Presumed Guilty, page 21
Was he joking? She decided not to ask. “All right. A diet Coke.”
“That’s it?”
“Is that all right?”
He shrugged. “To each his — I mean her own.”
Dallas watched him go and say something to the young bartender, who had dark curly hair and a jaded face. Working in a place like this, how could he not be?
The man returned with a modest-size glass of diet Coke that he placed in front of Dallas. It didn’t even have a lemon slice with it.
“That’ll be fifty dollars,” he said.
“What?”
“Expensive Coke. Bottled in Saudi Arabia.”
A criminal comedian? But he didn’t smile or walk away. He was serious.
“It’s for Gilda,” he said.
Of course. Dallas felt a blush rushing in and was glad the place was dark. She was so unsophisticated about these things. This was the way it was done, she supposed. She fished in her purse for cash and put two twenties and a ten on the table. The man snatched it up.
“No tip?” he said.
Dallas looked at him.
“Kidding. Enjoy. I’ll let Gilda know you’re here.”
The Coke was watery. This whole thing was watery — unsolid, unpredictable. She looked around the place. It was empty except for an older woman at the edge of the bar, looking into a martini glass. The young bartender looked at Dallas as if she were a curio.
Dallas took a small New Testament out of her purse, one she’d carried around for years. She’d read it in many a circumstance, but never one like this.
Her ribbon bookmark was in the twelfth chapter of John’s gospel, and she read to the end:
Then Jesus cried out, “When a man believes in me, he does not believe in me only, but in the one who sent me. When he looks at me, he sees the one who sent me. I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness.
“As for the person who hears my words but does not keep them, I do not judge him. For I did not come to judge the world, but to save it. There is a judge for the one who rejects me and does not accept my words; that very word which I spoke will condemn him at the last day. For I did not speak of my own accord, but the Father who sent me commanded me what to say and how to say it. I know that his command leads to eternal life. So whatever I say is just what the Father has told me to say.”
Jesus came so that no one should stay in darkness.But to those who reject his words, only judgment and condemnation.
Oh, the stakes were high! For Ron and Jared especially. Would they reject Jesus after all? Jared was far away. Where was Ron? Do not let them remain in darkness, Lord!
She looked up and saw a woman in a red jacket with fur collar and cuffs talking to the man at the front. The woman also wore a black miniskirt from which two long dark-nyloned legs shot downward, coming to rest in black shoes with stiletto heels. Her hair was a blazing shade of purple.
And then she was walking toward Dallas with a face that did not look pleased.
“What is this?” she said.
“Gilda?”
Her face, registering annoyance, was heavily made up, especially around the eyes. They were cat eyes, and Dallas figured they must drive some men to certain distraction. Or should she say, destruction?
“I was supposed to meet a guy named Dallas.”
“I’m Dallas.”
“You’re not a guy.”
Dallas did Mel. “Thanks fer comin’, ma’am.”
Gilda’s mouth made a little O. “Well now, that’s very clever.” She slid out the opposite chair out and sat down. “What’s your real name?”
“It’s really Dallas.”
“How’d you get it?”
“My dad. He was from Texas and he loved the Cowboys.”
“Oh.”
“What’s your real name?”
Gilda said, “You don’t think it’s real?”
“Just asking.”
“Clever again. You ever see that old movie with Rita Hayworth?”
“Gilda.I think Glenn Ford was in it too.”
“I always wanted to look like her. But you play the cards you’re dealt.” A distant, mournful tune seemed to play in her head. Then she snapped back. “You didn’t need to do all that posing. I go both ways, I just don’t advertise it. You do voice-overs or something?”
“Or something. Only for fun.”
“Fun’s my middle name, girl. Like what you see so far?”
What did she see? A woman of about twenty-eight or nine, on the cusp of getting too old for what she did. And then what? Damaged goods.
“I’d like to talk to you,” Dallas said.
“Sure. We got a few minutes here.”
“Fifty dollars’ worth.”
“That’s right.”
“Can I make it a hundred, and get more time?”
Gilda narrowed her eyes, now looked even more feline. “More time here?”
“Right.”
“We won’t need it.”
“Maybe we will.”
“Why?”
“Because I just want to talk. Nothing else. Should be the easiest hundred you’ve ever made.”
“You a cop?”
“No.”
“Good. Because I’ve got a tape going in my coat. It’s just a formality in case you pull a badge.”
“No badge.”
“And no tape.” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a tape recorder. Ironically, it looked identical to the one Detective Lacy used. Maybe the cops and hookers in L.A. shopped at the same store.
Gilda clicked it off. “So what do you want to talk about?”
“Melinda Chance.”
Gilda’s hand, holding the recorder, froze. “You area cop, and I’m walking out right — ”
“I’m the wife of the man accused of murdering her.”
Now Gilda’s body froze. For a moment Dallas thought she was going to walk out without another word. But then Gilda thawed enough to put the recorder back in her coat pocket and say, “I got nothing to tell you.”
“I haven’t asked anything yet.”
“You don’t have to.”
“How well did you know her?”
“That’s my business.”
“I need to know.”
“You don’t need to know anything.” Gilda took a long breath. “Look, I’ll give you a word here, since you paid. Don’t go anywhere with this. Forget about Melinda. She’s dead. She’s probably happier too.”
“But I don’t think my husband killed her.”
“That’s not my deal. I’m just telling you, don’t go any further with Melinda, you understand what I’m saying?” She leaned over the table and whispered, “It wouldn’t be good for you.”
“Why not?”
“Trust me.”
“Why should I?” Dallas surprised herself with that one, but she was not in a mood to back down.
“Look, you seem like a nice lady. Nice, respectable. And if your man did it, you won’t be the first wife whose husband lied to her. Believe me, ninety eight percent of the guys I see have a little wifey at home. But the circles I run in, me and Melinda, it’s not for you.”
“Bad guys involved?”
“They can be.”
“Like Vic Lu?”
She looked startled. “You are on thin ice, lady.”
“Is that who you work for?”
“I got nothing else to say.” Gilda stood up, almost knocking over the contents of the table.
“Please,” Dallas said. “I need help.”
“You need to keep your nose where it belongs. And do not call my number again. Stay away from this.” She turned quickly and walked to the front, pausing for a word with the big man, then was out the door.
Well, that worked like a charm. A real detective she was. She took one more sip of her diet Coke, the most expensive drink she’d ever bought, and it was even more watery now. Like her prospects of helping Ron.
She felt the perfect fool too, as she started out. She could feel the bartender’s eyes on her, and goodness only knew what he was thinking. Never again, girl. Leave the cloak-and-dagger stuff to Harry Stegman.
She didn’t even want to look at the big guy with the bike chain necklace, but she couldn’t avoid it with him standing right in front of the door.
“So soon?” he said.
What should she say to him? Thank you for your hospitality?He was creeping her out and she just wanted to get to Cara’s and take a shower. She felt dirty.
“Excuse me,” she said.
“You’re not mad about the fifty bucks, I hope.”
“Excuse me.”
He didn’t move.
The creepy feeling inside her grew stronger.
“May I leave?” she asked firmly.
“Sure. In a couple of minutes.”
“Now.”
“No can do.”
She realized again that she was alone in this place, except for Necklace and the bartender. And Necklace wasn’t budging.
“Move,” she said.
Necklace smiled. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Absolutely not. I’m leaving.”
She took one step to try to get by him. His hand whipped in front of her and snatched her purse right out of her hands. Quick as a blink he tossed the purse over her shoulder. The bartender, now five feet away, caught it.
“Find out who this chick is,” Necklace said.
Dallas tensed and considered her options. They were all bad.
As if he could hear her inner gears grinding, Necklace said, “Don’t make me hurt you.”
12.
Jamaal was asleep on a cot.
Tiana lay on the bed. Jared sat on the other cot, nowhere close to being able to sleep.
Back in the Padilla shack. It was like a bad dream. He’d once heard that life was just a series of recurrences. You never really got anywhere. You always ended up just going over the same ground, arriving at the same place. You died and came back and lived through it all again. Like that movie Groundhog Day, only it wasn’t funny and you didn’t remember anything.
Around and around and that was it, forever and ever amen.
“Can’t sleep?” Tiana whispered.
“No.”
“How come?”
“Why don’t you sleep?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Great. Now go to sleep.”
Instead, she sat up. “Your mom’s right.”
“What’s my mom got to do with it?”
“You got stuff going on you can’t handle by yourself.”
“I do all right. Go to — ”
“Doesn’t look to me like you do all right.”
“I don’t really give a flying rip what it looks like to you.”
“I want to take Jamaal to church.”
“He’s your kid.”
“Come with us.”
“You do sound like my mom.”
“I’ve been thinking this all through. You’re right about me needing to get some work, and starting over again. I want to start allover again. Because of Jamaal. I want to give him the best life I can.”
“There you go.”
“You got us out of L.A., so why don’t you stay with us?”
“And do what?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
“You think I’m money?” he said.
“Huh?”
“You think I’m a guy you can palm off of?”
“No.”
“Yeah, you do. You got that look.”
What am I saying?He was starting to see pain in her eyes. The room started to go dark on him. He closed his eyes, opened them, hoping to bring in more light.
He saw Tiana staring at him.
“Cut it out!” he screamed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Shut up!”
“Don’t talk that way.”
“Shut up I said!” Without a thought, operating on something like instinct, but from a source outside himself, Jared made a fist and raised it.
The moment he did, the moment he saw her eyes widen with shock and fear, in that moment he knew he was no better than Rafe.
He ran out of the house, jumped into his truck, and burned rubber.
He welcomed night. He could drive into it, get lost in it, stay there. Maybe if he drove fast enough, outran the demons, he could drive over a cliff or into a wall. Then there wouldn’t be a blot of Jared Hamilton on the earth anymore.
He’d fought and bled in Iraq. He believed in the cause he was fighting for. He got to know enough of the Iraqi people to know how much they craved true freedom. But there was a kind of freedom some people would never know. Freedom from fear and memories and events that haunted.
He would never have that freedom.
Somewhere outside the city limits, on one of the darker roads, flashing lights came into the rearview mirror.
Cops or highway patrol. Maybe a sheriff. Anyway, they had him in their sights.
Keep going.
He pushed the pedal to the metal.
The siren split the night silence.
Now it was a high-speed chase.
Maybe end up on the evening news.
That’d thrill his mother.
Or he could charge into a tree right now, get it over with.
End it. End it now.
Yeah, right now.
He considered the trees, eucalyptus lining the road, standing and waiting, illuminated by his headlights.
Would have to be a strong one.
End it.
His mom. He saw his mom. How would she handle it?
It doesn’t matter.
Yes, it does. It does matter. He couldn’t do this to her now.
He braked, letting the truck come to a stop on the soft shoulder.
The car pulled up behind him.
It was a chippie. He came up on the passenger side, knocked on the window. Did not look happy.
“You miss me back there?” the chippie said. He was of the ex-linebacker style of highway patrolman.
“I stopped, didn’t I?” Jared said.
“License, registration, proof of insurance.”
Jared reached toward the glove compartment.
“Slowly,” the chippie said.
Jared opened the compartment slowly, slid out the registration, and remembered he didn’t have insurance. He took his license out and handed it to the patrolman.
Then waited as the officer went back to his vehicle. No doubt to write him up.
So what? What’s a ticket gonna do? Keep going. Drive north tonight. You can figure out a way to die later, and write a note to Mom explaining it all. She’ll have to make do with that.
The patrolman came back on the driver’s side. And he was holding his weapon.
“Out of the truck,” he said.
“What?”
“Get out, sir.”
Jared opened the door. “What is all this?”
“Hands behind your back.”
“Hey — ”
“Do it now.”
Jared complied. The officer slipped plastic restraints around his wrists, pulled them tight.
“What am I being arrested for?” he said.
“They want you down in L.A.,” the patrolman said. “You skipped out on a DUI. They don’t like that, you know.”
13.
“That’s better,” Necklace said. He had Dallas sitting in a metal folding chair in a room behind the bar. She complied without resistance. He was going to get his way, and there was little she could do about it.
The bartender came in holding her purse and wallet. “Her driver’s license says her name is Dallas Hamilton. How come that sounds familiar?”
Necklace shot him a glare. “Stupid, don’t you watch television?”
The bartender looked hurt. “She on TV?”
“This is the babe whose husband offed Melinda.”
A small light went off in the bartender’s head. “Oh, right, right. Now what’s she doing here with Gilda?”
“That’s my question,” Necklace said. He looked at Dallas. “You kind of pulled a fast one on my friend Gilda. Nobody would ever accuse her of being the brightest bulb on the shelf, but one thing she’s got is instinct. You’re in her line of work, you develop that. So I kind of agree with Gilda that you could cause a lot of trouble if you got it in your head to do that. So why don’t you just tell me what you’re doing here, what your business with Gilda was, and we’ll figure the best way to consummate our little relationship.”
“What you’re doing is illegal,” Dallas said. “You can’t keep me here.”
“That wasn’t the answer I was looking for.”
“Why don’t you just let me go now, and there won’t be any backlash.”
Necklace folded his arms across his chest and looked at the bartender. “Did she just threaten us?”
The bartender shrugged.
“Did you just say backlash?”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“That’s not good.” Necklace shook his head. He had a prominent vein that ran from the top of his nose up his forehead, and split into two directions at his hairline.
She hadn’t noticed it before. Maybe because it was only now throbbing.
“Now let’s be up front with each other, huh?” He pulled out a metal chair for himself and sat on it backward, facing her. “You see what happens here. I provide a nice, safe place for people like Gilda to come and do a little business. It’s not strictly legal, but I’m sure you didn’t have to pay us a visit to deduce that.”
Dallas didn’t move.
“Vice knows about us, and a hundred other guys who do the same, and they let things go. It’s always been that way, right? The world’s oldest profession? But when somebody from the community gets upset about it, starts reporting things, then the cops, well, they think they gotta turn up the heat for a while. And that just gets to be a hassle.”
Necklace ran his hand though his hair.
“So what I gotta decide here is if you’re gonna go out and start making a big deal. Because that would just be bad for business, and I got a mother to support.”
“Not to mention a girlfriend,” the bartender said.
“Shut up.” Another sharp look at the bartender.
“I’m not going to make any trouble,” Dallas said, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I gotta have some sort of guarantee.”
