“Coffee’ll be ready in a minute,” Molly said.
She led Maureen into the dining room, where Waters sat at the table, his own paper cup of diner coffee in front of him. He looked worse than any of them, as if he hadn’t slept in days, far beyond the help of that small, pathetic coffee cup. He gave Maureen his best empty, professional smile. “Good morning.”
“Is it?” Maureen asked.
Waters’s smile died. “No, not really.”
“Don’t even.”
“Your mom is fine. This isn’t about her.”
“You cop people fucking love waking me up,” John said, shuffling through the dining room and into the kitchen. “Figured you’d have learned from the last time.”
“I’m not here for you,” Waters said.
“Pour three,” Molly called into the kitchen. She set the bag of bagels on the table. No one reached for them.
“Everyone drinks black?” John said from the kitchen. Not waiting for an answer: “Good.”
“Milk and sugar are in here already,” Molly said. She turned to Maureen. “You see why I hoped he wouldn’t wake up.”
“Is he always like this?” Maureen asked.
“Nah,” Molly said. “He’s being nice this morning because we have company. I’m not kidding. Think about that before you rush out and bring one home.”
John brought coffee to Maureen and Molly. He stood over Waters. “Well? Whadda you want?”
Waters held up his cup. “Yeah, I’ll take a refill.”
“I live to serve,” John said, but he took the cup into the kitchen and topped off Waters’s coffee.
“Now go outside and smoke a cigarette,” Molly said.
“Mol,” John said, setting Waters’s coffee on the table. “This is serious. Waters is here.”
Molly pointed over John’s shoulder into the kitchen, at the side door. “Out. Go. We’ll survive without you for five minutes. We need you human.”
John took a deep breath, held it for a minute, exhaled. He stepped into an old pair of sneakers by the front door, cast one last forlorn look at the dining room, and went outside.
Over his shoulder, Waters watched John go out. “Not fully housebroken?”
“He does the best he can,” Molly said.
Waters gestured at the other chairs. “Sit. Please.”
Molly sat at the head of the table, Maureen across from Waters.
“I talked to your mother earlier,” Waters said, “before she went to work. And then I followed her there. She’s worried, naturally, but she’s fine. Nothing happened at the house overnight.”
“We getting any closer,” Maureen asked, “to getting me out of this?”
“I need to ask you some questions,” Waters said, digging his notebook out of his overcoat. He patted his pockets in search of a pen. He was acting like he hadn’t heard Maureen ask him something.
She cast a quick glance at Molly, who, chin resting in her palm, watched her kitchen door and very intentionally showed her back to the table. Maybe Waters had told her about the gym and Molly was pissed Maureen had taken the risk. But did he even know about that? Or was it Waters that Molly wouldn’t look at? Regardless, she was listening. She was paying close attention, focused, not distracted like Waters. Molly squeezed her coffee mug so hard Maureen thought it might burst.
“What?” Maureen asked, watching Molly. “What’s going on?”
Waters flipped open his notepad. He tapped his knuckles on the table to get her attention. “Maureen, have you ever heard of the Black Garter Saloon?”
Maureen snapped back to Waters. This was certainly not the question she expected. And that knocking on the table, what was that about? “I know it by reputation. It’s a low-class strip joint. Down the south end of the island by the Arthur Kill, where all the old boats are.” Waters scribbled on his pad as she talked. “Everyone in service knows it, it’s kind of the end of the line in the business, the last stop.” Maureen straightened in her chair, trying to see what Waters was writing. “It’s a real dive. Not my kind of place.”
“What about your friend Tanya?” Waters asked. “You think she knows anything about it?”
Maureen looked again to Molly, still giving the table a stony profile, then back at Waters. “Not that I know of. She never mentioned it to me.” She growled at herself. She should’ve been at the house when Waters arrived. “Why? Have you heard from her? Did you find her?”
“So Tanya never worked there,” Waters said. “Or hung out there, even? Did she know anyone who did either of those things?”
“I don’t know,” Maureen said. “I don’t think so. A couple of days ago, I would’ve said no way. But now, after that situation with her and Dennis?” Molly got up from the table in a huff. Maureen watched her storm into the kitchen. “But stripping? I don’t see the point. And from what I heard, you can’t even get decent drugs at the Garter.” Molly leaned out the side door and called to John. “The Garter wouldn’t make any sense for Tanya. All she has to do is walk into the room to get what she wants.”
Letting the storm door slam closed, Molly came back to the dining room. John stayed outside. Waters ignored her.
“Tell me what you know,” Maureen said. “Please.”
Waters flipped through a few pages in his book. Maureen wanted to leap across the table, snatch up that book, and shred it in his face. Waters wouldn’t look at her. “Do you have anything to do with the place? Have you ever? Do you know anyone who does or did?”
“No, to both,” Maureen said. “Or all four, or whatever. I wouldn’t have anything to do with anyone mixed up in that hole.”
“Tell me about Clarence,” Waters said, eyes on his notes, like he knew not looking at Maureen made her crazy. Even at work, customers ordering without doing her the simple courtesy of meeting her eyes left her wishing for talons on the ends of her fingers.
“Do you know him well?” Waters asked. “Very well, even?”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Why won’t you look at me?”
“Like if I asked, what’s Clarence to you: friend, co-worker, acquaintance, more, less, something else entirely? What would your answer be?”
When Waters finally lifted his eyes to hers, Maureen just blinked back at him, unbalanced by the shifting subjects and the aggressive questioning. Since she’d sat at the table, his whole demeanor had changed; he was a different person. Maureen was reminded of Sebastian’s performance outside Dennis’s apartment, his effortless shifting of faces. That was not Nat Waters the benevolent protector sitting across the table from her. She was talking to Detective Waters, the cool, indifferent investigator. Was he gonna cuff her to the table now, start offering her sodas and cigarettes? This was a side of him she should’ve been anticipating, been ready to confront. He’d caught her with her guard down, like Sebastian had surprised her outside the Narrows the night all of this shit had started. After all she’d been through, how had she let that happen? That time or this one.
Maureen bit down on the tip of her tongue, thinking. Clarence. Tanya. The Black Garter. Which were the real questions? Where was he trying to lead her? To the gym? Maybe. Probably. Was it important in some way that she admit what she’d done before he accused her? There was probably no news about Tanya, Maureen decided. Waters was using the subject to soften her up. But if the gym was not what he wanted to discuss, she didn’t want to lead him there. Growing up under fierce and frequent questioning from her mother, who would’ve made a hell of a cop herself, Maureen had fallen victim to that approach too often. So she’d avoid admitting anything about earlier that morning for as long as she could.
She offered Waters what she hoped was a guileless shrug. He wasn’t the only one with a job that taught him to play a part. She could play dumb as skillfully as Waters could act the tough guy. “I know Clarence about as well as I know anyone at the Narrows, I guess. Not very well. Sorry.”
Waters tossed his notepad on the table and then his pen, which rolled off the side. Nobo
dy moved to pick it up. “Of course that’s your answer. Why’d I even ask?”
Part of the act, Maureen wondered, or genuine frustration? She raised her shoulders. “What? What the fuck did I do? Am I in some kind of trouble?” A rueful grin curled one corner of her mouth. “You know, more trouble than I’m in already.”
Waters didn’t smile back. “You tell me.”
Maureen felt icy water trickling down her spine and pooling in her gut. She licked her lips. Shit. She’d left Clarence and a pissed-off Sebastian alone together. Sound familiar? She crossed her arms and legs, settled her eyes on a corner of the ceiling. Stay calm, Maureen told herself. Someone, maybe Molly or maybe her brother, had painted over a shapeless water stain. There was, or had been, a leak in the roof. Clarence hadn’t seen anything incriminating, Maureen thought. He did no business with Sebastian, as far as she knew. But like she had just admitted about Tanya, the past few days had proved she didn’t know shit about the people in her orbit, people she saw daily. So, truthfully, who knew what the hell Sebastian and Clarence got up to? Maureen took some comfort that, at least physically, Clarence was no Dennis. He could handle himself. No one was getting his hands around that throat, not without a small army or a serious weapon. Both of which were only a phone call away for Sebastian.
John stood behind Molly’s chair. “What’d I miss?”
“The Black Garter, John,” Molly said. “You know it? The detective here is struggling.”
“The Garter?” John said. “There’s not a guy my age on the island that doesn’t know it. Place is infamous. It’s over by the water, near the old Atlantic train station. Middle of nowhere.” He sipped his coffee. “Christ, I can’t believe I ever went in there in anything less than a HAZMAT suit. Ugliest strippers I ever saw.”
“And you’ve seen your share?” Waters asked.
“Of strippers or ugly?” John asked. He looked around the room. He set his hand on Molly’s shoulder. “Oh, come on now. Don’t act all surprised.”
Nobody laughed. Maureen studied the others. Surely this early morning powwow hadn’t been convened to discuss shit-hole saloons and ugly strippers. John, she decided, was in the dark like her. Uncomfortable with being left out, he was fumbling for information, trying to tease it out of a reluctant audience with bad jokes and bartender charm. But Molly and Waters, they knew something. Hiding it was making Molly hostile. She was so angry, or was it scared, that she vibrated with the fight to control herself. Waters was aggravating and insulting, Maureen thought, but looking at Molly made her afraid.
“What’re you asking me for, anyway?” John said. “That place has been a cop hangout since the day the doors opened.”
“Really? ’Cause I asked around the precinct,” Waters said. He offered an exaggerated, sarcastic shrug. A gesture not very different, Maureen noted, from the one she’d just made. “Not much of a response.”
“Ask harder,” John said. “Cops live in there. At least they did back in the day when I was hanging around. They were out of uniform, of course.” He smirked. “Must’ve been undercover.” John slurped his coffee again, staring at Waters over the rim of the mug. He had the devil in his eyes. Waters had irked him in some way, the jokes, the dismissive shrug, maybe the early hour or the invasion of Molly’s space. “I’m surprised you had to ask about it.”
“Meaning what?”
“You’ve been in there.”
“Never,” Waters said. “Of course not.”
“Sure you have. And not for an arrest.”
“Are you saying you saw me?” Waters asked. “Because I don’t think that’s possible.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” John said. “I can barely remember being there myself, but still, you know, not even some years ago?” John looked everyone over. “C’mon, we’re all friends here. Like I said, there’s not a man on the island who doesn’t—”
“I’m not your age,” Waters said. “And I say I’ve never been in there. Are you gonna say that I’m a liar?”
“Of course not,” John said, hiding his mouth with his coffee mug. Antagonizing Waters, Maureen decided, was John’s way of sticking up for Molly. “Fair enough. I stand corrected. You’ve never been. I was just trying to, you know, lighten the mood. Since we’re all opening up here.”
Waters, his face now blotchy with red, stared John down. Maureen looked back and forth between the two men. Why the lie? she wondered. Waters was lying about the Garter, either about his fellow cops or about going himself. He was lying about something. She was sure of it. John knew it, too. She’d waited on cops who had tried late at night to talk her into a trip over there. She’d heard others tell stories about the place. Maureen racked her brain for some connection between Tanya, Clarence, and the Garter, but she came up empty.
“I want to know,” Maureen said, “what happened to Clarence.”
“Did Clarence ever talk to you about the Black Garter?” Waters asked.
“I told you,” Maureen said. “I don’t know anything about that place.” She was losing her patience. “Or Clarence, for that matter.” Maureen took a long swallow of coffee. She cleared her throat. “If you need to know about Clarence so bad, go see him at the gym. I can tell you where it is. He’s there every day. Those things I know. Anything else, go detect.”
“I was there yesterday,” Waters said. “I talked to him early this morning. I’ve talked to Clarence a lot over the past two days.”
“Then what’re you killing me with questions for?” Maureen asked, her voice rising. “Christ.” Fine, the truth was out, Maureen had taken matters into her own hands. Big deal. Let Waters slap the cuffs on her for assault, or battery, or whatever you called what she’d done at the gym. She’d call it self-defense.
Waters took a deep breath. “Maureen, we think Tanya’s dead. That’s what I talked to Clarence about this morning.” He checked his watch. “I talked to him in his driveway about two hours ago.”
Maureen slapped both hands over her mouth. Oh, no. Oh, God, no. This shit is serious, Clarence had said. And she’d thought he meant her confronting Sebastian in his place. “What makes you say you think?”
“Last night we found a woman,” Waters said, “a body, floating in the harbor. Offshore from Cargo, washed up against the rocks right across the street, a location that means something to you, Maureen. Homeless guy gave us the location after a patrol picked him up breaking into cars. She was naked, so no ID was found but she fits the description. Fits it really well, I’m afraid.”
“But you don’t know for sure,” Maureen said. She felt light-headed. Her breathing was fast and shallow. Was this what fainting felt like?
“We don’t,” Waters said. “Not absolutely.” He opened his pad again. “Listen, I’m sorry I came at you so hard. I had to see what you knew before I hit you with this. Now, I’m gonna share some things with you. About relationships between Clarence and Vic. And Sebastian. I need to know if you can shed any light on these things at all. Can you do that? I need to make connections so I can figure out what happened to Tanya.”
“If it’s her,” Maureen said.
Why was she even playing this game? She knew right down into her marrow that Tanya was dead. There weren’t other girls that looked like that. Girls that looked like Molly, maybe a few floated around. And Maureen saw herself everywhere. But Tanya, she was one of a kind.
“Right,” Waters said. “If it’s her.”
“I’ll listen,” Maureen said. She wanted to curl up under the table and stay there forever. “Other than that, I’m not making any promises.”
Waters folded his hands on the table. “Clarence told me that he went to Vic in the spring for some extra work. Vic sent him over to the Garter, where Vic’s friend Frank Sebastian has been in charge of security as long as anyone can remember. Cops or not, the Garter needs professionals, apparently. Clarence lasted about a month; he hated the place. Stop me when this rings any bells.” He waited. “He said some of the girls looked young. And rough. Very
young. Very rough.” He looked over at John. “Worse than just ugly.”
“News to me,” Maureen said. “All of it.”
She couldn’t look at Waters. She picked a spot on the dining room table and stared at it.
“Clarence saw Sebastian there that month he worked the door,” Waters said. “Saw him several times, heard from other employees that Sebastian had a special interest in the dancing girls. Clarence says he didn’t see any specific activity, but he did notice that every girl in the place jumped when he snapped his fingers, and none of them would look him in the eye. Ever. This was back before Sebastian got tapped for the campaign. Not long before, in fact, Mr. Carmine Valario, the guy he’s now looking to replace in the state senate, got busted with that dead underage stripper in Queens.”
“Whoa, whoa,” John said. “Hang on. Bells, I got bells. Mol, Maureen, you don’t remember this?”
“I’m not talking to you,” Waters said. “You’ve already overshared.”
Maureen glanced at Molly, then back at John. “Remember what?”
“The girl.” John snapped his fingers, over and over again, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “Christ, what was her name?”
“She was underage,” Molly said. “High school. Her name wasn’t released.”
“I know, I know,” John said, “but it went around the bars. It was something plain, simple. I can’t believe I can’t remember it.”
“It wasn’t long, anyway,” Waters said, “before everyone stopped talking about her.”
“Who?” Maureen asked. “Who are you talking about?”
“The girl Valario got caught with out in Queens,” John said. “She was from the island, Prince’s Bay, I think. It was such a big story. For a while, anyway. Like something out of a Scorsese movie. She cut her throat in the night. Valario woke up covered in her blood, screaming.” He paused, lifted a finger at Waters. “She worked at the Black Garter. That’s where Valario supposedly met her. Sebastian would’ve been working there then, too. He would’ve known her.”
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