Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 12 - Murder Among Friends by Kent Conwell Page A
Authors: Kent Conwell
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the
two had disappeared into the lounge.
I paused just inside the door to accustom my eyes to the
dim lighting. The Bo Peep was an upscale lounge, catering
to the upwardly mobile within the community. There were
half a dozen couples in the lounge, some at the bar, some at
the tables around the dance floor, and another couple shooting pool at a corner table. I spotted Perry and her friend in a
booth along one wall.
With my back to them, I slipped into the next booth and
ordered a beer.
I got lucky. Perry was furious. She and Busby had a spat earlier when he informed her their relationship had run its
course.
Some of her ensuing comments would bruise the ears of
the less sophisticated. For the next few minutes, I listened as
two avant-garde women neatly dissected the male species’
ancestral background with visceral efficiency.
I glanced around the lounge, spotting a couple of single
males, both casting lecherous glances at the two women. I
grinned to myself, wondering if I should hang around and
watch the fireworks when one of them garnered the nerve
to ask one of the ladies to dance.
Pushing the beer away, I rose and headed for the door.
Now was not the time to speak with Judith Perry.
Outside, I jotted down her license, and ten minutes later
had her address and phone number. I drove by her place, a
condo in the Silvercreek Manor Complex. I arched an eyebrow, impressed. “Not bad,” I muttered. “Not bad at all.” I’d
check with her later that night after I changed clothes and
came up with a pretext that would cause her to spill everything she knew about Marvin Busby.
The sun had dropped behind the skyline of downtown
Austin by the time I hit Sixth Street. I parked in the alley
behind Neon Larry’s Bar and Grill. Larry and I go way
back, and I often used his back door as a shortcut to Sixth
Street.
I waved as I passed the bar. “Seen Goofyfoot around? I
was supposed to meet him out front”
The lean man shook his head. “How about a beer?” he
called out above the steady rumble of the crowd.
“Maybe later.”
Outside, I looked up and down the street. Tourists, drunks,
college kids, and the simply curious were beginning to
fill the sidewalks. Soon several blocks of the street would
be one big party punctuated by angry confrontations, annoyed cops, and acerbic curses until around two in the
morning.
I headed down the sidewalk. As I approached Neches
Street, I spotted Goofyfoot. He saw me at the same time,
and hurriedly shuffled toward me. “You find him?”
The wizened old man nodded. “Where’s the hundred?”
“What hundred?” I tried not to grin.
He studied me a moment. “For the Butcherman.”
“I’ll give it to him when I see him”
Goofyfoot pressed his cracked lips together.
I laughed. “What are you trying to do, con him out of
half of it?”
He frowned. “It ought to be worth something to me for
finding him for you”
“I gave you a sawbuck this morning”
His frown deepened.
“All right. Another ten. Satisfied?” I patted my pocket.
“The hundred I give to him.”
Goofyfoot agreed. The old man would have gone along
with five bucks or less, but every time I saw him or any of
the other transients, I thought of my old man and hoped
that wherever he was at that moment, someone would lend
him a hand if he needed it.
He grabbed the ten and stuck it into the tangle of rags
hanging off him. “In the alley up there,” he said, nodding to
the alley north of Sixth Street.
He started to walk away, but I stopped him. “No, you
don’t. Show me”
Like every alley in downtown Austin, this one was lined
with Dumpsters overflowing with trash. Next to some of the
Dumpsters were cardboard boxes that transients called
home sweet home.
We found the Butcherman curled inside a cardboard box
beside the Dumpster that served Wichie’s Last Chance Bar.
Enraged, he came boiling out when Goofyfoot kicked the
box.
Fists doubled and his
two had disappeared into the lounge.
I paused just inside the door to accustom my eyes to the
dim lighting. The Bo Peep was an upscale lounge, catering
to the upwardly mobile within the community. There were
half a dozen couples in the lounge, some at the bar, some at
the tables around the dance floor, and another couple shooting pool at a corner table. I spotted Perry and her friend in a
booth along one wall.
With my back to them, I slipped into the next booth and
ordered a beer.
I got lucky. Perry was furious. She and Busby had a spat earlier when he informed her their relationship had run its
course.
Some of her ensuing comments would bruise the ears of
the less sophisticated. For the next few minutes, I listened as
two avant-garde women neatly dissected the male species’
ancestral background with visceral efficiency.
I glanced around the lounge, spotting a couple of single
males, both casting lecherous glances at the two women. I
grinned to myself, wondering if I should hang around and
watch the fireworks when one of them garnered the nerve
to ask one of the ladies to dance.
Pushing the beer away, I rose and headed for the door.
Now was not the time to speak with Judith Perry.
Outside, I jotted down her license, and ten minutes later
had her address and phone number. I drove by her place, a
condo in the Silvercreek Manor Complex. I arched an eyebrow, impressed. “Not bad,” I muttered. “Not bad at all.” I’d
check with her later that night after I changed clothes and
came up with a pretext that would cause her to spill everything she knew about Marvin Busby.
The sun had dropped behind the skyline of downtown
Austin by the time I hit Sixth Street. I parked in the alley
behind Neon Larry’s Bar and Grill. Larry and I go way
back, and I often used his back door as a shortcut to Sixth
Street.
I waved as I passed the bar. “Seen Goofyfoot around? I
was supposed to meet him out front”
The lean man shook his head. “How about a beer?” he
called out above the steady rumble of the crowd.
“Maybe later.”
Outside, I looked up and down the street. Tourists, drunks,
college kids, and the simply curious were beginning to
fill the sidewalks. Soon several blocks of the street would
be one big party punctuated by angry confrontations, annoyed cops, and acerbic curses until around two in the
morning.
I headed down the sidewalk. As I approached Neches
Street, I spotted Goofyfoot. He saw me at the same time,
and hurriedly shuffled toward me. “You find him?”
The wizened old man nodded. “Where’s the hundred?”
“What hundred?” I tried not to grin.
He studied me a moment. “For the Butcherman.”
“I’ll give it to him when I see him”
Goofyfoot pressed his cracked lips together.
I laughed. “What are you trying to do, con him out of
half of it?”
He frowned. “It ought to be worth something to me for
finding him for you”
“I gave you a sawbuck this morning”
His frown deepened.
“All right. Another ten. Satisfied?” I patted my pocket.
“The hundred I give to him.”
Goofyfoot agreed. The old man would have gone along
with five bucks or less, but every time I saw him or any of
the other transients, I thought of my old man and hoped
that wherever he was at that moment, someone would lend
him a hand if he needed it.
He grabbed the ten and stuck it into the tangle of rags
hanging off him. “In the alley up there,” he said, nodding to
the alley north of Sixth Street.
He started to walk away, but I stopped him. “No, you
don’t. Show me”
Like every alley in downtown Austin, this one was lined
with Dumpsters overflowing with trash. Next to some of the
Dumpsters were cardboard boxes that transients called
home sweet home.
We found the Butcherman curled inside a cardboard box
beside the Dumpster that served Wichie’s Last Chance Bar.
Enraged, he came boiling out when Goofyfoot kicked the
box.
Fists doubled and his
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