Free Reach the Shining River by Kevin Stevens Page B

was. Never harmed anyone. Never. Whoever killed him was evil.”
    Piney looked at the floor between his feet. With a click, Mr. Lococo’s lighter flared, and he spent a long time lighting his cigar. Smoke billowed in the small room and caught at her throat. “Sweetheart,” he said, gesturing at the bottles and empty kegs, “I own this joint. People come here to enjoy a drink and listen to the music. Eddie Sloan was a draw. Like you. I take his death personal. A tragedy, like I said.” Richie had edged forward from the closed door. Mr. Lococo leaned close. “We are in agreement on this, Arlene.”
    She stared at him.
    “Do you understand?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Let me say this: whoever did what they did to Eddie has insulted me. But speaking out of turn to every Tom, Dick and Harry’s not going to bring him back.”
    “Why isn’t the murder being investigated by the police?”
    He puffed at his cigar. “Who says it isn’t?”
    Piney was bug-eyed. “The police been here. Axed their questions, wrote down their interpretations.”
    His desperation filled the air like the cigar smoke, but the memory of Eddie’s body would not let her shut up. “The police don’t care,” she said. “He’s just another colored man. Might as well have been a dog got killed for all it means downtown.”
    Richie spoke. “The police are as puzzled as anyone.” His voice was oddly light, almost squeaky, but sharp.
    “How could they be puzzled,” Arlene said, “when they haven’t done anything?”
    Piney looked stricken. Richie made a swift, chopping motion with his hand. She saw now that he was not a bodyguard or sidekick but the one in charge.
    “Angelo, you can leave us.”
    Lococo motioned Piney out of the room. Richie stared at her for a minute before unbuttoning his jacket, grabbing a chair, and sitting on it backwards, so that his chest rested against the ladderback. Up close she could see that his teeth were bad. He gave her the look most white men, well-intentioned or not, gave her at some point: bloodless, possessive, unabashed. She placed a hand at her neck.
    “You’re not getting the message, are you?” he said.
    “A friend of mine was murdered.”
    “Like the man said: we understand. You asked who do I think I am. That doesn’t matter. What does matter is what I can do. You got that?”
    “Yes sir.”
    “The hurt I can put on a person. Or her family.”
    Her heart echoed in her head like a steam engine.
    “Who’s been asking you questions?” he said.
    “Nobody.”
    “If you lie to me, I’ll find out.”
    “I wouldn’t lie to you, sir.”
    “Not even to protect someone?”
    “Piney said the police came around here asking questions. Well, no one asked me anything.”
    He absorbed this comment and wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Where’s Virgil Barnes?”
    “I wish I knew.”
    “When did you see him last?”
    “Virgil? I never saw him. Eddie did. The night he died, they had planned on meeting up. So Eddie said.”
    “Him and Sloan were good friends?”
    “I don’t know about good. They shared a bottle sometimes.”
    “How about you? What did you share with Sloan?”
    “We had a professional relationship.”
    “I’ll bet you did.” Casually and coldly he swept his eyes up and down her form.
    She did her best to ignore the fear. She thought of Wardell and how he needed her. Richie reached across and plucked at the satin flower on her dress, but it was sewn on, and when it wouldn’t disengage he pulled hard. Her dress ripped at the neckline, and the fabric flapped open, exposing her breast. She gasped and covered herself. His mouth tightened as he continued to stare at her bosom.
    He threw the flower on the floor and stood quickly, pushing the chair so that it knocked against her knees. “You’ve known Piney a long time?”
    “Yes sir.”
    “You want to see him stay in business, you keep your mouth shut. You want to make a living, you keep your mouth shut.”
    “Yes sir.”
    He