Blues in the Night Read Free Page B

OK, as long as it’s on the Strip or Hollywood Boulevard. If it’s Beverly Hills or Brentwood, that lousy hair-dye job and the beach-boy shirt might stick out more than the snake.’
    â€˜I don’t suppose you could call shit like that to his attention?’
    â€˜You’re beautiful, Paulie,’ Mace said. ‘Not only do you bring me in cold and saddle me with a green punk, you want me to play mentor.’
    â€˜The kid’s a legacy. His old man was Leo Giruso.’
    â€˜Leo, huh?’ Mace said. ‘That figures.’
    â€˜Leo was goddamn loyal.’
    â€˜Get a dog. They’re smarter.’ Mace took a sip of coffee. ‘How’d the kid wind up with the name Wylie?’
    â€˜I dunno. Read it in a book, maybe?’
    Mace rolled his eyes.
    â€˜OK, so you don’t like the kid,’ Lacotta said.
    â€˜It’s not him. I don’t like this whole set-up.’
    â€˜Hey,’ Lacotta said with a little heat behind it. ‘You did me a good thing a while back, but I figure I kinda made up for it. Your old man kept his business going in Louisiana, right? Some kinda canning operation . . . where exactly?’
    â€˜Bayou Royal.’
    â€˜And didn’t I put some dough aside for you every year you were at Pel?’
    â€˜That you did.’
    â€˜So now I ask you for a little help and you bust my balls?’
    Mace moved to the window and frowned out at the bright morning. ‘What’s with this Lowell woman anyway?’
    â€˜Since when you start asking questions like that?’
    â€˜Since I started sitting around an empty apartment with a dim-bulb kid, peeping in windows like some bathroom idiot.’
    Lacotta got to his feet, pouting a little. ‘Yeah, well, like Bobby D used to say, we all gotta serve somebody.’ He shifted from foot to foot. ‘Aw, hell. Angie and me . . . it’s personal, OK? I wanna know what she’s up to. Can you handle that?’
    â€˜What are you expecting her to do?’
    Lacotta shrugged and shook his head. Not much of an answer.
    â€˜You wanna grab some breakfast?’ he asked.
    â€˜No, thanks. I don’t know what I do want, but it’s not breakfast.’
    â€˜Well,’ Lacotta said, ‘you find out, you let me know.’

THREE
    N ight two.
    Wylie was at the window of the darkened room, presumably on guard. ‘Damn,’ he said, ‘bitch dropped the blinds on me.’
    Mace was in the kitchenette, washing down a cold Mexican dinner with a bourbon and water. He placed a half-eaten taco on its Styrofoam bed and hurried to the window, picking up his binoculars.
    The subject was clearly visible in her apartment, standing before an easel, painting. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ he asked Wylie. ‘She’s right there. No blinds.’
    â€˜Yeah, I know. She’s cool. I was clockin’ the naked biatch one window over. Full frontal, doing her Pi-lat-tease.’
    Mace sighed and walked back to the kitchenette. He dumped the remains of his Tico Taco dinner into the dispose-all. ‘Where’s that list of places she went today?’ he asked.
    â€˜Why? It’s just bullshit stores.’
    â€˜Humor me.’
    Wylie plucked a small pad from the pocket of his flowery shirt and held it out with thumb and forefinger.
    Mace took it into the bathroom, closed the door and turned on the lights. He flipped the pages of the pad until he found what he wanted. Even in Wylie’s crabbed handwriting, the names of three business establishments were clear enough.
    He turned off the light and went back into the darkened bedroom. ‘Tell me again what went on,’ he said.
    â€˜Nothing went on. She had her errands. She parks the ’Tang and runs in. Comes out with her stuff. Cruises to the next place. Parks the ’Tang, goes in. Like that.’
    â€˜And you didn’t see what she did inside the shops?’
    â€˜Christ, no.