Death Notes

wished I’d bet on Cheese.
    He came back over and sat down next to me after he won. Some of his tension was gone and I realized he’d been suffering pre-game jitters when I first sat down. But he still didn’t smile. ‘What’s your question?’ he said.
    ‘Did Match shoot any heroin over the past year?’
    ‘What kind of question is that?’
    ‘It’s important.’
    ‘How am I supposed to know?’
    ‘DuPont had cut him off. You were his alternative.’
    ‘Huh.’ He pulled the stogie out of his mouth and spat on the floor. ‘Match kicked.’
    ‘Could he have started up again? Once he formed the band?’
    ‘He was in the room when I shot up about six months ago. I had a bindle and a bag for him but he turned it down. Said he didn’t do that anymore.’
    Cheese bit into the stogie, worked it to the corner of his mouth, then said, ‘I’d say that’s kickin’, wouldn’t you?’
     

41
     
    All day Thursday was a total waste as far as Match was concerned, but for my pocket book, the day was good. I drove around serving subpoenas, and finding and interviewing witnesses on a hit and run. It was a good, solid sixteen-hour-day and I figured I was on my way to making the rent for the month.
    While I drove around, I had plenty of time to think about Match’s case. I kept coming back to the money and trying to figure out what he’d used it for. If he hadn’t used it to pay Teagues back for his bets, or DuPont for the heroin, then Sharon had sent me on a wild goose chase. And what Sharon knew about any of it was anybody’s guess.
    I spent Friday morning writing reports, fielding calls from Mitch describing the boats he was looking at for his trip to Tahiti, and keeping Match’s murder in the back of my mind. By two o’clock, I stuck the reports in the mail and found Blackie at the Quarter Moon.
    Two beers into our liquid lunch, Blackie came back inside from having his third cigarette, and said, ‘The bitch hasn’t fucking played straight with you once, doll.’
    I couldn’t disagree.
    ‘I just wish I could figure her out. She’s holding back on me, Blackie - I know that much. I’m just not sure if what she’s not telling me matters. This insurance policy isn’t exactly a secret. Teagues knew and so did Dickie. Is it important, or is it just more of her hyped-up business deal malarkey?’
    Blackie drained his glass and belched softly. I continued.
    ‘Then there’s the sax. Whoever took it was out to ruin her deal. You’d almost think Match’s murder and the theft of his stuff is aimed more at hurting Sharon than Match. But why smash it up like that and take it back to the Riff? Or did somebody just not want her to sell it? And now, I’ll bet you a tall, cold one she’s out there trying to buy a decorated saxophone on e-Bay.’
    ‘What’d you say Sig Malone told you? More tricks than Houdini?’
    ‘Exactly.’ And then there was the money. I told Blackie about the unaccounted-for twenty grand Match had borrowed. ‘There’s got to be some kind of record to show where it went. Sharon says no, but I know there’s got to be something.’
    Blackie grinned. ‘Sounds like you’re goin’ in.’
    I nodded and waited for Blackie’s usual objections. Instead, he said, ‘You gotta trust your instincts, doll.’
    He signaled Harry for another beer and pulled out his fourth smoke.
    When he came back, I said, ‘Why aren’t you trying to talk me out of it?’
    ‘Look, doll. She set you up. You gave her plenty of chances to square with you. Somebody’s on to you because of Match. That bitch reporter’s fried you by writing that crap in The Explorer. If you’re a target and you think Margolis knows what’s going down and she won’t tell, how else are you gonna find out?’
    I laughed. He could have been reading my mind. ‘I’m going in tonight. Do you want in?’
    His face fell. ‘It’s poker night, doll. Do it tomorrow.’
    Harry set fresh beers on the table and took away our empties. The last time I’d seen Sharon, she’d mentioned the museum people were flying out from New York and she’d be meeting with them tonight. I couldn’t wait. I didn’t want to wait. In my head, a clock was ticking.
    ‘No,’ I said. ‘Tonight’s the night.’
    ‘You know how you’re going to do it?’
    ‘Sure.’ Right up until that very moment, I hadn’t. But suddenly, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I’d built the system. I knew its flaws. And I knew its owner. Sharon was the biggest