“In the mornings after, Dude, it was like a tornado had run through the place. Shrimp on the curtains, roast beef hanging from the chandelier, champagne sprayed over everything. Blood and semen, condoms on the ceiling. The guys would be asleep, sprawled under the table or half-on half-off the couch, pants down, drool and coleslaw falling from their mouths. And there was always a girl, picking her way among the fallen soldiers, looking for pieces of her clothing.

“I remember one of the twins taking me aside after one of them parties and saying, ‘You know, Lonnie, we just want to give the boys a memory they’ll have for the rest of their lives.’ And they did, those sons of bitches.” His eyeballs, red already, grew glassy with emotion. “And I miss it, all of it, every day. It was the time of my life, Dude. Yes it was.”

“Then what happened?” I asked.

“Ah, you know,” he said, wiping a hand over his eyes and squashing his cigarette flat. “It was business. Business goes bad, that’s the truth of it.”

“Who were the twins?”

“Just two guys ran the business I worked in then.”

“Brothers?”

“Nah, just friends, They didn’t either of them look anything alike, but they always said they was Fric and Frac.”

“I’ll get the next round.”

“Not for me. I got to go. I got a meeting.”

“Motorcycle business?”

“Something like that. It was good talking to you, Dude. I’m glad we set this up.”

“So am I.”

“You find anything more about that dude you told us about? What was his name? Tommy something.”

“Tommy Greeley. Yeah, I did.”

“Good. That’s good. But be careful, Dude, it’s a scary world out there.”

He slapped me on the shoulder, slapped me so hard I almost fell off the stool. And then he left, just as Chelsea was walking back. They met away from the bar, talked, Lonnie turned his head to look my way as he said something, and then he was gone and Chelsea was walking toward me.

Chapter 32

SHE WAS STUNNING. I’ve said that already, haven’t I? But it was especially so in that place, with its sharp-suited crowd of striving professionals, each wearing the latest fashions, the latest shoes, keeping their eyes ever on the prize. Chelsea was a complete contrast. She wore old jeans, a gauzy shirt, her hair wasn’t permed or styled, it just fell straight, with a lovely sheen. She wasn’t the latest anything, yet still, she had the freshest look in the place. Everything I suppose comes back again, or maybe some people never go out of style. And I didn’t have to imagine the magnificent body beneath the clothes; I had the pictures, didn’t I?

I caught the bartender’s eye, ordered the blue curaçao martini for her, the usual sea breeze for me. Weren’t we a festive pair?

“Lonnie tell you all the sordid details?” she said as she slid back onto the stool.

“The good old days.”

“They weren’t that good.”

“Lonnie seemed to enjoy them,” I said. “He couldn’t stop laughing as he told me his stories.”

“You could hear him all through the restaurant. A doctor in a back room thought he’d have to perform the Heimlich.”

“You don’t laugh much, I noticed.”

“Not anymore.”

“It wasn’t as fun for you, the good old days?”

“No, it was more than fun. It was perfect, like we were blessed.”

“You were young.”

“We were young and pretty and rich. But sometimes endings matter, don’t they? The difference between a comedy and a tragedy is the last page.”

“So it didn’t end well?” I said and she looked at me with a glint of disappointment in her eyes, disappointment not just then at her past, but at me for acting like I didn’t know the answer. Because I knew the answer and she knew I knew the answer.

“We’ve been told we could talk to you,” she said.

I lifted my head at that. “You’ve been told?”

“Well, you know, you’ve been asking around about the past. But it’s not your past, is it?”

“I’m trespassing, is that it?”

“Sort of.”

“So you had to get permission.”

“Yes.”

“From who?”

“He wants to know what you’re really after.”

“What does he think I’m after?”

“He asked around about you. Sent out his scouts. The word came back that all you care about is money.”

“Is that the word?”

“Is it true?”

“I’m a professional. That’s what it means to be a professional.”

“So what he wants to know is, where’s the money for you here?”

“Where does he think it is?”

“He has some ideas.”

“Do they involve a missing suitcase?”

She picked up her martini, looked at its brilliant blue, took a sip. “I don’t know why I drink this. I like the color, I suppose.”

“And when you hold it like that, it makes you look like Judy Jetson.”

“Is that good?”

“Oh sure. Judy Jetson is way hot. Or will be.”

“I don’t think it’s only the money you’re looking for.”

“Maybe not. My client was murdered. I have to do something, even if it’s just to ask as many questions as I can and piss some people off.”

“How are you doing?”

I touched the cut on my forehead, thought about Manley’s squeeze play. “Oh, I’ve hit the jackpot there, yes I have. But I especially love the way everyone’s eyes flutter when I mention the suitcase.”

“Did mine flutter?”

“A little. It was charming.”

She laughed, tucked her chin into her shoulder.

“I suppose all the boys wanted to kiss you,” I said.

“Enough.”

“Lonnie?”

“I would hope so. We were married.”

I jerked back at that. “Really? When?”

“Toward the end, but before everything collapsed.”

I suddenly wondered why Tommy Greeley had naked pictures of a married woman in his pocket on the night he died.

“What happened to you and Lonnie?” I said.

“We were going downhill anyway, and then we drifted apart.”

“Different interests?”

“More like different sentences. No hard feelings though. Still the best of friends.” She took a sip of the martini. “I’m supposed to find out if you know where it is.”

“And all this time I thought you were here because you liked me. If we decided to kiss, would you need permission for that too?”

“Yes.”

“Can you get it?”

“Not on the first date.”

“But this is the second date. The first date you pulled me bloodied and beaten off my vestibule floor.”

“That was romantic, wasn’t it?”

“You weren’t just walking by, were you?”

“We were asked to say hello.”

“Your friend is being right neighborly, sending out the welcome wagon.”

“Are you complaining?”

“No. Not at all. I’m very grateful, actually. So the suitcase, who did it belong to?”

“The twins.”

“Let me guess. Tommy Greeley was one, and the other, the guy who gave you permission to speak to me but not kiss me, is his old business partner, Cooper Prod.”

“I called him just now. It’s phone time at his penitentiary in New Mexico. He gives his regards.”

“But not permission to kiss.”

“No.”

“He’s the one who said that the past can be dangerous territory.”

“Yes. And he wanted me to tell you that the only thing more dangerous than someone else’s past is your own.”

“Maybe, but I’m not getting beat up over my past. Tell me about the suitcase.”

“It was all coming to an end, and everyone knew it. The business had just happened, had grown beyond anyone’s imaginings, and we hadn’t really thought about it much except for some pathetic rationalizations. But right then we all knew it was coming to an end. There were searches, seizures, this creepy little FBI guy was going around asking everyone questions. You don’t know what it’s like when the law turns against you. It’s on your mind every minute, the fear is constant. Every time the phone rings you cringe. Someone knocks on the door, you hide. It’s like you’re waiting to die. We didn’t say anything, none of us, and for a moment it looked like we might work our way through it. And then we heard that sleaze-bucket Babbage had started talking to the grand jury. The twins knew it was the last chance for them to save what they could. Tommy said he had a contact with a boat who would take care of it.”