Death Notes

trick question. ‘No, why?’
    ‘Why did he decide to start up again?’
    ‘That little Cuban,’ she said. ‘He showed up at our door a few months ago, out of the blue, and wormed his way in. Next thing I know, Match comes home with his sax and sets up in this room. It was okay with me, kept him out of my hair, but I don’t know why he liked that little Cuban so much.’
    I shut the window and locked it, then thought of Philly Post. ‘You really ought to report this,’ I said again. ‘Even if you don’t think it’s tied to Saturday night, the police ought to know.’ Her eyes blinked purple at me, beady under the mauve. ‘You finished in here, honey?’
    ‘Just about.’
    I’d seen enough but I wanted to stay a little longer to bask in Match’s presence, his history, his music.
    ‘Well, I can’t wait, honey. I need a drink. I’ll be in the living room.’
    And without another word she trotted out of the room.
     

7
     
    I found Sharon sipping neat whiskey at the bar in the corner of the living room. She drained her glass, refilled it, then held up the bottle.
    ‘Care for some medicine, honey?’
    I shook my head and tapped the sheets where I’d roughed out my specifications.
    ‘I’d like to get started on this. I’ll call to see how soon my contractor can come out.’
    ‘Wait a minute, honey. Sit down. There’s one other thing.’ I sat down on the awful green couch and watched while Sharon slugged down another half glass behind the bar, then topped it off and came around to stand over me.
    The drink had done her good. The tight little lines around her mouth had eased and she looked, if not relaxed, at least less used-up than when she’d opened the door an hour ago. She took a deep breath that stretched the limits of her flowered bodice. ‘This still confidential?’
    I sighed. ‘Yes.’
    ‘If I tell you and you don’t agree to do it, will it still be confidential?’
    ‘Mrs Margolis, what exactly do you want?’
    ‘I’m just being careful, honey. Don’t get mad. I don’t want this leaking out to those reporters, that’s all. You can understand that, can’t you?’
    I told her I could, so she sat down, cleared her throat, then paused dramatically.
    ‘Like I said, Match wasn’t any good with money,’ she began solemnly. ‘He just couldn’t keep a budget. Now, I don’t want any of this to get out, honey, but he owes some people money. At least I think he does.’
    ‘And you want me to find out for sure?’
    She sat back. There was a satisfied look on her face. ‘You’re smart, honey. I like that.’
    She rose, got a piece of paper off the desk in the comer, came back and handed it to me.
    ‘Here. There’s four of them.’
    I took the list and read it. No addresses, no phone numbers, just four names printed in block letters. Siegfried Malone. Buddha Teagues. Nick DuPont. Eugene Tobinio. None of the names meant a thing to me.
    ‘Who are these guys?’
    ‘Friends of Match’s.’
    ‘Musicians?Business partners? Patrons?’
    ‘Friends.’
    She said it a little too casually.
    ‘Were they at the Riff Club Saturday night? Are they suspects?’ Her beady little eyes went wide.
    ‘Oh, no, honey. It’s nothing like that. They liked Match. I told you he didn’t have any enemies. If you ask any single one of them they’ll say Match walked on water. Go ahead. Don’t take my word for it, ask them yourself.’
    I decided I would.
    ‘Tell me about the loans.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Do you know if Match signed anything? A promissory note, an IOU? How much do you think he owes them? Is the debt separate or combined?’
    ‘Match didn’t like paperwork. I wouldn’t even know about this myself except he let it slip one night. He said he’d pay them back if he ever cut another album. I asked him what for and you know what he said? He said, “For believing in me.’” I studied the list while Sharon clanged and shimmered in front of me like some kind of giant decorated amoeba. She reached out and laid a fake purple fingernail next to Siegfried Malone’s name.
    ‘This one he made a deal with, but I don’t know for what. All I want you to do, honey, is talk to them. If they tell you how much, then tell them I’m closing these deals, see, and as soon as I get some cash, I’ll settle up.’
    I looked at Sharon, her dirty-blonde hair curled and unkempt around her fleshy, tinted cheeks. She was sort of seeping out of her clothes, bulging seams and distended zippers. Her