Easy (A Flap Tucker Mystery Book 1)

by Phillip DePoy

“You’re damn right. But these places like the Tip Top” — she shoved the key into the lock like she was mad at it — “they got no sense of purpose.” She threw open the door with the same disdain. “And these poor little girls, they got no purpose either.”

  The room was dark and bare, no pictures on the wall, no rugs on the floor, one chair in the middle of the room, some pillows around it. I flicked on the light, but it only made the place sadder. It was one big room, a kitchenette to the left, a bathroom beyond it.

  She looked in too. “Cops didn’t find nothin’ — except that a lot of the stuff was gone from the apartment. They think maybe robbery, but these kids…look: They didn’t have a thing in this world any self-respectin’ thief would want.”

  On the sill of the only window in the room there were a couple of pictures in cheap frames. I wandered over. They were photos of the two young girls, one taken in a field like on a farm, one at a bar someplace. I held one up. “These the girls?”

  She sighed. “Yeah. That’s them.” She was still looking around the little empty space. “What did they do with their money?”

  I clued her in. “They were in real estate classes.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I just thought you’d know that, you bein’ a concierge —”

  And this, of all things, made her laugh, like she was thinking of a funny movie or something. “My late husband, he was the resident manager…”

  “…but he died, and now you’re the…”

  “…resident manager, yeah. Got nothin’ to do with real estate. I never owned nothin’ you couldn’t eat at one sitting.”

  I shrugged, cast a hopeless eye about the place. In one corner there were two plastic laundry baskets, one purple, one red — both empty.

  I peeked over into the kitchen area. There was a broom and a dustpan, some cleaning stuff on the counter, a frying pan half filled with pretty old corn bread.

  She didn’t want to come too far into the place. “Go see what’s in the bath.”

  I nodded. The bathroom was tiled in splendor compared to the rest of the digs: alabaster walls trimmed in bloodred tiles that had a sort of viney design. It was huge, bigger than the kitchen. And it was spotless. There were two hairbrushes side by side on the sink counter and two towels — hers and hers, in very ornate scroll. The tub smelled like a flower garden.

  I popped my head out. “This is some bathroom.”

  “Yeah, ain’t it great? These places used to be apartments with eight or nine rooms in ’em, but the management couldn’t rent in this part of town, so they chopped ’em up like a mall movie-plex and now you got a bunch of what they call efficiencies. But every once in while you hit one with a bathroom or a fireplace or a balcony — no extra charge either. I saw to that.”

  “I’d like to live in this bathroom.”

  “Well, it ain’t rented yet.”

  I walked back out toward her. “So when was the last time you saw the girls here?”

  “Oh…maybe a week or two — I dunno.”

  “What? They just found the bodies —”

  “— three, four days ago, I know.”

  “Where were they all that time?”

  “On vacation?”

  “How often did they take a two-week vacation?”

  “Urn…never?”

  “That’s what I’d think.”

  “So you got an idea they might have been killed and not found right away.”

  “I really try not to have any ideas about a thing like this.”

  She looked around the room. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Is this sad or what?”

  It was sad all right, but there was something eerie too. “This can’t be all the stuff they had. I mean, where did they sleep? And where’s the dresser or their clothes or shoes or other knickknacks and all?”

  “Gewgaws.”

  “What?”

  “I always liked the term gewgaws instead of knick-knacks.”

  “Yeah, well a rose by any other name would still beg the question —”

  “— ‘Where are they?’ The items in question.”

  I nodded once. “Exactly.”

  “So now you got an idea that maybe somebody came in here and cleared out some stuff, or maybe they did it themselves, even.”

  I turned to leave. “What’d I tell ya about that ‘idea’ business?”

  She followed me. “Yeah, but I don’t buy it. You got idea written all over you. You’re a smart guy. You don’t wanna be, but you can’t help it.”

  “As opposed to a wise guy.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think you’re probably that too, in the right circumstances.”

  I ushered myself out the door. “Hey, you’re not tryin’ to flirt with me, are you?” I turned back to her, just as she was closing the door behind her, and raised my eyebrows.

  She squinted again. “Buddy, if I was flirtin’ with you, you’d know it.”

  I stuck out my lower lip in agreement. “Yeah, I’d imagine the whole county would know it.”

  “You better believe it. I was somethin’ in my day.”

  I allowed her to pass me and followed her back down the stairs. Out the windows I could see the day getting darker, even though the afternoon was early. We stopped at her doorway.

  She turned the key in her own door slowly. “Looks like snow, don’t it?”

  “Yup, but it won’t.”

  “Naw. Not in November. I guess you’ll be wantin’ to come back and look around a little more after you got some ideas, huh?”

  “Right. How’d you guess?”

  “My late husband?”

  “The resident manager…”

  “…had a brother did some insurance investigation. Used to talk about it in the old days.”

  “You know, I wish you’d quit talking about this ‘old’ stuff. You got nothin’ on me in the age department.”

  “Oh really. I’m fifty-one.”

  “I got a vest older’n you.”

  She smiled. “That don’t count. You got it at a thrift store, didn’t ya?”

  “Okay.”

  “Well, that’s the diff. I’m expensive.”

  I smiled back. “And worth every penny too.”

  Out in the parking lot of the Alhambra the wind was whipping up fierce. At the site of the real Alhambra, in another land, a lot of followers of Mohammed would be turning toward Mecca about now to pray. They wouldn’t do it because of any special problem or anything. It’s something they do every day about this time — about the same time any good Crusader would be turning toward the wet bar, thinking about the first whiskey and soda of the evening.

  Chapter 9: The House of Pain

  It shouldn’t really have been so dark on my drive back into town, but the day had given up by that time and gone home early. I was wishing I could do the same, but I wanted to check out GIMH. I stuck a hand in my coat pocket and fingered the picture Lenny had given me. I wanted to show it around, see if anybody knew her. What was it…Augusta? We have a town here in Georgia by that name. Might be interesting if that’s where Lenny was born.

  I entertained myself with thoughts like that as I drove past the theater on Cascade Road — maybe there was more Cascade money in Atlanta than we knew, and it would have to be old money in this part of town, where the Gordon Theater used to be. Saturday morning, for a quarter, you could see every Tarzan movie ever made. Now it’s a thrift store. I think I might have bought my vest that’s older than the resident manager of the Alhambra there.

  It was night by the time I got to the mental hospital, mostly because of the cloud cover, not the hour. I pulled up into the visitors’ parking and got a shot of déjà vu, like the kind that makes you sick. I mean the Big Sick, the ennui, the fear and loathing. It was probably just remembering coming to visit Neena there — or something.

  I shoved in the door to the admitting area. The nurse recognized me.

  “Hey, Flap. Long time no see.”

  “Yeah, well — would
you come here if you didn’t have to?”

  “I hear you.” She laughed.

  “I gotta show a picture around, and I don’t want a big to-do over it, do you know what I’m saying?”

  “You don’t want any of the doctors or, like, big staff guys around, because it’s some kind of case deal you’re working on and you don’t want to have to hassle with that confidentiality crap.”

  “Confidentiality is the right of every citizen who comes to visit you all, and I’m a fine upstanding American.”

  “Let me see the picture.”

  I flashed it.

  She sighed. “Oh. Her.”

  I really am smarter than I look. “So, I’m guessing you know her.”

  She looked up at me. “What is it with you, boy? You are a tramp magnet.”

  “Really.”

  “Uh-huh. I happen to know from all kinds of experience that your ex was the god-in-hell-gypsy-queen of the tramps…but this one, she’s not much better.”

  “Patient here?”

  “Aggie? Naw, she was a nurse’s assistant here, believe it or not. She wanted to be a psychologist, but she had some kind of horrendous problem; couldn’t get through the day, let alone college.”

  “She worked here?”

  “Like a horse. She was here maybe eighty hours a week. I think she slept here most nights. She really wanted to prove she could do better than anybody else.”

  “And?”

  “And she did. She was better at this job than anybody else.”

  “And the tramp part comes in…”

  “With some of the male patients.” She leaned in and got real quiet. “She had some deal where sex was gonna cure these guys, you know?” She raised her eyebrows and leaned back.

  “So she was doing this…activity in the name of…”

  “…curing the infirm.”

  “I see. And you caught her?”

  “She had that sweet little Lenny Cascade in the X-ray lab behind all the lead panels in a posture I would not have thought humanly possible — and necked as the day they were born.”

  “And you said…”

  “I said, ‘What the hell is going on?’”

  “And she said…”

  “She just said she didn’t know.”

  “When was this?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “There were other times?”

  “I’m sure of it. I think she even went to his house, wherever that would be.”

  “And she’d done this with other guys here?”

  “What was to stop her?”

  “But you saw it only with Lenny.”

  “And I wish to God I hadn’t. You know how hard it is to get an image like that out of your unconscious?”

  “Hey, just remember who you’re talkin’ to. I got unconscious images could choke a horse.”

  “Yeah.” She settled back into her chair. “I guess you probably do.”

  “You said her name was…”

  “…Aggie. I think it was short for Augusta. Can you imagine?”

  “And she doesn’t work here anymore?”

  “I saw to that.” She was proud of it.

  “Can’t have people sleeping with the customers.”

  “I know it’s a sore spot with you, Flap.”

  “Plus, you can’t have a lowly little nurse’s assistant working eighty hours a week and curing people all the time. Makes it harder on the rest of the staff.”

  “You’re a cynic, wouldn’t you say?”

  “So, can I come in, talk to a few of the other guys and all, show ’em the pic?”

  She looked around. “Most everybody you’d have to worry about is at dinner. And anyway, you made some friends here when Neena was in — who’s to say you’re not just back visiting?”

  “Who indeed.”

  She buzzed under the counter, and a door popped. I nodded at her and went in. The main hall leads down to the general room where most of the orderlies hang out.

  I poked my head in. One or two guys I knew were there. I waved. They nodded. One guy in particular had been especially fond of Neena.

  “Hey, Scooter. What’s up?”

  “Hey, Flap. What in the hell are you doin’ here?”

  “Just came by to say hey.”

  “Like I believe that. Got some papers or somethin’ to clear up?”

  I beckoned him. “Take a look at this photo.”

  He shoved himself off the sofa and lumbered my way. He plucked the picture from my fingers, looked real close, and smiled.

  “Aggie. Absolutely nuts. I always figured she got her little job here by boinkin’ some doctor. Most of the staff here’s wackier than the patients.”

  “You know her?”

  “She used to work here.” He handed me back the snapshot. “And you’ll find this amusing. She hated Dr. Schlag.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. She was all mad about his methodology.”

  “Not happy?”

  “Not happy.”

  “Methodology?”

  He smiled. “You know me an’ Dr. Schlag didn’t see eye to eye on inpatient care either.”

  “Is that right.”

  “He thought that the girls ought to get better by him bein’ nice to ’em and the boys ought to get shoved around a little and all.”

  “Wait. He wanted you to —”

  “I’m not saying he wanted us to abuse the male patients, but he thought that a certain amount of physical…discipline was a good way to teach the guys about the highway of life or whatever.”

  “Say it again.”

  “Dr. Schlag thought the world was a rough sea, and women needed protection from it and men needed a few hard knocks to toughen ’em up.”

  “Jesus, what kind of a place is this? Augusta thinkin’ she can boink ’em into health, and Nete Schlag thinkin’ he can beat it into ’em.”

  “Welcome to my world.”

  “Is there, like, any sane person on staff here?”

  “You’re lookin’ at him.”

  I smiled. “Thank God, huh?” I looked around. “And what about Teeth?”

  He smiled. “Good old Teeth. Yeah. He was sane.”

  “Except for bitin’ people.”

  Scooter lifted a shoulder. “Didn’t happen all that much.”

  “Enough to get him fired.”

  “Yeah. I think that was Dr. Schlag. I think Dr. Schlag thought Teeth was gonna blow the whistle on him and Neena. He never suspected Aggie.”

  “Or you.”

  “He thought I was too stupid.”

  “Whereas Teeth…”

  Scooter smiled very slyly for an alleged low-IQ type. “Whereas Teeth was naturally smarter.”

  “Yeah. And Teeth thought Dr. Schlag was a…fellow traveler.”

  “Lot of us did — until he met Neena.”

  “So.” I tried to gather my thoughts. “Talk to me about Augusta.”

  “Whata ya wanna know?”

  “Some of the basics. What was her last name?”

  He motioned me over to the card table away from the rest of the orderlies. I followed him, and we sat in the shadowy corner of the big general room.

  “I don’t want to get Aggie into trouble. I liked her.”

  I nodded. “I’m not lookin’ to cause her any trouble.”

  “This hasn’t got nothin’ to do with the cops?”

  “Nope.”

  “Or lawyers or nothin’? I mean, I’m sorry to ask, Flap, but in your kinda business — who knows who’s got you askin’ questions?”

  “It’s nobody lookin’ to cause her any trouble. Really.”

  He looked at me for a minute, trying to figure how much he could trust me. “I’ll tell you stuff you could find out anyway. But I’m not givin’ any secrets.”

  “That’s all I want — the basics.”

  “Like: Her last name was Donne. D-O-N-N-E. I think she was English.”

  “She had an accent?”


  “A little.”

  “She ever work with Looney Lenny?”

  “She was his favorite. He wouldn’t even come in here if she wasn’t here.”

  “I hear they were more than close. I hear they had a love nest in the X-ray room.”

  He shifted in his seat. “Oh. You heard about that.”

  “From what’s-her-name at the desk.”

  “Donna.”

  “Donna.”

  “Yeah, she might have been the one who got Aggie fired. She didn’t like Aggie’s…approach.”

  “The sex thing.”

  “I guess.”

  “Maybe this Augusta could explain it better. Where can I call her?”

  He looked at me. “I don’t believe, Flap, that I’d tell you even if I knew — but I honest to God don’t know where she is. I haven’t seen her.”

  “And nobody knows where she is.”

  “She got a raw deal here. She wouldn’t keep in touch.”

  “And you think what’s-her-name-front-desk got her fired.”

  “Donna. I believe she did, yes.”

  I stood up. “They had to send her last check somewhere.”

  “Personnel files are confidential, Flap.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You couldn’t see ’em.”

  “But you could.”

  “If I felt like it.”

  I drummed on the desk for a second, looking around the room, then I looked back at him. “It’s for Lenny. He misses her.”

  “You’re lookin’ for Aggie because Lenny wants to see her?”

  “Believe it or not — and I’d prefer to keep that between you and me, could you?”

  “Yeah, if it’s really for Lenny. What’s the deal? You owe somebody a favor?”

  “Dally over at the Easy.”

  He nodded wisely. “Oh, yeah — she’s one to take care of the strays.”

  “She’s always done right by me.”

  “So she wants you to help Looney Lenny.”

  “Yup.”

  “What for?”

  “She’s got a mother-hormone thing.”

  “Really.”

  I nodded. “A go-go.”

  “Well, if it’s really for Ms. Oglethorpe…”

  “And Lenny…”

  “If it really is for them…”

  “Scooter — you’re a doubting Thomas.”

  “In this world? That’s standard — don’t you think?”

  “I guess so.” I tapped the table. “So you’ll get me the phone number or the address or something?”