Laugher Page 10
“I said I’ve never heard of him.”
“And you were lying.”
His eye twitched again and he shook his head.
“Come on now,” I said. “We both know you were. I was a criminal defender for thirteen years. I’ve seen a lot of people lie in a lot of different ways. So why don’t you just tell me what it is you know about Denny Granger without wasting anybody’s time?”
It was more than his eye now. His lips were trembling.
“Mr. Taggart?”
“I lived in New York for six years. Worked a lot of clubs. And I keep in touch.”
He went to the cinder block and removed it, let the door close.
“Few days ago I was talking to a friend of mine in Brooklyn. A comic. He was supposed to open for Denny Granger last weekend. But Denny never showed up.”
I immediately grabbed the notepad in my back pocket and started writing.
“Where was he supposed to perform?”
“The Monkey Barrel on 33rd, in Manhattan.”
I wrote it down. “Why didn’t Denny show up?”
“I don’t know. Nobody could get a hold of him.”
“What about his manager?”
“I don’t know. All I know is he disappeared.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Why didn’t you want to tell me this before? What are you holding back?”
He hesitated and sighed. His eye twitched again. “...He--my friend--said Denny was in trouble. That he was drinking too much, he was using drugs. He was paranoid and--” He took a deep breath. “...the next morning, a dead body was found in an alley behind the club.”
Up to this point, I had been scribbling vigorously, but that statement stayed my hand.
“Who was it?” I asked.
“It hadn’t been identified...” his voice was shaking, “...it didn’t have a head.”
Chapter 9
“Yeah?”
“Is this the Monkey Barrel?” I said into my phone. I had looked up the number on my Blackberry.
I was still at the side door of the Artley. Dashiell went back in for his second show. He didn’t have the slightest idea who Barry was, or if he even existed. I was getting convinced he didn’t.
“Yeah, whaddya need?” He sounded young, maybe in his mid-twenties, and obviously born and bred in New York. He was yelling into the phone, the background noise was so loud.
“I’m looking for the owner. Is he in?”
“What?”
“The owner! Is he in?”
“He left twenty minutes ago.”
“Is he coming back?”
“Not for six days. Vacation.”
“Is there someone else I can talk to? Who’s in charge when the owner’s not there?”
“Um, that would be Kenny, the floor manager, but there’s a show going on right now and everyone is really busy. You’ll have to call back Monday.”
“This is important.”
“I’m sorry, you’ll have to call back.”
He hung up. I looked across the street at the café and saw Nora sitting in a booth next to the window, sipping coffee. She was texting with someone.
I dialed another number.
“Marsh?” The voice was gravelly and tired.
“Sorry to wake you, Gordy.”
“Hold on. Sara’s asleep. Let me get to the hall.” I heard him crawl out of bed and creep across the room, then the creak of the bedroom door closing.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I’m in San Diego, still working on this Denny Granger case.”
“Are you okay? Why are you calling me?”
“I’m fine. Listen, have you heard anything about a dead body found in New York about a week ago?”
“New York probably finds a dead body every hour. Why would I know anything about that?”
“I just talked to someone down here. Says Denny Granger never showed up for a gig he had last week in New York, and the next morning, a dead body was found near where he was supposed to be. Decapitated.”
“Jesus.”
“I’d like to check it out.”
“You think it was him?”
“I don’t think anything. First thing tomorrow, I need you to get anything you can on that case.”
“I’m gonna have to send you a bill.”
“Send me your mortgage if you want.”
“All right.”
“Thank you. I’ll call tomorrow. Sorry again to wake you.”
“No problem.”
He hung up. I walked across the street to the café.
She was still in the booth by the window, sipping her second cappuccino. Didn’t notice I was in the room until I sat down.
“What happened?” she said.
I stared deep into her eyes, like I was searching for something.
“Detective?”
“Tell me another lie.”
“Excuse me?”
“Tell me another lie.”
She looked down at her coffee. I watched her closely. “Okay...I...won a gold medal at the Olympics.” Without fail, her bottom lip curled and went back to its place.
“Are you doing that on purpose? The lip thing.”
“What’s going on?”
“The night that we met, you told me Denny had never missed a show.”
“Yeah.”
“Were you lying, or do you just have a bad memory?”
She didn’t answer, just looked out the window.
“The Monkey Barrel,” I said. “33rd Street. Manhattan. One week ago. Ring a bell?”
Her eyes closed, like she was embarrassed, like she had been hiding something. “Yes.”
“Dashiell over there said a friend of his was supposed to open for Denny at The Monkey Barrel club, but he never showed.”
“I know.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me about that?”
“I was trying to protect him.”
“From what?”
She didn’t answer.
“From what?!” I slammed my fist on the table. She jumped. The few other patrons turned their heads toward me. Nora was speechless.
“From. What?”
“Denny has a...drug problem. Cocaine. And a few others. He was in the hospital that night, he almost died. I couldn’t tell anybody. I had to protect him.”
I looked at her lip. Steady. No curl. “What about the body?”
“What? What body?”
“A dead body was found in the alley behind the Monkey Barrel the next morning. Last Sunday.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“Don’t you?”
“What am I, a suspect now?” she said.
“I certainly trust you a lot less.”
It was obvious she was restraining her frustration, as we were in public. “Denny was on that plane with me.”
“According to you. You only. And you’ve just shown me that you’re willing to hide information to protect him.”
Our eyes were locked like dueling gunslingers in the Old West. “How dare you,” she said.
“We’re going back to L.A. Tonight. I need to talk to Detective Grayson.”
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
I didn’t answer, because I didn’t know.
“I can’t believe this.” She stood up and headed for the door. “I can’t believe you.”
I followed her, grabbed her arm, but she pulled away and stormed out.
She walked down the road trying to flag down a cab.
“Nora!”
She didn’t answer. I caught up with her.
“Get away from me!”
I grabbed her by the shoulders. She struggled and pushed me away.
“Nora, stop.”
She didn’t. Her arms flailed, her legs jerked, my arms wrapped around her from behind.
“Let me go! God!” Her voice cracked. She was crying.
“Just calm down. Calm down!”
She stopped struggling and her legs gave way. I kept her in my arms and helped her to the ground, while she buried her face in my chest and sobbed.
“I’m scared, Marshall. I’m so scared.”
More sobs.
“Please. Please!”
------------------------------
“Hello. You’ve reached Denny Granger, comedian and pleaser of women everywhere. If this is an emergency, hang up and dial 911. Otherwise...” Beep.
“Mr. Granger. My name is Detective Marshall Santone. I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’ve been looking for you for the past two days. If you are currently in San Diego, California, please come to room 114 in the Beach Motel on Third Avenue immediately. I’m here with Nora Massey. We’ll be here until ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”
We got separate rooms. Nora’s was directly across the hall from mine. It was now a quarter past eleven and my eyelids were wearing out. I took off my jacket and hung it in the closet. The gun was still in its holster. I removed it and set it inside the top drawer of the nightstand.
I pulled Grayson’s contact card from my wallet and wondered if it was too late to call. I called anyway. It rang four times.
“Grayson here.”
“Working late, Detective?”
“Santone?”
“Yes.”
“Well well. I was hoping I’d hear from you. Where are you?”
“Nowhere. Listen, did you get the manifest from the flight info Gordy gave you?”
“You’re only supposed to give me information, Santone, not ask for it.”
“I didn’t call to play games.”
“But you do play them.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We looked up your friend James Lawson. He doesn’t show up in any rental car registries. Doesn’t show up on any Tennessee records either.”
“Nothing in Tennessee?”
“No car registration, never registered to vote, not even a fuckin’ parking ticket.”
“I wasn’t playing games. I told you what he told me.”
“Uh-huh. Well, it doesn’t matter anyway because I’m not interested in Lawson anymore.”
“No?”
“Why don’t you tell me about Nora Massey?”
Shit. Brennan must have shown him the reservation. Did he also tell him I paid her a visit? “Nora Massey?”
“Denny Granger’s manager. She checked in last Thursday, checked out this afternoon.”
“...News to me,” I said. “Does this mean you won’t tell me if you got the manifest?”
“You better be keeping your prick clean, Santone. If you’re bullshittin’, I’ll throw an obstruction of justice charge at you faster than fat kids run for ice cream in August.”
“Nice talking to you too, Detective.” I hung up. Ten seconds later, my phone starting ringing again. I hit reject and sent Grayson to voicemail. He didn’t call back.
It was a non-smoking room, but hell, I opened the window. I was almost finished with one when there was a gentle knock on my door. Through the peephole, there was Nora. I pulled out the chain and opened the door.
“Can’t sleep yet,” she said.
“Join the club.”
I let her in and locked the door. “I left Denny a voicemail, so he knows we’re here. If he has his phone, that is.”
“Good. Good.”
“Cigarette?”
“How about a drink?” She sat down on the bed, the only place to sit. I stayed by the window and lit up another cig.
“No mini bar. This isn’t the Rashi.”
She smiled. “You should do that more often.”
“Do what more often?”
“Joke. And smile. You’re handsome when you smile.”
“I wasn’t aware I was joking.”
“Must be your nature.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re funny. Just naturally funny is all.”
I blew a plume of smoke out the window and put it out and walked over to her. “That’s the second time you’ve called me funny tonight. I’m forty-three years old and no one has ever called me funny.”
“Maybe no one was ever listening.”
“Maybe you laugh too easy.”
“Hey, I work in the comedy business. I’ve seen thousands of people who think they’re funny but couldn’t make a hyena chuckle. So when I say someone is funny, I mean it.”
I had no answer to this. Just stood against the wall by the TV.
“You make your girlfriend laugh?” she said and that all too familiar burning came back to my stomach.
“I don’t discuss my personal life with clients.”
“Take the night off. Tonight I’m a friend. Sit down.”
I didn’t.
“Something is bothering you, I can tell. Maybe I can help.”
The burning drove me to the bed. I did have the desire to talk about what was happening with her. I was waiting till I could have a drink or four with Gordy. He wasn’t there, though.
I sat down next to her. She kicked off her shoes and got comfortable, like a high school prom queen on a sleepover, prime and ready to gossip.
“So,” she said. “What’s her name?”
“Charlotte.”
“How long have you been together?”
“Four years.”
“Engaged?”
“That’s the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“She wants to be engaged. I don’t. Now she’s a pinky toe’s length away from leaving me.”
“Don’t you love her?”
I was looking her in the eye when she asked me this, but I turned away to give my answer: “Madly.”
“Then why don’t you propose?”
“Marriage never works out for me.”
“Divorced?”
“...twice.”
I got up and moved to the window, lit up again. The burning grew so intense I thought it would tear right through my stomach and start bleeding fire.
“My second wife. Susan. We graduated law school together. Day after graduation, we eloped in Vegas on a lovebird whim. Three months later, that lovebird died. Haven’t seen her since.”
“I’m sorry.”
My back was to her, but I could feel her eyes on me.
“What about your first wife?”
The very mention sent my body in a cold panic, like I had fallen through thin ice with frozen muscles. What the hell am I doing? I thought. I’d never brought her up with anyone. Not even Charlotte.
“Semper Fi,” I whispered.
“What?”
“Semper Fi. You know what that means?”
“It’s an Army phrase, right?”
“Marines. Means ‘Always Faithful.’”
“You were a Marine?”
“12th infantry, 2nd battalion. Operation Desert Storm.”
“Oh my God.”
I tapped the ashes off the tip of the cig and crushed the stub on the sill.
“Were you hurt?”
“Got blown back from an RPG blast once. Couple of burns, but nothing serious. Lost a couple buddies, though.”
“That’s awful.”
“We were young, she and I. Married right out of high school. And after I enlisted we...well...just didn’t work out.”
“What happened?”
I needed a drink. Bad.
“We’re not gonna talk about that,” I said.
“...Okay.”
The burning raged on. Burn. Burn. Burn.
“And you’re worried that if you marry Charlotte, it won’t work out again?”