“If?”
“Okay, when.”
“She ever work the street?”
“Yeah, right. She was a hard-up, two-bit hooker.”
“Any idea why she was killed out on the street?”
“Probably walking the john out and he freaked.”
“Did she make a habit of walking johns out?”
“How would I know? You asked me to guess, I’m guessing.”
“You never dropped in on her during working hours?”
“Yeah, right. And piss her off grandly.”
“So she laid down the rules.”
“She was the star, man.” Faint smile. “One time, when we were—she was in a good mood, she said, I know you’re bugged by what I do, Teddy, but try to get past it, it’s no big deal, just acting. Right, I said. And the Oscar goes to. And she laughed and said, exactly. They should give an Oscar for what I do—best supporting actress with her legs spread. I—it, that bugged me. I didn’t like hearing it. But she thought it was funny, laughed like crazy.”
“When did she get sterilized?”
Barnaby’s hands dropped. “What?”
“When did she get sterilized—have her tubes tied?”
“Before I knew her.”
“How long before?”
“I don’t know.”
“So she told you.”
“It only came up because I got stupid, started talking about how I liked kids, one day it would be cool to have a couple. She laughed—she laughed a lot.”
He licked his lips again. “I said what’s funny, babe? She said you’re cute, Teddy. Go ahead, have some rug rats with some nice girl. Have an extra one for me ’cause I got fixed. I said what do you mean? And she said fixed. Operated on. I said what’d you go and do that for? She said no fuss, no mess, no pills to give me cancer. Then she laughed again, said I consider it a business expense, wish I coulda taken it off as a tax deduction. Big joke. I didn’t like it but with Mandy, you went along or you got off the bus. When you went along with her, laughed with her, things were cool.”
“And when you didn’t?”
“She shut you out.”
“So she got sterilized before you met her. Meaning over a year ago.”
“I met her a year and a half before she died and it was before that.”
“Did she say where she had the operation?”
Second’s hesitation. “No.”
“She ever mention the name of the doctor?”
“No.”
“What, Ted?”
“She never mentioned the name.”
“She tell you something else about him?”
“No, but I saw him.”
“Where?”
“The casino.”
“When?”
“Maybe a month before.”
“Before she was killed?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Why, is he some kind of—”
Milo held a big hand up. “Tell me, Ted.”
“Okay, okay, I was working and saw her doing her thing. Slinking around in a little black halter dress, her hair up, fake diamond earrings.” He closed his eyes for a second, preserving the image, opened them, tugged at his red shirt. “I tried to catch her eye, so I could maybe get to see her later. She gave a big smile, then I saw she was smiling past me, not at me. At someone else.”
“The doctor,” said Milo.
“I didn’t know he was a doctor. Later she told me he was. She walked right past my table, he was at another 500-dollar table, big pile of chips. She said hi to him and some other guy, hugs and kisses, like old friends. He collected his chips and they all walked off. Next day I told her nice of you to say hi. She said don’t get touchy, I go way back with the guy. He’s the doctor who fixed me. I owe him.”
“What’d she owe him for?”
“Maybe he did it for free, who knows?”
“A trade?”
Barnaby shrugged.
“What did he look like?” said Milo.
“Nothing special. Thirty-five, forty. Short. But big here.” Touching a shoulder. “Like a gym rat. Short hair, almost skinned, kind of jap eyes. Good threads—suit, tie, the works.”
“And the other one?”
“What other one?”
“You said there was another guy.”
“Yeah, but he was old, no big deal. Sick-looking—yellow skin, in a wheelchair. The doctor was pushing him around. Maybe he was a big-bucks patient having a last fling. You see that all the time in Vegas. Totally fucked- up people, paraplegics, people on air tanks, losers with no legs. Getting pushed around the casino with cups full of chips. Like a last fling, you know?”