"The place don't usually look like this." Rita Shafer picked up the dirty clothes, tossed them behind the sofa, and sat down. She patted the cushion beside her, beckoning. "Darn kids. They'd live like pigs if I let them."
"Thanks for seeing me, Ms. Shafer," said Jimmy, iridescent Froot Loops crunching underfoot as he crossed the carpet and sat down beside her on the swaybacked sofa.
"Rita," she corrected him, pulling one leg up so her bare knee touched him. "And it's Miss. I'm free and easy. That Ms. shit-I never got the point of it."
A TV blared from the back bedroom, the channels changing every few moments, accompanied by the outraged howls of children. Rita Shafer's stucco one-bedroom apartment was part of a fourplex just north of downtown Long Beach. Unopened mail was strewn on the floor, utility bills with overdue stamped on the outside in red letters. Shutting off your lights and gas wasn't enough-first the city wanted to embarrass you. Through the security bars on the side window of the living room, Jimmy could see the Queen Mary docked in the harbor, shimmering in the afternoon sun, the former luxury liner now a floating mall for tourists.
"You here for Harlen?" asked Rita.
A Nerf football landed in Jimmy's lap, startling him. He smiled and picked it up off the floor, standing now. "Go out for a pass," he said to the sullen eight-year-old in the doorway, cocking the football behind his ear. "Go long, I'll hit you."
"Just give me the fucking ball, mister," said the boy, scratching the seat of his Scooby Doo underwear.
"Axyl Rose Shafer, you apologize right now to the nice man," said Rita.
Axyl Rose gave his mother the finger and turned away. Jimmy bounced the foam football off the back of his head before he took a step. "Hey!" howled Axyl Rose, angry, not hurt.
"Don't talk to your mother like that," said Jimmy.
Axyl started to flip Jimmy off, then thought better of it, scooting away into the back bedroom.
Rita pulled Jimmy back onto the couch. "Thanks. I need a man around to keep Axyl in line." She snorted. "'Course, that's not the only thing a man's good for."
Rita Shafer had started out pretty, taut and slender, with high sharecropper cheeks and large eyes, but she was exhausted now, beaten down, her skin sallow, her eyes dull. All the makeup and caked-on mascara didn't hide the damage. There had been three kids running around the cluttered living room when he arrived: Axyl and a couple of younger ones, four or five years old maybe, skinny blond girls with skin like cream and sad blue eyes. The girls stopped what they were doing when they saw Jimmy, suddenly on their best behavior. Three kids, and Rita was still slim-hipped and high breasted, sexy in short-shorts and Harley-Davidson tank top. Only her face showed her mileage.
"You got kids?" Rita asked.
"Never had the courage."
"None that you know of." One of Rita's front teeth was chipped, but it was a good smile.
"I think I'd know. I hope so, anyway."
"That's a sweet thing to say." Rita turned it over, like a pretty pebble. She held up her beer can. "Get you a cold one?"
"I'm fine, thanks."
"You're better than fine," cooed Rita. "Me, I could use another one." She headed for the refrigerator, turning around partway there to see if he was watching her ass.
Rita Shafer was the sister of Harlen Wilson Shafer, and her apartment was his last-known address. According to the Department of Corrections, Shafer was a small-timer with two convictions for sales of a controlled substance, a high-school dropout who had recently finished a five-year pop at Vacaville, Walsh's alma mater. Jimmy had read through Shafer's jacket on the computer at SLAP and known he was the one-Walsh's last date. No history of violence with Shafer; he was more likely Walsh's dealer than his killer, but Jimmy still wanted to talk to him.
Rita came back from the kitchen and popped a beer, delicately cupping her hand over the top to shield herself from the spray. It was a curiously ladylike gesture that made Jimmy want to scrub her clean.
"You were right before. I am looking for your brother."
"I figured that's why you were here," nodded Rita, plunking herself down beside him. She killed half the beer in one long swallow.
"No, it's nothing like that."
"Lucky you." Rita took another hit of the beer. "Harlen stayed with me about a week when he got out of prison, emptied my purse when he left." She edged closer to him. "He left me some pot and some pills, like some pack rat, thinking it was a fair exchange. I still got most of the pot. Good stuff too." She plucked at the hair on his arms. "I don't smoke so much anymore. It makes me too horny." She turned toward the bedroom doorway. "Turn down that goddamned TV!"
"Do you know where he's staying?"
"Harlen's not bad. He's just got bad luck," said Rita. "Been like that his whole life-he calls tails, heads come up."
"Does he have a job? I really need to get in touch-"
"A job?" Rita threw back her head and showed Jimmy her fillings.
"Rita?" The two little blond girls were standing in the doorway, holding hands. "Rita, Axyl Rose won't let us watch Sesame Street. He says it's for babies."
"You tell Axyl Rose if I have to come in there, I'm gonna whip his ass," said Rita. "He should be in school anyway. His damn earache got better as soon as the bus left."
Jimmy watched the girls run back into the bedroom, giggling.
"Harlen said he loved me, but he just couldn't stand it here," Rita said to Jimmy. "He said it was louder than prison and the food wasn't as good, and I kept ragging on him because I don't like drugs around my kids. You got a cigarette?"
"Sorry."
"That's all right, I done quit anyway." Rita smiled, her breasts shifting in the tank top. "You don't smoke, you don't want a beer- you have any vices, handsome?"
"I've got a few left. My girlfriend is working on them though."
Rita played with her white-blond hair. "Me, I'm a broad-minded person." She turned again to the bedroom. "I told you, turn that thing down!" She looked at Jimmy and smiled, drawing her long legs up. "Now, where were we?"
"Did your brother ever mention someone he knew in prison named Garrett Walsh?"
"Harlen didn't talk much about prison." Rita shrugged. "If he did, I weren't listening."
"Garrett Walsh was a filmmaker," Jimmy said helpfully.
"Porno?" Rita sat up. "I don't go for that, mister."
"No, real films."
"I don't know what you heard, but I don't do that no more."
"I'm just trying to get in touch with your brother. If he calls you- if he comes by, I'd appreciate you letting me know where he's staying." He handed her his business card. "My cell phone number is on here. Call me anytime."
"SLAP magazine?" Rita pondered the card. "I heard of that. What's Harlen done now?"
"Probably nothing. He was one of the last people to see Garrett Walsh alive. I'd like to ask him some questions, that's all."
Rita shook her head. "I don't think Harlen would like talking to you." She stared at the business card. "Is Harlen going to jail again?"
"I doubt it."
"Harlen called me a stupid whore when he left. He's my brother and I love him, but he shouldn't call me names in front of my kids. You think that's right?"
Jimmy looked her in the eyes. "No."
"How come I never meet guys like you?"
Jimmy smiled. "Just lucky, I guess."
Rita shook her head, not returning the smile. "No, I ain't lucky. I'm just like Harlen that way." She took a deep breath. "He comes by for more money, I'll give you a buzz. You got a brother, Jimmy?"
"Yeah."
"I bet you get along fine. I bet you're a real family."
"You'd lose that bet. My brother and I-we're not close."
"Got to be his fault."
Jimmy handed her the mug shot of Harlen Shafer he had downloaded from the Department of Corrections database. "Is this accurate?"
"What do you mean?"
"This photo was taken when Harlen went into prison. Does he still look the same?"
"Pretty much." Rita rapped the photograph with a finger. "His hair is longer now. I don't like it so much, but he don't care what I think. His face is different too, harder. I guess prison does that."
"Do you have a more recent shot of your brother? One that I could make a copy of?"
Rita shook her head. "I got something I want you to see." She pulled her purse out from under the couch and fished out her wallet. The red leather was worn smooth, the sides bulging, the seams split. She flicked through the photo section, pulled a black-and-white out of the yellowed glassine, and handed it over.
Jimmy stared at two underfed kids standing there, holding hands. The boy's jeans had a hole in one knee; the girl's dress was well worn but pressed. They both looked scared, but the boy was trying hard to hide it.
"That's me and Harlen. I was nine, he was eleven. Our mama had just died, and we were being farmed out to kin, separated. I know you're looking for Harlen. I just want you to know what he was like before-before things changed. He was a good big brother once. I want you to remember that."
"I'm not out to hurt him."
"Life changes people. They start out one way, then things happen and they're not the same afterward."
"I know," said Jimmy. "I just need to talk to him."
"I believe you." Rita took the photo from him and tucked it carefully back into her wallet. "I don't know why, but I feel like I can trust you."
Jimmy stood up and shook her hand. "It was nice meeting you, Rita."
"Nice meeting you too." Rita pumped his hand, not wanting to let go. She waited until he was almost at the front door. "I think he's staying at one of them… motels, you know, a no-tell motel. I don't know where, but I know what Harlen likes."
"Thank you."
"That doesn't really do much, does it?" Rita looked embarrassed. "There's only probably about a million of them motels around. I just wanted to help."
"I appreciate it."
"You find him, tell him no hard feelings about him ripping me off. Tell him to come by sometime. There's always a beer waiting for him." Rita turned away so she wouldn't have to see the door close behind him.