‘Excuse me?’
‘Him and his self-help tapes. It’s all to reassure himself that if he screws up it’s not entirely his fault, he can make it better with a quick fix. You finding Eve, it’s all about fixing you, Whit, not her.’
‘At the beginning. But not now.’
‘I know she wasn’t around,’ Frank said. ‘But I’m sure she loves you.’
‘She’s a thief and a crook.’
‘So? She’s not a nutcase like Bucks or Jose. Put a premium on sanity.’
Whit thought of Eve tending his wounds, of remembering he liked pepperoni pizza, of warning him to save himself.
‘Do you love her?’ Frank asked. ‘I’d like to know.’
Whit put his fork down. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. But I want you to get Bucks where I can talk to him alone.’
‘Bucks?’
‘Bucks is the key.’
‘He won’t meet with you,’ Frank said. ‘Plus, the cops have got to be watching him. You want the cops knowing you’re in deeper than you are, seeing you with him? Whit, they’ll haul you in as a material witness. Offer a deal with you to testify against me, your mother, Bucks, whoever.’
‘I’m going to give the police the movie of Bucks carrying those bodies, anonymously, but as soon as I do, Bucks is behind bars and I can’t ever get to him.’
‘Arresting him, you could have more pressure put on him.’
Whit leaned forward. ‘Call him. Tell him I have the movie.’
Frank’s eyes went wide. ‘You crazy?’
‘I’m dead serious. Tell him. Bucks knows where Jose would hide. Maybe that’s why Jose tried to kill him.’
‘Your mother wouldn’t want this,’ Frank said. ‘She’d be wanting you to head your ass back home.’
‘Bucks and I have a common enemy now in Jose,’ Whit said.
‘It’s a deal with the devil. I won’t do it.’ Frank pulled a twenty out of his wallet, tossed it on the table. ‘My treat. Think about my suggestion about getting Bucks arrested. There’s your game plan, son.’
‘Think about what I said, Frank. We need Bucks.’
‘Jesus and Mary,’ Frank said. ‘You didn’t answer me. You love her?’
‘I don’t know her in the conventional sense you know your family. But still, I do know her. Or I want to believe I know her. Maybe I’m fooling myself.’ Whit shook his head. ‘Love her? I must.’
43
Frank Polo left the diner, watching Whit drive off in Charlie Fulgham’s borrowed Lexus. Whit was so like Eve in certain ways. Resolve. Smarts. Single-mindedness. Frank drove around an extra twenty minutes before heading home, stopping at lights, watching his back. He wasn’t quite sure who he was looking for in his rearview mirror. He imagined cops, lantern-jawed guys who’d give him the tough eye or a woman cop with a lesbian-short haircut who’d take him downtown, call him Mr Polo, be excruciatingly polite while panic tore his guts and ribs in half. See what he was made of, sitting there in their interrogation room, the cops lobbing a suggestion or two about his involvement with Paul Bellini beyond being the Topaz’s manager, about his knowledge of any criminal activities about the family. Asking where Eve Michaels was. Probably good he’d had to move the money he’d taken from the club back into the club’s accounts. It made him clean. Christ, Paul had done him a favor.
‘What you gonna do to me?’ Frank practiced saying in his mind to his imaginary interrogators. ‘Make me give the Grammy back?’ That was always a hell of a line to keep in your pocket, it made people know that they weren’t nearly as cool as you were. The Grammy, he still had that, up on a mantel in his bedroom. Usually one of the last things he saw before he went to sleep.
For a change, there were no police cars parked near the house. No lawyers waiting to talk to him, and no Bucks. He had gone to the hospital straight from Kiko’s with Whit and Gooch, but stayed in the background, not letting anyone know he was with the other two. Thank God he hadn’t come home that night to find a furious and panicked Bucks waiting for him, anxious for help.
He got out of the car, headed up to the front door. The woman was waiting for him in the eaves of the porch, dark-haired, mildly pretty, with a serious and intelligent face. Frank froze, the keys in his hand.
The man in front of her looked older than the pictures of Frank Polo Claudia remembered, vaguely, from her older sister’s record covers. He’d been short for a singing star, big black hair in a seventies flip, gaudy with chains and the requisite long-pointy-collared shirt slit open to the belly, big-heeled shoes, pants tighter than skin. This man was still short, but quietly dressed in comfortable gray slacks and a plain blue shirt, hair cropped short without a bit of gel. But there was the too-big diamond on the ring, the hint of gold chain under the modest collar.
‘Yes?’ he said. A little fear in his voice, the barest inflection. Because she was unexpected and he was tense, expecting attack or trouble from a new angle.
Claudia had given long thought on how to work this. ‘Mr Polo? I’m looking for Tasha Strong. I understand you have her address or phone number. She’s unlisted.’
‘Who are you? A cop?’
‘No. A friend is worried about Tasha and asked me to find her.’
‘See me at the club, I don’t have the dancers’ contact info at home.’ He fumbled for his house key on a thick ring.
‘I’m also looking for Eve Michaels.’
‘She’s out of town.’ Not looking at her.
‘Where could I find her?’ Claudia asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know what town she went to?’
‘You have ten seconds to get off my porch,’ he said. ‘Then I call the cops.’
‘Eve Michaels is missing, isn’t she? Won’t one more investigation fill up your date book, Mr Polo?’
He crossed his arms. ‘Eve and I had our differences. She left town for a while. Satisfied?’
‘She got a cell phone?’
‘Not for strangers to call.’
‘I’m not exactly a stranger. I’m Claudia Salazar. I’m a friend of Whit’s and Gooch’s.’ She watched his face; he gave no reaction to their names. ‘Is Eve dead? Did the Bellinis kill her? Or Jose Peron?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Frank said. ‘Eve wanted time alone.’
‘Time away from her son? Whit’s her son, isn’t he?’
Now he studied her and said, ‘I can give you her cell phone number if you want.’
‘That would be great, thanks.’
‘I don’t have it memorized,’ he said. ‘You know how it is, you press the speed dial code. My phone’s inside. You’re welcome to come in.’ Suddenly friendly, the frost gone. ‘Or wait out here.’ Like knowing he’d been too friendly.
‘I’ll come in. Thank you.’
‘I was about to make coffee,’ Frank Polo said. He stopped, tossed his suit coat onto the chair, closed the door behind her. ‘You want a cup? You could even try Eve’s cell phone from here.’
She pasted on a warm smile. Get him talking; people nearly always told you more than they thought they would. ‘That’d be great. My sister’s a big fan of yours.’
‘Oh. Well. Thanks,’ he said. Thanking her for her sister’s devotion to disco seemed strange, but then what else was he going to say? She wondered, a moment too late, if saying her sister rather than she was a big fan was an insult. But Frank Polo didn’t seem to care. ‘Whit know you’re here?’
‘Yes.’ It seemed the prudent answer. Claudia followed Frank to the kitchen, watched him putter with filter, grounds, and water over the brewer. He turned to her, leaned against the counter, and smiled again.
‘I’m a bad guy, Claudia. I told you a little white lie,’ Frank said. ‘Eve didn’t leave because of an argument. She
