“What’s that mean?” She rubbed a scab on her arm.
“Haley live here with you?”
“Of course, she’s my daughter.”
“Who else?”
“Lives here? What’s it to you?”
“I’m about to walk away from here,” Crissa said. “And you’re never going to see me again. That what you want?”
“What I want is for you to tell me what Larry gave you.”
“Why isn’t she in school?”
“School?”
“Yeah, school. Girl her age should be in school, not sitting in a motel room all day alone.”
“You telling me how to raise my daughter?”
Crissa shook her head, looked away again. Don’t get into it with her, she thought. It’ll be a waste of time.
“How do I even know you’re who you say?” Claudette said. “For all I know, you’re a cop. When did you see Larry last?”
“A few days ago.”
“You worked together?”
“We did.”
“What kind of work?”
“Kind of work Larry sometimes did.” Crissa looked at her.
Claudette crossed her arms, drew on the cigarette. “What happened?”
“He was involved in something. It didn’t go the way it was supposed to.”
“You were with him?”
“Yes.”
Claudette looked away. “I knew it would happen someday. I should have guessed. I didn’t get a check from him this month. Last month, either.” She blew out smoke. “Way it always was with him, whole time we were together. Feast or famine. I got tired of it.”
“What happened with the house?”
“What do you mean?”
“I went by there, where you used to live.”
“Bank took it. Nobody cuts you a break these days, no matter what you’re going through. Money’s all they care about.”
“You didn’t pay the mortgage?”
“They said I didn’t. When they told me they were going to foreclose, court order and everything, I said, ‘Go ahead. You want it so bad, take it.’ Goddamn thieves. They sent the sheriff to put us out.”
“Larry was sending you money regular?” Tires screeched as a car pulled out below.
“Some. Not enough.”
“What were you doing with it?”
“Seems to me you’re doing a lot of asking and not much telling. Were you sleeping with him?”
“No.”
Claudette rubbed a forearm. “He ever talk about me?”
“Yes. About Haley, too.”
“Haley? She was only four when we split up. He hardly knew her.”
“He was still her father. What did she mean by ‘Daddy’s friend’?”
“That’s what she calls Roy. I told her he knew her father. He didn’t, but it makes it easier, you know. Helps her understand.”
“Who’s Roy?”
“My husband.”
“Husband?”
“Practically. As soon as things settle down, we’ll get all the legal stuff straightened out. What do you care anyway?”
“I don’t. I just care about the girl. Was she in there when I came by yesterday?”
“We taught her not to answer the door for anyone except me and Roy. There’s a lot of white trash in this place. Mexicans, too.”
Crissa watched a man come in off the street. He stopped at the vending machines next to the office, checked the coin return slots.
“It was hard for me, too, you know,” Claudette said. “Those years I spent with Larry. Him disappearing the way he did. Never knowing if I’d see him again. If he was dead or in jail, and if I’d ever even hear about it if he was. You get tired of living like that.”
“This is better?”
“It’s just until things get organized. Then maybe we can get a house again. It won’t be long.”
“You and Roy work?”
“We do what we can.”
Crissa took a breath, said, “Here’s the deal. I have some money for you, from Larry. But I have the feeling if I give it to you now, you and this Roy are going to end up dead inside a week. I don’t know what it is you two are doing, but I’m betting you burn through cash quick.”
“You don’t know anything about us. If that money’s mine, it’s mine. You don’t get to decide.”
“Well, when you talk to this Roy—”
“You can talk to him yourself. Here he comes.”
Crissa turned. The man who’d walked into the lot was coming along the balcony toward them. He stopped about twenty feet away, looked at her, trying to decide whether to keep coming or not. Wondering who she was, what he was walking into.
“Hey, babe,” Claudette said.
He took that as his cue, came forward, taking his time. He was skinny, with dark hair in a ponytail, a star tattoo on his neck. Red flannel shirt buttoned to the neck and cuffs despite the heat. To hide the scabs, she guessed. As he got closer, she saw his left eye was swollen, the cheek bruised.
“What happened to you?” Claudette said.
He said, “Hey,” then turned to Crissa. “Do I know you?”
She faced him. He smelled vaguely of sweat and something harsher, metallic.
“She’s a friend of Larry’s,” Claudette said.
“What’s that asshole want?”
“She’s got something for us. Money.”
“What money?”
“Take a step back,” Crissa said.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Then maybe I’ll throw your ass over this railing, see how you land.”
She held his eyes. He backed up, looking her over, turned to Claudette, said, “What is this?”
“Larry’s dead,” Claudette said.
“So?”
“I made a mistake,” Crissa said. “I’ll see you around.”
Claudette put a hand on her elbow, said, “Wait.”
Crissa looked at her. She took her hand away.
Crissa looked back at Roy, then at the half-open door. It had been a mistake coming here, seeing the way they were living, seeing the girl. But now she had, and there was no going back.
She looked at Roy. “Who hit you?”
“It’s nothing. It was personal.”
“Personal,” she said.
Claudette said, “Did you go see Blue? He do that to you?”
“I said it’s nothing. Just leave it, okay?”
“Who’s Blue?” Crissa said.
Claudette folded her arms, scratched her elbow. “It’s a long story.”
“I’m here,” Crissa said. “Tell it.”
* * *
They sat at a concrete table on the far side of the building, near the bottom of the stairwell closest to 216. No windows on this side of the building, and no parking. Just a Dumpster with a stained mattress leaning against it, out of sight of the rest of the rooms.
Crissa faced the parking lot, Claudette and Roy on the other side. When they were done talking, Claudette got out her cigarettes and lighter.
“Let me get one of those,” Roy said, and she gave him the pack. He poked inside it, came out with a bent cigarette, used the lighter, set it back down. Claudette picked up the pack, shook it. There was nothing left inside but loose tobacco.
“How much do you owe them?” Crissa said.
He drew on the cigarette, his foot tapping the concrete. “Enough.”
“How much?”
“What’s it matter?”
“Roy,” Claudette said.
“Because I might be able to help you,” Crissa said. “And I mean might.”
“And why would you do that?” he said.
“Don’t misunderstand. If I do, it’ll be for that little girl. Not for either of you.”
“What if we don’t want your help?”
“Then I’ll be on my way,” she said. She stood.
“Hold on,” Claudette said.
>
“You two are wasting my time. You need to make a decision here.”
“I’m sorry,” Claudette said. “We told you most of it.”
Crissa sat back down, looked at Roy. “Give me a figure.”
He scratched his neck. “Three thousand. Thereabouts.”
“You told me it was two,” Claudette said.
“It was,” he said. “Then.”
“How long have you been dealing for them?” Crissa said.
“Not that long,” he said. “A few months.”
“What kind of pills?”
“Just O-Bombs,” he said. “That’s it. No hard stuff.”
“O-Bombs?”
“Opies,” Claudette said. “Opana. Painkillers.”
“The old ones are the good ones,” he said. “New ones aren’t as strong. But Blue and Jackson got a deep stash. People pay forty bucks a pop for those. Sometimes more.”
“How many did you lose?”
“Maybe a hundred. Nothing I could do. The cops were all over this place that day, busting people for anything. I tossed the bag into one of the planters, figured I’d go back and get it after they left. But the cops found it, first thing.”
“And Blue didn’t believe you.”
“He didn’t give a shit one way or another. He just wants his money.”
“What did you expect?” Crissa said.
“It wasn’t my fault.”
A palmetto bug landed on the table, started to crawl across, antennae waving. Claudette backed away from it. Crissa flicked it off the table with a finger.
“So what happens next?” she said.
“I don’t know,” he said.
Claudette said, “Tell us about the money.”
“How much meth you doing?”
“What?” Claudette said.
“Meth. The two of you are crawling out of your skins. You dealing it, too?”
“No,” he said. “I swear.” He crossed his heart. “Just the pills. Nothing heavy. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t get involved in that.”
“You give us the money,” Claudette said, “and maybe we can settle all this. We can get out of here, too, find a different place to live. Someplace better for Haley.”
Crissa sat back, crossed her arms, knowing what they were doing, using the girl against her, thinking only about that money.
“We need that cash,” Claudette said. “It’s mine anyway. That’s what Larry wanted. That’s what you told me.”
“Yeah,” Roy said. “If it’s hers, it’s hers, right?”
To Claudette, she said, “You have any other family around here?”
“Family?”
“Parents? Brothers, sisters?”
“I have a sister, but we haven’t talked in a while. She and Roy don’t get along.”
“I’m shocked,” Crissa said. “Where does she live?”
“Up in St. Augustine Beach. South of Jacksonville.”
“How far’s that from here?”
“Driving? Three hours, maybe four.”
“But I’m betting you don’t have a car, right?”
“Not at the moment,” Claudette said.
“What’s your sister do?”
“She’s a nursing supervisor at a hospital up there.”
“She’s a stuck-up bitch,” Roy said.
Crissa looked at him, then back at Claudette. “She married, have kids?”
“Mike, her husband, passed away last year. No kids. Why?”
“With all this going on, you might want to think about taking Haley up there for a while, wait for things to blow over.”
“We don’t need to do that,” he said. “If I can pay off Blue, everything will be fine. Nobody has to go anywhere.”
“You really believe that?” Crissa said.
“Why not?”
Crissa shook her head. “You’re something, you two.”
“It’s not my fault,” he said. “I’m just trying to provide for my family, keep it all together, you know? I caught a bad break.”
Crissa looked to the west. The clouds were closer now, the color of scorched pewter. She thought of Haley upstairs, wondered if she was scared of thunder.
“So what about the money?” Claudette said.
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
“Why are you playing me like this? This isn’t right. It’s my money, isn’t it?”
“I’d like to come by tomorrow, take Haley out for a couple hours, if it’s okay with you. Get her away from this place for a little while. When I get back, we’ll talk.”
“You think I’m a bad mother, is that it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You have kids?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Who are you to judge me? You don’t know what kind of mother I am. I love Haley. She’s all I’ve got in the world. And I’m all she’s got.”
“I know,” Crissa said, and stood. “And that’s the problem, isn’t it?”
FOURTEEN
Burke looked up at the burned-out house. The roof had caved, and the second-floor windows showed daylight. All the first-floor windows were gone, the outer walls scorched and blackened. The air smelled of smoke, burnt plastic, and dampness. Yellow crime scene tape was strung across the front door.
“Rain kept the fire down,” Rico said behind him. He was leaning against his Crown Vic, arms folded. “Would have burned to the ground otherwise.”
Burke walked up the driveway, cinders crunching under his shoes. In the backyard were three burned-out cars, seared and twisted metal sitting on rims, tires melted off. A garage, open and empty, was black with smoke but intact.
Rico came up the driveway behind him. “With all those cars, fire-rescue thought there were more people in there. Turned out to only be one. Homicide ran plates and VINs, though. Two of them were stolen, and the one on the end there”—he pointed—“is a rental.”
“They get an ID on the body?”
“Not yet. They’ll do dental X-rays, DNA. See if they can find a match in the system. Might take months for all that, though. ME says he was dead before the fire started. Half a dozen GSWs, at least two to the head.”
Burke got out his cigarettes, lit one. “Someone covering their tracks.”
“Could be. Thing is though, all the way out here, if it hadn’t been for the fire, nobody might have found him at all. Fire’s what called attention to it. Half the houses around here probably have bodies in them.”
Burke looked around. The bushes lining the driveway were black and stubbed, but the house next door was untouched.
“Fire call came in a couple hours after that drive-by you were asking about,” Rico said. “Then a Shots Fired call same night, same neighborhood. Nobody checked it out ’til the next day, though. That’s when they found the other one. Two bodies, GSWs, same block. Not too hard to put that together.”
“Where was the other one?”
“’Round the way.”
“Show me.”
They went back down the driveway to the street.
“You asked me to keep my ears open,” Rico said. “’Case I heard anything else might be fallout from that drive-by. If this shit don’t look like fallout, I don’t know what does.”
At the corner lot, Burke saw the stone wall that bordered the property, the dark smear down the side. He moved into the trees, Rico staying on the sidewalk. Near the wall, the ground had been kicked up, indentations in dried mud. The dark patch on the wall was blood.
“Someone came this way,” he said. “They were hurting, too, bleeding. Take a look.”
“Fuck that noise. These are Bruno Maglis. You want to play detective, do it your own self.”
Burke squatted, looked at the blood, then the dried tracks. Two sets, one smaller than the other. Both led toward a chain-link fence. On the other side was a low white building, crime scene tape stretched along its front.
“That the place?” Burke said.
“City garage. No one uses it anymore. Unis got here, saw the lock on the gate broken, went in to check it out. Found the body.”
Burke walked to the fence. Halfway up, a patch of chain-link was rust red. More blood. Someone running on adrenaline, Burke thought, to climb a fence like that with a bullet in them.
“Way it looks,” Rico said, “some shit went down in that house. Mutual disagreement. Caps get popped, both men get hit. Last man standing torches the place, makes a run for it, ends up in there.” He nodded at the garage.
“Maybe,” Burke said. Thinking, two people came through that yard, and only one dead in the garage. That meant another man in the wind. Or a woman.
He walked back toward Rico. “Any ID with this one?”
“No.”
“They do fingerprints?”
“They did.”
“And?”
Rico didn’t respond.
“What?” Burke said. “That three hundred I gave you wasn’t enough to put us on good terms?”
“This shit gets expensive. And word is you’re back working for Marquis on this one. Word is he’s paying good, too.”
“Word is bullshit. This guy got a sheet?”
“That,” Rico said, “is the part you’re gonna like.” He patted his coat pocket.
Burke smiled. “Slick Rick, as always.”
“Now you glad I called you?”
“I’ll go a C-note more for the sheet. Another hundred when you get me what you can on the one in the house.”
“That could work. For now. But you got something bigger going on, maybe you should consider cutting your old partner in.”
“Nothing to cut right now. Let’s see what you got.”
Rico took a sheaf of folded paper from his pocket, held it out. Burke took it, opened it. The top page was a color printout of a booking photo. A hard-looking man in his forties, hair swept back, head cocked, eyefucking the photographer. Lawrence Vernon Black, with four pages of history, an arrest record going back to 1977. Armed robbery. Fraud. Assault with intent. He’d done a three-year bid in the Missouri State Penitentiary from ’89 to ’91 on a hijacking charge. But no arrests in the last four years, and no convictions in ten. He’d retired, or learned how not to get caught.
“What’s a white boy like that doing all the way out here?” Rico said.
“Good question.” Burke looked through the pages. Vital statistics, aliases, previous addresses. The most recent one was in Winter Park, Florida.
Shoot the Woman First Page 11