Street." I gave him the number.
"Any thoughts on who done it?"
"No, but it's sour," I said. "I found April and then she disappeared. So I went to see Rambeaux and somebody had beat him up and scared him gray. He said I was going to get him killed. Then I went to ask Ginger Buckey some more questions and I couldn't find her and now she's dead."
"Anything else?" Belson said. He walked to my kitchen and poured another shot of whiskey.
"April worked out of a house called Tiger Lilies."
"Elegant," Belson said. He drank some whiskey and shook his head with respect. "New York ain't going to put people on overtime," he said. "Hookers get aced, you know."
"Tell them to check Rambeaux," I said.
"Sure," Belson said. "They sit around waiting for me to call and tell them what to do. They're grateful as hell when I do."
"Drink the Black Bush," I said.
"Sure, but not fast. It's a waste to drink it fast."
"Take the glass," I said. "Sip it in the car."
Belson grinned for the first time. "Okay," he said. He glanced at the tangle of clothes on the floor. "My love to Susan," he said.
13
Maine is much bigger than any of the other New England states and large stretches of it are, to put it kindly, rural. Lindell is more rural than most of Maine. If three people left, it would be more rural than the moon. The center of town appeared around a curve in a road that ran through scrub forest. There was a cinder block store with a green translucent plastic portico in front and two gas pumps. Next to it was a gray-shingled bungalow with a white sign out front that said in black letters LINDELL, MAINE, and below it U.S. POST OFFICE. Across the street was a bowling alley with a sign in the window that said Coors in red neon script. Beyond the three buildings the road continued its curve back into the scrub forest. Some years back there had been a timbering industry, but when the forest got depleted, the timber companies moved on while Lindell sat around and waited for the new trees to grow. I parked in front of the Lindell sign and went into the building. Half of it was post office, one window and a bank of post office boxes along the wall. The other half .of the building was the site of town government in Lindell. Town government appeared to be a fat woman in a shapeless dress sitting at a yellow pine table with two file cabinets behind her. I smiled at her. She nodded.
"Hello," I said. "I'm looking for a man named Vern Buckey."
The fat woman said, "Why?"
"I need to talk with him about his daughter.
"Vern don't like to talk to people," the woman said. There was a gap in her upper front teeth about four teeth wide.
I smiled at her again. She didn't swoon. Was I losing it? Of course not. She was just obdurate.
"Sure, ma'am. I don't blame him. I respect a person's privacy. But this might be important to Vern." If the smile didn't work, the silver tongue would.
"Vern don't like people talking about him neither," she said.
"Well, sure," I said. I was smiling and talking. "Nobody does, but why don't you just tell me where he is and I'm sure I can explain it to him."
"Vern don't like people telling other people where he lives."
"Lady," I said, "I don't actually give a rat's ass what Vern likes, if you really want to know. I drove seven hours to talk with him and I want to know where he is."
The woman laughed a wheezy laugh. "A rat's ass," she said, and laughed some more. "By God."
She fumbled around in the litter on the table and found a tired-looking pack of Camels and got one out and lit it with a kitchen match that she scratched on the underside of the table. She inhaled some smoke and blew it out with a kind of snort.
"Well," she said, "you're a pretty good-sized fella."
"But fun-loving," I said, "and kind to my mother."
She smoked some more of her Camel. "Let me tell you something for your own good," she said. She was squinting through the smoke from the cigarette, which she left in the corner of her mouth while she talked. "If you
"Any thoughts on who done it?"
"No, but it's sour," I said. "I found April and then she disappeared. So I went to see Rambeaux and somebody had beat him up and scared him gray. He said I was going to get him killed. Then I went to ask Ginger Buckey some more questions and I couldn't find her and now she's dead."
"Anything else?" Belson said. He walked to my kitchen and poured another shot of whiskey.
"April worked out of a house called Tiger Lilies."
"Elegant," Belson said. He drank some whiskey and shook his head with respect. "New York ain't going to put people on overtime," he said. "Hookers get aced, you know."
"Tell them to check Rambeaux," I said.
"Sure," Belson said. "They sit around waiting for me to call and tell them what to do. They're grateful as hell when I do."
"Drink the Black Bush," I said.
"Sure, but not fast. It's a waste to drink it fast."
"Take the glass," I said. "Sip it in the car."
Belson grinned for the first time. "Okay," he said. He glanced at the tangle of clothes on the floor. "My love to Susan," he said.
13
Maine is much bigger than any of the other New England states and large stretches of it are, to put it kindly, rural. Lindell is more rural than most of Maine. If three people left, it would be more rural than the moon. The center of town appeared around a curve in a road that ran through scrub forest. There was a cinder block store with a green translucent plastic portico in front and two gas pumps. Next to it was a gray-shingled bungalow with a white sign out front that said in black letters LINDELL, MAINE, and below it U.S. POST OFFICE. Across the street was a bowling alley with a sign in the window that said Coors in red neon script. Beyond the three buildings the road continued its curve back into the scrub forest. Some years back there had been a timbering industry, but when the forest got depleted, the timber companies moved on while Lindell sat around and waited for the new trees to grow. I parked in front of the Lindell sign and went into the building. Half of it was post office, one window and a bank of post office boxes along the wall. The other half .of the building was the site of town government in Lindell. Town government appeared to be a fat woman in a shapeless dress sitting at a yellow pine table with two file cabinets behind her. I smiled at her. She nodded.
"Hello," I said. "I'm looking for a man named Vern Buckey."
The fat woman said, "Why?"
"I need to talk with him about his daughter.
"Vern don't like to talk to people," the woman said. There was a gap in her upper front teeth about four teeth wide.
I smiled at her again. She didn't swoon. Was I losing it? Of course not. She was just obdurate.
"Sure, ma'am. I don't blame him. I respect a person's privacy. But this might be important to Vern." If the smile didn't work, the silver tongue would.
"Vern don't like people talking about him neither," she said.
"Well, sure," I said. I was smiling and talking. "Nobody does, but why don't you just tell me where he is and I'm sure I can explain it to him."
"Vern don't like people telling other people where he lives."
"Lady," I said, "I don't actually give a rat's ass what Vern likes, if you really want to know. I drove seven hours to talk with him and I want to know where he is."
The woman laughed a wheezy laugh. "A rat's ass," she said, and laughed some more. "By God."
She fumbled around in the litter on the table and found a tired-looking pack of Camels and got one out and lit it with a kitchen match that she scratched on the underside of the table. She inhaled some smoke and blew it out with a kind of snort.
"Well," she said, "you're a pretty good-sized fella."
"But fun-loving," I said, "and kind to my mother."
She smoked some more of her Camel. "Let me tell you something for your own good," she said. She was squinting through the smoke from the cigarette, which she left in the corner of her mouth while she talked. "If you
Similar Books
