Wednesday, August 29
1450 hours
Denver, Colorado
“Manny?”
“Just a sec … Manny, it’s for you.”
“Yello?”
“Jesus, I hate that.”
“Hey, the voice returns. Hate what?”
“That—people who say yello instead of hello.”
“Getting a tad cranky for a desperado, aren’t you?”
“You heard about that?”
“Who hasn’t? You run with the wrong crowd, kid.”
“Maybe. How’s Elvira?”
“Gone. You buy this? She doesn’t like me anymore now I’m straight. She says I got no ambition!”
“Fuck her.”
“No, thanks. I did that. Took weeks for the rash to go away. Sorry about your brother.”
“Me too. Thanks, Manny … Look, I need a favor.”
“Name it, my son. I live to serve.”
“You’re still on the same job?”
“Even as we speak. I hope these things don’t make you sterile. I’m sitting here right now, looking at little green numbers and stuff. You wouldn’t believe the kind of people use Best Western. White trash. Here’s one: Biff and Bop Bunkley. Are we supposed to buy that? I mean, it’s an insult. Whatever happened to names like John and Joanie Smith?”
“Credit cards.”
“Yeah … Well, listen, kid, the line’s okay but my boss is a real bastard. What can I do you for?”
“A watch.”
“Yeah? You looking for somebody?”
“Excuse me, I didn’t know this was Jeopardy.”
“Sorry. Got a name or do I read ’em all off to you?”
“I can’t stay on the line. Here it is. Ready?”
“Hit me.”
“I need a Galston, Barney or Barnaby. A G-1 of Barnaby most likely.”
“That’s Barnaby as in the teddy bear?”
“Yeah. There’s a car.”
“Donnez-moi, my child.”
“Seventy-five de Ville, midnight-blue metallic. Zulu Romeo Golf three three four. Virginia plates.”
“Got a time frame?”
“Seven days.”
“Yeah. Alone?”
“Just the Caddy.”
“Hah. Why not just carry a sign saying ‘Yo, here I am. Come get me.’ How’s the nigra?”
“Middling. Gone home to rest.”
“I heard he got himself a message from the Federals. I heard he took the big dive under the putting green.”
“Who’d you hear that from?”
“Hey, what is this? Jeopardy?”
“Yeah. Well, no, that’s not the case. He’ll be fine.”
“Okay. Glad to hear it. He still play liar’s dice like he used to? Took five hundred away from me at the Helpy-Selfy Laundromat and Topless Bar in Lauderdale, back in eighty-three. He’s the best liar I ever met, next to Elvira.”
“Well … can you do it?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s easy. Do you have anybody at the other chains?”
“I was thinking about Lillian at Holiday Inn.”
“Forget it. She married a retired cop. A smoky for the state of Nebraska. Can you believe it? I can do Holiday Inns for you. I know a woman works in their Reservations office. That all right?”
“What will you tell her?”
“What is this—”
“Jeopardy? Yeah, Manny, it is. Go with God, my son.”
“You want to give me a number?”
“No. You asking?”
“Give me an hour. Take care of yourself.”
Sonny made the next call from a phone booth a mile down Arapaho.
“St. Cloud Police Department. Officer Pikkula.”
“Can I speak to Officer Carasco, please?”
“Unit?”
“What?”
“What unit is he in, sir?”
“Oh.” Christ … what was Marlee’s last assignment?
“Communications.”
“Thank you, sir. Just a minute. I’ll put you through to Radio, sir. Will you hold?”
Hold what?
“Yes, thanks.”
Muzak. All of America is afraid to be alone with itself. Oh, this is great. The Muzak version of “Nadine Honey Izzat You.” Shame on you, Chuck. Shame.
“Radio.”
“Hello, is Officer Carasco there?”
“Yes.”
Smartass.
“Well, can I talk to her?”
“This a police matter?”
“No. Just a call.”
“Call back at four. She’s on duty right now. Goodbye.”
Shit.
Here’s something else. The remote control. Now how the hell could America let something like the remote control for the television set ever get invented? You don’t like a commercial, you hit MUTE. The MUTE button on the remote control was the first sign that Sonny had ever seen that there might be intelligent life on this planet.
Mind you … see that? See the way the commercials use all that print? Even if you shut the sound off, they know you’ll still watch the screen. You’ll still get the message.
Now, there’s a serious crock of shit. How come in all the beer commercials now, there’s always some woman hitting some guy. There. She hits him with a purse. And in the other one, she’s pushing this weight-lifter guy around and he’s taking it.
What’s the message there?
God. Mud-brown. This room is the color of shit. Why would somebody want to paint a room shit-colored?
The phone rang.
The sound went through Sonny as if he were wired into the instrument. He stiffened and stood up, staring at the thing as if it had turned into a toad.
Ring.
There’s another thing. Why is it a good thing that any asshole anywhere in the world, if he has a dime he can make a bell ring in any house in the world?
Ring.
Ring.
It stopped. When Sonny looked up, the walls were about a yard closer. He was stuck in a shit-brindle room while things went on all around him. He called Manny Rizzuto back and was told that Mr. Rizzuto’s line was busy.
At three-thirty he called Marlee Carasco in St. Cloud.
“Radio room.”
Somebody different.
“May I speak to Officer Carasco, please?”
“Certainly, sir. Just a minute.”
No Muzak. There’s hope for the world.
“Hi?”
Lucas Poole’s little cousin Marlee. The last time Sonny had seen her, she was taking Highland dancing in a church basement in Buffalo. How long now?
“Still doing the sword dance, Marlee?”
There was a long silence.
“Can I call you back, sir? I’m on duty right now.”
What the hell. He’d be out of this room in an hour anyway.
He gave her the number.
Thirty minutes later, the phone rang.
Sonny picked it up.
“Uncle Sonny?”
“Hey, kid. How’s it going?”
“God. You should never call me at work. They tape every call that comes in.”
“Are they going to ask you about that call?”
“I told them you were a boyfriend. They can tell it came from Denver, you know. They can tell in forty seconds. Even if you hang up. Don’t do that.”
“Marlee, I have a lot of faith in the incompetence of institutions. I need a little help and your uncle said he’d talked to you about this thing.”
“Yeah. I hope they kill this guy. He sounds like a real psycho. Are you after him too?”
“I was wondering … the Feds will have a bulletin out on him. Is there anything on it that might help me out? I hate to ask, but he’s pretty hot and I really need some slack.”
“Yes. The bulletin came in on the FBI fax on Monday. But I gave all that stuff to Uncle Lucas. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Does it give you a list of departments they faxed it to?”
“No. It’s a national fax. Routine stuff. Interstate Flight. A photo and identifying marks. He has one green eye and one blue one, if that helps?”
“No. I mean, thanks, kid. But I knew that. I was hoping they might have given you some sideband information. Direction of travel. Anything like that?”
“Yeah … Well, it may not be connected, but we’re supposed to contact Washington if we see him. And also they asked us to let the Flagstaff PD know if we caught up to him. It seems there’s a big alert on in Flagstaff, like they think he might go there for some reason. We’re supposed to tell Flagstaff and the Arizona Highway Patrol as soon as we get any word, so they can stand down. It’s costing a lot to keep troopers on the interstate and Flagstaff is all in a tizzy about him.”
“Flagstaff? Why Flagstaff?”
“They don’t tell us things like that. They just tell us. You know the FBI. They’re as tight as a pickerel’s asshole.”
“A what? For Christ’s sake, Marlee. Your language.”
“Sorry, Uncle Sonny. It’s these guys here. They’re so gross.”
“Flagstaff, huh? Okay, kid. That’ll do. You okay?”
“Yeah. You’re not mad with me, are you?”
“Over what, kid?”
“On account of I’m … you know. Me signing on.”
Sonny laughed. “Not at all, honey, I’m proud of you. So’s Lucas.”
“Do you know where he is, Uncle Sonny?”
“Yeah. He’s fine.”
“I hope so. Aunt Marie saw him two days ago and she says he’s real thin and doesn’t look too good.”
“Would I lie to you, Marlee?”
“I think so. Take care of yourself. ‘Bye.”
“ ’Bye, kid. Be a good cop.”
“Talk to me.”
“Can’t you just say hello?”
“No. Derivative.”
“Jesus, Manny. This is business.”
“I think you’re losing your sense of enjoyment.”
“Second by second, Manny.”
“Well, I’m not gonna make you feel any better. No sign of the guy. Nobody in this chain took a room anywhere under that name or anything like it. Lots of big blue Caddies, but wrong plates.”
“How about your connection at the Holiday Inn chain?”
“She’s still looking. I told her it was for the cops.”
“She ask to see the case card?”
“No. She trusts me.”
Sonny thought about it for a while. Manny hummed “Guantanamera.” Did a good job of it too.
“Manny—you got any way of connecting with AMEX, Visa, MasterCard? Diner’s, anything like that?”
“I know what you’re thinking. You think he’s stupid enough to use his own charge card? Anyway, even the dumbest desk clerk is going to say, look, how come you got one name here and another name on your card?”
True. Sonny was scrambling.
“It’s a big country, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” said Sonny, seeing it all in his mind.
“Well … you want me to keep on looking?”
“Yeah. And get on to your lady. He’s got to be staying somewhere.”
“Ahh … I hate to be crass, but this is business.”
“One kay. You take care of the Holiday Inn lady.”
“Sounds fine. But, Sonny … there’s a lot of hotels and motels and rooming houses and flophouses. None of them on the system. Don’t even take a charge card.”
True, thought Sonny. And he could be driving all night and all day. Gas! He’d need gas.
“You have any access to the oil chains, Manny?”
“Sonny, you’re not thinking too clearly here. If he’s on the run, he’s not gonna use any cards unless he got a stolen one, and that ain’t as easy as it sounds, my friend. He’s gonna be running on cash, pay cash for everything.”
Sonny was silent.
“See?” said Manny. “It’s a big country. He could be anywhere. Want some advice?”
“No,” said Sonny, and he slammed the phone down.