The Truth Can Get You Killed by Mark Richard Zubro

Author:Mark Richard Zubro
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2011-07-04T04:00:00+00:00

In the car Fenwick said, “Kids seemed okay. Cried at the right moments. Properly indignant.”

“Wouldn’t want them to be improperly indignant.”

When they walked into Au Naturel, all the lights were on. Two fully clothed young men were hard at work. One pushed an industrial-strength floor waxer and buffer. The other was busy dusting and polishing. They found Dana Sickles in her office.

She gave them a sour look. “Business was shit last night. Thank you very much.”

“Just trying to help out,” Fenwick said.

“What do you want?”

“We have another confirmation that the judge was in the bar last night.”

“I know I’m supposed to care about this.”

“Just following where the facts lead,” Fenwick said.

Turner said, “Our source says the judge was talking to one of the dancers about nine o’clock.”

“Here?”

“No. In the Loop.”

“You’re source really gets around. He following the judge?”

“We don’t think so.”

“We need you to tell us if you recognize the guy. We’re looking for somebody with huge pecs, reddish-blond hair, flat stomach, and wearing a red thong.”

She burst out laughing.

“I missed the funny part,” Fenwick said.

“That describes half the boys. In the light around here the blonds can go from dark to light. Red thong? They often trade outfits. Something looks hot on one, or somebody makes a lot of money wearing a certain thing, they all want to wear it. Your description isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“We haven’t talked to all the guys who work here yet,” Turner said, “and we need to talk to all the others again.”

“Why don’t you just bring your source down here and have him identify the suspect?”

Turner looked sheepish. “We’re having trouble locating our source. He seems to have disappeared.”

“Are you guys serious?”

“Most of the time,” Fenwick said.

“We need the guys here,” Turner said. “If you could have them here by four, we could be done by the time you wanted to open.”

“The implication being that if I don’t get them here then I don’t open?”

“We know you want to help the police,” Fenwick said. “We know good Republicans are supposed to be on the side of the upholders of the law.”

“They let cops be sarcastic with the public?” she asked.

“Only me. I have a special permit.”

She agreed to do what she could to get all the dancing boys assembled by four.

Turner and Fenwick walked down the street to the used bookstore. A huge Going-Out-of-Business sign hung in the front window. Inside was a mass of confusion. About half the books were in boxes while the other half were still on the shelves. Mounds of maps and charts were strewn on the front counter. A large, gray, long-haired cat lay curled in the open cash-register drawer.

They found a stooped man in his late seventies in the back feeding a pot-bellied pig. Turner noticed the place had a distinct barnyard odor. If the place could remain open a little longer, he thought he would recommend it to Francis Barlow.

The man smiled at them from under bushy eyebrows. He wore a tattered cardigan sweater over faded blue jeans.

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