“That sounds like a motive,” I said.

“My father talks like a lunatic. He is a lunatic but he wouldn’t kill anyone.”

“There’s always a first time,” I said.

“Am I going to jail?” he asked.

“We’re going to talk to a policeman named Viviase. You’re going to tell him everything, running away with Adele, finding your dead grandfather, grabbing a few of your things, and running away. You will not mention the manuscripts. You just ran away with Adele. You understand?”

“Then I lie?”

“About Adele, yes.”

“Go over it again,” he said. “My mind… I’m having trouble keeping things straight.”

I repeated to Mickey what he should and shouldn’t say. He was a slow learner but when he had it right he sounded convincing to me.

“Don’t I need a lawyer? On television they always say they want a lawyer.”

“If you get in trouble, just say, ‘I don’t want to talk anymore without a lawyer.’”

“How will I know if I’m in trouble? I don’t even know any lawyers.”

“I do. If you get confused, stop talking except to say you want a lawyer. I’ll get one for you. You understand?”

“Yes,” he said.

“With some luck, I’ll be in the room when the police talk to you. If I think it’s time for you to ask for a lawyer, I’ll just shake my head.”

“Which way?”

“Which way what?”

“Which way will you shake your head. Up or down?”

“Like this,” I said.

“I’m not usually this dumb,” Mickey said, rubbing his hair. “I haven’t had much sleep and my grandfather…”

I held up a hand to quiet him and picked up the phone. The answering machine was blinking. One call. The call Flo had mentioned. I ignored it, called Viviase, and told him I had someone he was looking for.

“Come with him,” Viviase said.

“I was planning to.”

Then I told him we’d be right over.

“Be here in ten minutes,” he said. “Then we come looking.

’Ten minutes,” I agreed.

We hung up. I wondered why he wanted me to come, probably more about finding the body of Mickey’s grandfather.

We could get to his office in five minutes if we hurried. I closed the office and led Mickey down the stairs. We stopped at the DQ. I got a double chocolate Blizzard, large. Mickey said he would have the same. We drank as we walked and said nothing.

Mickey might not be the brightest kid with a high school diploma but he was a good witness. He looked and sounded frightened and honest. I was counting on it.

A black car with tinted windows slowed down. I thought of the shot through my window an hour before and stepped back pulling Mickey with me. The car moved on. So did we. I drank the rest of my Blizzard slowly. I wished I were lying in my bed in my underwear watching Humoresque.

9

Ed Viviase’s door was open. He stood in front of his desk, sitting back against it, a coffee cup in his hand. His glasses were off and lying on the desk next to a brown paper bag with grease spots showing through. Next to the bag was a manila folder. I don’t like manila folders. They contain too many surprises.

Viviase looked like a tired bulldog.

“This is Mickey Merrymen,” I said.

Viviase nodded and drank some coffee. He looked at both of us for a second and then motioned for us to take a seat in front of him. We did. He looked tired. I told him he did.

“Earache,” he said.

“Sony,” I answered.

“Not mine, Ernie’s. My wife just had some minor surgery, female stuff. I was up with Ernie all night. Medicine, tea, toast, antibiotics. That was after a trip to Emergency. Kid’s tough. He insists on going to school tomorrow. I haven’t had any sleep. Zero. Zilch. Nothing. So make this easy on me. I am in a very bad mood.”

“How old is Ernie?” I asked.

“Sixteen. Goes to Cardinal Mooney. I think he didn’t want to miss football practice. What the hell? Donut?”

He picked up the brown paper bag and held it toward us.

Mickey picked out a plain one with chocolate icing. I turned down the offer.

“You sure?” asked Viviase, reaching in for a puffy yellow one with red icing. “If you don’t want a donut, I’ve got a few other things in the bag that might interest you.”

“No, thanks,” I said, feeling something was coming. He was ignoring Mickey.

He settled the redicinged donut between his teeth and reached into the bag to pull out the turquoise seashell Jefferson and Conrad Lonsberg had given me the day before. He handed me the shell and then fished a spent bullet out of the bag. He handed me the bullet too.

Viviase took a bite out of his donut as he watched me. I looked at the two objects. Viviase drank. Mickey looked confused.

“Someone took a shot at you,” Viviase said. “Bang. End of Taurus window. We fished that,” he said, pointing at the bullet, “out of the backseat. Want to guess what ballistics matched it to?”

“The bullet that killed Bernard Corsello,” I said.

“Good guess,” said Viviase. “Want to make some more?”

“I don’t think I’ll be so friendly with the EZ Economy Car Rental Agency boys from now on.”

“They called in when they saw the bullet hole in the seat,” Viviase said. “Good citizens.”

“A couple of frightened men with a marginal business,” I said.

“All true,” said Viviase. “Now, why would the person who killed Corsello want to take a shot at you?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Let’s take a guess or two. By the way, that’s a nice shell. You don’t find many of them that color in that condition. My guess on who took the shot and why? You asked the wrong question to the wrong person, the person who killed Corsello, so he, she, or it decided to take a shot at you.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“I didn’t check this morning, but I don’t think you got a private investigator’s license in the last day or two or even applied for one.”

He finished his donut, slurring his last few words. Mickey was finished too.

“I was just asking questions for a friend,” I said.

“No idea who took a shot at you?”

I had a few ideas, but I didn’t want to share them with the police, so I said, “No.”

“Think they were trying to kill you or scare you?” he asked.

“I think they would have been happy either way.”

Viviase suddenly turned to Mickey who had been watching and listening, detached, a little dreamy. Viviase woke him up.

“You have a gun?”

“No,” said Mickey, sitting up.

“Your father owns a nine-millimeter,” Viviase said. “Hell, he owns four of them. One of them is missing.”

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