Pigeon Blood
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Disrespect for Sots
The weight of the rock in Blair’s pocket and the many miles he’d traveled on foot in those tight, leather shoes were beginning to wear him down. His feet were sore and blistering in places he never knew he had. The nails on both big toes felt bruised from banging up against the front of those Oxfords. Limping seemed to alleviate some of the discomfort, but nothing would cure his ails like taking off those damn dress shoes and propping his feet up somewhere.
Blair was taking shortcuts through various neighborhoods to make up time. Everything was going fine until a teenaged Latino boy came from the shadows wearing a bright red headband decorated with intricate, black markings. If his purpose had been to frighten Blair, he succeeded without question.
“Where you think you goin’, man?” he asked, his voice raspy and deceptively adult-sounding. Blair didn’t want to keep him waiting too long for an answer.
“I’m just trying to get back to my stoop downtown, that’s all. My feet hurt and I was taking a shortcut.”
“Stoop? You talkin’ about livin’ on the street?”
“Yes.”
“Who you kidding? You wearin’ a new suit. You look like you got money, man. You carry yourself like you got money.”
“I borrowed this suit to go to a friend’s funeral. I live on the street, I promise you.”
“You dealin’? You gotta scam goin’?”
“No on both counts.”
“You sucker people? You tryin’ to fool me?” The boy stepped closer, pointing to his chest as if offended.
“No, no,” Blair said, holding up his hands for emphasis.
“You do drugs, man? Is that it?”
Blair stared at the boy through two bleary eyes. Even if his life depended on identifying this young man after being sliced up like a stack of pork chops, Blair wasn’t sure if he would be able to do it. It was probably best for all concerned if he was honest about everything.
“Yeah,” Blair finally said. “I do drugs.”
“I see your hands shaking, man. You look sick, man, like a real doper. Whatchu on? Crack, heroin…? What?”
“I’m an alcoholic,” Blair said, and it really hurt to confess that.
“You tellin’ me you a lush?” the boy asked, cackling.
“That’s about it,” Blair said, growing uneasy with this boy’s obvious disrespect for sots.
“You got balls to admit somethin’ like that. A guy who can’t hold his liquor can’t be much of a man,” he surmised, rubbing the hard-grown stubble on his narrow chin.
“Amen to that,” Blair said, feeling lower than he’d ever felt in his life.
“What you got in your pocket?” the kid asked, looking at the place where Blair was carrying the rubies. They made his pocket sag.
“Booze. As much as I can carry.”
The young man shook his head as if disgusted by the prospect of someone being so weak. He gestured to Blair as if he were beginning to consider him a trifle.
“I’ll let you through, but next time go around this section. Stay on the main drag, center city. You got that?”
“Yes,” Blair said. “Thanks.”
“Nada,” he said, bursting into laughter again. It seemed to tickle this boy of low earth to find someone who was even lower than he.
Blair walked off quickly, not allowing the boy a chance to change his mind about letting him pass. He had to get back to Thomas’s place, but walking just wasn’t an option. He could’ve called Thomas up and asked for a lift, but it was almost one in the morning. All he could think about was finding Horace and borrowing his bicycle for a few days.
Horace had probably settled into his favorite spot next to a convenience store downtown. Now Horace liked that spot because the store was open all night and had a toilet. He would go in, buy a pack of cigarettes, or some gum, or a cup of coffee, and the guy behind the register would let him use the facilities. Sometimes Blair and Horace washed themselves in there; they were lucky to find an attendant working the graveyard shift who would let them help themselves to the accommodations for such a nominal fee.
When Blair found Horace, he was stretched out in the grass behind a line of yew shrubs. Under him was a plastic garbage bag, which he frequently used as a raincoat, and a ragged blanket covered him. His bicycle was chained to the base of a nearby light pole. The old neon sign “Open All Night” was flashing above him. Blair never could understand how Horace could sleep with all of those red, white, and blue lights flickering on and off all night, but he insisted that they didn’t bother him at all.
Blair fancied a spot around the side of the building facing Wily Street where it was much darker. Besides, two guys with the misfortune of being tossed out onto the streets got fed up with one another every now and then. At night, both men enjoyed their private time alone.
When Blair walked up beside him, Horace opened his eyes and acknowledged him with a nod of his head. “Look at you! You lookin’ like a doctor, all dressed up tonight. Where’d you get the suit?”
“Thomas Abbott.”
“Thomas, the professor?” Horace asked, and so Blair nodded. “You got all dressed up for Cynthia’s service, right?”
“That’s right,” Blair said, loosening his tie. He squatted down and rested his back against a trash can.
“Missed you in the soup line,” Horace said, closing his eyes again and resting easy. “Miss Mercedes was just a-lookin’ for you.”
“Mercedes? Looking for me?”
Horace chuckled. “Yessir! And you two make such a fine couple, too.”
“What did she want?”
“I don’t know, but she seemed awful anxious to see you. She even hung around ’til half pass ten.” Horace laughed again, folding his arms across his bony chest.
“Sorry I missed her,” Blair said, waving a few mosquitoes away, which had searched him out and were now zeroing in on his head. “I need to borrow your bike for a few days, Horace.”
“What fo’?”
“I’ve got a lot of business to take care of, and all of this walking is killing my feet.”
“That’s why you’re limpin’?” he asked, and so Blair nodded again. “Does this have anything to do with your friend that died?”
“It has everything to do with her.” Blair found the buzzing of the neon sign above them soothing.
“How long is a few days?”
“Two or three.” Blair reached into his pocket and took out the uncut rubies and sapphires he’d taken from Kevin’s aquarium. “Here, take these and see what you can get for them down at the pawn shop. Get the best price, and I’ll split it fifty-fifty with you.”
“What’s this? A buncha pebbles?” Horace said, taking the gemstones and examining them with obvious skepticism.
“Rubies and sapphires,” Blair said. “Eight hundred dollars for the lot should do us and the pawn broker a world of good.”
“Eight hundred bucks for these stones? You kidding me?”
“No, I’m not. And don’t accept anything less. If the broker won’t bite, take them to a jeweler.”
“Did you steal ’em?”
“Yes, but the guy I got them from won’t be needing them anymore. Believe me.”
Horace watched vigilantly as a car pass by, clamping his fingers tight around the gemstones. He put them carefully inside his pocket after making sure it had no holes.
“I’ve also got this,” Blair said, taking the magnificent crystals still embedded in limestone out of his pocket and giving Horace a look at them.
“Is that as valuable as these here?” Horace asked, referring to the gemstones in his pocket.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how much these things are probably worth.”
“No foolin’?”
“You know how they say: ‘With this, I’ll never have to work again’?”
“Yeah?”
“Well with this, my great grandchildren would never have to work, either.”
Horace sat up to
give the crystals a better look. “You pullin’ my chain, or you serious?”
“Am I laughing?”
Horace stared at him for a minute before shaking his head.
“So what about the bike? Will you lend it to me for a few days?”
“Three days and that’s it. Much more ’n that, and my feet will feel as bad as yourn.” Horace handed him the key to the lock on the bicycle chain. “Be careful, Sheepskin. That double homicide you’re mixin’ in is some deep shit.”
“Don’t I know it,” he said, accepting the key and unchaining the bicycle. He got on and took off.
“If you loose that thing,” Horace called after him, referring to the bike, “I’ll get fifty percent of the pebbles plus twenty-five bucks for the bike. You got that?”
Blair raised his hand. “I’ve got it. Take care.”
“You, too. Watch your back.”
Blair knew that he shouldn’t take the time, but he just couldn’t resist stopping at a pay phone and looking up Mercedes’ number in the telephone book. He dug in his pockets until he miraculously found a quarter, and then dialed her number.
“Hello,” she said, her voice sounding breathless and very sweet. It was worth killing a quarter just for that.
“Hi,” he said. “It’s me, Blair.”
“Where are you? I was looking all over for you tonight.”
“So I heard. What’s up?”
“Do you have a place to stay tonight?”
“Yes. I’m going to have a friend of mine examine some gems that I’ve found. If I’m right, they could be worth a lot of money.”
“Gems?” she said. “Where did you get gems?”
“I stumbled across them quite by accident.”
“Where does your friend live?”
“Just outside of town.”
“Where?”
“You don’t believe that I have someone to stay with, do you?”
She laughed a little. “Let’s just say I’m skeptical.”
“He lives on Juniper Street in a Victorian style, two-story house about seven blocks from James Boulevard. He really does exist, Mercedes. Honest.”
She sighed as if relieved. “Will you come by the church tomorrow?”
“I can’t really say. I’ve been doing some things that have been keeping me busy lately.”
“Be careful,” she said, “and call me.”
That suggestion made him smile. He felt as if he were dreaming all over again. “I will. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Blair,” she said, and then hung up the telephone.