“Why do you think I have the money?”
“Maybe, because you were there, and the only reason we think this woman has it is because you said so.” Jones subtly moved towards me.
“Maybe. But if I did take the money, I must have hidden it at Aeschylus and Associates because I didn’t leave prior to the police arriving. So in that case, then yes, this is a contrived waste of time on our part. It also means the money is still there, and if that’s true, then Durant must suspect it and therefore wants me out of the way in order to have his people search for it.”
“Maybe, Buttman, maybe!”
I considered that for a moment. There was no proof I didn’t have the money. The only witness was the missing woman. A part of me thought about opening up to Jones just because, to see what his reaction would be. “Do you believe that? If you think I have the money why not beat it out of me now rather than waste your time running around?”
He considered it.
“Because it’s a little too convenient. If that’s what they thought, they have people whose job it is to beat the shit out of people like you. It ain’t my job, never was. I think this is Dulcimer’s way of beating me down over control of my clients. Twenty-five grand can’t be shit to him, or Durant for that matter; the two of them probably make that in a day, but to me it makes a big difference. I don’t know what the fuck you do or why you’re here other than you know that Marshan took the money, and even that’s in question. Who the fuck are you, Buttman?”
“I’m nobody,” I assured him.
“Nobody?”
“Nobody.”
He snorted and then returned to his salad. We finished lunch to the sounds of the other patrons delving into their particular problems with kids, bosses, spouses, and one another. I kind of missed that. I decided I didn’t need a whole plate of rapidly cooling fries and pushed the plate away. Jones picked at his salad. His phone went off.
“Jones.” He looked at me. “Yeah, I’ll ask.” Setting the phone aside he said, “Agnes wants to know if you’re free tomorrow night?”
“I don’t have any plans.”
“You’re living quite the life, Buttman.” He returned to his phone. “He can be there. What time?” He was rolling his eyes. “Fine. Goodbye, Agnes.” I waited for the word. “Be at her house tomorrow at six or so.”
“Thanks.”
“Get a fucking phone. It’s not my job to be you answering service.”
“I didn’t tell her to call me here.”
“Ha, ha, Buttman.” The waitress came and picked up our plates and left the check. “You get that, I’m going to call down to the tranny center…” Jones’ discomfort was evident. “They wouldn’t call it that, would they?”
“LGBT,” I offered.
“Uh-huh.” Once found on the all-knowing phone, the call was quick and to our misfortune Dahlia couldn’t see us till the next day. We shuffled out into the sunshine and headed back to town.
The breeze felt good as it streamed across the tops of our heads. Jones continued to work the phone as I drove. It would be ok, he just needed a little more time, he was good for it, have a little faith. I wondered why Dulcimer didn’t just front him the money? Maybe he was fucking with Jones, making him sweat. When he wasn’t talking, Jones spent the drive looking off into space. My company wasn’t doing it for him. I tried not to take it personally. His phone rang again.
“Jones.” He gave the phone to me. “It’s for you. Some lawyer.”
I took the phone. “Monk Buttman.”
“Mr. Buttman, this is Taylor Lagenfelder. The police are requesting an interview with you. It concerns Martin Delashay. Apparently he’s disappeared, and as one of the last people to see him, they’d like to talk to you.”
“Didn’t they talk to his wife? She saw him after I did?”
“I’m sure they did, but when they heard you were there just before that, it’s safe to say it piqued their curiosity. Are you available this afternoon?”
“Yeah. Do I have to go down to headquarters?”
“No, it’ll be conducted here at the office. Ask for me at the desk. About how long until you get here?”
“About an hour; maybe a little less.”
“Excellent, I’ll let the police know. Goodbye, Mr. Buttman.”
I handed the phone back to Jones. “I know, I know; I need to get a fucking phone.”
Jones didn’t seem particularly interested in Delashay or my impending dance with the fuzz. As they say, he had his own problems. I dropped him off in the near-empty parking lot, gave an idle thought to barging in on Agnes, thought better of it; I would be seeing her the next day, and reluctantly returned to the rat’s nest with the rest of the vermin.
Ever since that day out by the Gentry’s cornfield, I struggled with the contrast between the glorious weather and the less than glorious activities committed in its light. Not only was I going back to A and A, but also to session two with the fuzz over things I knew nothing about. Maybe having Ms. Lagenfelder there would help. Gloom mingled with the light as I inched my way there.
The lobby was, as I hadn’t actually come in through the front door on my previous visits, rather inviting. It wore its appointments well, there was nothing garish or out of place. A young man at the desk called Ms. Lagenfelder and no sooner had I sat down, I found myself right behind her, back on my feet. Inside her office, she asked if I needed anything before we summoned the police who were here interviewing the staff about Boyer and Desiree.
“Do you know what Martin Delashay’s wife told the police about his disappearance?”
“I don’t know any specifics. Mr. Durant told me to ask you to not divulge anything you may have noted about the correspondence you took to his house, but other than that, there is no reason not to answer their questions. Does that help?”
“It’s good enough.”
“They’re in the conference room; shall we?” She smiled as we approached the door. “I’m sure it will be fairly uneventful, Mr. Buttman.”
“I’m sure it will be.”
Descartes and Mallory were conferring as we entered. The shades were drawn just enough to let in the light but not overpower the room. I found a chair across from them. Ms. Lagenfelder sat next to me. Neither detective seemed delighted to see me and here I thought we’d made some kind of connection.
Mallory spoke first as he had just the day before. “It’s our understanding that you visited Martin Delashay the day Mr. Boyer was killed. You didn’t mention that when we talked yesterday?”
“You didn’t ask about my day beyond how it involved the death of Todd Boyer.”
“We’re not here to play games with you, Mr. Buttman. A few straight answers are what we’re looking for. You think you can do that?” Descartes was already bristling. There had to be more going on than my supposed lack of appropriate supplication.
“There’s no need for that tone, detective. Mr. Buttman is here to answer your questions.” Ms. Lagenfelder to the rescue.
“I did see Mr. Delashay on the day Boyer was killed. I had some papers for him to sign.”
“What kind of papers?”
“I couldn’t say. I was only there to deliver them.”
“Did you notice anything in his attitude or demeanor that struck you as unusual?”
“I know he didn’t care for what I gave him. He refused to sign the papers and then threw them at me. His wife and I collected them and I returned here.” Mallory noted my comments in a small notebook.
“And his wife, how did she react to his throwing the papers at you?”
“I think she was as surprised as I was. Mr.
Delashay left us and I didn’t see him again.”
“Did his wife say anything to you that you remember? Anything that might help us in his sudden disappearance?”
“Not that I can think of. We only spoke a few words before I left. That’s all I know.” The two detectives, devotees of the need for answers, did not appear satisfied.
“Is there anything about Mr. Boyer’s death that you forgot to note in our talk yesterday, but remember now?” Mallory added.
“I’m afraid not.”
“If you think of anything, you’ll let us know, Mr. Buttman.”
“I’ll let you know.”
Whatever their feelings as to the veracity of my comments, they kept to themselves. They may have wanted more, but it would have to wait for another time. I said farewell, and Ms. Lagenfelder and I left the conference room. She showed me to the lobby.
“Do you think the detectives will have me followed?”
“It’s possible, but I wouldn’t be too concerned. If you need any assistance, don’t hesitate to call.” She gave me her most reassuring smile. It was good enough.
On my way out, I paused to take in the beauty of the lobby one last time. I wanted to go home. My head hurt and I was tired. I took my time, taking side roads, just driving around. Desiree was out there somewhere. Now Martin Delashay had gone missing. Coincidence? Was there something connecting them? Maybe Boyer? Boyer was dead. Who knows what he was up to? Desiree? Martin? The thought crossed my mind to pack up my few belongings and head back to the east coast. See my mother. Find out what Astral was doing, see how my daughter had changed, matured. I hadn’t seen her in nearly a year. She was talking about having a baby. I didn’t want to continue looking for Desiree Marshan. After our visit to Frankensense, it was all I could do to not picture the woman naked, the tattoo working its way around her pale body. God only knows what was in the films she was forced to make.
The sun was fading as I opened the door to my bungalow. The light was on and a well-dressed man was sitting in my chair.
He hadn’t changed in more than twenty years.
9
“Benitez?”
“Amigo!”
“What brings you to my little hole in the wall?” Here he was, the last man I ever expected to see. A spectre from a long-suppressed past. We’d grown up together, been pals even though he was a few years older. He and James worked with me on the farm and then, when we were older, the three of us had a side gig supplying weed to the locals to make a little money, just for fun. Benitez was there when James was killed.
“Business.”
“Business? Really? I haven’t seen you since our encounter with Frankie and Gene?” He smiled at the names; they were the reason for our forced separation. “How are they?”
“Those two are long gone. Like our friend, they thought they could game the system, do anything they wanted.” The smile fell from his face and the cold returned, the cold I remembered so vividly as they dragged James away. “It never changes.” He stood up. For a minute I thought this was it! He’d finally come for me. “I’m hungry. Why don’t we try that Mexican place down the street?” The smile was back. “Is it any good?” Come for what, food?
“It’s not bad. The tamales are my favorite,” I said.
“Then we should go.” I opened the door. There was nothing to do but go. Perhaps foolishly, I assumed I’d never see Benitez again. I was out of that world.
I left because I had to for the safety of Astral and Rebekah, and for my own sorry neck. If he was here to settle old scores, real or imagined, I wasn’t going to get away. Like all good killers, Benitez was prepared for any stunt I might pull. He was smart to wait; I had no passion for running or fighting at this age.
“Why not. I hear last meals are customary,” I mumbled.
“Still the same, amigo?” Benitez shook his head. “All that is forgotten. This is about today and tomorrow.”
It was a short walk, only two blocks. Las Cerritos was a small family run place with plain tables and little in the way of ambiance. Florescent fixtures and faded pictures of the Mexican coast shared the room as we sat near a window. One of the daughters brought chips and salsa. Benitez ordered a plate of beef and rice with tortillas on the side, I asked for the tamales. Two beers, two limes, and two napkins set the table. It was time to talk.
“So what’s on your mind?”
“Do you think I’m here to kill you?” he asked this while dipping a chip into the homemade salsa.
“I would like to think you’re not, but truth be told, your reputation precedes you.” I’d heard rumors after I’d left that Benitez had become a hired gun, working for his cousins.
“I suppose it does. You know, we take roads so thoughtlessly when we’re young, never considering how it will affect us, as we grow older. After James… after what happened, I put away that anger because it made the job easier and anger in this business will get you killed faster than fear.”
It was oddly remarkable that half an hour into seeing one another, after so long, we were casually talking of the murder that had so damaged and changed us; Benitez, the knife, James stabbed and dying, and me, standing there.
He kept talking, “That look is still in your eyes, amigo…” Fear.
“Is it?”
“It’s not something you forget,” he said before taking a drink.
“No… Do you think about it much?”
His eyes stayed on me. “I did once, but I haven’t in some time. Besides, it’s like a lot of life, a dead end. As for James, you know I told him he was making a big mistake. I told him we shouldn’t go to that meeting. I warned him he needed to forget the money, but he didn’t listen. It never occurred to him that they might kill us. As for the rest, we did what we had to do because they would have killed us if we hadn’t. It’s the code, my friend. Once we got into that business, and the Prontos moved in, we had to make a choice; you know that as well as I.”
“I know that, and, for what it’s worth, I’ve come to terms with it. You chose to stay, and I chose to run. We’re both here now, so in a way, I guess it worked out.” The food arrived. As usual there was too much. “So what business would you have with me if it’s not about the money or the past?”
“Nobody cares about the money, that died with the brothers. No, I’m here because of Desiree Marshan.” Miguel Benitez sat back, a cat’s grin on his face.
“Desiree? You know about that?”
“Whispers, my friend, have been carrying her name,” he continued smiling as he said it. He’d been playing with me, or my irrational fears. James was my ghost, not his. I felt like an idiot.
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
He took a bite while pondering the answer. “No? How’s this, change is coming in this business and the smart money is lining up to take advantage of that. More than a few people want to bring the business into the light. They’re tired of the violence and the insecurity. They want to focus on product and distribution, profit margins, things like that, not whether the people you’re doing business with will send over a shooter or kidnap your children if they think you’re trying to move them out or screw them over. That’s why I moved on, sooner or later I’d end up marked and that would be that.”
“And Desiree?”
“She’s an unknown. An investor in these ventures was brought to us, and it was whispered that he, and another man, were involved with Desiree Marshan. She wanted to be their liaison to our group. Why, nobody knew. All we could find out about her was a story that she and a former boyfriend had a run-in with the locals. After the incident the other day, the people I work for are concerned with what she might know and who she may be w
orking with.
“And these people are?”
“Very important!” He took a sip of beer, smiled, and leaned towards me, gesturing that I do the same, “This involves a great deal of money, my friend, and they don’t like it when outsiders try to push in uninvited.”
“Ok, so they think Desiree’s trying to push them, how does this involve me?”
“You’re looking for her, right?”
“Maybe.” He smiled at me like he knew better. I didn’t like where this was going.
“When you find her, assuming we don’t hear from her first, you let me know.” He pulled a small case from the inside of his jacket, took out a card, and handed it to me. I almost hesitated to take it. “Here’s my personal number.”
“So, you’ll let me know if she contacts your people.”
“I can, what’s your number?” He had his phone out ready to enter my information.
“I don’t have a phone.”
“You don’t have a phone?” His look was much like Jones’. “Who does business without a phone? How are you going to call me?”
“I know a guy?”
“Very funny.” He wasn’t laughing. “Get a phone, amigo.”
“I don’t like them, I don’t want them tracking me.” For some reason I thought this would appeal to his sense of being apart, from the need to be unseen during his years as a paid killer.
“Shit, if you’re worried, have it disabled, but you need a phone these days, so I recommend you get one.”
“Sure.”
We finished the meal and paid the daughter. Benitez walked beside me looking around at the neighborhood, taking in the houses, the street, and the trees that lined it.
“Moses was asking about you.”
“Yeah, I need to go see him one of these days. How’s he look?”
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