When I got back from Newman’s, Carter was reading a magazine in an unmarked car in front of my house. He opened the door and got out as I walked past. His blazer was a definite blue light special from K Mart. The sunglasses were still there to hide the hangover or whatever else those eyes might reveal.
“We need to talk,” he said. I avoided his gaze and glanced down at the magazine on the passenger seat of his car—the latest issue of Barely Legal. The editors promised that their cover girl, Hot Coffee, would bare all inside.
“Shoot,” I said, “I’ve got nothing but time. I’d invite you in but the house is a mess. Maid’s day off.” Actually I could see Luisa peeking through the blinds. She’d be heading out that bedroom window in a few seconds.
“Some privacy would be better,” he said.
“Fine,” I said, “let’s go to the station. That is, if I’m under arrest. Otherwise, unless you’ve got a warrant, let’s talk here.”
“Listen up, Winter,” he said, “I’m trying to be reasonable here. Don’t play that smartass shit. You’ll end up second best.”
I stared at his sunglasses. Even though I couldn’t see into his eyes, I knew he’d blink first.
“I don’t want to be in your business,” he said, “but you seem to be making rounds saying something about this girl’s will.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“You know a Jeffcoat?”
“The name doesn’t ring a bell, Let me check my phone numbers.” I pulled my cell from my pocket and pretended to be going through my directory.
“Okay, you want to play games,” he said, “fine. But let me tell you. I don’t want this case coming back to bite me in the butt. I’m in line for promotion. I don’t want you fucking it up. This case is closed. Let’s keep it that way and not start talking about wills, lotteries, and all sorts of other silly shit. Close the book or I’ll have to start going through your business operations with a fine-tooth comb.”
“Do what you gotta do, boss,” I said. “I’m clean.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he said, reaching toward his shoulder holster, “just don’t tempt me.” He pulled his empty hand out and pointed his forefinger between my eyes. “Bang,” he said, mimicking a trigger pull, “bang, bang you’re dead. Shot fleeing police. Found with an unregistered firearm on his person. I’d enjoy writing that report.”
He turned around and walked back to his car.
At least I didn’t have to waste more of my Re-Nu to get rid of the aftertaste of this visit. I had to admit, though, he was giving me sound advice. My business activities couldn’t stand the scrutiny of an investigation. I wasn’t deep in the mix like the old days, but squeaky clean was too boring for me, especially living up in the hills where they didn’t even have a pool hall.
What I couldn’t figure out was how he found out about my visit to Jeffcoat so quickly. Maybe I should have mentioned this Peter Margolis to Carter to test the waters but I wasn’t sure how that would have helped. To tell the truth, I felt a little out of my depth and common sense kept kicking me in the head and telling me to back off. The problem was, I just didn’t feel in the mood.