Not tonight. I’m a little Bruced out.
Ah, too bad. That’s quite a Bruce they’ve got.
I can see that. And yet I’ll pass. Just this once.
What did you say to Ramon? she asked.
I asked him where the baseball bat was.
What baseball bat?
The one that killed Larry Silver.
I never heard anything about a baseball bat.
Neither did I, but I have the crime scene photos. Shape of the wound. Sure looks like a baseball bat to me. So I took another stab.
Keep that up and I might actually start admiring you.
Careful what you ask for, I said.
How’d he react? she asked.
Before I could answer, Igor appeared.
We looked at him. He looked at us.
Mr. FitzGibbon is indisposed, he said.
I’m shocked to hear that, I said. Please wish him a speedy recovery for us.
Thank you.
Listen, Dorita interjected, can we talk to you for a moment?
Igor gave her a lizard eye. Blank and ready to catch a fly.
We’re dealing with a murder case, she said. It’s a very serious business. I’m not sure that you want the Club to be tainted with this kind of thing.
Igor maintained his professionally neutral expression.
I only have one question, she said. And all I’m asking is for one honest answer. You could lie to us. But the consequences might not be pleasant, if you do.
His stare was no less blank.
So here’s the question. Did Ramon say anything to you back there? Anything other than that he was ‘indisposed’? I’m not asking for anything more. Anything else you saw or knew or heard before. I’m only asking you about tonight. Right now. What you heard. What he said.
Damn. The babe was good. Giving him an easy out. Even if Ramon hadn’t actually said anything back there, the guy could say he had, tell us what he knew that way. Without implicating himself, taking any risk. Nice move.
Igor still didn’t respond.
Listen, I said, lurching into bad-cop mode. We can call our connections, have the cops descend on this place like flies on shit. Trust me, it won’t be pleasant. And it won’t be good for business. Your boss won’t be happy. But we’ll make you a deal. You tell us what Ramon said, we won’t make the call. Deal?
It’s got nothing to do with me, he said.
We understand that, said Dorita. No problem. You tell us what he said, your name won’t come up.
Igor looked at us each in turn.
We waited.
He only said one thing, he said at last.
Yes? said Dorita.
He said, ‘Fucking Veronica.’
‘Fucking Veronica’?
Yes.
As in, ‘that fucking Veronica’?
Right.
That’s the whole thing? she asked.
That’s all he said? I echoed.
That’s all.
Dorita looked at me. I looked at her.
Veronica.
Jesus Christ on a stick. Why hadn’t we thought of that before?
104.
Fitzgibbon’s one true love, said Dorita once we reached the street.
The twins’ adoptive mommy.
Jules’s stepmom.
Cherchez la stepmom?
Damn, she said. How blind have we been?
The one person we’ve never talked to.
Who’s connected to everyone.
The linchpin.
The hub of the wheel.
The cliche of the week.
How stupid could we be?
Blind.
We’re giving Ray Charles a run for his money, she said.
You couldn’t have come up with something more original?
It’s been a tough day.
I can’t argue with that. So, where the hell is she?
The sixty-four-million-dollar question.
Thousand.
Whatever. We find her, it’s all over. I can feel it in my bones. To coin a phrase.
Her husband just committed suicide, I agreed, and not only hasn’t she showed up, nobody’s even mentioned her.
If it smells like a fish.
Then it’s fishy.
Exactly. I guess.
Okay. Where’s Veronica?
Unfortunately, we can’t ask FitzGibbon.
We could try, I suggested.
I’m not into the seance thing anymore.
Me neither. He could have killed her.
Committed suicide out of remorse.
Certainly the simplest explanation.
They had an argument.
Not inconceivable.
She told him she’s found a new man.
Bronzed, half her age, I mused.
Looks good in a Speedo.
She flaunts him.
FitzGibbon flies into a rage.
Throttles her.
Or, more in character, hires somebody to kill her.
Ramon? I asked.
