Dancing Made Easy (A Flap Tucker Mystery Book 4)

by Phillip DePoy

  “Flap.” He nodded. “I thought that was you.”

  “Daniel. You know Ms. Oglethorpe?”

  “Who doesn’t?” He was still ready for trouble, in case trouble was paying a visit.

  Dally just smiled and took the seat; the rest of us followed her lead.

  “Mr. Moskovitz —” I began.

  “Please. Foggy. We don’t know each other that well?”

  “I suppose we do.” Even though we’d only met a few times before, I was willing to believe he was just that friendly a guy. “And in response to your kindness, I won’t waste your time beating around the bush.”

  He liked that, you could see it on his face. He liked the respect it showed him. He was also quite enjoying his proximity to Ms. Oglethorpe — the envy, as he himself had previously established, of half the women in the world.

  “If it’s not too much trouble” — I didn’t want to risk undercutting our fine rapport by offending him now — “I’d like to ask you a few questions about our good friend Janey Finster.”

  Even though there were no windows in the room, I knew a cloud had passed overhead. The light in the room actually seemed to change. Foggy’s face lost some of its color. His voice, by the time he managed to find it again, had lost a little of its verve.

  “Janey.” That’s all. But it was a lengthy dirge when he said it.

  I waited for what I thought was the appropriate interval. “You’re going to her memorial service?”

  “No.” He shook his head slowly. “I would prefer to remember Janey the way I saw her last.”

  I launched. “And would that have been New Year’s Eve?”

  His head shot up, and his eyes locked mine — but he didn’t answer.

  “You know,” Dally rolled out casually, “Janey came over and spent a few nights with Flap after that incident.”

  “I know,” he said slowly, still locked on my eyes.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Daniel tense up, ready for a sign from Foggy.

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking.” I didn’t blink. “But if it has anything to do with taking out that gun you have inside your coat and popping me, or having Daniel do the same, let me just say that only night before last Mickey ‘the Pineapple’ Nichols tried the very same mode of communication. I will tell you what I told him. To wit: Go ahead and shoot. Bullets bounce off me. But this is a small room, and the ricochet might mess up the decor you’ve so carefully constructed or, God forbid, snag one of you or, even worse in my opinion, Ms. Oglethorpe here. We wouldn’t want that.”

  He still stared. “No. We wouldn’t want that. I have no inclination toward any such rudeness. I’m only wondering now if you might be here because you think I have something to do with Janey’s murder. Daniel’s also told me you’ve been overly friendly with a certain homicide detective recently.”

  I wasn’t surprised. Daniel was known as a man who could find out the color of the socks you wore last Thursday if he really wanted to know.

  I relaxed. “Well, Daniel certainly knows his stuff, as usual. But obviously you have something to do with Janey’s murder. So do I. We knew her, we were among the last to see her, and the person who did the crime might be somebody we know. Ninety-three percent of all homicides in this man’s city are committed by family or friends.”

  He nodded, relinquishing his gaze. “We’re a friendly town all right.”

  “So can we talk about it?”

  “I suppose so.” His posture eased.

  Daniel sat back.

  The tension left Dally’s face a little too, and we all shifted in our chairs.

  “Janey was at your New Year’s Eve party.” I thought I might as well just jump right in.

  “Yes.”

  “She was not invited.”

  “Oh.” He disagreed. “She was plenty invited. It was Mickey I didn’t particularly care to have there.”

  “You two do not see eye to eye.”

  “Unless” — he held up his famous, insistent finger — “it was where Janey was concerned. She was the apple of both sets of eyes, if I may use that phrase.”

  “You were sweet on Janey.” Dally jumped in.

  “Who wasn’t?” He shrugged.

  “So you were happy to see her at your party,” she went on.

  “Yes” — he wagged his head — “but I asked her to leave her gorilla outside. Which, may I say, did nothing to improve the aforementioned gorilla’s disposition, and he was drunk anyway, so.”

  “He had been drinking Hot Tom and Jerry,” I told Dally. “It’s a fine old recipe.”

  “But to return to the topic,” Foggy resumed, “Mick got worse as the night went on. I suppose I may have made it worse by dancing with Janey. Anyway, he eventually took a swing at me, as I am sure you have heard. Only I am fast and moved out of the way. This unfortunately was bad news for Jane —”

  “Who got clipped by Mickey’s wide swing —” I let Dally know.

  “And she got madder than I’ve ever seen her,” Foggy finished.

  “So you left the party — your own party — with her.” I just wanted to confirm the facts.

  “She wanted to get out,” he told me. “Who wouldn’t? I am nothing if not a gentleman. I offered her a ride home. She didn’t want to go home. She wanted to go somewhere Mickey could not find her, in his condition. I offered my place, but she wisely concluded that a thing of that sort would only make matters worse in the event Mick should find us. So it was decided that we roll on over to your pad.”

  Dally shot me a glance. “That was … what, the third time she’d come over to your place like that?”

  “I think,” I told her. “Mickey never seemed to guess where she was when she was with me.”

  “And she only stayed that night?” Dally said, mostly to see what Foggy’s reaction was, I guess. She knew Janey had stayed the next night too.

  “No,” I played along, “she went back home with some of her girlfriends and got a few things, then came back and spent the next night with me too. Said it took Mickey a day to sober up and another to calm down. She went home after sundown on the night of the second.”

  “And she was found dead in her bed on the fourth,” Dally gave out, a little chillier than I thought necessary.

  But it had an effect.

  “Why didn’t she just come home with me?” Foggy said, leaning forward and rubbing his face with his hands. “Or even stay with you?” He pointed my way without looking.

  “So after your party, you never saw her again?” Dally was pressing pretty hard.

  “She called me.”

  “She did?” I sat forward. “When?”

  “From your place. On the second.” He looked up again. “She was thinking about throwing Mickey over, I believe, because she kept asking me a lot of cute questions. Like did I ever think about going legit and would it kill me to have a better office — that kind of thing. You know, teasing.”

  “And that was it?” I pressed.

  “I tried calling her at her place the next day, but it was no good. I got the machine. I hate to think that she could have been lying there —”

  But I broke in. “Absolutely no point in dwelling on that.”

  He stopped; then he nodded. “You’re right. Isn’t it amusing the way the human mind seems to find ways of torturing itself?”

  Foggy’s face seemed to betray a territory in his mind where ghosts and regrets played tag.

  “Very amusing,” I agreed, “but more to the point, the police have arrested Mickey for Janey’s murder.”

  “Yes.” He pinched his lips. “I had also heard this from Daniel.”

  “I think they have the wrong guy,” I kept on. “I know Mick’s reputation, but anybody with half an eye could see he was crazy over the kid.”

  “Love will, however, make a man do strange things.” He sat up a little.

  “I was trying to explain that to Mickey just the other night — and, in fact, concerning the very same woman.�
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  “For example,” he went right on, “I was actually thinking of going legit — for Jane. How about that?”

  “But you’ve decided against that now?” Dally pitched in.

  “Yes,” he nodded. “A man must follow his heart.”

  “And your heart is in petty theft?” She shook her head.

  “Not exactly. But I enjoy the idea of being outside the rules, free from the ordinary confines of the normal man’s life.” He looked between Dally and me. “Much like the two of you, I would imagine.”

  “I’ll skip the touché” I nodded, “and go right for the big question: You do think Mickey popped Janey?”

  He enumerated. “One, Janey did not have an enemy in this world; two, ninety-three percent of all homicides in Atlanta are perpetrated by someone who knows the victim intimately, as you just said; and C, Mickey is quite rightly notorious for his ways. He’s the one who did those two topless dancers that got stuck in the trunk of a Buick a while back. Remember that one?”

  I glanced at Dally again, smiling. “Yeah, I remember that one, and I happen to know your theory is way off. But this is the way a legend grows, I guess. A person builds his reputation on innuendo and bravado, see?”

  “Example?” Daniel wanted to know. He seemed to have a genuine interest in the concept, a professional interest.

  “When’s the last time,” I obliged, “that anyone in Atlanta — since we all seem to be up on the latest crime statistics — was actually killed by a hand grenade? Would you happen to know?”

  Daniel smiled and shook his head. “You’ve got me.”

  “That bit of homicidal esoterica has eluded me as well.” Foggy raised his eyebrows.

  “Well,” I allowed, “the fact is, there is not a single case on record at the police department in the last twenty years. Now I have heard at least five stories about guys Mickey blew up just this past few months. But I have come to believe that they are just that: stories. You get my drift.”

  “I believe,” Foggy smiled, “that what you have there is more a current than a simple drift, but I get it nevertheless. You wish me to believe that Mick is harmless — a tough sell for me, because, you see, he once played a game of sidewalk basketball with my head. Bounced me silly. I still have the occasional lapse of memory. I believe he did permanent damage. So, you see, it is my belief that he is a menace, a misogynist, and a mook. And it would be perfectly fine by me if he rotted in the jug like a dead fish. I hope I make myself clear!”

  Silence.

  Daniel smiled quietly. “Well, Ms. Oglethorpe, how are things down at the club?”

  She took a second to adjust to the question, then smiled as only she can. “Thank you for asking, Daniel. Business is good; music’s better than ever.”

  “I like Gwen Hughes. She’s playing this week, I believe?”

  “Come on down,” she nodded. “Flap will treat you to some of his private stock.”

  He knew what she meant. “That French red’s not for me.” He shook his head. “I’ll have a scotch, straight, no chaser —”

  “In honor of the great Thelonius Monk.” I picked up the mood.

  “Yes.” Daniel nodded. “‘Straight, No Chaser.’ Great tune.”

  Our little small talk had given Foggy a chance to catch his breath and relax his shoulders.

  “You’re a good friend, Daniel.” That’s all he said. Daniel’s smile only grew warmer.

  “Just one or two more questions,” I jumped back in, “about your party that night, your New Year’s Eve party; then we’ll be out of your hair.”

  Foggy nodded.

  “Good. I’ll once again get right to the point. Do you know a little guy named Joepye Adder?”

  “The park guy? The nut? Yeah, I know who he is.”

  “Joepye.” Daniel looked at Dally. “Isn’t that a weed?”

  “It’s got a pretty flower in the summer, though,” I nodded, then back at Foggy: “Was he at your party?”

  “Joepye.” He squinted. “Not by invitation.”

  “Right, but Mickey wasn’t exactly an invited guest either.”

  “Granted.”

  “So maybe Joe and some kid who might have looked a little like Janey — by the name of Beth Dane, who was, incidentally, the niece of Irgo Dane” —

  “The musician?” He cocked his head.

  I nodded curtly. “That was his niece that got iced in the park just the other night. I assume you’ve heard all about that?”

  “And I wish I hadn’t.” He closed his eyes a moment. It really gave the impression he was saying a quick prayer, but maybe he was just taking his time blinking. “That was his niece?”

  “Mr. Dane,” Daniel interjected out of the blue. “What a strange one he is.”

  “Strange?” I looked at him.

  “I’m told his predilections tend toward the unusual, yes.” He shook his head and was about to say more, but he was interrupted.

  “One point at a time.” A look from Mr. Moskovitz silenced Daniel. “You were saying,” Foggy went on, “that his niece was at my New Year’s Eve party.”

  “That’s what I’m getting at.” I went right on. “They may have crashed your party, this odd couple. And it might be the last time we ever saw her alive too — the niece.”

  “What a town this is.” He stared far off, thinking. Then: “You know, when you play host to a big affair of that sort, you don’t really have the complete attention to detail, or I mean, I don’t. I’m more the general and gregarious type at a party, and so a few things could slip by me.”

  “Agreed.” I nodded.

  “Still, it does not mean that they were not there.” He nodded. “Daniel? Would you mind doing a little checking?”

  Daniel gave a curt nod.

  “But not for Mickey.” Foggy wanted to make it clear to me. “I will look into this simply because you asked nicely.”

  “No” — I stood slowly — “you will look into this because you’d like to know who really killed Janey just as bad as the rest of us would.”

  “Okay.” He nodded, standing too. “Maybe even worse, because she’s the one that got away, Flap.” Then he looked at the floor. His voice took a dive again, and he spoke very slowly. “And when you are dead, I believe you have most likely gotten away for good.”

  15. Men in Blue

  “Well, thank you both for checking on Joepye and Beth Dane.” I didn’t know what else to say. “And thank you for your very informative commentary. Daniel, good to see you.”

  Daniel stood formally. “Yes, Flap. We should catch up.”

  “You think I don’t know.” Foggy’s voice gained in strength again. He stared up at me. “But I know. You didn’t come here just to meet with me today. You came to set a wheel in motion, this wheel of inquiry and doubt. You hope it will flush something out. What that something is, I have no idea. But I will still have Daniel ask around — because I also want to know, as you were saying.”

  “Mr. Moskovitz” — I stood, offered Dally my arm — “you are as perceptive as you are convivial, and I admire intelligence in a man who has such terrible taste in office decor.”

  He smiled and finally stood along with the rest of us. “And I admire a man who can say such a thing and not make anybody mad.”

  I pushed open the door and looked down the stairs. The parking lot was swarming with men in blue.

  “Hey.” I stopped at the top of the stairs. “There must be a hundred cops downstairs.”

  “Oh.” Daniel rubbed his eyes. “That’s my fault. I nearly forgot. I called them when you were coming up the back stairs. I had no idea what you wanted. I thought it might create a diversion, just in case we needed one. I told them that I worked here and I was calling in a complaint about illegal sexual goings-on in the establishment downstairs. Five will get you ten I was right. There’s always something bad going on in there.”

  I stared at him. “You heard us coming? And you called up a diversion?”

  He nodded.
/>   I turned to Foggy. “So, your surprise when I came to your door —”

  “Was an act.” Foggy smiled. “I am very much more than you think I am, my friend.”

  I ignored that and stared down at the policemen in the parking lot. “How was this going to help you?”

  “Would you mess with me knowing there were a hundred cops down there,” Foggy said simply, “this door being your only way out?”

  “Good point.”

  Dally spoke up. “By the way, Foggy?”

  “Yes?”

  “You wouldn’t know — you or Daniel — anything about scarlet fever, would you?”

  We all stared at Dally for almost a full minute while the policemen in the parking lot began to quiet down.

  “Now, it’s a funny thing you should ask me that.” Foggy went and closed the door himself.

  “Really?” Dally watched him carefully. “How is it funny, exactly?”

  “Well,” he began, “it is funny primarily because Daniel tells me that a certain quantity of scarlet fever gunk, or whatever you would call it, has been discussed in the lower circles of our … acquaintances.”

  “Scarlet fever what?” I beat Dally to the question.

  “Stuff. What they give you to find out if you’re immune to the disease, am I right?” He turned to Daniel.

  “Something like that.” Daniel nodded.

  “Somebody stole it?” Dally jumped in. “By your acquaintances, you mean like fences?”

  “Who the hell would steal that?” I stared at Dally.

  “Not just that.” Daniel chimed in. “The party in question stole all manner of germs or diseases, as far as we can tell — from some medical testing facility over at the CDC.”

  Foggy looked back and forth between all of us. “Some world, huh?”

  “Who would buy that kind of thing?” I still hadn’t managed to hide my incredulity.

  “Oh, it’s been my experience,” Foggy spoke softly, “that anything you can steal, somebody else would want to buy. Why that is, I have no idea. But this is human nature.”