Mr. Paradise

15

Delsa brought Jackie Michaels along with an empty cardboard box to drive Kelly home, telling her, "Jackie can look through Chloe's things, maybe see something I'd miss." He swapped handbags with her, giving Kelly the black Vuitton and taking Chloe's brown one. Kelly didn't say a word in the backseat of the car. They parked at the front entrance and went up to the loft. Delsa noticed the photos still on the kitchen counter. Jackie went into Chloe's bedroom with the box.

And now Kelly said, "Frank, would you help me off with my boots? I forgot when I put them on, you need a roommate to get them off." To Delsa they looked old and worn enough to slide off her feet. She sank into the sofa on her spine and told him to straddle the leg she extended, his back to her, and pushed against his rear end with the other foot as he pulled off a boot and then did it again. Kelly said, "You suppose cowboys help each other off with their boots-out on the lone prairie?"

Delsa tried to picture it and said, "Maybe some." He straightened feeling awkward and watched her pick up a book from the bamboo coffee table, what looked like an old book but still wearing a dust jacket.

"I want to read something to you, get your reaction."

She opened the book to a page with a corner turned down and leafed back a few pages.

"Here it is. The girl says, 'If you want me to, I'll love you. I know you better now.'"

She looked up at him, Delsa in his duffle coat hanging open. "They've just met, but she knows about him. He's a playwright with a recent opening in New York. What she's saying is, if you want to get it on, let's go. Have an affair in this small town in Vermont. And he says"-Kelly looking at the book again-"'Don't love me, Sheila. I can't reciprocate.'"

She looked up at him and Delsa said, "Yeah:?"

"Would you want to see one of his plays?"

"When was the book written?"

"I checked after I read the line, 1967. Did people talk like that then?"

"I was a year old."

"In that situation would you say you can't reciprocate?"

"What's the situation? Do I like her?"

"You barely know her, but she's attractive, easy to talk to, intelligent. She's cool."

"Then I'd probably reciprocate," Delsa said, "before too long."

Kelly said, "Why not, uh?" She said, "How long have you been alone? I mean since your wife died?"

"A year in July."

"I remember you said you don't have kids. What was her name, your wife?"

Where was she going with this?

He said, "Maureen."

"She have a job or was she a homemaker?"

"She was a cop," Delsa said. "She ran Sex Crimes."

Kelly said, "Wow," barely above a whisper.

"You want to know if I'm looking around?" Delsa said. "I thought I ought to wait at least a year."

Kelly said, "Why? Are you Sicilian?"

She didn't smile. Still, he knew she was kidding. What she was saying was why wait.

Jackie came out of the bedroom with a copy of Playboy she handed to Delsa, open. "An interesting shot of the complainant. I put some things in the box, credit card bills, bank statements, a few letters that should give us next of kin. Why don't you have a look in there. You can put the magazine in the box."

Delsa walked off and Jackie stood looking around the loft. She wore a long black quilted coat and wished now she'd worn extensions, a bunch of dreadlocks to come on with a more fierce look.

"You have a killer pad here," Jackie said. "All this space, you can have parties with live music, play touch football naked, do anything you want. You have a lot of parties?"

"Hardly ever," Kelly said, on her feet now.

"Like the quiet affairs better. Some friends you can be yourself with. Some exotic incense burning, a big pitcher of alexanders. You like gin or brandy in yours?"

"Gin."

"Montez over here much?"

Looking up at the ficus as she said it and hearing Kelly's surprised voice say no. "Why would you think that?"

Looking at her now. "All the time you've known him?"

"I didn't know him. I met him last night."

"You leave when he comes to see Chloe?"

"He was never here."

"Okay, but she must've talked about him, as roommates do, confide things? You know what I'm saying?"

Had her on the ropes. The girl frowning.

"You tell me he's never been here," Jackie said, "we'll be getting off to a bad start."

In the car driving back to 1300 Jackie said, "I thought I had her, but she stood up to me. Does not know Montez. Never saw him at the loft or before last night."

Delsa said, "You believe her?"

"I want to believe she's got nothing to do with Mr. Montez Taylor."

"He makes her nervous."

"You know what I mean. The girl's holding back. Tells us-maybe I should say admits Montez wants her to be Chloe."

"Needs her to be Chloe," Delsa said. "Needs to use her, I'm pretty sure the old man left Chloe something on the side, not in his will, that Montez knows about. And he's using Kelly to get his hands on it."

"Yeah, but you see where you're going?" Jackie said. "It means Kelly knows about it, too, but hasn't told anybody."

Delsa nodded looking straight ahead past the windshield wipers working at the Renaissance Center, seven hundred feet of glass standing against a sky full of sleet.

"She cops on Montez," Jackie said, "to get her name back. No harm done, it's her word against his. He's on the street and she can become Chloe again any time she wants. But this chick's spotless. Looks like a movie star. Is she willing to commit fraud, risk going to jail? Risk her life dealing with Montez? Frank, what's her game? She has to make all kinds of money showing herself in her underwear. Is she crazy? If she's only naive, that's worse."

Delsa said, "She hasn't done anything yet."

"But thinking about it every minute. Watch her expression she doesn't know you're looking." Jackie said, "Yeah, like that would be a problem. You can't keep your eyes off her."

They turned north on St. Antoine, toward the jails and the court and 1300.

She said, "Frank?"

Now she'd tell him to watch his step with Kelly, don't get carried away and fuck up. He was sure of it.

"What?"

"I interviewed Uncle Lloyd."

Delsa put his mind back on the case. "Tony Jr. says Lloyd's paid to see no evil."

"But he's out of work now. I went after him hard-nosed," Jackie said. "I did learn the old man was giving Montez the house and then changed his mind. Montez, as you can imagine, had a fit. Lloyd seemed pleased to tell me this."

"But will he testify to it?"

"I doubt it. I'm gonna study Lloyd's sheet and go see him again," Jackie said. "He offers me a drink this time I might take it."

They walked in the squad room and Richard Harris was on his feet telling them the inspector had stopped by to take a shot at Montez.

"Wendell got in his face saying the sooner he started talking the less time he'd do. I was surprised he threw the two white guys at him. You know, like we knew who they were and Montez, you could see, was becoming edgy. But he hung in, shaking his head, finally said that was it, he wanted his lawyer and was ready to call him. He took a card from his pocket and laid it on the desk. Avern Cohn. Wendell looked at it and said, 'I thought Avern had been disbarred by now.' He told Montez to go on home and think about doing time. He left and Wendell said, 'That man's so tightened up I doubt we could pound a peanut up his ass with a jackhammer.'"

Delsa said, "Avern Cohn:"

"Wendell said he use to represent Montez before Tony Paradiso took him over. Hey, but wait." Harris got a wanted sheet from his desk and handed it to Delsa.

Delsa looked at it, at the mug shot of the wanted man, and smiled. He sat down at his desk, his coat still on, and called Jerome Juwan Jackson.

"Man, I need you to stop by the squad room."

"Man, my mother's car ain't running. Have to go look at it, see what's wrong."

"Where's your mom live? I'll come by."

"But see," Jerome said, "I don't know when exactly I'll be there. Tomorrow's Nashelle's birthday, my girlfriend? I said I'd take her to the mall, she can pick out her present."

"Jerome," Delsa said, "let me read something to you. It's a poster that says 'WANTED' in big letters at the top. It describes the guy as a black male six-foot, two-ten, his hair in rows, beard with mustache-but it's a shitty beard, Jerome, bare spots in it. Name on the poster, Orlando Holmes."

"Yeah, you mentioned that one to me," Jerome said, "Orlando, with the dead Mexicans in his basement."

"That's right," Delsa said. "Then at the bottom of the sheet, Jerome, it says 'REWARD $20,000' for information that leads to his arrest."

Jerome said, "How long you gonna be there?"

Forty minutes later Delsa was telling Jerome, sitting at the side of his desk, "Now is when you use your street connections. Ask around-who knows what happened to Orlando? Try to find his girlfriend Tenisha through her mother. I'll get you her name and address. Get next to this lady if you can. I think she could help you out."

"What if I go to Orlando's house and look around?"

"You could. We've been through it. The trouble is, I find a phone number and call it? You know what I get?"

"'Orlando who?'" Jerome said. "'You mean the dude with the rows and the shitty beard? Never heard of him.'"

Delsa liked the way Jerome was showing his sense of humor, at ease in the squad room.

"What you do," Delsa said, "you find a number you call it, say you've been looking all over for Orlando. You have a deal going with him. Or, you say you want to know how he likes the Love Swing you gave him."

"Man, you crazy? Give him one of those? Get tangled up in it:" He said, "That's all I'm looking for, phone numbers?"

"Jerome," Delsa said, "a good investigator doesn't know what he's looking for till he sees it."

Jerome said, "A good investigator," nodding, going over the rest of it in his mind before he grinned and said, "Cool."

Delsa said, "Go to the scene during the day so you can see what you're doing. The police tape's gone, the woman next door moved out. Look on walls where there might've been a phone. On kitchen cabinets: Start there and find out what you're looking for."

Jerome held up the wanted poster. "Can I keep this?"

"It's yours," Delsa said.

Jerome looked from the poster to Delsa.

"Can police collect on this, they catch Orlando?"

Delsa shook his head.

"No, we're paid to do our job. Rewards, Jerome, are compensation only for concerned citizens, like yourself."

Jerome said, "Uh-huh."

He took his coat off, hung it on the rack, came back to his desk and phoned Kelly Barr.

"How're you doing?"

"The phone rings and I jump."

"We'd like you to come in tomorrow for a few more questions. It won't take long, I can pick you up and drive you home right after."

"So you're not arresting me."

"For what?"

"I was kidding."

"Yeah, but what were you thinking when you said it?"

"You want to grill me on the phone?"

"We'll save it for tomorrow," Delsa said. "Unless I can pick you up right now. What time is it?" He looked at his watch. "Almost six."

Kelly said, "Why don't we do it here?"

"I can wait."

"You asked me what I was thinking. You're dying to know, but you can wait?"

"Will you tell me?"

"By tomorrow I might've forgotten. Frank, I'm sitting here by myself scared to death not knowing what's gonna happen."

He said, "All right, I'll be over," not giving himself a chance to think about it.

She said, "I'll answer your questions, but can't we kick back a little, not be so formal about it?"

Delsa said, "This is serious, Kelly, and you're a witness," hearing his serious tone, always serious, so he'd keep looking at her as a witness. But he wasn't himself, only a cop asking her questions. He said, "I can come now if you want."

She said, "Make it seven-thirty. I have to shower, straighten the place up, put the right music on-"

He said, "Kelly:?"

She said, "See you, Frank," and hung up.

An hour and a half before he'd see her again after staring at her in the squad room this morning smoking her Slim, after sticking his butt in her face to pull off her boots and answering her question about reciprocating, staring at her and wanting to touch her face. He could miss Maureen, feel love, sorrow, and he could stare at a woman sometimes and wonder about her, not many, not any the way he stared at Kelly Barr and wanted to touch her. Touch her -Christ, eat her up. He had refused to admit it this morning and this afternoon, but now, hearing her voice in his mind, See you, Frank, he had to tell himself, You're fucked, you know it?

Nothing he could do about it. He wanted to be at ease with her, but she could be involved in the case and he didn't want to find it out unless she told him.

Maureen in the hospital said she knew he'd marry again, saying, as he shook his head, "You know you will, you like girls. You know how to talk to them. You like to flirt. I know you do, you can't help it." He told Maureen, swear to God, he had never cheated on her, not even thought about it in the nine years. She said, "'Cause you know I'd shoot her, the cunt, whoever she is." Maureen said, "You like being married. You'll do it again and I'll take it as a compliment, I made you happy." She said, "But go slow, see if you can talk first. There's a lot more talking in a marriage than screwing." She said, "You know why girls like you? You're gentle. They like the way you smile with your Al Pacino eyes. It's okay if she's a little smarter than you are. It didn't hurt our marriage. If she's a brain she wouldn't marry a cop anyway." He wondered what Maureen would've thought of Kelly. Maureen, with her Sex Crimes experience, had interviewed hundreds of rape victims, real ones and phonies, Maureen with her critical eye. She'd like Kelly but would find fault, pick at some mannerism, think she was a bit theatrical, low-key but still acting.

Now he was blaming Maureen for what he felt.

He thought of Jackie saying she was going to talk to Lloyd again. Maybe let down her dreads this time, have a drink if he offered her one, see if that worked.

Delsa was leaning that way now.