Mother's Day

The chief said that the first mistake was letting Rita operate without any interference in the Monaco Estates. "I knew it and I said it," he said mournfully. "I said we should get a warrant and go tear the place apart. Cameras and everything, go in and grab the broad. Arrest whoever's hiring her, tie him up and beat him with the chains and whips, and put her out of business. Make it clear that we won't stand for this. And then I sit here like a twerp and let you say we shouldn't. I am losing my damned grip. I deserve this crap."

"Chief," Lieutenant Kiley said, "that's what we know now. At the time, though, we had no P.C. We could not go in. What do we say to a judge--'This is probable cause, your Honor', cause we know the dame's a whore'? That would not float, Chief, you know. Wouldn't float at all. No, I think our approach was reasonable."

"Reasonable," the chief said. "Bullshit, reasonable. 'Where the hell is Rita?' I ask, and you tell me, 'She left town.' I know Rita didn't do that, damn it, Buster. This one-horse place is made for her. She's got no competition. Hustling the goddamned salesmen and the other two-bit clowns that think drinking in a bowling alley's the next best thing to Vegas. Rita Beauregard, for God's sake, down from the Maritimes 'cause she's sick of fishermen, puts her ass out on the block here and they think she's Hollywood. She makes more in one good night than I do in a week, and she does not pay taxes, either, and you tell me she left town? 'We should find out where she is,' I say, 'and put her out of business.' And, Buster, I am telling you, that's what we should've done. Picking up the transients that're getting stiff in bars, selling them blow jobs and stuff: That we can tolerate. But this saddy-mazzy bullshit, with the manacles and whips? That is dangerous. 'Some poor asshole dies with her and we are in the shit.' And now, of course, one did, and that's exactly where we are."

"Look, Chief," Kiley said, "this is not that type of case. This guy died of natural causes. That much we do know. This was not a young man, Chief. He was fifty-six. What knocked him off was his own ticker, not the torturing. Rita said he just came in. Told her what he wanted and'd taken his clothes off. 'He dropped dead on me,' she said. 'This is my fault, Buster? Anybody can drop dead anyplace he wants. This guy happened to pick mine, while he was seeing me.' "

"That is what I mean," the chief said, "that that kind of thing can happen. She gets some guy in a bar, goes to his room with him. He gets all his clothes off and he has a heart attack. That's no problem, Buster, if it's handled right, you know? Rita puts her clothes back on, gives us a quick call. We go over, she clears out. That's all there is to it. We know who the victim is--motels keep registers. We know where the dead guy lives, and so that is no problem. He's where he's supposed to be, even if he's naked. And his goddamned mother, Buster, isn't waiting for him there. Waiting for us cops to come and tell her he is dead. So she can have a heart attack and really give us trouble."

"I know, I know," Kiley said, looking miserable. "But we couldn't've expected this, that this kind of thing would happen. You got to remember, Chief, this is one mean twat. She has got nice hogans there, and her ass won't quit. But underneath that bleached-blonde hair, there's the mind of an assassin. All the time she worked the alleys, that was dangerous. Some night she may get some guy, isn't normal, you know? Thinks he'll get his jollies there by beating Rita up. Well, Rita was aware of that, and Rita was prepared. 'These guys, Buster, I pick up. They could be anybody. I go with them, by myself, and I don't have no pimp. They see this, the ones with brains, that I am alone. Let me tell you this thing, Buster, that I can protect myself. No son of a dumb beetch is gonna beat your Rita up.' So, when we hear she's setting up, no more hustling, I'm sort of relieved, you know? I thought that was safer."

"Uh-huh," the chief said wearily, "what did she have, Buster? Nice little snubby in her handbag there, which she had no license for? You should've grabbed her then, Lieutenant, collared her right off. Give the twitch a year in jail, persuade her to move on."

"Chief," Kiley said, "I didn't see it, if she had a gun. Maybe it's karate, something else she knows. I'd've frisked her, she'd've sued me. Had me up on charges. Maybe when she says 'I feex him,' that is what she means. She can kill guys with a pencil, choke them with her bra."

"Yeah," the chief said. "Well, OK. Doesn't matter now. You did not arrest the broad and now this shit has happened. Where do we stand with this now?"

"OK," the lieutenant said, "this is where it is. Medical examiner is going down to Hope Memorial. On his way there now. Stiff is in the freezer drawer, for the formalities. Paramedics tell us it was myocardial infarction. Plain old ordinary heart attack. Nothing chargeable.

"To go with the stiff," he said, "we have got a suit of clothes. This would be the second set, the second suit of clothes. This time we are pretty sure, these ones go with him. Wallet in the trouser pocket, usual I.D.s. They say that his name is Lanza and he lives up in Dublin. This would be the Dublin that is in New Hampshire there. I put Wormser checking with the local cops from there. We should know by five or so if this is the right guy."

"I assume," the chief said sarcastically, "you told Wormser, 'If it is him, try not to tell his mother.' "

"Locals will take care of that," Kiley said ruefully. "That is out of our hands now, who informs his next of kin."

"What about the old broad?" the chief said savagely. "What about the one we got that we did break the news to? Where is she while we sit talking? Having a press conference? Or is her real son doing that, saying how he'll sue us?"

"She is in intensive care, over at the Spellman," Kiley said efficiently. "Nurse on duty there tells me that her attack was mild. But, since she is very old, they are taking all precautions. Vital signs are stable and she's under strong sedation. They say if no more attacks come and she doesn't have more shocks, she should be as good as new within a week or two."

"That is, I assume," the chief said, "if they can keep Father Lynch away from her. Goddamned old tosspot."

"Father Lynch is not our problem," Kiley said with satisfaction. "I said something to the nurse and she laughed at me. I get the impression from her that he might be leaving there. The archdiocese may not be pleased when they get their report."

"That may go for me as well when I get our report," the chief said. "That, of course, should be quite soon, with the reporters calling."

"Our report is being typed," Kiley said uncomfortably. "Do you want me, brief you now, so you can start responding?"

"Yeah," the chief said, "might as well. Wished I got a haircut. How comes it never fails when something like this comes along, I am always thinking I should get a haircut soon? Every time I'm on TV, I look like a hippie. You think maybe they're connected--rough stuff and no haircuts? If I kept my hair cut short, this crap wouldn't happen?"

"Could be," Kiley said, "I guess. Anyway, you want it?" The chief nodded. "Rita called in," Kiley said, "sounded very upset. Asked for me and got Wormser, whom she does not know. Wormser isn't used to her, how she talks and all. This could be where this thing started to unglue.

"Rita gets across her meaning, that she's got a dead guy with her. Wormser, who does not know her, does not understand this. Wormser thinks that guys drop dead when they are with friends, family around them or the people they work with. Wormser is a rookie and this is all quite new to him. Therefore, he tells Rita, she should call an undertaker.

"This does not please Rita," Kiley said ruefully. "Rita is a businesswoman and her work's brought to her. She has her appointments and her afternoon is filled. This guy that is dead is just one of several clients. She cannot let guys in for her unique services if she has got a dead man stretched out in the bedroom. Rita's trade's a little kinky, but it's not quite that exotic. Corpses with no clothes on do not turn her clients on.

" 'No, no,' Rita says, naturally excited, 'this man who is dead with me, I do not know his name.' Rita did not go to college, but she knows important things. She does things to you for money, but she doesn't arrange funerals. She wants Wormser to send somebody, take this man away. Otherwise, she loses business, and she doesn't feature that.

"Wormser decides this is hopeless. It is beyond him. He has got this crazy woman yelling at him on the phone, and he does not understand more than a third of what she's saying. He dispatches Hall and Gleason to investigate."

"Hall and Gleason," the chief said, "of course. That would figure. Stupid rookie's got a problem, gets two more to help him."

"Hall is pretty savvy, Chief," Kiley said. "She is not experienced, but she is pretty savvy."

"For a housewife, I agree, Hall is pretty savvy," the chief said grudgingly. "What I'd like is savvy cops, but they say times are changing."

"There have been reports of that," Kiley said innocently. "Hall and Gleason reach the scene reasonably fast. Wormser had the wrong apartment number, though, from Rita. There is some confusion, since she's not on the doorbells. Finally, they ascertain the right apartment number. Get it from the manager, who does not like her much. He tells them he doesn't think that she belongs in there. 'This is a nice place,' he says. 'We have got good tenants. New apartment complex like this, she's not what we have in mind.' Rita apparently has lots more visitors than he likes, and they seem to come and go from her at all hours, day and night. Gleason tells him that this one doesn't sound like an improvement. He goes with them to the door, and there is a big scene. Before they can do much to find out what Rita's problem actually is, Hall and Gleason have to tell the manager to beat it. He can evict her after they have finished.

"Rita's in her work clothes for this whole discussion," Kiley said. "This consists of leather vest, with nothing under it, and a matching leather skirt, which is very short. It is also slit up both sides and there's nothing under it. Except Rita's crotch, of course, and Rita's high black boots. Hall says Gleason had some trouble concentrating on his work.

"They get rid of the manager and go (continued on page 172) Mother's Day (continued from page 86) inside the pad. There on the floor, in the bedroom, is Rita's customer. He is naked and he's dead, which is, of course, two problems--who he is and how he got dead--before they should move him. Hall and Gleason, being rookies, Gleason being distracted, do not see the first one.

"Hall goes by the book and calls the paramedics. Unfortunately, she makes a rookie mistake when she does this and employs her radio. This, of course, is monitored by all the fucking press. Therefore, when the medics arrive at the Monaco, they have got some company, those bastards with their goddamned notebooks and their microphones. This could be a murder, right? In those new apartments? High-priced doctors, lawyers, shrinks? This one could be juicy. Maybe it is someone famous got bumped off in there.

"Manager wins all those turds--he won't let them upstairs. This means Hall and Gleason still do not know that they're down there. Paramedics get through all right. They look at the guy. Looks to them like natural causes, which means they can move him. Wrap him up and cart him out, which leaves Hall and Gleason in there with just Rita. They get her calmed down a little, which they mostly do by leaving. Rita's work is hard to do when there's a corpse in with her, but having two cops to replace it doesn't please her, either.

"Hall and Gleason go downstairs, where they meet the reporters. This is also something which they have not become used to. Those turds ask them lots of questions, which they try to answer. All they really know, of course, is where the medics took him. Name, age and address are things that they never got to ask him. Therefore, all the press turds immediately start calling Hope Memorial, which is where the medical examiner wanted him delivered. And, of course, all the hospital knows is that it was a heart attack, 'acute myocardial infarction.' But who had this attack they don't know any more'n we do.

"Consequently," Kiley said, "Wormser starts getting all these calls from the hospital and the fucking press: 'Who the hell is he?' And Wormser don't know, either. So he gets on the radio, which is the only way he can get in touch with Hall and Gleason, and he tells them, 'Go back to the Monaco and find out who this son of a bitch is.' And the press hears all of that, too, but I guess they're not paying attention or something.

"Hall and Gleason go back to see Rita," Kiley said, "and by now, about an hour's gone by and Rita's entertaining a new customer. Which she don't want Hall and Gleason coming in to see who he is, because this isn't good for business, either, guy's lying there as naked as two snakes and all of a sudden two cops come in, see him all tied down with his cock sticking up in the air. So Rita won't let them in. And they tell her, 'OK, then bring the dead guy's clothes out and give them to us, and we'll leave you alone with this new weirdo you got in there.' And Rita thinks this is probably the best deal she's gonna get from them, so she does it and hands the guy's clothes out to them.

"They find the wallet," Kiley said. "They get on the radio and read the I.D. off to Wormser. Which is, of course, that the dead guy is Steven Audette, who happens to be the superintendent of schools in Maynardville, does not live in the Monaco apartments and therefore had no good reason to turn up dead with no clothes on in them. The press turds are naturally interested in this, and they are on Wormser now like he was a big tasty dog and they were all fleas who were really hungry.

"Wormser does not do what he should have done," Kiley said, "which is get ahold of me in court and get me back here to run this damned thing. He is going to prove what a valuable man he is. He is going to be sure that this is really Steven Audette that died of a heart attack in Rita's pleasure palace. He tells them to check the wallet for a motor-vehicle registration, and there is one, for Steven Audette's brand-new Chrysler Town & Country, and then to check the parking lots around the Monaco and see if such a car is there. And it is, naturally, a nice white new one, in which is sitting Steven Audette's mother. Who had been to see her doctor in the Monaco while her son was apparently dropping dead in Rita's whorehouse.

"They find the old lady sitting there in the car and they ask her where her son is, and she tells them he is in the Monaco seeing his doctor while she is seeing hers. And they want no part of telling her what has happened to old Steven, of course, so they say, 'Right, Mrs. Audette. Tell you what, all right? Your son has been taken ill and he's down at the Spellman Hospital, and we will take you down there so you can see him, OK?' And the old lady is naturally upset, but not as upset as she's going to be when somebody tells her that her darling boy is fucking dead, and that is why they are being so smart when they say he is in the hospital. So if she takes a fit or something when she finds out what really happened, there will be lots of doctors and nurses around to catch her before she hits the deck.

"They take her down to the Spellman," Kiley said, "and they walk her in there, nice and slow, and they put her in the chapel, so that she can pray for him. And they tell Father Lynch what they think is the truth, so he will break it to her gently, like those priests know how to do.

"And he was shit-faced," Kiley said. "So he tells them this is no problem, and he goes into the chapel where she is kneeling down and praying and he says to her, 'Mrs. Audette?' And she says, 'Yes.' And he says, 'Your son is dead.' Like you would say to me, 'Your fly's open.' And that is when she has her attack.

"So," Kiley said, "they are feeling reasonably good that they at least knew enough to get her to the hospital before this jerk wallops her with the bad news, and they call in. And Wormser, by then, has been talking to Rita, who has got another problem now. Which is that she has got a customer and a suit of clothes in her apartment which do not go with each other, and this nice man named Audette doesn't want to start any trouble or anything that would get his name in the paper about his patronizing whorehouses, but it looks like the cops took his clothes and would they please bring them back? And that is the first clue we get that we may have a small problem here."

"Wonderful," the chief said.

"That is one word for it, maybe," Kiley said. "So, where we stand now, if we do have this thing straightened out like we think we have, Steven Audette has got his own clothes back on, and he is at the Spellman with his mother in intensive care. And he does not wish to make any fuss about this, even though it obviously has not made him happy. When his mother wakes up, he will tell her that she must have dreamed it when the priest told her that her son was dead, and he thinks he can get her to believe that. Which means that if we can keep this thing reasonably quiet, he will probably not sue us.

"We have got also," Kiley said, "the dead guy at Hope Memorial. And we should have him identified, like I said, before five. There is no foul play there, though, so that is no problem.

"In other words, Chief," he said, "not that I am recommending this as normal procedure, but I think we have got this whole mess under control now."

"Sure we have," the chief said, "absolutely. Unless you count Rita."

"I don't follow," Kiley said.

"You don't?" the chief said. "No, well, that should not surprise me. Rita now is as safe as if she was in church. Don't you understand that, Buster? She is running a fucking brothel in the Monaco apartments, where they don't want such businesses. What she's doing is against the law. But now we can't stop her, can we? Because if that manager calls up and tells us we have to grab her, or somebody decides that she rolled him while he was in there with his pants off, and we go to get her, she will look us in the eye and say, 'Audette.' If we arrest her, she will tell everybody all about this afternoon. Which will mean that Steven Audette then will have no reason not to sue us for damned near killing his old mother. Which means that we can't arrest old Rita now for doing anything. Now do you see why I liked it so much better when she was doing business in the goddamned bowling alley?"

"Yeah," Kiley said, "I guess I do."

"Good," the chief said forcefully. "Now, there is one more thing. You know this whore, am I right? And she is pretty smart?"

"More or less," Kiley said. "More or less, I do. She is pretty smart."

"Good," the chief said again. "Then you ask her for me, just out of curiosity, all right? Make it very plain to her, I don't plan to do anything. But ask her, Buster, when you see her, she do this on purpose? Did she switch those pants on us so that this would happen?"

"Jesus H. Christ," Kiley said, drawing in his breath. "You know, I bet she did."

"Yeah," the chief said, "but you will not bet with me. When this broad says the feex is in, she is not kidding."

"This one could be juicy. Maybe it is someone famous got bumped off in there."'