D Is for Deadbeat

the license number of that car you bought. You bolt and I'm calling Lieutenant Dolan down at Homicide."
    He seemed as much puzzled as dismayed. "What is this? A shakedown? Is that what this is about?"
    "What's to shake? You don't have a cent. I want information, that's all."
    "I don't have any information. How many times I gotta tell you that?"
    "Look," I said patiently. "Why don't I let you think about the situation and then we can talk again."
    "Why don't you go fuck yourself!"
    I put my slicker on, tucking the strap of my handbag over my shoulder. "Thanks for the beer. I'll buy yours next time."
    He made an exaggerated gesture of dismissal, too pissed off to reply. He headed toward the door and I watched him go. I glanced at my watch. It was well after midnight and I was exhausted. My head was starting to ache and I knew everything about me smelled like stale cigarette smoke. I wanted to go home, strip down, shower, and then crawl into the folds of my quilt. Instead, I took a deep breath and went after him.

Chapter 10
    I gave him a good head start, then followed him back to the trailer. The temperature felt like it had dropped into the fifties. The eucalyptus trees were still tossing occasional showers at me when the wind cut through, but for the most part, the night was clear. Above me, I could see pale puffs of rain clouds receding, wide patches of starry sky breaking through. I parked half a block away and padded into the park on foot as I had before. Billy's car was parked beside the trailer. I was getting bored, but I had to be certain he wasn't heading off to consult with some confederate I didn't know about.
    The same lights were on in the galley, but a dim light now glowed at the rear of the trailer, where I imagined the bedroom to be. I picked my way through the bushes to that end. Curtains were pulled across the windows, but the venting system was piping a murmured conversation right out through a mesh-covered opening. I hunkered down by the torn skirting, leaning my head against the aluminum. I could smell cigarette smoke, which I guessed was Coral's.
    "… want to know why she showed up now," she was saying. "That's what we have to worry about. For all we know, they're in it together."
    "Yeah, but doin' what? That's what I can't figure out."
    "When'd she say she'd get in touch?"
    "She didn't. Said I should think about the situation. Jesus. How'd she get a bead on the Chevy so fast? That's what bugs me. I had that car two hours."
    "Maybe she followed you, dimwit."
    The silence was profound. "Goddamn it," he said.
    I heard footsteps thump toward the front of the trailer. By the time the door banged open I was easing my way around the end. I peered out into the carport. The nose of the Chevy was about six feet away, the space on either side of it crowded with junk.
    The door to the trailer had been flung open. Light poured out, washing as far as the point where the asphalt began. With a quick look over my shoulder, I waded into the refuse, picking my way around to the far side of the car, where I crouched, listening intently. Sometimes I feel like I spend half my life this way. I heard Billy fumble his way around the bedroom end of the trailer just as I had.
    "Jesus!" he hissed.
    Coral peered out the side window, whispering hoarsely. "What's wrong?"
    "Shut up! Nothing. I banged my goddamn shin on the trailer hitch. Why don't you clean up this crap?"
    My sentiments exactly.
    Coral laughed and the curtain dropped back into place.
    Billy appeared again at the far end of the carport, rubbing his left shin. He did a quick visual survey, apparently convinced by then there wasn't anybody lurking about the premises. He shook his head and thumped up the steps, banging the door shut behind him. The carport went dark. I let out my breath.
    I could hear them murmuring together, but by then I didn't really care what else they discussed. As soon as I was convinced it was safe, I crept out of the driveway and headed for my car.
    Sunday morning was overcast. The very air looked gray, and dampness seemed to rise up out of the earth like a mist. I went through my usual morning routine, getting a three-mile run in before the skies opened up again. At 9:00, I put a call through to Barbara Daggett at home. I brought her up to date, filling her in on my night's activities.
    "What now?" she asked.
    "I'm going to let Billy Polo stew for a day or two and then get back to him."
    "What makes you think he won't skip?"
    "Well, he is