head. “A Laundromat. And the owner, he promised no trouble from the neighborhood. None, he said. Ha!” Without speaking to the newcomer, he went to the section that housed the vodka and unerringly plucked a bottle from the shelf. The older man withdrew an ancient wallet from his pants pocket and painstakingly counted out the appropriate amount while the storekeeper rang up the sale and placed the bottle in a sack.
“Was there a building in that lot across the street when you first opened up?” Risa asked.
“Nothing as long as I have been here.” The owner and his customer made their exchange silently.
“What about the Laundromat’s name?”
The storeowner was clearly losing interest in the conversation. “I do not remember.”
“Suds ’N’ Such,” a quavering voice put in.
Risa and Nate turned to the old man. He was trying unsuccessfully to replace his wallet in his pocket. After several attempts he finally succeeded. Looking up, he found their gazes on him.
“Didn’t last long, though.”
“Do you remember Zena’s Place being here?”
“Oh, yeah. Of course. Nice little lunch counter. Opened for dinner some nights, too.” He hadn’t bothered to put in his bottom partial plate. Or maybe he didn’t own one. “She’s been dead now . . .” He rubbed his grizzled chin reflectively. “Shoot. Since ’91 or so.”
“You’ve lived in the neighborhood a long time?” Risa thought he looked as if he could have been here when the buildings first sprang up. He wore a floor-length army green topcoat, hanging open, although the temperatures had turned much warmer in the last couple days. Baggy black pants with matching suspenders over a stained white T-shirt and boots completed his attire.
“Lived upstairs for nearly forty years. Back then this wasn’t a bad place to raise a family. Lots of poor folk but nones that’d do you no harm if you left them alone. Not like now.”
“Maybe you can tell us about what used to be in that empty lot across the street.”
“That’s been empty nearly fifteen years now,” he said in response to Risa’s question. “Was condemned long time before that. Thought the city never would get around to tearing that old place down. Were two buildings there at one time. A little shoe repair shop called Jimmy’s and a two-story building. Looked sorta like the one still standing over there.” He pointed a shaking finger to the boarded-up building on one side of the lot. “It was a nice little tavern by the name of Tory’s.” The words sounded wistful, as if he’d spent his share of time in it. “Tory and her boy lived in the apartment above.”
“Can you describe the exterior?” It was a sure thing, Risa thought, that he’d be able to describe the inside.
The old man’s shrug moved his whole body. “Nuthin’ special. Just a door to go in and a big front window. The bar was on the left when you got in, next to a storeroom where they kept the beer. Bunch of tables and a real nice jukebox. Tory liked to keep the music up-to-date, but she’d keep on some oldies for those of us who asked special.”
“What happened to it? Why was it condemned?” Nate asked.
“Fire gutted the place back in ’86. Burnt the repair shop, too. Cavanaugh’s there repaired and reopened for another dozen years or so. Tory and the boy weren’t hurt but never did see them after that, neither.”
A car went by outside, rap music blaring, the hind end bouncing on tricked-out hydraulics. A beer bottle went sailing out the window, landing squarely on the driver’s side of the Crown Vic before the car full of teens took off, hooting and catcalling.
The old man watched the scene, his mouth working silently. Then, “Nope. It wasn’t a bad place to raise a family. Not back then.”
When they returned to the vehicle, Risa observed, “This car should qualify for battle pay.”
“It’s not going to get better treatment where we’re headed next.”
Juicy’s address, she recalled. At the rate they were going, they’d be lucky to have a vehicle to get them back to the station house. “It works, what the old man told us.”
“Tarrants.”
She nodded. They’d gotten his name and address before letting him leave; he’d been visibly anxious to get back to his apartment. “The rest of the places Shroot found will have to be checked out to be sure . . . but a bar could easily have been the scene of that video clip featuring Johnny and Roland Parker.” The table had looked to