gleamed and there came a quality of warmth to the room as if a small sun had risen from beneath my desk. I found myself returning the smile. I wrote a receipt in her name for the amount of forty dollars, and noted that it was paid against a due balance of one thousand, nine hundred sixty dollars, payable in monthly installments. I gave back the extra ten with her receipt, then put the forty dollars into my wallet. My wallet didn't feel any fatter than it had without the forty. Maybe if I went down to the bank and had the forty changed to ones, it would feel like more.
Jennifer Sheridan took a folded sheet of paper from the huge purse and handed it to me. 'This is where Mark lives, and his home phone number, and his license plate, and his badge number. His partner's name is Floyd Riggens. I've met Floyd several times, but I don't like him. He's a mean-spirited man.'
'Okay.' Riggens would be the other guy in the car.
She took back the paper and scribbled something on the back. 'This is where I live and this is my work number. It's a direct line to Mr. Beale's office, and I answer his phone, so I'll be the one who picks up when you call.'
'Fine.'
She stood, and I stood with her. She put out her hand. I took it. I think we were in a contest to see who could smile the most. She said, 'Thank you, Mr. Cole. This is very important to me.'
'Elvis.'
'Elvis.' She smiled even wider, and then she gathered her things and left. It was twelve forty-six, and I stopped smiling. I sat at my desk and looked at the paper that she had given me with the information about Mark Thurman and herself, and then I put it into the desk's top right-hand drawer along with my copy of the receipt.
I leaned back and I put my feet up, and I wondered why Mark Thurman and his mean-spirited partner Floyd Riggens were following Jennifer Sheridan while they were on duty. I didn't like the following, but I didn't have very long to wonder about it.
At twelve fifty-two, Mark Thurman and Floyd Riggens came in.
They didn't kick the door off its hinges and they didn't roll into the office with their guns out like Crockett and Tubbs used to do on Miami Vice, but they didn't bother to knock, either.
The guy I figured for Floyd Riggens came in first. He was ten years older than Thurman and maybe six inches shorter, with a hard, squared-off build and weathered skin. He flashed his badge without looking at me and crossed to Joe Pike's office. I said, 'It's empty.' He didn't pay attention.
Mark Thurman came in after him and went out onto the balcony, like maybe a couple of Colombian drug lords had ducked out only seconds ago and were hanging off the side of the building with grappling hooks and Thurman wanted to find them. He looked bigger in person than he had in the pictures, and he was wearing faded khaki fatigue pants and a red jersey that said LANCASTER HIGH VARSITY. Number 34. He looked younger, too, with a kind of rural innocence that you rarely find in cops, sort of like
Riggens came out of Pike's office and scowled at me. His eyes were red and swollen and I could smell the scotch on his breath even though he was standing on the other side of the chairs. Hmm. Maybe he didn't have the weathered look, after all. Maybe he had the drunk look. Riggens said, 'We need to talk about the girl.'
I gave him innocent. 'Girl?'
Riggens squinted like I'd spit on his shirt and grinned out the corner of his mouth. Mean-spirited. 'Oh, I like it when jerks like you get stupid. It's why I stay on the job.'
'What are you drinking to get eyes like that – Aqua Velva?'
Riggens was wearing a baggy beachcomber's shirt with the tail out, but you could still make out the butt of his piece riding high on his right hip. He reached up under the shirt and came out with a Sig 9-mil and said, 'Get your ass against the goddamned wall.'
I said, 'Come on.'
Mark Thurman came in off the balcony and pushed the gun down. 'Jesus Christ, Floyd, take it easy. He doesn't know what this is about.'
'He keeps dicking with me, he won't make it long enough to find out.'
I said, 'Let me guess. You guys work for Ed McMahon and you've come to tell me that I've won the Publisher's Clearing House sweepstakes for a million bucks.'
Riggens tried to lift his gun but Thurman kept the pressure on. Riggens's face went red to match his eyes and the veins swelled in his forehead, but Thurman was a lot stronger, and sober, so it wasn't much of a problem. I wondered if Riggens acted like this on the street, and if he did, how long he had been getting away with it.
Stuff like this will get you killed. Thurman said, 'Stop it, Floyd. That's not why we're here.'
Riggens fought it a little longer, then gave it up, and when he did Thurman let go. Riggens put the Sig away and made a big deal with the hand moves and the body language to let everyone know he was disgusted. 'You want to do it, then do it, and let's get out of here. This asshole says she wasn't even here.' He went to the couch and sat down. Petulant.
Thurman sort of shook his head, like he couldn't figure Riggens out, like he had tried for a long time and was maybe getting tired of trying. He turned back to me. 'My name is Mark Thurman. This is my partner, Floyd Riggens. We know she was up here because Floyd followed her up.'
I glanced at Floyd again. He was staring at the Pinocchio dock. 'Maybe Floyd got confused. There's an insurance office across the hall. Maybe she went there.'
Floyd said, 'Okay, she wasn't here. We're not here, either, you want to play it that way. You fell asleep and you're dreaming all this.' He got up and went to the clock for a closer look 'Hurry up, Mark. I don't wanna spend the day.' Like a little kid.
Thurman looked nervous, but maybe he was just uncomfortable. His partner was looking bad and that made him look bad. He said, 'We called in about you and the word is that you're a straight shooter, so I thought we
