Headhunter

He snapped a glance at the worried guard who came running in behind her. Turning, the woman kneed the man in the groin and dropped him to his knees. As she kicked the door shut RAW-T was just beginning the Big Bopper's Chantilly Lace.

'Let's all take it easy,' Scarlett said calmly, 'so no one else gets hurt.'

Apart from the two cops there were six black men in the room along with the single white. All the blacks wore leather jackets and had their hair straightened, swept back in pompadours like Little Richard. The white looked like an extra from Rebel Without a Cause. Yellow Suit didn't fit in. He was standing over near a bench along which several voodoo masks were set out. The blank faces of the masks seemed to stare up at him as if waiting in anticipation for the confrontation that was coming. There were guitars and drums scattered everywhere.

'What do you want?' Yellow Suit asked as cocaine settled like snow throughout the room.

'We're looking for John Lincoln Hardy.' Scarlett took out his shield.

'Well, he ain't here. That's obvious.'

'Who are you?'

Yellow Suit paused a moment, then said: 'Rackstraw. Steve Rackstraw.'

'Who's he?' Scarlett asked, indicating the coughing man.

'Ask him.'

'I said, who is he? And I expect an answer.'

'One of the drummers,' Rackstraw said. 'Didn't you catch the show?'

'Where's Hardy?'

'I've no idea. I'm not the man's keeper.'

'Would you rather talk about the dope?'

Rackstraw didn't answer.

'Kathy, how much stuff do you think is floating about the room?' 'Perhaps an ounce and a half.'

'That's PPT, Rackstraw. And trafficking's the big one.'

'You got nothin' on me, man. I'm leaving to call a lawyer,'

'The coke's in the room. You're in the room. That's enough for me. You can make your call downtown.'

'That ain't sufficient evidence.'

'You tell that to the judge.'

For several seconds the man stood still, contemplating his position. Rackstraw wore his hair in a tight Afro and sported rings on every finger. His cafe-au-lait complexion contrasted with the suit. It was hand-tailored and pulled in at the waist. Beneath the concern that showed in his eyes he had a pencil-thin moustache tailored to his lip.

'Okay,' Rackstraw said finally. 'Can you and I talk in private?'

'Where?' Scarlett asked.

The man indicated a washroom off to the right. They left the room. Once inside the toilet, the black man closed the door and the white man leaned on the wall. Rick Scarlett waited.

'What do you want Johnnie for? You know the man's my cousin?'

'I know,' the policeman said.

'So what's goin' down?' Rackstraw sat on the edge of the sink with one foot on the floor.

'One of his girlfriends got herself iced by a psychotic killer. We're trying to trace her movements. We think Hardy was her pimp. Perhaps he lined up a john.'

'I see. You open to a suggestion?'

'Try me,' Scarlett said.

'Okay. You leave me alone, and the boys alone, and I'll put you in touch with Hardy. But it'll take a couple of days.'

'Where is he now?'

'Not till we got a deal.'

The policeman thought a moment. In effect this was the exact same trip as Winalagilis and his fix. Same game, different players.

'All right,' Scarlett said, 'here's what I can do. We'll take the two on the mirror plus the stash of cocaine. You we let go. You produce Hardy and we'll reconsider the charge. If not we pick you up.'

'Come on, man. Have a bit o' heart. I own these niggers and honky, lock stock and barrel. Next month we start a tour of over forty cities. They gotta practice. They can't be in the can.' The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a tour schedule. 'Here, look at this. Even John my cousin ain't worth a forty-city circuit. How am I gonna welsh if you know where I am?'

Scarlett glanced at the paper. 'Okay, a compromise. No arrests now but we take the powder. And I want a ransom. Give me one of those masks.'

Rackstraw frowned. He was puzzled by the suggestion. 'You don't know what you're askin',' he said. 'Those masks are antiques. Each one is more than a hundred years old.'

'Good. Then I'll take two. You see, my man, I want to check if you got customs clearance. Those masks are not from here.'

'I don't need customs clearance. They're antiques.'

'That means you don't pay duty. They still got to clear.'

Rackstraw sighed.

'Where's Hardy?'

'LA.'

'What for?'

'Scoutin' a record deal.'

'When's he back?'

'Don't know. Depends how long it takes.'

'Okay, you produce Hardy and we kill the charges and give you back the masks. You don't produce Hardy and we drag both you and your band off stage on a warrant. A deal?'

'Shit,' Rackstraw said. 'Yeah, it's a deal.'

The two men left the washroom and returned to the larger room. Scarlett and Spann took down the names of all those present and as best they could collected up the scattered powder. Scarlett then found an empty box and walked along the row of masks set out on the bench. He stopped beside a black Demon's Face with a curled protruding tongue. As he picked it up, the voodoo mask slipped from his fingers and tumbled toward the floor. Scarlett managed to catch it just before it smashed.

'Jesus!' Rackstraw shouted. 'Can't you be more careful? That's my people's culture. And that ain't just any wood.'

I know. Rick Scarlett thought. It's carved ebony.

Wolf at the Door

Friday, November 5th, 12:22 a.m.

Robert DeClercq arrived home late to find Genevieve sound asleep. For a long while he stood in the door to their bedroom listening to his wife's shallow breathing and watching her chest rise and fall in the wedge of light cast in from the hall. His shadow lay across her like a strange man in their bed.

How long has it been,he asked himself,since we did nothing but that? Just lie in bed together, relaxing or making love or whispering small talk? It seemed to him like years.

In a wave, suddenly, exhaustion overwhelmed him and in that moment he truly wished that he had never gone back to the Force. He wished that she were awake now and that they could make love unhindered by time and pressure. He wished that the case were over and this weight were off his shoulders. He wished his book on World War I were waiting in the greenhouse. He wished… well, he wished…Well, if wishes were horses then beggars would ride, he thought as he turned away.