What’d you hear? Who told you this?”
“I can’t tell you where the information came from, we just got it from one of our intelligence guys . . . . she said that Julie was selling, ummm, oral sex at a hundred bucks a time.”
“Blow jobs?” Lapp whispered hoarsely. He looked from Lucas to Del, unbelieving, then at the two painters, and he said to the painters, “You know who they were talking to? That fuckin’ Haack.”
The baseball cap nodded judiciously and said, “Yup. Bet it was.”
“Who’s Haack?” Del asked. He looked at Lucas, then back at Lapp.
“Gerry fuckin’ Haack,” Lapp said. “He saw me in here a couple times with her—this must’ve been last year, right after he got out of jail—and the last time he said something about me getting a blow job from her. I told him to shut his mouth or I’d pull his fuckin’ nose off.”
“He’s got a thing about blow jobs,” the football-shirt said. “Always hearin’ that this chick gives head or somebody was caught gettin’ some head.”
Lucas scratched his forehead. “Ah, shit.”
Del asked Lapp, “What do you know about art?”
“Art who?” Lapp asked with apparent beetle-browed sincerity, and when Del started to laugh, said, “What?”
“Did you actually date Aronson?” Lucas asked.
“Hell no. I knew her way back when,” Lapp said. He shook a brown cigarillo out of a cardboard box and lit it with a Zippo. He blew a stream of smoke and said, “We went to kindergarten together and the same schools up to eighth grade, and then they moved away. She came in here with a couple of other friends from the neighborhood, and that’s when I saw her again. But we were doing nothing. Nothing. I’m happily married.” The baseball cap guy snorted, and Lapp turned and looked up and said, “Fuck you, Dick, this is serious.”
“Was she dating anybody that you knew of?” Lucas asked.
“Is this the first time you guys . . . I mean, how come you don’t know this shit already? She disappeared more’n a year ago.”
“We never knew about the St. Paul connection,” Lucas said. “We were just checking out a random tip.”
“Well, she said she was going out with an artist guy—is that the art you meant?—I think maybe over where she worked or something. I think they were . . . in bed.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because he was taking these pills. She told me this, we were laughing about it.” He looked at the baseball cap. “What do you call them? That new cholesterol drug? Lapovorin? Is that it? Anyway, she said he’d told her that the pills had weird sexual side effects. They made you come backwards.”
“Come backwards?” Del asked. He seemed fascinated by the concept. “How can you come backwards?”
“Beats the shit out of me,” Lapp said, leaking more brown smoke from the cigarillo. “But that’s what she said. He said that he had to quit the pills, because instead of coming, he went.”
Nobody laughed; this could be a serious problem. “What else did she say about him?” Lucas said, leaning forward. “Names or where he lived—”
“Nothing. He was older than she was. This was like two weeks before she disappeared.”
“That’s all? She was dating an artist and he was older than her.”
“Actually, I might have seen the guy . . . .”
Lucas and Del looked at each other, and then Lucas said, “Where?”
“I was coming out of Spalonini over in Minneapolis. I went in there for lunch? There’s this diner across the street.”
“The Cheese-It. She worked there part-time,” Del said.
“Yeah. I saw her coming out of there with a guy and she had her arm under his. Tough-looking guy, but kind of artistlike. You know, he had a buzzcut and a three-day beard, had this long dark wool coat all the way down to his ankles. Maybe an earring, I think. They walked on up the street.”
“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?” Lucas asked.
Lapp thought for a minute, then said,
“I can’t tell you where the information came from, we just got it from one of our intelligence guys . . . . she said that Julie was selling, ummm, oral sex at a hundred bucks a time.”
“Blow jobs?” Lapp whispered hoarsely. He looked from Lucas to Del, unbelieving, then at the two painters, and he said to the painters, “You know who they were talking to? That fuckin’ Haack.”
The baseball cap nodded judiciously and said, “Yup. Bet it was.”
“Who’s Haack?” Del asked. He looked at Lucas, then back at Lapp.
“Gerry fuckin’ Haack,” Lapp said. “He saw me in here a couple times with her—this must’ve been last year, right after he got out of jail—and the last time he said something about me getting a blow job from her. I told him to shut his mouth or I’d pull his fuckin’ nose off.”
“He’s got a thing about blow jobs,” the football-shirt said. “Always hearin’ that this chick gives head or somebody was caught gettin’ some head.”
Lucas scratched his forehead. “Ah, shit.”
Del asked Lapp, “What do you know about art?”
“Art who?” Lapp asked with apparent beetle-browed sincerity, and when Del started to laugh, said, “What?”
“Did you actually date Aronson?” Lucas asked.
“Hell no. I knew her way back when,” Lapp said. He shook a brown cigarillo out of a cardboard box and lit it with a Zippo. He blew a stream of smoke and said, “We went to kindergarten together and the same schools up to eighth grade, and then they moved away. She came in here with a couple of other friends from the neighborhood, and that’s when I saw her again. But we were doing nothing. Nothing. I’m happily married.” The baseball cap guy snorted, and Lapp turned and looked up and said, “Fuck you, Dick, this is serious.”
“Was she dating anybody that you knew of?” Lucas asked.
“Is this the first time you guys . . . I mean, how come you don’t know this shit already? She disappeared more’n a year ago.”
“We never knew about the St. Paul connection,” Lucas said. “We were just checking out a random tip.”
“Well, she said she was going out with an artist guy—is that the art you meant?—I think maybe over where she worked or something. I think they were . . . in bed.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because he was taking these pills. She told me this, we were laughing about it.” He looked at the baseball cap. “What do you call them? That new cholesterol drug? Lapovorin? Is that it? Anyway, she said he’d told her that the pills had weird sexual side effects. They made you come backwards.”
“Come backwards?” Del asked. He seemed fascinated by the concept. “How can you come backwards?”
“Beats the shit out of me,” Lapp said, leaking more brown smoke from the cigarillo. “But that’s what she said. He said that he had to quit the pills, because instead of coming, he went.”
Nobody laughed; this could be a serious problem. “What else did she say about him?” Lucas said, leaning forward. “Names or where he lived—”
“Nothing. He was older than she was. This was like two weeks before she disappeared.”
“That’s all? She was dating an artist and he was older than her.”
“Actually, I might have seen the guy . . . .”
Lucas and Del looked at each other, and then Lucas said, “Where?”
“I was coming out of Spalonini over in Minneapolis. I went in there for lunch? There’s this diner across the street.”
“The Cheese-It. She worked there part-time,” Del said.
“Yeah. I saw her coming out of there with a guy and she had her arm under his. Tough-looking guy, but kind of artistlike. You know, he had a buzzcut and a three-day beard, had this long dark wool coat all the way down to his ankles. Maybe an earring, I think. They walked on up the street.”
“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?” Lucas asked.
Lapp thought for a minute, then said,
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