face. “You a bill collector?”
Carver said, “Not exactly.”
“Too bad. Billy mighta gave you the job of trackin’ down Gretch and gettin’ him to pay up on the rent besides whatever other bad debts he’s got. Fella like Gretch, I know he’s gotta owe plenty of people all over town. Probably the way he paid for that fancy car of his.”
“Ever hear of Enrico Thomas?” Carver asked.
“Nope. Why?”
“It’s a name Gretch has used.”
“Not surprisin’. He’s the type that’d use different names. What are you, a cop?”
“A private one.”
“Like that Spenser on TV?”
“As opposed to Columbo,” Carver said. “I get the impression you and Gretch didn’t get along very well.”
“Nope, we didn’t. My name’s Ed Hodgkins. I manage the place for Billy, and Gretch was always givin’ me a fit about everything from leaky faucets to burned-out light bulbs. He’s a perfectionist about everything except payin’ his bills on time.”
“Does Billy live on the premises?”
“Billy? Hell, no! He’s born to money. He ain’t about to live in a dump like this.”
“Do you mind if I go up and have a look at Gretch’s apartment?”
Hodgkins smiled at Carver and raised a white, bushy eyebrow. “You workin’ for somebody Gretch owes?”
“Owes and can’t pay,” Carver said.
“You look plenty fit despite the cane. Private cops like you, do they ever get physically persuasive with deadbeats like Gretch? You know, make them wanna pay what they owe for fear of more interest buildin’ up?”
Carver knew what the old man was thinking, so he decided to let him think it. He leaned on his cane and said nothing.
“Uh-huh!” Hodgkins said, grinning. “Well, an experience such as that’d be just what a character like Gretch might need. You give me your name and I’ll call you if he turns up here again or I hear anything about him.”
Carver gave him his plain white business card with only his name, address and phone number.
Hodgkins squinted at it. “From Del Moray, huh. I got relatives over there. Cousin Charmaine and an Aunt Delia.”
“I don’t think we ever met,” Carver said.
Hodgkins glared at him. “You humorin’ me, young fella?”
Carver laughed. “Yeah, I guess I am. Sorry.”
Hodgkin’s seemed mollified by the admission and apology. He shoved a gnarled hand into one of the jeans pockets and pulled out the ring of keys again. They jingled as he worked one of the keys off the ring and handed it to Carver. “My hunch is, you’re exactly the kinda fella I’d like to see catch up with Gretch. His apartment’s number 2-W, last one on the second floor west.”
Carver thanked him, then said, “By the way, did Gretch put out any trash before he left?”
“Sure did. Lots of it.”
Carver brightened. He might be able to get a lead on Gretch by poking through what he’d thrown away.
“Already been picked up, though. Early this mornin’. It was in ripped up plastic bags. You wouldn’t believe the stench. Smelled to high heaven.”
Carver said, “I’m not sure if I’m disappointed.”
“Just lock up behind you and bring the key back to me soon as you’re done,” Hodgkins said.
Carver said he would, but Hodgkins didn’t hear him. He was already back inside the garage, scraping tracks in the dirty concrete floor with the push broom.
When Carver reached the building entrance, he glanced back and saw thick clouds of dust rolling from the dim garage out into the sunlight. Hodgkins working up a storm.
Gretch’s apartment was furnished in Salvation Army decor. A hodgepodge of scarred and threadbare furniture in the never-never land between new and collectible sat on a mottled blue shag rug that had probably been there since the seventies and never cleaned. The place was neat but dusty; Carver wondered what might be hiding in the long nap of the carpet as he crossed the room toward the kitchen.
Hodgkins had been busy there. All the cabinet doors were open, and
Carver said, “Not exactly.”
“Too bad. Billy mighta gave you the job of trackin’ down Gretch and gettin’ him to pay up on the rent besides whatever other bad debts he’s got. Fella like Gretch, I know he’s gotta owe plenty of people all over town. Probably the way he paid for that fancy car of his.”
“Ever hear of Enrico Thomas?” Carver asked.
“Nope. Why?”
“It’s a name Gretch has used.”
“Not surprisin’. He’s the type that’d use different names. What are you, a cop?”
“A private one.”
“Like that Spenser on TV?”
“As opposed to Columbo,” Carver said. “I get the impression you and Gretch didn’t get along very well.”
“Nope, we didn’t. My name’s Ed Hodgkins. I manage the place for Billy, and Gretch was always givin’ me a fit about everything from leaky faucets to burned-out light bulbs. He’s a perfectionist about everything except payin’ his bills on time.”
“Does Billy live on the premises?”
“Billy? Hell, no! He’s born to money. He ain’t about to live in a dump like this.”
“Do you mind if I go up and have a look at Gretch’s apartment?”
Hodgkins smiled at Carver and raised a white, bushy eyebrow. “You workin’ for somebody Gretch owes?”
“Owes and can’t pay,” Carver said.
“You look plenty fit despite the cane. Private cops like you, do they ever get physically persuasive with deadbeats like Gretch? You know, make them wanna pay what they owe for fear of more interest buildin’ up?”
Carver knew what the old man was thinking, so he decided to let him think it. He leaned on his cane and said nothing.
“Uh-huh!” Hodgkins said, grinning. “Well, an experience such as that’d be just what a character like Gretch might need. You give me your name and I’ll call you if he turns up here again or I hear anything about him.”
Carver gave him his plain white business card with only his name, address and phone number.
Hodgkins squinted at it. “From Del Moray, huh. I got relatives over there. Cousin Charmaine and an Aunt Delia.”
“I don’t think we ever met,” Carver said.
Hodgkins glared at him. “You humorin’ me, young fella?”
Carver laughed. “Yeah, I guess I am. Sorry.”
Hodgkin’s seemed mollified by the admission and apology. He shoved a gnarled hand into one of the jeans pockets and pulled out the ring of keys again. They jingled as he worked one of the keys off the ring and handed it to Carver. “My hunch is, you’re exactly the kinda fella I’d like to see catch up with Gretch. His apartment’s number 2-W, last one on the second floor west.”
Carver thanked him, then said, “By the way, did Gretch put out any trash before he left?”
“Sure did. Lots of it.”
Carver brightened. He might be able to get a lead on Gretch by poking through what he’d thrown away.
“Already been picked up, though. Early this mornin’. It was in ripped up plastic bags. You wouldn’t believe the stench. Smelled to high heaven.”
Carver said, “I’m not sure if I’m disappointed.”
“Just lock up behind you and bring the key back to me soon as you’re done,” Hodgkins said.
Carver said he would, but Hodgkins didn’t hear him. He was already back inside the garage, scraping tracks in the dirty concrete floor with the push broom.
When Carver reached the building entrance, he glanced back and saw thick clouds of dust rolling from the dim garage out into the sunlight. Hodgkins working up a storm.
Gretch’s apartment was furnished in Salvation Army decor. A hodgepodge of scarred and threadbare furniture in the never-never land between new and collectible sat on a mottled blue shag rug that had probably been there since the seventies and never cleaned. The place was neat but dusty; Carver wondered what might be hiding in the long nap of the carpet as he crossed the room toward the kitchen.
Hodgkins had been busy there. All the cabinet doors were open, and
Similar Books
