I was at a loss as to what to do next. I had plenty of questions and not a lot of answers. I mulled it over and decided that it might be time for another visit to the Sorbonne.
Thursday afternoons are usually quite busy downtown, especially around the aquarium. Chattanooga has become a tourist hotspot over the past twenty years or so. Even on a weekday there are a lot of folks around. Fortunately, the Sorbonne doesn’t open until four. It was just after three thirty when I arrived outside the rear door.
I pushed the button and waited. Less than a minute later, I heard the bolt being pulled. The lock turned, and the door opened an inch or two. I gave it a push. Benny stepped back a couple of feet, rubbing his nose. He’d been trying to peer out through the gap. Poor Benny.
“Starke! For Pete’s sake, what the hell do you want this time?”
“Just to talk.”
“Damn you,” he grumbled, turning and walking to his office. “You touch me again, Starke, and I’ll file a complaint. I swear it. I’ve had a gutful of people bustin’ in here and knocking me around.”
He waddled round the desk and flopped down in the chair. I looked around the filthy office. The bed didn’t look any different from the last time, a pile of dirty sheets and blankets. Two cats sprawled in the middle of it all. The other cat was lying on the window ledge, licking its ass. It would have been cute had the whole place not been so disgusting. It stank. Why in God’s name don’t the inspectors shut this place down?
I sat down on the steel chair—I don’t think it had been moved since the last time I sat on it—and grinned at him. “People, Benny? Not just me then?”
“Hell no. I had Tree’s two pimps in here yesterday. Look what they done to me.” He hauled his T-shirt out of his pants and dragged it up over his cadaverous, extended belly, exposing several small but decidedly nasty bruises.
“James and Gold? What did they want?”
“They wanted to know about you, Starke. Wanted to know what you’re up to. They knew you were in here that night. They wanted to know if I’d talked to you. I told ’em the truth. I said you were asking about the girl, about them. I told ’em I didn’t tell you nothin’. Didn’t make a damn bit of difference. Duvon punched me in the gut four times with the barrel of that cannon he drags around with ’im. Told me if I talked to you, or anyone else, about them or Tree again, they’d shoot out my kneecaps.”
Benny rubbed his face. “Come on, Harry. Give me a break. They find out you’re in here again, they’ll be back, and they’ll put me in a wheelchair. Why don’t you just go and leave me the hell alone?”
“I will, Benny, in a minute. First though, I want you to take a look at a couple of photos.”
I flipped the screen on my iPhone and brought up a picture of Charlie Maxwell and showed it to him.
“Do you recognize her, Benny?”
He looked at the image, hesitated, then said, “No. Never seen her.”
“You sure, Benny? She’s never been in the bar?”
“Geez, Harry. What is it you don’t understand about the word no? I said I ain’t seen her, an’ I ain’t. You think I wouldn’t recognize a good-looking piece of ass like that? I don’t know her.”
I flipped the screen to a photo of Michael Falk. “How about him?”
“Oh yeah. He comes in now and then, mostly on weekends, late. Has a couple o’ drinks, makes a buy, then leaves.”
“Makes a buy? Cocaine? Crack?”
“Nah, just weed. Enough for a few joints is all. He’s a lightweight.”
“When did you last see him?”
He thought for a moment, his face screwed up as he concentrated.
“It’s been a while. Friday, I think, late. Not last Friday, the one before. He was with a dude.”
“James? Gold?”
“Nah. This guy wasn’t one of Tree’s people. At least I don’t think so. White dude. Never seen him before. Tall guy, big, kinda geeky.”
“Go on.”
“What’s to tell? The guy in the picture came in first, ’bout nine thirty, the other guy a few minutes later. They had one drink, talked, and then left together. Couldn’t have been in here more’n fifteen minutes at most.”
“Has he been back, the second guy?”
“Nope. Never seen him before or since.”
“Anything else you can tell me about him?”
“Nope. Except that he was wearing one of those quilted jackets, an’ a ball cap.”
Now that got my attention. “Benny. This is important. What color was the jacket?”
“Hell. I dunno, dark. I can’t remember, Harry. You know how it is in the bar. Low lights, colored an’ all, an’ I didn’t take any notice anyway. It was a Friday night an’ we was busy; I was busy. Wasn’t interested. Coulda been any color, but it was too dark to tell.”
I looked at him, and he looked away. I wasn’t going to get anything else out of him, but at least I’d gotten something. I got up and handed him one of my cards.
“Okay, Benny. I believe you. If you remember anything else, especially about the second guy, give me a call, will you?”
He looked at the card, flipped it onto the desktop, and said, “Oh yeah, you can be sure I’ll do that.”
I smiled at the sarcasm. “Don’t bother to get up, Benny. I know the way.”
“Yeah, and don’t come back.”
I walked around the block to where I’d left the car. The meter was about out. I sat inside and thought for a moment. The second guy? Who the hell is he? Not one of Shady’s. He doesn’t employ whites. One of Harper’s? Could it have been Hope? I wonder.
I hit the starter, then pulled away and headed home. I’d had enough for one day.