Devil's Waltz
Page 31
“Sure is, Robert. Ninety whole days, and think about this: Your record, even a little weed could put you away for two, three times that long. Think of three hundred cold days— that was a lot of grass in your trunk.”
Gabray looked at the photo, turned his head, and smoked.
“It wasn’t mine. The weed.”
Milo’s turn to laugh. “That gonna be your defense?”
Gabray frowned, pinched his cigarette, sucked smoke through it. “You’re saying you can help me?”
“Depends on what you come up with.”
“I seen her.”
“With a guy?”
Nod.
“Tell me the whole thing, Robert.”
“That’s it.”
“Tell it like a story. Once upon a time.”
Gabray snickered. “Yeah, sure. Once upon a time . . . I seen her with a guy. The end.”
“In the club?”
“Outside.”
“Where outside?”
“Like . . . a block away.”
“That the only time you saw her?”
Gabray contemplated. “Maybe I seen her another time, inside.”
“Was she a regular?”
“Whatever.”
Milo sighed and patted the barkeep’s shoulder. “Robert, Robert, Robert.”
Gabray flinched with each mention of his name. “What?”
“That’s not much of a story.”
Gabray ground out his cigarette and produced another. He waited for Milo to light it and when that didn’t happen, pulled out a book of matches and did it himself.
“I seen her maybe one more time,” he said. “That’s it. I only worked there a couple of weeks.”
“Trouble holding down a job, Robert?”
“I like to move around, man.”
“A ramblin’ guy.”
“Whatever.”
“Twice in a couple of weeks,” said Milo. “Sounds like she enjoyed the place.”
“Fuckheads,” said Gabray with sudden passion. “All a them, rich dumb fucks, coming down to play street-life, then running back to Rodeo Drive.”
“Dawn Herbert come across as a rich bitch?”
“They’re all the same, man.”
“Ever talk to her?”
Alarm in the barkeep’s eyes. “Nah. Like I said, I only seen her once, maybe twice. That’s it. I didn’t know her from shit— I had nothing to do with her and nothing to do with that.” Pointing at the photo.
“You’re sure about that.”
“Real sure. Really real sure, man. That is not my thing.”
“Tell me about seeing her with this guy.”
“Like I said, once upon a time I was working there and once upon a time I went to take a smoke and seen her. Only reason I remembered was ’cause a the guy. He wasn’t one a them.”
“One of who?”
“The fuckheads. She was, but not him. He, like, stood out.”
“Stood out how?”
“Straight.”
“Businessman?”
“Nah.”
“What then?”
Gabray shrugged.
“Was he wearing a suit, Robert?”
Gabray smoked hard and thought. “Nah. Kinda like you— Sears Roebuck, that kind of jacket.” Drawing his hands across his waist.
“A windbreaker?”
“Yeah.”
“What color?”
“I dunno— dark. It was a long—”
“Time ago,” said Milo. “What else was he wearing?”
“Pants, shoes, whatever. He looked like you.” Smile. Smoke.
“In what way?”
“I dunno.”
“Heavyset?”
“Yeah.”
“My age?”
“Yeah.”
“My height?”
“Yeah.”
“Same hair as me?”
“Yeah.”
“You have two dicks?”
“Ye— Huh?”
“Cut the crap, Robert. What was his hair like?”
“Short.”
“Bald or a full head?”
Gabray frowned and touched his own bare dome. “He had hair,” he said grudgingly.
“Beard or mustache?”
“I dunno. It was far.”
“But you don’t remember any facial hair?”
“No.”
“How old was he?”
“I dunno— fifty, forty, whatever.”
“You’re twenty-nine and he was much older than you?”
“Eight. Next month I’m twenty-nine.”
“Happy birthday. He was older than you?”
“A lot older.”
“Old enough to be your father?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Nah— not old enough. Forty, forty-five.”
“Hair color?”
“I dunno— brown.”
“Maybe or definitely?”
“Probably.”
“Light or dark brown?”
“I dunno. It was nighttime.”
“What color was her hair?”
“You got the picture there.”
Milo shoved the photo in the barkeep’s face. “Is this what she looked like when you saw her?”
Gabray pulled back and licked his lips. “Uh-uh— it was . . . her hair was different.”
“Sure it was,” said Milo. “It was sitting on an intact skull.”
“Yeah— no— I mean the color. You know, yellow. Real yellow— like scrambled eggs. You could see it in the light.”
“She was under a light?”
“I guess . . . yeah. The two a them were— a streetlight. Just for a sec, till they heard me and split.”
“You didn’t tell the other detectives about any light.”
“They didn’t ask.”
Milo lowered the picture. Gabray smoked and looked away.
Milo said, “What were Ms. Herbert and this straight-looking guy doing under the light?”
“Talking.”
“His hair wasn’t blond?”
“I told you, hers was. You could see it, man— it was like a . . . banana.” Gabray chuckled.
“And his was brown.”
“Yeah. Hey, if this is so important, how come you’re not writing it down?”
“What else do you remember about him, Robert?”
“That’s it.”
“Middle-aged, dark windbreaker, dark hair. That’s not much to trade with, Robert.”
“I’m telling you what I saw, man.”
Milo turned his back on Gabray and looked at me. “Well, we tried to help him.”
“You got someone, like tight?” said the bartender.
Milo kept his back turned. “What do you mean, Robert?”
“Tight case, man. I don’t want to be telling you something and have some dude walk on some Miranda or something and come looking for me, you know?”
“You haven’t told me much, Robert.”
“You got someone tight?”
Milo pivoted slowly and faced him. “What I got is you, Robert, trying to jerk me around, withholding evidence on top of that brick in your trunk. I figure six months minimum— get the wrong judge, you might even be talking a year or so.”
Gabray held out his hands. “Hey, I just don’t want someone walking and coming after me. This guy was . . .”
“What?”
Gabray was silent.
“This guy was what, Robert?”
“A con— okay? He looked like serious business. A hard-case.”
“You could tell that from far away?”
“Some things you can tell, okay? The way he stood, I dunno. He had these shoes— big and ugly, like you get in the joint.”
“You could see his shoes?”
“Not up close— the light. But they were big— I seen shoes like that before. Whaddya want from me— I’m trying to help.”
“Well, Robert, don’t you worry. There’s no o
ne in custody.”
“What if?” said Gabray.
“What if what?”
“I tell you and ’cause a that you bust him? How do I know he’s not gonna get out and come looking for me?”
Milo held up the photo again. “Look what he did, Robert. What do you think? We’re gonna let him walk?”
“That don’t mean nothing to me, man. I don’t have confidence in the system.”
“That so?”
“Yeah. I see guys all the time, do bad stuff and walk on technos.”
“Tsk, tsk,” said Milo. “What’s this world coming to? Listen, genius, we find him, he won’t walk. And you tell me something that’ll help me find him, you’ll walk too. With brownie points. Hell, Robert, all the points you’ll have, you’ll be able to screw up a couple more times and coast.”
Gabray smoked and tapped his foot and frowned.
“What is it, Robert?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Ah.” To me: “Let’s be real quiet.”
“His face,” said the bartender. “I seen it. But just for a second.”
“That so? Was he angry or anything?”
“Nah, just talking to her.”
“And what was she doing?”
“Listening. I thought when I saw it: this punk cunt’s listening to Mr. Straight. Don’t make sense.”
“Mr. Con.”
“Yeah. But he still didn’t fit the scene— all you see down there at that hour is freaks and beaners and niggers. And cops— I thought first that he was a cop. Then I thought that he looked like a con. Same difference.”
“What was he talking to her about?”
“I couldn’t hear it, man! It was—”
“Was he holding anything?”
“Like what?”
“Like anything.”
“You mean like to hurt her with? Nothing I saw. You really think he’s the one did her?”
“What did his face look like?”
“Regular . . . uh, kinda . . . square.” Gabray put the cigarette in his mouth and used his hands to frame a wobbly quadrangle. “A regular face.”
“Complexion?”
“He was white.”
“Pale, swarthy— on the dark side?”
“I dunno, just a white guy.”
“Same color as her?”
“She had on makeup— that real white shit they like? He was darker than that. Regular white. Normal.”
“Eye color?”
“I was too far away for that, man.”
“How far?”
“I dunno, half a block.”
“But you could see his shoes?”
“Maybe it was closer . . . I seen ’em. But I didn’t see no eye color.”
“How tall was he?”
“Taller than her.”
“Taller than you?”
“Uh . . . maybe. Not much.”
“What’re you?”
“Five ten.”
“So he was what, five eleven or six feet?”
“Guess so.”
“Heavy build?”
“Yeah, but not fat, you know.”
“If I knew I wouldn’t be asking you.”
“Heavy— big— you know— like from working out. On the yard.”
“Muscular.”
“Yeah.”
“Would you remember this guy if you saw him again?”
“Why?” Another alarm flash. “You do got someone?”
“No. Would you remember him if you saw his picture?”
“Yeah, sure.” Flippantly. “I got a good memory. Put him in a lineup and I’ll give you a beaucoup ID, you treat me good.”
“You trying to hustle me, Robert?”
Gabray smiled and shrugged. “Taking care of biz.”
“Well,” said Milo, “let’s take care of some now.”
• • •
We took Gabray across the rear lot, walked through a rubble-filled ditch on the east side of the building, and got back on the street. The line at the front door hadn’t shrunk much. This time the bouncer noticed as we walked by.
Gabray said, “Yo, fuckin’ King Kong,” under his breath.
Milo said, “The guy with Ms. Herbert as big as James?”
Gabray laughed. “No— no way. That’s not human. That they got outa the fuckin’ zoo.”
Milo pushed him forward, questioning him all the way to the car without extracting anything further.
“Nice wheels,” said Gabray when we stopped at the Seville. “Get it from impound or something?”
“Hard work, Robert. That old Protestant ethic.”
“I’m Catholic, man. Used to be, anyway. All of that religion shit’s bullshit.”
Milo said, “Shut up, Robert,” and opened the trunk.
He removed the hard-shell case, put Gabray in the rear seat of the car, and got in next to him, leaving the door open for light. I stood outside and watched him open the case. Inside was a book that said IDENTIKIT. Milo showed Gabray transparencies with facial features drawn on them. Gabray selected some and put them together. When he was finished, a bland-looking Caucasian face gazed up. A face out of a Dick and Jane primer. Someone’s dad.
Milo stared at it, fixed it in place, wrote something down; then he had Gabray designate spots on a street map with a yellow marker. After a few more questions, he got out of the car. Gabray followed. Despite the warm breeze, the barkeep’s bare shoulders were fuzzed with goose bumps.
“Okay?” he said.
“For the time being, Robert. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, but I’m gonna anyway: Don’t change addresses. Stay where I can reach you.”
“No prob.” Gabray started to walk away.
Milo blocked him with a straight-arm. “Meanwhile, ‘I’m gonna be writing letters. One to your P.O. saying you worked here without telling him, another to Mr. Fahrizad and his buddies informing them you finked on them and that’s why the fire department’s closing them down, and a third to the IRS telling them you’ve been taking cash for God knows how long and not declaring it.”
Gabray bent at the waist as if seized by a cramp. “Oh, man—”
“Plus a report to the prosecutor on your weed thing, letting him know you were uncooperative and obstructive and a poor risk for plea bargain. I don’t like writing letters, Robert. Writing letters makes me grumpy. If I have to waste my time looking for you, I’m gonna get even grumpier and all of those letters get hand-delivered. You behave yourself, I tear them up. Comprende?”
“Aw, man, that’s rude. I been strai—”
“No problems if you behave yourself, Robert.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.”
“Will you?”
“Yeah, yeah. Can I go now? I gotta work.”
“Are you hearing me, Robert?”
“I’m hearing. Stay in one place, be a fucking boy scout. No jamming, no scamming. Okay? Can I go?”
“One more thing, Robert. Your lady.”
“Yeah?” said Gabray, in a hard voice that turned him into something more than a sniveling loser. “What about her?”
“She’s gone. Flew the coop. Don’t even think about going after her. And especially don’t think about hurting her for talking to me. Because I woulda found you anyway. You’ve got no gripe with her.”
Gabray’s eyes widened. “Gone? What the— whaddya mean?”
“Gone. She wanted out, Robert.”