broom in her hands. A cigarette dangled from her lips. She wore an apron like Shirley Booth in
Hazel
. Her hair was wildly corkscrewed under the little white cap. She was rail thin, probably in her fifties, but her heavy makeup gave her the look of a gal who’d been around the block a few times.
“Is this your house?” Charlie asked, because she looked like the maid.
She waved him inside. “Melvin liked it when I dressed up.”
Charlie didn’t think that was any kind of answer, but he went inside anyway. She lived in one of those ranch houses they’d built after the war. Despite her maid getup, the place was a mess. Boxes were piled high around the foyer. Papers spilled onto the floor. There were magazines stacked around the sunken living room. The couch was piled high with glossy photos. Charlie saw the images and blanched.
“Kiddie porn,” the widow said. “Oughta be illegal, but whattaya gonna do?”
Charlie followed her into the kitchen. There were more magazines stacked on the table. Bondage mostly, but he saw some young kids, too.
“Give the people what they want.” The widow shrugged, like it was out of her hands. “People pay good money for that shit. The nastier it is, the more money they pay.” She shrugged again. “I got six kids to feed. One of ’em’s about to go to college. You know how expensive that is?”
Charlie didn’t know, because he’d always assumed Jenny would get married out of high school. Now that he was thinking about it, maybe he should put some money aside. He didn’t want his daughter to have to settle on the first cocksucker who winked her way. If she went to college, she’d be able to support herself. Charlie should be doing everything in his power to make sure she didn’t end up trapped like his mother.
The widow snapped her fingers in front of his face. “You in there, sugar?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Charlie looked around for a place to sit. There was nowhere. “Like I said on the phone, I wanted to talk to you about what happened to your husband.”
She snorted. “What
didn’t
happen to him?”
Charlie waited. And waited. Finally, he said, “The cops told me he’d changed over the last five years.”
She gave a heavy sigh. “My husband made a good living. And then he didn’t.”
“Why?”
She studied him. Smoke from her cigarette drifted into her eyes. “You knew Melvin?”
He shrugged.
“He owe you money? Because I don’t—”
“No.” Charlie didn’t know what to do except to come clean. “I was there yesterday. When it happened.”
“You kill him?”
“Of course not!” Charlie was shocked by the question. “He was trying to kill me.”
She smiled. “That sounds like my Mel. He was an asshole, but he was
my
asshole.”
Charlie leaned against the wall because there was nowhere to sit and he didn’t know how much longer he could go on standing. “Melvin said something to me before he killed himself. That we were the same. That fate brought us together.”
“That’s weird.” She used her foot to push a stack of magazines off a kitchen chair. “Sit down, honey. You don’t look so good.”
Charlie sat. “I think I’ve got a bladder infection.”
“Drink lots of cranberry juice.” She tapped her cigarette in the sink. “Melvin say anything else to you?”
Charlie thought about lying, but there was no point. “He said that I was going to end up like him.”
She nodded like it all made sense now. “He thought he could pass on the curse to you. He was always talking about how to get rid of it, move it on to somebody else.”
“What curse?”
“What curse?” She laughed at the question. “He just about lost everything except for the mail-order business, thank God for me. People weren’t scared of him anymore. They burned down all his buildings, the pimps rolled him every chance they got, and he ended up living on the street.” She gave one of her shrugs. “Sounds like a curse to me.”
“Why couldn’t he live
Hazel
. Her hair was wildly corkscrewed under the little white cap. She was rail thin, probably in her fifties, but her heavy makeup gave her the look of a gal who’d been around the block a few times.
“Is this your house?” Charlie asked, because she looked like the maid.
She waved him inside. “Melvin liked it when I dressed up.”
Charlie didn’t think that was any kind of answer, but he went inside anyway. She lived in one of those ranch houses they’d built after the war. Despite her maid getup, the place was a mess. Boxes were piled high around the foyer. Papers spilled onto the floor. There were magazines stacked around the sunken living room. The couch was piled high with glossy photos. Charlie saw the images and blanched.
“Kiddie porn,” the widow said. “Oughta be illegal, but whattaya gonna do?”
Charlie followed her into the kitchen. There were more magazines stacked on the table. Bondage mostly, but he saw some young kids, too.
“Give the people what they want.” The widow shrugged, like it was out of her hands. “People pay good money for that shit. The nastier it is, the more money they pay.” She shrugged again. “I got six kids to feed. One of ’em’s about to go to college. You know how expensive that is?”
Charlie didn’t know, because he’d always assumed Jenny would get married out of high school. Now that he was thinking about it, maybe he should put some money aside. He didn’t want his daughter to have to settle on the first cocksucker who winked her way. If she went to college, she’d be able to support herself. Charlie should be doing everything in his power to make sure she didn’t end up trapped like his mother.
The widow snapped her fingers in front of his face. “You in there, sugar?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Charlie looked around for a place to sit. There was nowhere. “Like I said on the phone, I wanted to talk to you about what happened to your husband.”
She snorted. “What
didn’t
happen to him?”
Charlie waited. And waited. Finally, he said, “The cops told me he’d changed over the last five years.”
She gave a heavy sigh. “My husband made a good living. And then he didn’t.”
“Why?”
She studied him. Smoke from her cigarette drifted into her eyes. “You knew Melvin?”
He shrugged.
“He owe you money? Because I don’t—”
“No.” Charlie didn’t know what to do except to come clean. “I was there yesterday. When it happened.”
“You kill him?”
“Of course not!” Charlie was shocked by the question. “He was trying to kill me.”
She smiled. “That sounds like my Mel. He was an asshole, but he was
my
asshole.”
Charlie leaned against the wall because there was nowhere to sit and he didn’t know how much longer he could go on standing. “Melvin said something to me before he killed himself. That we were the same. That fate brought us together.”
“That’s weird.” She used her foot to push a stack of magazines off a kitchen chair. “Sit down, honey. You don’t look so good.”
Charlie sat. “I think I’ve got a bladder infection.”
“Drink lots of cranberry juice.” She tapped her cigarette in the sink. “Melvin say anything else to you?”
Charlie thought about lying, but there was no point. “He said that I was going to end up like him.”
She nodded like it all made sense now. “He thought he could pass on the curse to you. He was always talking about how to get rid of it, move it on to somebody else.”
“What curse?”
“What curse?” She laughed at the question. “He just about lost everything except for the mail-order business, thank God for me. People weren’t scared of him anymore. They burned down all his buildings, the pimps rolled him every chance they got, and he ended up living on the street.” She gave one of her shrugs. “Sounds like a curse to me.”
“Why couldn’t he live
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