Blood Test by Kellerman, Jonathan

board of rosewood and shagreen similar to one I’d

seen recently in a Sotheby’s catalogue; that piece

had gone for more than Milo took home in a year.

Acrossfrom this assemblage was the business area:

rosewood conference table, bank of black file cabinets,

two computers, and a corner filled with photographic

equipment.

The Jamaican stood with his back to the door and

resumed his sentry pose. He worked at fashioning

his face into a war mask but a rosy flush incano

desced beneath the dusky surface of his skin.

“You can go, Leon,” the woman said. She had a

whiskey voice.

The Jamaican hesitated. She hardened her expression

and he left hastily.

She remained behind the deskand didn’t invite us

to sit. Milo sat anyway, stretching out his long legs

and yawning. I sat next to him.

“Leon told me you were vey rude,” said the

woman. She was about forty, chunky, with small

muddy eyes and short pudgy hands that drummed

the marble. Her hair was cut blunt and short. She

wore a tailored black business suit. The ruffled

bodice of her white crepe de chine blouse seemed

out of character.

“Gee,” said Milo, “I’m really sorry, Ms. Rambo. I

hope we didn’t hurt his feelings.”

The woman laughed, an adenoidal growl. “Leon’s

a prima donna. I keep him around for decoration.”

98 Jonathan Kellerman

She pulled out an extra-long black cigarette from-a

box f Shermans and lit it up. Blowing out a cloud

of smoke, she watched it rise to the ceiling. When it

had dissipated completely she spoke.

“The answers to your first three questions are:

One: They’re messengers, not hookers. Two: What

they do on their own time is their own business.

Three: Yes, he is my father and we talk on the

phone every month or so.”

“I’m not from Vice,” said Milo, “and I don’t give

a damn if your messengers end up giving fuck shows

for horny old men snarfing nose candy and playing

pocket pool.”

‘ ‘

“How tolerant of you,” she said coldly.

“I’m known for it. Live and let live.”

“What do you want then?”

He gave her his card.

“Homicide?” Her eyebrows rose but she remained

impassive. “Who bit it?”

“Maybe no one, maybe a whole bunch of people.

Right now it’s a suspicious disappearance. Family

from down near the border The sister worked for

you, Nona Swope.’

She dragged deeply and tha Sherman glowed.

“Ah, Nona. The red-haired beauty. She a suspect

or a victim?”

.”Tell me what you know about her,” said-Milo,

taking out his pad.

She removed a key from a desk drawer, stood,

smoothed her skirt, and went to the files. She was

surprisingly short–five one or two. “I guess I’m

supposed to play hard to get, right?” She inserted

the key in the file lock and twisted. A drawer slid

open. “Refuse to give you the information, scream

for my lawyer.”

“That’s Leon’s script.”

That amused her. “Leon’s a good guard dog. No,”

she said, taking out a folder, “I don’t care much if

you read about Nona. I’ve got nothing to hide. She’s

nothing to me.”

She settled back behind the desk and passed the

folder across to Milo. He opened R and I looked

over his shoulder. The first page was an application

form filled out in halting script.

The girl’s fullname was Annona Blossom Swope.

She’d listed a birthdate that made her just-twenty

and physical measurements that matched my memory

of her. Under residence she’d claimed a Sunset

Boulevard address–Western Pediatric Medical Cen-ter-with

no phone number to go along with it.

The eight-by-ten glossies-had been taken in the

office–I recognized the leather furniture–and

they’d framed her in a variety of poses, all sultry.

The photos were black-and-white and shortchanged

her bY their inability to capture her dramatic coloring.

Nevertheless, she had what professionals call

presence and it came through in these pictures.

We thumbed through the photos–Nona in a string

bikini rolled down over her pelvis, Brazilian style;

Nona braless in a sheer tank top and jeans, nipples

budding through the fabric; Nona making love to

an all-day sucker; Nona, feline, in a filmy negligee

with a fuck-you look in her dark eyes.

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