The Dirty Book Murder (26 page)

I hesitated because the drunk at the end of the bar took a swipe at Pegeen’s beautiful bosom while she tried to clear away the empty beer bottles.

“Excuse me for a minute,” Higgins said.

He walked to the end of the counter, grabbed the nape of the man’s neck as if it were a rat’s, and hustled him out the door. Upon Higgins’s return, Pegeen tossed him the Sacagawea coins in gratitude.

“Majansik’s not whoring for Uncle Sam or anyone else,” he said, after sitting down and collecting a free beer. “Staying undercover for eighteen months is a hell of a long time for that kind of work. With Crowell feeding Quist the names of our local vice squad operatives, we had to keep her on the job, even after she showed signs of burnout.”

“And I know why.” I stared into the bottom of my glass. “Marilyn Chambers wouldn’t allow what Josie did in that porn flick.”

It’s a good thing Higgins had eaten his sandwich or he would have choked on it.

“Hell’s bells,” he sputtered. “You saw that?”

I nodded solemnly; more solemnly, in fact, than I would have normally done if Higgins hadn’t thought it so hilarious.

“Ah, you poor bastard,” he said after catching his breath. “Is that what all this moping is about?”

I looked at Pegeen. She whistled something from
South Pacific
, then set about wiping the counter free of imaginary beer rings.

“Well, yeah,” I finally answered. “Isn’t that enough?”

“That wasn’t Josie Majansik in the film. At least not all of her.”

“Huh?”

“We weren’t getting anywhere with Quist or his people. Initially, they didn’t buy her act of a lonely nymphomaniac new to town. The regional FBI lab took a confiscated film featuring a woman with her body type, made some grainy shots of Majansik’s face and a boob shot or two.” He stopped for a swig of beer. “But, mind you, no down-unders. They spliced those shots of her into the original.”

“Well, it sure fooled me.”

“Hell, yes. The Feds in Cleveland had recently collared a child pornographer in
Lancaster, Ohio, and given the choice of forty years or helping us, the charmer agreed to make the necessary introductions for Majansik by sending the doctored film to Quist. Within a week, Rolf Kramm paid a visit to her apartment. He threatened to send the movie to her supposed boss at the
Gumbo
. To avoid exposure, and to avoid actually prostituting herself, she tearfully agreed to lure the wealthy and oversexed Edward Worth into Quist’s trap.”

I smiled mirthlessly, picturing her sweet gamine face staring up at the Afrikaner, telling him she was just a poor girl from southeast Ohio who needed the money and “Please don’t tell my mother.”

“With Worth’s cooperation, it worked beautifully,” Higgins continued, “but got complicated when Langston and your daughter, not to mention you and that damned book, got into the mix.”

“Josie walked into
my
life, not vice versa.”

The detective glared at me before getting up slowly. He laid a twenty-dollar bill on the counter.

I started to say something else, but he squeezed my shoulder with that meat hook of a hand.

“Hold your gob,” he snarled. “Majansik never had a chance to be ‘sweet sixteen.’ She was eleven when her father died from black lung disease working in the coal mines of southeast Ohio. Her mother sent her and a younger brother to live with an uncle who proceeded to have his way with both of them. Somehow, she survived and earned a scholarship to Ohio State. The boy wasn’t as tough. He hung himself at fifteen.”

Higgins released his grip. Pins and needles danced on my upper arm.

“How’d you learn all this?” I said, massaging my shoulder.

“She needed cover in her role as a reporter. I set her up in a room down the hall from my office and I got to know her pretty well. She didn’t share any personal stuff, however, until the night before she returned to Columbus.”

Pegeen returned with Higgins’s change. He pocketed it and started for the door, but didn’t get far with my hand grabbing his sleeve.

“You can’t stop there, Buford. Did she say anything about me?”

The detective turned. “She asked me to tell you good-bye for her.”

“I understand.”

He spread his big paws on the counter.

“No, you don’t, Bevan. When she tried to see you, it was to open herself up to you and explain certain things. I can guess what they were now. But there must have been something good on daytime television, because you had better things to do than give her
that chance. She has pretty low self-esteem when it comes to men. Maybe that’s why she’s so good at enticing us. She’s a pro when it’s playacting, but when the emotions become real, she doesn’t know what to do.”

“Was she just playing me along as well?”

“In order to get close to Quist through your daughter and Langston?”

“Something like that.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But I know Eddie Worth thinks she’s pretty special.”

Silence fell between us. The Peanut was beginning to fill with students pouring out of class from the nearby campus. Pegeen inserted a CD in the boom box above the bar and the place exploded into life. With its torn bar stools, tattered booths, and cheap decorations hanging from every square inch of the walls stained by decades of cigarette smoke, only the music seemed to ever change in Kansas City’s oldest bar. I like places that thrive on neglect. Maybe that’s how I was with people, too.

“Tell her I’m sorry and maybe, maybe … Oh, hell, I don’t know.”

“I’ll think of something,” Higgins said.

We walked into the sunshine.

“I hear you’re being promoted to captain.”

“The chief thought it might be a good idea after I showed him this.” He grinned like a Cheshire cat and pulled out a folded piece of yellowed paper containing a list of names under the logo of a new moon.

“Amazing how many folks are on this thing.”

On a blistering hot morning, Higgins called to tell me that Josie was in town for depositions relating to my former employees’ indictments. Alice Winter, who had learned of Josie’s arrival from Tim, dropped by the shop at noon to tell me I’d be a damned fool not to try to make amends.

When I hesitated, Alice muttered something about men, looked up the number for the admin clerk at the federal courthouse, and waited with hands on hips until I had left a message.

Josie returned the call during a recess that same afternoon.

“How’s the leg?” she said.

“Fine. And yours?”

“It’s still in a cast and it itches like hell.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’ll come off soon enough.”

“I’m not talking about the cast.”

“Oh.”

“Can I buy you dinner tonight?”

I waited a couple of heartbeats for her to answer.

“I guess so. But nothing fancy.”

“I know just the place.”

*  *  *

Siobhan greeted us at the door of Fitzpatrick’s with a big smile and led us to a table in a secluded snug.

Aiden Delahunt was setting up his amplifier on the stage directly across from us. The usual after-work crowd of young lawyers, architects, and ad reps sat on bar stools nursing their pints and yakking with Ronan Gill while he shucked mussels behind the counter. Upon seeing me, he made a gesture of throwing his knife in my direction.

While the Wolfe Tones wailed about the potato famine and that “bastard Lord John Russell” over the Bose speakers, Josie and I silently studied our menus as if they contained the
Book of Kells
. We hadn’t said much in the jeep on the way over, either. There was too much to explain and no easy way to begin.

When the waitress came, we ordered Guinness and fish and chips. It was either that or the beef stew.

“I gotta know,” I said to Josie after finding courage in my first pint of stout. “What led you to Quist’s basement?”

She put down her glass, dabbed her mouth with the cloth napkin. “It doesn’t make for pleasant dinner conversation.”

“Irish bar cuisine doesn’t qualify as pleasant dining.”

“All right,” she said tonelessly. “I got worried when we lost sight of Langston and Anne and was about to look for them when I recognized you. Believe me, your presence was an unwelcome surprise. I was sure you’d screw up our plans if you approached me so I headed for the kitchen to stay out of sight. I was deciding what to do over a glass of milk when Quist’s men hustled you right past me into the elevator. You stepped on my heel, you clumsy oaf.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know it was you or I would have asked those thugs to stop and let me apologize.”

“No matter.”

She reached across the table to pat my hand. “I knew about the staircase from poking around the place on the day before. God knows, there wasn’t much else to do after Quist entertained us with a marathon showing of slasher-porn movies. Grabbing a knife and hammer from a drawer, I hustled down the stairs just in time to hear his rants. I peeked through the curtains, desperately waiting for an opportunity to attack while you baited him and got Langston tuned in to your crazy rugby trick. I was ready when you jumped into action. You know the rest.”

“Was I part of your plan to bust him? Is that why you started coming to Riverrun?”

“No.” She shook her head. “The bookstore was my island of tranquility. I desperately needed it when the stress began to overwhelm me. But then came the Gareth Hughes business that got you involved with Quist. I knew you were in bigger trouble than you could have imagined. It was stupid getting emotionally involved with you and jeopardizing the case.”

“And I thought I was a big help.”

“We would have got him anyway. At least I think so. You just made it harder and
a lot scarier.”

“It’s not like I asked for it.” I tried not to make it sound like a complaint.

“Of course not, Mike. No more than Anne asked for it. I’m just glad it worked out.”

After pretending to read the history of Ireland on the back of the menu, I said, “I’m glad you came back, even if only to provide evidence. It was wrong to avoid you at the hospital.”

“I’ve been snubbed by worse,” she said, smiling. She looked over my shoulder at the stage. Sandra Epstein had joined Delahunt and was testing the microphone by playing a few bars on her pennywhistle.

When Josie looked back at me, her smile was gone.

“I chose this profession for reasons I don’t want to go into. I’ve been an agent six years and worked vice the last four; time enough to put away a lot of scum. Martin Quist may not have been the worst, if you can believe that; in the top three, for sure, but there was a pair of grandparents in Dublin, Ohio, who still give me nightmares. I nailed them with life sentences, but they took a bit of my soul as well. Quist’s getting so close to you and your daughter took more out of me. Most of what I had left. I don’t think I’ll be good at police work anymore. I’m taking a leave of absence.”

I finished my Guinness and ordered another. Sandra and Aiden had finished setting up and would begin playing soon.

“Josie,” I said in a voice that was an octave higher than I would have liked, “we’ve been on a crazy roller-coaster ride. Now that we’ve climbed off, maybe we can start over under more normal circumstances.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Well, for one, Alice Winter has been harping on my lack of female companionship again. She thinks it’s unhealthy and I’m beginning to think she has a point.”

“Sounds to me that she wants you for herself.”

“She’s the one who insisted I call you. She’s a dear friend, that’s all. You’d enjoy her.”

“Like I would have enjoyed knowing your wife?”

“I’m not comparing you to them. Will you consider moving in with me? I’ve got a nice house and a semi-nice cat.”

She chewed her lip and didn’t answer. Our food arrived and Aiden introduced the first number. It was my song, “The Wind that Shakes the Barley.”

“I’m serious,” I said at the end of the mournful tune. “I love you.”

Josie silently turned her attention to the stage.

“If you prefer, I’ll sleep in the bathtub,” I persisted.

“That would be uncomfortable.”

“All right, the couch, then.”

She smiled sadly. “I don’t think so.”

I studied my plate, pushing coleslaw away from the crumbled fish flakes.

“Is there somebody else?” I asked. “One of your agent pals? Eddie Worth?”

“Maybe,” she said, lifting my chin with her fingers. “Let’s face it, Michael. You’re still married to a ghost. I don’t know how to compete with that.”

We finished eating and listened in silence as Sandra Epstein sang “Barbara Allen.” Maybe the tragic tale of lost love had a palliative effect on me because by the time the check came I wasn’t feeling so much like a brokenhearted fool.

At the door to her hotel room later that night, I kissed Josie on the cheek and thanked her for all she had done.

She said, “Think nothing of it.”

“Sure,” I said in my best wise-ass voice. “So what if you saved my daughter’s life and mine as well? I’ll just forget it.”

But we both knew I could never forget her. Before I got into the jeep, I looked back to see her leaning against the doorway. The light from inside her room shone through the cotton dress outlining her perfect legs. She put a hand to her lips to blow a kiss just as she had done an eternity ago in front of Riverrun. And I knew then that Edward Stuyvesant Worth IV had better be something more than just a handsome millionaire if he wanted to keep Josie Majansik.

Driving up Wornall Road, I played a Saw Doctors disc and sang at the top of my lungs to a song about happy wars and sad love affairs. As Grandpa Bevan would say, “God bless the Irish for getting their priorities straight.”

Indian summer had ended. Dead leaves covered the sidewalk like a brown blanket. I sat in the shop’s bay window catching the last sun rays of an autumn afternoon and studied the classifieds, searching for a new employee. It would soon be Thanksgiving and the best retail season of the year would begin, but I was woefully unprepared for it.

Brian Canady, one of the Irregulars, had pitched in to run the coffee cart and found he still had enough energy after four hours of cappuccino-making to work on his newsletter. A couple of nice college kids helped with the afternoon shift as well, but my efforts to find someone to match Violet’s expertise were going nowhere.