to you."
"Right. I'll call her. You gonna stick with
this?"
"All right," I said. I had a feeling I was
making a big mistake, but I didn't have anything better to do. The
house painting business was lousy. And I'd known Dino forever. If I
couldn't trust him, who could I trust?
"Great. You need anything, you let me know.
But don't get in trouble with the cops. I know a few of them, but I
can't help you very much there."
"There's one thing you can help me with. The
other thing I mentioned." I took out the cigarette pack and slipped
out the matchbook. "You can tell me about this place." I handed the
matchbook to him.
He looked at it for a minute, not saying
anything, and then tossed it across the room to Ray. "See what you
can find out," he said.
Ray went out with the matchbook. "I still
have a few contacts for that kind of stuff," Dino said. He drained
his glass and set it on the table. I still had half of my Big Red
left.
"Where'd you get the matchbook?" he
said.
"From Terry Shelton, I think. Before the
cops came."
Dino grinned. He had big, square teeth, like
tombstones. "He wanted you to have it, right?"
"Something like that," I said.
"I hope the cops don't find out you lifted
it."
"I hope you're not planning to tell
them."
He grinned again but didn't say anything. He
and his uncles would have gotten along pretty well, I think, had
their business still been thriving and had he been a part of it. As
far as I knew, he was a clean, upright citizen, but he had the
makings of a first-rate criminal.
Ray came back into the room on little cat
feet. I felt that he was there, but I didn't hear him return. I
turned to look, and there he was.
"You saw the address on the matchbook?" he
said.
"Somewhere on Telephone Road. I don't
remember the number."
"You been down Telephone lately?" Dino
said.
I turned back to him. "Not lately. It's part
of Highway 35, isn't? Comes into Houston from Pearland and runs
under the Gulf Freeway?"
"That's right," Dino said. "From the numbers
on that matchbook, I'd guess The Sidepocket isn't in one of the
classier areas of town. What about it, Ray?"
"You'd be guessing right."
Although I hadn't been in that part of
Houston recently, I recalled that there were parts of Telephone
Road, after you passed Hobby Airport and got closer to the part of
Interstate 45 that Houstonians call the Gulf Freeway, where there
were some fairly sleazy areas. Motels that hadn't been painted in
years, with gravel drives and signs offering rooms by the hour, and
probably a few clubs like The Sidepocket.
"Who owns it?" Dino said.
"Somebody named Ferguson runs the place,"
Ray said. "I wouldn't say for sure that he owns it. It's one of
those places that have a lot of struggling local bands playing
there because they're cheap. Goes for the chains and leather crowd.
I took the liberty of asking the friend I called to tip the word to
Ferguson that Tru might be dropping in this afternoon late for a
chat. I didn't say why, but I made it out to be a favor to us."
"You going up there?" Dino said.
"I might as well," I said.
There were other things I would rather have
done, but if Terry Shelton was tied to Sharon Matthews, The
Sidepocket was as good a place as any to start. Maybe Sharon had
been there with Terry, and maybe someone had seen her. You never
knew where something might lead you in one of these cases.
I had put my glass down on the floor, and I
bent down to pick it up and drink what was left of the Big Red.
"Are you interested at all in who killed this Shelton, if his
murder doesn't have anything to do with Sharon?"
I didn't think that Dino was going in for
humanitarianism these days, and I was right. "No," he said. "Unless
it involves Sharon, stay out of it completely. If you can find out
something about her at the club, fine. If you can't, drop it."
"Suits me," I said. I wasn't going in for
humanitarianism, either. I hoped that I could just forget all about
Shelton and that his death was just a side issue,
"Right. I'll call her. You gonna stick with
this?"
"All right," I said. I had a feeling I was
making a big mistake, but I didn't have anything better to do. The
house painting business was lousy. And I'd known Dino forever. If I
couldn't trust him, who could I trust?
"Great. You need anything, you let me know.
But don't get in trouble with the cops. I know a few of them, but I
can't help you very much there."
"There's one thing you can help me with. The
other thing I mentioned." I took out the cigarette pack and slipped
out the matchbook. "You can tell me about this place." I handed the
matchbook to him.
He looked at it for a minute, not saying
anything, and then tossed it across the room to Ray. "See what you
can find out," he said.
Ray went out with the matchbook. "I still
have a few contacts for that kind of stuff," Dino said. He drained
his glass and set it on the table. I still had half of my Big Red
left.
"Where'd you get the matchbook?" he
said.
"From Terry Shelton, I think. Before the
cops came."
Dino grinned. He had big, square teeth, like
tombstones. "He wanted you to have it, right?"
"Something like that," I said.
"I hope the cops don't find out you lifted
it."
"I hope you're not planning to tell
them."
He grinned again but didn't say anything. He
and his uncles would have gotten along pretty well, I think, had
their business still been thriving and had he been a part of it. As
far as I knew, he was a clean, upright citizen, but he had the
makings of a first-rate criminal.
Ray came back into the room on little cat
feet. I felt that he was there, but I didn't hear him return. I
turned to look, and there he was.
"You saw the address on the matchbook?" he
said.
"Somewhere on Telephone Road. I don't
remember the number."
"You been down Telephone lately?" Dino
said.
I turned back to him. "Not lately. It's part
of Highway 35, isn't? Comes into Houston from Pearland and runs
under the Gulf Freeway?"
"That's right," Dino said. "From the numbers
on that matchbook, I'd guess The Sidepocket isn't in one of the
classier areas of town. What about it, Ray?"
"You'd be guessing right."
Although I hadn't been in that part of
Houston recently, I recalled that there were parts of Telephone
Road, after you passed Hobby Airport and got closer to the part of
Interstate 45 that Houstonians call the Gulf Freeway, where there
were some fairly sleazy areas. Motels that hadn't been painted in
years, with gravel drives and signs offering rooms by the hour, and
probably a few clubs like The Sidepocket.
"Who owns it?" Dino said.
"Somebody named Ferguson runs the place,"
Ray said. "I wouldn't say for sure that he owns it. It's one of
those places that have a lot of struggling local bands playing
there because they're cheap. Goes for the chains and leather crowd.
I took the liberty of asking the friend I called to tip the word to
Ferguson that Tru might be dropping in this afternoon late for a
chat. I didn't say why, but I made it out to be a favor to us."
"You going up there?" Dino said.
"I might as well," I said.
There were other things I would rather have
done, but if Terry Shelton was tied to Sharon Matthews, The
Sidepocket was as good a place as any to start. Maybe Sharon had
been there with Terry, and maybe someone had seen her. You never
knew where something might lead you in one of these cases.
I had put my glass down on the floor, and I
bent down to pick it up and drink what was left of the Big Red.
"Are you interested at all in who killed this Shelton, if his
murder doesn't have anything to do with Sharon?"
I didn't think that Dino was going in for
humanitarianism these days, and I was right. "No," he said. "Unless
it involves Sharon, stay out of it completely. If you can find out
something about her at the club, fine. If you can't, drop it."
"Suits me," I said. I wasn't going in for
humanitarianism, either. I hoped that I could just forget all about
Shelton and that his death was just a side issue,
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