Death by Sarcasm - By Dani Amore Page 0,15

Rachel thrust her hips forward and made an ass-slapping motion with her hand.

“Why do I feel like I’m in a locker room?” Mary said.

“When we did it doggy, he used to do this trick-”

“With his thumb, right?” Fran said.

“Thank you, ladies!” Mary pulled out her card. “Call me if you think of anything not involving details of my deceased uncle’s genitalia.”

“We’re always here to help,” Helen said with a straight face. “But we’ve got nothing else to tell you.”

Mary opened the door.

“Come back anytime!” Fran called out.

Nine

“You sure that’s all you want, baby? Information?”

Mary leaned against the door frame of the dressing room, if you could call it that, behind the stage at the Leg Pull. Cecil, the manger, hadn’t lied to her about when the comedian who might know the identity of Brent’s ‘friend’ would be performing.

She looked at Jimmy Millis, a fifty-ish black guy wearing a glittery shirt and shiny black pants. A half a bottle of Jheri Curl had to be in his hair.

“Liberace know you’re wearing his shirt?” she said.

She had come directly from her office where she’d tied up some loose ends on another case, filed paperwork and cleared her e-mail. She’d also tried to erase from her memory banks the X-rated information she’d received from the three Senior Nymphs at Palm Terrace. It wasn’t an easy thing to do.

After she left the office she came over once more to the Leg Pull to try to find out more information about Uncle Brent’s partner. When she pulled up to the place, she vowed that once Brent’s killer was locked up or dead, Mary would never come anywhere near the Leg Pull ever again.

Now, the Liberace comment had hit home and Jimmy’s eyes went wide in feigned shock. “Whoooeee!” he said. “That is some kinda mouth you got. Naughty, naughty, naughty.”

“Naughty? Let me guess, now you’re going to ask me if I need a spanking. Come on, if you’re not funny, try at least to be original.”

The comedian gave her a big smile. “You sure are quick, baby! I like that!”

“I really appreciate that, Jimmy. High praise. I really respect your opinion,” Mary said. “Now I’d like to make this quick, too. Brent Cooper.”

Jimmy’s eyes went wide again. “That guy got stabbed out back? What about him? Not me – I’m a lover not a fighter – you git my gist, baby?”

“You know anything about the guy he was performing with that night?” Mary said. “Your boss Cecil said you knew everyone.”

“Shit.”

“According to Cecil, you’re a regular gossip hound.”

“That fucking bitch!” Jimmy said. “Who does he think he is labeling me, like that?” His voice had risen a couple of octaves. “No one labels me! Goddamn, I’d like to kick his ass one of these days.”

“Ease up there, Macho Man.”

“You makin’ fun of me?”

“No, I’m being sincere. Just tell me who he is or where he is, I don’t care which.”

Jimmy looked at her. “You like my shirt?”

Mary debated about pulling out the .45 again, but decided against it. You can do that only so many times before someone lodges a complaint. So she said, “I love your shirt. I’ll stop by Radio City Music Hall and ask the Rockettes if I can borrow one of theirs so we can match.”

“That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” he said. “Tell you what. Ordinarily I’d let a pretty little lady like you buy me a couple drinks first. But since I go on in about ten minutes, I don’t think I should be partaking in any of that nice booze out there. So why don’t you just give me some of that cash riding on that sweet ass of yours and I’ll buy myself a couple shots after the show. I’ll even toast you. That’s how Jimmy rolls, baby.”

Mary sighed and pulled out a twenty. She held it in the air.

“Let me hear something other than all those crackling sequins,” she said.

Jimmy snorted. “Asshole’s name is Barry Olis,” he said. “Some old, un-funny geezer lives over at the Vista Del Mar apartments on Venice. Only reason I know that is because he’s got some lame-ass joke in his routine about it.”

Mary let the twenty dollar bill slip from her fingers and it feathered down to the floor.

“Add that to your wardrobe budget.”

Vista del Mar. View of the ocean, or Oceanview, in Spanish. Not quite, Mary thought. More like Vista del Gas Station. Or Vista del Winos and Liquor Stores.

She parked the Accord and went to the apartment complex’s