Sarge tapped Trace on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you hit him when you had a chance?”
“My better nature showing through,” Trace said. “Besides, I thought it was be-kind-to-assholes week.”
“I won’t make that mistake,” Sarge said. He reached toward the table, yanked the lump of hash from Ferrara’s hands, and threw it into the pool.
“Why, you…” Ferrara jumped to his feet. He seemed to make a quick judgment about the inevitable outcome of mixing it with Sarge, because he suddenly bellowed, “Willie, get that.”
“Get it yourself,” Sarge said. He grabbed Ferrara by the neck and the seat of the pants and tossed him into the pool too.
“Bad form,” Trace said.
“I’m out of practice,” Sarge said.
Ferrara was splashing around, yelling for Parmenter to help. Felicia was laughing aloud. “He’s the only one with drugs,” she said. “Cops take him away, who cares?”
“I just hope he doesn’t leave an oil slick in your pool,” Trace said.
Ferrara clambered up the ladder on the far side of the pool. Parmenter gave him a hand up and Ferrara said, “Get my hash.”
“Yes, sir,” Parmenter said.
Ferrara, squishing water from his shoes, stomped off toward the house. Parmenter looked at the black lump in the pool for a few seconds, then went to a small utility shed and brought back a net to try to scoop it out. But the baron, powering by in the water above it, dived down, brought up the hashish, and dropped it on the deck in front of Parmenter.
“Thanks,” Willie said.
Hubbaker nodded, then dragged himself out onto the deck near Felicia’s chair and let out a big sigh.
“What have you done to get the police interested in you?” she asked.
“Wrong place at the wrong time. It’s all a mistake. Not to worry,” Hubbaker said.
“Felicia,” said Trace, “don’t you think that maybe you and Nash might put on some clothing?”
“Oh, yes. Good idea. I don’t know if Nash owns any, but maybe I can lend her something.” She walked into the house, followed by National Anthem, who looked confused.
They came back a few minutes later, wearing long terry-cloth robes. Sarge said, “I liked it better when they didn’t know the cops were coming.”
“Quiet, you dirty old man. Don’t you know you’re supposed to be a role model for me?” Trace said.
When Rosado arrived, Trace met him in front of the house and explained to him quickly about the eyewitness who had seen Hubbaker. “Of course, it’s not any positive identification yet,” Trace said, “but he admits he was there. He’s all yours now.”
“Trace, keep out of my face.”
Rosado talked for a while to Hubbaker, then asked him to accompany him downtown for formal questioning. When he left, the police officer said to Sarge, “That was good work, Mr. Tracy.”
“What are you going to do with him?” Sarge asked.
“Question him, then see,” Rosado said.
“We’ve got a saying in the N.Y.P.D.,” Sarge said.
“What’s that?”
“Fuck him, book him,” Sarge said.
When Trace and Sarge were leaving, Felicia invited Sarge to come back some night for dinner before he left town, and in the car driving back to Las Vegas Sarge said he might take the offer.
“It’ll just get you into trouble,” Trace said.
“Only if you drop a dime on me,” Sarge said.
“Not me. You know, I’m really confused about Hubbaker.”
“Why’s that?”
“I would have sworn he was the insurance detective,” Trace said.
“You told me the detective was a mystery man. Worked in secret?”
“That’s right.”
“Maybe Hubbaker is the guy and just didn’t want to tell us because it’d blow his cover. Maybe he’ll tell Rosado if he has to.”
“That’s possible,” Trace admitted, and the more he thought about it, the more sense he made.
Sarge let out a big sigh when he dropped Trace downtown in the parking lot where his son had left his white Mazda.
“You going back to your hotel now?” Trace asked.
“Not yet. I’ve got some things to do first.”
“There’s another cocktail reception at the Araby for Gone Fishing. I thought I’d stop in there and see how Chico’s holding up. Why don’t you come over when you’re done? Bring Mother. They’re serving free food.”
“Maybe I’ll do that. She’d be upset with me if I make her miss a free meal.”
“She’ll be upset with you anyway,” Trace said. “By the way, Sarge, good work today.” When he saw his father’s eyes glow, he added, “I didn’t know how good you really were.”
“I used to be all right, son,” Sarge said.
“Still are,” Trace said. “You can work with me anytime. Maybe we will start that agency. You can handle the East Coast and I’ll take the West.”
“I’d like it better the other way around. It’d get me out of the house more.”
“We’ll work on it,” Trace promised. He clapped the older man on the shoulder and got out of the car. His father was whistling as he drove off.
“So what’s the latest report from the front?” Trace asked. He was talking to Chico in the hospitality suite of Garrison Fidelity. The suite had just been opened, but already it was fuller than it had been the previous night. And there were more and better-looking women, which meant that some of the bachelors at the convention were in the process of getting lucky, Trace realized.
“Reasonably peaceful today,” Chico said. “No lockouts, no lost wives, nobody roughed up by hookers or crooked dealers. Did you get my note?”
“Apology accepted. Forget about it. I have,” he said.
“You’re very gracious today,” she said. “What happened to you?”
“Well, Sarge found a body and it was downhill after that.”
“Good for him,” she said. He was surprised at her reaction. “It must have made his day. Anybody I know?” she asked.
“R. J. Roberts,” Trace said. Briefly he recapped the day’s events for her, but when he finished, she was giggling.
“Honestly, Chico, I don’t think the day was a laughing matter. Murder. Questioned by the cops. Dan mad at me. I don’t find even a snicker there, much less a sustained giggle.”
“I’m just thinking of poor Walter Marks,” she said. “His big detective has his butt in the hoosegow. It’s going to ruin his week. When will you tell him?”
“Let him find out himself.”
“Good for you,” she said. “Have a drink.”
“I don’t believe you said that.”
“What would the end of the day’s work be if you couldn’t have a pop? Help yourself. I’ve got to be charming hostess. Cio-Cio-San, number-one lady helping all Melicans visiting our stlange city.” She steepled her hands in front of her and rocked her head from side to side in imitation of a geisha.
“Later, remind me to tell you how Sarge threw your Italian lover boy into the swimming pool.”
“I love it,” she said. “I absolutely love it.”
While Trace was getting a drink at the bar, Bob Swenson sidled up to him.
“I expected you to call this morning,” he said.
“What for?”
“To tell me mission accomplished,” Swenson said.
“I only call to say mission not accomplished.”
“Good. You’ve got my three grand back?”
“As soon as the check clears the bank,” Trace said,
“You took a check from a hooker?” Swenson said.
“No, it’s complicated. I took it from the guy who ran the hookers.”
“If the check doesn’t clear, we’ll sue the bastard. Can you sue a pimp?”
“Actually,” Trace said, “this wasn’t a pimp. It was a private detective, and you can’t sue him.”
“Why not?”
“His throat got cut,�
�� Trace said.
“You didn’t have to do that. Not even for three thousand dollars.”
“I didn’t do it,” Trace said, “but the cops took some convincing. They wanted to know why he had just written me a check for three K and then was killed.”
“What’d you tell them?”
“That I lent him the money and he was paying it back.”
“Trace, you’re an absolute gem. No way I’m going to be involved?”
“No way.”
“Remind me to give you a raise.”
“I’ll remind you when you’re sober. Just do me a favor,” Trace said. “Don’t pick up hookers in the bar. Ask me. Or a pit boss, Get a newspaper on the street and call a service. Not a hooker in the bar.”
“A temporary moment of madness, Trace. I won’t do it again.”
“No?” Trace said.
“No. National Velvet—”
“Anthem,” Trace corrected.
“Right. National Anthem and I are having dinner tonight. Tonight, I will not fail. Where donkeys have succeeded, can I do less?”
“‘There is no glory in outdoing donkeys,’” Trace said.
“I know that’s some obscure literary reference from your wasted youth.”
“Martial, Roman poet.”
“Screw him, what’d he know? He never saw National Anthem,” Swenson said.
At a little after six o’clock, Chico said, “The Good Ship Dreadnought has arrived.” Trace saw Sarge and Mrs. Tracy standing in the doorway. His mother had a tight set to her lips.
“From the looks of her, I think she might have tried to get into our apartment,” Trace said.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Chico said sweetly. “She did try. I thought I told you.”
“No, you didn’t tell me. What happened?”
“The concierge turned her away.”
“How do you know that?”
“She came here for lunch. She hoped she d see you.”
“Sorry I missed her,” Trace said.
“I didn’t,” Chico said. “You could tell how desperate she was because she even deigned to talk to me, rittle chopstick girl.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her that we had planted land mines inside our front door, and no, we did not appreciate her attempts to redo our apartment. That’s what she calls it. Redo. And if she tried to bust in one more time, I’d have her arrested for breaking and entry and you’d cosign the complaint.”
Trace chuckled. “Always the kidder,” he said. “What’d you really tell her?”
“Sorry, sport. That’s what I really told her. That and other things.”
“What other things?”
“That you personally threw her lavabo in the garbage. Lavabo. I shall wash. Her lavabo. I shall puke. That she put up that cheap nine-dollar piece of glazed crap over a thousand-dollar print that you personally bought at Christie’s. Are you paying attention to this?”
“I’m hanging on every word. Really hanging.”
“I just wanted to be sure I had your attention,” she said. “I told her further that putting that white monstrosity on our wall was the equivalent of hanging a bank calendar on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.”
“What did she sputter to all this?”
“She was almost civil. She said that she had once taken a correspondence course in decorating and that I had no taste.”
“And?” Trace asked.
“I told her that I didn’t know that Bette Midler ran a decorating school.”
Trace said, “Chico, I don’t think my mother’s ever going to welcome you into the family with open arms.”
“I’ll settle for closed arms and mouth to match,” she said.
“Hello, Chico,” Sarge said.
“Hi, Sarge. Heard you had a big day today.”
“Kind of. Son, Mother wants to speak to you.”
“I gather she wants to talk to just me and not to me and Chico.”
“I’d say you have gathered a very accurate gather,” Sarge said. “And when you get finished defusing her, we ought to talk business. I want to tell you what I’m up to.”
“Hang tough. It may take a while,” Trace said, and walked into the next room, where his mother stood belligerently in a corner, surveying the room like a farmer counting locusts.
“Hello, Mother, I’ve got to talk to you.”
“I didn’t think you had time to talk to me, Devlin. After all, why should you? I’m just your mother, and you and your father are so busy running all over this city, playing cops and Indians.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Mom, he’s driving me crazy. I can’t get any work done with him hanging around. My professional life is suffering, my personal life is in a shambles. If I don’t get him back to you, I don’t know what will become of me.”
“He seems to enjoy being with you,” she said warily.
“Why shouldn’t he? He makes a mess and I’ve got to clean it up after him,” Trace said. “I don’t know how you put up with him year after year. It’s…Well, it’s just more than I could tolerate.”
“It’s not been easy sometimes,” she allowed.
“You’ve the patience of a saint. But you’ve got to take him back.”
“You know, this is the first vacation I’ve had in years where I haven’t had to play nursemaid to him all the time,” she said. “Don’t you think I deserve some consideration too?”
“Oh, Mom. I—”
“No. You’re always thinking of yourself. Sure, you want him back with me. So that you and that woman can…well, do whatever it is you want. The trouble with you, Devlin, is that you’ve never understood family obligations. You have an obligation to me. Just like you have to your wife and children.”
“I’m pleading with you.”
“I think it’s nice that Patrick has a chance to be with you. Of course, he is a terrible pain. He is to me all the time, but don’t you think for just a few days a year, you could put up with it? I have to.”
Trace sighed. “I guess you’re right,” he said.
“You know I’m right. Just like I was right trying to do something about that hideous apartment of yours. It’s like living inside an ashtray.”
“You know what was wrong, Mother?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“You know my apartment’s hideous and I know it’s hideous. It’s just that I couldn’t, for the longest time, convince Chico it was hideous. And then, just last week, I finally got her to agree to have a decorator come in and redo the place. If was hard getting her to do that. And when you started redoing it, well, she just snapped. It was more than she could take. It was so hard to get her to accept Moe Ginzburg.”
“Moe Ginzburg?”
“Moe Ginzburg. Interior designer to the stars. He did Wayne Newton’s stable area. He’s one of the great decorators in America and he’s coming next week. You see, Mother, once we pay for it, then Chico will just have to go along with what he says. It’s just delicate sometimes, well, because she’s Oriental, you know. They can be very stubborn.”
“Don’t I know it?” his mother said. “Did you really throw away that lavabo?”
“Of course not,” Trace said. “I made believe I threw it away. I hid it in the closet. I’m sure it’s just what Moe will want to make my place perfect. And when he puts it up, why, Chico won’t be able to say a word.”
“I really don’t know why you have her around,” Mrs. Tracy said.
“It may not be for too much longer,” he said. “Her behavior today may just be the last straw.”
“It’s about time.”
“You know me, Mother. I’m not as good as you are about making quick judgments, but I’m coming around to your way of thinking. I mean, you’re right, after all.”
“I want your father to keep working with you.”
Trace sighed. “All right,” he said. “You know tomorrow’s my birthday?”
“I wouldn�
��t forget your birthday.”
“You know what I’m doing for my birthday?” he asked.
“No. What?”
“I’m coming over to pick you up in the morning and I’m going to show you a slot machine that pays off,” he said.
“I lost another ten dollars today,” she said.
“We’re all set,” Trace said. “You, Sarge, you keep working with me. Chico. She won’t be around to redo our apartment anymore. Now, what’s on your mind, Sarge?”
Chico made a T out of her fingers. “Time out,” she said. “How’d you work that miracle?”
“I reasoned with her,” Trace said.
Chico looked at him, then asked Sarge, “Do you believe him?”
“Him and the tooth fairy,” Sarge said.
“When you two are finished picking me apart, maybe we can discuss some business,” Trace said.
“Okay. I’m going to the airport tonight to try to get the manifest from Jarvis’ flight in. My guess is he’ll be on there under a phony name,” Sarge said.
“We talked about that,” Trace said. “Anything else?”
“And I made some calls to New York today. I may have something interesting pretty soon.”
“What kind of calls did you make?”
“I’ll tell you if they pan out,” Sarge said.
“I hate secrets,” Trace said.
“I love them,” Chico said.
“You two deserve each other,” Trace said.
“We both know it,” Chico said.
20
Trace spoke to Walter Marks before they left the cocktail party.
“Hello, Groucho. You look particularly dapper this evening. You borrow the suit from Tattoo?”
“Can the cute talk. What’s happening on the Jarvis case?”
“Things are breaking loose all the time. It’s probably just a matter of hours before the investigation roars to a successful conclusion. Pity, though.”
“What pity? What’s a pity?” Marks asked.
“That poor R. J. Roberts won’t be here to share in the glory.”
“Why not?”
“You haven’t heard?” Trace said. “You mean, you really haven’t heard? You mean, I’ve been here making small talk all evening with people I don’t even care about and you haven’t heard?”
And 47 Miles of Rope (Trace 2) Page 16