Yes, indeed. Captivating, isn’t she?
Other words come to mind.
Tiny and tattooed?
Sure. That, and way too young for you.
Oh, I don’t know. She’s legal. That’s my bottom line.
I was afraid of that.
Lisa came out and beckoned to us.
We followed her back.
She seemed to know her way around the place.
She led us to an interrogation room. In the room were Donegan and Jules. Jules didn’t look up. The front of his white T-shirt appeared to be streaked with blood.
Jules, I said, what happened to you?
Nothing, he said, without looking up.
He’s been cutting himself again, Lisa whispered.
It’s none of their goddamn business, Jules barked at her.
I looked at Donegan. He shook his head. It was clear that he was overmatched.
Can I have a few minutes alone with my client? I asked him.
Sure, he said, they’re all yours.
On his way out he gave me a subtle shift of the head. Come out here for a second, it said. I followed him out.
Just thought you should know, he said. The kid’s been…
I know. I saw the shirt. He does that.
You didn’t see what’s under the shirt. This kid isn’t playing around. We got somebody watching. Just in case.
Okay. I got you. Listen, they haven’t charged him or anything, have they?
Nothing new, anyway.
Donegan left. Gave me a wink on the way.
I had no idea what it meant.
When I got back into the room Lisa was sitting next to Jules, her arms around his neck.
Jules didn’t react.
Jules, I said, I’m so sorry.
What about? he asked, with hooded eyes and a disturbingly calm air.
Your father. Look, I know you didn’t always get along.
He snorted in derision.
But it’s always tough, no matter what.
It’s not tough. Nothing tough about it.
I looked at his blood-streaked shirt.
He didn’t follow my lead. He looked steadily at me.
Jules, I said. I think I understand. I just want you to know that we’re here to help you. If we can. Anything we can do.
Who’s the we?
Oh. I’m sorry. This is Dorita. She’s my partner. She’s helping me out on your case.
My case? he asked with a sneer.
The Larry Silver case, I said gently.
I’m not worried about that.
That’s good. That’s good. Listen, Jules, what have they been doing with you here? Do they think you’re a suspect in your father’s death or something?
I don’t fucking know what they’re doing. They picked me up. They brought me here. That fathead cop’s been asking me all kind of shit. Where I was last night. Where I was this morning. Where I was when I was born. All kinds of shit.
Did they arrest you? Read you your rights?
Nah. They asked me to come down. But they did it like if I said no they’d make me.
Then you can leave anytime you want, you know.
Sure, I know that.
Okay. And you don’t have to talk to them.
I got nothing to hide.
That may be true, Jules, but they can twist things around. You shouldn’t be talking to them. Especially without a lawyer. What did you tell them?
I didn’t tell them shit.
About where you were last night. What did you tell them about that?
I told them the truth.
And what was that?
I was with Lisa.
She smiled and nodded at me.
Where?
Around.
Where around?
All over around. Here, there. Everywhere.
Jules. I’m trying to help you here. You don’t have to play these games with me. I thought we got over that.
That was before.
Before what?
Before you started fucking with Lisa.
Jules! Lisa cried out.
I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jules, I said, with as much outrage as I could muster.
What are you talking about? echoed Lisa.
Never mind what I’m talking about, he said, looking straight at me. Just get the fuck out of here.
His look was not one that allowed for negotiation. I nodded at Dorita. We got up. I glanced back as we went out the door. He was still giving me the hairy eyeball. She was still clinging to his neck.
We went out front. We asked for Butch. It took a while.
Butch, I said when he finally appeared. Can you find out for me what’s going on with Jules? Is he being treated as a suspect or something?
Everybody’s a suspect, he said. Until the case is closed.
Yeah, yeah. I know that. But seriously?
I can’t really say.
He gave me an apologetic shrug.
I looked around. The room was packed with cops. Reporters. Guys in raincoats. Folks whose function there I couldn’t place. I gave Butch the benefit. Even if he wanted to tell me something, he couldn’t do it there.
99.
We went to the bar across the street. The joint was crawling with reporters, technicians, hangers-on, scandalmongers. We found a relatively quiet spot in the back.
That’s one fucked-up kid, I said.
Sure, said Dorita. And you’d be Mother Teresa on Valium in his situation.
Hey, I’m not judging. He’s got a lot to deal with. But all the same. What’s with this self-mutilation thing?
We all have our means of coping.
