Free Mr. Paradise A Novel by Elmore Leonard

it.”
    “Why don’t you do the bathroom,” Delsa said, “and a G.S.R. test on her as long as you’re here.”
    She was getting a pack of cigarettes from her coat.
    “What’s G.S.R.?”
    “Gunshot Residue,” Delsa said.
    “You guys are serious, aren’t you?”
    “Step in the bathroom and Alex’ll take care of it.”
    She lit her cigarette and then stood listening as Alex said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Frank, if you watch any of the crime scene shows, like CSI . All this time I thought we worked for you. No, I see Homicide works for the techs.”
    “I saw one,” Delsa said, “but I never took chemistry so I didn’t know what was going on.”
    “I watch them,” the girl said. “I think they’re great.”
    A LEX GONE, THE WEIRD-LOOKING cheerleader back in her chair, Delsa came over to stand by the bed.
    “Where were we?”

    “You wanted to know if I was wearing panties. No, you said underwear.”
    “Were you?”
    “Yes, I was.”
    “The whole time?”
    “What whole time?”
    “When you were doing the cheerleading.”
    “I’d jump up as we finished one and Mr. Paradiso would say, ‘I see London, I see France . . .’ “
    “What’d he say when your friend jumped up?”
    She drew on her cigarette before saying, “What’s your point?”
    “You call him Mr. Paradiso?”
    “I don’t think I called him anything.”
    “You’re one of his girlfriends, aren’t you?”
    “No, I’m not.”
    “Are you a prostitute?”
    “No.”
    “An escort?”
    “What’s the difference?”
    “Was Kelly?”
    “A hooker? No.”
    “Montez says you both are.”
    “You believe him?”
    “I can find out if it’s true. Have you ever been arrested?”
    She said, “For what, being a ho?”
    And kept staring at him through her makeup.
    “I don’t get it,” Delsa said. “You’re playing with me?”
    “I thought you might think it was funny.”

    “Your friend’s dead and you want to entertain me?”
    She said, “I don’t know what I want.”
    “Are you stoned?”
    “I’ve had three drinks, good ones, crème de cocoa and gin, and a couple of hits on the bong. I’m trying to be careful and sound normal at the same time. I’ve got a buzz that makes me talkative, so right now I have to watch my step.”
    He said, “What’re you trying to tell me?”
    She said, “I’m not sure, Frank. I’m feeling my way along.”
    It stopped him, the way she said his name so easily. He waited a moment before saying, “You saw the guy who did it.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You saw him or you didn’t.”
    “I’m not ready to talk about it.”
    “Montez says it was a black guy.”
    She smoked her cigarette.
    “Was he?”
    “I’m not saying any more.”
    “You want a lawyer?”
    “I want to go home.”
    “You saw your friend—how’re you handling that?”
    She said, “How do you think?” Picked the ashtray up from her lap and stubbed out the cigarette. “Can I wash my face now?”
    “If you leave the door open.”
    She said, “I’m not gonna kill myself, Frank. I have to pee.”
    He watched her walk around the bed to the bathroom, then glance back at him as she went in and closed the door.
    Delsa picked up her handbag from the bed and brought itclose to the lamp to look at her Michigan Operator License: Chloe Robinette, 6-12-1976, F, 5-8, BLU, Type O, Restrictions: Corrective Lens, a pair of glasses in the bag, an American Express credit card, several other cards, all platinum; a blue bandana; a packet of condoms; cologne, hand cream, lipstick, blush-on; four hundred-dollar bills, eight fifties and five twenties folded in a silver money clip; loose fives and ones in a pocket; sales receipts from Saks, a hairbrush, a cell phone, a ring of keys. He looked at the photo on the license again that said this was Chloe Robinette. He looked closely at the eyes, the long blond hair. He looked at the bathroom door as it opened. She stood in the light, cream on her face, hair wrapped in a towel,