57
On Monday, January 29, Suarez and Fortescue had lunch at the Tex-Mex place Manny had discovered. They ate cheese enchiladas, rice, refried beans, tortillas, guacamole salad, tacos, nachos, plenty of hot sauce, and two beers each. As they devoured this stupendous feast, they had their notebooks open on the table and exchanged skinny on Ernie the bartender.
'Full name Ernest K. Hohlman,' Suarez reported. 'Claims to be forty-four. Divorced. Got a young daughter. They live in a condo up at Lighthouse Point. Ernie was on the force in Manhattan. He came down here about five years ago and went to work at the Palace Lounge. When I called the NYPD, they said he resigned, but I finally got hold of a landsman who was willing to hablilla for a while. He says Ernie was allowed to resign quote for personal reasons unquote after he was caught shaking down crack dealers.'
'Pension?' Fortescue asked.
'Nada. But he owns his condo, drives a white Toyota Cressida, and has almost fifty Gs of CDs in the bank. Neat for an ex-cop and bartender.'
'You have a gift for understatement,' Roger said. 'Well, I talked to all my snitches and my snitches' snitches, and I've got a pretty good idea where Ernie's gelt is coming from. The guy is a world-class hustler.
I mean he's into everything: books bets and peddles pot, coke, stolen credit cards, and merchandise that 'fell off the truck.' Also, he pimps for a young call girl, a real looker. His daughter.'
'That's not nice,' Manny said.
'No, it's not,' Fortescue agreed. 'I think that maybe after we finish this heartburn banquet we should go visit Ernie and point out the evil of his ways.'
'How we gonna handle it? You wanna try the good cop-bad cop routine?'
'Nah,' Roger said. 'He was a cop once himself; he'd recognize the plot. Let's both just be nasty.'
'Hokay,' Suarez said. 'I can do nasty.'
They drove over to the Grand Palace in Manny's Ford Escort. It was then almost three o'clock, and there was only one parking valet on duty. He was a young black who looked like he could slam-dunk without jumping.
'Let me talk to him alone for a few minutes,' Fortescue said, and Suarez nodded.
They waited until the Escort was parked, and the valet came trotting back. Roger drew him aside.
'A moment of your time, bro,' the agent said, and showed his ID.
The youth raised his palms outward. 'I'm guilty,' he said. 'Whatever it was, I did it.'
Fortescue smiled, took a morgue Polaroid of Termite Tommy out of his jacket pocket, held it up.
'You do this?' he asked.
'Jesus!' the valet said. 'He looks dead.'
'If he isn't,' Roger said, 'he must be cold as hell in that icebox. Ever see him before?'
The boy studied the grisly photo with fearful fascination. 'What happened to him?' he asked.
'He died,' the officer said patiently and repeated, 'Ever see him before?'
'Yeah, he was around a few times. Drove an old beat-up truck. We called him El Cheapo because he always parked his heap himself.'
'That's the guy. Did you work on New Year's Day?'
'Nope. There was only one valet on duty that day. A1 Seymour. I was home and I can prove it.'
'That's good,' Fortescue said. 'Now I won't have to goose you with a cattle prod.'
The youth was horrified. 'You don't really do that, do you?'
'All the time,' Roger said, motioning to Suarez. 'This job has a lot of fringe benefits.'
They entered the Palace Lounge through the side door. There were three men drinking beer at one table, and a middle-aged couple working on whiskey sours at another. The only other person in the room was the man behind the bar. He was reading a supermarket tabloid. He put it aside when Roger and Manny swung onto barstools.
'Yessir, gents,' he said, 'what's your pleasure?'
'Mine's pussy,' Suarez said, and turned to his partner. 'What's yours?'
'A boneless pork loin with yams,' Fortescue said, and displayed his ID.
'The sheriff's office?' the bartender said. 'I know some of the guys there. They stop by occasionally. What division you in?'
'Community relations,' Roger said. 'This is my partner, Manuel Suarez. Your name is Ernest Hohl-man?'
'That's right. Everyone calls me Ernie.' 'Uh-huh. Did you work here on New Year's Day, Ernie?'
The bartender stalled a beat. 'Sure I did,' he said finally. 'Got paid triple-time because of the holiday.'
The agent placed the morgue photo of Termite Tommy on the bar. 'Know this guy?'
Ernie glanced at it. 'Nope. Never saw him before in my life.'
'That was queek,' Suarez said. 'Wasn't that queek, Roger?'
'Quick?' Fortescue said. 'Sheet, it was fuckin' instantaneous. Take another look, Ernie. A nice long look.'
The bartender stared. 'Dead?' he asked.
'Couldn't be deader,' Manny said cheerfully. 'Ever see him when he was alive and kicking?'
'No, I don't make him. Listen, this is a busy bar. Maybe he stopped by once for a drink. You can't expect me to remember every customer.''
'Did he stop by on New Year's Day?' Suarez said.
'I don't recall him being here.'
'That's odd,' Fortescue said. 'The parking valet on duty that day, A1 Seymour, says this guy was here.'
'Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't. I can't swear to it either way. You men want a drink? On the house?'
'No, thanks,' Fortescue said. 'We never drink on duty, do we, Manny?'
'Never,' Suarez said. 'Against regulations.'
'David Rathbone a customer of yours?' Roger asked suddenly. 'One of your regulars?'
'Mr. Rathbone?' Ernie said cautiously. 'Yeah, he stops by occasionally. Hey, what's this all about? If you could tell me, I'll be happy to help you any way I can. I used to be a cop myself. In New York.'
'Yeah, we heard about that,' Suarez said. 'I wouldn't want to be a cop in New York with all those crack dealers running around with Uzis. How come you left the NYPD, Ernie?'
'I just got tired of the cold weather up there.'
'Cold?' Manny said. 'I thought maybe it was because it was too hot. So David Rathbone was in here on New Year's Day?'
'He could have been. I really don't remember. Hey, those guys are signaling for another round of beers. I gotta go wait on the customers.'
'Go ahead,' Fortescue said, 'but don't try to make a run for it. The place is surrounded.'
'Very funny,' Ernie said.
By the time he returned behind the bar, the two officers had decided to lean a little harder.
'We're going to level with you, Ernie,' Fortescue said. 'After all, you used to be a cop so we know you'll cooperate.'
'Sure I will,' Ernie said.
'So we'll tell you some of what we've got. The clunk in the photograph was a two-bit con man who went by the moniker of Termite Tommy. We know he was here on New Year's Day. That night someone stuck an ice pick in his right ear. We're talking homicide, Ernie. We also know David Rathbone was here on New Year's Day. Now all we want to know is whether or not Rathbone and Termite Tommy met, maybe had a drink together, maybe talked awhile.'
'I don't remember,' Ernie said.
'Oh Ernesto,' Suarez said sadly. 'You are not cooperating, and you promised.'
'Listen, I can't tell you something I don't remember, can I?'
'Try,' Fortescue urged. 'Surely you recall how Rathbone got drunk that evening and you had to call his woman to come get him. You remember that, don't you?'
Ernie wiped the top of the bar with a rag, making slow circles, not looking at them. 'Well, maybe he had a few too many,' he said in a low voice. 'Yeah, now I remember; he got smashed.'
