certain that the book wasn’t there.
“This thing’s valuable, right?” said one of the detectives.
“Kind of,” I said. “Very old. A collector would pay top dollar.”
“Well, you know who’s got it, then. Teflon Tim.”
“You think?”
“Sure. He’s not dumb. Talks like a lawyer. And for a pimp, he’s not an absolute fucking prick, you know? I bet he took the book in return for paying her rent for six months or something.”
“Yeah,” said the other. “Freeing up the cash for her to pay her buddy to shoot her ass full of caulk.”
“That makes a disgusting kind of sense,” I said. “So where do I find Teflon Tim?”
Chapter 38
There’s a fucked-up shitpipe in the men’s room,” said the bouncer as we slid through the knifemarked door into the bar. The place stank of weed and puke and shit. Two ceiling lights out of every three had been smashed out, jagged glass glinting in the fixtures.
“We’re looking for Muppet,” I said, as the two cops had suggested.
The bouncer looked us over, distaste in his big stitched-up face. “Business or pleasure?”
“Strictly business.”
“Good. Turn around.” The bouncer patted me down professionally.
“Inside jacket pocket,” he growled. I held the right side of my jacket open for him.
“It’s a handheld computer,” I said. “Lift it out and check it.” He slid it out carefully, spun it in his hands until he found the release button, and opened it up.
“Huh. What does it do?”
“Email. Games.”
“Okay.” He handed it back to me and then checked Trix; no attempt to cop a feel. The guy had been trained properly, somewhere official. I wouldn’t push my luck with him.
Satisfied, he asked if we knew what Muppet looked like.
“No,” I said. “You already worked out we’re not local. We talk to him and we leave. That’s the whole deal.”
“Good. Far end of the bar, red hair, eyes like you never saw on a human being before. Buy a drink, no acting out, and I don’t got a problem with you being here.”
I thanked him and we headed to the bar. The guy the cops called Muppet was there, all right. Hair like red yarn, red eyebrows that you’d need a whip and a chair to put in their place, eyes that stood out of his face like someone had slipped boiled eggs into his sockets. Wearing a wifebeater so old and thin that you could see his ribs through it, so scrawny you could practically see his heart behind his ribs. Jogging pants covered in tiny little burn holes and stinking of dope, and shiny new running shoes.
We ordered drinks and watched him for a little bit. I wanted to get his measure. Every few minutes his pocket played the riff from “Axel F,” and he fished a cell phone out from it. It always came out with scraps of tissue stuck to it by velcro snot. He’d rattle off numbers in a reedy voice and then shove it back. Take a few deep pulls of beer. Repeat.
The fifth time the phone went back, I approached him. Muppet immediately fixed me with awesomely bloodshot eyes.
“You’re Muppet?” I said.
“Muppet,” he agreed.
“Cop,” he said.
“Private detective. There’s no trouble here. I’m looking to talk with Tim about buying something he recently came into possession of. Straight business deal, no cops, no angles.”
“Tell Muppet. Muppet tell him.”
“I get to talk directly to him tonight, you get a finder’s fee. My client authorized five grand.”
His red eyes wheeled about in his head. “Fifteen.”
“Ten.” Which was the number I was going to start with, before I got a look at him.
“Now.”
“When I’ve got what I want. I can’t get the cash out of the client otherwise.”
“Now.”
“Can’t do it.”
“Now.”
“Forget it,” I said, and turned away, collecting Trix’s hand in mine.
“Where you going?” Muppet whined.
“Cops,” I said. “I was keeping them out of it, dealing on the level. But if you’re going to be a prick about it, I’m going to talk to a couple of friends on the force. They’ll pick him up on a bogus charge and put him in a cell long enough for me to talk to him. My buddies will split eight grand, which leaves two for me as a little bonus. And when Tim asks exactly who fucked up to the extent that he’s spending a night in a cell with some AIDS-infested assrapist, I’ll tell him it was you. I’m dealing straight with you, but I’m not going to be fucked with.”
Muppet folded in on himself, scowling. “Muppet sad.”
“Have a nice night,” I said,