Because he’s too smart to say anything?
Contrary to the evidence.
Because he’s too damn stupid.
Correct. At least, an excellent working hypothesis.
Okay, and that buys us?
A weak link.
Waiting to be broken.
We toasted the stupid twin. We made a plan. We had another drink. We were oiled for battle.
Dorita called Ramon’s cell phone number.
Ramon, she said. Dorita Reed. So nice to hear your voice.
I rolled my eyes. Surely he wasn’t that stupid.
She glared me down.
We’ve been making some inquiries, she said into the phone. We’d like to talk with you about a couple more things. Any chance we could have a few minutes of your time?
I watched her listen.
I see, she said. I understand. But Ramon, I really think you should make the time.
She listened some more.
Ramon, she said. You need to think carefully. We’ve got some information. Something you really need to hear.
She listened.
She smiled a sneaky smile at me. She’d got the fish on the hook.
She hung up.
The Club at eleven, she said. The VIP room.
Wow. Can we get lap dances?
If you fancy a lap dance from a guy named Bruce.
I’ll consider that.
Hey, we have time for another drink.
Two, at least. Fancy that.
103.
By the time we got to the club we were buzzed and pumped. Or pumped and buzzed. I wasn’t sure. I was too buzzed.
Igor met us at the door. It seemed like old times. He escorted us to the VIP room. I had to admit they’d done a nice job. Plush seats of various sizes were scattered about, in a calculatedly random way. Huge glass tubes with a passing resemblance to giant lava lamps stretched from floor to ceiling. They were all aglow with a purple velvet light. It suffused the room. Strange things were happening inside them. Things that looked different from every angle and distance. Posing here and there were largely naked men and women, each as dark and delectable as creme brulee.
Ramon was at the back of the room. Seated at the only couch that had a full-size table associated with it. The business nook.
We sat down. Each on a mushroom-like stool that sank with our weight into a comfortable cup. Whoosh. Immediately we were transported. Into the world of the spoiled and dissolute.
The spoiled part was new to me.
It was early enough that the music wasn’t cosmically loud. We could talk.
Hi, said Dorita.
Hello, said Ramon, with his usual defensive air.
Good to see you, I said, extending my hand, not without a frisson of dread.
Well founded, it turned out. I got the limp, wet hand again. I had to force a smile.
He sat impassively.
Dorita took the lead.
Ramon, she said. We’ve been talking to people. Looking around.
He said nothing. His face betrayed not an atom of reaction.
Funny thing, she said. We talked to Jules.
His left eye twitched.
Turns out he was there.
There?
When Mr. FitzGibbon died.
He didn’t take his eyes off her. I detected a tightening of the muscles in his neck.
We were kind of wondering, Dorita went on, what you might be able to tell us about that.
And maybe, I added, why it was that you and Raul seem to have forgotten to mention it.
He didn’t say a thing. He flagged one of the girls. She brought us drinks. Ramon a Perrier.
Dumb. But careful.
Well? Dorita said.
He still just stared at her.
Damn. I was right. We were talking to a brick.
Dorita bore down.
Ramon, she said. The silent treatment’s not going to do it for you. You were there. Raul was there. Jules was there. Somehow Mr. FitzGibbon managed to throw himself off a thirty-third-floor balcony despite the presence of the three of you. Somebody’s going to have to explain it. If it’s not you, it’ll be one of the others. I’m not sure you want that.
Ramon furrowed his brow. It made him look angry and mean. But I was beginning to understand. It was just his natural condition. Confused.
Do you agree? asked Dorita, soft and understanding.
I… don’t.
You don’t agree?
I don’t know.
Dorita tried again. She repeated the whole thing, in words of one syllable.
Ramon thought for a while. If it could be called thought.
I can’t tell you anything, he said.
Why not? asked Dorita. Are you afraid?
That got him animated. He sat up straight. He glared at her.
Ramon, I said. I need a minute with you.
I took him aside. I whispered in his ear.
Where’s the bat? I asked.
What?
The baseball bat.
He stared at me. I caught a hint of understanding in his gaze.
The cops never found the murder weapon, did they, Ramon?
I don’t know what you’re talking about, he mumbled.
Then how do I know it was a baseball bat?
Silence.
You might want to ask yourself that, Ramon.
He turned and left the room.
I sat back down next to Dorita.
Buy me another drink, I said. He might be a while.
You sure you don’t want Bruce over there? she asked. I might be able to swing you a discount.
