'Anything. I'm buying.'
Robert held up two fingers, both stained nicotine yellow.
'Two packs of smokes.'
'Name your brand,' Kerney replied as he walked Robert to the hotel entrance.
It was mid-morning and the hotel dining room was empty except for a young, round waitress who sat reading the newspaper at the lunch counter along the back wall. Kerney got Cordova settled at a table by the window that gave a view across the street of an empty single-story building and vacant lot.
'What about my cigarettes?' he asked, as he grabbed a menu, crossed his legs, and started wiggling his foot.
The loose, filthy sneaker slapped against his heel with a dull smacking sound.
'After we eat,' Kerney replied.
Robert grunted in dissatisfaction.
Kerney waited for the waitress to notice them. The ceiling was another folk art masterpiece by Pop Shaffer.
Dark wooden beams and handmade chandeliers were painted with an intricate tapestry of Native American symbols and mythical figures, some of which looked like they came strictly from Pop Shaffer's imagination. Kerney's gaze jumped from image to image; it was almost too much to take in at one sitting.
Tired of waiting, Kerney cleared his throat. The waitress turned, glanced at Robert, nodded to Kerney, slipped off the lunch counter seat, and walked through the swinging doors into the kitchen.
'She's calling the cops,' Robert predicted.
'Why would she do that?'
'Because the last time I was in here, I threw an ashtray at her.'
'Did you hit her?'
'Nope, she ducked. Aren't you going to ask me why I did it?' His foot wiggle accelerated a bit.
'Do you want to tell me?'
Cordova smiled wickedly.
'Nope.'
The waitress reappeared and walked to the table. She stood as far away from Cordova as she could, using Kerney as a shield.
'I can't serve you,' she said to Kerney.
'Yes, you can.' He held out his open badge case.
'This is police business.'
'I know who you are,' the woman said, looking over the top of her eyeglasses. Her watery brown eyes blinked rapidly. She had stringy brown hair pinned back in a bun, most of which had unraveled against her neck. Her testy expression made her double chin more noticeable.
'I still can't serve you.'
Kerney smiled pleasantly.
'Tell your boss if we don't get served, I'll have every state health-and-safety inspector I can think of down here tomorrow morning, crawling all over the place looking for violations.'
Cordova grinned in delight as the woman turned and walked stiffly back to the kitchen.
'That was bad,' he said to Kerney.
'You put her down, man. I never had a cop do anything like that for me before. They usually treat me like shit.'
'No sweat, Robert. What do you want to eat?'
The waitress returned and grudgingly took Robert's order of two cheeseburgers, a double order of french fries, and coffee.
Robert didn't talk while he waited for his meal to arrive. His gaze stayed locked on the pass-through window from the kitchen. He licked his lips and tapped a finger anxiously on the table. Kerney wondered when Robert had last eaten.
When the food came, Robert wolfed down the meal, hamburger juice dribbling into his beard. His foot didn't wiggle when he ate.
Finished, Robert picked at his broken teeth with a long fingernail, belched, and smiled.
'Thanks,' he said.
'You're welcome.'
Robert rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.
'Now I need a smoke.'
'In a minute. I need to ask you a few questions.'
'What about?'
'How well did you know Paul Gillespie?'
'He was a motherfucker. I'm glad he's dead.'
'Why do you say that?'
Robert's brown eyes turned angry.
'I went to high school with him. He was always hassling me. Pushing me around, picking rights, teasing me- stuff like that.
It got worse when he became a cop.'
'How did it get worse?'
Robert started to respond, glanced out the window, and clamped his mouth shut. Neil Ordway was walking toward the hotel entrance.
'How did Gillespie mistreat you?'
'He didn't do nothing,' Cordova said, sneering in the direction of Ordway as the cop entered the dining room.
A middle-aged man with a square face, thinning blond hair, and a pinched nose, Ordway stood over the table and looked at Kerney and Robert. He grinned without showing his teeth. It made his cheeks puff out.
'What can I do for you. Chief?' Kerney asked.
'I came for Cordova. Seems he's run away from the Las Vegas funny farm again.'
'Fuck you,' Robert said, his eyes hooded.
'I'm not going back there. I'm never going back there.'
'Don't make this hard on yourself, Cordova,' Ordway said, wrinkling his nose.
'Jesus, you smell like shit.'
Til take care of the situation with Cordova,' Kerney interjected before Robert could reply.
Ordway pulled out a chair and sat.
'Are you going to drive him back to Las Vegas?'
'I said I'll take care of it,' Kerney repeated, holding Ordway's gaze.
Ordway didn't flinch.
Robert leaned across the table, cleared his throat, and spat in Ordway's face.
Ordway blinked, rubbed a sleeve across his face, and grabbed a fistful of Robert's shirt.
'You're going to jail for that, shithead.'
Robert grinned and nodded in agreement.
Kerney clamped down on Ordway's arm.
'Let him go,' he ordered.
Ordway locked his gaze on Kerney.
'Whatever you say,' he said with a grin, releasing Cordova.
Free of Ordway's grip, Robert tipped over his chair and scampered out the door.
Ordway laughed as Robert disappeared from sight.
'Well, it seems like he's run away. Isn't that a damn shame.'
'Maybe you can tell me where to look,' Kerney said calmly.
'Your guess is as good as mine. But if you think Cordova can help you, you're way off base.'
'I'd still like to talk to him.'
'He'll turn up again. He always does.'
