Here Comes the Night (18 page)

Erika was surprised but relieved when the old rumpled
detective she had served the BLT to earlier, showed up to lead her to an
interview room. He remembered her from the O.K. Corral, too, it turned out, and
now seemed to know exactly who she was: Tony Bonner’s girlfriend.

He didn’t wait for the official session to begin before he
started talking. “Tony used your apartment address as his place of residence
when he did his intake with the Parole Officer,” the detective explained as he
set up a digital recorder. “Do you know where he is now?”

“No, he was at my place earlier, but I had to leave for
work.”

“Yeah, we went by there to try to find him.”

“Really.” That probably meant he had gotten all his stuff
and left, but she doubted it. She couldn’t tell if the detective already knew
Tony had stolen the Mustang last night, or if his questions were about some
other infraction. God knows Tony had broken plenty of parole restrictions.

She figured he would get on a bus and head anywhere out of
state, because if they found him, she didn’t think he’d ever see the outside of
prison again. As disgusted as she was with him, that thought choked her up. She
couldn’t help it.

It surprised Erika how much she still cared about what
happened to Tony, even after all the crap he’d pulled. He might seem like an
awful person to most people, but she had been with him a number of times when
he had been able to let go of some of his rage and defensiveness. What had been
left was a lost little boy inside, his sweetness stripped away.

Horse went to the door and looked up and down the hall. “My
partner seems to be held up, but since we’re recording, we can go ahead and
start with your statement, if that’s alright?” Horse said.

“Fine,” Erika replied, ready to do it.

Horse recorded the date, time, and their names into the
machine, then began. “You told the officer at the desk that you were present at
the accident last night involving Buck Dearmore’s Mustang and Miss Candy
Myers?”

“I was riding in the Mustang,” Erika began, but Horse held
up his hands in a
stop right there
motion.

“Okay, before we go any farther, I need to read you your
rights,” he said.

She noticed his face had flushed with excitement.

“Oh, well, yes, I guess so.”

Horse’s partner, a cowboy named Edgars, came in a few
minutes later. Over the next hour their questions left her feeling like a
plucked chicken.

As soon as they had gone over every excruciating detail,
they would take a breath and start all over again. It seemed painful enough to
recount it once, but the detectives remained kind but relentless, plying her
with sodas as they went over it just one more time.

It wore her down to look at the depth of Tony’s cruelty.
Erika could own up to her own part. Nobody had made her climb into the Mustang
for a joy ride, and, if she had only fought harder, maybe she could have
somehow gotten out of the car after the accident to try to help. But
remembering how Tony abandoned her to Vivian and her husband, then later bolted
from the horrific accident, hardened her against him more each time she
remembered it.

That’s where they were in the interview, the third time
around. “I don’t get it,” the young cowboy detective said. “Why do you think
he’d just leave you with a strange couple like that?”

This time her answer surprised even her. “I don’t know, but
I would guess now that maybe the lawyer guy must have given Tony money? When I
went to the store with his wife?” It was the only scenario that made sense.

“Why would you think that?” the older detective asked.

“Because there always has to be something in it for Tony,”
she said wearily.

“But you can’t remember their names? The folks in the R.V.?”
Edgars looked dubious.

“Hers was Vivian. That’s all I remember.” Erika described
the motor home again, but they still looked at her like she was holding
something back.

“And he was a lawyer?” Horse asked.

“That’s what he said.”

“Any reason to think he was lying?” Edgars asked.

“Well,” Erika sighed, “everything Tony told
him
was a
lie. Maybe it was the same vice-versa.”

There was one of those silences where they wait for more.

“He didn’t
seem
shifty like that,” she finally said,
“but then look what they did to me.”

After working through the narrative again, they segued back
to what they were really after. “Miss Newton,” the cowboy really pressing her
now, “you must have
some
idea of where Tony went. He comes in, he leaves
your place after a fight. You see how convenient that is to your story?”

“It’s not a
story.
” Her teeth were gritted. “It’s the
truth. And what’s convenient about getting my place tossed and all my money
stolen?”

“We’re not talking about robbery here. Frankly, we’ve got
bigger rats to kill,” Edgars replied. “We’re working a possible murder case.
Here’s our dilemma, see? Somebody tells us about a crime they saw. They were
there at the scene, they say, but didn’t take part in it, just saw it. Great.
But then they can’t deliver.”

Erika was not staying with this line of thought. “What are
you driving at?”

Edgars leaned closer in to her. “They make the accusation
but then they can’t take us to the actual suspect. What does that say? I’m
talking about the person you’re implicating being conveniently out of reach.
What would Tony tell us if
he
was here? That you were in on the whole
thing with him? Maybe, but he’s not here, and that’s what we mean by convenient
for you—because we can’t ask him these same questions.”

Erika sat there, shaking her head. “Is that how you see
everyone? Geez. You know who else thinks like that? Tony.”

Both the detectives were silent for a moment. Then the old
one shrugged his shoulders and laughed a little. “She’s got a point,” he said
to his cowboy partner.

“I’ll tell you how you get like this.” The cowboy,
undaunted, but with a little grin on his face, looked close at Erika.

“The other day I was in an adult shop talking to the owner
about another case, and I noticed a sign on his counter advertising ‘Plastic
Turds’ for sale. ‘Just in,’ the sign says. And I asked him, ‘Buddy, why are you
ordering plastic shit?’ And you know what he told me? He says, ‘Because the
Plastic Vomit sold so well.’”

Erika laughed in spite of herself. The air in the room
seemed to fall back into place. She might meet “the public” every day, waiting
tables, she realized, but these poor guys, they had to climb into humanity’s
armpits every shift.

“Okay,” she said, “I get it. All I know is I came in here
today to take care of my own conscience, not to get Tony into trouble. That’s
it.”

“You know what,” the older detective, leaning in to her. “I
believe you, Miss Newton. But you’re going to have to bear with us here.
There’s a lot to check out about what you’ve told us. We going to need to hold
you for a bit.”

“You’re arresting me then.” Erika had steeled herself for
this.

“Actually, we’ll be holding you as a material witness,” the
cowboy assured her. “Just until we’re sure you’re safe. For all we know, Tony
might want to shut you up. What if he’s looking for you right now? We can’t
risk that.”

Erika felt the hairs on her arms stand up. Tony was capable
of that, alright.

“It’s to keep you accessible for us, Miss Newton,” the older
guy said. “You’ll be in a special holding cell.”

“Okay,” she said. “Whatever I have to do.” After a pause,
Erika asked, “Is there any news on the girl? The rodeo star?”

The cowboy nodded his head. “She’s going to make it. We
heard about an hour ago.”

“It’ll be a really long rehab, but there’s no paralysis,”
the rumpled detective added. “She’s lucky in that.”

“But her rodeo days are over,” Erika said, but there was a
question in the lilt of her voice.

“Afraid so,” the cowboy confirmed.

In spite of teeth so sore he could barely chew, the take-out
ribs and curly fries from Earl’s were the best Buck had ever tasted. After the
first bite, his stomach had lurched into action, growling for more. It took an
eternity to chew each bite, so he didn’t have to worry about eating too fast.
His body managed it well.

Between phone calls, Terrence was chowing down himself,
although he remained hunched over his desk, working on the case.

A Dr. Merrill had come by earlier and examined Buck while
they waited for the Earl’s delivery. It was going to take a long time to heal,
and, unfortunately, the pinkie was gone forever. If they’d had it preserved, a
re-attachment could have been attempted, no question, but too much time had
passed.

He’d left Buck with pain pills that he guaranteed would not
make him drowsy. “On the other hand, as soon as you’ve eaten, you’re going to
be asleep within the hour,” Dr. Merrill had promised, “pills or no pills.” Buck
had nodded but knew he had slipped into that awful place of being unable to
function if he didn’t get some rest, but too pumped to shut his eyes.

Seeing Angie at the Police Station had tied him up in knots.
In his muddled head, he tried to sort out the events. The detectives would have
a hard time proving he had returned to the bank last night. Even if he had left
some blood drops in Gordon’s office, some story could be concocted to cover
that. Some accident, even a paper cut.

It allowed Buck a twisted kind of comfort that Twigs and her
boys might be blamed for Gordon’s murder, even if they remained unidentified.
Johnny hadn’t actually seen Buck, but the guard had to realize there were
several people in Gordon’s office.

In spite of everything that had happened after he had shot
Gordon, it was just possible he really wasn’t in any worse shape. Possibly even
better. What motive could they come up with for him to kill Gordon? Unless they
could prove the affair between him and Angie, there were too many loose ends
for it to hold together.

The P.I.’s pictures from Gordon’s safe were gone now. Twigs
wouldn’t use them. She wasn’t stupid. And he was willing to bet Gordon was
enough of a control freak that he would have insisted on having all the
physical evidence back from whatever detective he’d hired. Even if some P.I.
came forward eventually, he or she would have their own credibility to prove.

He planned to play it dumb as to his carjackers. He
had
been hooded most of the time, and as long as he stuck to the stuff Jorge and
Meatface had actually done to him, it would be up to the police to find out who
they were. He just had to keep his stories straight, and he still might walk
away from this with his freedom. He’d figure out how to handle the guilt later.

Meatface had Buck’s football helmet on and was sitting in
the SUV, finishing up the remains of a super-sized garbage pizza. They were
outside a truck stop on 152 about 20 miles west of Oklahoma City. Meatface had
filled up the vehicle with gas and joined Twigs and Jorge in a pizza place
inside.

But after ten minutes Twigs had given him the rest of the
pizza and told him to wait in the SUV. Then she and Jorge had disappeared into
the Ladies room. As if Buck didn’t know Elvis was in there pounding her brains
out. She always wanted it after a job.

He wondered what it would be like to do Twigs, all those
thin, angular limbs. Probably like poking a board. Elvis could have her skinny
ass. Not that Meatface was not ready for some action, and in just a couple of
hours he was going to have all the money he needed. As soon as they delivered
the payment to the boss’s ranch just thirty more miles west down the road, the
three of them would turn back up north to party in Kansas City.

He loved the whorehouses there, full of gals in cheerleader
and sailor outfits, sucking their fingers and stuff. Last time he’d found
himself a sweet thing chewing on a wheat stalk, who was a milkmaid, her boobies
bobbing under a pink neck bandana and her twat bare when she stooped over.
Maybe she’d still be there and they’d play County Fair again.

Just thinking about her made him want to find someplace more
private, but then he heard Twigs’ sharp stiletto clicks heading toward the SUV.
She didn’t say anything, just hopped in with Jorge.

Meatface watched Jorge toss back a couple more prescription
painkillers while Twigs, seemingly oblivious, refreshed her lipstick in the
passenger side mirror. Meatface just shook his head. Jorge’s eyes were already
practically glazed over.

“Okay, boys, let’s go do this,” Twigs said, all business
again.

“Bada bing, bada boom,” Meatface said in his best mafioso
accent. Then he grinned at Twigs, kept it casual. “Why don’t you let me drive?
Huh? Jorge don’t look like he’s feeling so good, I think.”

“Fuck you,” Jorge shot back over his shoulder.

Twigs sighed like she was dealing with two unruly children.
“If he’d go to the damn dentist and take care of himself.”

“I told you, I’ll find one in Kansas City. Tell them it’s an
emergency,” Jorge said.

“It
is
a fucking emergency,” Meatface laughed. “I
mean, look at your face, man. It’s swoll up big time.”

“I can damn well drive,” Jorge said, indignation building to
ugly.

“Oh, for Christ sake, okay. But no more pills or I’ll drive
myself,” Twigs said with finality.

“Okay,” Meatface said, like,
it’s your funeral.
“We’re
only carrying a boatload of money, huh?”

Twigs motioned him down, then tried to soften the tension.
“It’ll be alright. Jorge could drive a getaway car with both hands tied behind
his back, huh?”

Jorge jumped on this. “Fuckin’ A I can.”

“How come the boss lives way out in the country anyway?”
Meatface asked.

“To stay away from the great unwashed,” Twigs answered. As
they got in, she looked back at Meatface. “For cryin’ out loud, are you going
to wear that fucking helmet all day?”

Meatface thumped the top of it. “With him driving? Fuckin’
A.”