True Detectives

Moe said, “You can help yourself, Ramone.”

“How much can I help myself?”

“What do you mean?”

Sly smile. “Business transaction. What's the deal?”

“I'm not going to lie to you, friend, 'cause that would be wasting everyone's time. And you've been around long enough to know reality. Anything official is up to the D.A. But we're murder cops, the D.A. listens to us.”

“Misdemeanor,” said Wohr. “No jail time?”

“On what?”

“Delishus.”

Meaning he wasn't worried about his involvement in murder. Or was the mope that clever?

Moe said, “Detective Co

Petra said, “Theoretically, if two murders get cleared, I can't see any problem with that.”

Moe said, “Clearing three murders would be even better.”

“No doubt,” said Petra.

“Three?” said Ramone. Confusion clouded the mope's face.

Uh-oh.

Moe made the plunge. “Caitlin Frostig.”

“Who?” Not a hint of evasiveness in the squinty eyes. Real confusion.

“Caitlin Frostig,” said Moe. “Adella's babysitter. Pretty blond girl.”

Wohr said, “Oh, her.”

“You know her.”

“I seen her once, maybe twice. She also got killed?”

“Is that a real question, Ramone?”

“Yes, sir, yes, yes, yes, sir-I met her once. Coming to pick up Addie, like you said, Addie's going out, that girl's there with the baby. One, two times is all-yeah, it was two. That's it, sir. She got dead, I don't know about it.”

“But you do know about a dead mommy. And a dead baby,” said Moe, remembering the Reverend Wohr's account of his brother's cold attitude toward the infant. “Little, tiny baby with a name. Gabriel. Like the angel. Now he is a little angel, Ramone.”

Wohr didn't respond.

“Dead baby, dead mommy, dead babysitter, Ramone. Quite a scoreboard for a guy who doesn't know about stuff like that.”

Wohr's bony butt levitated out of the chair and for a second Moe thought he'd need to restrain the idiot. But Wohr sank down heavily, hugged himself, shook his head. Tugged at his cheeks.

“You're in it for triple murder, Ramone.”

“Oh, Jesus God.”

“Maybe you're not that bad of a person,” said Moe. “Maybe it really bothers you.”

“Aw, man-you should-in here.” Slapping his forehead. “Bad pictures, sir. Even though I never actually seen nothing.”

“Pictures of what?”

“You know.”

“Tell me, Ramone.”

“Dead people. I worked hard at turning them off. The pictures.”

“Trying to switch the cha

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Did getting paid to forget help, Ramone?”

“Huh?”

“One of your transactions,” said Moe. “Keep your mouth shut for the opportunity to keep pimping to rich folk.”

Stolid silence, but no denial.

Moe went on, “You might've cleared your own head but the law doesn't see it that way, Ramone. You're in the middle of it. It won't be any big stretch making this a three-strikes deal, Ramone. But even without that, we're talking…” To Petra: “Like forever?”

She said, “I'd guess forever plus a hundred years or so.” She edged closer to Wohr. “Poor little Gabriel. Talk about a tiny skeleton, like a toy, at first you don't even think it's real.”

“You found him?” Wohr blurted.

“Any reason we shouldn't?”

“No, no, no. I just…”

Moe hardened his voice. Crowded Wohr. Got closer to Petra, in the process. Her girl-scent helped take the edge off Wohr's stench. “You just what, Ramone?”

“I never heard he got found.”

“But you heard he got killed.”

Silence.

“Here's the deal, Ramone: Some people don't like surprises, but we do. Helps relieve the boredom. We've got all sorts of surprises about things you can't even imagine.”

Wohr's eyes passed from Moe to Petra, back to Moe. The guy's body was slumped and shaky and pathetic, but the eyes belonged to a stronger, shrewder man.

All the dope he'd pumped, all the booze he'd soaked up, his IQ could be down to double digits and he'd still retain a certain type of cu

He said, “You know what you know, but I don't know nothing.”

Moe sensed it: The danger point, any minute the mope could clam, ask for a lawyer.

Time to take another plunge. “Well, then, Ramone, we'll share-so everyone will know everything. You got paid off to keep quiet about the murders, but it was only a small-time payment. You never cashed in like you could've.”

Wohr's eyes froze but he couldn't plug up the sweat glands slicking his face and neck.

Petra's perfume no longer masking the stink.

Wohr's mustache trembled.

Moe said, “Maybe you didn't cash in because you were scared. Maybe you're basically a small-time guy, happy with small-time compensation-happy to keep peddling skin to rich folk. Maybe making nice to rich folk lets you pretend your own life is expensive, not cheap like Adella and Gabriel and Caitlin.”

Wohr shook his head.

“Thing is, Ramone, that flesh you kept peddling was Alicia's and she had enough, wanted you to cash in big. She was tired of partying in shitty motels like the Eagle because you were too scared to make demands. She got frustrated. Downright pissed-off frustrated. To the point where she bitch-slapped you on the street, front of the whole neighborhood.”

“No one saw nothing,” Wohr snapped.

Moe smiled. “You think?”

Realizing his error, Wohr shook his head hard enough to fling sweat. Droplets landed on Moe's khakis. Petra's black pants, too. Neither cop moved to wipe it off.

Wohr said, “What I'm sayin’, Alicia wouldn't do that, she never hit me.”

“Then how do you think we know about it, Ramone? I was there.” Letting that sink in. Describing Eiger's and Wohr's clothes made Wohr shake like he'd detoxed too fast.

Moe said, “She called you stupid, disrespected you, then hauled off and bitch-slapped you.” Moe rattled off the address on Taft. “I saw it, Ramone. Not a love pat, a real hard smack, you could hear it up the block. And what do you do? You just slink off like some beat-down dog, go get juiced up at Bob's, then you buy some dope from another mope over near Cherokee, then you wander around Hollywood all day and into the night, walking and drinking and smoking, like some useless, abused mutt. And then, because you still can't get rid of the anger at being disrespected but you can't stand up to Alicia, you go looking for someone you can control. Because Delishus looks ten and reminds you of all those little girls you peep when they don't know you're lurking outside their bedroom windows.”

“I don't do that-”

“Your niece Sarah says you do.”

Ramone's mouth dropped open.

Moe smiled. “It's your day for surprises, my friend. Just like you were surprised to find Officer Ke

“Aw… no.” Moan of despair, not denial.

Placing both hands on Wohr's shoulders, Moe exerted pressure. “We know everything. And you still don't have the smarts to stop playing with us in order to better your situation.”

Wohr lowered his chin to his chest. Sniffled.

Moe gave an eye-signal to Petra.

She said, “I, for one, am feeling sorry for you, Ramone, because you're not a violent person. But who I'm really feeling sorry for is Alicia. Poor girl was getting smart, all she wanted to do was stop selling her body. How long has she been on you to make some serious dough from those murdering bastards?”

Head shake.

“How long, Ramone?” she said, gently. “Probably right from the begi

“Too scary,” muttered Wohr.

“To pressure the rich folk?”

Nod.

“Unfortunately, Alicia didn't see it that way,” said Petra. “Maybe because you were still selling her to the people who did those murders.”