After two rings, she picked up with the same gruff “Hello.”
I said, “Hi, Pauline. This is Kinsey. You remember me? Christian’s friend. We met when you and Geraldine were living over on Dave Levine Street.”
There was a pause while she tried to place me. “I don’t believe I do, but that was some years ago.”
“Never mind. It was just the one occasion. Listen, I hear Christian’s back from Lompoc and I was hoping to catch up with him. Is he there?”
“He’s not.”
“Do you expect him anytime soon?”
“Well, honey, I have no idea. You know him. He comes and goes as he pleases.”
“If I leave my number, could you have him get in touch as soon as he comes in? Nothing urgent, but I’d appreciate it.”
She took down my office number as I recited it slowly.
Then I said, “Is he still hanging out at that little bar up the street from you?”
“He’s there most nights. If you don’t hear back, you drop in after nine o’clock, you can’t miss him. I might see you there myself.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks so much.”
• • •
Lou’s Bar and Grill was right where I’d seen it last, at the corner of Dave Levine and Oliver, half a block north of Trace. The interior was small and dark, except for two pinball machines in the rear that gave off a garish glow and tinkled merrily like the slots in a Las Vegas casino. I was decked out in my usual jeans and turtleneck, but I’d swapped out my tennis shoes for my boots and I’d shrugged into my blazer, which I fancied contributed a jaunty air of confidence.
I had to park around the corner, but the walk was only a half block. I arrived at 8:45, allowing myself time to get a feel for the place, which was half full—all men, and half of them with lighted cigarettes. Like many neighborhood establishments, there was a certain proprietary air among the patrons. These were the drinkers who showed up after work and stayed until closing time. They didn’t appreciate strangers in their midst. A number of them turned and stared at me pointedly before looking away. I ignored the hostility and found a seat at the bar with an empty stool on either side.
The bartender, middle-aged and male, appeared, and I ordered a Diet Pepsi just as a change of pace. Sitting at a bar alone can be a tricky proposition. On the whole, I thought it was better to be judged haughty and aloof than as a woman on the prowl. If I’d had a paperback mystery in my shoulder bag, I’d have pulled it out and buried my nose in it.
At ten after nine, the door opened and Christian ambled in. I could see him do a quick crowd assessment, searching for familiar faces. His gaze passed over me and then came back. He took his time circling the room, greeting people here and there. Eventually he came up on my right side as though entirely by accident.
“This seat taken?”
“Help yourself,” I said.
He gestured at the bartender, who went about the business of making him a martini that he presented in an icy glass with two olives. He seemed comfortable with his transformation—expensive wardrobe, his hair streaked with shades of copper and pale gold. The spray-on tan had faded, but it still looked good on him.
He kept his gaze on his martini when he next spoke. “You’re Kinsey, right?”
“How did you know?”
“You’re the only one in here I don’t know. My grandmother says you left a message for me.”
“You didn’t return my call.”
“You left one earlier with my parole officer.”
“You didn’t return that one, either.”
“I figured if it was important you’d get back to me, which you did. So what’s this about?”
“You know what I do for a living?”
“You’re a private investigator.”
“Exactly. A couple of weeks ago, I was hired by a woman who claimed she wanted to locate a child she put up for adoption thirty-some-odd years ago. Yours was the name she gave me, along with newspaper clippings about your trial. I found out later she was full of shit, but by then I’d already sent off my report, in which I gave her your mother’s address and phone number. I may have put you in harm’s way and I thought you deserved a warning.”
“Two weeks is a little late for warnings, don’t you think?”
“It took me a while to figure out she’d put one over on me. I assume Teddy’s been in touch.”
“That’s correct,” he said.
He turned and looked at me with eyes that were a startling gray. Up close I could see that his teeth were good, and his aftershave suggested carnations and clean skin. These are qualities that loom large with me. For the first time, I entertained the idea that he was in Teddy’s life for the amusement value. I might have found him amusing myself, though his criminal history left much to be desired. A hard-boiled private eye and a bank robber seemed like a strange mix.
