Free Fever: A Nameless Detective Novel (Nameless Detective Novels) by Bill Pronzini Page A

make?”
    “Where did it happen? When?”
    Headshake. You could see Youngblood trying to work up a lie. “Golden Gate Park,” he said when he caught hold of one. “Near, uh, Stone Lake. Two guys. White guys. I didn’t get a good look at them, it was too dark …”
    “At night, then. And you were alone.”
    “That’s right.”
    “What were you doing out there alone at night?”
    “I, uh …”
    “Leave the boy alone,” Brandy said. Then, with a leer in her voice, “Come over here and talk to me instead.”
    “Why don’t you tell me what really happened, Brian.”
    “I just told you …”
    “The truth this time. Something to do with your friend here?”
    “No.”
    “Your financial situation?”
    “… I don’t know what you mean.”
    “Sure you do. Debts. Serious money crunch.”
    Brandy said, “Who the hell told you that?”
    “How did you get in so deep?”
    “Don’t answer him. It’s none of his fucking business.”
    “She have anything to do with it?” Runyon asked him.
    “Brandy? No …”
    “Where’d you get the ten thousand to bail you out in August?”
    Youngblood said, “Oh, God.”
    Brandy said, “Come on now, leave the Mama’s boy alone. Can’t you see what a pussy he is?”
    Runyon had had just about enough cheap Brandy. He said, “She’s part of the trouble, all right. Any so-called friend with a mouth like hers is part of anyone’s trouble.”
    “Ooo, I like a man talks hard like that. The harder the talk, the harder the dick. Hey, white meat. How about some
real
pussy right over here?”
    “Cheap Brandy.” He said it out loud, not trying to hide his contempt.
    At first the phrase seemed to cut through the phony facade, kindle anger in her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her start to lift herself out of the chair, the bloody lips peeled back away from her teeth. Something changed her mind; she sank back, her mouth twisting into a grimace. And then she began to laugh, a high, shrill sound that had no mirth in it.
    “Is she the reason you got beat up?”
    “No,” Youngblood said. “I told you, she … it had nothing to do with her.”
    “But it wasn’t a carjacking, and it didn’t happen in the park.”
    Headshake.
    “Come on, Mr. Youngblood. For your mother’s sake.”
    Youngblood had moved so he could look at the woman. His eyes were pleading. “Brandy …?”
    She stopped laughing and said loudly, “No! To hell with her. You say one word to him and you’ll regret it. I mean that, baby. You’ll regret it!”
    Now Youngblood looked scared as well as hunted and embarrassed. “You better leave, man,” he said to Runyon.
    “Is that what you want? You, not her.”
    “Yes. Yes.”
    “What do you want me to tell your mother?”
    Brandy said, “Tell the Holy Roller to stay away from Brian. He doesn’t need her, he doesn’t need anybody but me.”
    “I’m sorry,” Youngblood said. “Just tell her … I’m sorry.”
    Outside, Runyon sat in the Ford for a time, letting his tamped-down anger release before he did any more driving. The scene the three of them had just played kept running around in his head. Now that he was out of it, it seemed to have a vaguely surreal, vaguely ludicrous aspect, like Brandy herself. At the same time its hard and nasty edge hinted at all sorts of hidden tensions, hidden meanings.
    She had some kind of hold on Youngblood—that seemed clear. Sex? Probably, but he had the feeling therewas more to it than that. She seemed to hate his mother without even knowing her; if Rose Youngblood was aware of Brandy and her son’s relationship with the woman, she’d have said so. So why the animosity on Brandy’s part? And what was her connection to the beating he’d taken? Hell, maybe she was the one who’d done it. As hard and controlling as she seemed, she was capable of it.
    T he address Tamara had pulled up for Aaron Myers was a little over a mile from Duncan Street, in Noe Valley at the edge of the Mission District.