Ice Blues - Stevenson Richard (читать книги бесплатно полностью без регистрации TXT) 📗
It was just after noon in Albany, nine in LA. I figured both Joan and Gail were working seven to four, or they'd worked the night before and had unplugged the telephone and gone to bed. I'd try again in the late afternoon, and if that didn't work, ask Kyle Toot to track Joan down and ask her to call me. I figured I now knew what the key was to trigger Joan Lenihan's cooperation, and the thought of it made me sick.
Before heading out for lunch, I checked my answering service, which had what was described as "an extremely urgent" message from Timmy. The message was: I am in the company of Messrs. Fay and Clert involuntarily.
Bring the you-know-what to our house at midnight tonight, but do not come accompanied by you-know-who. This is no joke. I repeat, this is no joke.
Sorry about this.
Now I had done it. They had done it. And I had done it. "Did he say where he was calling from?"
"All he said was to take down his message carefully and to get it to you as soon as possible. But you didn't leave a number. We didn't know where to reach you."
Timmy knew though. And he hadn't told them about our room at the Hilton.
They didn't have to have the information, because they had him, which they knew was as good as having me and the money. Still, he hadn't told them.
TWENTY
I sped over to Troy through the slush and parked in front of Flo Trenky's place. The green pickup truck was nowhere in sight, so I trotted around the corner and down the alley to see if Fay had parked out back. He hadn't. Workmen were removing the debris of the collapsed back porch and using a power shovel to load the splintered lumber into a dump truck. I went back out front and pressed the door buzzer.
"Yeah? What can I do you for?"
"Mr. Mack Fay, please?"
"Mackie ain't in right now. Who should I tell him dropped by?"
"I'm Phil Downey, Mr. Fay's parole officer. When do you expect him back?"
She had a pretty cracked face under a load of rouge and purple eye shadow. Her orange wig had bangs combed up like eyelashes, and her actual eyelashes were thick with some type of black muck. Broad-hipped and ample-bosomed, she stood facing me in chartreuse pedal pushers and a low-cut yellow sweater. On the side of her neck was what appeared to be a twelve-hour-old red-and-purple hickey.
She looked at me suspiciously and said, "You got some ID?"
"Are you Mrs. Fay?"
"No, I'm Flo Trenky, Mack's fiancee. Mack didn't say nothin' about no parole officer stopping in."
"This is a routine check. Could you show me his room, please?"
Her look hardened. "You got a search warrant? I need to see papers. If you got an ID and you got papers, you can come in. If you don't, you better talk to Mackie first. But Mackie ain't here."
"Look, I like Mack and I don't want to make any trouble for him. Tell me where I can locate him, I'll go there and fill out my report and that will be that. If I have to call in that Mack can't be located and might have left the state, it'll be his neck, not mine. I've just got a job to do."
She hesitated and seemed to loosen up, then got a puzzled look. "Where's your briefcase?"
"At the office. This is my lunch hour."
"Listen, wiseass, I never saw a parole officer without he had a briefcase glued on his arm. You're no parole officer, buster. What if I told you where Mackie went is none of your beeswax? What if I told you to scram? What if I told you you'd be in hot water if you didn't move your butt offa my premises?"
I sighed. "Flo, I have a confession to make."
"Come again?"
"Could we just step inside? You're going to catch a chill standing out here without a coat on and-well, this is going to shock you, but-my relationship with Mackie is kind of personal, and I think now is as good a time as any for you to hear about it." I took out my wallet and presented her with my membership card in the National Gay Task Force.
"What? What's that there?"
"Mackie has stolen my man, Flo. I want him back. Maybe between the two of us we can make Mackie see the light and then he'll come back to you and give me my man back. Down at Sing Sing Mackie stole my honey away from me."
She blinked hard and a chunk of something black fell off one eyelash, ricocheted off her left cheek, and plummeted into her cleavage. "You shittin' me? Mackie ain't that way. You're shittin' me."
"I think we should have a tete-a-tete, Flo-get to know each other. And see if we can figure out a way to get Mackie back on the straight and narrow.
Maybe it's just a phase he's going through, but you never can tell."
This did not fit with what she knew and she didn't want to believe it. But here was a woman who had been lied to by men before and her fund of mistrust was ready for tapping. I was not proud of myself for being the four hundredth man to mislead and abuse Flo Trenky. But I had to do what I had to do. In a shaky voice she said, "I'll kill that Mackie," and led me into the house.
The living room, overlooking the street, had a worn couch and a couple of electric-blue easy chairs with doilies on the arms and a coffee table with two Schlitz empties and a glass ashtry full of butts. A big Sears TV set with a vase full of paper geraniums atop it occupied one corner, but the focus of the room was a large cardboard fireplace with bricks painted on it and a cellophane fire that turned over a spit on a red light bulb.
Leaning in a stand next to the electric fire were a brush, a shovel, and a cast-iron poker. The brush and shovel looked as if they had stood undisturbed for a long time-like Timmy's and mine, Flo's fire produced no ashes-but the poker appeared to have been recently cleaned and polished.
"My friend's name is Jack," I said. "Perhaps you've met him. It's possible Mackie even brought him here. ltd be just like him, that wild and crazy guy."
She flinched. I thought about spitting it all out, telling her who I really was and why I had come into her home, and why I was now so desperate to locate Mack Fay. But she might have panicked and thrown me out-I had no way of judging how much she knew or didn't know-and I had to do what would work.
"Last week," she said in a tremulous voice. "That must've been the fella Mackie brought over last week. Him and Terry."
"Terry Clert?"
"They was buddies in the correction facilities. Mackie and Terry came in with this fella and said they need my place for some private business. Why, Holy Mother-is Terry a fruit too?"
"Yes, but he and Mack are just pals. 'Sisters,' people used to say and I suppose some still do. But it's my Jack who's the one Mackie's got the crush on. You say they might have been together here last week. Was the man you saw slim, about five-ten, going bald, wearing glasses, dressed in jeans and a dark-blue pea coat?"
"That's him. Oh my God."
"What night was that?"
She bit her lip and said, "Tuesday night. I had to miss part of Riptide, but June filled me in. They came in and said could they use my place to talk business, it was private, and I says sure, why not, so I went over to June's, my sister's, and watched my programs over at her place. Mackie said it was business, but-are you tryin' to tell me Mackie and that guy Jack was in here- doin it?"
"Yeah, the rotten creeps, they probably were. I was home Tuesday night, so they knew they couldn't use our place. Usually I work nights, but last Tuesday I was at home, so they must have come over here for their lousy cheating. So, you were gone for how long?"
