by Baxter Clare
"That's right. Do you know them, Mrs. Jones?"
"Danny had a lot of young friends," she observed, her eyes steady on Frank's. "They don't sound familiar, but I might recognize them if I saw them."
Frank admired the effortless save.
"Seems like Danny was looking to hook up with them, get a little action going on the side."
The Mother waved a hand, dismissing the notion as nonsense.
"I don't know anything about that."
"Hm. That's funny. That's not what Kim said."
The Mother smiled tolerantly, as if at a foolish but endearing child.
"What else did my niece tell you, Lieutenant? Maybe I can straighten out these misunderstandings for you."
The Mother had volleyed smoothly, but Frank had what she wanted. For now.
"That's about it. Just that she was worried about the friends he was hanging around with, worried about what sort of trouble he might be getting into."
Frank made a show of reflecting inward, a subtle manipulation signaling she'd taken control of the conversation. Abruptly she said, "Look, we've taken enough of your time. I know you're very busy and I appreciate your seeing us."
Frank placed her card at the Mother's fingertips, careful not to touch the gory nails. She reeled off the standard request to call if she thought of anything, no matter how trivial it might seem. The Mother picked up the square of paper. She tapped it with a lacquered nail, smiled at it.
"Come back sometime for a reading, Lieutenant. You might be surprised how accurate I am."
"I bet I would be."
She turned to make her exit, but the Mother said, "Lieutenant?"
A hint of a smile curved the Mother's generous mouth. Her eyes reflected the yellow candle glow.
"Yes?"
"Look out for a red dog."
"A red dog?"
"Yes, child. A red dog."
9
Working their way back through the network of halls, Lewis mumbled, "I don't care for this place. It's kind of strange, don't you think?"
"Wouldn't put it high on my list of favorite vacation spots," Frank agreed. She paused at a T in the maze.
"Right or left?"
"Right," Lewis said without hesitating.
"You sure? I think it's left."
The rookie grumbled, "Then what are you asking me for if you're so sure?"
"Lewis, you're a bona fide pain in the ass, you know that?"
"I been told."
Frank twisted a door handle in passing. Locked. She tried another. It yielded. Frank peeked in.
"What are you doing?" Lewis complained.
"Just checking things out while we're here. We're lost, right?"
Light from the hall illuminated what looked like a collection of old appliances. A dank, moldering odor drifted out. Frank closed the door. The next one she checked was locked. And the one next to it. Moving into a new hall, Lewis said, "We should have left bread crumbs."
Frank tried another handle and it turned. She pushed on the door and the room erupted in shrieks and flapping noises. Frank swung the door shut, then slipped her hand through to feel for a switch plate. Finding it, she eased inside.
Hens in crowded cages squawked at the sudden light. A black rooster jumped on her leg. Frank swore and threw it by its neck. The bird landed near a crate of pigeons. They thrashed against the bars in a panic. Living birds trampled dead or dying ones.
The rooster shook itself off and raced back over to Frank. She kicked it away. It trotted back but maintained a wary distance.
"Damn hoodoo freaks," Lewis complained tightly, "we ought to call Animal Control on these nasty mothers."
Frank stepped carefully around a few loose animals, an eye on the rooster. Feathers lifted around her as she walked to a table piled with boxes. She pulled out a bottle.
"Palm oil," she read from the label. Pulling a jar from another box, she hefted it and said to Lewis, "It's honey. What the hell's all this for?"
"What? I'm supposed to know just cuz I'm black what all this crazy-ass shit's for? How am I supposed to know? I wasn't raised in no mucketty swamp mixing up little bottles of love potion number nine, mumbling spells under my breath. Damn! I don't truck with none of this back-woods bullshit."
Lewis had mounted her politically correct high horse for a ride up and down Frank's spine, but Frank said, "Just calm the fuck down. I thought maybe you were smarter than me, but now I see you're not."
Lewis huffed but kept her mouth shut. The birds settled down while Frank poked around in more boxes. Holding a bottle out to Lewis, she turned and saw Spic and Span looming in the doorway.
"Took a wrong turn," she explained quickly. "This is some interesting shit. What do you do with all these birds? Eat 'em?"
Frank held her ground as if she had every right to be snooping through the Mother's private property.
One of the genies growled, "I thought Mother Love told you to leave."
"We're trying, but you took us through so many doors we got lost. If you want us out of here you gotta show us the way."
He made an inarticulate rumbling sound at the twin glowering next to him. Lewis squeezed past and Frank followed. Again they walked for a long time between the big men. Frank thought they were deliberately leading them in circles and Frank said to Lewis, "You were right about the bread crumbs."
"Shut the fuck up," said the genie behind them. At length he paused at a door and opened it up to sunshine. The genie's massive torso blocked their exit but he stepped aside and Frank moved past him. He gave her a shove that made her neck snap but Frank ignored it and kept walking into freedom. When she was safely out, with Lewis beside her, she turned and lifted a hand.
"See ya around," she said cheerfully. Under her breath she muttered, "Magillas."
Getting into the Mercury, Lewis whispered, "Damn!” then, "What's a magilla?"
" ‘Member Magilla Gorilla? The cartoon?"
Lewis frowned and shook her head. "So you're calling them gorillas cuz they're black?"
"Jesus," Frank swore. "You gotta get over this black thing. I called them magillas because they're big and stupid. They could be fucking purple for all I care. They're still big and stupid."
"Hmph," Lewis snorted.
"Hmph," Frank snorted back, relieved she was finally out of the Mother's goddamned Hansel and Gretel rockhouse.
"Damn," Lewis swore softly. She twisted the AC button and warm air whooshed from the vents. "Where we going?"
Frank intended to visit the Mother's other sister, but she wanted to think about the morning.
"Breakfast?" she asked Lewis.
"I wouldn't mind."
While she directed Lewis to the Norm's on Pacific, Lewis argued, "I still don't see why you wouldn't let me handle her. I'd have done all right."
Keeping her earlier thoughts to herself, Frank smiled at the rookie's unfounded confidence.
"She's way too big for you to cut your baby teeth on."
"How would you know if you don't give me a chance?"
"Trust me," Frank assured. "I know."
She didn't add that her handle on the Mother had been slippery enough. Lewis seethed beside her, her eagerness pleasing Frank.
"Whoa. Slow down," she said, staring out her window.
"What?" Lewis asked, trying to see what Frank was looking at. A slim woman in a tangerine skirt and cream colored hat sashayed along the sidewalk.
"Girl, you look good," Frank sang out the lyrics of a popular song, "won't you back that ass up!"
Lewis stiffened and the woman stopped. Making a brim with the flat of her hand, she beamed when she recognized Frank. Singing back, "Bitch who you playin' wit?" she wiggled her ass dramatically toward the car.
Frank's smile was genuine, and in a deep, sultry voice, the woman purred, "Officer Frank, where you been at? I ain't seen you, Lord, on into a month of Sundays."
It didn't matter if they were a detective III, a captain, or the chief of police—on the stree
t all cops were officers.
"Been busy, Miss Cleo. How you been?"
"You tell me," the woman pirouetted.
"It's not right," Frank admired. "I get older and uglier, and you get younger and prettier."
Miss Cleo gushed, "You just gotta know how to work it, sugar."
Frank introduced her to Lewis, amused when Miss Cleo dangled a white-gloved hand out to her. Lewis took the fingertips, saying, "Pleased to meet you, ma'am."
"Ma'am," Miss Cleo laughed. "Isn't she sweet? Now what can I do for you, Officer Frank. It's hotter than seven hells standing out here."
"Don't mean to keep you. What's the word on Mother Love-Jones?"
"Whoo-ee, that old thang?"
Miss Cleo fanned herself.
"Now you know I don't involve myself with that kinda traffic. I do my business, on my own side of the street. You know that."
"I know. Just wondering if any of your customers might've dropped a word on her. Her nephew going down and all."
"Oh, isn't that awful," Miss Cleo responded in a deep voice. "I heard he had his you-know-what cut off and stuffed in his mouth. Is that right?"
The rooster found with Duncan had been a holdback, a piece of evidence not released to the media. Still, variations on the truth swirled in the rumor mill.
"Not quite. What else you hear?"
The woman checked up and down the street.
"I heard he'd been going around behind the Mother's back, and this is what come of it, you know what I mean?"
"How going around?"
"Like hustling his own brand. You can't disrespect that old woman like that. If you ask me, that boy was handing out calling cards to trouble."
"Was he grinding ounces or weight?"
"What I heard, that boy was moving keys. Right under her nose! He ought to have known he couldn't get away with that sort of business."
"What else?"
Waving one of her gloved hands, Miss Cleo said, "I really don't know much more. All I heard was some of them goofers what hangs out at her corner mart talking about it."
"Which goofers?"
The woman offered a couple street names and Lewis wrote them down. Frank ran Danny's associates' names by her and Miss Cleo recognized Carrillo.
"He thinks he's a boss bailer. He'd best mind he don't end up with his you-know-what you know where."
"Anything else?" Frank asked.
Miss Cleo hefted her slim shoulders. Frank gave her a twenty and told her to buy a new hat. Tucking the bill into her blouse the woman laughed wide.
"I can see it's been some while since you bought a new hat, Officer Frank."
"You be careful out there," Frank said, motioning Lewis on.
"She's a piece of work."
"He," Frank nodded. "Miss Cleo's real name is Clarence Carter. He's been on the hoe stroll since before dirt was invented."
"Damn," Lewis marveled.
"Yeah. Looks like the genuine article, huh?"
"Better'n you and me put together," Lewis laughed.
"You can't see the scars under his make-up. A rookie tried to bust his cherry on him then went ape shit with his D-cell when he felt under Miss Cleo's skirt. Bobby and I responded. He was almost dead when we got there. Had a big old crack in his skull."
"What happened to the rookie?"
"Last I heard he was up in San Mateo. Working vice."
"Damn," Lewis said through clenched teeth.
Frank kept her window down, letting the hot air outside compete with the slightly cooler air inside.
"So tell me. How would you have handled the Mother?"
Lewis pushed out her lips, studying the question.
"First off, I'd have been respectful, then I'd've asked where she was Wednesday night. Depend—"
"Nope. Right off you've fucked yourself. Right away you've put her on the defensive by wanting to know where she was during a murder. In something like this, where we don't know the level of involvement, it's best to approach them from the standpoint of the bereaved relative or friend. Get them talking about the vie and give them the chance to say something you might be able to bury them with. Once they're talking and comfortable with the story they're telling you, then you can start introducing the questions. Start with something innocuous like, 'What sort of mood was he in? Who was he with?' That makes them give you details you might be able to trip them up on later.
"Try to make every question open-ended. Don't ask, 'Were you with Danny Blank that night?' That just leads you into a yes/no response. Always ask in a way that forces a more detailed answer. Ask, 'When was the last time you saw Danny?' That way you're pinning her to specifics. Instead of, 'Was Danny here last night?' ask, 'Where did you see Danny last?' Never give them the answer. Force them to come up with their own. You see?"
Lewis nodded, slowing at a light.
"That's another reason to breast your cards," Frank continued. Her arm dangled outside the Mercury and she took a perverse pleasure in the searing heat. She absently deciphered the graffiti hieroglyphics sprayed on a crumbling building.
On the sidewalk in the building's shadow, a heap of clothing came to life. A dusty head poked from the bundle and Frank tried to determine if it was male or female. A face that seemed to have weathered countless suns lifted itself to hers. Bluish white eyes stared at Frank. The lips split into a fat grin.
The car started rolling and the grizzled head followed it, the blind eyes and wet smile still trained on Frank. She craned her neck out the window until the relic disappeared.
"Yeah?" Lewis prompted.
"What?"
"What's the other reason to breast my cards?"
What the fuck was that all about?
It felt like that thing with the poached eggs for eyeballs had not only seen Frank, but recognized her.
"Well?" Lewis demanded.
Even as she silently chastised that she was getting as goosey as Lewis, the hair remained erect on her arms, despite the hundred-degree heat.
"What were we talking about?"
Lewis sighed, "You said to never give anyone an out. Make them give it up. And to breast my cards, whatever that means."
"It means don't show them your hand," Frank answered, relieved to be back on familiar terrain. "You want to have something to surprise them with. Watch somebody long enough and their actions'll usually tell you more than words. Did you notice me get closer to the Mother before I asked her about Echevarria and Hernandez?"
Lewis shook her head.
"I wanted to get close enough to see her pupils. Right as I said Danny'd been hanging around some Nicaraguans, they dilated. It was a slight and completely involuntary reaction, and it gave her away. She didn't even know she was doing it. She tightened her lips and her eyes narrowed too. Just a fraction, but enough. When you drop something on them they don't think you know about, they can go through dozens of involuntary reactions like that. All the way from pupils dilating to shitting their pants."
The image of the old beggar faded as Frank talked.
"And pay attention to what they call you. Notice how she went from calling me child to Lieutenant and then back to child? In the beginning she was in control and I was child. Then when she got a little rattled I was Lieutenant. When we were leaving and she told me about the red dog, she felt she had the upper hand again and called me child. Did you notice that?"
"No," Lewis pouted.
"You will," Frank reassured. "It'll all come with time."
Frank checked the world moving by. A nail salon and a cell phone store. Metal works. A discount store. Two long-haired girls pushing strollers. A young man in a Walkman funked out toward them. Everything was normal.
"I was listening to you with Kim this morning. You gave her all the answers. Don't do that. Let them think you're clueless. Makes them think they know more than you do. Makes them feel more comfortable, confident, and that's what trips them up."
"Yeah, but she was cooperating. She was being up front with me."
&nbs
p; "Happily or reluctantly?"
"Reluctantly," Lewis admitted.
"Yeah, like you are now. And if I push too hard you're gonna cop that famous Joe Lewis attitude on me and clam up. What would happen if I treated you soft and respectful-like?"
"It'd make it easier to talk to you."
"Yeah, you'll open up to me. What if I beat you over the head with what I think you're doing wrong?"
"I'ma be in your face," Lewis chuckled.
Frank nodded.
"If you make some suggestions and let your wit come to the conclusion you lead him to, then he feels like he's got some power in the conversation, some control. Makes him feel pretty good, then he'll want to keep sharing. N'mean?"
Lewis grinned, "You just did that, didn't you?"
Frank returned the grin.
"You're gonna be all right, Lewis."
The sun felt good and Lewis was pleasant company. Frank had written off the odd deja vu at Mother Love's even as it happened, and already she was ascribing the blind stare as nothing more than the old fuck in the blankets recognizing the nostalgic purr of a Mercury engine. By the time they got to Norm's, the unnerving incidents were forgotten. But not for long.
10
The Mother laughed. Her daughter-in-law and sons looked up from their plates.
"What's so funny?" Marcus asked. He'd been pissed all day. Tired of being ordered around like a fucking nigger. Do this, do that. Maybe Danny'd been right.
"That girl coming around here this morning. Loo-te-nant Franco." The Mother danced the title around. "Makes me laugh, is all. My daddy used to say, that dog don't know what it's bit into."
"Maybe you don't know what you bit into," Marcus mumbled around a piece of bread.
He didn't see the knife leave her hand. It hit Marcus in the temple.
"Goddamn!" he sputtered, bread flying from his mouth like snow.
"Don't you ever doubt me, child. Not while you're in my house, sleeping under my roof. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, ma'am," he sulked, dabbing his head for blood.
His mother stabbed at her chicken breast.
"Word," she grumbled, "you two are just like your father. Him"—she lifted her head at Lucian—"frettin' all the time, and you sulking the whole day. Uh-huh. You got his temperament, all right."
Yeah, and you little Miss Fuckin' Sunshine, Marcus thought. He shoveled rice and green beans into his mouth faster than a crack-head could hit off a rod. He couldn't wait to get out of this ugly, dark-paneled room. His mother think she living in fucking England or something?