“Doesn’t that bother you?” she asked.
“Nah. I used to be jealous, but what’s the point? Monogamy’s not his thing. I figure what the hell? He’s still a stud in his way. Take it or leave it. He’s always got someone waiting in the wings.”
“You live in L.A.?”
“I’m mostly here. Anytime I’m down, though, I stop by his place.”
The information I was doling out seemed to make her restless. She said, “I have to get back to work. If you see him, tell him Thea said ‘hi.”‘ She dropped the cigarette on the floor and stepped on it. “Let me know if you find him. He owes me money.”
“You and me both, kid,” I said.Thea left the room. I confess I smirked when she banged the door shut. I caught sight of myself in the mirror. “You are such a little shit,” I said.
I leaned on the sink for a minute, trying to piece together what I’d learned from her. Thea couldn’t know about the shooting or she wouldn’t have been forced to try to weasel information out of me. She must have hoped he was out of town, which would go a long way toward explaining why he hadn’t been in touch with her. It wasn’t difficult to picture her in a snit of some kind. There’s no one as irrational as a woman on the make. She might seize the opportunity to screw around on her steady boyfriend, but woe betide the man who screwed around on her. Given the fact that Mickey’s phone was out, she must have driven down to his apartment to collect her personal belongings. She certainly hadn’t warmed to the idea that he and I were an item. I wondered how Scottie Shackelford would feel if he found out she was boffing Mick. Or maybe he knew. In which case, I wondered if he’d taken steps to put a stop to it.
SEVENTEEN.
I came out of the ladies’ room and paused inside the doorway to the bar, glancing to my left. Scott Shackelford was no longer sitting in the booth. I spotted him at the bar, chatting with the bartender, Charlie. The crowd was beginning to thin out. The band had long ago packed up and departed. It was nearly one-forty-five and the guys looking to get laid were forced to zero in on the few single women who remained. The busboys were loading dirty glassware into plastic bins. Thea was now standing at the bar with Scott, using a calculator to add up her tips. I zipped up the front of Mickey’s jacket. As I made my way to the front door, I became aware that she was watching me.
The chilly air was a relief after the smoky confinement of the bar. I could smell pine needles and loam. Colgate’s main street was deserted, all the neighboring businesses long since shut down for the night. I cut through the parking lot on the way to my car, hands in my jeans pockets, the strap of my handbag hooked over my right shoulder. Streetlights splashed the pavement with pale circles of illumination, emphasizing the darkness beyond their reach. Somewhere behind me, I heard the basso profundo rumble of a motorcycle. I looked over my shoulder in time to see a guy on a bike turning into the alley to the rear of the bar. I stared, walking backward, wondering if my eyes were deceiving me. I’d only caught a glimpse of him, but I could have sworn this was the same guy who’d shown up at Mickey’s Wednesday night in L.A. As I watched, he cut the engine and, still astride, began to roll his bike toward the trash bins. A wan light shining down from the rear exit shone on his corn-yellow hair and glinted against the chrome of the bike. He lifted the bike backward onto the center stand, locked the bike, dismounted, and rounded the building, walking toward the main entrance with a jingling sound, his jacket flapping open. The body type was the same: tall, thin, with wide bony shoulders and a sunken-looking chest.
I dog-trotted after him, slowing as I reached the corner to avoid running into him. He’d apparently already entered the bar by the time I got there. The bouncer saw me and glanced at his watch with theatrical emphasis. He was in his forties, balding, big-bellied, wearing a sport coat that fit tightly through the shoulders and arms. I showed him the stamp on the back of my hand, demonstrating the fact I’d already been cleared for admittance. “I forgot something,” I said. “Mind if I go back in real quick?”
“Sorry, lady. We’re closed.”
“It’s only ten of two. There’s still a ton of people inside. Five minutes. I swear.”
“Last call was one-thirty. No can do.”
“I don’t want a drink. This is for something I left. It’ll only take two minutes and I’ll be right out again.
Please, please, please?” I put my knees together and clasped my hands like a little child at prayer.
I saw him repress a smile, and he motioned me in with an indulgent rolling of his eyes. It’s perplexing to realize how far you can get with men by pulling girlish shit. I paused, looking back at him as if my question had just occurred to me. “Oh, by the way, the fellow who just went in?”
He stared at me flatly, unwilling to yield anything more than he had.
I held a hand above my head. “About this tall? Denim jacket and spurs. He arrived on a motorcycle less than a minute ago.”
“What about him”
“Can you tell me his name? I met him a couple of nights ago and now I’ve forgotten. I’m too embarrassed to ask so I was hoping you’d know.”
“He’s a pal of the owner’s. He’s a two-bit punk. You got no business hanging out with a little shit like him.”
“What about Tim? What’s their relationship?”
He looked at his watch again, his tone shifting to exasperation. “Are you going to go in? Because technically we’re closed. I’m not supposed to admit anyone after last call.”
“I’m going. I’m going. I’ll be out in a second. Sorry to be such a pest.”
“Duffy something,” he murmured. “Nice girl like you ought to be ashamed.”
“I promise I am. You have no idea.”
Once inside, I dropped the Gidget act and studied the faces within range of me. The overhead lights had come on and the busboys were now stacking chairs on the tabletops. The bartender was closing out the register and the party hearties seemed to be getting the hint. Thea and Scott were sitting in a booth. Both had cigarettes and fresh drinks: one for the road, to get their alcohol levels up. I crossed the front room, hoping to avoid calling attention to myself. Good luck with that. Three single guys gave me the toe-to-head body check, glancing away without interest, which I thought was rude.
I headed for the back corridor, operating on the assumption that Duffy Something was in Tim’s office since I didn’t see him anywhere else. I passed the ladies’ room and the pay phones and turned right into the short hallway. The door to the employees’ lounge stood open, and a couple of waitresses were sitting on the couch smoking while they changed their shoes. Both looked up at me, one pausing long enough to remove the cigarette from her lips. “You need help?” Smoke wafted out of her mouth like an SOS.
“I’m looking for Tim.”
“Across the hall.”
“Thanks.” I backed away, wondering what to do next. I couldn’t simply knock on his door. I had no reason to interrupt, and I didn’t want the biker to get a look at me. I glanced at the door and then back at the two. “Isn’t somebody in there with him?”
“No one important.”
“I hate to interrupt.”
“My, ain’t we dainty? Bang on the door and walk in. It’s no big deal.”
“It’s not that important. I’d rather not.”
“Oh, shit. Gimme your name and I’ll tell him you’re here. ”
“Never mind. That’s okay. I can catch him later.” I backed up in haste, then scooted around the corner and out the back exit. I walked forward a few steps and then turned and stared. Where the front of the building was only one story tall, the rear portion was two. I could see lights on upstairs. A shift in the shadows suggested movement, but I couldn’t be sure. What was going on up there? No way to know unless I created the opportunity to pick my way in.
Meanwhile, I’d have given a lot to know what the biker was saying to Tim. From the location of Tim’s office, I knew any exterior windows would have to be around the far corner to my left. I stood there, debating the wisdom of trying to eavesdrop. That corner of the building was shrouded in darkness, and it looked like I’d have to squeeze into the space between the Honky-Tonk and the building next to it. This was a feat that not only promised a bout of claustrophobia but the onslaught of hordes of domestic short-haired spiders the size of my hand. With my luck, the windowsills would be too high for peeking and the conversation too muffled for revelations of note. It was the thought of the spiders that actually clinched the vote.