The Big Gamble - Michael Mcgarrity [73]
“Tell me about yourself,” Tully said.
Ramona licked her lips and ran out her cover story:
Durango and her failed marriage, the need to make a change, dreams of becoming a model, looking to have some fun and excitement. Tully nodded all the way through it.
“Have you waitressed before?”
Ramona named the restaurant in Durango where she’d worked.
“Isn’t that in the old downtown Victorian hotel?”
“No, it’s by the railroad station. When were you in Durango?”
“Some time ago. I rode my Harley from Denver for the annual motorcycle rally.”
“Every September,” Ramona said with a nod. “It’s a lot of fun.”
“Why did you leave the restaurant?”
“My ex-husband didn’t like me working nights.”
“The jealous type?” Tully asked.
Ramona remembered her ex-boyfriend and made a face. “He thought every man I talked to I wanted to take to bed.”
Tully laughed. “Do you smoke dope, get high, use drugs?”
Ramona paused. “Sometimes,” she said in her tiniest voice. “But not a lot.”
“If I hire you, you can’t come to work high.”
“Okay,” she said seriously. Was she playing it too Goody Two-shoes?
“You see how my girls are required to dress at work. They show a lot of skin, a lot of T and A. Is that a problem for you?”
“I bet they get good tips,” Ramona replied with a grin, “and I can use the money. Besides, I don’t mind men looking.”
“Do you like men?”
“Most of them.”
“I have a girl leaving in a week,” Tully said. “See Lisa. She’s the hostess. She’ll give you a tour and an employment application. I’ll work your schedule around Cassie’s classes. You’ll have to take an alcohol beverage server course before you can start. Lisa will set it up.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tully.”
“You’ll do just fine,” Tully said. He watched Ramona leave, wondering how long it would take to get her strung out and in debt big-time to one of his dealers. He figured maybe two or three months, if he played it right.
Clouds had thickened outside, but not enough to promise rain. The April sun broke through the cover, casting patches of yellow light on the brick walkway that led to the old adobe house near the state capitol where Mark Shuler ran his research and polling company. Shuler was round, had probably been round all his life, but he wasn’t fat, although if you only looked at his chubby cheeks you might think so. Add a foot to his solid stocky frame and he’d pass for an NFL line-backer. He pressed his lips together when Kerney mentioned Tyler Norvell.
“I understand you went to college with Norvell,” Kerney added.
Shuler closed his office door on the four researchers who worked in office cubicles in a room just behind the reception area. “Why the interest in Norvell?”
“I’m told you don’t like him.”
“Don’t trust him would be a better way to put it.”
“Why is that?” Kerney asked.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re investigating Norvell?”
“No,” Kerney said with an apologetic smile.
“Then it’s probably best for me to keep my thoughts to myself,” Shuler said. “I make my living in the political world, Chief Kerney, and while it’s public knowledge that I’m not a member of Senator Norvell’s fan club, I keep my personal opinions to myself.”
“I’ll do the same with what you tell me,” Kerney said. “You went to college with Norvell. What kind of person was he back then?”
Shuler found his way to his desk chair and settled in. “Are you familiar with F. Scott Fitzgerald’s work?”
“I read The Great Gatsby in college.”
“Norvell was like Gatsby, always full of subterfuges, superficially charming, good at keeping up appearances, but basically unscrupulous. He was quickwitted, ambitious, and smart enough to align himself with people who would help him socially. By the time he entered law school, he’d transformed himself from just another college student who was scraping along into a big man on campus.”
“How did he do that?” Kerney asked, as he pushed an