Spiral (24 page)

I paused. ”As we eat, then.”

Helides moved his mouth close to his plate and bit into his pizza.

Before doing the same, I said, ”David, last night I asked you if Veronica ever spoke about her life.”

Chewing, he squinched his eyes shut. ”I thought we were finished with... those questions?”

”I have some more, but only a few.”

A nod as Helides swallowed.

”I’m going to say some names, then you tell me if Veronica ever mentioned them to you.”

Another nod as he opened his eyes and tore off another piece of pizza.

”The first one is Ford Walton.”

No reaction as Helides opened his mouth. ”‘Ford’ like the... car?”

”Yes.”

His head shook.

I said, ”Veronica never mentioned him?”

”Never,” around his food.

”How about Sundy Moran?”

Helides swallowed again. ”‘Sunday’ like ‘Monday’?”

”Not the way it’s spelled, but anything like that name?”

A slower shake of the head. ”No.”

I tried my pizza and washed it down with some soda. Helides bit another hunk off his slice, causing me to notice something.

”You don’t like Coke?” I said.

He blinked. ”The ice would give me a... chill.” Helides shivered.

I said, ”Let me pour it out, get—”

”No!” Then an intake of breath. ”No, my father does not like... waste.” Another almost-smile. ”And the ice will be gone soon.” Even the almost-smile disappeared. ”Like Veronica, gone... forever.”

David Helides raised the slice all the way to his mouth, getting the food safely in despite squinching his eyes shut again.

Driving down the driveway, I could see Umberto Reyes coming out of his gazebo to open the gate for me. Instead of continuing through and onto the street, though, I stopped and got out of the Cavalier.

Because something I hadn’t thought of before occurred to me.

”You need help?” said Reyes, looking down at my bandage.

”Yes, Berto. The first time I was here, you said you’d logged in all the people who came to the Colonel’s birthday party that day.”

”Yeah, but the police took the page and never gave me back a copy.”

”How about for the days since?”

”Since the party?”

”Yes.”

Reyes said, ”Sure. They’re in here.”

I followed him toward the little structure, though he just reached in and came out with a blue looseleaf notebook. ”What dates you want?”

”Start with yesterday and today.”

He flipped a page. ”Yesterday, Wednesday the twenty-first.”

Reyes held it open for me. No mention of Duy Tranh leaving the house or coming back to it. ”And today?”

Reyes turned the page. ”Thursday.”

No entry for Tranh again, much less one for around the time Damon noticed the envelope for me on his hotel’s registration desk. In fact... I flipped back to Wednesday’s page, then glanced up toward the garages. ”Is Mrs. Helides home?”

”No.”

I looked at Reyes. ”Then how come you didn’t log her out?”

He skewed his head. ”I never do.”

”Why, Berto?”

”All the Colonel wants is a list of people who come here, so that we can trace them if something turns up missing in the house or something else bad happens.”

”So?”

”So I don’t log Mrs. Helides in and out. Or call the Colonel about her, either.”

”Because...?”

Reyes’s head skewed even more. ”She lives here.”

I looked at him a bit longer before saying, ”Thanks, Berto.”

* * *

It took me a while to drive northwest to the Held house. When I got there, only one car was in the driveway, none on the street.

Instead of walking around to the pool area, I went up to the front door with its spiral handles and rang the bell. After a moment, the door opened, Jeanette Held standing listlessly behind it. Bowie first wagged his tail, then began growling at me over the sill.

I felt that tingle in the back of my head again. ”Jeanette, I’m sorry to—”

”Bother me?” No smile, no frown. ”Doesn’t seem to stop you, though, does it?”

”I’d like to see your husband.”

”Spi’s not here.”

”Do you know when he’ll be back?”

A slow movement of her head. ”Not for a long time.” The way she enunciated the words, Jeanette Held might have been talking hours or years.

I said, ”Do you know where I might find him?”

”Yeah.”

I waited.

She exhaled. ”The band’s doing a sound check at this club in Lauderdale.”

”Which club is that?”

”I don’t remember the name, but Spi said it was on southwest Second.”

”Street or avenue?”

‘You know that much about the city, you’ll find it”

As she began to close the door, I said, ”Jeanette, are you all right?”

”No,” a little energy working its way past the surface. ”No, as a matter of feet, I’m pretty shitty. My daughter’s dead, and the one person I thought could maybe carry me through that never showed up today.”

”Malinda Dujong,” I said, the tingle in my head turning into a penny and dropping through its slot as Jeanette Held closed her door.

Dujong hadn’t returned my call back to her, which I thought explained why I’d felt the tingle checking my voice mail at the hotel. I figured the concussion explained why I’d forgotten to try her a second time.

On the other hand, she was the one who wanted to reach me.

Driving toward the southwest part of Fort Lauderdale, I picked up my cell phone and got Dujong’s number at the tennis club from directory assistance. After I dialed and heard a ring, though, all I got was her same outgoing tape announcement. I left: another message, giving both my hotel and portable numbers again.

Pushing the
end
button, I set the phone on the seat beside me. I might not be able to locate Malinda Dujong, but I thought I could find the people in Spiral.

Who supposedly knew something about ”SuNDy MoRAn.”

On a rough day, I finally got some luck. There were rows of bars and restaurants a couple of blocks west of the railroad tracks on S.W. 2nd Street. Since it was only late afternoon, I found a space in front of a place trying very hard to look like an authentic English pub. I went inside, the place more a spot for sedentary drinking than live music. A barmaid smiled at me, an impressive selection of labeled tap handles mounted on the wall behind her.

”What might I get you, luv?”

Even an English accent. ”Any idea where a rock band would be doing its sound check on this street?”

She looked toward the door I’d come in through. ”Lots of us have live music at night, but when I took my cigarette break a while ago, some guys were yelling inside Dicey Riley’s across the street.”

‘Yelling or playing?”

A wry smile. ”More of the first than the second, I’m afraid.”

There was a large bar catercorner from the English pub. Halfway through the intersection, I could hear what the barmaid had meant.

”Jesus fuck, Buford, that’s the second time you came in late on that—”

Spi Held.

”Wasn’t late, babe. You got to listen for the—”

Biggs.

”I know late from right, man.” Held again. ”And late is—” As I drew even with the open doorway, Ricky Queen said, ”Dudes, we got only another hour before—”

Held’s voice cracked as he nearly screamed his words. ”We got all the fucking time we need to get this shit right!” It was dark and smoky inside the bar, which seemed to reach deep beyond a ramp wide enough for a platoon to march up it three abreast. The performance area lay to the right, a man I at first didn’t recognize standing with his back to me, black hair cascading onto his shoulders in almost lush waves.

Gordo Lazar was facing me. ”Spi, we got company.” The man with all the hair turned around abruptly. Held himself, wearing a rug that blew past toupee all the way to wig.

”The fuck do you want?” he said to me.

”Hey,” came an unfamiliar voice out of the darkness. ”If you’re gonna talk with your lawyer or whatever, I’m gonna—” Held wheeled around toward the voice, an index finger swiping viciously under his nose. ”The fuck kind of houseman are you?”

”The boss said you guys were supposed to be professionals—”

”—sup
-posed
to be?—”

”—from the old days. Well, I run this control board seven nights a week, and this is the longest I’ve ever seen a sound check—”

”Go fuck yourself!” from Held.

”Okay,” said the voice in back. ”I’ll tell the boss you’re gonna wing it tonight.”

Footfalls sounded hollow in the nearly empty place. ”Christ, babe,” said Buford Biggs to Held in a mollifying tone.

Now Held wheeled on him. ”We don’t need a houseman doesn’t stick with his job.”

Queen came out from behind his drums. ”Like I told you coming in here, I know the dude. Let me talk to him.” I said, ”First I’d like to talk with all of you.”

Spi Held wheeled on me, now, like the villain in a cartoon. ”This is more important.”

”Not to the man paying the freight”

Held opened and closed his mouth twice, but no words came out. Then he sniffled.

Ricky Queen said, ”How about if we break for ten, Spi? I go talk to the houseman, you guys talk with the detective Here, and when I come back, he’s still got questions, I’ll handle him myself?” Queen looked over to me, a little grin toying with the comers of his mouth. ”I think I can handle Mr. Detective until he’s... satisfied.”

Held never turned to look at his drummer. ”Yeah. Yeah, good idea, Rick. We could use a break.”

”Amen to that,” said Buford Biggs, lifting his hands from the keyboard in front of him.

*
* *

We sat at a square table on the fringe of sunlight spilling through the door to the outside world. Spi Held was across from me, Biggs to my right and Lazar to my left.

Held said, ”Okay, ten minutes.”

I decided to lead with the bomb. ”Sundy Moran.” Gordo Lazar flinched, then looked over at Buford Biggs, who tried very hard to be casual. Spi Held glanced in a confused way at Lazar first, then Biggs.

”What the fuck is a Sunday Moran?” said the leader of the band.

I watched Lazar before answering. ”Not ‘Sunday,’ but S-U-N-D-Y. A woman’s name.”

The bass guitarist furrowed his brow. ”Actually, it started out as ‘Sunday.’”

Held joined me in looking at Lazar, who made a point of not looking at Biggs anymore.

I said, ”Let’s hear it.”

Gordo Lazar ran a hand over his shaved head, then stroked a scar on his right cheek. ”It was back when we were touring, man. The original Spiral. We did a gig down here— Miami somewhere, I don’t know, they kind of blended together.” Lazar inhaled and exhaled. ”Anyway, this one chick was standing near the stage, flashing Tommy.”

”Flashing?” I said.

‘Yeah.” Lazar realized I didn’t get it. ”You remember ‘streaking,’ right?”

”Somebody running naked through a crowd.”

He nodded. ”Or when that guy did it at the Oscars, and the television camera just missed bringing his dick into fifty million living rooms.” Lazar’s eyes went down toward the tabletop. ”Well, flashing was when a braless chick flipped up her shirt, flashing tittie.”

”And this woman did that to Tommy O’Dell?”

”Her and dozens of others. Man, Tommy had the magic. But this one, she had a set could poke your eyes out, and so he had one of the roadies tap her to come backstage afterwards.”

Spi Held swiped under his nose again. ”The fuck does this have to do with Very getting killed?”

”Be patient,” I said. ”We might be about to hear.”

Lazar glanced up at me, then back down again. ”Before you know it, Tommy’s planking this chick in the bed on our bus.”

Held sniffled twice. ”The fuck was I?”

Biggs pointed to his own nose. ”Riding Snow White’s trail, babe.”

Held looked at his keyboardist, but didn’t say anything.

I stayed with Lazar. ”Go on.”

He worried his scar some more. ”Well, a while later, this chick writes to Tommy. Claims she’s pregnant, and that it Had to be him. He hands me the letter and says, ‘What do you think?’ Well, there’s like details in there about the concert, songs we played and all. So I read what she wrote and said to him, ‘She claims it was on a Sunday, why don’t you call her kid that?’ And Tommy laughed and said that’s what he’d tell the chick to do.”

Donna Moran, the woman who didn’t like country music, apparently felt different about rock. I tried to picture her as a young groupie. Couldn’t. ”Is that it?”

Lazar glanced up to Biggs, then Held. ”Spi, you said We’re supposed to level with this guy, right?”

”Right,” said Held, without much conviction. ”But I still don’t see shit about what this has to do with Very.”

Lazar went back to Biggs. ”You want to tell him the rest?”

The keyboardist obviously wasn’t relishing the opportunity. ”What ‘rest,’ babe?”

”At Spi s dad’s place, man.”

I said to Biggs, ”You know what he means?”

”Not me.”

”Christ, Buford.” Lazar looked at Held. ”It was month ago, when we were at your father’s house about him maybe bankrolling the comeback.”

”Wait a minute. Yeah.” Held sniffled some more but also sounded far, far away. ”Yeah, I remember that.”

Lazar said, ”We’re all sitting around in that big living room, where the birthday party was. Very, Tranh, even Cassandra. And your father’s not too happy about Very being in the band, especially using that name, 'Very,’ and we all start talking about the really weird ones from the old days, like Frank Zappa’s kid ‘Moonbeam’ and somebody from TV being ‘Seagull.’ And then I said ‘Don’t forget Tommy’s Sundy, too.’”

Lazar pronounced it without the ”a.” I leaned toward him. ”How did you know it was shortened like that?”

He stared across the table this time. ”Buford, your lead."

Biggs gave him a sour smile.

Spi Held said, ”Come on, tell the man.”

Biggs turned his head toward me. ”After Very convince her granddaddy that she really,
really
want him to make the comeback happen, we all start drifting out into that big corridor towards the front door. I pull Gordo aside, say he shouldn’t be bringing up Tommy’s kid, account of I heard she use the street name ‘Sundy’ when she on the stroll.”

”Meaning working as a prostitute.”