straightening the place up or, for that matter, deodorizing it, so I headed to AJ’s. I was hoping to find Kelley to see what he could tell me about Walanda and jail. I took Al with me in an attempt to minimize the damage to my home. For whatever reason, he seemed to be easier on the Eldorado, that is, if you consider barf in velour easier. Come to think of it, the barf from his last ride had formed somewhat crunchy concentric circles on the passenger seat. Perhaps I could find some mystic palm reader to tell me what the circles could tell me about my future. Suffice it to say, the Eldorado was no longer what I’d describe as “daisy fresh.”
I left Al sleeping on the front seat with his head on the center armrest. I slid the eight-tracks under the seats so he’d be less tempted and headed into the bar. The Fearsome Foursome were all in their places and so was Kelley, in his usual slot, one seat removed. The Foursome were already deep into it.
“The guy who played Sergeant Schultz was a Nazi in real life,” Rocco said. “I saw it on the E! True Hollywood Story .”
“I never heard that. I know that the Hogan guy got killed by Colonel Klink after he filmed the two of them having gay sex,” said TC.
“That’s not true, is it?” Jerry Number Two seemed genuinely disturbed by the revelation.
“No, it’s not true,” said Jerry Number One. “It was the French guy he was having sex with. His name was Pepé Le Pew.”
AJ had the Yanks on TV with the sound down and a radio going. The Foursome were about to move on to their next topic when AJ shushed them.
“Fellas,” AJ said. “It’s the bottom of the fifth.”
The talking ceased and AJ turned up the radio as everyone set their eyes on the TV. John Sterling had the call.
“Well, here it is. The end of five and you know what that means. It’s time to flush out the Clogger—and here he is, right on time, the pride of the real Windy City, Crawford, New York … Clogger McGraw!”
The Yankee Stadium crowd was on its feet like it always was waiting for the Clog to do his thing. Sterling waited, giving the Clogster an exaggerated pause, and then did it.
“… aaaaaand Clogger cannnnnns it!”
The bar roared right along with the crowd at the stadium. It was great to see a local guy make good.
I took the seat next to Kelley, and AJ opened a Schlitz for me. I asked him to back everybody up. The Yanks were beating Tampa Bay eleven to nothing and it wasn’t much of a game, so I figured Kelley was approachable. At least he was as approachable as he got.
“What’s up, Kel?” I said.
“Hey Duff,” he said. “Thanks for the drink.”
That was pretty talkative for Kelley. I decided to take a chance.
“You mind if I pick your brain about Walanda?”
“Go ahead, Duff, but I got to tell you, I don’t know a whole hell of a lot.”
“Did anything ever come of the Webster stuff she mentioned?”
“Not that I heard of. Walanda has said a lot of shit to the both of us over the years,” he took a sip of his Coors Light. “I wouldn’t put a lot into it, Duff. Who knows what she meant.”
“How’s the investigation going on her murder?” I asked.
“Duff, I’m a beat cop,” he put his bottle on the bar with some force. “I don’t decide what the department does. They’ll send someone over and ask some questions. The COs will keep their eyes open, and it might eventually come out who did it. But to be honest, it isn’t a big deal at the station.”
“Does that feel right to you?” I said. It came out more confrontational than I wanted it to.
“Duff, this is all day, every day for me,” he turned to look at me. “The answer is no, it doesn’t feel right, but keep it in perspective. Walanda has no family to speak of looking for answers. She didn’t have a lot going on that was positive, and—let’s be honest—the society as whole probably won’t miss her. I don’t like the way that sounds, but it’s true.”
Kelley was, of
Stella Noir, Roxy Sinclaire