“I don’t give a shit.”
Genrizi exhaled loudly and turned to the big guys in the hall. “Hey Angie—sit at the desk for awhile, will ya?”
Angie, a big pot-bellied guy, came rumbling to the desk. Genrizi got up and led Rackman across the floor and down the corridor past the private cubicles, from which came moans and sighs. At the back was an old beat-up refrigerator and a toilet with the door hanging open. The area was lit by a bare bulb dangling in front of the refrigerator, and Genrizi’s features were chalky as he turned to Rackman.
“What do you want to know about Cynthia Doyle?”
“Where were you at three-thirty this morning?”
Genrizi thought it over. “I was here, closing up the joint.”
“Was anybody here with you?”
“Angie and Bobbie, and a few of the girls were still here.”
“Which girls?”
“Demaris and Carmella, and Mary Gomes.”
“Is Carmella here tonight?”
“She’s the girl who just went into the room with the John—I mean the customer.”
“I hear she didn’t get along too well with Cynthia Doyle.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“I’m asking the questions.”
Genrizi narrowed his eyes at Rackman and debated with himself whether he should try to find out what Rackman was made of. Rackman lunged forward, grabbed Genrizi by the front of his jacket, lifted him off the floor, and slammed him against the wall. Rackman’s nose was an inch from Genrizi’s, and the back of Genrizi’s head hurt from where it had collided with the wall.
“I guess we’re gonna have to go to Midtown North, huh?” Rackman asked.
“No, we can talk here,” Genrizi replied, his lips white.
Rackman let him go and stepped back. “We were talking about how your girl Carmella didn’t get along too well with Cynthia Doyle.”
“Yeah.”
“Is it true?”
“None of the girls liked her too much.”
“Why not?”
“She used to get a little cunty at times.”
“You didn’t kill her, did you Genrizi?”
“I was here. I couldn’t have killed her.”
“But you could have had it done.”
“What for? Cindy was one of the top moneymakers. I wish I had more like her.”
“Were the other girls jealous of her?”
“Some of them probably were, I suppose. The girls are always hassling with each other about something one day and making up the next.”
“But you said yourself that none of the girls liked her very much.”
“They didn’t, but I don’t think things got to the point where somebody would go as far as to kill her.”
“You know anything about her boyfriend?”
“Never met him, and don’t want to.”
“Did you know she was having a problem with Luke the Duke?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
“I didn’t know she was having a problem with him.” His voice took on a pleading tone. “I’m not interested in these girls’ lives. All I want them to do is show up on time for work, look nice, and don’t hassle any customers.”
“Did Cynthia Doyle ever have trouble with customers?”
“From time to time all the girls have trouble with customers.”
“Since she was a little cunty, I guess maybe she had a little more trouble.”
“Maybe.”
“She have any trouble last night?”
Genrizi puckered the space between his eyebrows. “I don’t remember nothin’.”
“You sure?”
“I’m not even sure that I’m me and you’re you, but other than that I’m sure.”
Rackman took out one of his cards and handed it to Genrizi. “If you remember anything, give me a call.”
Genrizi glanced at the card and pushed it into his shirt pocket.
“Now I want to talk to Carmella,” Rackman said.
“She’s with a customer right now.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Can you wait back here?”
“Why back here?”
“Because you’ll scare the customers away. You look too much like a cop.”
“Oh come on. You look more like a cop than I do.”
“I do not!”
“Sure you do. Anyway, if I have to wait, I’m going to wait up front where I can see the show.”
Genrizi didn’t appear happy about that, but he led Rackman up front and relieved Angie behind the table, while Rackman sat on a chair against the wall beside the door. The whores looked at Rackman uneasily, not sure of his status. He took out a Lucky and lit it up. A black teenager dressed like a college boy entered the room.
“Step right up, sir!” said Genrizi, a bit less enthusiasm in his voice now that a detective from the NYPD was there.
The black kid was well fed and bright looking, with no furtive street mannerisms. Rackman figured he came from a nice middle-class home situation and had conned some money out of somebody so he could get laid. The black kid placed ten bucks on the table, got his ticket, and instead of taking it to one of the girls immediately, sat beside Rackman and appraised them with the eye of a connoisseur. This kid was not going to be rushed. He would not make any precipitous decisions. This kid was making sure his investment paid off.
The whores did suggestive things with their lips, fluttered their eyelashes, wiggled their shoulders, and shook their asses. Rackman wouldn’t pay five cents for the lot of them. He thought of his girl friend Francie. If he didn’t call her soon, she was going to get awfully mad.
The black kid wiped his nose, got up and walked to the youngest blondest hooker on the sofa, handing her the ticket. She took it, smiled, tucked it into her bosom, and led him to the corridor. Rackman puffed his cigarette and winked at Genrizi. “Ain’t love grand?” he asked.
Genrizi snorted and looked the other way. After a while one of the business faces came out of a corridor, a little pale. “My friend still in there?” he asked Genrizi.
“Yeah.”
The embarrassed and guilty-looking business face sat next to Rackman, who noticed a wedding ring on his finger. His wife probably was sitting on some guy’s face in the No-Tell Motel in Queens. Five minutes later the other business face came out, looked at his buddy, and grinned. They left together, murmuring as they descended the stairs. Carmella came down the corridor, looking kind of perky. She wore red tights, had a big ass and big boobs, and was a little knock-kneed. She sat on the sofa and crossed her legs. Rackman stood up, catching her eye. He walked toward her and she smiled as he drew closer. Her smile evaporated when he took out his shield.
“I’d like to have a few words with you if you don’t mind,” Rackman said.
“What if I mind?”
“It won’t matter.”
“Are we gonna talk right here?”
“In back.”
He led the way to the back room and offered her a Lucky, which she accepted. Her sweet, flowery perfume wafted over him, and she wore the customary long eyelashes but not much other makeup. He lit her cigarette and she inhaled, leaning against the refrigerator and looking him up and down.
“You’re not bad-looking, for a cop,” she said.
“I bet you say that to all the cops.”
“Fuck you.”
“Where were you at three-thirty this morning?”
“Three-thirty this morning?” She thought for a few moments. “I was here.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
“Who else was here?”
“Genrizi and a couple of the other goons. Also Mary Gomes, Barbara Leeds, and I think Demaris Garcia.”
“What were you doing here?”
“I was waiting for my boyfriend to pick me up.”
“I understand you didn’t like Cynthia Doyle very much.”