13
BAD NEWS
Meat approached 1329 Broadview with caution. He was on the opposite side of the street and he paused periodically to tie and retie his shoelaces. He had seen spies do this to make sure they weren’t being followed. As he worked on his shoelaces he glanced up and down the street.
He straightened once again and went over his plans. He would cross the street, go up to the house, enter, and ring Marcie Mullet’s bell. If she answered, he would ask to speak to her. “I have something that belongs to you,” he said, speaking out loud. He put one hand over his back pocket to make sure the wallet was still there.
A car pulled up beside him and a voice said, “Just the man I was looking for.”
Meat stared. He hadn’t heard or seen the car approaching. Although Meat didn’t think he was either a man or someone being looked for, he glanced around.
It was Chico Jones, Herculeah’s dad, and Meat was very glad to see him.
“Mr. Jones, what are you doing here?”
“I stopped by the house, and Herculeah told me you might be here.” Chico Jones got out of the car and put one hand on Meat’s shoulder. Meat couldn’t remember him doing that before. Maybe Chico Jones suspected him of something.
“You talked to Herculeah?” he asked.
“She told me about what happened last night at Funny Bonz. I thought I’d check and make sure this—” he paused to look at his notes—“Marcie Mullet’s all right.”
“Can I go with you? I want to know if she’s all right, too.” It was extremely pleasant to have Chico Jones on his side.
“You wait in the car. I want to talk to you.”
“But—”
He held the car door open like a policeman and Meat got in like a victim. He watched as Chico Jones went up the walkway to 1329.
Even though Meat was extremely glad to have run into Chico Jones, he was uneasy about the way Chico Jones was treating him. Herculeah’s dad was being too nice. Also, his look seemed more piercing than usual, as if he were actually trying to see into his brain—the way Herculeah frequently did.
He glanced out the window. Beside him the police radio sputtered with requests and information.
Could Herculeah have said something to her dad—something about—he couldn’t think of anything to explain Herculeah’s behavior. It was almost scary the way she was avoiding him, as if he had some terrible illness.
Suddenly, Chico Jones was coming down the steps, down the sidewalk.
“Not there,” Chico Jones said.
“‘And nobody’s seen her?”
“No, but the superintendent heard someone in the apartment during the night.” Chico Jones turned his head to Meat. “So. What happened last night?”
“I was at Funny Bonz—that’s a comedy club—and I went to the bathroom.”
“What time?” “A little after seven. And there was a dead body in one of the stalls. It fell forward into the room.”
“You’re sure the person was dead?”
“She wasn’t moving.”
“Did you feel for a pulse?”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“See any blood?”
“No.”
“And what? You went back to the room where the class was being held?”
Meat felt that Chico Jones wasn’t asking his usual sharp questions. It was as if something had distracted him.
“Yes, and I told Mike—”
Mike Howard.“ Another turn through the mental Rolodex.
“Yes, Mike Howard. I told him I’d found a dead body and he went and checked it out and came back and said there wasn’t anyone there. He claimed it was an April Fools’ joke. Another person went to the rest room later and didn’t see anything either.”
“Well, I’ll check it out, Meat.”
“Will you let me know what you find? Herculeah probably won’t tell me anything. She’s avoiding me these days.”
He watched Chico Jones closely to see his reaction. Chico Jones gave him another of those sympathetic looks that Meat didn’t care for.
“You’ll be the first to know,” he said cheerfully.
Meat got out of the car. He waited for Chico to start the motor, but he didn’t. He leaned out and said, “Go on home, Meat. Herculeah’s got something she wants to talk to you about.”
“What?”
“I’ll let her do the honors.”
And Chico Jones drove away.
He knows what it is, Meat thought, and it’s bad news. It’s such bad news that he couldn’t even tell me, and that’s part of a policeman’s training—to tell people bad news.
Everybody knows what the bad news is but me.