Death By The Riverside Part 22

"No one's following us," I said.

He relaxed slightly.

"I'm afraid I've got some bad news," he said, still reminding me of a puppy, one leading its owner to some very chewed up slippers.

"Yes?" I said.

"I couldn't get the books. I mean, they weren't there to take.

Milo removed them before lunch, told me to wait for him, and left. I didn't know what to do. I knew you were waiting. Should we try again tomorrow?"

"No," I said quickly.

"Should I have waited for Milo? He might have brought them back." he said, trying to repair the damaged slipper.

"No. The only thing Milo was coming back for was you."

"Oh, my G.o.d," he said, understanding me. He visibly paled. I took his arm and led him across the street.

"Jambalaya's way too hot. Those books would have been moved a long time ago if Milo's boss didn't have so many important friends."

I led the way into the building. Torbin had left me his keys and admonished me to make ourselves at home. He wasn't in the apartment when we arrived, but there was a "Be back soon" note stuck on the middle of his couch.

"You mean, if I hadn't left at lunch, Milo would have..." He trailed off.

"Right. Early retirement."

Frankie put his head in his hands. He seemed quite shaken. I sat down beside him and put my arm around his shoulder.

"At least we've got good timing," I started. "Look, we still outsmarted them. You're out and you're alive."

"Yes," he said, sitting up and lifting his head. "I wish I could see the look on Milo's face when he realizes that I disobeyed his orders. A sissy f.a.ggot like me."

"Let's hear it for sissy f.a.ggots," announced Torbin, making an entrance. He was carrying a sack of groceries and a bag of video ca.s.settes. "You know, Micky, I do like you daring d.y.k.es, but my heart belongs to sissy f.a.ggots."

I made introductions. Torbin explained his plans for the next few * 151 *

days. Good food, great movies, and perhaps a few lessons on makeup.

I didn't ask whether he meant Frankie or me.

Torbin insisted on having a slumber party, so I spent the night.

I also thought Frankie would feel more comfortable with me around.

Torbin was telling him that he could be all the things that he had been told he was sick for wanting. That can be very scary. But, after the second Bette Davis movie, Frankie started loosening up, like a kid being let into a toy store for the first time in his life. He started asking Torbin all sorts of questions, which Torbin, with his love of an audience, delighted in answering. Possibilities opened up for Frankie. I would have sat through ten Joan Crawford flicks just to see the change that came over him that night. Well, at least out of this jumble of ashes, one phoenix has risen, I thought as I finally laid down to sleep.

After a late breakfast the next day and a stern warning to Torbin not to even let Frankie out of his apartment, let alone try and take him to one of his drag shows, I left. I spent about an hour wandering around the neighborhood, checking it out, and finding nothing even remotely suspicious. Then I headed off to do business. I stopped at a pay phone to call Ranson, but she was out. I kept walking. It was one of those gray and chilly February days. Mardi Gras was in a few weeks. Soon the parades and parties would start. I came to another pay phone and called Ranson again. This time she answered.

"Where the h.e.l.l have-" she started, but I cut her off.

"How about a nice little romantic saunter on the levee? Half an hour by Jackson Square? Bye." I hung up and started walking toward the square.

Five minutes after I arrived, Ranson showed up.

"A punctual public servant, I like that," I said.

"Twenty-five minutes, not thirty. I'm early," she responded.

"Couldn't you have waited until I was off duty?"

"But this is about duty, my dear Sergeant Ranson. A poor young boy who wants to forsake his life of crime."

"This had better be good, Micky."

"The best. Milo and company. Maybe Da Boss himself."

"I told you to stay out of it," was Ranson's thanks.

"But dear Officer Ranson, it was an accident, I do declare.

I just b.u.mped into this young fellow on the street and he, instantly * 152 *

recognizing me as the great private investigator M. Knight, begged me to help him."

"Bulls.h.i.+t. Who do you have?"

"The boy that's been doing their books for the last three years."

Ranson let out a low whistle. It was the only hint that she was somewhat impressed by my coup.

"And," I added, "we almost got the books, too, but Milo walked out with them for parts unknown."

"s.h.i.+t, Micky, you're playing a dangerous game. That accountant would have gotten killed if they'd caught him," Ranson lectured me.

"He would have gotten killed anyway," I shot back. "Milo or somebody was coming back for him and it wasn't to give the poor guy a golden watch for his retirement."

"Okay, so you're a wonderful humanitarian. When do I meet him?"

"When we've arranged a deal that's satisfactory," I said.

"I'll do what I can, but Micky, remember that I'm just a police sergeant."

"Right. I understand you've got a few friends in the D.A.'s office.

Get them to help you," I replied. I almost said drinking buddies, but I caught myself. "We want protection and relocation. Call me when you've got something worked out." I started to leave.

"d.a.m.n it, Mick, you've got a lot of people worried about you."

"Sorry, Ranson, places to go, people to see." I took a step, but she grabbed my arm.

"Danny, Cordelia, and I have a standing agreement to call each other if any of us should hear from you."

"Well, say hi for me and tell them that I'm fine."

She shook her head, not letting go of my arm. "We went searching for you on Sunday. Danny used her keys to get into your apartment."

"I'm glad it was you. I thought my cat was becoming alcoholic.

There was a lot of liquor gone for a little kitty body to consume."

"Just leave old Micky tomcat alone. She'll come back when she feels like it. Is that it?"

"Essentially."

"Even if you end up floating in the river?"

"I know the risks. I'm a big girl."

* 153 *

"What about the people who care about you?" Ranson demanded.

"Or do we not matter?" I shrugged. Ranson held on to my arm. "You've got to grow up sometime," she finished.

"Will you leave me the f.u.c.k alone?" I exploded. "I'm not out to hurt anyone or bother anyone. If I did, tough. And I'll grow up when I feel like it."

"It's not fair, is it, Micky, to get kicked out of childhood when you're only ten?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bulls.h.i.+t. The most unfair part is that once you're out, you can never go back. You can spend your whole life trying."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"You tell me," Ranson answered.

"Well, thanks, Sergeant Freud. How much do I owe you for your therapeutic insights?" I jerked my arm away from her and started walking. She caught up and spun me around to face her.

"You could have had me. You had Danny. But you walked away.

How many others? You got hurt bad and hurt young, so that excuses everything, doesn't it? If we get too close and get burned, it's not your fault, is it, because-"

"Stop it. Just stop it," I yelled at her. "I don't want anything from you."

"No, you don't. And G.o.d help anyone who wants anything from you, because they'll never get it. What'd you do, stop feeling when you were ten?"

"No. Leave me alone," I replied. I tried to turn away from her, but she had her hands on my shoulders and wouldn't let me. I saw a few tourists heading rapidly away from us. I turned my head to the river, so I wouldn't have to face Ranson's piercing gray eyes.

"I tried for a while...things didn't work out that way," I finished in a whisper. I couldn't say anything more. I stared at the s.h.i.+ps on the river, dull and bleak under the gray sky.

Ranson finally broke the moment. She took me by the arm, saying, "Come on. I'll walk you home."

We walked in silence back to my apartment. Ranson came up the stairs with me.

"Do you want me to stay?" she asked.

* 154 *

"No, I think I need to be alone. You need to get back to work anyway."

"True. I'll call you later. Will you answer the phone?"

"I'll try. Old habits, you know."

"Try hard," she answered.

"Okay."

She turned to go.

"Oh, and Joanne?" I said. "Tell Danny and...and..."

"Cordelia."

"Yeah, her. Tell them I'm okay, just busy in the never-ending search for truth, beauty, and the American way."

Ranson walked back to me and kissed me on the lips. She held it for a moment, then turned and left.

* 155 *

CHAPTER 17.

Ranson called me early in the day, but it was strictly business.

She outlined the deal she was working on for Frankie. I told her I would get in touch with him and get back to her.

I had to wait a couple of hours before I called Torbin. He worked late and it was bad enough saddling him with naive young men just coming out; I didn't need to interrupt his beauty sleep, too. I called from a pay phone, just in case.

Frankie was beginning to sound like Torbin, which I took as a good sign. He agreed to everything, except turning himself in at the police station. That he absolutely refused to do. "No, no, no," he said. "They get people killed in jail all the time. Their informant is well connected and knows everything they need to know. It has to be someplace public and well populated with law officers of all kinds, everywhere. I'm sorry to be a pain, but it's my life."