"So you don't see the cops killing Coyne at all?"
"The cops, the cops," said Gotbaum. "I'll tell you what I see. I see some guy hearing that maybe Charlie is dropping a dime here and there, get me?"
"Coyne was an informant?"
"Charlie was a little shit, like I told you. When he wasn't working for me, it wouldn't surprise me to find out he was hucking it to the cops on the side."
"And you figure that's what happened to him?"
"No, I figure some bum in the alley did him, like the cops said. Charlie, the way he dressed most of the time, he looked like a bum. But if he was done intentional, I'd bet it was some guy, hears Charlie liked to drop the dime, and says to himself, 'Jeez, maybe Charlie was the guy dropped my brother who's doing eight to ten up in Walpole there the hard way with some jigaboo's putz up his ass.' That's what I figure."
Gotbaum suddenly appeared awfully florid. Teevens said, "Boss, I think you ought to take one."
"Inna minute. You got any other questions there?"
"I hear that Coyne was drinking in your bar before he was stabbed."
"That's right. In fact, the Duck was with him that night."
"I was thinking I might go over there and look around. How about Duckie coming with me?"
"Sure. Duckie, go with the gentleman here."
"Not before you take the pill, boss."
"Awright, awright." Gotbaum pulled open the center drawer of the desk and fished around, coming up with a vial of tiny pills. He popped one under his tongue and began taking deep, uniform breaths.
I said, "Nitroglycerin?"
The fat man nodded.
Teevens said, "For his heart."
I said to Gotbaum, "It doesn't bother you that engineers use that stuff to blow away mountains?"
"Naw." He seemed to be completely recovered. "Naw, you just gotta be careful you don't bite down too hard."
They shared a practiced laugh over that one.
* * *
"So you like being a private eye?"
I didn't answer until we could trot through a break in the increasing traffic. "It's not bad. You like being an apprentice porno pusher?"
"Could be worse. Least I don't spend my time like most guys, trying to get paid and trying to get laid."
At the door to Bun's, Teevens spoke to the bouncer, an ox with a Duran Duran tee shirt and a bullet-shaped, shaved head.
"He's with me."
"Enjoy the show. "
I said, "Thank."
Inside, Bun's opened up into one big room. A raised stage with purple velvet curtains as backdrop occupied the far left corner. Running from the stage and toward the entrance was a bar with a center runway, constructed so that the performers would always be separated from even the bellied-up customers by the bar itself and the moat of bartender space between the bar and the runway. Although no one was on stage, the place was pretty full, ten men for every woman, as best I could see in the dim light.
Duckie said, "Take a seat at the bar. I gotta see a guy here first. Don't order till I get back to you."
I did as he said, telling the bartender who came over promptly that I was waiting for Duckie. The bartender moved away, and I felt long nails squeeze my leg.
I looked up into a tough female face wearing enough eye shadow to fool a male raccoon. The punked-up hair glittered so much that I couldn't tell what color it was.
"I'm Sherry. What's your name?"
"John."
"John. I like that name." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Wanna fuck my brains out?"
"Thanks, but it sounds like someone already beat me to it."
The smile gave way, but Teevens put his hand tenderly on her shoulder from behind and said, "He's with me, Sher."
Sherry lifted her head defiantly and stalked off.
The bartender came back and Duckie said, "Cal, a round of the boss's stock."
I said, "Just beer for me, thanks. Bottles?"
Cal said, "Bud or Mick."
"Michelob. No glass."
"Right."
Teevens said, "You don't like the hard stuff?"
"Not most of it."
Cal poured Duckie a double shot of Johnnie Walker Black. I made sure I could see the top of the Michelob bottle from the time Cal used a church key on the cap.
After Cal served our drinks, Teevens said, "You're careful. I like that."
"Watching the drinks?"
"Yeah."
"Force of habit. I ask how you figure Coyne died, will I get a straight answer?"
"Not likely. "
"Why not?"
Duckie rotated his drink on the bar, leaving artistic whorls of water rings interlinking each other. "Charlie goes into the books the way the cops say, nothing changes. I put in my two cents, maybe I make waves."
"Off the record, what do you think?"
"What, you think I was born yesterday? The fuck does 'off the record' mean to me?"
"Okay. How about what you saw that night."
"The night Charlie got it?"
"Right."
"I didn't see much. Charlie was a real asshole. Bunny told you true there. He used to drink in here a lot, but couldn't hold the shit, even just Bud."
"What's a beer go for when you're not buying it for somebody?"
"Four bucks a bottle. Used to have some on tap for three, but nobody was stupid enough to buy it. Figured it was watered or stale."
"Four bucks. I thought Coyne didn't have two nickels."
"Meaning you don't see him drinking in here a lot."
"That's right. "
Teevens gestured toward the empty stage. "Maybe he liked the show. "
"A guy who played around as much as you say he did would pay that kind of money to watch strippers on a regular basis?"
"Charlie wasn't no brain trust. Like we told you."
"Gotbaum comped him to the drinks, right?"
Duckie smiled and drank some Scotch. "Yeah, we comped him."
"Why?"
"Bunny, he's a compassionate, generous man."
"No, Duckie."
"Bunny, he grew up with Coyne's old man. That generation down here, religion was no big thing. They were tight with each other, looked after the families. That kind of town, you know?"
"How did you hook up with Gotbaum?"'
"Same way. My father and him knew each other. Mine croaked off this stuff," Duckie indicating the liquor on the shelves, "Bunny give me a job at fifteen. Been with him ever since. "
"And you tell him to take his medicine"
Teevens straightened, and for just a second I felt the instinct to fight rise inside him. Then he relaxed and half laughed. "I promised his wife. Before she died."
I let it drop. "You have any idea how Jane Rust got involved with Coyne?"
"Yeah. It was from that raid there. She was after him for some kind of story, and Charlie, he could sense when a broad wanted something he could trade for. Fuck, underneath it all she probably just wanted him to ball her. He sure got caught with his hand in the nookie jar often enough, anyway. "
"Jealous husbands?"
"Yeah. Or fathers or boy—" Duckie stopped.
"What's the matter?"
"Shit, man, that was good. That was better than your routine out by Connie there."
"What?"
"Cut the shit. You were getting me to tell you what I thought happened to old Charlie. Indirect."
I downed some beer. "You're a lot brighter than you show, Duckie. Why is that?"
He shrugged. "Don't get you."
"Sure you do. Take your knowing about The Shape of Things to Come being a book. H. C. Wells, right?"
"You say so."
"Generous,' 'compassionate,' 'indirect'. .
"Okay, okay. " He took a bigger bite of the booze. "I didn't exactly finish high school, right? But some of the stuff they told us to read was okay. So, I kept after it on my own. Like I'd go over to the community college there, and I'd pick up a book list making out I was some studen
t, and I'd go buy some of the books. All kinds of shit, plays, poetry, whatever. One thing I learned. You ever heard of Maxwell Anderson?"
"Barely. He wrote plays, I think"
"Yeah. There's Sherwood and Maxwell, both Andersons, but I'm talking Maxwell here."
"Go on."
"Well, this guy writes a play called Barefoot in Athens. All about how they're gonna kill Socrates. Now the Creek king in the play, he comes across as kind of a clown, okay? So at this one part, Socrates says to the king, 'Hey, you're a lot smarter than you give off. How come?' And the king says, 'You know, when you come on stupid to people, they don't bother you so much. Lets you live okay without them figuring they got to get rid of you. Which gives you time to get rid of them first.' Well, that made a lot of sense to me."
"Be smart, don't look smart?"
"Right, right. I'm learning this business from Bunny real well, but it's gonna be a while yet. And he was good to take me in, you know? So I say, 'yes, boss,' and 'no, boss,' 'cause he likes that kind of shit. And I get after him about the heart pills, 'cause I don't want him thinking I'm pushing my chances any. But to everybody else, I come across as Bunny's gofer who's got this mind's in the gutter and can't say a sentence without 'fuck' in it somewheres. Nobody's gonna be worried about me competing with them to take over when Bunny goes, and so when it's time I can get them before they even think about getting me."
"I didn't get the impression from Bunny that you guys were in a growth industry. One worth preparing for and protecting against competitors. "
"It is if you do it right."
"Meaning kiddie porn, that sort of thing? For the VCR crowd?"
"l don't know nothing about that."
"Then how about an answer to my original question. How the hell did Jane Rust ever get involved with somebody like Coyne?"
Teevens took a minute. "I think maybe for Charlie, this Rust broad was the real thing. But she had another boyfriend, right?"
"Right."
"Guy over to the Redevelopment Authority."
"So I understand"
"Yeah, well, I understand from Charlie that there were some problems there."
"At the Authority?"
"No. Well, maybe. I don't know about that. I'm talking the boyfriend himself. "
"What do you mean?"
"The Rust broad told Charlie about it. 'Confidentially,' of course. That fuckin Charlie, he run off at the mouth like a sewer."
"Told him what?"
"About the boyfriend. Seems there was more heat than meat. "
"You mean the sex was bad?"
"The worst. The boyfriend just couldn't get it up."
"Impotent."
"That's what they call it."
* * *
I left Duckie at the bar and said good night to Bullet-Head at the door. Turning left, I walked to the closest of three liquor stores in sight. I bought a pint of cheap rye whiskey and circled around the block to the mouth of the alley behind the store.
The alley was about fifteen feet wide. I heard sonic scuffling and laughing down aways. As my eyes adjusted to the moonlight, I could see half a dozen pairs of legs sticking out from behind overflowing dumpsters and overturned trash cans. Then I picked out the source of the sounds.
Three teenagers in matching varsity jackets were playing "keep-away" from a derelict. They tossed a booze bottle one to the other, the victim stumbling from boy to boy, always a toss slow.
I walked down the alley toward them. The kid nearest me, who seemed about my size, stuck his foot out as the bum went blindly by him. Tripping, the derelict sprawled into a pile of loose trash. He slipped a couple of times as he tried to get back up. The laughing got louder.
"What's the joke?" I said.
The nearest kid, the tripper, gave me a quick glance, probably seeing the brown bag in my hand. He said, "Fuck off, hairball. Unless you want to be next."
"Harsh words. But challenging." I came even with Tripper, who squared around to face me. I set my bag on the ground.
"There's my bottle, boyo. Who's gonna get the game started?"
Tripper took a step backward, shaking his neck out and using the motion to check the position of his mates. The guy with the original bottle was turning it in his hands, a little shakily I thought. The other kid was looking back up the alley behind him, confirming his line of retreat. I guessed that Tripper was the only initiator in the trio.
"Come on, fellas," I said. "You guys are lettermen, right? I'm just the next level of competition. Who's first?"
Bottle said, "Cliff, maybe we oughta. . ."
Cliff the tripper said, "Shut up."
Edging backward, Retreat looked behind him again.
"Seems to me the team's a little shy, Cliffie. Maybe you've got to lead by example here."
Cliff said, "Why don't you fuck off before we hurt you, man?"
"Hurt me?" I inclined my head toward the derelict in the trash, who was barely moving. "I thought this was just a little game you guys were playing. Just for laughs, you know? I didn't realize you wanted to hurt anybody. "
"I'm warning you, man."
"You're gonna have to do better than that, Cliffie."
He tried to. He made like he was turning to review the troops again, but instead brought his right in an uppercut from behind his back. Sucker punch.
I parried it inward with my right palm, shunting my body left and following with a half-force side kick to his stomach. He doubled over and dropped to his knees. I grabbed him by the back of his collar and crab-walked him over to the nearest pile of trash, pitching him forward into it. As he raised back up on all fours, I said, "You get the urge, Cliffie, better to throw up into the garbage."
He obliged me.
I turned to the other two. "Cliffie here got a little too much into the game. Laughed himself sick. You guys feeling queasy, too?"
They shook their heads.
I pointed to Bottle. "Set that down. Gently."
He complied.
"Now, when Cliffie here composes himself, you take him somewhere and clean him up."
Cliff managed to say, "Jesus, guys. . . get me home. . .please."
I moved sideways and gestured toward him. His friends haltingly came forward, each taking an arm and lifting Cliff to his feet. They swung back toward me.
I said, "No. Take him the long way out. "
Retreat said, "But our car's—"
"The long way. Or the hard way. Take your pick."
They looked at each other, hefted Cliff a little higher, and took the long way.
I went to the man they'd been razzing. I got him up and over to the comparatively cleaner side of the alley, sitting him against the wall of the adjacent building. "You alright?"
"Why'd she have to go and do that?"
"Who?"
"And with my own son. Hell, I knew she was a slut, they're all sluts. But my own son. Why? Why?"
I retrieved his bottle and mine, resting his lengthways between his knees.
Near the rear door of Bun's, a heap of clothing wearing shoes twitched as I passed. I stopped.
"Hey," I said, shaking the man at the shoulder.
"Go 'way. "
I said, quietly, "Hey, pal, I got a pint here for the guy who saw the stabbing the other night. "
"Go 'way."
I moved on to the next heap and repeated the offer.
"I seen it. Yeah, yeah. I seen it. Let's have the pint."
I pulled it halfway from the bag, so he could see the label.
"Describe the guy with the knife."
"Nigger. Always niggers with the knives. Gimme the pint."
"Describe him."
"Aw, you know the niggers, man. All look alike. Gimme the pint."
"Sorry. No sale."
"Fuck you. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on."
Ten feet farther down, a third body said, "Yeah, I the one seen it. "
"Describe the guy. "
"Describe him. Charlie be dead."
&n
bsp; "I mean the guy with the knife."
"Where's that pint at?"
I showed him.
His face came forward, deep black complexion, lesions on the cheeks, puffy eyes examining the product from a distance of four inches. "Cheap bastard. Couldn't gets no good stuff?"
"I haven't heard much reason to try."
"And you won't, neither. Not for that shit."
"How do I know you're the one I want?"
"Guy you want talked to the cops. You seen anybody else around here makes sense enough, cops talk to him?"
"You still haven't told me anything."
"You wants me to talk, huh? For that cheap shit?"
"Guess we can't do business." I straightened up and turned to move on.
"Wait a minute. Wait!"
I looked down at him.
"Well, come back here. I ain't gone go shouting it all over the alley."
I squatted next to him.
He said, "First thing, what your name be?"
"John Cuddy."
"You ain't no cop."
"No, the cops want information, they just bring you in, dry you out till you feel helpful."
"You gots that right. " He put on a cagey grin. "How's about me and you do a little deal here?"
"I told you my name. How about yours?"
"VIP"
"Vip?"
"Vee-Eye-Pee. Very important person. Leastways to you, you showing even that cheap shit there."
"What's the deal?"
"You gives me a little taste, I gives you a little taste."
"I'm guessing your little taste is this pint here."
"Man speaks my language."
"What's my little taste?"
"Something only the man talk to the cops know. "
I handed him the pint. He used a corner of his coat to muffle the sound of the top being unscrewed.
"Fuckin bums in this alley, they hears a tax tag getting tore off, they all over you for some." He glugged half the pint before I stayed his arm.
"You said a little taste for me, too, Vip. Remember?"
"Man done Charlie gots up with Charlie's knife still in his leg. That taste enough for you?"
Yesterday's News - Jeremiah Healy Page 9