Free Murder by Candlelight by John Stockmyer Page A

starters. Z sat in a gold-and-blue-striped
Thomasville chair with saddlebag arms, John, in a matching love
seat on the same side of the fireplace. A twisted-brass lamp and an
antique clock decorated an early American table beside Z's chair.
At the other end of the room was a blue velvet, sofa-for-ten, over
it, five small pictures, possibly framed pages from an illuminated
manuscript. A complex-patterned Persian rug covering the dark wood
floor near the end wall, an ornate walnut sideboard centered on the
rug.
    The wood fireplace mantle held a tin
ocean liner (an object d'art made to look like a toy,) two brass
candlesticks, and three softball-sized rattan spheres. The oil
painting over the mantle was of lions lying down with
lambs.
    Sure.
    In spite (because?) of the perfect
balance of the room's colors, shapes, and textures, the place had a
mummified look; that of being done to no one's taste -- but the
decorator's.
    John was wearing a dark brown smoking
jacket with leather elbow patches, fitted loosely over a blue silk
shirt. Had on vanilla-colored slacks. And handmade
shoes.
    The whole place -- yard, house, Johnny
-- reeked of money ... if not class.
    "Saw you sweating your ass off across
the street," John said with a "gotcha" grin. "Must of been twenty
minutes. If I'd had a dog, I'd of sent a keg of brandy out to
revive you."
    "Someone might be
watching."
    "And you figured, could be a gunsel
not liking me associating with a cop? Even of the private
variety?"
    "Something like that."
    "Good old Z. Thinking of his friends.
Don't any man have enough friends. Except for the kind who're
thinking only of themselves.
    But we've been together through a lot
of years, Z-man. Since grade school. Been through a lot you and me,
me supportin' you when I could, you supportin' me when you
could."
    "Yeah."
    Johnny looked ... good. Not pasty,
like in his big car at the reunion. Of course, being sober improved
anybody's looks.
    More than good, John looked ...
relaxed, the smoking jacket hiding some of the fat, the light low
enough to give John healthier-looking skin and shadow-enhanced
hair.
    "Get you a drink?" Z shook his head.
John grinned again. "You got a problem. I got some news. Makes me
no never-mind what we do first."
    "Murder."
    "That could be a problem, especially if
it's you that's
murdered." John laughed. Leaned back. Crossed his chunky legs as
best he could.
    "Howard Kunkle."
    " That ? Been three -- four days -- old
news."
    "I need to know if he was
connected."
    "Connected? You mean to our
organization?" John laughed -- seemed to be enjoying himself. "Hell
no, Z. What you think? We've fallen on such hard times we've got to
hire a two-bit hustler?"
    Z was relieved. Hoped he didn't show
it. "You knew him?"
    "Knew of him, if you know what I mean.
Gambler. Penny ante stuff. Good to have his kind around, though.
Chasing small fry gives the cops something to do. Convinces the
taxpayers they're getting value for their dollar."
    "Pimp?"
    "You think a woman would work for a
piece of shit like that?"
    Z had the answers he'd come
for.
    Just one more question, pretty far
out, but .... "Know a hooker named Carrara Marble?"
    "Now you're talkin'. That one's a
triple-crown winner. How'd you get mixed up with expensive goods
like that? She's out'a your league, my man. Three hundred an hour,
easy."
    Z shook his head.
    "If you're not diddling her, how'd you
run into her?"
    "Friend of mine asked."
    "You're friend is having himself a
hell of a good time, is all I can say."
    "She belong to you?"
    "I wish she did. But no. She's an
independent. Don't know just how she manages that. Probably by
servicing big-time clients. Judges, politicians."
    It didn't seem that Carrara Marble had
a Kunkle connection. Z hadn't thought so, but ....
    "Funny thing about the Marble broad is
she's a dyke. But then, a lot of whores are, low class to high.
Makes them more reliable. Not likely to take off with a rich
john."
    The steam let out of the Carrara
Marble topic, they