Lloyd looked through a rose-colored pane in the door, the broken one below it finally replaced, and saw two figures on the stoop, one behind the other, but no red truck in the driveway. The mutts back. But then got a surprise when he opened the door. Was only one of the mutts, Art, and a black kid taller than Art. Lloyd said, "Montez ain't here."
Didn't matter, they were coming in.
Art, not looking at Lloyd or saying a word, came in past him. The kid slouching into the foyer, his clothes hanging on him, a red-patterned do-rag that wasn't bad, the kid looking up at the high ceiling and the bannister along the second floor. Art was in the dining room now, about to shove through the swing door to the pantry. Like it was his house. The kid started after Art and Lloyd said, "Wait, I want to ask you something."
The kid looked around at him.
"What's your name?"
"Three-J."
"What's your real name?"
He hesitated before saying, "Jerome Jackson."
"That's only two J s."
"Jerome Juwan Jackson."
Lloyd said, "Jerome, what are you doing with this ofay motherfucker? Tell me what's going on here."
Lloyd was cool, the way he said it, and Jerome was cool behind his shades, but showed some surprise the way he hesitated and stared at Lloyd.
Jerome said, "Ask them, Uncle. They don't tell me shit."
"I'm not your uncle, I'm Lloyd. They tell you who they are?"
"They say they cops, but they ain't. They looking for Orlando same as me, for the reward."
"But why they here?"
"They need to hide out a while."
"From the police and they come here?"
Lloyd smiled, shaking his head, Jerome staring at him.
"Why you think that's funny?"
"You don't know who these mangy cats are, do you?"
"They contract hit men," Jerome said. "They mean and they cuckoo, they kill nine people and a dog. I was you I wouldn't fuck with them."
Lloyd said, "They killed a dog, huh?"
"Art did, I saw him. Man says, 'Don't shoot my dog,' and Art shoots it, a pit bull."
"That what you want to do, shoot dogs?"
"You think I like being with them? I want the reward's all. Man, twenty grand."
"What'd this Orlando do?"
"Kill three Mexicans and cut one up. Was a drug thing, a disagreement."
"Yeah, I read about it," Lloyd said. "Who's putting up the money?"
Jerome looked surprised.
"The cops."
"You think they gonna pay twenty-K for a tip?"
Jerome brought the reward notice from a pocket in his pants and handed it to Lloyd. Lloyd unfolded the sheet and read it.
"Must be some Mexican putting it up, some relative of one of the deceased." Lloyd handed the sheet back to Jerome and said, "Where's Carl? Hiding the truck?"
"Seeing can he put it in the garage."
"These guys strapped?"
"Each have a nine stuck in their pants."
"How about you?"
"I'm fixed."
"Where you keep it?"
"Here." Jerome patted his butt.
"Must be a weapon with size, it's pulling your pants off. You ever shoot anybody?"
"Not yet I haven't."
"You do any time?"
"Thirty months federal."
"Possession, huh? Boy, I did a hundred and eight months straight up, no time off for being good. Was for armed robbery, no pussy narcotics. It means I'm in charge here. Understand? You don't do nothing but what I tell you. Otherwise keep your mouth shut. Does that suit you?"
Jerome shrugged.
"Take off your glasses and look at me."
Jerome pulled off his shades and they stared at each other, Lloyd saying, "I asked does that suit you. I'm in charge in this house. That make sense to you?"
"Yeah, but you don't know who you fuckin with here."
"I know them better than you," Lloyd said. "I never saw 'em shoot a dog, but the other night I heard 'em shoot Mr. Paradise and his girlfriend. Right there in the living room, they watching TV."
Jerome said, "Wait now. And they come here to hide?"
"It's what I'm saying." Lloyd motioned to him. "Let's go see what they up to."
Carl put the Tahoe in the garage and came in with the carton of liquor from the open house. He said to Lloyd, "Art's checking Montez' place, see if he's hiding under the bed. That your Toyota in the garage?"
Lloyd said it was and asked, "How long you gonna be here?"
"That's up to Montez. You know where he's at?"
"He don't tell me and I don't ask."
Carl said, "This boy here's Jerome. He's helping us out." And said, "Listen, we'll use your car we go anywhere. That okay with you, Chief?"
Lloyd said, "Use it all you want."
Sounding helpful, and Jerome looked at him.
Art came in the back door.
He said to Lloyd, "Is Montez a faggot? He's got that place dolled up like a woman did it. No colors like you see on sports teams. You know what I mean? They're queer colors. Carl, like Connie-all those colors going on in your house." Looking at Lloyd again, "Where's Montez at, Chief?"
Lloyd said, "How'd you know I was called that?"
"All colored guys are, aren't they? Being polite?"
"You mean politically correct," Carl said.
"Yeah, being like equals."
"He don't know when he's coming back or where he is," Carl said. "You ready for a drink?" He turned to Lloyd. "Chief, why don't you have one with us?"
Jerome began sorting through all he'd just heard.
Avern sat looking across his clean desk at Montez in black leather today, the coat open enough to show his gold chains against his black T-shirt. He wore gold studs on his earlobes, something Anthony Paradiso never allowed, Anthony puzzled why any man would want to look like a girl.
"I've got some not so good news," Avern said, "that could turn into some news you're gonna like."
Montez said, "So you have to give me the not so good news first?"
"That's right," Avern said, his hands folded on his clean desk. "Carl Fontana called last night. Both of their houses, his and Krupa's, are under police surveillance, Detroit and Hamtramck."
Montez sat in his black leather and sunglasses staring at him, waiting, showing he was cool. Good.
"It doesn't surprise me," Avern said, "the cops are aware of them. But I'm sure it's not for Paradiso, and I'll tell you why. Every gun they used on a contract went in the river, and I witnessed it. I took a risk going with them, but it was that important to me. But, they stay busy. They've pulled a few home invasions between contracts, and they could've left prints, especially Art. I told Carl he and his buddy ought to split up, get out of the state for a while, go to Florida and take it easy."
Montez said, "What's the good news?"
"They go down for home invasion, you won't have to pay them. Of course you'd still owe me."
"Wait now," Montez said. "If they go down:" and looked at the etching on the wall behind Avern, the white guys in robes and half-ass wigs that was supposed to be funny-Montez seeing the situation and Avern as one of the wiggy characters before looking at him again.
"They get picked up for busting into homes-"
"You have nothing to worry about."
"But they get brought up on the Paradiso gig-"
"How? If there no witnesses?"
Montez said, "Kelly saw them."
Now he tells me, Avern thought, maintaining his pose, hands folded in front of him. He said, "From where?"
"Upstairs, where you can look down."
"They're in the foyer?"
"Yeah, they leaving."
"I can see it," Avern said, "I've been to parties there when Tony's wife was alive. Look straight ahead, there's the living room. Look up, there's the second floor. But looking down from up there? I wouldn't recognize my own wife-and not because she's always changing her hairdo. That's the only time Kelly saw them?"
"What she told me."
Avern shook his head. "I'm not gonna worry about her."
"I am," Montez said, "there's any possibility she can I.D. them. Lemme point something out to you. They get charged for doing Paradiso and Chloe and go down, you think they going without me? And you? Man, you they lawyer, isn't that what you do? Play Let's Make a Deal? But who you gonna give up to help the boys out, me and you or just me? Then who's left, Avern, for me to give up? Outside of you?"
Avern gave Montez his condescending smile, letting him know he didn't know shit about what he was getting into, and said, "You trying the case now? You have Kelly Barr on the stand? But did she pick Carl and Art out of a lineup as the two she saw in a foyer from upstairs? Twenty feet above them, looking down at the tops of their heads? My man, give me a break. There's no way in the world she could positively identify them."
Montez looked like he was thinking about it before he said, "You sure?"
"Take my word."
Montez said, "I'm gonna ask her. She says no, she didn't see 'em good, we all still friends. She says yeah, she can pick 'em out, then you tell me what should become of her."
Montez left and Avern brought a framed photo of his wife Lois, in color-taken in the backyard, bright green leaves behind her-from a desk drawer and placed it to one side on the clean surface. Lois was never on the desk when he was dealing with criminals and ex-cons. Sometimes he would smile at her carefree expression and wish he could tell her he was an agent for a couple of hit men who specialized in drug dealers. "Honey, I'm using felons to stop the traffic of controlled substances. Like Batman, they're caped crusaders." What would she say? "You charge ten or fifteen percent?" Tell her twenty off the top, get her to laugh. It would be great if she could have fun with it. No, Lois would say, "Avern," in her cool way, "you're looking at mandatory life." She'd say it knowing she was wrong to make the point, knowing he could trade down to eight to fifteen, something around there. See? He couldn't tell Lois. He couldn't tell anybody, and it was a hell of a story.
Delsa arrived at Avern Cohn Associates a little later.
He knew Sheila, Avern's assistant, from being deposed here, answering Avern's questions that went on forever. He said to her, "You watching the job market?"
This went back to when he first met Sheila Ryan and he'd kid her about Avern getting disbarred. Sheila was forty with streaked blond hair, divorced, good-looking, a downtown girl. She said, "They'll never get Avern, he's too slippery. He's an eel with a human brain."
"I'll bet you five bucks," Delsa said, "he's up for arraignment within a week. Make it ten."
"After you leave," Sheila said, "you want me to tell him how confident you are, willing to risk ten bucks?"
Sheila had been another possibility, along with Eleanor. But not anymore. He said, "Make it twenty."
She said, "Make it dinner."
And he said something she didn't hear, went in and sat down opposite Avern at his desk, a phone and a photograph on the clean surface.
"You don't have any work?"
"All I need is the back of an envelope," Avern said, "outside the courtroom or in a holding cell. I'm glad you condemned that ninth-floor lockup. My God, it stunk up there. Tell me what I can do for you."
Delsa said, "If you represented Fontana and Krupa-"
"You telling me you have them?"
"I'm asking if you represented them for the willful murder of Anthony Paradiso and Chloe Robinette:"
Delsa paused.
Avern waited now.
"And you were to represent Montez Taylor for hiring these goons to kill his boss, so he could go after the money Chloe was getting, since Montez wasn't getting shit:"
Delsa paused again.
Avern said, "What's the question?"
"If you represented Fontana and Krupa, and also Montez, who do you give up? Whoever's arraigned first gets to make the deal?"
"That's your question?"
"What if we get 'em all at the same time?"
"Tell me what you've got on this Carl and Art."
"You first," Delsa said. "What can you give me to save your own ass? That's my question."
There wasn't any more Delsa would tell him or anything Avern was ready to discuss or deny. Delsa left and Avern looked at his wife's picture, still on the clean desk.
He said, "Lois, you try to use a little ingenuity in your practice : you never know what might happen."