Death Notes

turned out to be the only pleasant thing about the place.
    Since the door was propped open with a blackened metal remnant from a car engine, I just walked right in. The two goons behind the counter - a man and a boy of about twelve - had to be precursors to the back-hill folks in that movie Deliverance. All they were missing was the banjo.
    The sweat and grease-stained tee shirt the man wore had seen better days. So had his face. He had the kind of repugnantly friendly look I hate to see when I’m working alone and it’s dark outside. He blinked and massaged his bulging stomach while he eyed me up and down from behind the counter.
    The kid didn’t look any more promising. He was sitting at a desk behind the counter pounding his open palms against his cheeks and making nasty, snot-sucking noises while he rolled his eyes and generally looked like he needed an emergency exorcism. The man acted like the kid was normal so I took my cue from him and tried not to stare.
    ‘Whatcha need, hon?’ the man said.
    ‘Are you Siggy Malone?’
    He picked at a scab on his chin.
    ‘Could be.’
    The kid went suddenly quiet so I looked past the big guy to see what he was up to. As soon as the kid knew I was watching he started making retching sounds and pretended to vomit. I looked back at the older guy and heard the kid laugh.
    ‘Are you Mr Malone?’
    ‘Depends. Who are you?’
    ‘My name’s Ronnie Ventana. I’m a private investigator. I need to speak to you regarding your business partner.’
    ‘My business partner’s dead, lady. What’s there to say about him?’
    The kid was still making disgusting sounds and from what I could glimpse over Malone’s shoulder, he was making faces. Maybe he really was mentally disturbed.
    ‘I understand your business partner owed you some money.’
    ‘Maybe.’
    He hitched an elbow on the counter and leaned on it. I could smell his rotting breath and count the little black holes in his front teeth when he smiled.
    ‘Who sent you over here, hon?’
    ‘I’m representing Mrs Margolis—’
    He stiffened and pushed himself off the counter.
    ‘That bastard.’
    I assumed they’d met.
    ‘She asked me to assure you there won’t be any problem making good on her husband’s debt. You will be paid back. She’s concerned and she doesn’t want any hard feelings between the two of you.’
    ‘She should’ve thought of that when she walked out on me. Stupid whore.’
    ‘You and Mrs Margolis...?’
    I tried to hide the horror in my voice. Sharon Margolis was no princess but I couldn’t picture anything female wanting to get nearer than ten yards from Sig Malone.
    ‘You got it.’ Malone jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Squirt back there’s her kid. Soon as the judge said “guilty” she went after Match like a bitch in heat. I know it wasn’t him. The whole year I was in Quentin she worked on poor old Match. Just ’cause he was living upstairs and running the yard for me she figured I give him the whole business instead of just half. Left me and the kid and look what she got. Nothin’.’
    ‘When did your wife lea—?’
    ‘Wife?’ His laugh sounded more like a snarl. ‘I wouldn’t marry a cow like her. Hell! She begged me to take her back a week after she married poor old Match. Did she tell you that? Nah, I didn’t think so. I wouldn’t have her. Hell, Match did me a favor.’
    Match stole Malone’s lover. Match owed Malone money. Some people might figure Sig Malone had a motive.
    ‘I understand you were at the Riff Club Saturday night.’ Malone only looked stupid.
    ‘The day I croak a man for twenty grand is the day I cut off my balls.’
    I wanted to say that I hoped he already had but I didn’t think he’d take it well. The kid went quiet again and this time he rose from behind the desk and came toward the counter. He slipped under it, to my left, and walked around behind me. I acted like he wasn’t there and wondered if I was making a mistake.
    ‘Did you tell anyone Match named his killer?’
    ‘Whah?’
    He looked like I’d lost him entirely.
    ‘Did you tell your friends or did any of your friends tell you that Match named his killer just before he died?’
    ‘I heard somethin’ like that, but I didn’t pay any mind.’
    ‘Think,’ I urged him. ‘It’s important.’
    ‘Look, lady PI whatever your name is. About the business. After the music bellied-up for Match, he worked here. He made a few deals, pumped up the profits, stood by me while I