V is for Vengeance (Kinsey Millhone 22)

I put down my vacuum cleaner and unlocked the door, talking to him over my shoulder. “You’re lucky you caught me. I don’t usually come in on Saturdays.”

I ushered him into the office ahead of me, noting that his limp was pronounced. I knew how he felt. Pinky was in his sixties, coal black hair, black brows, and deep lines around his mouth. He sported the ghost of a mustache and the shadow of a goatee. There was a band of white on his left wrist where he’d shed a watch.

“I’m about to put on a pot of coffee if you’d like a cup.”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

After his passion for racing was squelched, his second calling was a long, inglorious career as a nonresidential burglar. I did hear he’d eventually taken to burgling houses, but I hadn’t had that confirmed. He was the man who’d given me a set of key picks in a leather case years before, essential tools on those occasions when a locked door stands between me and something I want.

He’d hired me during one of his stints in prison when he’d been worried about his wife, the aforementioned Dodie, convinced she was dallying with the guy next door. She was actually being faithful (as far as I could tell), which I’d reported after sitting surveillance off and on for a month. He gave me the picks in lieu of payment, since his cash reserves were all illegally acquired and had to be returned.

“Why burglary?” I’d asked once.

He’d flashed me a modest smile. “I’m a natural. You know, because I’m a skinny guy and agile as a cat. I can squeeze in through places lot of other fellows can’t. Job’s more physical than you’d think. I can do a hundred one-arm push-ups, fifty either side.”

“Good for you,” I’d said.

“There’s actually a trick to it, something a fellow taught me up in Soledad.”

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

I put on a pot of coffee and went to my desk, where I sat down in my swivel chair and propped my feet on the edge. Meanwhile, Pinky remained standing, scanning my office with an eye to where the valuables might be kept.

He shook his head. “This is a comedown. Last I saw, you had an office over on State Street. Nice location. Very nice. This—I don’t know so much. I guess I’m used to seeing you in classier digs.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” I remarked. With Pinky, there wasn’t any point in taking offense. He might be a repeat offender but he was never guilty of subterfuge.

When the coffee was done I filled two mugs and handed him one before I returned to my swivel chair. Pinky finally settled into one of my two visitor’s chairs, sucking in hot coffee with a series of slurping sounds. “This is good. I like it strong.”

“Thanks. How’s Dodie?”

“Good. She’s great. She’s gone into direct sales, like an entrepreneur.”

“Selling what?”

“Nothing door-to-door. She’s a personal beauty consultant for a big national company, Glorious Womanhood. You probably heard of it.”

“Don’t think so,” I said.

“Well, it’s bigger than Mary Kay. It’s Christian-based. She sets up these home parties for bunches of women. Not our place but someone else’s, where they serve food. Then she’ll do makeovers, demonstrating products you can order on the spot. Last month, she edged out the regional manager for top sales.”

“Sounds like she’s doing well. I’m impressed.”

“Me too. I guess the regional manager was fit to be tied. Nobody ever beat her out before, but Dodie’s purpose-driven when she puts her mind to it. Used to be when I was gone, she’d get all mopey and depressed. I’d be doing hard time and she’d be laying around watching TV and eating fatty snacks. We’d talk on the phone and I’d try to get her motivated—you know, building up her self-esteem—but it never did much good. Then she hears about this business opportunity, similar to a franchise or something like that. I didn’t think much of it at the time because she never stuck to anything until this came along. This past year, she’s earned enough to buy a Cadillac and qualify for a free vacation cruise.”

“Where to?”

“The Caribbean . . . St. Thomas . . . and around in there. A flight to Fort Lauderdale and then onto the ship.”

“You going with her?”

“Sure. If I can get myself set. Two of us have never been on a vacation together. It’s tough to make plans when we never know if I’ll be in jail or out. Something like this, I don’t want to be dependent on her moneywise. The trip is all-expenses-paid, but there’s incidentals—on-shore excursions and the casino when you’re out at sea. Two of the six nights formal wear’s required so I’ll have to rent me a tux. Can you picture it? I always swore I’d have to be dead before you caught me in one, but she’s all excited about the dress she had made. Not that she’d show me. She says it’d be bad luck, like seeing a bride decked out in her wedding finery before you get to the church. It’s a knockoff of a gown Debbie Reynolds wore one year to the Academy Awards. There’s even a good possibility she’ll be crowned Glorious Woman of the Year.”