'I realize that, but I hope you'll consider our services.'
'Vic's has same-day pump-out. We have pipe problems in the basement, and with all the kids, it clogs up.'
'I see.'
'We been using them for years. Also, Richie plays on my husband's softball team. Annie, you're a mess.'
'Richie?'
'The driver for Vic's.'
He sipped his coffee. 'I see.'
'So I'm sure your prices are like competitive and all, but we're not interested.' She hung up.
Crawl around in some shit and you learn some things, he thought. He went back to his father's phone books. There were eight Vic's in Queens, but none were sewage operations. Brooklyn had twelve businesses with the name Vic, including barbershops and deli and pizza places, and one of them was Victorious Sewerage, located in Marine Park-not exactly close to the service addresses in Queens.
He dialed the household he'd called earlier.
'Hello?' came the voice of an exasperated mother. 'What is it?'
'Hi, I called from Town Septic, earlier.'
'I thought we were done.'
'I'm just calling to clarify. You use Victorious Sewerage in Brooklyn?'
'Something like that. They got trucks all over out here. I have no idea if it's Brooklyn. Now please don't call again, I got kids to put to bed.'
He hung up.
'I want the report,' came a voice from the living room.
He found his father lying back staring at the ceiling.
'I crawled in, found some stuff. They suggest a Brooklyn company called Victorious Sewerage.'
'Local?'
Ray told him about the map and phone calls. 'Maybe I should tell Pete Blake.'
His father waved a disgusted hand. 'He'll figure it out sooner or later. Plus, you don't know much, anyway.'
'I know the shit probably came from pipes or septic tanks cleaned by this Victorious operation.'
'You go there tomorrow, ask questions, find this Richie guy.'
'Just walk in?'
'Yeah, just walk in, Ray. Find him, follow him. Exactly what I would have done.'
Ray studied his father. This was the face my mother kissed as a nineteen-year-old, he thought, this was the face that had walked the beat, voted for Nixon in '72, with most of America, then been glad when he resigned, who had questioned hundreds of suspects, heard every line of bullshit and weaseling, was an awkward dancer and a moderate drinker, a man who often visited his wife's grave, took a little fold-out chair and battery radio with him, sat there an hour listening to the Yankees game, his hand on the tombstone.
'Dad, you need a shave.'
His father grunted. 'You drinking coffee?'
'Yes.'
'Gimme some of that. Haven't had coffee in-'
'Is it all right?'
'What's it going to do, kill me?'
He handed his father the cup. He drank slowly. 'Mmn.'
'What'll it be, electric razor or a blade?'
'Blade. Who is the barber?'
'Me.'
He got a basin of hot water and a towel and shaving cream and a safety razor. He wet half the towel and softened up his father's face. His father closed his eyes and sank back into his pillow. 'Feels good,' he muttered.
Ray lathered up his father's neck and cheeks. It had been many years since he'd touched his father's face so much, maybe since he'd been a boy.
'You know, I worked a lot of missing persons cases,' his father began, as if he'd been thinking of Jin Li since the morning. 'Maybe forty or fifty. And what you see with them is that the people who are missing because they are hiding don't stay hidden for very long. They start moving around, they get restless. Folks get-'
'Hold still.' Ray went under the chin with the safety razor.
'— lonely. I used to map out who a person knew, who the family was, the best friends, the old girlfriends.'
The coffee was making his father talkative. 'So how does this apply to Jin Li?'
'There's no family in the city?'
'No. She's from China.'
'Friends?'
'I didn't know her very long before she broke it off.'
'Boyfriends?'
'I have no idea.'
'How long from the moment you met her until the first event in the bedroom Olympics?'
Ray remembered. 'Two days.'
'Don't think you get any credit for that, either.' His father rolled his eyes toward the window. 'Has orgasms easily?'
He nodded, feeling too embarrassed to say this to his father. 'Do I get any credit for that?'
'No, of course not. It's the woman, always. How long was she in the country before meeting you?'
'Three, four years, maybe.'
'Pretty girl, new in town, lonely. There've been plenty of guys, is my guess. She might have gone looking for an old boyfriend.'
The idea made him wary. 'Maybe.'
'Easy on the cheek there. You see her apartment?'
'Little place way up in the nineties on the East Side. Very small.'
'Not in Chinatown.'
'Hated Chinatown. Too Chinese.'
'Anything in her apartment?'
'Usual stuff. Dresses. She spent most of her money on clothes.'
'No car?'
'No.'
'Did you ever stay in her apartment?'
'Lots of times. Ate breakfast out.'
'What did she read?'
He patted his father's cheek. Smooth. 'Everything. She reads English perfectly.'
'But spoken not so good.'
'Spoken very good. It's the pronunciation that is hard.'
'The palate hardens at some young age.'
'She can understand any spoken English, except perhaps any really hard accents, like a deep Southern accent.'
'So really she could go anywhere in the States easily enough.' His father lifted the coffee cup again.
'That's what I'm saying.'
'Did she have a secretive nature? Don't think, just answer.'
'Well-'
'Just answer yes or no.'
But before he could, Wendy came in, her long shift about to end. 'Coffee!' She turned on Ray. 'He can't be drinking coffee!'
