Hugger Mugger

SIXTEEN

THE HOUSE SAT on a nice lawn behind a white fence, on a wide tree-lined street where other houses sat on nice lawns behind white fences. All the houses dated from before the Civil War and, had they been a little grander, would have thus qualified as antebellum mansions. I parked in the driveway and walked up to the front door and rang the bell. The yard smelled richly of flowers. In a minute the door was opened by a smallish woman in jeans and a white shirt. She wore no shoes. Her toenails were painted dark maroon. Her gray-blond hair was twisted into a single long braid that reached nearly to her waist.

I said, "Polly Brown?"

"Yes."

"My name is Spenser. Tedy Sapp sent me over."

"Tedy called me," she said.

She stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her.

"We can sit on the veranda," she said. "It's such a pleasant night."

We sat in a couple of rocking chairs and looked out across the dark lawn at the quiet street. There was a good breeze blowing past us and it must have discouraged the bugs, because there weren't any.

"This is not a whorehouse," Polly Brown said. "I run an escort service. My girls come to you."

"I'm not here for that," I said.

"I know why you're here, I was just clarifying my situation. The 'you' was generalized."

"Of course it was," I said. "You don't sound southern."

"I'm from Cincinnati," she said. "Went to college and everything."

"How'd you end up here?"

"I have no idea," she said.

We were quiet again, rocking in the near darkness.

"So what would you like to know about Pud Potter?" she said.

"I gather he availed himself of your services."

"Often," she said.

"But not here."

"I told you."

"Yes, you did, so where?"

"Where would I send the girl?"

"Yes. I assume it wasn't to his house."

"Oh, wouldn't that be smart," she said. " 'Hello, Mrs. Potter, I'm here to fuck your husband.' "

"So where?" I said.

"He keeps a room and bath in town. Just off the square."

"Glad to hear there's a bath," I said.

"So what's the problem?" Polly said.

"My question exactly," I said. "He ever cause trouble or anything?"

"Pud? Hell no, he's a sweetheart. Lotta the girls liked him because he'd be too drunk to actually do anything and they'd get paid anyways."

"How about the law?" I said. "He ever have any trouble there?"

"Nope. I run a clean operation, pay my dues, the law leaves me alone."

"Including Becker?"

"The black deputy-in-charge?"

"Un-huh."

"I have no problem with him."

"You pay him off?"

"No."

"Operation like this pays off somebody," I said.

She rocked a little and didn't say anything. She was small enough so that her feet only touched the floor when she rocked forward.

"But not Becker," she said.

"Know a guy named Delroy?"

"Maybe. What's he do?"

"Private security," I said. "On behalf of Pud's father-in-law."

"Yes. I know him."

A silver Volvo station wagon went slowly past us on the empty street, its headlights bright and silent.

"Tell me about him?"

"One of the girls tried to supplement her income," Polly said, "by putting the squeeze on Pud."

"Threaten to tell his wife?"

"Worse. She rigged a Polaroid and got some pictures during the gig."

"Which she threatened to show his wife."

"And everybody else, I believe."

"And?"

"And Delroy came down and explained the facts of life to her."

"Which were?"

"I never asked."

"Can I talk with her?"

Polly shrugged.

"If you can find her," she said. "Name's Jane Munroe."

"You know where I should look?"

"No."

"She doesn't work for you anymore?"

"No. I fired her before Delroy even talked to her."

"He talk to you first?"

"Yes. He suggested I fire her, but I would have anyway. Nothing kills a good client list like some whore threatening to blab."

"Is Jane still in town?"

"I'm not their mother," Polly said. "I manage their professional lives. I have no idea where Jane Munroe is, or if she's still using the name."

"Was Delroy polite?"

"Very businesslike," she said.

"He threaten you?"

"Didn't need to. As soon as I heard about the scam, I told him she'd be fired."

A big yellow cat appeared and rubbed up against my leg. I reached down and scratched his ear. He stayed for a moment, then left me and jumped up onto the porch railing and sat looking out over the dark lawn.

"There anything else?"

"Like what?"

"Like something about the Clive family that I'd like to know, but am too dumb to ask?"

"Tedy said I could trust you," she said.

"Tedy's right," I said.

"How do you know Tedy? You gay?"

"I'm straight. I met him this afternoon, the way I've met you tonight."

"I haven't had a lot of reason to trust straight men," she said.

"You used to turn tricks?" I said.

"Sure. You think I bought a franchise?"

"Just being polite," I said.

"A bunch of fat guys with hair on their back," she said. "Usually drunk, telling me they loved me. Telling me that they were going to give me the fuck of my life."

She laughed. It was a very unpleasant sound in the soft Georgia night. The yellow cat turned his head and looked at her without emotion.

I waited.

"What a hoot!" she said.

"You're a lesbian," I said.

"How'd you know?"

"I'm a professional detective," I said.

"Sapp told you."

"Yes, but I questioned him closely."

"Lot of the girls are lesbians," she said.

"What's love got to do with it," I said.

"Exactly," she said.

The yellow cat turned his head back toward the dark lawn, then silently disappeared off the railing. There was a scurrying in the bushes and a small squeak and then silence. I waited some more.

"Sapp's a good man," Polly said.

"Seems so to me," I said.

"You was smarter," Polly said, "maybe you'd ask me about Stonie Clive."

"Cord Wyatt's wife?"

"Yes."

"Tell me about her," I said.

"She worked for me for a while."

"When?"

"Two years ago."

"You know who she was?"

"Not at the time."

"How'd you recruit her?"

"She came to me. Said she'd heard about me. She said she had always wanted to do this kind of work and could I take her on? She was a nice-looking girl. Upperclass. I figured she'd do well."

"So she actually worked."

"Yes. But here's the cool part. I service a truck stop on the Interstate, up by Crawfordville. Normally I send the worst girls up there. Mostly it's head in the cab of some ten-wheeler at twenty bucks a throw. Stonie wanted that."

"BJ's at a truck stop?" I said.

"If you don't waste a lot of time talking," Polly said, "you can make a pretty good night's pay."

"Why would she need money?" I said.

A little light spilled out onto the veranda through the screen door. It was enough so that I could see her shrug.

"She's not still with you?" I said.

"No. Left about six, eight months ago."

"With no notice?"

Polly almost smiled.

"Nope, just stopped showing up. Lot of girls do that."

"How'd you find out who she was?"

"Saw her picture in the paper, some big racetrack thing."

"You're sure it was Stonie?"

"I know my girls," Polly said.

"She ever say why she wanted to do this?"

"Nope."

"You have any theories?" I said.

She rocked some more.

"Most of the girls it's simple. They got no education. They got no skills. They need money. So they do this. Some girls do it because they get something out of exploiting men."

"The men are often thought to be exploiting them," I said.

"Uh-huh."

I could tell that Polly had her own position on exploitation.

"Some girls just like it," she said.

"Truck stops at twenty bucks a… pop?"

"Not usually. But everybody's different."

"You think Stonie liked it?"

"No."

"It wasn't the money," I said.

"I don't think it was the money," Polly said.

"Exploit men?"

"Maybe a little of that," Polly said. "But…"

She rocked for a time, thinking about it.

"You know her husband's a chicken fucker?"

"I know," I said.

"I think she was getting even," Polly said.