A Kiss Gone Bad (4 page)

Whit said, ‘I’ll be sure you have a place to stay.’

Claudia gave him a raised eyebrow that seemed to say,
Aren’t you the little white knight?

‘Thanks, but I don’t need your help.’ Velvet stood. ‘Can I see Pete? Maybe I should be the one to tell his mother.’

‘The police chief will do that,’ Claudia said. ‘He’s known Pete’s mother for a long time. Let’s get you down to the station,
get your statement, and then we can go from there. Okay?’

Velvet crossed her arms. ‘Take all the statements you need. Tell me how I can help. Because there is no freaking way that
Pete killed himself. None.’ Her mouth hardened. ‘And if you people don’t find who killed him, I’ll make more trouble than
you can imagine. I assume you both can spell lawsuit?’

The small crowd of marina dwellers was a mix of boat bums, Gulf wanderers, and snowbirds. They had little in common except
a desire for quiet and the sun-driven crinkle around the flesh of their eyes. They’d been hurried off their boats and they
stood clustered in the parking lot, bathed by the glow of the police lights. One could hear mutterings about life being too
short and the wrong class of people booking at the Golden Gulf. An overeager Officer Fox had used the word
suicide
in an ill-advised sentence, and the rumor rippled through the small crowd.

The Blade listened to the murmured gossip. His heart jolted like he’d dosed himself with a tickly bit of electro-shock. No
one paid him much heed, only a couple of the boat bums saying hello. He kept his hands tucked inside his light windbreaker.

He watched a police officer forage in the trunk of a patrol car. The Blade wondered how the officer would react if he leaned
close and whispered:
I have a passion I’d like to share with you. Come see my graves.
But he wouldn’t. The city would decorate the officer. The news pretties would hail the cop as hero while labeling the Blade
as crazy. The boat snobs right here would jockey for camera position and gasp,
Oh, yes, we’re terribly shocked. He seemed like the nicest man.
And he probably wouldn’t even get to tell his side of the story on TV.

Life was blatantly unfair unless you were willing to take it by the balls and squeeze hard. He watched as one older lady stopped
and chatted with the whistling officer. He spoke and she hurried back to the crowd, where she whispered eagerly.

He stood and waited. The elderly lady panted with excitement, ferrying the sad news to each knot of people.

‘It’s the man who lived on
Real Shame
that’s dead,’ she said to the Blade and two other men. ‘They think he might’ve shot himself. Isn’t that terrible?’

Shot himself. Shot himself.
What wonderful delicious morsels of words. If they were candy he would have eaten them and then licked his fingers.

He wanted to see his new Darling, to touch her, to feel the heavy weight of her hair, lick her skin, and exult in the warmth
of her breath against his neck. She would need comfort, poor baby.

‘I bet you that trashy girlfriend of his cheated on him and he killed himself.’ The old woman lowered her voice. ‘Wearing
those thong swimsuits. A piece of trash.’

Like Pete Hubble hadn’t been a piece of trash, too,
thought the Blade. He wondered what interesting pops and creaks the old woman’s jaw would make if he broke it.

‘She probably won’t stay in town,’ the Blade heard himself say in his thin, wispy voice he so loathed. ‘Not from here, is
she?’
Stupid, dummy!
he berated himself.
Shut up, shut up!

The old woman nodded at him. She had wrapped her fluffy hairdo in a protective cocoon of toilet paper, and the Blade thought
she looked ridiculous. ‘You’re so right. Ought to go back to whatever cesspool she’s from.’

He nodded politely. Yes, if everyone thought Velvet had left town, then wouldn’t it all be easier for him? Perfect.

Three people emerged from the marina office. Lovely, one was his Darling. Why, she wore grief well, as cute as could be in
her jean shorts. Pretty is as pretty does, Mama used to say. His mouth went dry with want. The three walked back to Pete’s
boat, went aboard, and came out
perhaps two minutes later. Velvet was sobbing. He could see her bent shoulders in the dim light of the marina.

A man walked with her, steering her toward the police cars.

Panic flamed in him. Oh, no. They were arresting her. That would not do at all, not at all …

But they – and now he could see in the dim light the other was a tall man, not a cop – went past the parked police cars, past
the quiet ambulance. And he could hear his Darling sob, and – oh, this would
not do –
the man put his hand on her arm, tenderly. The Blade’s heart boiled. The man opened the door of a Ford Explorer and she got
in, the man helping her like they were on a date.

The man turned toward the crowd. The Blade, seeing his face, grimaced. Heat tickled the backs of his hands.

The Explorer pulled out into the street, and the small crowd of onlookers parted to make way for it. One of those magnetic
signs was affixed to the door, white letters bold against a stylized red-and-blue background:
KEEP WHIT MOSLEY JUSTICE OF THE PEACE.
The Explorer passed within three feet of the Blade, and he saw his Darling’s face, leaning against the passenger window.
She had her fists pressed to her eyes. He heard the storm of her voice over the car’s motor as it shot past.

The Blade hurried away. If they were arresting her, a cop would have taken her away. Not a judge. And she hadn’t had a bag.
She wasn’t leaving town. That thought steadied him as he jumped into his beat-up Volkswagen. He didn’t like her running around
with that judge when she belonged to him.

That judge. That judge had seen her upset and wanted to help her … wanted to take her to his house and undress her and …

No. No. He knew he was letting his imagination run wild and imagination was his enemy until his Darling was
safely in his arms. Judge Mosley was part of law-and-order, after all, so he must be taking her to give a police statement.
Or to fill out forms.

Yeah, you know what all those Mosley boys are like. You know.

The Blade revved his engine and headed toward town. He wanted her with him. Screw waiting. Maybe he could catch them before
they got into Port Leo’s downtown, on the dark bay highway. Flash his headlights, pull them over onto the shoulder or a dark
parking lot. Get Mosley out of the car, gut him with one swift move, then cut his throat. He wondered if a judge’s blood would
reek of musty courtrooms and old thick books. Then he could whisk his Darling to his cabin and make her his, comfort her,
take her away from the world’s sadness.

He floored the accelerator.

‘Do you think he suffered?’ Velvet mopped her eyes.

‘It was probably over in an instant.’ Whit believed in mercy, and it was the likely truth.

She rolled down the window a couple of inches, and the cool of the wind slammed into her face. ‘That little cop. Salazar.
She any good?’

‘She has an excellent reputation.’

‘Here in Mayberry-by-the-fucking-Bay? How many murders do you have here a year? One?’

‘None last year. I think one the year before that.’

Velvet wadded up her tissue. ‘Oh, great, so she lives and breathes homicide. I feel so much better now.’ She stared at him.
‘So exactly what role do you play in this aside from chauffeur?’

‘When there’s a suspicious death, I examine the scene, meet with the people who knew the deceased, talk with the investigators,
decide to order an autopsy or not, conduct the inquest, work with the ME in Nueces County if needed, rule on cause of death.’

Velvet’s eyes widened. ‘So never mind the cop. All you gotta do is rule it’s murder and she
has
to investigate.’

‘I have to make decisions based on the evidence. I got to be judicial,’ he said.

She regarded his tropical shirt and ratty shorts. ‘Yeah, when I picture judicial, I’m seeing you. What are you, twelve?’

He didn’t know what to say to her; his inexperience gnawed at him. He cleared his throat. ‘I promise you I’ll be fair, and
I’ll listen to what you have to say about Pete’s … state of mind.’

‘When will the autopsy be done?’

‘In the next couple of days. I’ll get a verbal report from the ME first, but we won’t have a complete report for a few weeks.
And before you keep casting aspersions against me and Claudia, you ought to know that I grew up with Pete. I knew him and
his brother.’
And I sleep with his ex-Wife, so clearly I’m an interested party.

‘Pete never mentioned you.’

‘He was more friends with my older brothers. But if someone killed Pete, we’re not gonna let him or her get away with it.’

‘I suppose it wouldn’t be politically sound to let a Hubble be murdered and let the killer slip free,’ she said bitterly.
‘No, I guess you have to investigate to the balls when it’s a state senator’s son.’

‘I know you’re upset,’ Whit said, ‘and I’m real sorry for your loss, but is there some reason you’re cranking on me?’

‘I thought judges were all supposed to be big poker players. You don’t got a poker face. I can tell by the way you look at
me you think Pete and I are trash.’

‘I don’t have a negative opinion of you.’ He paused. ‘I want to help you.’

She unfolded and refolded her tissue. ‘Who found the body?’

‘A young woman. We think she’s a runaway, although she’s apparently a few days past eighteen, so I guess you turn into a vagrant
then. Um, I saw a video camera set up in the bedroom.’ She could draw her own conclusions, Whit supposed.

‘That’s not how you make a movie,’ she snapped. ‘You got at least two cameras, not just one, you got better lights than you’d
have on that boat, you got a makeup girl. No way was Pete making a movie with that little-ass camera. He was professional.’

‘But moving on to a new career?’

‘Porn had worn him out. It’s hard work, you know. He wanted to come home to research and write this script. And he wanted
me to direct it once it was done.’

‘So he gave you a chance to make a real movie?’

Her stare was acidic. ‘Excuse me. Have you
seen
my movies? They
are
real movies, butthead. I’m the Spielberg of porn. I have plots and characterization and depth and everything.’

Whit suspected it was the everything part that raked in the profits. ‘But this film about his brother had no adult-movie elements,’
he said. ‘Right?’

‘Of course not. I wanted to try a different kind of project. You know, that’s allowed if you’re creative. Shakespeare wrote
comedies and tragedies. It’s only small minds that jam you into one freaking hole forever.’ She turned back to the window.
‘So where are you dumping me after I give this statement?’

‘I suppose Pete’s mother isn’t an option,’ Whit ventured.

‘She’d cut my throat in my sleep and bathe in the blood.’

‘You’re sure you don’t have any friends in town?’ Whit asked.

‘I don’t want any friends here, thank you kindly.’

‘Then I guess we’ll get you to a motel. You got several choices: the Excellent, which isn’t, the Port Leo Inn, the Gulf Breeze.
A bunch of B and Bs. There’s also a Best Western and a Marriott Suites, too.’

‘I can’t believe Pete is dead and I have to stay at a Best Western.’ She managed a sniffle and a slight smile, friendlier
than just a moment ago. ‘Any room at your inn? I’m awful quiet and I don’t take up much space.’

‘You don’t want to stay with me. I’m a dork who lives with his dad,’ he said.

‘But at the Best Western I’ll be alone. I don’t do alone real well. I need a Plan B.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You got a phone in here?’

‘Yeah, a cell phone. Here.’ Whit dug among the tapes and CDs in the storage unit between the seats and handed her the phone.
He clicked on the interior light so she could see to dial. Another bit of brightness caught his eye. He glanced in the rearview
mirror and saw a pair of headlights jouncing, rapidly gaining on them.

Velvet dialed and waited. ‘Anson? Oh, good, you’re in town. Huh? Oh, okay. This is Velvet. Let me talk to Junior.’ A pause.
‘Junior, listen. I got real bad news. Pete’s dead.’ A longer pause. ‘I’m not kidding. He was shot. I’m okay. I’m holding up.
I cried for a bit and now I am getting ready to cry some more. Then I’m gonna kick me some police ass if they keep saying
he killed himself.’

Whit ran through his mental Rolodex of Port Leo, trying to place an Anson or a Junior. Velvet had mentioned a Junior Deloache
as the boat’s owner.

‘I’m not leaving town till we know what happened. Judge Mosley says there’s gonna be an inquest. What? I gotta go to the police
station. Pete was on your boat and it’s a crime scene and I’m booted. So I need a place to crash. Can I stay at your condo?’
She listened and hung her head slightly. ‘No, I don’t know when you get your stupid boat back. Yeah. Yeah. Okay, sure, I understand.
Sure. I’ll just grab me a hotel room. Yeah, thanks for the generosity.’ She clicked off the phone. ‘Those bags.’

Whit glanced in the rearview mirror. The headlights behind grew larger.

‘No luck?’ he asked.

‘I hate that greasy little Junior Deloache. He’s this piggy-eyed stain, thinks he’s a stud. Yeah, with a dick stretcher and
a case of Viagra, maybe.’ She shrugged. ‘I
can’t get into their condo. They’re in Houston but are coming down tomorrow, so I guess I’ll hotel it.’

‘I thought you called a local number.’

‘It’s call-forwarding.’ She blinked at the bright headlights that dazzled behind them. The lights began to flash from dim
to bright and dim again. ‘Somebody’s in a tear-ass hurry.’

Whit glanced back in the mirror. ‘He can go around me if he wants.’ The car stayed uncomfortably close. Then the lights flashed,
dim, bright, dim.

‘He wants you to pull over.’ Velvet handed Whit the phone in the headlights’ glare.

‘No, thanks.’ Whit floored the accelerator. He pulled away from the car, and the pursuer dropped back dramatically to a more
reasonable speed.

‘Asshole,’ Velvet commented. Whit checked the rearview mirror several seconds later and found the car was nearly gone.

‘My office is right across from the police station,’ Whit said. ‘I can give you a ride to the hotel after you give your statement.’

Velvet misunderstood his charity. ‘Look, I don’t do thank-you fucks just because someone shows common human decency.’

‘I can promise you I wasn’t asking for one.’

‘Why? You think I stink? Do you know how many guys have hit on me since I got here?’

‘Probably lots,’ Whit said.

Velvet hunkered down in her seat. ‘Lots is half right,’ she finally pronounced. ‘Tons is closer.’

Whit turned onto Main Street and pulled up in front of the Encina County courthouse. It was a sprawling, grand oddity, shaped
by the Moorish architecture popular on the coast a century ago, three stories of heavy Texas granite, designed to survive
storm surge and hurricane.
The Port Leo Police Department stood across the street, a cracker-box of boring plain brick. They crossed the empty street
together. The wind rustled in the drooping palms, and the clouds had dipped low, pregnant with rain.

‘They aren’t going to arrest me, are they?’ Velvet asked suddenly, stopping halfway across the street.

‘Did you kill him?’ Whit asked.

‘No. God, no.’

‘Then don’t worry. Tell them what they need to know. These are good people. They’re not going to hang you out to dry. I promise
you that.’

She crossed her arms, bowed her head, and the tears came in shudders, and she bleated Pete Hubble’s name. Whit didn’t dwell
on niceties or politics. He took her into his arms and let her cry against his shoulder, like old friends consoling each other
in the terrible reality of sudden grief. He couldn’t stand there like a wooden post while a woman sobbed. She got his tropical-print
shoulder wet and snotty, and when the shaking stopped Whit steered her into the brightly lit doorway of the police station.