A lifetime of drudgery and tediousness (was that even a word?).
Poe would know the right word. He was good at those trivial kinds of things. He had the brain, could have made something more of his life. But he made mistakes. He had a temper. He was impulsive. He could be easily led.
Smart but definitely beatable on his own turf.
Just look at what was happening.
The deaths were still unsolved. And that made him look like a jackass.
The thought brought on a smile.
The smile of the wolf.
Because when animals smiled, they were anything but friendly.
Sweating from the heat, Remus lugged in the biggest of the two trunks, set it down on Romulus's dirt floor. It took up almost half the room. Poe followed a moment later, toting the lighter trunk in his arms. He regarded his invaded space with a frown.
"This isn't going to work."
Remus relieved his brother of the weight, set the smaller trunk on top of the larger. "I just threw her stuff in randomly. If I were you, I'd leave it packed up. She won't miss anything in there."
"If she doesn't need the stuff, take it back with you." Poe wiped moisture from his forehead and started snapping his fingers. "Look at this place! I can barely find any room to walk, it's so crowded."
"She wants her belongings—psychological crutch."
"What she wants is to go home."
Remus paused, his massive body heaving from the exertion. Deep rivers of perspiration ran down the giant's face. He mopped them with a damp handkerchief. A troubled look passed through his deep-set eyes. "Are those your words or hers?"
Poe cursed himself for speaking impulsively. "Doesn't matter."
"Tell me, Romulus."
Poe stopped snapping, clasped his hands together. "She told me she wanted to go home—home being Reno."
"What'd you tell her?"
"To stay here until she was done with her treatment. Then we could reevaluate." Poe looked upward. "I guess I flunked the son test."
"Right," Remus remarked. "And just as soon as I take her home, she'll want to come back."
"It's a moot point anyway," Poe said. "You've got a palace to build. When that's done, we'll talk. Besides, she isn't going anywhere until she's done with her chemotherapy."
Remus regarded his brother—the heavy scratches etched into his face, the stress lines stamped on his brow. "Thanks for the help, Romulus."
Poe shrugged. "Least I could do."
"I read about that horrible murder in California. The one where a mutilated woman was found in the motel attic…"
Poe said nothing.
Remus said, "Are you investigating it?"
"Why would I be investigating a California case?"
"Because it's connected to Alison."
Poe did a double take. "Why do you say that?"
"She and Steve were mentioned as suspects in the article."
"You're kidding!" Poe swore. "What paper were you reading?"
"Reno Times."
"Christ!" Poe began to pace. It was hard because he found himself sidestepping the trunk. "Dammit!"
"You were keeping it a secret?"
"I was trying to keep it secret. We thought that Alison and/or Steve might be headed back here. Here meaning Vegas. We didn't want to scare them off, so we left out…" He kicked the trunk, then hopped as pain shot through his foot.
Newton's third law, idiot! Action, reaction!
Limping, he groused, "Where the hell are Rukmani and Mom?"
"She took Mom shopping so we could settle in."
"Don't women have anything better to do than shop?"
Remus said, "Your pantry is pretty bare. You should do some shopping yourself."
Poe was still swearing to himself.
Remus put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Come on. Let's buy grub for your kitchen. What's life without salsa and chips?"
"Fine," Poe muttered. "Fine, fine, fine." He picked up his keys.
"I'll drive," Remus said. "I can't fit into your car."
"I've still got to lock my house." Poe looked at his keys. "I wonder why I even bother with this dump. Nothing here is worth stealing. You want the outhouse, it's yours."
"Does Rukmani have a key to your house?"
He paused. "No, she doesn't."
"Then you leave it open so they can get in. If we step on it, we'll get back before they arrive."
Poe's cellular went off. He answered the call. "Poe."
Remus saw his brother turn bright red. "Everything okay?"
Poe gave him an irritated wave as he bounced in place. Remus could hear an irate male voice screaming on the other end. Rom said nothing, just took it for about a minute.
Finally, Poe said, "That's unadulterated bull—If you'd let me explain—" He rolled his eyes. "Now, that's not—Look, let's meet at the Bureau…. Yes, I know it's Sunday. I'm in the middle of moving my mother into my house. But obviously you think this is important. And if it's important to you, it's important to me—"
Again, Poe sneered.
"No, I don't think it's important. If you'd let me—All right…. All right…. No, it's no problem, sir. My mother's doing much better, thank you. I'll be down in twenty minutes, okay?…Okay."
Poe clicked off the phone. He sank into his couch. "I'm in deep shit!"
"What'd you do?"
"Intimidated a whore."
"That doesn't seem so terrible."
"She's Parker Lewiston's whore. She must have called him up and he must have made some calls. Someone high up in the brass told my lieutenant that I tried to strong-arm a call girl into giving me some freebies."
Remus stared at his brother. Rom's jaw was working overtime. "Did you?"
Poe gave him a sour look. "No. But I have…had a prior working relationship with her."
"Uh-oh."
"On top of that, I did muscle her. God knows it wasn't for a lousy fuck. It was for information about a murder."
"The girl in the attic?"
"No, someone else."
Remus wiped his face. "I'm sure you'll…you'll work something out."
"Worse comes to worst, I get suspended pending an internal investigation." He cursed under his breath. "I'm so damn frustrated! That bastard Lewiston murdered a child. And I'm this close to him, Remus." Poe pinched off a centimeter between his index finger and thumb. "But I can't get him!"
"Patience, bro."
"Patience is highly overrated."
"It has its good points." Remus sat down, practically flattened the couch. "I'm a patient person. Learn something from your big brother."
"Big brother." Poe regarded his brother's face. "I'm seven minutes older than you, guy."
"I meant in size. And you know what they say. Size is all that matters."
Poe laughed at the old joke. Not that he knew anything about Remus's genitals. As freakish children, they had both suffered from an overly developed sense of modesty. With a twinkle in his eye, Poe said, "You know, I've always meant to ask you—"
"I know what you're going to say." Remus grinned. "Don't. You're already depressed. I don't want to add to your misery."
Poe stood, threw up his keys, and caught them. "I have to go. But there's nothing to prevent you from going shopping."
"Still getting me to do your dirty work."
"What else are giant, well-endowed brothers for?"
Sweat was pouring off Weinberg's face. The air conditioner had been turned off because it was a weekend. The room temperature must have been close to ninety. He fanned himself with a folded piece of paper, then pointed to Poe's desk chair.
Poe sat.
The loo said, "You've got ten minutes."
Poe said, "I've never mooched freebies. I always pay my debts. Ask anyone. I don't even own a mortgage."
Weinberg was trying to be patient. "So what did you do that made Lewiston's whore mad?" He pulled up a chair. "More important, what did you do that made Parker Lewiston mad? Because someone wi
th clout put in the phone call."
Poe looked at the ceiling. "You're not going to like it."
Weinberg grimaced. "What?"
"Cutting to the chase…I had reason to believe…" Poe cleared his throat. "I believed that this call girl, Honey Kramer, was involved with Parker Lewiston in the murder of Sarah Yarlborough." Again he loosened his vocal cords. "Actually, Honey admitted…that Lewiston had killed her."
"What?"
"Off the record. As soon as I tried to read Honey her rights, she stopped talking."
"I can't believe…" Weinberg licked his lips. Patience. Patience! "I need some details, Sergeant."
Slowly, Poe went through the entire story. From Deluca's first visit to Naked City, to her talk with scuzzball Lamar Larue, to Y's snapshots of Nali Abousayed's women—one of them being Honey Kramer. Then Poe returned to Naked City, where Larue had identified Honey as the whore who brokered underage girls for a good price for some unknown client. She never said, but everyone knew it was Lewiston.
"The next step," Poe said, "which seemed eminently logical at the time, was a visit to Honey—"
"Completely ignoring due process."
Poe smiled sheepishly.
Weinberg said, "Poe, why…why didn't you give the assignment to Deluca? Not only is she a woman, which would have protected you and the department against possible harassment complaints, but also she was the one who started the Naked City investigation."
"Yes, that would have been the smart thing to do."
"Anyone other than you! Especially since you had a prior relationship with this woman." Weinberg got up and started to pace. "What the hell gets into you?"
"I fucked up," Poe said. "But that doesn't diminish what I learned—"
"You can't use any of it."
"I'm not saying I can. But don't tell me we can't use the information as a springboard to something."
Weinberg sighed, rubbed his forehead. He muttered to himself. "Okay, okay, okay. First things first. How to get you out of this mess."
"Has she lodged a formal complaint?"
"Nothing in writing," Weinberg said. "Could be it was just a warning call."
"Someone is trying to scare me off?"
"Exactly. Which means you go within a mile of Honey Kramer, you're fair game for any and every kind of legal or disciplinary action. And no one—and I mean no one, Sergeant—will rescue you. You understand?"
"Got it."
"Let's hope this whole fiasco ends here." He gave him a dismissive wave. "Get out of here. Take care of your mother."
Poe stood. "Can I say one more thing?"
"Can I stop you?" the loo barked out.
"Lewiston killed this child in cold blood. Shouldn't we be doing something about it?"
"If you had come to me in the first place with your theories, I might have been able to do something." Weinberg thought a moment. "Lewiston isn't going anywhere. Let's meet at Myra's at ten o'clock Monday morning.
We'll do some brainstorming—you, me, Patricia, and…" He looked at Poe. "With Jensen gone, who do you want to bring in?"
Poe winced. "I guess Marine Martin. He was with Deluca when they took Lamar Larue down. He actually did a good job."
"Call him up."
Poe's beeper went off. He looked at the number. Dispatch. He called, using his desk phone. A moment later, Weinberg saw Poe's eyes go wide as he scribbled down information.
"What?"
"They found the car."
"What car? Jensen's car?"
Poe nodded, spoke into the receiver. "Put me through to the cops at the scene…. Try, anyway…. Yeah, I'll hold."
"Where?"
"About seventy miles northeast. Lincoln County."
"Another Sunday shot to hell." Weinberg picked up another phone and called his wife. "Two reasons why I continue to flush money down the toilet for that restaurant. One, it's her love. Two, at least we get a chance to take meals together."
Into the phone, Poe shouted, "Yes, call their unit number, then call me. I know it's staticky out there, but—you must be able to reach them somehow…. Yes, I'm aware of interference because of the military base, but—Yes…. Look, keep trying to reach them…. Yes, patch them through immediately. But first tell them to pop the trunk…. That's right. They should open the trunk to make sure—Break the lock if they have to, just get the trunk open."
Poe hit his forehead in frustration.
"Yes, I know they were told not to touch anything, but this is—Yes, Sergeant Poe has given out an order to open the trunk. We're leaving right now—Lieutenant Weinberg and I. Yes…. Yes…. Keep trying. Thank you." Poe hung up the phone, looked at Weinberg's doleful face. "Myra's not too happy?"
"Irked. But she's still making us sandwiches."
"What a gal!"
Weinberg's expression softened, his eyes grew distant. "She's a wonderful woman. I'm a lucky guy. Let's go."
FORTY-ONE
"IT'S LOCKED up tighter than a drumskin. I tried jimmyin' it with my knife, but the tip broke off. Now I could try shootin' it off. But if there's someone in there, I could be doin' more harm than good."
"Don't shoot anything!" Weinberg could just picture the bullet ricocheting off the trunk's steel surface and hitting one of Lincoln County's finest smack in the face. "We're about a half hour away."
Poe pushed down on the accelerator, straining the car to the max. He said, "Do you think there's someone in the trunk?"
"Well, it is saggin'," the officer responded over the radio. "I pushed it down coupla times. Feels like somethin' heavy's inside. But whatever it is, it sure ain't movin'."
The Honda flew upward as it hit a sudden dip, landing with a thud back on the road. Weinberg felt the impact clear up his spine.
He snapped, "Slow down!"
Over the line, the officer said, "Beg your pardon?"
Poe answered, "Nothing. We're fretting because they don't make shocks like they used to."
Weinberg said, "I'll call your desk sergeant. Let him know what's going on. Thanks for calling."
"No problem."
"Be there as soon as we can. Over and out."
Poe took another dip at speed. The car bounced on its tires.
"You're making me seasick," Weinberg groused. "Besides, you heard what the man said. Whatever is in the trunk isn't moving."
"But it still could be alive."
"How about if we make it there alive? Slow down!"
Poe tried to get hold of himself. He gripped the wheel, forced himself to reduce his speed. His eyes scanned the vast stretches of monotone desert—flat, sand-drenched terrain, parched and foreboding. Tufts of clouds drifted through the marine sky. The sun was beginning its descent. Within the hour, they would be housed under a canopy of brilliant oranges and roses. The crickets would come out, the air would become balmy, and a serenity would drape and soften the searing air as harsh as sackcloth.
Weinberg hung up the mike. "A pleasure to have some real interdepartmental cooperation. Someone in Lincoln County reads state bulletins." He sipped water. "We got lucky."
Poe nodded. "What do I do when I get off of the 95?"
"I'll tell you what to do when we're at the turnoff. We're about ten minutes away."
They rode in silence, the vista whizzing by them like an endless bolt of jaundiced cloth—a lifeless blur of sand and grit. Poe noticed the car's temperature needle creeping into the red zone. He turned off the air-conditioning and opened the window. A blast of heat slapped their faces.
He smiled apologetically. "Don't want to have car trouble."
"It's fine. We're close to the spot. Turnoff's about a hundred yards."
Poe dropped the speed. Weinberg squinted from the glare. "We're not far from the Nevada Test Site."
"This is true."
"The place gives me the creeps. Like I'm breathing in radioactive iodine 131."
"You probably are."
Moon Music Page 37