House of Blues

could not
write about this, could not think about it, and yet, that is only
part of it.
    There was the other thing, the thing that is worse.
And that is remembering the sounds of that moment.
    Albert's anguished emission of emotion—something
like "Uhhhhhh," but full of tears. A vampire shriek from
somewhere—I guess it was Evie. The clatter of the two pans hitting
the floor. The manifold screams of the kitchen staff. Reed's whimper.
That's all there was—a whimper.
    And Dad beating Evie.
    He spoke first. "Evie, I'm going to kill you,"
and he reached her in two quick strides. He struck her face with the
back of his hand, and the noise it made is something that is with me
still, in my dreams, in my sickest fear fantasies. I didn't see what
happened to Reed, who picked her up, who took care of her, I was too
fascinated by the horrible, the unthinkable. Dad began hitting Evie
with both hands, with his fists, and someone—several people, I
think—finally pulled him off of her.
    She didn't protest, didn't even try to explain what
had happened, probably because she couldn't speak under the rain of
blows. Nor did I, and no one ever brought it up, never even asked.
    The loudest noise, the most terrifying, the one that
is most debilitating today, was the sound of my silence.
    But maybe it never mattered at all. Perhaps both
parents knew perfectly well what had happened, had even seen it. Not
long after, I asked my dad, timidly, why he had beaten Evie. "She's
the oldest," he said. "She should have been watching the
younger kids."
 

    23
    Skip got up an hour early on Wednesday and drove
straight to Manny's, hoping she'd catch him before he left. But all
was quiet at his apartment, a dump of a place on Jackson Avenue. She
got out and walked around, even rang the bell, backup or no, thinking
to play the Avon lady trick again. She had been in uniform when she
arrested Manny; surely he wouldn't recognize her. But she didn't
think it would come to that, and it didn't.
    No one answered the door.
    She'd gotten his motorcycle license number from her
records check, and she saw no sign of the machine. She didn't see the
point of hanging around.
    She went to the work address she'd gotten from
Manny's probation officer, without much hope of finding her quarry.
    Manny was apparently a mechanic. He worked at a place
called Rayson's Garage in Jefferson Parish, which appeared to be
doing a hefty business. She asked for Rayson and was directed to a
grimy, thickset man wearing round, heavy glasses, a baseball cap, and
clean T-shirt. How he managed to keep the T-shirt clean and the rest
of him dirty she could only speculate.
    "You need an appointment? We're booked solid
till a week from Friday." He had the air of one too harassed for
humans; his business was with machines.
    "No, thanks." She identified herself. "I'm
looking for one of your employees. Manny Lanoux."
    " Manny." He looked utterly mystified. "We
ain't got no Manny here."
    " No? You never did?"
    "Well, now, I didn't say that." He rested
an arm on a handy shelf, starting to relax; he'd caught her out and
he was enjoying it.
    "Did you hear me say that?"
    She had no patience with whatever petty game he was
playing.
    "Are you saying he used to work here but he
doesn't now?"
    " No. Not saying that at all."
    He was determined to drag it out. Skip stopped trying
to cut to the chase. With or without patience, she was going to have
to play this stupid game.
    " May I ask what you are saying?"
    "I'm saying I don't know."
    She would truly have loved to kill him.
    " Is there anybody here who would know?"
    " Don't know."
    Thats it.
    " Rayson. You're a horse's ass."
    His face turned from smug to nasty. He took his arm
off the shelf and moved toward her.
    "Don't even think about it." She paused,
feeling her feet dig into the earth beneath her; sure of her ground
and loving it. "Or I'll have your fat ass thrown in jail so fast
you won't remember the ride."
    He stopped, hatred rampant on his heavy features.
    Petty tyrant. He probably beats his kids and voted
for David Duke.
    "Now you stop playing your junior high games and
start giving me straight answers."
    "You gotta ask me a question first."
    " I'm not asking you any more questions. I'm
making a demand. You either tell me everything you know about Manny
Lanoux in the next five seconds"—a stubborn look crept over
his face; he opened his mouth to speak, but Skip headed him off—"or
find me somebody who can."
    "Orrin!" He roared so loud she