W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone 23)

The white kid spoke up in an effort to present a friendlier point of view. Without quite meeting my gaze, he said, “That’s Pearl. This here’s Dandy and I’m Felix.”

“Nice meeting you,” I said.

In a gesture that I hoped would convey both goodwill and trust, I held out my hand. There was an awkward moment and then Felix got the message. He shook hands with me, smiling sheepishly, his gaze fixed on the grass. I could see grungy metal braces on his teeth. Was the welfare system in the business of correcting malocclusions these days? That was hard to believe. Maybe he’d been fitted as a teen and had run away from home before his dentist finished his work. His teeth did look straight, but I questioned the wisdom of sporting orthodontia for life.

Dandy, the older gentleman, spoke up, his tone mild. “Don’t mind Pearl. It’s almost supper time and she’s hypoglycemic. Brings out a side of her we’d just as soon not see. What’s your interest in our friend?”

“He had my name and phone number in his pocket. The coroner’s office asked me to ID the guy, but I’d never seen him before. Were you aware that he’d passed away?”

Pearl snorted. “We look like fools? Of course he’s dead. Why else would the coroner send a van? He was laying out there still as stone an hour and a half after sunup. Down here, come daybreak, you better be on the move or the cops will bust you for loitering.” Her lower teeth were dark and widely spaced as though every other one had been yanked out.

“Can you tell me his name?”

She measured me, sizing up my capacity to pay. “How much is it worth to you?”

Dandy said, “Come on now, Pearl. Why don’t you answer the lady? She asked all polite and look how you’re doing her.”

“Would you butt out? I can handle this myself if it’s all the same to you.”

“Fellow passed on. She wants to know who he is. No reason to be rude.”

“I asked why it’s any of her concern? She ain’t answer me, so why should I answer her?”

I said, “There’s nothing complicated going on. The coroner’s office wants to contact his next of kin so his family can decide what to do with his remains. I’d hate to see him buried in a pauper’s grave.”

“What difference does it make as long as it don’t cost us anything?”

Her hostility was getting on my nerves, but I didn’t think this was the time to introduce the notion of sensitivity training when she was already “sharing” her feelings. She went on. “What’s it to you? You a social worker? Is that it? You work for St. Terry’s or that clinic at the university?”

I was doing an admirable job of keeping my temper in check. Nothing sets me off quicker than belligerence, warranted or otherwise. “I’m a private investigator. Your friend must have found my name in the yellow pages. I wondered if he’d had a problem he needed help with.”

“We all need help,” Pearl said. She held out a hand to Dandy. “Gimme up.”

He stood and pulled her to her feet. I watched while she dusted imaginary blades of grass from the back of her pants.

“Nice making your acquaintance,” Dandy said.

The white kid took his cue from his companions and stubbed out the last half inch of the cigarette. He stood and took one last sip from the soda can before he crushed it underfoot. He might have left it in the grass, but since I was standing right there watching him, he tucked it in his backpack like a good Boy Scout. He gathered his sleeping bag, bundled it carelessly, and secured it to his backpack with a length of rope.

Clearly, our chummy conversation was coming to an end. I said, “Anybody know where he was from?”

No response.

“Can’t you even give me a hint?”

The white kid said, “Terrence.”

Pearl hissed, trying to shut him up.

Meanwhile, I was drawing a blank. “Which is where?”

Felix was staring off to one side. “You ast his first name.”

“Got it. Terrence. I appreciate the information. What about his last name?”

“Hey! Enough. We don’t have to tell you nothing,” Pearl said.

I was about to choke the woman to death with my bare hands when Dandy spoke up.

“You have a business card? I’m not saying we’ll get back to you, but just in case.”

“Of course.”

I reached into my shoulder bag and took one out, which I handed to him. “I jog most weekday mornings, so you can always look for me on the bike path. I’m usually here by six fifteen.”