Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [113]
CeeCee was moaning, her eyes still closed, but turning her head and attempting to grope her skull. “Where am I? What happened?” she gasped.
“Where’ve I heard that before?” Renie muttered. She went to CeeCee and put a foot on the dazed woman’s stomach. “Be thankful I’m not wearing spike heels,” she said.
CeeCee slowly opened her eyes. She looked up at Renie and began calling her a colorful variety of obscene names.
“Hey!” Renie shouted, applying more pressure with her foot. “I can outcuss you any day! My father was a seafaring man.”
CeeCee shut up. Judith could hear sirens, but that didn’t mean they were headed for the St. Georges’ address. Sirens in San Francisco seemed almost routine.
She watched Rhoda deftly minister to Blackie, despite Asthma’s licking of his mistress’s face. “It’s not too bad,” Rhoda declared. “You’ll definitely live. By the way, did you used to be a crook?”
“Yeah,” Blackie replied, his voice a bit stronger. “That dame’s right,” he said, nodding weakly at CeeCee. “We worked together eight, nine years ago. Not long after a job we pulled on Central Park West, I got caught going solo. I tried to cut a deal with the cops while I was in prison. When I came up for parole, I offered them my services. They laughed their heads off, so I moved out here. I met a guy in a bar who worked as a consultant for the local boys in blue. I told him my idea. He liked it, and I got hired on a year ago.”
“Really. How nice for you.” Rhoda finished her task, giving Blackie a gentle pat on his good shoulder. “And who might that consultant be?”
Blackie laughed, though it obviously hurt. “You ought to know. It was your old man, Rick St. George.”
“Ricky,” Rhoda said in a severe tone, “doesn’t always tell me everything.” She’d poured herself a martini and asked the cousins to help themselves. “So why the farce?”
“It was CeeCee’s idea,” Blackie said. “She was sure those two”—he pointed at Judith and Renie—“really had the jewels. I had to play along or blow my cover.”
CeeCee was still on the floor, though Renie no longer held her down. “If they didn’t do it, then that old bat Erma must have hocked them!” CeeCee railed. “Nasty old bitch! Why doesn’t somebody bump her off?”
“Why would she pawn her precious jewels?” Judith inquired, now hearing sirens very close by.
“Because Racey—” CeeCee stopped and made a disgusted face. “That jerk of a Horace has blown all his money on his stupid cork-and-sponge museum, that’s why. He’s in debt to his eyeballs. If you ask me, he’s bringing Erma down with him. Serves her right for hanging out with that old creep. If he’d set me up the way I wanted, I wouldn’t have had to steal anything. But the SOB can’t afford me.” She waved a finger at Blackie. “And you! I’m not sorry I shot you, you double-crosser! All you guys are a bunch of lying, cheating, cheap bastards! I hate men!” CeeCee burst into blubbering tears just as Rick arrived with the cops.
An hour later everyone, including the EMTs and the firefighters, had left except for the cousins and the St. Georges. Seemingly unruffled, Rick and Rhoda were sipping martinis. Calming their own nerves, Judith cradled a stiff scotch while Renie sipped Canadian whiskey and tried to ward off Asthma’s nuzzling advances.
“Really, darling,” Rhoda said, pretending to pout, “you might have told me about Blackie. This entire charade could have been avoided.”
Rick shrugged. “Sorry, sugar. But I’d promised Biff—and Blackie—to keep mum. It was a police matter. I can’t violate their trust.”
Rhoda blew Rick a kiss. “I forgive you. But next time, consider the possible consequences of leaving me in the dark.”
“Ah,” Rick said in a seductive tone, “but that’s where I like to find you.”
Rhoda seemed appeased. Judith, however, had a different kind of question for Rick. “Do you really think Erma pawned her jewelry?”
“I think she sold it in some underhanded manner,” Rick said. “We’ve been getting reports of a couple of pieces showing up in some very odd places, including Hong Kong and Bangkok. I suspect Horace has been acting