bathroom. Except for a towel on the floor in the corner, it, too, was clean. She found aspirin in the medicine chest above the sink and returned to the living room.
Ridgeway hadn’t moved. She nudged him.
“Here, take these aspirin.”
“Hmmmmmm?”
“C’mon, Mark. You’re gonna feel like hell in the morning as it is. Take the aspirin.”
“Mmmmmm.” Mark sat up squinting. With her help, he took the three tablets and a swallow of water. Then he flopped back onto the couch.
Janice removed his shoes and lifted his feet off of the floor and onto the cushions. In the hall closet she found a light blanket. Back in the living room, she covered him with it.
“Goodnight, my little robber-catcher.” She kissed him lightly above his eyebrow.
“‘Night, Alice,” Ridgeway murmured.
Janice tried not to be hurt, but failed. Without being quite as gentle, she tucked the blanket around him, dropped his keys on the small table by the door and locked it behind her.
She drove toward home. Stupid. I’m so stupid. She turned on the car radio. Some bubble-gum pop music filled the small car. Janice forced herself to sing along and tried not to think.
2148 hours
Kopriva waited in the parking lot of the elementary school, surprised at how late Katie was. He’d checked with radio to see if she was checked into service yet and she wasn’t. That phone call from her boyfriend must have been a long one.
Eventually, a police car pulled into the dark lot and glided up next to him. Katie lowered her window. “Sorry I took so long.”
Kopriva thought she sounded a little strange, like she had been crying. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said shortly. “Where’s this guy live?”
Kopriva turned on his interior light and read her the address aloud.
“Okay. Meet you there,” she said and drove off.
Something was definitely wrong, Kopriva knew. He also knew that if Katie didn’t want to tell him, she wasn’t going to. She had a stubborn streak that way.
Kopriva drove quickly to the address, parked up the street and walked in. Katie met him behind a tree in front of the house. He noticed that it was a neatly painted white with a well-tended yard.
Kopriva frowned. He doubted Belzer still lived there. Druggers seldom showed much concern about the house or yard where they lived. Besides, they generally didn’t stay in any one place for long. But maybe they’d get a lead on him here.
After peering through the window and finding the inside just as tidy as the yard, Kopriva rang the door-bell. A red-headed woman in her early twenties opened the door.
“Hello?” She said, and then noticed their uniforms. “Oh. Is something wrong?”
“No, ma’am,” Kopriva assured her. “Can we come in and talk with you for a moment?”
“Um, yeah, I guess.” She stepped aside and allowed them to enter.
Once inside, Kopriva noticed the pleasant aroma of a burning candle. No chance this was Belzer’s place. About the only thing druggers burned besides their pipes was the occasionally stick of incense.
Kopriva asked the woman for her name.