Fiddlers

The sister’s name was Fiona Maines. The other girl was Abby Goldman. They were both older than twenty- one. They both knew young Naomi was breaking the law when she used a fake driver’s license to get into the club. They also knew it was against the law to send her out looking for some ‘stimulants,’ as they called them. But they figured her youth and innocence would attract less attention than if one of the older girls smuggled the stuff in.

They knew they could score here at Grandma’s Bloomers. They’d talked to people who’d been here, they knew the place was wide open. The beauty part was they carded you at the door, checked your handbags, patted you down, went through all the routine; it was like you were a terrorist going through airport security. Fiona was surprised they hadn’t been asked to take off their shoes.

‘But, you know, that’s all a show,’ she said. ‘When the place was still The Black Pit, they got raided a lot. So now they weren’t taking any chances with the law. Two or three visits, the cops saw all the precautions - hell, you aren’t even allowed to smoke in there - they figured the place was clean, they didn’t bother with it anymore.’

‘Also, there may be a little payoff there, hmm?’ Abby suggested, and winked at Carella. ‘You guys know all about payoffs, don’t you?’

‘Sure,’ Carella said, and winked back. ‘In fact, we’re late for a pick-up right this minute.’

‘I believe you,’ Abby said.

‘Don’t,’ Carella said.

‘What I’m trying to say,’ Fiona said, ‘is once you were inside, all you had to do was ask any of the waiters where you could get something a little stronger than a Maiden Aunt, one of the gin drinks is called, all pink with oranges and cherries, and he’d tell you, “Ask Al.” So Al is this big guy Aldo at the back door, he stamps your hand when you go out for a smoke, and you hint to him you might be interested in some powder or pills, and he tells you, “Ask Dom, up the street.”‘

‘Dominick La Paglia,’ Meyer said.

‘You guessed it,’ Fiona said.

‘Manager of this old fart place,’ Abby said.

‘Ninotchka,’ Carella said.

‘Is the name of it,’ Abby said, and puffed on her cigarette. ‘You guys done your homework. Who’d suspect any drug stuff going down there? Naomi goes up the street, talks to a guy at the back door there, tells him Al asked her to ask for Dom. So Dom appears, and takes her inside to this little room where he’s got a whole grocery store of goodies. She comes back with the two tabs of dust for herself and a cap of X each for me and Abby.’

‘Good stuff, too,’ Fiona said. ‘Sometimes, they mix a lot of other shit in with it that can kill you. But pure Ecstasy never hurt anybody.’

‘Pure Angel Dust killed your sister,’ Carella said.

‘Yeah, but nobody done anything about it, did they? You see Aldo in jail? You see Dom in jail? You see them clubs padlocked? We told all this to the two narcs six months ago. You see them doing anything about it?’

‘Little payoff there,’ Abby said, and winked again.

This time they believed her.

* * * *

‘Let’s say we have a place that used to be a rave club,’ Carella said.

‘Let’s say,’ Meyer said.

‘Lots of drug use going down there.’

‘No question.’

‘The Black Pit. And let’s say the former mayor closes it down in his crusade…”

‘Right…’

‘… and it reopens as Grandma’s Bloomers.’

‘Squeaky clean.’

‘Nobody allowed in unless he’s twenty-one.’

‘Cutesy-poo cocktails.’

‘No dope.’

‘Especially no dope. But let’s say the customers might still crave a little taste every now and then.’

‘Too bad. We don’t have any, kids.’

‘Ah, but maybe we do.’

‘By George, maybe we do,’ Meyer said.

‘Just see the club just up the street,’ Carella said. ‘Where the manager took a fall for possession with intent.’

Meyer nodded sagely.

‘You think a judge would grant a search warrant?’ Carella asked.

‘Maybe,’ Meyer said.

‘Have we got probable cause?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Shall we give it a shot?’

‘Nothing to lose,’ Meyer said.

* * * *

Well now, by golly, who’d have thought they were going to make a drug bust at a hangout for geezers? But when you thought of it, what made more sense than strolling up the alley to a nice clean establishment where the elderly sat holding hands at tables in the dark as violinists strolled and meanwhile at the back door a man who’d been convicted of possession with intent was back at the old candy stand again?

La Paglia said they were out of their minds.

But they were there with a search warrant, you see.

Probable cause.

Sixteen-year-old girl in attendance at Grandma’s Bloomers, a club that meticulously IDs anyone seeking entrance, and she later takes a little stroll up the alley to Ninotchka, and yet later is witnessed swallowing two tabs of dust, and then she’s found dead outside Ninotchka, now isn’t that a remarkable coincidence, Your Honor?

Isn’t that probable cause for a search warrant, Your Honor?

Petition granted.

So what say you now, Mr. La Paglia?

‘I say talk to your pals at Narcotics. They’ve been here already. They know the score. Talk to them.’

‘You gonna let us search the premises?’ Meyer asked. ‘Or you gonna give us trouble here?’

La Paglia decided to give them trouble.

He was a big man, not as tall as either Meyer or Carella, but thicker and beefier than either, and he had no intention of going back to jail, especially on charges that might include the death of a sixteen-year-old girl, there was no way anyone was going to put him back in there with all the butt-fuckers, pole-smokers, and peter-gazers. All you had to do was take one look at prison slang, and you figured in a minute that it wasn’t a hell of a lot better doing a grip of time here in America than it was doing it over there in Iraq. There was no way anybody was going to send Dominick La Paglia up again, a three-time loser this time, no way in the world!

He came at them like a bull roaring out of the chutes, looking to gore anybody in the ring. They weren’t used to this sort of activity. Your uniforms, who were there on the spot when a crime was going down, got into physical combat more often than your detectives, who usually came in after a crime was committed. Neither Carella nor Meyer could remember the last time they’d worked out at the police gym. So here came a guy who weighed two hundred and ten pounds, and who was still in good shape from lifting weights when he was on the inside, a guy who’d been paying off Narcotics, and maybe Street Crime as well, and who felt entitled to a little protection here, instead of two starfish assholes waving a search warrant at him. He felt betrayed, and he felt endangered, and besides he felt he had nothing to lose if he could get out of here past these two range queens, so he smashed his fist into Meyer’s face, knocking him off balance and back into Carella, who was reaching for his holstered Glock, when he, too, lost balance.

La Paglia kicked Meyer in the balls, dropping him moaning to his knees. He was about to do the same thing