Part 20 (1/2)
”May I sit down?” he asked.
”Do what you want.” Karen put her hands on her hips and remained standing.
George sat in a brocade over-stuffed chair. ”Live here alone?”
”Hey man, what is this?” Karen demanded.
”I asked you a question.” George ran his hand on the arm of the rich brocade. ”Pretty nice set-up you have here. Not bad for an unemployed ex-waitress.”
”You ha.s.sling me?”
George lit a cigarette. ”Suppose you let me ask the questions?”
”Don't you know who my man is?”
”I'm the one asking the questions, remember?” George took a long drag.
”You stupid or what?” Karen crossed her arms.
”Just answer my questions.”
Karen frowned, ”I think mo' betta I get my lawyer first.”
”Lots of people are interested in how an unemployed lady can own a place like this and run around town in a red Thunderbird.”
”That's n.o.body's business!” Karen bellowed, taking a step toward him, her hands now fisted.
”Except the IRS.” George blew rings above his head. ”You don't file taxes, do you?”
Karen blanched. ”How do you know?”
”I know a lot of things,” George smiled. ”I know about your husband, for instance.”
Karen slumped. ”I was never married.”
George took an old, yellowed picture out of his pocket. ”Carmen Souza. Kohala. Her loving husband, Jack.”
Karen dropped onto a sofa and put her head in her hands.
”You're good at covering your tracks.”
”I was only fifteen when my parents made me marry him.”
”You killed him.” George took another drag from his cigarette.
”He beat me, kicked me,” Karen pulled her s.h.i.+rt below her collarbone and showed him an ugly scar about six inches long. ”This is what he did to me.” She let the blouse snap back into place. ”I got other scars. He liked carving me up. He used me as an ashtray sometimes.”
”You killed him.”
”You're fis.h.i.+ng. You can't prove nothing.” She fumbled for a cigarette from an open pack lying on the coffee table. Lighting it, she threw back her head and took long, deep drags.
”You shot him and burned his body in the cane fields.”
”They say someone did.” Karen fixed her eyes on him. ”That was the rumor anyway. The body was badly burned. It was unrecognizable.”
George shook his head. ”A jury would call it murder.”
”Lots of people hated him. I wasn't the only one.” Karen sprang up and paced; the cigarette dangled between her fingers.
”You ran.”
Karen glared at him. ”Maybe he was the one who took off.”
”What about your son?” George flicked his ashes into an ashtray with the words 'Las Vegas' and a picture of a pink Flamingo.
Karen stared. A muscle in her cheek jerked. ”Leave him out of it.”
”He'll eventually find out the truth.”
”He thinks my sister is his mother.”
George leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. ”Look, I'll be square with you. I have nothing against you.” George kept his eyes on her, a.n.a.lyzing every twitch of her muscles. ”Your husband probably got what he deserved. I want Carlton Chun.”
”Carlton?” Karen's eyes widened.
”I want something on him and I have a feeling you hold the key.”
”Never.” Karen lowered her lashes and frowned. She ground her cigarette into an ashtray, it broke and she smashed the stub down flat.
”Why not?” A flicker of a smile crossed his face. ”He's just a john. Besides, you like broads.”
Karen pushed the ashtray away and looked up at him. ”Carlton's good to me. Yeah, he's weird, but he's always been straight with me.”
”I hear your son is a lawyer.” George blew lazy smoke rings now. ”You must be very proud of him.”
Karen's body sagged. ”You wouldn't...”
”Why ruin the kid's life? You got the money to take care of yourself. You don't have to do this.” George waved his hand.
”Maybe you don't understand. Carlton picked me up on Hotel Street. With my looks, I didn't do so well. He saved me.”
”Why you?” George rested his chin on a fist.
”I may not be a beauty queen, but I got my talents,” Karen smirked. ”With my specialty, looks ain't the main thing.”
George straightened up in his chair. ”Tell me.”