So Nude, So Dead (18 page)

“You leveling?” he asked.

Ray nodded.

“Well, now, ain’t that something?” Lewis looked at Ray again. “You’re not snowing me, are you?”

“She was pregnant.”

Lewis nodded vaguely. “So that’s why she was seeing a doctor.” He shook his head, his eyes rolling. “And I thought she was trying to ditch the habit. I kept telling her it was for the birds, and I thought maybe she was listening to me. Should’ve known better.” He looked up at Ray. “Really pregnant, huh?”

“Kramer says you were responsible.”

“Ahh, man, have a heart,” Lewis said. “Eileen and I never so much as held hands.”

“She was a mighty pretty girl,” Ray said.

“Sure, sure. Don’t I know it? But a chick like Eileen doesn’t have to mess with a broken-down horn man. No, man, Kramer’s way off base.”

“The fact remains,” Ray insisted.

“Yeah,” Lewis said. “Damnedest thing, ain’t it?” He paused and tugged at the loose flesh under his jaw. “You check with Charlie Massine? He may have been the guy.”

“Massine is dead.”

“Sure, I know. I mean before, though. If anyone had the opportunity it was Charlie.”

“How do you mean?”

“Hell, man, he was getting her the stuff she needed. A chick’ll do most anything to get her fix. You don’t know how it is with a dope fiend, man.”

“I’ve got some idea,” Ray said.

“Sure, Charlie could’ve done it easy.”

“Pass the buck,” Ray said.

“How’s that?”

“Everybody’s passing the buck. Kramer says you’re the man, and you tag Charlie. I wonder who Charlie would pass it to.”

“Ain’t no way to find out, is there?”

“No.”

Lewis chuckled a little, then tilted his ear toward the record player. “Listen to this, man. This is me on trumpet.”

The clear, bell-like tones of a trumpet in the upper register sliced into the room. Ray listened for several moments, politely holding his tongue.

Finally, he asked, “Do you have any idea where Charlie was getting the stuff?”

“The heroin?”

“Yes.”

“No idea at all, man. Most pushers don’t talk about it.”

“I know one who might,” Ray said.

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Thanks a lot for the information.”

Lewis was leaning back now, his eyes closed, his fingers drumming on the chair arm in time to the music.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

“Not at all. Glad to help, man.”

* * *

Ray waited patiently while the phone rang. There was a lot missing, but things were beginning to fit into place. He was still a long way from knowing who’d killed Eileen, but at least he no longer felt so damned confused, so helpless.

“Hello.”

“Louie?”

The pusher recognized his voice. “Listen, Stone, I don’t want to tell you again. I haven’t got anything for you. Nothing at all. I ain’t gonna—”

“All I want is information, Louie.”

“What kind of information?”

“What do you know about Charlie Massine?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, Louie. He’s dead now. You can tell me.”

“Did you kill him, Stone?”

“No.”

Louie paused, and Ray could hear the faint crackle of electricity on the line as he waited.

“He was a pusher, Stone. That’s all I know.”

“Would you happen to know where he got his stuff?”

“No, I don’t know.”

“The same place you got it?”

“Hell, no.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m small-time, Stone. A few steadies like yourself, and that’s the extent. Massine was connected with a big outfit.”

“One more question, Louie.”

“All right, Stone, make it fast. I don’t know why the hell I’m bothering—”

“How much is sixteen ounces of heroin worth?”

“The cut stuff? Or pure?”

“Pure.”

“Christ, a fortune. Why?”

“Just wondering. Thanks a lot, Louie.”

“Yeah,” Louie said.

Ray hung up and sat in the booth for a few minutes. He got up then and walked out into the street. He’d learned a little bit, but the pusher’s voice had upset him. Deep within him, he could feel the restless clawing begin. He didn’t know whether it was Louie’s voice, or the fact that this was about the time of day he usually took a shot. But it was beginning again, taking control of his body.

He walked aimlessly, the need for the drug drumming inside him. He tried to take his mind off it, tried to think of other things, of the puzzle before him, of Babs. But it was more than mind. It climbed up through his veins and scratched at the inside of his skull. It clawed at his back and raked at his stomach. It pushed sweat out onto his skin, and it made his legs feel heavy, his heart beat faster.

He was turning a corner when it hit him with the force of a pile driver, ploughing into his midsection like a steam-powered piston. He backed against the wall of the building, his fingers frantically clutching the bricks.

He was drenched. In ten seconds, he had become soaking wet, the sweat seeping through his underwear and his shirt. He closed his eyes tightly and waited for the pain of nausea to subside, rocking his head with each roaring wave. The pavement tilted and tried to shake him off, and he clutched at the bricks for support. His scalp felt itchy, and his feet were like lead, and there was a hot iron ball in the pit of his stomach.

He hung onto the building for dear life, the sickness tugging at him like a strong undercurrent, wave after wave of nausea rolling through his stomach.

He was very sick.

* * *

He leaned against the door jamb, and the push button swam before his eyes. He didn’t know how he’d found his way here. He vaguely remembered stumbling through the streets, the sun a sinking red ball on the horizon.

“Babs,” he mumbled. “Babs.”

A crest of blackness swept over him and he reeled, almost falling backwards. The door opened.

He was aware of her lips rounding into a surprised O, of her brown eyes opening wide, the lashes long and dark. She put an arm around him and he leaned against her gratefully as she pulled him into the apartment. His head rolled to one side as she took off his jacket and led him to the bathroom. She closed the door behind him and he was alone with the pale green tile and the bowl that moved all over the floor. He ducked his head, and the room swam, and sickness suddenly became a foul, wretched thing that stuck to the lining of his throat and sent his stomach wildly looping….

He showered afterwards. He took off his clothes and passed them out to Babs, and then he stood under a hot needle-point spray that sent stabbing fingers of sensitivity to every muscle in his body. He toweled, and wrapped the soft white square around his waist.

Barefoot, he walked back into the living room and took a cigarette from the tray on the coffee table. Babs watched him light it.

“A little better?” she asked.

“Yes, much.”

She watched him intently, and her face was serious. “You shouldn’t have come here, Ray. You were very foolish.”

“I’ll leave in a little while.” He found her eyes and held them with his own. “I didn’t have any place else to go, Babs.”

“It isn’t that, darling. I’m thinking of your own safety. The police were here all afternoon. They kept asking questions until I thought I’d scream.”

“Who do you suppose tipped them?”

“I wish I knew,” she said.

“What did you tell them? The cops, I mean.”

Babs leaned over, reached for a cigarette, hung it on her lip and lighted it before answering him. “Nothing. Not a thing. I told them I’d never heard of you before, and that you certainly had never been to my apartment.”

“Did they believe you?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. That’s why you were foolish to come here. They’re probably watching the place.”

Ray shrugged, took a long pull on his cigarette.

“What’s the difference? They’re watching everywhere.”

“Well, you’re here now,” Babs said. She leaned back and her hair cushioned the back of her head against the sofa.

“It really hit me, Babs. Like a knife in the gut, I needed a shot so bad I thought I’d drop dead on the spot.”

“Sit down, darling,” she said. She patted the sofa beside her.

He touched the towel with the flats of his palms. “The towel—it’s wet.”

“The hell with the towel. Sit down.”

He shrugged and sat down beside her, and she took his hand in hers and leaned her head on his bare shoulder.

“Did you know Charlie Massine was a pusher?” he asked suddenly.

She didn’t move her head, and when she spoke her breath was warm against his flesh. “I suspected as much.”

“Well, he was.”

She wrapped one arm around his chest, pushed her head more tightly against his shoulder.

“It’s one hell of a rat race,” he went on. “There are so many loose ends, so many blind alleys. I keep asking people questions, but I’m not sure I’m asking the right ones—and I’m not sure the answers mean anything. All I know is that I’ve got to find the real answer before it’s too late. That was a close call this morning, Babs. I won’t be lucky always.”

“What kind of questions have you been asking?”

“Oh, all kinds. I’m just trying to get a lead, something to go on. I don’t ask anything definite because I’ve got nothing definite to ask. It’s not as if I had a clue, Babs, a handkerchief with someone’s initials, or hair in a comb, or anything like that. I’ve just got a bunch of people, that’s all.”

“Which people?”

“Kramer, Lewis—” He paused. “What do you know about Lewis, Babs?”

“Not very much, I’m afraid. I was only on the band a short while.”

“Well, what?”

“A has-been, mostly. Used to play a great horn, but drink put an end to that. He coasts along now, on his name and his reputation. He doesn’t play much, anyway. Mostly just fronts the band.”

“And that’s all?”

“That’s about it, Ray.”

“What about Tony Sanders? Do you know him at all?”

“I’ve dated him a few times.”

“Oh?” Somehow, Ray didn’t like that. He felt a knot of resentment in his chest, and he struggled to keep his voice even. “Have you seen him recently?”

“A few days ago. I had dinner with him. Why?”

“Just wondered.” His forehead creased into a frown, and she sat up abruptly and looked directly into his face.

“Why, you’re jealous!”

“Don’t be foolish.”

“You are, too.”

“What’s there to be jealous about?”

She giggled and pushed her hands against his chest. “Nothing. But you’re jealous—I can see it in your face.”

“Sanders went out with Eileen, too, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did.” She had stopped giggling.

“How often did he see her?”

“Not too often.”

“Did he know she was pregnant?”

“I have no idea.”

Ray shook his head in disgust. “All blind alleys. Every last one of them.”

“Forget them,” Babs said.

“I’m tired of it,” he said frankly. “I’ve been on the go all day. First the cops and then a hundred people. None of them know anything. None of them care.”

“Who’d you see?” Babs asked.

“Rusty O’Donnell first, and then Kram—”

“Oh, you met Rusty?”

“Yes.”

“What did she have to say?”

Ray shrugged. “Not a hell of a lot. I was surprised she’s Chinese. You didn’t tell me.”

Babs’s voice grew suddenly cold. “You didn’t ask me.”

“Ummm. Well, we talked around a little, and then I left.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Oh, I don’t remember. Kramer, I guess. Yes, Kramer and Eileen.”

“How long did you stay?”

“Oh, a little while.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” he said, puzzled by the tone of her voice.

Babs rose suddenly, walked across the room and leaned on the liquor cabinet. “I’d be damned surprised if nothing happened.” She bit off the words.

“I’m telling you, we talked. What did you ex—”

Babs’s eyes flared, and her lips skinned back over even white teeth. “You’re a liar.”

“What!”

“Did she do her little dance for you? I understand that’s her specialty. She lures little boys into her opium den and wiggles at them sideways.”

“Babs!”

“No wonder you’re tired.” She gave a hard little laugh, throwing her head back.

“Babs, I didn’t say I was tired. I just—”

“Get the hell out of here!” Babs said.

“What?” He blinked at her, puzzled. “Hey, what’s—”

He reached for her, and she shoved out at him, her hands flat against his chest. He stumbled backward several paces, staring at her curiously.

Her voice was dead cold now. She seemed to be a different person standing before him. Fury glowed in her eyes, etched the hard line of her mouth.

“From one woman to another, eh, Ray? Regular Casanova, aren’t you?”

“For God’s sake, Babs, listen to me! I—”

“What makes you think I’ll share you with her? What makes you think I’ll share you with any woman?”

“Babs, I—”

She slapped him suddenly and viciously. “Get out!” she screamed. “Get out!” She ran into the bedroom, and he heard the lock click on the other side of the door.

“Babs!” he shouted.

Her voice was sweet when it answered. “You can find your way out, can’t you, darling?”

“Babs, don’t be ridiculous.”

She didn’t answer.

“Babs!”

He waited outside the doorway for a long time. Finally he realized she wasn’t coming out while he was there.

He walked into the living room and dressed slowly. Once more, before he left the apartment, he called her name.

She didn’t answer.

Chapter Seventeen

He walked the streets, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched.

Dusk was a faint wash against the sky. The late workers were scurrying toward the subways, their faces studiously indifferent.

So this is how it ends, he thought.

Wham, bam, thank you ma’am. It was nice knowing you, and it was swell and all that, but goodbye, my friend, and good luck, and drop dead. Period.

It seemed to him now that his life had been a series of goodbyes ever since he’d hopped on the merry-go-round. He’d broken with his parents first, and then his old friends, and then his music, and then Jeannie, and now…