“What’d he say about T-Man?”
“Said T-Man called him early that evening, told him to go to that house on Beatty Street at ten o’clock. Rodney was at a friend’s place down on the Hill. His friend drove him back to East Liberty, but Rodney says they got caught up in a big traffic jam ‘cause of an accident in the Squirrel Hill Tunnel.”
“You have time yet to confirm that?”
“Yeah,” said Denny, “and it checked out. Anyway, Rodney says he didn’t get to the house until after eleven, went inside, found T-Man’s body, and took off. Got on a bus to Philly that night.”
“If he didn’t kill T-Man,” I said, “then why’d he bolt?”
Denny chuckled and said, “You’ll like this. Rodney told the cops in Philly that he ran ‘cause he was pretty sure he knew who’d shot T-Man. Said it was some detective dude named Barnes, that this Barnes guy had threatened Rodney and T-Man earlier that day. Rodney saw T-Man’s body, figured he might be next.”
“Quite a story,” I said.
“Yeah,” agreed Denny. “One other thing. The detective I talked to said he’s been working the gangs in Philly for ten years. For what it’s worth, he said he thinks Rodney’s telling the truth.”
I let out a short breath.
“Okay, Denny,” I said. “Thanks for the call. Oh, by the way, Laura said to say Happy Halloween.”
“Tell her I said boo.”
“Hey,” I said, “I just thought of something. When you get Rodney back here, try to keep him and his theory about who shot T-Man away from ADA Waggoner.”
“Roger that,” Denny laughed.
I put my phone away and walked over to where Laura was standing by a table filled with several trays of appetizers. Just as I got there, a very loud voice said, “Laura, there you are!” A large guy wearing a black cape over otherwise regular-looking clothes approached us from the foyer. He had very short hair, almost a buzz cut, and he looked like he worked out a lot.
“Oh, hello, Owen,” said Laura, and she leaned in a little closer to me.
“Lookin’ good, Laura,” he said, and he snapped his fingers. “Like I knew you would.”
Witty.
Then he seemed to take notice of my presence, and, after a not-so-subtle glance at Laura’s bosom, he gave me a conspiratorial wink and said, “I’ve been trying to get this one to go out with me for weeks now.”
This one. Laura must love that.
“Jeremy,” said Laura, “this is Owen Pittinger. Owen transferred to Fairview last month. Owen, this is my date, Jeremy Barnes.”
“Actually,” said Owen, “tonight I’m Casanova.” Then he got a little smirk on his face and added, “Although there are those who would tell you I’m Casanova a lot of the rest of the time, too.”
He put his hand out and, when I took it in mine, he squeezed more than was necessary, not a lot, just enough, I assumed, to let me know who was cock of the walk. Unfortunately for Owen, I have a pretty good grip myself, and I matched his squeeze, and then some. He tried staring me down while squeezing harder, but after a few seconds, he gave a little yelp, frowned, and let go.
“That’s some handshake for a guy wearing a ruffled shirt,” he said.
“I have one of those little squeezy exercise things at home, “I told him. “I practice with it every Saturday night.”
Rubbing his hand, Owen said, “Uh-huh, right.” Then he looked across the room and shouted, “Wendy, there you are!” and abruptly walked away from us.
* * *
Later that night, back at Laura’s place, as we stood in her bedroom, she rested her head on my shoulder for a minute and then looked up at me and said, “I like how we looked out for each other tonight. I mean, I saved you from Betty Boop, and you didn’t let Lover Boy Owen get away with referring to me as ‘this one.’”
I put my arms around her, kissed the top of her head, and said, “Yeah, I like it, too, that we watch out for each other.”
Then, as I stepped back and slipped off my jacket, I said, “Wait a minute. What do you mean by ‘saved me’ from the bar girl. Are you implying that I couldn’t have extricated myself from that situation?”
By now, I had also removed my shirt and was standing there bare-chested.
Giving me a very lascivious once-over, Laura giggled and said, “I’m implying that Louise the Librarian is not someone you want to spend any time around.”
“And why would that be?” I asked.
Laura gently pushed me down so that I was sitting on her bed. Still standing in front of me, she said, “Because she’s into using people, playing mind-control games with them.”
“And you?” I said.
“Well,” said Laura, “as a kindergarten teacher, I’m into other kinds of games, like, for instance, Show and Tell. Here’s the show part.”
She’d been unbuttoning her gown as she spoke, and now she let it fall down around her. I noticed immediately that Laura hadn’t been completely authentic with her costume. Whereas the ladies of Tara had had to contend with corsets, Laura had made a clean break with tradition and was wearing a very contemporary, and extremely sexy, forest green silk teddy, with matching four-inch heels. The overall effect was fairly spectacular.
Smiling, she said, “Now for the tell part,” and she leaned over and whispered into my ear several things that we’d be doing the rest of the night.
“You know, Miss Scarlet,” I said, “I’m not sure some of the activities you just mentioned were even legal back in the 1860s.”
Laura pushed me all the way back on her bed and then slowly draped her body over mine. Brushing my lips with hers, she said, “Well, Mr. Butler, those old fuddy-duddies just didn’t know what they were missing, did they?”
They
