Spiral

”Cassie, please don’t—”
    ”Well,” she continued, a few decibels louder. ”Let me tell you, that wasn’t it.”
    I said, ”Veronica was hitting on him.”
    Helides actually smiled, but cruelly. ”No, mister know-it-all.” Then she leaned down, nearly hissing out her words. ”The little bitch started hitting on me.”
    I didn’t say anything.
    ”That’s right.” Helides straightened up again. ”I was driving her here one day for a lesson with Cornel, and Very moves her hand over to my thigh. Then she starts walking her fingers toward the secret garden.”
    I could hear people at the tables around us speaking in low tones as they pushed back their chairs. ”Mrs. Helides—”
    ”No fair, mister. You asked for it, now you’re gonna hear it The little bitch says, ‘If that feels good, you want to do it to me?’ And I slap her hand away, tell her what an incredible cunt she is, and she clouts me— me —across the face. Well, I’m halfway to punching her lights out when I decided instead to do a U-ey and take her back to granddaddy, let him know what his little angel tried on step-grandmummy.”
    ”You told the Colonel that Veronica—”
    ”No, of course not. It would’ve fucking killed the poor old guy.” Cassandra Helides rocked her head side to side like a clown making a discovery in center ring at the circus. ”But that, mister, is how come I stopped driving precious little Very to her tennis lessons.”
    Radescu said, ”Cassie, I do not think we should say anything more to this man, no matter what your husband told you about cooperation.”
    ”Fine,” replied Helides quickly. ”I’m even sick of looking at him.”
    I got up from my chair. ”The police may be by about Malinda Dujong. I hope you have a better story for them.”
    ”We don’t need any story,” said Radescu, standing also. ”And you better remember the last thing I told you on the tennis court.”
    His threat about nobody taking away what he’d worked so hard to acquire. ”Actually, that reminds me. Who won today’s match?”
    Cassandra Helides moved toward Radescu. ”Cornel, six-three, six-one.” She slipped her arm around his, like links in a chain. ”And to the victor belongs the spoiled.”
    I almost corrected her before realizing she was right.

    Outside the gate of the tennis club, I called the direct cellular number on Sergeant Lourdes Pintana’s business card. When her voice mail kicked in anyway, I left a message about Malinda Dujong trying to reach me and what I’d seen with Don Floyd and Shirley Nole in the apartment. After clicking off, I tried to think of someone else to see before going to the Skipper’s house and telling him—and possibly Justo Vega—about Sundy Moran.
    Just one name came to mind. Directory assistance gave me the telephone number, but a man answering told me the woman I wanted was home sick.

    This time I drove in slowly enough that the dust cloud stayed below window level on the Cavalier. I brought it to a stop near the man in the straw hat and overalls, lighting his pipe. When I opened my door, he spat in the other direction before saying, ”Information booth’s still open, but this late in the day, I’m on overtime rates.”
    I took a five from my wallet anyway. ”As a repeat customer, I’m entitied to a discount.”
    He looked at the bill disdainfully, then reached out and took it. ”Reckon I’ll have to charge the next one double.”
    ”Her trailer?” I said.
    He used the stem of his pipe as a pointer. ”Four down on the right, puke-green siding.”
    ”Thanks.”
    ”Don’t be too hasty.”
    I got back in the car and drove. My guide was dead-on about the color of Donna Moran’s trailer. I had thoughts about whether Ford Walton might be in there as well, but only one vehicle slouched in front of it, and I couldn’t remember if the multiprimered Dodge was one of the many clunkers I’d seen outside Billy’s the day before.
    Cement blocks created a stoop leading to an aluminum door. I knocked on it.
    ”Go away,” came more through an open window than from behind the door, but it was her voice.
    ”John Cuddy, Ms. Moran. Yesterday at Billy’s?”
    Now the sound of bedsprings and heaving weight. I could hear someone pad to the door, then had to step down as it swung open at me.
    ”Jesus,” I said.
    Donna Moran looked out through the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. The closed eye and both cheeks were that purplish yellow of a recent beating.
    She