A Good Man Gone (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (28 page)

I’d have to say the same for Bitsy’s new place. She’d moved from a decent apartment complex to a trailer park. Her fortunes were failing, and I wondered how much of that had to do with Bart Sendack.

Aaron drove between trailers on a dirt road filled with ruts and rocks. I started to feel nervous, not for us, but for the car. She was too nice to be in that neighborhood. Of course, Dad was a detective and he’d been in worse places, but if something happened to the car, it was my ass. Aaron must’ve felt the same way because he drove so slowly I could count every rock we drove over.

Bitsy’s trailer sat at the end of a crooked row half obscured by weeds and a pile of old tires. The porch had collapsed and a rickety metal step stool gave entrance to the door which looked ready to fall off its hinges. I wondered if she bothered to lock it.

“This is it.” Aaron sounded worried and not in his usual “can I get to food quick enough” way.

I got out and walked to the step stool. My feet crunched broken beer bottles and kicked empty ketchup bottles and slimy hot dog wrappers. I put my hand on the side of the trailer to steady myself and mounted the stool. Paint and slivers of wood stuck to my palm. The trailer was disintegrating before my eyes. I knocked and held my breath, hoping the door wouldn’t fall in. I don’t know if I was hoping Bitsy’d be home or not. Mostly, I wanted to leave and wash the car. A voice yelled from inside. It sounded like, “Come in,” but I wasn’t about to do that.

“Don’t go in there,” said Aaron.

“Don’t worry,” I replied.

The voice got louder and more irritated. I knocked again and the door flung open, knocking me off the stool into the weeds. A hot pain radiated up my arm from my wrist. Aaron grabbed me under my arms and lifted me to my feet.

“Holy shit.” A woman stood in the trailer door with her hand over her mouth. It wasn’t Bitsy Meyer, or at least I didn’t think so. The woman looked fifty and she’d been rode hard and put up wet, as Dad would say.

“You’re not Bitsy Meyer, are you?” I asked.

“No. Are you okay?” She stepped down from the trailer and took my hand. I screeched as a fresh pain went up my arm. I had pebbles embedded in my palm and the start of a killer bruise, but that wasn’t causing the pain. I had an impact fracture in my wrist. It ballooned up as we stared at it.

“I think that’s broken,” said Aaron.

“You think?” I said, trying to remember if I’d seen a hospital nearby.

“Holy shit. Don’t sue me. I didn’t mean for you to fall.” The woman looked at me with watery blue eyes and began wringing her hands.

“I’m not going to sue you.” What would be the point? The woman didn’t have a pot to piss in. “Who are you?”

“Tiffany Meyer, Bitsy’s mom,” she said.

“Is she living here with you?”

“You got to go to the hospital, honey.”

“I will. Does she live here?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“Sometimes.”

“What about Bart Sendack? Does he live here too?”

Tiffany’s lips curled back to reveal yellow teeth and red gums. I took it she wasn’t fond of Bart.

“So does he or doesn’t he?”

“He’s here when she’s here. Which ain’t much, I’m happy to say. Who’re you?”

“Mercy Watts, private detective. I’m looking for Bart, not your daughter.”

“I don’t give a God damn which one you want. Take them both. They’re pieces of shit.”

Note to self: hug Mom.

“Do you know when Bart will be back?”

“Never, I hope. Dickhead. He ruined my Franklin Mint plate of President Reagan. God damn bastard used it as an ashtray. I should’ve shot him in his skinny ass.”

“So he won’t be back?” My eyes watered from the pain in my wrist, but I didn’t want to come back to that dump.

“Yeah, he’ll be back. Bitsy left some shit here and he’s coming to get it.”

“When?”

She stopped wringing her hands. “Why do you want to know?”

“His ex-wife wants him arrested for back child support.”

“He’ll be back tonight. I don’t know when.”

“They’ve got a new place?”

“Yeah, some apartment. Got a pool. Like they need a pool,” she said.

I pulled out one of Dad’s cards with my good hand and gave it to her. She looked at it like she couldn’t read. By the looks of the trailer, it was a possibility.

“Ain’t got no phone.”

“Nevermind then.” I turned to leave. Aaron held onto my arm and, for once, I was glad he was there.

“Thanks for your help. Don’t let on that I’ve been here,” I said over my shoulder.

“Don’t worry and don’t be sending me no bill. I ain’t got no money.”

Aaron situated me in the car and found a hospital in record time. I threw up right after we got out, narrowly missing the 300’s intact paint job. It came through the trailer park just fine, even if I didn’t.

Chapter Twenty-Three
 

THE ER SAT empty waiting the nighttime accident crowd and I was ushered into a bed posthaste. Aaron came back with me and fussed like it was his fault.I’d rather have been alone.

“What am I going to tell Tommy?” he asked again.

“Dad won’t care. What are you worried about?”

“I’m supposed to watch you,” he said.

“So he did send you.” I narrowed my eyes at Aaron, but he was too freaked to notice.

“What am I going to tell Tommy?”

“Stop saying that. Now get my phone out of my bag and go back to the trailer park.”

“No way. I’m not leaving you. Tommy’d kill me.”

“Give me a break. Dad will kill you, if you let Bart Sendack get away.”

“Tommy don’t know about Sendack. We’re here for Gavin.”

“Yeah, and Gavin got killed cause he was chasing Sendack. Don’t you think we need to find him?”

Aaron sat on my bed and produced a Snickers bar from his jacket. He chewed it slowly, mulling over my argument.

“Look, we don’t have all day. Go back to the trailer park and wait for Sendack. Try to be unobtrusive. Park behind that orange trailer so he won’t see you, then follow him to the new apartment,” I said.

Aaron was unmoved. Such is the power of Dad.

I had one shot left and it had to be a good one. “If you do it, I promise to eat at whatever restaurant you want and eat whatever you want. Except crab. No crab.”

Aaron smiled as someone padded around the other side of the curtain. They paced back and forth, stopped, and a camera peeked around the curtain edge and began clicking away.

“You!” I yelled, pointing a finger at Nardo the paparazzo. “Get out!”

“No way,” he said. “This is too good. ‘Sex Kitten Sidelined with Crushing Injury.’” He swept his hand up high and beamed at his imaginary headline.

A transporter came in to take me to X-ray and pushed past Nardo. Aaron swallowed the rest of his Snickers whole, tossed me my phone, grabbed Nardo by the ear, and dragged him out the door.

I had my doubts about Aaron’s abilities, but he had his moments. Maybe he would be able to tail Sendack successfully. He’d helped Dad out quite a few times, but it takes more than one car to properly tail a suspect no matter what they show on TV. Hopefully, Sendack would be unsuspecting and make it easy on Aaron.

After an hour, my doctor came back and showed me my films. I had two fractures, but they were fixed and didn’t need to be set. I was flying on Demerol when my phone started rattling around on the side table.

“Lo,” I said.

“Mercy, why haven’t you called?” My mother, at her most irritated, sounded like the southern belle she was. Usually, Mom’s years in Missouri helped her hide her New Orleans beginnings.

“Hey y’all.” I mimicked her with a nice slur from the drug.

“Don’t you make fun of me, girl. I’ve been getting calls nonstop. They think I’m a man or I’m made up.”

I giggled.

“Mercy, I’m not laughing. I’ve been avoiding this since I was fourteen and now I have photographers following me to the grocery store,” said Mom. “What are you doing about this?”

“Nothin’. I’m in the hospital.”

“Oh, dear Lord. I knew we shouldn’t have sent you. Oh, my Lord.”

“Like you had a choice. Calm down. I just fell and broke my wrist,” I said.

“Did they catch him?”

“Who?”

“Whoever broke your wrist.”

“I told you I fell.” Talking to my mother brought me out of my stupor and reminded me Aaron was on his own. I was worried about Aaron. How did that happen?

“Alright then. Did you give them your insurance? You did bring your card with you, didn’t you?” Mom spoke faster and with a deeper accent the more worked up she got. Normally, I enjoyed a good fluster, but that time it made my head hurt. Painkillers didn’t agree with me. I didn’t like the separated-from-the-world feeling that others enjoyed so much, and Mom’s voice made me feel woozy.

“Oh, please stop talking,” I said.

“Sorry, honey. Let me talk to Aaron.”

“Not here.”

“What? He’s supposed to be watching you,” she said.

“Please, do you really think Aaron can watch me, Mother?”

“He’s better than nothing.”

“You’d think so, but no,” I said.

“Aaron’s a sweetheart and you best not have Fiked him. Do you understand me?”

“Whatever and I didn’t Fike him. He’s following a suspect,” I said.

“Who?” Mom sounded interested. I heard her take a drink and settle in for an explanation.

“Bart Sendack. He’s the one Gavin was looking for.”

“Did Gavin find him?”

“I don’t know. His notebook is missing. Anyway, tell Dad it’s going well. How is he?”

“Better. He’s sleeping,” Mom said.

“Tell him hello for me. I’ve got to go. The doctor’s coming in.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Mom hung up and I felt a twinge of guilt. I should’ve told her everything I found out — maybe Dad would be able to follow up on his end -- but there was a chance, a good chance Mom wouldn’t tell Dad. She might tell Chuck and then where would I be? I couldn’t stand the idea of Chuck using my work to his advantage. No, it was best to keep it to myself. I laid back on the adjustable bed and let sleep overtake me.

When I woke up, Aaron stood over me like a vulture. A vulture that smelled like ham hocks.

“You ate,” I said.

“Just a little. There’s this great place on Taverna Avenue, and the stuff they can do with a pig. You hungry?”

“You’re supposed to be watching Sendack. Can’t you...” I looked at my watch. “Can’t you concentrate for two hours?”

“I got him. You hungry? I brought soup and a sandwich.” He waved a Styrofoam container under my nose.

“No. I’m not hungry. What happened with Sendack?” I swallowed to get rid of the copious amounts of drool that threatened to spill over my lower lip.

Aaron waved the box again. “You know you want it.”

I snatched the box from his hands and scarfed down the best ham sandwich of my life. It’s a good thing I didn’t have an affinity for drugs because I’d have gotten huge.

After I finished, Aaron handed me a piece of paper with Bart’s address. It smelled of pork and I wanted to eat it, but I needed the address. That kept it out of my mouth, but just barely. It was a good thing because the doc came in and I’d have hated to explain why I was eating paper. I might’ve ended up in the psych ward and deservedly so. As it was, he discharged me with a lovely purple cast and prescription for Vicodin. I’d have to take it for a couple of days and resigned myself to Aaron driving. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but at least I’d have a good excuse if something happened.

Actually, something had already happened to the car. It smelled like the inside of a roast pig and trash covered the floor. I don’t even want to talk about the steering wheel and keys. Aaron slid into the driver’s seat. Maybe the drugs were stronger than I thought, but it sounded like Kajagoogoo on the stereo.

“I fixed your iPod,” he said. “You got it all now.”

All of what?

Aaron burnt rubber out of the parking lot and I pictured Dad’s face when he saw his expensive Italian tires. I’d never hear the end of it.

Aaron finally slowed down when we pulled into a parking lot so bumpy it felt like a gravel road. Bart and his beloved Bitsy had moved into an apartment that wasn’t much better than the trailer park. Tiffany would be pleased to know her daughter wasn’t getting above herself. The faded paint had a faded seventies motif complete with a jazzy stripe around the middle of the building. I thanked God for letting me miss out on the seventies. But the apartment building that sat in the middle of a sea of cracked asphalt and weeds did have a pool. Glorified bathtub would’ve been more accurate.

Aaron pointed out a window with a screen hanging half off and no curtains. Made sense. I doubted Bitsy or Bart cared much for the niceties of curtains.

“Are you sure that’s it?” I asked Aaron.

“That’s it. What now?”