Prayers For Rain Part 32

She laughed with the cigarette gritted between her teeth. "No s.h.i.t?"

"No s.h.i.t."

She removed the cigarette, flicked the ash on the floor behind her, and leaned into the counter. "Like Magnum?"

"Just like Magnum," I said, and tried to give my eyebrows that patented Tom Selleck rise and fall.

"I catch it in repeats," she said. "Boy, he was cute-cute. You know?" She arched an eyebrow at me, lowered her voice. "How come men don't wear mustaches no more?"

"Because people immediately a.s.sume they're either h.o.m.os.e.xual or redneck?" I offered.

She nodded. "There you go, there you go. d.a.m.n, it's a shame."

"No argument," I said.

"Nothing like a man with a good mustache."

"d.a.m.n straight."

"So what can I do for ya?"

I showed her the driver's-license photo of Karen Nichols I'd cut from the newspaper. "Know her?"

She gave the photo a good long look, then shook her head. "But ain't that the woman, though?"

"What woman?"

"The one jumped off that building downtown?"

I nodded. "I heard she may have stayed here for a while."

"Nah." She lowered her voice. "She looks a little too, ahm, b.u.t.toned-down for a place like this. You know?"

"What kind of people stay here?" I asked, as if I didn't know already.

"Oh, nice folks," she said. "Great folks. Salt of the earth, you know? But maybe they're a little rougher-looking than your average. A lot of bikers."

Check, I thought.

"Truckers."

Check again.

"Folks needing a place to, ahm, get their heads together, take stock."

Read: junkies and recent parolees.

"Many single women?"

Her bright eyes clouded over. "All right, honey, let's cut to the chase. What are you after here?"

Just like a hardened moll. Magnum would have been impressed.

I said, "Has any woman been staying here who hasn't paid her rent in a while? A week or more, say?"

She glanced down at the ledger below her. She leaned her elbow on the counter and the fun returned to her eyes. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" I leaned my elbow on the counter near hers.

She smiled at me, moved her elbow a little closer. "Yeah, maybe."

"Can you tell me anything about her?"

"Oh, sure," she said. She smiled. She had a great smile; you could see the child in it, before the road wear and the cigarettes and the sun poisoning. "My old man can tell you even more."

I wasn't sure if "old man" meant father or husband. These parts, it could mean either. h.e.l.l, these parts, it could mean both.

I kept my elbow where it was. Out in the sticks, living dangerously. "Such as?"

"Such as, why don't we spread some introductions around first? What's your name?"

"Patrick Kenzie," I said. "My friends call me Magnum."

"s.h.i.t." She gave me a low chuckle. "I bet they don't."

"I bet you're right."

She opened her palm and extended it. I did the same and we shook with our elbows resting on the counter like we were about to arm wrestle.

"Name's Holly," she said.

"Holly Martens?" I said. "Like the guy in the old movie?"

"Who?"

"The Third Man," I said.

She shrugged. "My old man? He takes over this place, it's called Molly Martenson's Lie Down. Got a real nice neon sign on the roof, lights up sweet at night. So my old man, Warren, he's got this friend, Joe, and Joe's real good with fixing stuff. So, Joe, he knocks out the M, replaces it with an H, and then blacks out the O-N-'postrophe-S. Ain't centered, but it looks good at night all the same."

"What about the Lie Down part?"

"Wasn't on the neon sign."

"Thank the Lord."

She slapped the countertop. "That's what I said!"

"Holly!" someone called from the back. "G.o.dd.a.m.n gerbil s.h.i.t on my paperwork."