CHAPTER

10

EARLY MONDAY MORNING, Garcia had gone to the Dodge dealership in Bracksville, just south of Blind River, and shown his badge to the owner. It took some convincing, but thirty minutes later he was looking at a fifty-two-thousand-dollar cash sales receipt for Loyal Elders’s brand-new Dodge. The upgraded edition. Who had that kind of cash? Garcia had never seen that much money in one place outside of a stint on the narcs unit ten years ago. He got the address from the DMV and was a little surprised when he ended up in the trailer park on the south side of Blind River. Abandoned cars were everywhere—in the street, in the side yards, up on blocks. There was no way to know which one went with which trailer. The sun had already set by the time he parked his Civic beneath a broken streetlight. He got lucky quick when a half-dozen cars and trucks converged on the address.

He ran the plates on each car, but nothing hit. Still, he touched his revolver in its holster—an old habit—locked the car doors, and pulled his lapels up around his ears. The temperature had dropped fifteen degrees since sunset and now it was sleeting. An hour later a thirty-something white male came out of the trailer and stumbled to a banged-up El Dorado that Garcia had ignored because it was parked three houses down. He got the license number as the truck drove by and ran the plate.

Mike Tuckahoe, registered sex offender. Fuck. This was not the direction he’d expected.

By nine, the cars were clearing out. He could have arrested three of these guys for DUIs, but that wasn’t what he was there for. He wiped the fog off the windshield. It was coming down hard again, and his feet had turned to ice but he didn’t want to announce his presence by idling his engine and running exhaust out the tailpipe. He sank lower in the front seat.

Another man came outside, followed by a young woman who stayed on the porch while the man got in a truck parked in the driveway. Loyal Elders came outside, the bulk of his frame filling the doorway. The truck backed out, briefly lighting the two people on the front porch before it turned up the road. The woman was slight, more like a girl. Garcia looked back at the porch and saw Loyal grab and twist the girl’s arm, smack her once in the face. Garcia reached for the door handle, but then the girl got away from Loyal and crawled into the corner. Loyal went back inside and the porch light went out. She seemed okay.

A girl, though. It didn’t sit right.

Garcia pulled up the address for Tuckahoe and started the engine. In a few minutes he was halfway across town and the warm air from the car’s heater was thawing his toes.

From the street it could’ve been a crack house. The boxwood hedge looked like it had been trimmed with a hatchet, what with the mess of limbs jutting out beneath scant greenery. The glass on the front door was cracked and repaired with glue and tape. The front porch listed toward the street, its floorboards gaping and warped. He parked, got out, and banged on the door, hoping the glass window wouldn’t fall out on his shoes. On the other side of the door he heard bare feet approaching, slapping like wet mops. The porch light came on and Mike Tuckahoe, pulling a T-shirt over his head, peered out through the fringe of curtains. “What do you want?”

Garcia held his badge up. “You hanging out with kids again, Mikey?”

“Huh? No. I was just playing poker with a couple of guys. They can vouch for me.”

Garcia motioned at the door. “Open up.”

Tuckahoe arranged the T-shirt over his belly and opened the door. The smell of whiskey and backed-up sewage hit Garcia in the face. He put his hand over his nose and stepped to the edge of the porch. From the back of the house a woman’s voice called out, “Who’s there?”

“Go back to bed, Ma.” Tuckahoe stood flat-footed in a pair of dingy boxers, scratching his crotch.

“Who’s the girl?” Garcia asked.

“What girl?”

“The girl at the Elders’s place tonight. You’ve got one chance to give me a straight answer.”

“Hold on there.” Tuckahoe rubbed a thumb over his left eye. “That girl lives there, or used to. No, wait. She stays somewhere else now.”

“The court told you to stay away from kids, all kids, by a hundred yards.”

“Those are my buddies. Besides, she’s just some scrawny girl. I can’t help it she lives there.”

“Yeah, and I can’t help that I saw you breaking the conditions of your parole. You could get sent back for that.”

“Man, don’t do that. I’ll be out by lunchtime tomorrow and for what? I didn’t touch that girl.”

“But you looked, didn’t you?”

“Nobody told me I couldn’t do that.” He scratched his crotch again and looked over his shoulder.

“What the fuck, dude! Why do you keep touching yourself in front of me? Punk. Sitting on your butt in a warm house while my balls freeze in this crappy weather.”

“Take it easy. I got bedbugs is all.” Tuckahoe put his hands up. “It won’t happen again.”

“Who else was there?”

“Same guys every week, just local boys. Dude, it’s just poker.”

“What are the stakes?”

“A hundred dollars, winner takes all. Nothing illegal about that.”

“You ever been to Judge Keating’s game?”

“Fuck no. He’s the one sent me off.”

Garcia tapped a cigarette from his pack. “What’s Loyal Elders doing at the judge’s house, then?”

“How would I know?”

He blew smoke in Tuckahoe’s face.

“You gonna stand on my porch smoking, least you could do’s offer me one.”

A pain started in Garcia’s shoulder, a sharp pinch beneath his clavicle. He’d met too many guys like this. They knew no limits and were easy to buy. He shook another cigarette out.

“How’s a guy like that come up with the money to buy a brand-new truck?”

Tuckahoe took the lighter, lit his cigarette, and leaned against the doorframe. “He works at the fertilizer plant, don’t he? That’s a good job.”

“He hasn’t worked there in years. Not since the explosion. What’s that been? Three years.”

“I don’t know his business, man.”

Garcia flicked the cigarette into the damp yard. “Maybe we should go downtown, get a cup of coffee, and continue this conversation someplace warm.”

A light came on in the back of the house and the woman hollered, “What kind of trouble is it at this hour?”

“Leave it, Ma.” Tuckahoe closed the door behind him and blew smoke out the side of his mouth. “I’m just trying to live my life. What do you want?”

“We were talking about your buddy, Loyal.”

“Okay. He knows lots of folks, enough to run some numbers now and then. That girl? Maybe she helps him.”

“Is that right?”

“Might be, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

“That girl, she’s a sweet one, eh?”

“Heh.” Tuckahoe reached for his crotch but instead hooked his thumb in the waistband of his underpants. “I don’t know. Girl like that, though? Tight little ass. Sweet don’t even touch it.”

Garcia fought the urge to hit this perp. “There you go again, you stupid shit. You don’t know how to act.” He slammed his hand against the doorjamb and Tuckahoe jumped.

The lights in the house came on. A dog started barking across the street. Mrs. Tuckahoe, wrapped in a pink housecoat, came to the front door. Her mouth opened, then snapped shut, and she pulled the housecoat tight to her neck.

Garcia rubbed the back of his neck. This wasn’t what he was after. He stepped off the porch. “Don’t let me see you near a kid again.”