At random moments my mind flashes back to that gothic image of Cleo’s boys, Jerry sitting headless in the reeds and Loreal no less dead, scalped and gaping. Juan says we’re not meant to forget such things—it’s the price of surviving.
According to the news story, the crashed airboat was stolen from a deer camp near Palmdale. A game warden is quoted speculating that the men were probably out hunting for alligators when they got caught in rough weather and wiped out at high speed. A loaded.22 caliber pistol—a favorite of gator poachers—was found in a jacket worn by young Freddie Moulter. That sneaky little shit!
The Post says the police are continuing to investigate the two deaths, but foul play is not suspected. The absence of.38 caliber holes confirms my ineptitude with the Lady Colt.
“Hello, stranger!”
It’s Janet Thrush. I give her a squeeze as I lead her to a booth in the corner. “You had me scared to death,” I whisper.
“Dooms.” She laughs. “All you had to do was check your messages.” She’s wearing a lime-colored halter, a flowered bikini bottom and feathered earrings made from salmon streamers. Her nose is sunburned and her ash-blond hair has been dyed auburn.
“Wanna hear what happened?”
“Oh heck, why not.”
“This was, like, Friday a week. The afternoon you and me talked about Jimmy’s last will and testimony. Anyways, that night I was get-tin’ ready for work—hey, can I have a croissant or a muffin? Coffee would be good, too.”
I snag a waitress so that Janet can order.
“Anyways, I’m gettin’ dressed for work—”
“For Janet-Cam.”
“Right. I’m in the bathroom puttin’ on the SWAT gear when all hell breaks loose. The front door busts open and then there’s voices, men’s voices, and they’re trashin’ out my place big-time. I don’t know whether to jump out the window or hide.”
“Did they know you were home?”
“I don’t think it mattered, Jack. I don’t think they cared,” she says. “So I’m locked in the John, scared shitless—pardon my French—when I hear the TV lights go crashin’ down. I swear to God, I just lost it. I mean I really wigged… those damn lights cost me a week’s pay. So I pull on the black hood and go busting out with my nine-dollar plastic rifle. ‘Police! Police! You’re all under arrest!’ And the two guys, they freak. I don’t know what they were expectin’ but they took one look at me in that SWAT getup and they hauled ass.”
“Did you recognize them?” I ask.
The croissants arrive and Janet pauses to gobble one. “Never saw ’em before in my life. One guy was bald and had a pirate patch over one eye. The other was tall and freckly.”
“Longhair?”
“Down to his butt. I first saw him, I thought he was a chick. He was messin’ with my computer—that’s another thing, Jack, these assholes ripped off my PC. I got no idea why.”
“I’ll tell you in a minute.”
“Anyway, they ran off like their balls were on fire.”
“And then… ?”
Janet calls another time-out for a blueberry muffin. Afterwards she says, “They garbaged my car, so a friend came and got me. I’ve been down in Lauderdale ever since, just chillin’.”
“Was it you who called the sheriff’s office and told them not to check the house?”
She nods guiltily. “I remembered I had a bag of buds under the mattress. I knew the cops’d find it and I wasn’t up for a hassle, so I gave ’em a story—’My boyfriend raised some hell but everything’s okay now so please don’t send a squad car.'”
“Well, it worked.”
“Remember I told you about the Convent-Cam setup, the girls who dress up like nuns? That’s who I’ve been stayin’ with. To be honest, Jack, I been scared to go home.”
“You want to know what scared me? The blood on the carpet, Janet. What the hell happened?”
“I stepped on a broken lightbulb, that’s what.” She swings a long leg up on the breakfast table and kicks off her sandal, revealing a large dirty bandage on the sole of her foot. “When they broke my kliegs, the glass went all over the place. I bled like a hippo.”