“I see your tan’s all gone,” Grover said as they walked west across the nearly empty lot and away from Broadway. “Mexico must be lovely this time of year.”
Streeter considered that as he walked. “Get to the point, Grover.”
Royals stopped suddenly and faced him. “Okay, scrub. I saw on the TV that you were down in Mexico looking for Richie Moats. Old Marty’s nephew. I also saw where they haven’t found his body yet.” Grover’s eyes narrowed and he glanced to both sides before continuing. “I want to hire you to go back down to San Douche Bag or wherever the hell they spotted Richie’s car and find out what happened. I’m thinking the guy’s still alive. They don’t have a body and to me that means Moats is probably still aboveground walking around somewhere. What do you say, scrub? For old time’s sake. That and I’ll give you a thousand a day plus expenses.”
Streeter didn’t know if he was more surprised that Grover had anything to do with Richie or that Grover thought he’d work for him. His mouth opened a tad and he winced. “What do you have to do with Richie Moats?”
Royals shrugged and his eyebrows shot up. “What’s the difference? For a grand a day, you don’t need reasons.” He could see that that wouldn’t fly. “All right, I’ll tell you. I couldn’t give a good fuck about this Richie clown. But I think he’s traveling with someone I’m interested in. A lady who used to sort of work for me. My business is with her and that’s all you have to know.”
“A thousand dollars a day tells me this is pretty important business.” Streeter shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Why not just go down there yourself?”
Grover looked to both sides again before speaking. “Because if someone needs finding, you’re the man. Everyone knows that.”
Streeter kept staring at him. “I’m not that good, and besides, you’re a pretty persuasive guy. You can handle this yourself.”
“Look, I don’t want to go down there. Me or any of my guys.” Royals sniffed once. “We’ve known each other forever, Streeter. You could really play the old game of football and I always thought you were half cool even though I busted your balls most of the time. And you know what you’re doing. I really need these people found. Dead or alive, I have to know what happened to them. Fucking Mexicans won’t find Richie unless he runs for office. Maybe not even then.” He took a half step closer. “I’m willing to give you ten days’ advance right now. Sid’s got it in the car. What do you say?”
“I say I’d rather shovel horse manure at minimum wage than work for you,” Streeter responded.
Royals shuddered and his eyes narrowed so hard that Streeter braced for a punch. “You arrogant little bastard,” Grover hissed. “You worked for Marty Moats. Jerk-off waterbed salesman. But my money’s not good enough. We go way back, yet every time I see you, you act like you’re too good for me. What’s with that?”
Streeter said nothing.
Grover was standing so close that the bounty hunter smelled onion on his breath. “You never made nothing out of your life, did you, scrub? Live in a dump church with nothing but spics and coons all around. You bring whores and pimps back to court but you won’t work for me. I buy and sell people like you every day of my life.”
“Not today, you don’t.” Streeter swallowed and steadied himself. “I’m not working for you at any price. Pure and simple.” Grover’s little lecture made him feel like he was a sophomore all over again. Standing in the varsity huddle and getting reamed out for the first time.
The bigger man took a couple of steps back and shook his head. Glancing off to the side again, he took a deep breath. “Come on, scrub. I’ll give you one more chance. You gonna work for me and find those two?”
Streeter rolled his sheet music with both hands. Chopin, Nocturne no. 5 in F-sharp, no less. He’d been wrestling with the piece for a month and getting nowhere. “You’re dumber than I remembered, Grover. Like the song goes, ‘What part of “no” don’t you understand?’ I’m not working for you. End of discussion.”
Royals turned hard to his left and headed back to his car. When he’d gotten about ten feet away, Streeter yelled, “Hey!” Royals stopped and twisted his head back toward the voice, his eyes on the pavement. “Tell Sid it was nice talking to him. Okay?”
When Streeter returned to the church, he went to Frank’s apartment at the rear of the first floor. The door was open and he walked in to find his partner watching a World War II documentary on television. Frank was sitting on a recliner, wearing sweatpants and a gray sweater, utterly engrossed in the black-and-white footage.
“Streeter.” He slowly looked up and hit the mute button on his remote control. “Your buddy ever find you?”
“He found me. Not that I wanted him to.” Streeter set his sheet music on the counter between the kitchen and the living room. He walked to a cabinet next to the refrigerator and pulled out a fifth of Johnnie Walker Red. “You want one?” He held it up as he spoke.
Frank nodded. “Did I do the wrong thing sending him to your lesson? I admit the guy was not what you’d call pretty. Looked like his face was designed by a committee, but other than that he seemed okay.”
“He’s not okay at all, but you had no way of knowing. Royals is pure trouble.”
“Big as that guy was, I figured he was an old lifting buddy. He said you used to play ball together at Central.”
“That’s true.” Streeter poured the Scotch over ice, brought the drinks out, and handed one to Frank. Then he sat on the couch next to the recliner. “If he wouldn’t have ruined his knee, he’d have been a hell of a tackle for CU or Southern Cal. One of those places. Maybe even the pros someday. He was the best prospect in the state back in ’sixty-seven. Ate broken glass for breakfast and he wouldn’t take an ounce of shit from Godzilla.” He studied his partner. “I tell you, Grover Royals was the only guy in a jockstrap I was ever afraid of. He was my hero for a while until I realized what a psychopath he is. One time when I was a sophomore I was out with him and some of the other guys. We were coming out of a restaurant downtown and this kid from another school started giving Grover grief. He was damned near as big as Royals and I thought it’d be a fair fight. But Grover floored him with two quick punches.” Streeter paused and frowned. “Evidently, that still wasn’t enough punishment. He dragged the kid over to the curb. Then he opened his jaws so that his teeth were mouthing the curb corner. Royals took a step and kicked him in the back of the head. It drove his face into the curb and knocked out half his lower teeth. I never saw so much blood. It happened so fast we couldn’t stop him.”
“Christ. A high-school kid did that?”
Streeter nodded. “You know, Frank, it’s amazing how those old high-school memories stick with you. That was what? Twenty-five years ago. But Royals can still get to me. He always could. See, he was big man on campus in more ways than one. He used to ride me pretty hard at practice and he knew just how to pull my chain. Like I said, I was afraid of him. Royals could hit like a jackhammer in scrimmage. But somehow I admired him at the same time. I played extra hard just to impress him. Funny thing is, talking to him tonight, I felt some of that old crap coming back. He still knows how to pull my chain. Still calls me ‘scrub’ and I react almost the same way I did back then.” He shook his head slowly. “You’d think I would have outgrown that by now.
“Anyhow, Grover became much worse later. After his injury senior year he got turned around somehow and went off the charts. He’s been over the line ever since.” He studied his drink before taking a swallow. “You name the sin and old Grover’s smack in the middle of it. I know for a fact that he’s been involved in white slaving. He’d run underage girls from the Midwest to both coasts and set them up as hookers. The guy’s dead-solid wrong and I don’t ever want to see him again. I just hope that’s possible.”
Frank frowned. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“He tried to hire me to find Richie Moats. Gave me a line about wanting to get the woman traveling with him. That Tina.” He took a s
ip. “She must be something.”
“So? Like Nancy Reagan always advised us: ‘Just say no.’ ”
“I did, but it’s been bugging me ever since.” He stood up and went back to the kitchen for more ice. “Marty never mentioned anything about Grover. Maybe he doesn’t know there’s a connection, but I have to find out how he fits in.”
“No you don’t.” Frank’s face twisted in impatience. The clank of ice hitting glass in the other room drowned his voice. He waited until Streeter got back to the couch. “I said, no you don’t.”
“I heard you and yes I do. It’s at least worth a call to Marty. I haven’t talked to him since I got back from Mazatlán on Monday. Aren’t you curious about what’s going on here?”
“Not enough to do anything about it,” Frank answered. “If Royals is the kind of maniac you say, let the whole thing just lie there. Richie and his little gal are long dead by now. Forget all of it.”
“One call to Marty. What’s the harm?”
Frank shook his head. “If there is any, you’ll find it.” He glanced at the television and hit the sound on the remote. “I’m going to get back to the Battle of Stalingrad here. It’s less upsetting than talking to you.”
SIX
Grover’s arms twitched like they were on fire. Too steamed to talk, he yanked back on the gearshift, shoving his precious ponycar into second while turning left off Broadway and onto Louisiana. The 390 big-block V-8 whined and you could almost hear the beefed-up four-barrel sucking gas and air. Reading the situation, Sid Wahl said nothing and let out a short hiccup. Besides gears shifting and the engine wailing, the only other sounds were the rich groans from Grover’s leather coat as he worked the four-speed. The Mustang was moving fast for being on such a quiet residential street. Sid didn’t know the exact speed limit, but he was pretty sure fifty-seven wasn’t it.
“Getting a ticket won’t help find those two,” he offered quietly, his eyes fixed on the windshield.
Grover didn’t respond at first, although he let up on the accelerator. Suddenly he yelled, “You believe the attitude on that guy?” He shot Sid a glance and didn’t wait for a response. “I can live with him saying no, but it’s his attitude that corks my ass. Like he doesn’t need my money. Guy lives in a barracks, for chrissakes. And that car of his.” He shook his head. “Looks like a turd on wheels.”
“Did he ask many questions?”
“A few,” Grover responded. “I fed him some junk about wanting to find Tina. Didn’t mention the robbery.” He looked back at Sid. “No way I’m letting him know it was my money in the suitcase that Richie took off my too-cool delivery boys.” He flashed a quick grin. “Puked all over them, to boot. I’m embarrassed enough just knowing that myself, much less having it get around town.”
This time, Sid returned the look. He adjusted himself in his seat, his face reddening. “We don’t need to go over all that again. Nothing me and Dexter could a done to stop it. They knew the drill inside out and Moats was carrying a cannon ’bout the size a your leg. You’d a done the same as us. Even the puking part.”
“Maybe.” Royals downshifted for an upcoming stoplight. “But we’ll never know, will we?” He shook his head again. “Calley. Now there’s another attitude I don’t need. The man loses all that cash and then gives me two tons of grief about it. I was getting tired of all his superspade jive anyhow. I’m glad he’s gone.”
Sid recalled the horrendous argument Grover and Dexter had gotten into on the night of the robbery. Looking back, he could see that it was only a matter of time before the two muscle heads clashed. He was surprised they didn’t fight on the spot, what with Royals calling Dexter a pussy like that. Probably the only thing that stopped it was Dexter being covered with undigested pasta or whatever the hell it was that Richie doused them with. That would have been some fight if those two got into it, Sid thought. Grover’s bulk and fury versus Calley’s speed and cell-block savvy. Sid wasn’t sure if Dexter quit or if Grover fired him, but the net result was that the big Indian was gone and Royals had a hard-on for Richie and Tina that wouldn’t go away. Not ever.
“So what do we do now?” Sid asked as they turned north on Logan and headed downtown. “You wanna let me go to Mexico and see what I can turn up?”
“Forget that noise.” Grover was silent for a while. “We’re meeting Fontana at his office. Speaking of losers. The hell was I thinking when I picked him for a front man? No wonder Tina thought she could pull this stunt. A ten-year-old idiot could steal from Rudy Fontana and get away with it. I tell you, I put a real top-notch crew around me.”
Sid ignored that last part and turned to Grover again. “Why you so convinced that Tina didn’t know you’re the guy behind Fontana? Hell, she had her hands on all the records and stuff. She saw you around from time to time and she’s sure smart enough to figure out that a bug like Rudy couldn’t run a lemonade stand on his own. My hunch is she knew she was stealing from you when she set up the robbery.”
The lighted skyscrapers of Denver were off to their right as Grover worked the Mustang onto the four-lane Speer Boulevard. “Doesn’t matter one way or the other,” he responded. “My money’s gone and I know who’s got it. That bullshit down in Mexico was supposed to make everyone think Moats and her are dead so we’ll forget what they did and write it off. But we’re going to get the money back and take care of those two. How long do you think I could stay in business if I don’t do something serious about this? I’d be lucky to last a week. Hell, Calley’s probably running around right now telling everyone what a schmuck I am. If I don’t take care of this, I’ll have guys picking my pockets while I’m asleep.”
Sid glanced at the massive brick-and-glass performing-arts complex on the right. Huge banners for Ain’t Misbehavin’ and Always…Patsy Cline were all over the west walls. No one spoke for a few minutes as they drove past Currigan Exhibition Hall. Then Grover moved the Mustang into a lot off nearby Champa Street. Finally, Sid asked, “What do we gotta see this guy for? You think Fontana was in on it?”
“Not likely. He just about shit in his pants when he found out about it. Rudy doesn’t have the brains or the stomach to cross me. But I thought we’d have us a little strategy session.” Grover shut the engine off and turned to his passenger. “It’s time to shake up a few people and see what happens. Shake them up so hard the truth’s bound to fall out.” He glanced past Sid to the car parked close on the right. His voice became soft, the closest to gentle that Sid had ever heard it. “Be careful how you open the door. No way I want any dings on this baby.”
Rudy Fontana often referred to himself as a “sex addict.” He said that’s why he’d gotten into the skin business. “If you can’t lick ’em, join ’em,” he had told Grover once. “I try to do both. Makes perfect sense for me to work around all these girls like this.”
Grover’d listen to him spout his nonsense, Rudy trying to sound street-tough. From the first time they’d met, eight years earlier, he’d thought Rudy was fairly pathetic. The more he knew him, the more evidence of that he found. In those days, Rudy was a shiftless thirty-year-old trust-funder who practically lived at a strip joint in North Denver. Finally, he approached the manager about buying a piece of the place.
“I might as well, seeing as how I pay most of the upkeep around here anyhow,” he had told Sid Wahl, who ran the Mile Hi Show Lounge back then for Grover.
In Rudy, Grover found just what he was looking for: someone to put his name on the official documents for his expanding empire. Rudy was rich, obtuse, spineless, and easy to manipulate. So Grover let him buy small chunks of his clubs and put the Fontana name on virtually every deed, lease, or corporate paper. That distanced Grover from all sorts of legal liabilities and made it almost impossible for the law to touch him. As compensation, Rudy received a tacky downtown office above a strip club, income, and enough ready access to hookers and strippers to feel like a player. Fontana ate it up. But it didn’t take long for Grover and him to sour on each other. Rudy’
s lack of direction and other weaknesses meant that Grover had to be more involved in the day-to-day operations than he’d planned. For his part, Rudy quickly grew to fear his huge associate. He’d seen Grover’s volatile and sadistic personality flare up regularly and often.
Walking into Rudy’s office above the Cheetah that Thursday night, Grover was not surprised to find him sprawled nearly nude on his leather couch with one of the dancers, who was completely naked. Ginger, a black stripper who was getting her figure back following the recent birth of her second child, barely acknowledged Grover and Sid as they entered. But Rudy practically went into convulsions.
“Jesus, Grover,” he said as he lifted himself up and off Ginger. He put one hand in front of his crotch. With the other, he grabbed his crumpled pants, which had fallen to his ankles, and jerked them toward his waist. “It’s not what you think.”
That one even caught Grover’s attention. “Then what is it? This your idea of cleaning the couch?”
Ginger sat up and slowly grabbed her deep-purple thong panties from the floor, rolling her eyes as she did. Rudy had by now gotten his pants on and was standing between her and his visitors, buttoning his shirt. “Well, I mean, obviously it is what you’re thinking, but what the hell? The kind of hours I’ve been putting in around here, I deserve a little R and R. Right, guys?”
“I don’t give a shit what you were doing here,” Grover said. “But we have business to discuss.” To Ginger, he added without emotion, “Take a hike, okay, honey?” She nodded as she hooked up a matching purple bra. Except for a few tiny stretch marks on her tummy, her coffee-colored body had the look of a twenty-year-old gymnast’s. Not that Grover paid much attention. When it came to sex, he was oddly ambivalent. To him, it was just another bodily function. He did it fast and not to make emotional contact or even to actually feel good. More just to shuck tension.
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