Body Blows by Marc Strange

in herself.”
    â€œThat’s another possibility.”
    â€œWhich means she would have known him.”
    â€œOr her.”
    â€œYeah, right, or her, or them .”
    They trade off. Mooney goes back to Leo, Pazzano steps into the room. He looks like he’s run out of questions. He waggles his head a couple of times as if to loosen his thick neck.
    â€œWe’ve got some fighters on the force,” he says. “Boxing club.”
    â€œYou part of that?”
    â€œOh, yeah.”
    â€œWhat do you fight at,” I ask sociably. “One-ninety-five?”
    â€œNinety-nine,” he says. “You?”
    â€œFighting weight was two fifteen,” I say. “I’m up about five, give or take.”
    He’s looking me up and down, wondering. He’s about ten years younger, belongs to a boxing club, works out regularly. Only natural for him to speculate.
    â€œYou should maybe come down sometime, put the gloves on, give us a free lesson.” He rolls his shoulders. “Weed says you used to be pretty good.”
    â€œQuit before I lost too many brain cells,” I say.
    â€œYou ever meet this Vivienne Griese before?”
    â€œSaunders. She said she was going back to her maiden name. And no, I’d never met her before.” I’ve just remembered something. “Her husband was around last night. Outside the hotel. Drunk. Angry.”
    â€œHey now. Pissed-off husbands go to the top of the list,” Pazzano says. “’Course, in your boss’s case that would make for a long list.”
    â€œI wouldn’t know, Detective.”
    â€œOh, yeah,” he says. “Word is your boss had lots of lady friends. Three wives, at least. Who knows how many mistresses, or unsatisfied wives, or hotel maids for that matter.” He pretends to smile. “I hear you were pretty friendly with the deceased yourself. She was giving you Spanish lessons.”
    â€œMostly correcting my pronunciation.”
    â€œTeach you any new words?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œLet’s see, Puede usted donde el aeropuerto? ”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œCan you tell me where the airport is?”
    He likes that. “Were you two planning a trip?” He glides back in my direction. “You ever see her outside the hotel?”
    â€œYou mean socially?”
    And now he’s in my face. “I mean any way at all, in the kitchen, down in your room. Private lessons so to speak.” He smiles a nasty smile. I repress the urge to wipe it off his face. “Anything going on between you and Miss Chimi Changa?”
    My turn to smile. “Once fought a guy from East L.A.,” I say. “Now he was a trash talker. He’d say just about anything to make you lose your temper, nasty remarks about your girlfriends, always mentioned the size of his penis. I never understood that.”
    He nods his head. “You should really come down sometime. Put on the gloves, just for a ‘friendly.’”
    â€œI never thought of it as recreation, Detective. It was my job.”
    The door opens. Mooney pokes his head in. “You signed that statement?”
    â€œBarring any spelling mistakes, it’s as accurate as I can make it,” I say. I avoid adding that it’s somewhat incomplete.
    â€œGot that motorcycle business in there?”
    â€œMakes for one short paragraph,” I say. “You find out the name of the guy who fell?”
    Mooney declines to answer. Typical cop. “We’ll be talking to your boss for a while longer,” he says. “You can wait out there.”
    When I stand up, Pazzano braces me for a moment. I can see that he’s considering things.
    â€œNice to see you two getting along so well,” says Mooney.
    I say, “Detective Pazzano was just inviting me down to the Police Boxing Club.”
    â€œSome tough guys down there, Grundy,” Mooney says with a