He didn’t ask to see my badge, and I didn’t offer it.

I sat in an uncomfortable folding chair, the best his office had to offer for guests. I guessed that he didn’t close many sales here.

“Mr. Sproles, where were you the morning Mario Vitole was killed?”

“I was here. Working.”

“Think back carefully, sir. That’s not what your girl Pamela said.”

“What Pamela said? How would she know where I was that many days ago? She can’t even remember where the coffee room is.”

“She looked up your work orders. You were out on a service call.”

“Well, if you already know that, why ask me? I probably just mixed up my days.”

“Not many people would forget where they were when their neighbor was gunned down in front of their own house.”

He glared at me for a moment. “If you don’t have any more questions, detective, I have work to do.”

“One more. Did you see the picture that Vitole had of him kissing your wife in your doorway one day while you were at work?”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the affair that your wife was having with the dead man. I’m talking about the proof of that affair that Mrs. Vitole had and probably showed you. I’m talking about you not having an alibi for the time of the murder. Do you want me to keep talking?”

I really wished Bill Penrod was here. He’d have had this guy pissing himself to confess long before now. All I was doing was pissing him off.

“No, I don’t think you should keep talking,” Sproles said. “I think you should leave now. I know my rights. I don’t have to talk to you.”

He was right. Even if I was a cop, he didn’t have to talk to me. I wasn’t getting anywhere. But his reaction to the story about the affair was telling. He wasn’t shocked, surprised or outraged. The affair wasn’t news to him.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Sproles,” I said. I pulled myself out of the metal chair and went out and toward the main door. Sproles came out of his office and spoke to Pamela. He was probably chewing her ass about the service orders.

The next stop was the home of the customer on Sproles’s service order for the day of the murder. A lady came to the door.

“Good afternoon ma’am. I represent the Arnold Security company. This is just a follow-up courtesy call to make sure you were happy with our recent service call.”

“Service call? I don’t recall any service call.”

I showed her the service order. “Didn’t you have one of our technicians here to repair your alarm system?”

“No. I’m sorry, there must be some mistake.”

“Probably a clerical error,” I said. “I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

I returned to my car and left.

Sproles was caught in a lie. He wasn’t where he said he’d been that day. He’d probably fabricated the service order to account for his absence. Its relevance to the murder of his neighbor wasn’t clear, however. Many valid reasons could have a fellow taking time off work under false pretenses. Maybe he was interviewing for another job. Maybe he snuck away to go to a ball game. Or maybe he too had a lady friend on the side.

It’s a complicated world. Nothing is ever cut and dried.

Chapter 22  

I stopped at Ray’s for lunch, took my usual seat in a booth, and waited. After a while, the cook, who was Ray the owner, stuck his head out of the kitchen and said, “In the ladies room. She’ll be out soon.”

I waited for several minutes more. A couple came in and took a seat. They had to wait too. After five more minutes, the fellow called out, “Is this place open for business?”

Ray came out and took their order. He looked at me and shrugged. Then he came over to my table.

“You know what you want?” he asked.

“A burger and some fries, Ray. And coffee.”

On his way back to the kitchen, Ray stopped at the ladies room door and pounded. “Come on out, Bunny. You have customers.”

The bathroom door opened, and Bunny came out. She looked at me, and then away. She took water and tableware to the other party.

Ray called out, “Order up,” and Bunny went to get my burger. She brought it over and put it in front of me. Then she turned to walk away without saying anything.

This was the lady I slept with last night and intended to sleep with tonight. And she acted like I was wearing an AIDS medical alert bracelet.

“Hey!” I said. “What’s the idea.”

“Order up!” Ray called.

“I have to get this order,” she said and hurried away.

When I finished my burger, I waited again. I could have tossed the money on the table and left. I could have walked out on the check. But I waited. After about a half hour, she came over and took my money.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” I said when she brought the change. “As if I didn’t know.”

“What do you mean?” she said, still not looking me in the face.

“Come on, Bunny. I know the heave-ho when I see it. We’ve done it enough times already. Who is it this time?”

She sat down across from me.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said.

“Since when?”

“I don’t. But here it is.” She paused and looked out the window. “Barry is back. He wants to go out with me again.”

“Then do it,” I said. “Just do it. But this is it.”

“It? You mean I’ll never see you again? We can’t stay friends like before?”

“Oh, you’ll see me. Ray makes too good a burger. I’m cutting you out, not Ray. From now on, Bunny, you’re just the waitress. Bring my food, take my money, and just don’t talk to me. I can’t do this anymore.”

I left her crying, went back to the office, and gave my notebook to Rodney.

“Copy these notes to the whiteboard,” I said. “I take good notes, so you shouldn’t need much translation. If you don’t understand something, mark it and ask me about it tomorrow.”

I got the bottle from the desk drawer and left without saying anything more to Willa or Rodney. She knew better than to ask what was wrong. She’d seen me through the same thing enough times before.

I threw the bottle in my car for later and went to Oliver’s for now. Sammy was on duty, my friend, my shoulder to cry on, my ear to bend. There were a few customers there. I limped up to the bar and hoisted my broken body onto a barstool.

“What the hell happened to you?” Sammy asked. He pushed a tumbler of a double Jack neat in front of me.

“Got beat up by two guys.”

“On a case?” he asked. He was drying glasses from the washer and putting them on a glass shelf behind the bar.

“Yeah. A couple mokes playing soldier.”

“You sure do look like shit.”

“I get that all the time.”

“You charge extra for getting beat up?”

“Pro bono. Helping my sister.”

“Ain’t that always the way?”

I knocked back the double and pushed the glass across to him.

“You need some pain killers, Stan? I got some good stuff. Muscle relaxers.”

“Pour.”

He filled the glass. Sammy’s doubles were more like triples, and it didn’t take long for them to take a guy down.

“Drinking heavy tonight?”

“Yeah. Got problems.”

“With the beat-down?”

“No.”

“The problem named Bunny?” Sammy had helped me through this mess a couple times before. He knew the signs.

“It is. Just when you think everything’s kosher, she yanks the rug.”

“Why do you put up with it, Stan?”

“I don’t know. Best blow job in town might be a good reason.”

He finished drying his last tumbler and went down the bar to refill a draft beer for another customer. Then he came back.

“How do you know she’s the best blow job in town? Have you had all the blow jobs in town?”