Death by the Riverside (15 page)

When I couldn’t find anything more to read in the paper, I left and walked to my car. Maybe it just needed some fast highway driving, I rationalized. I drove, taking Highway 90 instead of I-10. I didn’t turn around until I crossed the Biloxi Bay bridge, some two hours east. Then I drove back without stopping. It was evening when I got back to the city. My car was still making funny sounds. I parked it and decided not to worry about it tonight. What could I do on a Saturday night anyway? I stopped by the liquor store and picked up two bottles of cheap, but marginally decent Scotch. It was late enough in the day to start drinking. I did.

I woke up Sunday with a hangover. I looked at the Scotch bottle and saw how much I had had to drink. No wonder. A lot of dead brain cells.

There was a light on my answering machine that I was sure hadn’t been there last night. I ran the tape back. Ranson asking me to call her.
When I can hand you Milo’s head on a plate, Joanne, baby. Until then, I work best alone.

I went out, got the Sunday paper, a half dozen eggs and some English muffins for my breakfast, and a couple of cans of cat food for Hepplewhite. She appreciated my efforts by wolfing down her food, then throwing it up on some dirty socks that I had thrown on the floor.

Danny had called while I was out, but I ignored that message, too. I cleaned up after my adorable little kitty cat, then settled in with the paper and scrambled eggs. After I had finished the serious sections, I made myself a Bloody Mary with the dregs of a vodka bottle and a can of tomato juice that had been sitting in my refrigerator for at least six months.

I had just sat down with my third drink when my buzzer rang. Probably Baptists to save me from eternal hellfire. I ignored them. I want a warm afterlife. It buzzed again, insistently. I didn’t answer, but curiosity did prompt me to peek out the window. I saw Ranson. I also saw the gesturing hand of the person buzzing me. It was Danny’s, and she had a key. Ranson and the hand disappeared. They were coming inside.

I thought about the closet, but there weren’t enough clothes hanging in it to hide Hepplewhite, let alone me. As I wasn’t about to confront an assistant D.A. and an experienced detective sergeant, that left the ledge or the couch. Since I was both hungover and a bit drunk, the five-inch ledge didn’t seem like a good idea. That left the couch. I hastily made an even greater mess of the newspapers and dirty clothes in front of it—though the dust balls alone would hide a herd of elephants—then rolled underneath it just as I heard Danny’s key in the lock. From where I was hidden, I could see the door, or at least the lower part of it. Two pairs of feet entered, one in running shoes that I recognized as Danny’s and the other in black and gray boots. Ranson had fashionable feet off duty, I noted. I suddenly wondered what it would be like to be her lover, not to just sleep with her, but to be with her and listen to her say what she really felt about things. I felt a stab of envy for Alexandra Sayers.

“Not here,” Ranson commented.

Oh, good, I’d fooled them.

“But recent signs of habitation,” Danny said. “Note that the paper is today’s and… Aha…there are still ice cubes in the glass.”

Someone picked up the glass.

“Not to mention cheap vodka,” Ranson snorted, evidently having smelled it.

“True. Here is the bottle in the trash to prove it,” Danny said from my kitchen.

“A bottle of vodka and two bottles of Scotch. How often does Micky take out her trash?” Ranson asked.

“She can be very schizophrenic about it. At times, the worst slob you’ve ever seen and at other times almost obsessively neat.”

“That’s right, you two lived together for a while.” There was a pause. “Well, there are some empty cat food cans in here and egg shells and none of it seems close to rancid, so those bottles piled up pretty quickly.”

That vodka bottle was almost empty. I took the trash out on Friday. Today was Sunday. Two days. Two bottles. A nice round number. And one of those I’d opened on Thursday.
Let’s not exaggerate too much, Joanne, dear.

I heard my answering machine being played back.

“She was here at the time of my call. The message light’s off and the tape was wound back,” Danny commented.

“Or she came in shortly afterwards,” Ranson added.

“No, she was here. Damn her butt anyway. I’ve got better things to do then chase after a Micky who doesn’t want to be found.”

“She’s drinking too much. I don’t like that,” Ranson said.

“She always drinks too much. Micky’s very good at living on the edge. I used to worry and wait for her to fall, but she’s too good. You just make a fool of yourself trying to catch her,” Danny exploded.

“Whoa! Sounds like someone got hurt in that affair of yours. Both of you always acted like it was just a casual thing.”

“It was for one of us.” There was a pause, then Danny continued, “I guess we all get kicked real hard in the face at least once.”

“What did she do?”

“Nothing, really. Micky was just being Micky. The kick was that she didn’t change for me. I’d seen her all through college, ringside seat. She drank a lot and probably other things, too. All the dykes and not-so-dykes on campus were after her. And they could all have her, too, most of them; she did have a few peculiar standards. But only for a night or two. The other nights she’d spend with me, the platonic friend, over cheap beers in a nearby bar or in our rooms studying or just being two poor kids from Naw Lins.”

“How did you become lovers? Here, have some of this. She doesn’t need it.” I heard glasses being filled. Shit, Detective Ranson had detected my spare bottle of Johnny Walker.

Before Danny answered, they sat down on the couch. Springs groaned dangerously over my head.

“We both came back here after graduation and found an apartment together, since we couldn’t afford to live alone. One night, in early June, we were standing at our one window with a view, watching a spectacular thunderstorm. The lights went out. I remembered watching the lightning flashes on her face. Neither of us went to get candles. There was a tremendous clap of thunder and we started kissing each other. I remember thinking, after the first time we made love, that I was set. I had a degree from a name school, I was going to law school and no one could stop me, and I had a smart, funny, great-looking woman for my lover and I didn’t have to try to explain bayou country or even the South to her.”

There was a pause. I heard my good Scotch being sipped.

“Things were great at first. Great sex, a lot of fun, but…well, the closer I wanted to get, the more Micky pulled away. We had lots of fun that summer, but autumn came and…the ease and comfort of the summer went away somehow. I was devastated when I finally realized that she was sleeping around on me. But I kept thinking she would fall, and I had to be there to catch her. Then, one night when she was out, I didn’t know where, but she was gone, and I was there alone, I realized that she had never told me that she loved me. Never said the words. What I had always heard was my assumption. And I knew she never would. I’d be waiting there for her to fall into my arms and she never would. The next night, when I finally saw her, I broke it off.”

“How come you’re still friends, after that?”

“When I told her it was over, she looked at me and said, ‘I know. I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this.’ And the next day, while I was at class, she cleaned up the apartment, stocked up the refrigerator, peeled a whole bunch of crawfish my parents had brought that were going to waste, took all her things, and left. I remember crying that whole night when I got home. But she was kind and clean going out the door and that was the best thing for both of us.

“When my dad had his heart attack, Micky was there. She still visited them occasionally, after we broke up. She looked after the bait shop for two weeks while he was in the hospital and my mother was with him. I didn’t even know she was doing it. I came out on the weekend, figuring I would at least open it then, and there was Micky, suckering some rich tourist into buying fishing gear that had sat around for years. How can you not be friends with someone like that?”

“Yeah. When Micky’s good, she’s very good.”

“But when she’s bad, watch out.” But Danny laughed when she said it.

“Another drink?”

“Sure, why not? Micky’s a great host when she’s not here.”

Ranson got up and stole more of my Scotch.

“She ever talk much about her childhood?” Ranson asked.

“No. Her parents were killed in a car wreck when she was ten. And she got sent to live with a harridan of an aunt and lump of an uncle. I met them once when their youngest son was hauled in for possession. I overheard her telling her husband that they would have no trouble getting their son off, since a darkie was prosecuting the case. The boy had the decency to look embarrassed, otherwise I would have kicked his ass as far in jail as I could have.”

“Ever get the feeling that she’s hiding something?” Ranson asked.

“Lots of things, but then aren’t we all?”

“Yeah,” Ranson replied. Then there was silence. Whatever Ranson knew, she hadn’t told Danny. At least not yet.

“Can I ask you an intrusive question?” Danny said. Ranson must have nodded yes, because Danny continued, “You were seeing each other at some point, weren’t you? Did you ever sleep with her?”

“Yes and no. Yes, we went out a few times and even got as far as sitting in my car and kissing. A cop car came by and I freaked out.”

She hadn’t really freaked out. Just sat up straight and said, “I don’t think we’d better do this right now.” I would pay a fair bit of money to see Joanne Ranson freak out.

“And, no, we never slept together. I wanted someone who would be there in the morning and I never got the feeling from Micky that she would be. Not that I wasn’t tempted, mind you. There are some things to be said for ‘a no strings, let’s fuck’ affair. Now that I’m with Alex, I kind of regret that I didn’t go ahead and get it over with.” Ranson was getting garrulous on my good Scotch.

“Get it over with?” Danny said what I was thinking.

“It’s hard not to see her and wonder what she might be like in bed. I’ve seen her naked plenty of times changing for karate class and I’ve always liked what I’ve seen.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Danny chuckled.

“If I weren’t with Alex, I’d fool around with her. I’ve never slept with a woman taller than I am. It would be a nice change of pace.”

Well, girls, I’m available. As a matter of fact, Joanne, you’re sitting on my face right now.

“I’m ready to get out of here,” Danny said. “Elly will be home soon. Should we leave a thank-you note for the Scotch?”

“Let her wonder. She’ll probably think she drank it herself,” Ranson answered.

I heard the springs creak as Danny got up, then two sets of feet walking across my floor and out the door. The lock clicked shut and they were gone. I stayed under the couch with my ear to the floor until I heard the thud of the downstairs door closing.

I rolled out over my disheveled newspaper. I felt like a voyeur. Because I was a voyeur. Tawdry came to mind. If I could have gotten out from under that couch without having to explain why I was avoiding them, I would have done it. I knew they, Ranson particularly, had a lot of questions. I also knew that I didn’t have a lot of answers.

I didn’t want to hear the things that they had said. I wanted…I didn’t know what I wanted. Not to have hurt Danny the way I had. I was too young and callow, too worried about all the mud that had been tracked across my heart to notice that I had feet, too. And I walked on Danny. All she had done was want to love me. I remembered my dad loving me and he had died. I couldn’t trust love to hold, to be there for me the next time.

My dad told me that my mother loved me, but she still left. Then he abandoned me in death. My Great-Aunt Harriet fell asleep one evening and never woke up. Even Smoky, my mongrel dog, left me under the wheels of a pickup that was going too fast.

Danny’s still here. Still my friend. Would have loved me if she could have gotten past my terror.

What am I saying? I wasn’t afraid of her. We just weren’t right for each other. What happened wasn’t something I had brought on.

But I had made sure that Danny would stop loving me. I knew that. I’d had such good lessons from Aunt Greta in being unlovable that it was easy. And if I had made Danny leave me… I stopped the thought. It didn’t matter.

I would think about tomorrow. I would think about getting Frankie Fitzsimmons out of the clutches of those gangsters and maybe to some place where a man could wear a dress if he felt like it. To make sure that there was some justice for Barbara Selby, no matter how slight.

I finished the bottle of Scotch that Danny and Ranson had started.

Chapter 16

I woke up early, before the two alarm clocks that I had set. Liquor sometimes does that to me. I got dressed, nice enough for the part of town that I was going to be in, but not so dressy that I couldn’t move if I had to. I carried my gun, just in case.

My first stop was Frankie’s apartment. I entered with the key he had given me. In the middle of the room were the two suitcases he had packed. I glanced at the chifforobe that had held the dresses. The door was open and it was empty. Were they packed or had he thrown them out, I wondered. I left, carrying the suitcases with me.

I had to lean on Torbin’s buzzer for a long time before he finally answered in a sleepy voice. He was expecting me and buzzed me in when I announced myself. He lived on the first floor and had his head stuck out the door, waiting for me.

“You look like a sleepy raccoon, Tor,” I greeted.

“Oh, dear, I guess I forgot to take off my mascara before I went to bed,” he said as he ushered me in.

I kissed him on a smeared cheek. Torbin was the cousin that I got along with the best. The main reason being that he preferred to wear dresses and I preferred pants. We were also about the same size and could exchange clothes. When Torbin had been younger and less brazen, I would go shopping with him to try on the bras and underwear that he wanted to buy. If it fit me, it would fit him. We always used to kid that we weren’t the black sheep of the family, but the lavender ones.

Torbin was now one of the biggest drag stars in the Quarter. I liked to think that I played my small part in those days of covert bras and lipstick. I couldn’t think of a better place to leave Frankie.

We sat and drank coffee while I gave Torbin all the details, including that this caper just might be dangerous.

“Oh, honey, danger was Charlie finding those red, fuck-me pumps in my closet when I was fifteen.”

Uncle Charlie was Torbin’s dad and had threatened to disown Torbin so many times that Torbin had started calling him Charlie because he couldn’t keep track of whether or not to call him Dad.

“And me with my little smart mouth. I had to tell him I wouldn’t try out for football because I didn’t want to develop thick ankles. There was hell to pay, with interest. I finally convinced him that I was doing it to some girl. Ugh! And that those shoes were hers. Size 10EE, no less. Don’t worry about danger, dear, darling, Micky. I’ll get to see a lot of you in the next few days, and I do so hunger for the company of a real woman.”

I laughed and told him I wasn’t sure if I qualified. He assured me I fit his definition of real and besides I was his favorite cousin to kiss. Which says something about the rest of the cousins. Then I left, telling him I would see him later.

I headed uptown toward Jambalaya. I needed to get there for Frankie’s lunch break.

I saw Milo leave, but he was headed in the opposite direction, at a fast pace. I didn’t like the urgency in his walk. Where was Frankie? I kept looking at my watch, the image of an impatient secretary waiting for her lunch date as I watched the people go by, a hurrying lunchtime crowd.

Frankie came out looking nervously around, then almost ran down the street. I hurried, walking as fast as I could without drawing attention to myself. He wasn’t in sight when I turned the corner. I kept moving toward the bank; he should be there.

He was, just finishing withdrawing money from the machine. He caught sight of me and I gave him the barest of nods. He walked by me. I ambled behind, letting him get a block or so ahead of me. I followed, trying to make sure no one was following us. I caught up to him several blocks later at a bus stop. We ignored each other, sitting in different parts of the bus when it arrived. I got up first and “accidentally” bumped into him on my way out. He tagged after me. He looked like some poor puppy following me home. I led him the roundabout way to Torbin’s. A few blocks away, I let him catch up to me.

“No one’s following us,” I said.

He relaxed slightly.

“I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news,” he said, still reminding me of a puppy, one leading its owner to some very chewed up slippers.

“Yes?” I said.

“I couldn’t get the books. I mean, they weren’t there to take. Milo removed them before lunch, told me to wait for him, and left. I didn’t know what to do. I knew you were waiting. Should we try again tomorrow?”

“No,” I said quickly.

“Should I have waited for Milo? He might have brought them back.” he said, trying to repair the damaged slipper.

“No. The only thing Milo was coming back for was you.”

“Oh, my God,” he said, understanding me. He visibly paled. I took his arm and led him across the street.

“Jambalaya’s way too hot. Those books would have been moved a long time ago if Milo’s boss didn’t have so many important friends.” I led the way into the building. Torbin had left me his keys and admonished me to make ourselves at home. He wasn’t in the apartment when we arrived, but there was a “Be back soon” note stuck on the middle of his couch.

“You mean, if I hadn’t left at lunch, Milo would have…” He trailed off.

“Right. Early retirement.”

Frankie put his head in his hands. He seemed quite shaken. I sat down beside him and put my arm around his shoulder.

“At least we’ve got good timing,” I started. “Look, we still outsmarted them. You’re out and you’re alive.”

“Yes,” he said, sitting up and lifting his head. “I wish I could see the look on Milo’s face when he realizes that I disobeyed his orders. A sissy faggot like me.”

“Let’s hear it for sissy faggots,” announced Torbin, making an entrance. He was carrying a sack of groceries and a bag of video cassettes. “You know, Micky, I do like you daring dykes, but my heart belongs to sissy faggots.”

I made introductions. Torbin explained his plans for the next few days. Good food, great movies, and perhaps a few lessons on makeup. I didn’t ask whether he meant Frankie or me.

Torbin insisted on having a slumber party, so I spent the night. I also thought Frankie would feel more comfortable with me around. Torbin was telling him that he could be all the things that he had been told he was sick for wanting. That can be very scary. But, after the second Bette Davis movie, Frankie started loosening up, like a kid being let into a toy store for the first time in his life. He started asking Torbin all sorts of questions, which Torbin, with his love of an audience, delighted in answering. Possibilities opened up for Frankie. I would have sat through ten Joan Crawford flicks just to see the change that came over him that night. Well, at least out of this jumble of ashes, one phoenix has risen, I thought as I finally laid down to sleep.

After a late breakfast the next day and a stern warning to Torbin not to even let Frankie out of his apartment, let alone try and take him to one of his drag shows, I left. I spent about an hour wandering around the neighborhood, checking it out, and finding nothing even remotely suspicious. Then I headed off to do business. I stopped at a pay phone to call Ranson, but she was out. I kept walking. It was one of those gray and chilly February days. Mardi Gras was in a few weeks. Soon the parades and parties would start. I came to another pay phone and called Ranson again. This time she answered.

“Where the hell have—” she started, but I cut her off.

“How about a nice little romantic saunter on the levee? Half an hour by Jackson Square? Bye.” I hung up and started walking toward the square.

Five minutes after I arrived, Ranson showed up.

“A punctual public servant, I like that,” I said.

“Twenty-five minutes, not thirty. I’m early,” she responded. “Couldn’t you have waited until I was off duty?”

“But this is about duty, my dear Sergeant Ranson. A poor young boy who wants to forsake his life of crime.”

“This had better be good, Micky.”

“The best. Milo and company. Maybe Da Boss himself.”

“I told you to stay out of it,” was Ranson’s thanks.

“But dear Officer Ranson, it was an accident, I do declare. I just bumped into this young fellow on the street and he, instantly recognizing me as the great private investigator M. Knight, begged me to help him.”

“Bullshit. Who do you have?”

“The boy that’s been doing their books for the last three years.”

Ranson let out a low whistle. It was the only hint that she was somewhat impressed by my coup.

“And,” I added, “we almost got the books, too, but Milo walked out with them for parts unknown.”

“Shit, Micky, you’re playing a dangerous game. That accountant would have gotten killed if they’d caught him,” Ranson lectured me.

“He would have gotten killed anyway,” I shot back. “Milo or somebody was coming back for him and it wasn’t to give the poor guy a golden watch for his retirement.”

“Okay, so you’re a wonderful humanitarian. When do I meet him?”

“When we’ve arranged a deal that’s satisfactory,” I said.

“I’ll do what I can, but Micky, remember that I’m just a police sergeant.”

“Right. I understand you’ve got a few friends in the D.A.’s office. Get them to help you,” I replied. I almost said drinking buddies, but I caught myself. “We want protection and relocation. Call me when you’ve got something worked out.” I started to leave.

“Damn it, Mick, you’ve got a lot of people worried about you.”

“Sorry, Ranson, places to go, people to see.” I took a step, but she grabbed my arm.

“Danny, Cordelia, and I have a standing agreement to call each other if any of us should hear from you.”

“Well, say hi for me and tell them that I’m fine.”

She shook her head, not letting go of my arm. “We went searching for you on Sunday. Danny used her keys to get into your apartment.”

“I’m glad it was you. I thought my cat was becoming alcoholic. There was a lot of liquor gone for a little kitty body to consume.”

“Just leave old Micky tomcat alone. She’ll come back when she feels like it. Is that it?”

“Essentially.”

“Even if you end up floating in the river?”

“I know the risks. I’m a big girl.”

“What about the people who care about you?” Ranson demanded. “Or do we not matter?” I shrugged. Ranson held on to my arm. “You’ve got to grow up sometime,” she finished.

“Will you leave me the fuck alone?” I exploded. “I’m not out to hurt anyone or bother anyone. If I did, tough. And I’ll grow up when I feel like it.”

“It’s not fair, is it, Micky, to get kicked out of childhood when you’re only ten?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. The most unfair part is that once you’re out, you can never go back. You can spend your whole life trying.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“You tell me,” Ranson answered.

“Well, thanks, Sergeant Freud. How much do I owe you for your therapeutic insights?” I jerked my arm away from her and started walking. She caught up and spun me around to face her.

“You could have had me. You had Danny. But you walked away. How many others? You got hurt bad and hurt young, so that excuses everything, doesn’t it? If we get too close and get burned, it’s not your fault, is it, because—”

“Stop it. Just stop it,” I yelled at her. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“No, you don’t. And God help anyone who wants anything from you, because they’ll never get it. What’d you do, stop feeling when you were ten?”

“No. Leave me alone,” I replied. I tried to turn away from her, but she had her hands on my shoulders and wouldn’t let me. I saw a few tourists heading rapidly away from us. I turned my head to the river, so I wouldn’t have to face Ranson’s piercing gray eyes.

“I tried for a while…things didn’t work out that way,” I finished in a whisper. I couldn’t say anything more. I stared at the ships on the river, dull and bleak under the gray sky.

Ranson finally broke the moment. She took me by the arm, saying, “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

We walked in silence back to my apartment. Ranson came up the stairs with me.

“Do you want me to stay?” she asked.

“No, I think I need to be alone. You need to get back to work anyway.”

“True. I’ll call you later. Will you answer the phone?”

“I’ll try. Old habits, you know.”

“Try hard,” she answered.

“Okay.”

She turned to go.

“Oh, and Joanne?” I said. “Tell Danny and…and…”

“Cordelia.”

“Yeah, her. Tell them I’m okay, just busy in the never-ending search for truth, beauty, and the American way.”

Ranson walked back to me and kissed me on the lips. She held it for a moment, then turned and left.