Scam

knew something I needed to know.”
    “Stop calling her the girl,” he said. “You didn’t even know her, you’re talking about her like that.”
    Good. He’d gotten over being afraid of me and was comfortable enough to get pissed off. Now if I could just get him talking.
    “Exactly,” I said. “You knew her. I didn’t. And someone killed her, and he shouldn’t get away with it. That’s why I need your help. For her sake. Help me. Please.”
    He blinked at me uncertainly.
    “Okay,” I said. “Here’s the thing. You were with her in the bar. When she came and told the bartender what she wanted. About leading me to her. Now, I know she did that, but I don’t know why. Well, I sorta know why. She was gonna make some money doing it, and her agent was putting pressure on her. But beyond that I need help. She can’t help me. You can.”
    He blinked again. “Why should I trust you?”
    Great. He knew something.
    “You rather trust the cops?”
    “No.”
    “Then help me out. What do you know?”
    “I don’t want to get in trouble.”
    “Who does? You think I’m runnin’ to the cops? Every time they see me, they arrest me. It’s getting to be a real fuckin’ drag.”
    He drew back again. “You’re acting kind of funny.”
    Jesus. Another one.
    I exhaled loudly, shook my head. “Yeah, I know. I’m really stressed out and I’m not takin’ it well. Help me out. Please. Whaddya know about this?”
    He furrowed his brow, seemed to be making up his mind. “That night in the bar. With the guy—what’s his name?”
    “Cranston Pritchert.”
    “Yeah. The dead guy. Well, she was supposed to tell you what happened so she’d get her bonus.”
    I blinked. “What?”
    “’Cause that was the deal. She did the job, she got paid. But then, if anyone came poking around asking questions—well, if she told them the right story, she got a bonus.”
    “Wait a minute, wait a minute. What she told me was a story?”
    “Of course.”
    “How is it a story? All she told me was she had drinks with the guy in the bar.”
    “Right.”
    “What do you mean, right? That’s exactly what she did. How is that a story?”
    “Oh,” he said. “ ’Cause that isn’t all she did. The story was to tell you that’s all that happened.”
    “But it wasn’t.”
    “No.”
    “What else happened?”
    “I don’t want to get in trouble.”
    “We’ve been through all that. What happened?”
    He hesitated. Looked around the room. On one wall was a poster of Marlon Brando on his motorcycle from The Wild One. He stared at it a moment, as if trying to get inspiration. He must have got it, because he turned back to me.
    “She put something in his drink.”
    “What?”
    He nodded. “That was the deal. That’s what she got paid for. To drug his drink.”
    “Are you kidding me?”
    “Hey, this is what you asked for. Now you’re not gonna believe me?”
    “No. I believe you. It’s just ...well, what was the idea?”
    “That I don’t know. All she was told was to drug the drink and get him out of there.”
    “Get him out of there?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Get him out of the bar?”
    “Sure thing.”
    “And she did?”
    “Of course. Didn’t anyone see them go?”
    I sighed. “Actually, the bartender did. But the first I heard of it was yesterday. And even he wasn’t entirely sure.”
    “Yeah, well, that’s what happened. She brought him out to her.”
    To her?”
    “Yeah. To her agent.”
    “Her agent? Her agent was there?”
    “Yes, of course. But you don’t know that. That’s part of what she wasn’t supposed to tell.”
    “Wait a minute, wait a minute. What did her agent do?”
    “Took the keys.”
    “What?”
    “She took the guy’s keys, went off with them. Came back a half hour later.”
    “She took Cranston Pritchert’s keys?”
    “Right. And then she brought them back.”
    “And what was …” I groped for the name so I wouldn’t have to say the girl. “What was Laura doing then?”
    “Staying with the guy. On the doorstep. You know, the front steps of a brownstone. Like the guy had had too much to drink, and she was helpin’ him out. Or like they were sweethearts, or something. Anything at all, so a cop wouldn’t see ’em.”
    “What happened then?”
    “The agent came back with the keys, put ’em back in his pocket, and they took off.”
    “And that’s it?”
    He looked at me. “That’s not enough? You want more?”
    “No. I mean, that’s everything that