Chapter Eleven

Brent stood up, a little foggy-headed from the scotch, and wandered into the living room. He spotted Joe sitting opposite Gerry, who was still breaking up rocks of cocaine at the dining table.

"There you are," Joe said, waving Brent toward a chair. "We were just talking about you."

Brent frowned as Joe accepted a joint from Gerry and took a drag, then passed the stub back to Gerry, who quit working for a minute. He took a long hit then picked up what was left of his rock and began rubbing it back and forth across the screen. With his other hand he motioned toward some pre-cut lines on the mirror. "Help yourself, fratboy. This is good stuff. Gets you wired without feeling real jittery, you know? And hardly any taste at all."

Brent shook his head. "You know I was never into that stuff."

Gerry shrugged. "You're missing out, but suit yourself."

"Gerry was just telling me how they've had a lot of people through this apartment in the last twenty-four hours," Joe said. He frowned at what was left of the joint, then looked up at Gerry. "Got a roach clip?"

"Somewhere."

Joe moved a few things around but didn't find what he was looking for. "Doesn't matter, I guess." He stubbed out the remains of the cigarette into a nearby ashtray.

Gerry's rock was now a crumb. He picked up an old toothbrush and used it to force the remainder through the mesh. Satisfied, he licked the shiny white residue off his fingers. "I'm thirsty now," he informed Joe with a grin. "Want a beer?"

"Sure."

"You need anything?" Gerry looked at Brent, who shook his head. "Be right back, then."

As soon as Gerry disappeared into the kitchen, Brent leaned toward Joe. "What do you think you're doing smoking?" he whispered. "And with these, of all people!"

Joe backed away. "I smoke at home in my studio. What are you, my mother?"

Brent settled back in his chair. "We came here to find your wife," he muttered. "Not to go getting fucked up and forgetting why we're here."

"It's just a little weed. I guess these folks are right-- you really were a poseur, but I don't exactly see you refusing good scotch. Besides, there may be some benefit in making friends with this guy. I think he knows something and might be willing to tell me if I approach him right."

"Well, you can't do much worse than I did with Sylvia. I know she knows what's up, but she's playing dumb with me."

Gerry appeared out of the kitchen with a Bohemia in each hand and handed one to Joe. Before he could take a sip, though, Sylvia appeared at Gerry's side with a cell phone. "It's Lonnie. Wants to know what the ecstasy is going for, and how many hits can he get."

Gerry took the phone. "Lonnie, buddy! How's it going? No, man, that was last week. They're twenty now." He threw his head back and took a swig of his beer. "Think about it and come over if you're interested. I can let you have ten. Yeah, okay. See you." Gerry dropped the phone in his pocket and went back to the table where he picked up a spoon and a tiny ziplock and began spooning the freshly powdered cocaine into the bag.

"How much does that go for these days?" Joe asked.

"This batch is a hundred a gram. You want some? It's cheaper than dirt at this price."

"No, thanks. Just wondering." Joe took a sip of his beer and looked away as if only marginally interested what was going on. "Did Elise buy any?"

Brent darted a surprised look at him, then blanked his features and took a sip of scotch. Gerry looked at both men, scanning their faces for cues how to proceed.

"Come on, man," Joe said, setting down his beer. "You might as well tell me. What if she was still your girlfriend? Or what if it was Sylvia gone, and you were trying to find her?"

Gerry hesitated a moment, then checked over his shoulder to see who might be paying attention. The man on the sofa was fumbling with a purple bong and the girl beside him had fallen asleep, her head tipped back against the sofa, snoring softly as a trickle of drool coursed down her chin. The girl on the floor was still staring enraptured into her mirror. Another man had shown up since Brent and Joe arrived and was sitting on the edge of an armchair watching Sylvia count out yellow pills from a baggie. Gerry turned back to Joe, and dropped his voice. "She didn't buy anything from me," he said. "But she was here earlier and she was working on some things with Sylvia. She's gone now," he added needlessly.

"What kinds of things did she work on with Sylvia?" Joe asked. "Drugs?"

Gerry shook his head. "That's pretty much my domain. Sylvia has some other things going on. Mostly procurement and people-smuggling. You know, illegals."

"So does she fix them up with ID and all that?" Brent asked.

Gerry nodded. "She has connections for everything-- birth certificates, social security cards, you name it."

"So where do you think Elise went after Sylvia fixed her up?" Joe asked.

Gerry's eyes darted in Sylvia's direction. "I promised I wouldn't tell."

Joe threw himself back in his chair in exasperation, but Brent pressed on. "When exactly was she here? What time?"

"Oh, she got in last night, late. She was here all day, in and out, taking care of some things. She left a few hours before you got here."

"Great," Joe muttered. "I knew the rain was going to screw us up."

"So what things did she get taken care of today?" Brent asked, ignoring Joe's outburst.

Gerry picked up a small scale. "Would you help me with this? You're supposed to hang it onto something, but the hook is broke. Just hold it while I weigh these bags."

Brent came around to Gerry's side of the table and held the scale by its small chain while Gerry clipped bags to it one by one, noting their weight and occasionally adding more powder or taking a little out. "So what kinds of things was Elise doing today?" he asked again.

Gerry's voice dropped to almost a whisper. "She was trying to ditch her car, for one thing."

Brent frowned. "Why?"

Gerry unclipped a bag from the scale and held it up to the light. "So she could get the money but not have anyone know what she did or when she did it. She'll probably get another car under her new ID. Most of them do." He kneaded the powder in the little bag and dropped it on the table with the others.

"So she's covering her tracks."

"You've got it." Gerry clipped another bag onto the scale, then unclipped it and spooned a little powder out. He looked around on the table, found a snipped-off drinking straw and snorted up the powder, then rubbed his nose thoughtfully before sealing the bag and clipping it back to the scale.

"So is that all she did today?" Brent asked. "Sold the car? She didn't get around to the ID?"

Gerry shook his head. "She was working with one of Sylvia's contacts, Perry Clyman, to try and get some phony papers and put her money into an account under an assumed name. Sylvia has a real job, you know, so she doesn't always have time to handle these things directly. Often it's better just to be the middleman. Less chance of ending up in jail." He was finished weighing his bags and took the scale out of Brent's hand. "So why is Elise going to all this trouble?" he asked. "I mean, she made it pretty clear that it was none of my business, but Sylvia won't tell me what's up, either. She must be in some kind of trouble."

Joe, who had been leaning forward in his chair listening, shook his head. "Not as far as we know, although now I'm not so sure."

"Seems like a lot of hassle," Brent agreed. "She obviously didn't plan this on the spur of the moment, if she got everything taken care of so fast."

"I guess we were right about why she came here," Joe said.

Gerry grinned. "She knew what she was doing, calling Sylvia. That girl has always known how to keep things off the record. A college education was a waste of her time, and this Perry friend of hers is amazing. For the right price, he'll make you a Sultan of Egypt. Change your name, change your social security number, get you some fake job references... you can be a new man, no more struggles. Start your life all over again from scratch."

"Think that's what she was after?" Brent asked, turning to Joe. "Maybe she just wanted a fresh start?"

Joe sighed deeply. "I don't know why she'd want to do it like this. I'd have given her anything she wanted, gone anywhere, let her be whoever she wanted to be. She didn't need to run away."

Gerry shrugged and drank the last of his beer. "Tabula rasa, man. Sometimes a person wants to really start over-- clean the slate completely."

"So where is she now?" Brent asked.

Gerry shook his head. "I've told you way too much already. You'd best try and weasel that one out of Sylvia, because she won't go lenient on me if I tell you."