“Like they say, no good deed goes unpunished.”
The onsite property manager stuck her cigarette into the corner of her mouth and shoved a master key into the door of Auggie Apuzzo’s apartment. “I got a soft spot in my heart for ex-cons, you might say. I married my Sammy knowing he did a stretch for passing bad paper. Thirty-nine years we was married before the cancer took him. That man never so much as jaywalked after he got out.” She pushed the door open, flipped the light switch, and stood in the doorframe, blocking anyone’s entry. “So when his PO asks if I got a room for one of his guys, I say ‘You vouching for him?’ Guy says yes and I give ’em the room.” Jeannie Garfield shook her head. Tight gray ringlets drifted around a face covered with wrinkled-bedsheet skin.
“Like I say, I got a soft heart. But this guy rubs me the wrong way from day one. Slick, he is. Like he’s always peddling something. Well, let me tell you, I ain’t buying any of his shit. I tell him keep the place clean. Look at this hellhole.” She waved toward the interior of the one-room efficiency. “Next thing I expect is rats, is what I expect.” Jeannie looked up at Mort. “What’s that warrant saying you’re looking for, anyway? It better not be dope. I tell all my tenants this is a dope-free building.” She took a long drag on her cigarette and talked while she exhaled a rancid cloud of gray air. “I’ll put up with a lot of shit, but when it comes to drugs I draw the line. It’s dope, isn’t it?” She looked hopeful.
Mort tucked the search warrant into his jacket. “Actually, ma’am, we have Auggie’s permission to be here. You might say he’s sent us to retrieve something for him. The warrant’s just to make sure we had no trouble gaining access.” He pulled two pairs of plastic gloves out of another pocket, handed one set to Rita, and slipped into the other.
The property manager squinted her eyes as though trying to imagine what would send a Seattle police detective on a go-and-fetch errand for a lowlife like Auggie Apuzzo. She turned to Rita.
“You look more like a dancer. You sure you’re a cop?”
Rita pulled her badge out for Jeannie to examine for the second time that night. “Eighteen years on the force, ma’am. Wouldn’t want any other line of work.”
Jeannie nodded. “I guess we all gotta do our own thing. But I look like you? I’m seeking some kind of employment that makes the most of my assets, know what I mean?” She slapped a hand on her fleshy hip. “Don’t look like it now, but I once had a body like yours. Tight and right. And you better believe I made the most of it. Use it while you can, sister. Them tits don’t stay up where they belong forever.” She chuckled.
Mort squirmed at the advice. “We won’t be long. Auggie gave us good details where to find what we’re after. If you could just step aside…”
Jeannie seemed disappointed. Mort figured their arrival was the most fun Jeannie’d had on a Friday night since her Sammy died.
“You don’t mind I stay while you get what you come for, do you?” she asked. “And what’s holding Auggie up? Why he can’t come get what he needs hisself?”
Mort stepped over a stack of Penthouse magazines and around two heaps of clothes. He was headed for the one closet in the room.
“Mr. Apuzzo’s been detained,” Rita explained. She pointed to the food-encrusted plate on the pillow of Auggie’s unmade bed. A half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Black was propped in the blankets. “You might want to clean that up. I’m afraid by the time Mr. Apuzzo gets back you might get that rat problem you spoke about earlier.”
“In other words, he’s going up the river.” Jeannie clicked her tongue in disgust. Then she reached into the pocket of the blue gingham apron she wore, pulled out a fresh cigarette, and lit it off the butt of the one she was finishing. It bobbed in her mouth as she spoke. “And I guess I’m stuck for the two months’ back rent he ain’t never gonna be able to pay. Am I right?” Jeannie ground her spent cigarette into one of Auggie’s many ashtrays.
“I’ll have his PO get in touch with you. He can fill you in on the details. You have it?” Rita called out to Mort.
Mort shoved aside a heavy winter parka hanging from the closet’s rod. He saw the green suitcase Auggie told him would be there. He moved that out of the way, and there was the Planters peanuts can Auggie described. Mort reached down to retrieve it and felt something wobble inside. He brought it over to Rita, peeled off the yellow plastic top, and pulled out the contents.
“That ain’t dope.” Jeannie sounded like somebody let her down. “What the hell. Since when’s a cop and her sidekick sent on a mission to pick up an ex-con’s cellphone?”
Mort handed the phone to Rita with a smile. Rita pulled out an evidence bag and sealed the phone inside.
“Thanks, Jeannie.” Mort peeled off his gloves and offered his hand to the manager. “You’ve been a big help.”
“That’s it?” Jeannie asked, still disappointed. “That’s all you want? You’re not gonna toss the place? There’s dope here. I just know it.”
“I’ll make sure to have Mr. Apuzzo’s PO call you tomorrow.” Rita shook the woman’s hand before heading toward the door. “Have a good evening.”
They left the frustrated woman standing in Auggie’s apartment, spitting cigarette ash and complaining about the mess some people live with.
“Back to the station?” Rita asked as they buckled up in Mort’s Subaru.
Before Mort could answer, his own cellphone rang. He glanced at the clock as he turned the key in the ignition. It was nearly eight thirty. If it was Lydia again, he’d have to call back. There was no way he wanted to have a conversation about Allie with Rita in the car. But the screen showed it wasn’t Lydia.
“Hey, buddy. What’s up?”
“Mort, can you come to my place. Now?” Larry’s voice came over the car’s speakers. He sounded shaken.
“Everything okay?” Mort glanced over to Rita.
“No. No, everything’s most decidedly not okay. I don’t know what to make of this.”
“Make of what?” Mort asked.
Larry didn’t answer.
“Larry? What’s wrong?” Mort knew his friend was never at a loss for words.
“Carlton’s papers. I found something. Helen. Carlton…” Larry’s voice trailed off, as if he didn’t know what to say next.
“What is it, buddy?” Mort pressed.
“Just get over here, Mort. Right now, please. Maybe you can make sense of this.”
“Of what?”
Again several seconds passed before Larry spoke.
“Nothing is as it seems, Mort. Nothing at all.”