went over to his chair and rolled into it, spilling some of his drink.
'Why did it take him so long?' Mickey said. 'Who?'
'You called Monday night. Three days later you say my husband's paid you. Why did it take him three days?'
'Why don't you ask him?'
'If he believes you've let me go--or else he wouldn't have paid you--why hasn't he called home to find out?'
'He's your husband,' Louis said. 'I told you before what I thought.'
'It's the three days he waited,' Mickey said. 'Why?' She thought, To see what would happen if he didn't pay?
Louis said, 'Listen, if he doesn't love you anymore I'll take care of you.'
'You called him again Wednesday--I was sitting there--but you didn't talk to him. Someone else answered. The girl? Melanie?' The name sounded funny to her, strange, saying it. Her husband's girlfriend. 'But she wouldn't let you talk to him. So the other one, the black guy, went down to Freeport, didn't he? Because I didn't hear him for two days.' Mickey stopped, realizing something. 'You two are the ones who thought it up, right? Because you're the ones who did it. You were using the fat policeman to help out. Isn't that right? But you and the black guy are the main ones, you're partners. The way you spoke to each other in my house--'
She thought about it some more while Louis smoked the joint. It was interesting watching her. She was a cute looking lady sitting there, riled up but calm, different than the lady who'd been in Richard's mother's room.
'The black guy went to Freeport and supposedly contacted my husband and got the money. Where is he?'
'He just called this afternoon,' Louis said. 'He hasn't had time to be anywhere.'
'He called,' Mickey said, 'but you didn't talk to him, did you? I asked you if my husband had paid and you said, 'I guess so.' Something like that. I could tell you weren't sure, and you were a little upset, mad. Were you there when he called?'
'I was there as long as you were.'
'Then why didn't he talk to you? If you and he are partners.'
'That's a good question,' Louis said. He sat up a little, wondering if maybe he could learn something if he paid attention. Give her a little bit and let her chew on it, but not too much.
She said, 'You're not absolutely sure your partner was paid, are you? God, a million dollars.'
'Nobody's absolutely sure of anything,' Louis said.
'But you have a feeling, don't you? Something's going on and you don't know what.'
'I'll tell you,' Louis said, 'the whole thing's getting pretty weird, you want to stop and think about it.'
'For all you know, he didn't even see my husband,' Mickey said. 'What did he say on the phone?'
'He said it was all set and to take you home.' 'That's what the fat policeman told you he said. It's all set. What else?'
'It's all set ... he's got the money and take you home.'
'He said he had all the money? A million dollars?'
'He said he had the money, yeah.'
'You mean the fat policeman said it.'
'Yeah, Richard said it. I told you I didn't talk to him.'
She hesitated and said the name to herself, Richard. Then to Louis, 'You were in the house, but your buddy spoke to Richard instead of you. The fat policeman's name is Richard?'
Louis shook his head, tired. 'That's right.' 'Why didn't he call you to the phone?'
'Maybe I was in the bathroom.'
'Were you?'
'No, I was upstairs. I was looking at his gun collection. Matter of fact I was looking at a book of his, Death Investigation. The son of a bitch is really weird.'
'I'm only asking,' Mickey said, 'but isn't it strange he'd tell Richard and not you? After you planned the whole thing together?'
'We didn't plan it together. It was his idea.' 'But you're equal partners?'
'Yeah.'
'Maybe you're not, Louis.' Mickey sipped her drink, reached over to place it on the coffee table and got a cigarette. 'Maybe you only think you are.'
'It entered my head,' Louis said. 'You look around, I'll tell you, you're not sure who's side anybody's on.'
'Louis?'
He wasn't looking at her; he was thinking. 'Louis, tell me something.'
'What?'
'What's your partner's name?'
'What difference does it make?'
'Come on, you big poop. Tell me.'
'His name's Ordell Robbie, but that's not gonna do you any good.'
'How does he know my husband?'
'He doesn't know him. He sold him a lot of building materials and things, appliances. Ordell had ripped off different places, and then'd sell to your husband cheap,' Louis said. 'See, that's another thing. You start talking and you can get your husband in all kinds of deep shit, and where does that get you? Right?'
'There's nobody I'd care to tell,' Mickey said. 'I'm not your problem anymore, Louis.' She got up out of the recliner, remembering him referring to the seventh inning; it seemed like yesterday. She stretched and yawned and blinked her eyes and felt pretty good, considering everything.
'Is that Woodward out there?'
Louis nodded. 'Half block down the street.' 'Lend me about ten bucks for a cab,' Mickey said, 'and I'll go home.'
'I'll take you, I told you I would.'
'No, stay where you are. I appreciate the offer though.'
'You can't stand over there on the corner waiting for a cab,' Louis said, 'Woodward and Six Mile, it's loaded with whores. Some guy's liable to come along, try and pick you up.'
'He'd better not,' Mickey the ballbuster said.
Chapter 20
THERE WAS A 12TH PRECINCT PATROLMAN by the name of Randy Dixson--an energetic young guy three years with the Detroit Police Department, a part-time tree-trimmer--who had been working Vice the past several months and going out of his mind: hanging around Menjoe's watching the guys dancing with each other; hanging around toilets waiting for some poor guy to reach for a cop's yang by mistake; sick to death of that summer-night whore beat, hassling the crazy ladies and getting his shoes scuffed and stepped on each evening by eighty-five pairs of white plastic boots; the clean-up-the-neighborhood pickets blaming, belittling him, calling him terrible names, whore-sucker on the take ... he was beginning to think, Enough of this shit, quit and trim trees full time for a living. It was in his mind, sitting outside the Coney Island and chatting with some of the ladies when the backup call came squawking out of the radio, Officer in need of assistance, a mile-and-a-half north, hang a right to 1035 State Fair, the radio calling and calling all the way there, and the radio was right, it was an event.
Before it was over there were TV news vans and mini-cameras on the scene, the street blocked with barricades and a good crowd over at the Fairgrounds watching through the fence.
There was a shot-up police car in front of the residence, a patch of blood in the street, a critically wounded police officer with a sucking chest wound on his way to Detroit General; armed police officers behind blue-and-white cruisers and a heavy-duty Tactical Mobile Unit squad with flak jackets, rifles, shotguns and gas grenades.
