He picked up my drink and downed it. His eyes started to water 'Holy shit,' he said. 'You must have been mean to Peppi.'
'Peppi?' I said, watching Eleanor sway in the arms of the beefy cop. An old Dionne Warwick song was on the jukebox. 'Who the hell is Peppi?'
'The dyke who served you this stuff.' Hammond was a vehement homophobe. If he weren't, he wouldn't have been in Records. The alleged perp whose rights he'd neglected to recite before breaking his nose had been of the gay persuasion.
'How's Um Hinckley?' I said as he sat in Eleanor's chair.
'About as useful as a flat tire,' he said, finishing the drink with a grimace. 'Where are the men these days?'
'There's always Peppi,' I said, waving for her attention. She looked past me, then saw Hammond and started toward us, jostling the cop who was dancing with Eleanor with unnecessary force.
'They're not joining the police,' he said, pronouncing it, as all cops do, 'pleece,' 'and that's for sure. 'The boys in blue' has taken on a new meaning.'
'Al,' Peppi said, looking down at the empty glass in front of him. 'You didn't drink that, did you?'
'Peppi,' Hammond said, 'you should join the force. We need your kind of random malice.'
'I can do more harm here.'
'Well, don't do it to us. Give us a couple good ones, wouldya? Something that won't threaten my friend's private eyesight.' He chuckled, emitting a sound that suggested gravel in a cement mixer. That was Hammond's idea of light banter.
'Two?' Peppi said. 'Or three?'
'Three,' I said. 'Let her get home alone.'
'Who's three?' Hammond said.
'Little Miss Chopsticks,' Peppi said unpleasantly, 'out there on the dance floor.'
Hammond followed her gaze. 'Cute,' he said. 'Why are you letting her dance with Monohan?'
'It's not a question of letting,' I said.
'Lib,' Hammond said. 'I liked it better when it was short for libido. What're you, waiting for the bourbon to age?' he asked Peppi, who was looking moonstruck at Eleanor.
'Every minute counts,' she said sulkily, heading for the bar.
'You want to watch her,' Hammond said. 'You want to watch Monohan too. He's old and fat and his eyes are on top of each other, but they go for him.'
Monohan was younger and thinner than Hammond, but I let it pass. 'So,' Hammond said conversationally, 'you're withholding information on a murder.'
'This is withholding? Why are we here?'
'Why'd you stand me up the first time?'
'Oh, Al,' I said, putting my hand on his. 'I didn't know you cared.'
He yanked his hand away and looked around to see if anyone were watching. 'Some things I care about. Murder, for example. You may be a friend, Simeon, but you're still a civilian. Murder is a cop's landscape.'
'Oh, good, the police are here,' Eleanor said behind me. 'Not another word, now, not until I come back. Where's the ladies' room, Monnie?'
'I don't think there is one,' Hammond said. 'Lady cops do it standing up.'
'I'll show you,' Monohan said gallantly.
'Monnie?' I said. 'As in mononucleosis?'
Monohan's red face got a little redder and he opened his mouth. Then he looked at Hammond and shut it again.
'If there is a ladies' room, Monohan can show you to it,' Hammond said with exaggerated politeness. 'He uses it all the time. Don't you, Monnie?'
'How's Records, Hammond?' Monohan asked with a practiced sneer.
'If we had a ladies' room,' Hammond said, 'it'd be perfect for you.'
'Come on, Eleanor,' Monohan said in a dignified tone. 'The conversation will be better in the ladies'. Even if you're by yourself.' He took her elbow and guided her away.
'God, I'm glad to know cops are as rude to each other as they are to everyone else,' I said.
Hammond ignored me, watching them. 'Ah, the mystery of the East,' he said.
'Careful, Al. This is not just a squeeze.'
'That's obvious. If your blood pressure were any higher you'd explode. Calm down, you look like a cop. What's her name?'
'Eleanor.' She and Monohan disappeared down a corridor together.
'I already heard that, you twit. Monnie used it, remember? The girl who was killed. What was her name?'
'Sally, by which I mean Sarah, Oldfield. Is he going to go into the bathroom with her?'
'Not unless she lets him.' Peppi showed up with three doubles. Hammond gave her a minimal smile in return. 'Three more in five minutes,' he said. 'My friend's paying.'
'I never would have guessed,' she said.
'Put a sock in it,' Hammond said. 'And get us another chair.'
'Get it yourself,' Peppi said. 'What do you think I am, a furniture mover?'
'There's a future in it. Nobody stays put these days.'
'You couldn't prove it by me. Some people have already outstayed their welcome.'
'Peppi,' Hammond said, 'this display of pique is not becoming.'
'Yes, it is,' I said. 'It's becoming boring.'
'Tell it to someone who cares,' Peppi said. 'This ain't TV. If you can't change channels, try changing bars.'
'Three more,' Hammond said. 'Five minutes. Now, beat it.'
Peppi beat it.
'Sugar and spice,' I said.
'She's okay,' Hammond said, displaying all his sensitivity in one fell swoop. 'It's not easy to be a dyke these days.'
'It probably never was.'
'Tell me about Sarah Oldfield.'
'Tell us both about Sarah Oldfield,' Eleanor said, seating herself on a chair that she'd pulled up herself and picking up her glass.
'That was quick,' I said.
'It was awful,' she said. 'Too awful to use. Completely outside my frame of reference. Monnie's sweet, though.'
'Well, I'm really glad to hear that,' I said.
'I'm Al Hammond,' Hammond said, putting out a paw. 'And you're Eleanor. Simeon's told me so much about you,' he added untruthfully.
She shook his hand and blushed. 'He has?' She glanced at me.
'You're Topic A.'
'Topic or toxic?'
Hammond laughed, a trifle uncertainly, and took refuge in business. 'Sarah Oldfield,' he said.
'This is not a gift,' I said. 'It's a trade.'
'What do you want? And what are you giving?'
'To take it in reverse order, I'm giving you a name, an address, and some background. What you're giving me is in. I want in on everything you find out, and I want to know everything you can put together about three people. Make that four people.'
'Have you got a client?'
'No. I've got a grudge. I don't think Sally Oldfield should be dead.'
Hammond pulled out a tiny notebook, dwarfed in his hamlike hands. He felt around in his jacket pockets for a pen. 'What's the background?'
