Death Notes

over on the stand, and you bending over him like that.’ He shook his head. ‘Man, I couldn’t believe my eyes.’
    Another waitress waved at him. He scampered down to her at the end of the bar, mixed a few, took care of a couple of guys at the bar, then wandered back down to me, dreadlocks hanging like short, thick snakes around his head.
    ‘So when you said call the cops, I did. You know the rest.’ I slid Sharon’s list of Match’s friends across the bar. ‘Do you know any of these guys?’
    He leaned in and stared. ‘This guy here.’ He laid a slender finger next to Nick DuPont’s name.
    ‘This guy, he’s a fanatic. Plain, total crazy-nuts for jazz, man. He even blows a trumpet not half bad.’
    ‘Did you see him Saturday night?’
    ‘Yeah. But he cut out early.’
    ‘You remember when he left? There were at least three hundred people here.’
    ‘He tips big. Besides, good old Sharon was putting the moves on him. That coulda been parta why he split.’
    ‘Sharon?’
    ‘I know she’s a widow and all now but she’s still a skank. She’ll spread ’em for anything in pants. She even put the moves on me a couple of times.’ He pulled out another glass from behind the counter to polish. ‘I let it go and she acted like she was just kidding. She’s like that, you know. To tell you the truth, when she came around to ask about you, I figured it was just another pass.’
    He set the glass down, then folded the towel. ‘I’m sure glad I was wrong about that.’
    I thought a moment. ‘Would you have noticed if DuPont came back that night?’
    ‘Only if he ordered another drink.’
    ‘What about these other guys?’
    When he shook his head, I described Teagues and Malone. ‘Yeah. I seen a fat man and a slob with the little guy. They all cut out the same time.’
    ‘Did you see them hanging around Match at all?’
    ‘Early on, yeah.Looked like they were having a great time. Brought in some champagne, even. Had me pour it.’
    ‘And they all left together?’
    ‘Yeah. But like you said, if they came back, I didn’t see ’em.’
    I pocketed the list and said, ‘What about Match? How well did you know him?’
    He lifted a hand and tilted it back and forth. ‘Had a lot of respect for the talent and all, but mostly I tried to avoid him. I don’t get next to dudes with wives like that. Ain’t no point.’
    ‘What about his band? What do you know about them?’
    ‘They were like sheep, man. They were lucky and they knew it. Match tell ’em to walk over a cliff, they’d do it. They’d even fight over who’d get to go first.’
    He trotted down to pour a few for the waitresses, then came back with a fresh beer for me.
    ‘Tell you what, Ron. That old man, Cheese, hangs at some pool parlor on Franklin.’
    ‘The Comer Pocket.’
    ‘Yeah. And you know Hank Nesbitt, the drummer? You talk to him? He’s in here sometimes, even gigged with a couple of bands here. He’s the one warned me off on Sharon. He shows up, I’ll call.’
    I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d already had my chances with Hank and Cheese, and blown it.
    ‘Thanks, Lucius.’
    He winked one hot, burning eye at me. ‘You bet.’
     

35
     
    T he ringing phone woke me up. Again. I tipped the clock toward me and squinted. Seven a.m. It had to be business. It had to be Sharon.
    ‘Ronnie? This is Sharon - Sharon Margolis, honey.’
    She sounded out of breath and frantic, as usual.
    ‘What is it?’
    I didn’t bother to hide my annoyance. I knew she wasn’t calling to tell me she had the cash for me and I was getting tired of her hysterical early-morning calls. I’d pretty much given up on getting any truth out of her, but I guess I wanted her to ask if she woke me up. I wanted her to say she was sorry to bother me again, even if she didn’t mean it. I wanted to hear something polite come out of her mouth, just once.
    ‘The police just phoned me, honey. They found the sax! And they want me to go down and look at it. Can you meet me at the Hall of Justice in twenty minutes?’
    I’d decided last night that I was done holding her hand, that I was fed up with her, that as soon as I got the cash she owed me, I’d wash my hands of her. But this was Philly Post’s Riff Club call. This changed things a bit. If I went, it meant I’d miss my morning run, but it’d be worth it just to see Post’s face when I walked in with Sharon.
    ‘I’ll be out front,’ I said, smiling. ‘Top of the stairs.’
    When she