Read Online Drag Queen in the Court of Death by Caro Soles - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Caro Soles
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done, I suppose," I said after a pause. "What more can they say?"
"Good man! That's the spirit! Bash on, regardless!" The color had come back to her cheeks. I felt defeated. How had she managed this? I had been so sure when I came in here. "I was always on your side," she said as I was leaving. "Laura was Miss Priss even in school." She kissed the air near me and closed the door.
My side. I guess a lot of people say things like that. Me, I was just trying to get along, move along in my life, and lately that was getting more and more complicated.
* * * *
Logan thought it was amusing, how I had been neatly trapped by pity.
"She was all crisp efficiency when this started," I said.
"She was getting it off her desk," Logan said. His cracked lips gleamed with medicated gel, and his eyes were too bright, but he was very aware and interested. I felt guilty for not visiting in several days.
When I explained about Ryan, he laughed, a startling, rough sound that grated on my ears. "Michael, you're getting old. Women walk over you, boys move into your house. Watch out for the silver."
"God, he can have it. Heavy, old, ornate stuff that's a bitch to clean."
"And you use it all the time, right?"
I shrugged.
He adjusted himself on the bed, his breath rasping as he changed position. "So did you know your Ronnie was involved with the mob?"
"What?" I stared at him, knowing he was going for shock value, knowing he had succeeded, but not wanting it obvious. I took a big breath. "He hasn't been mine for twenty-five years," I said testily, "and he was certainly not a mafioso. I expect they wouldn't want to claim him, either," I added, as an afterthought.
"What about the Krays?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Anyway, they weren't Mafia."
"I take it you haven't seen the paper today."
"I thought it was off the front page."
"Of the Globe , maybe. The others.... Anyway, the big news is that the corpse was shot in the back of the head with a .32."
"That's not news. We already knew he was shot."
"In the back of the head, Michael. Execution-style, and that spells mob. Big bad guys with no necks and black shirts."
"Oh shit."
"That too."
"But that's ridiculous! If the corpse is as old as they say, that means Ronnie was just eighteen or nineteen. Twenty, max!"
"And he did some drugs, right?"
"It was the '60s, Logan. Even I did some drugs!"
"I hear you. Was Ronnie dealing?"
"I don't know. He was going a bit wonky there for a while before I left. But no, not in '65. Whatever it was he was into, I'm sure he was just experimenting. He was a kid. Everyone was into it."
"A bit wonky," Logan mused.
"Maybe Al was the one in the mob," I suggested, feeling a slight tingle of delight at the thought. Danger, at a safe distance. "Maybe that's why he was executed."
"And why Ronnie kept him all these years in his trunk?"
I shrugged. "That's a problem, I admit."
"The main problem is that we need the chronology to figure this out. We don't know exactly how long that thing was in the trunk. Once we do, we can start to narrow down our suspects."
"Narrow down our suspects," I repeated, incredulously. "What is this? You auditioning for Hercule Poirot now?"
"There's not a hell of a lot to take my mind away from these closing-in walls," he said bitterly. "These sickly hospital smells, the ooze of my own putrefaction always seeping into my brain. I need a distraction."
"Fine. I give you what my friend Lew calls cosily The Mummy Guy . He's all yours."
"I need details."
"You just said yourself you can't start until we know how old the thing is. Julie is tracking down Al Vecchio for me, so we can start to do a 'last seen by so and so' scenario."
A nurse swept in, looking most un-nurselike in a purple pantsuit, her long blonde hair in a French braid down her back. "It's that time again," she said, with a false heartiness that set my teeth on edge.
"Oh boy," Logan sang back. "Time for us to have our scrubba-dub."
I didn't envy his nurses as I gathered my things and left, promising to fill him in
"Good man! That's the spirit! Bash on, regardless!" The color had come back to her cheeks. I felt defeated. How had she managed this? I had been so sure when I came in here. "I was always on your side," she said as I was leaving. "Laura was Miss Priss even in school." She kissed the air near me and closed the door.
My side. I guess a lot of people say things like that. Me, I was just trying to get along, move along in my life, and lately that was getting more and more complicated.
* * * *
Logan thought it was amusing, how I had been neatly trapped by pity.
"She was all crisp efficiency when this started," I said.
"She was getting it off her desk," Logan said. His cracked lips gleamed with medicated gel, and his eyes were too bright, but he was very aware and interested. I felt guilty for not visiting in several days.
When I explained about Ryan, he laughed, a startling, rough sound that grated on my ears. "Michael, you're getting old. Women walk over you, boys move into your house. Watch out for the silver."
"God, he can have it. Heavy, old, ornate stuff that's a bitch to clean."
"And you use it all the time, right?"
I shrugged.
He adjusted himself on the bed, his breath rasping as he changed position. "So did you know your Ronnie was involved with the mob?"
"What?" I stared at him, knowing he was going for shock value, knowing he had succeeded, but not wanting it obvious. I took a big breath. "He hasn't been mine for twenty-five years," I said testily, "and he was certainly not a mafioso. I expect they wouldn't want to claim him, either," I added, as an afterthought.
"What about the Krays?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Anyway, they weren't Mafia."
"I take it you haven't seen the paper today."
"I thought it was off the front page."
"Of the Globe , maybe. The others.... Anyway, the big news is that the corpse was shot in the back of the head with a .32."
"That's not news. We already knew he was shot."
"In the back of the head, Michael. Execution-style, and that spells mob. Big bad guys with no necks and black shirts."
"Oh shit."
"That too."
"But that's ridiculous! If the corpse is as old as they say, that means Ronnie was just eighteen or nineteen. Twenty, max!"
"And he did some drugs, right?"
"It was the '60s, Logan. Even I did some drugs!"
"I hear you. Was Ronnie dealing?"
"I don't know. He was going a bit wonky there for a while before I left. But no, not in '65. Whatever it was he was into, I'm sure he was just experimenting. He was a kid. Everyone was into it."
"A bit wonky," Logan mused.
"Maybe Al was the one in the mob," I suggested, feeling a slight tingle of delight at the thought. Danger, at a safe distance. "Maybe that's why he was executed."
"And why Ronnie kept him all these years in his trunk?"
I shrugged. "That's a problem, I admit."
"The main problem is that we need the chronology to figure this out. We don't know exactly how long that thing was in the trunk. Once we do, we can start to narrow down our suspects."
"Narrow down our suspects," I repeated, incredulously. "What is this? You auditioning for Hercule Poirot now?"
"There's not a hell of a lot to take my mind away from these closing-in walls," he said bitterly. "These sickly hospital smells, the ooze of my own putrefaction always seeping into my brain. I need a distraction."
"Fine. I give you what my friend Lew calls cosily The Mummy Guy . He's all yours."
"I need details."
"You just said yourself you can't start until we know how old the thing is. Julie is tracking down Al Vecchio for me, so we can start to do a 'last seen by so and so' scenario."
A nurse swept in, looking most un-nurselike in a purple pantsuit, her long blonde hair in a French braid down her back. "It's that time again," she said, with a false heartiness that set my teeth on edge.
"Oh boy," Logan sang back. "Time for us to have our scrubba-dub."
I didn't envy his nurses as I gathered my things and left, promising to fill him in
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