Part 10 (2/2)

I tried not to flinch. ”I'm Emma,” I said again, putting the mangled hand behind my back and wiggling my fingers to make sure they were still functioning. ”I heard you're a friend of Ronnie Mallet's.”

”d.a.m.n,” Avery said with a shake of his head. Up close, he looked as if he was in his early forties. There was a small scar etched in one eyebrow and another on his chin. Avery would have fit in nicely at the Icicle Creek Tavern. ”Poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” he muttered. ”Whatever he did to that Carol broad, she probably asked for it. She was one mean b.i.t.c.h. Excuse my language. I meant witch. They rhyme, see?”

”Yes, I do,” I replied with a straight face. ”Did Ronnie and Carol come here often?”

”Quite a bit,” Avery replied as some of the other patrons began to edge closer. I figured the notebook was the drawing card. Most of the writing at Freddy's was probably done on c.o.c.ktail napkins. ”The last time they were here, about a month ago, Carol and that redheaded gal who used to go with Ronnie really got into it.” He turned to the bartender. ”Hey, Jack, you had to throw those two broads out, right?”

”You bet,” Jack said with a solemn nod. ”They were busting up the gla.s.sware.”

”Do you mean Maybeth?” I asked, beginning to think that the Icicle Creek Tavern had nothing on Freddy's.

”Beth,” Avery said with emphasis. ”Rhymes with...” He stopped and scratched his head. ”Never mind.”

”Were they fighting over Ronnie?” I asked, remembering to scribble a note or two.

Avery glanced at Jack. ”Was that what started it? Or was it something Beth's boyfriend said to Carol?”

”Roy?” Jack responded. ”I don't know. It was a real mess.”

”Roy,” Avery repeated brightly. ”Beth's Roy friend. Get it?”

”Yes,” I said, and forced a smile.

”I think that's right,” Avery went on. ”It was Roy, only maybe he said something nasty to Ronnie. Anyway, the two girls got into it. Carol had a real bad temper, and you know what redheads are like. Va-va-vroom!” One hand shot up toward the ceiling, apparently in imitation of a rocket launch.

The man called Morrie had gravitated to the bar.

”Hey, Ave,” he said in a good-natured tone, ”did I hear you bad-mouth redheads?” Morrie shook his own long carrot-colored locks.

Avery laughed, the hearty chuckle that almost made him endearing. ”How come n.o.body calls you *Red'? You know-rhymes with bed.” He leered and chuckled some more.

”Because my two older brothers were both called Red,” Morrie answered with a smile. ”Our mom never knew who'd come when she called.”

Avery nodded as if this was one of the wisest statements he'd ever heard. ”Can't blame her. Hey, the little lady's interviewing me about Ronnie and Carol. You jealous?” He nudged Morrie, who almost spilled some of the beer in the schooner he was holding.

”I might be,” Morrie replied pleasantly. ”What gives?”

I decided to get to the point and looked at Jack to include him in the conversation. ”I'm trying to find out if Ronnie has an alibi for the night of the murder. Did any of you see him two weeks ago Friday late in the evening?”

Avery shook his head. ”I came in early after I got off work. I went home around eight.”

Jack gave the bar a swipe with a damp towel. ”Ronnie was here, though. He came in before nine, had a couple of beers, and said he was going on to the Satellite Room down the block.”

”Do you think he'd been drinking before he got here?” I asked.

Jack shrugged. ”Could be. He wasn't drunk, though.”

”I remember,” Morrie said. ”He was alone. He seemed kind of down.”

”That's right,” Jack agreed. ”He was upset because his dog, Buddy, had gotten into a fight and come out the worse for wear. He'd had to take him to the vet's.”

I remembered that when Ronnie had been arrested, he, too, had been suffering some wear and tear. ”How were his spirits?” I inquired. ”Did he look as if he'd had some kind of row?”

The men all exchanged glances that bordered on smirks. ”You bet,” Jack said with one of his solemn nods. ”Poor Ronnie was all banged up. He didn't say anything, but my guess is that Carol went after him again.”

”Again?” I feigned innocence.

Avery chuckled, but there was no mirth in the sound. ”I said she was one mean... witch. She was always beating on Ronnie. h.e.l.l, she beat up Roy, too.”

”Yeah,” Morrie put in. ”I heard once that was what broke up her marriage to some guy a long time ago. She'd whale on him while he was asleep. Jeez, you hear all this c.r.a.p about men beating women, but there's two sides to that story. Women can be ornery as h.e.l.l. Ornerier, maybe. They don't need to be drunk to get mean.”

A sudden silence fell over the little group. Jack smiled for the first time. ”Present company excluded, naturally.”

”No offense,” Avery hurriedly added.

”None taken,” I said, smiling.

I, however, was more reasonable than some members of my s.e.x. A raven-haired Hispanic woman and a frosted blond begged to differ.

”If men weren't such a.s.sholes, women wouldn't have to defend themselves,” the blond a.s.serted.

”That's not defending yourself,” Morrie retorted, ”that's going on the offensive. It's different, Terri.”

”It's bulls.h.i.+t,” the Hispanic woman snapped. ”You men got to be so d.a.m.ned macho all the time. You think hitting women proves you got cojones. I spit on all of you.” She spat not on them, but on the floor, only an inch from my Joan & David suede shoes.

”Knock it off, Nita,” said Morrie, still trying to be good-natured. ”You're just p.i.s.sed because that last loser of yours punched out a couple of teeth.”

”Why shouldn't she be p.i.s.sed?” demanded a tall black woman with imposing dreadlocks. ”That's her whole point. You b.a.s.t.a.r.ds always start it.”

”Bulls.h.i.+t!” roared the older bald man who had been sitting with Morrie. ”The only way you can get through to a woman is-”

”Men are sc.u.m! Listen to what Larry did-”

”Larry was on crack. He's okay the rest of the-”

”I had one old lady who-”

The argument was underway. I finished my beer, grabbed my cigarettes from the bar, and slipped away. n.o.body seemed to notice.

I could see the sign for the Satellite Room from Freddy's entrance. It was midway down the block, across the street. I was waiting for the light to change when Terri, the frosted blond, came running up to me.

”You were asking about Ronnie?” she said, out of breath.

”Right. Do you know him?”

”Sure. Ronnie's a sweetheart. He didn't kill Carol.” She glanced over her shoulder, as if she expected someone to follow her outside. ”The night Carol was murdered, I sat with him for a while. She'd knocked him around, and he was really down.”

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