“People,” he said. “I’m sorry. The local gendarmes wish to show you some pictures. They’ve promised it won’t take long.”
One blond woman with a long oval face squealed as she turned and looked at them.
“Ohmigod,” she said. “The fuzz.”
She was wearing a bikini bathing suit and huge sunglasses. She had a nearly empty glass of champagne in her hand. Because she was sitting on a blue-and-yellow-striped couch, Jesse couldn’t see well enough to be sure, but he was confident that the bikini bottom was a thong.
“Show them the pictures,” Jesse said.
Suit stepped to the table and showed them to the blonde.
Jesse watched her face. It was why he had Simpson show the 6 9
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pictures, so he could stand and look for a reaction. She barely glanced at the photographs.
“Nobody I know,” she said and looked back at Jesse.
“How come he’s wearing a uniform and you’re not?” she said, and emptied her champagne glass and held it out toward the crew member in charge of pouring. He refilled it.
“I’m the chief,” Jesse said. “I get to wear what I want.”
Simpson showed the picture to the man beside the blonde. The blonde drank some champagne.
“And you chose that?” she said.
Jesse was studying the face of the man looking at the pictures.
“They do call it
She drank again and shifted a little so he could see the line of her thigh better. Jesse kept his eyes on her companions, as, one at a time, they looked at the pictures.
“Are you carrying your gun?” the blonde said.
“In case of pirates,” Jesse said.
The blonde took a cigarette from a silver cigarette case.
The man next to her snapped a lighter. She inhaled deeply and took a drink of champagne and let the smoke out through her nose while she swallowed. Simpson showed the pictures to the final person at the table. No one recognized them and no one had shown any reaction to them.
“There, now can you have a nice drink?” the blonde said.
“Show it to the crew,” Jesse said to Simpson.
“Well, isn’t he a good big boy,” the blonde said, “doing everything the chief says.”
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Jesse was studying each crew member as the pictures were shown. No recognition, no reaction.
“Why do you keep staring at everybody,” the blonde said.
“Clues,” Jesse said, “I’m looking for clues.”
“Oh pooh,” the blonde said. “Why don’t you join us for a nice cocktail?”
“What could be better?” Jesse said. “Except I’m afraid that Suit here would rat me out to the Board of Selectmen.”
“Why do you call him Suit?” the blonde said.
“My name’s Simpson, ma’am, and there used to be a ballplayer named Suitcase Simpson, so the guys started calling me that, and it sort of got shortened to Suit.”
She laughed and finished her glass of champagne and held it out toward the pourer.
“What a boring answer,” she said.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Simpson said. “The question wasn’t all that interesting, either.”
The blonde had a full glass again. She drank, and took in a big inhale and held it for a while before she let it out slowly, blowing the smoke out in a thin stream toward Jesse and Simpson. She shook her head.
“Local yokels,” she said and turned away back toward her lunch mates.
Darnell had been standing throughout the picture showing.
Now he stepped forward. He was taller than Jesse and exag-gerated the difference in height by bending forward to speak.
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“If there’s nothing else,” he said.
“Can’t guarantee that,” Jesse said. “But there’s nothing else right now.”
He took a card case from his jacket pocket, took out a number of cards and tossed them on the lunch table.
