The Narrows - Michael Connelly [95]
The first photo I showed her was the front shot of Shandy on Terry McCaleb’s boat.
“When was the last time you saw him around here?” I asked.
Tammy looked at the photo for a long moment. She didn’t take it from me, though I would have given it to her to hold. After what seemed like an interminable moment, when I thought the door would swing open and the woman named Tawny would order me out, she finally spoke.
“I don’t know . . . at least a month, maybe more. He hasn’t been around.”
I felt like climbing on the bed and bouncing, but I kept my cool. I wanted her to believe I knew everything she was telling me. She would feel more comfortable that way and be more forthcoming.
“Do you remember where it was you saw him?”
“Just out front. I walked a customer out and Tom was there waiting.”
“Uh-huh. Did he say anything to you?”
“No, he never does. He doesn’t even know me really.”
“Then what happened?”
“Nothing happened. My guy got in the car and they drove away.”
I was beginning to get a picture. Tom had a car. He was a driver.
“Who called him? Was it you or had the client already done that?”
“It was Tawny probably. I don’t really remember.”
“Because it happened all the time.”
“Yeah.”
“But he hasn’t been around in, what, a month?”
“Yeah. Maybe more. Is that enough of a lead? I mean, what do you want?”
She was looking at the second hundred in my hand.
“Two things. You know Tom’s last name?”
“No.”
“Okay, how does somebody get a hold of him if they need a ride?”
“Call him, I guess.”
“Can you get me the number?”
“Just go over to the sports bar, that’s where we call him. I don’t know the number offhand. It’s up there next to the phone in front.”
“The sports bar, okay.”
I didn’t give her the money.
“One last thing.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I know but I mean it this time.”
I showed her the six-pack of photos Rachel had brought of the missing men. These were better and much clearer than the photos that had run with the newspaper article. These were full-color candids given to Vegas Metro by their families and then turned over as a courtesy to the FBI.
“Any of these guys your customers?”
“Look, mister, we don’t talk about customers. We’re very discreet and don’t give out that kind of information.”
“They’re dead, Tammy. It doesn’t matter.”
Her eyes widened and then lowered to the photos in my hand. These she took and she looked through them like they made up a hand of cards. I could tell by the way her eyes flared that she’d been dealt an ace.
“What?”
“Well, this one guy looks like a guy that was here. He was with Mecca, I think. You could ask her.”
I heard a horn honk twice. I knew it was from my car. Rachel was getting impatient.
“Go get Mecca and bring her back here. I’ll give you the rest of the money then. Tell her I’ve got some money for her, too. Don’t tell her what I want. Tell her I just want two girls at once.”
“All right, but that’s it. You pay me.”
“I will.”
She left the room and I sat on the bed looking around while I waited. The walls were paneled with fake cherry wood. There was one window with a frilly curtain. I leaned across the bed and pulled the curtain open. The view was of nothing but barren desert. The bed and the trailer might as well be sitting on the moon.
The door opened and I turned back, ready to give Tammy the rest of her money and to dive into my pocket for Mecca’s share. But there weren’t two women in the doorway. There were two men. They were big—one larger than the other—and their arms below their black T-shirts were completely carved up with jailhouse ink. On the bigger man’s bulging biceps was a skull with a halo above it and that told me who they were.
“What’s up, Doc?” said the bigger one.
“You must be Tawny,” I said.
Without a word he reached down and grabbed two fists full of my jacket. He pulled me up off the bed and tossed me out into the hallway to the waiting arms of his partner. The new one shoved me down the hallway in the opposite direction I had come