Killing the Blues - Michael Brandman [47]
“Cut the crap, Hasty. You’ll be bragging about this within the hour.”
“Where are the vehicles?”
“They’ll be here momentarily,” Jesse said.
“Don’t go thinking this means you own me,” Hasty said.
“How could you say such a thing,” Jesse said.
51
Jesse fed Mildred Memory and left the house to join the night-patrol team. Thus far the search had turned up nothing. No one recognized the photo of Rollo Nurse. No one remembered having seen him. The stepped-up night patrol had garnered no results. He was prepared for a long night.
Several minutes after Jesse left, Rollo emerged from the darkness at the entrance to the footbridge. He walked swiftly across it.
He went around to the porch doors, and after determining they were locked, he smashed a glass pane on one of them.
He reached inside, mindful of the broken glass. He turned the knob and opened the door.
He went inside.
So this is how he lives, thought Rollo, as he looked around the house. Not so fancy. His things aren’t so fancy.
He took out his flashlight and his bowie knife. He began to systematically destroy the living room. He smashed lamps. He slammed the TV to the floor. He broke glasses. He sliced open the leather armchairs and ripped out the stuffing. He upended the desk.
In the kitchen, he noticed the bowls of food that had been placed on the floor. He picked one of them up and caught a whiff of cat food.
He continued his destruction.
But now he was also searching for a cat.
Suitcase drove and Jesse rode shotgun as they joined the night patrol. There was no sign of Rollo.
Somewhere between three and four a.m., they decided to call it a night. Suitcase was hungry, and he convinced Jesse to accompany him to a highway diner.
Suitcase ordered the breakfast special. Three eggs with sausage and home fries. He slathered his sourdough toast with butter and jelly, and washed it down with a supersized Diet Coke.
Jesse had coffee.
“I didn’t think I’d be eating alone,” Suitcase said.
“But you compensated by eating enough for us both,” Jesse said.
“I’m still growing,” Suitcase said.
“Yes, but in which direction,” Jesse said.
Jesse noticed that the waitress, a pretty woman named Debby, was particularly solicitous of Suitcase’s dining needs. She hovered over him when she took his order. She brushed up against him when she served it. She kept returning to ask if everything was all right.
He also noticed that Suitcase interrupted his gourmandizing to watch Debby every time she sauntered by.
“You got something going with her,” Jesse said.
“What do you mean,” Suitcase said.
“Debby. The waitress. You got something going with her?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Come on, Suit. The only thing that tears your attention away from your food is the sight of her ass.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say, Jesse.”
“But it’s true.”
Suitcase didn’t say anything.
“So,” Jesse said.
“Maybe.”
“What maybe?”
“We went to high school together,” Suitcase said.
“And?”
“We dated.”
“And?”
“She wanted to get married, and I didn’t.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“So she married someone else.”
“And?”
“Stop saying ‘and.’ ”
Jesse shrugged.
“So she got married to someone else,” Jesse said.
“Yes,” Suitcase said.
“And?”
“She got divorced.”
“Kids?”
“Two.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“We fool around,” Suitcase said.
“Serious?”
“Not serious. She’s got two kids, for God’s sake.”
“But you like each other.”
“After a fashion.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We like each other, but we’re not serious,” Suitcase said.
“Is she the reason we came here?”
“It’s a toss-up.”
“A toss-up?”
“The breakfast special was a big attraction.”
“And Debby?”
“She was a big attraction, too.”
“Which isn’t obvious in any way.”
“Is it obvious,” Suitcase said.
“Do firemen wear red suspenders,” Jesse said.
Jesse knew something was wrong as soon as he crossed the footbridge. He could sense it. He unholstered his pistol, turned on his high-beam flashlight, and began to circle the house. He saw that the front door was off its hinges, hanging open. He noticed