“Every now and then she gets up to go out, but only for thirty seconds, then it’s back to her station. What a champ. My, oh my.” Mr. Contreras smacked his lips. “Of course, I feed her regular, just like the doc said, so don’t you go worrying about her.”
“I’m not.” I knelt cautiously next to the nursery and stuck my hand slowly behind the couch, giving Peppy time to growl me off if she wanted to. She watched warily as I stroked her babies. I longed to pick one up—their tiny bodies would just about fit in the palm of my hand—but didn’t want to alarm her. She seemed relieved when I stood back up.
“So where’s the fire?” I asked. “Your old buddy steal Clara’s silver or something?” Mr. Contreras’s dead wife had left behind a pair of candlesticks and a silver salt shaker which he never used but couldn’t bring himself to pass on to his daughter.
“No, nothin‘ like that. But I want you to talk to him. He’s got something on his mind that he’s acting awful cute about. I don’t have time to figure out what he’s driving at. Besides, it ain’t good for the princess to have him drinking around her babies, and then snoring all night on the couch right over her head the way he does. I need to get him out of here today.”
“I can’t get the guy into A.A., my friend.”
“And I ain’t asking you to. Crying out loud, you jump to conclusions faster’n a flea trying to reach the dog.”
“Why don’t you tell me what the problem is, then, instead of dancing around it—listening to you is like hearing a mosquito buzz away for an hour while you wonder where it’s going to land.”
“There’s no call for that kind of language, cookie, no call at all. You don’t mind my saying so, but sometimes you’re a little bit fresh.”
I rolled my eyes but bit back a snappy retort. At this rate I’d be here all day and I didn’t have a day to spend on it.
“What seems to be troubling Mr. Kruger?” I asked primly.
Mr. Contreras scratched the back of his head. “That’s what I can’t exactly figure out. I thought maybe you could talk to him, being as you’re a trained investigator and all. See, him and me used to work together out at Diamond Head—you know, the engine makers on Damen down by the river. Then we retired, but we picked the wrong year to do it, back in seventy-nine when inflation was so rough, and our pensions, which seemed good enough at the time, couldn’t keep up. I wasn’t so bad off, because I owned my house, and then when Clara died I bought this place, but Mitch kind of outdrank his, and he also don’t have my luck at the track. Or more to the point, he don’t have my self-control.” He started for the kitchen as though that explained everything.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m short on sleep and can’t make the connection.”
Mr. Contreras stopped to look at me in exasperation. “So he needs money, of course.”
“Of course,” I agreed, trying to keep a sharp edge out of my voice. “What’s he doing to get it that has you so worried? Holding up 7-Elevens?”
“Of course he ain’t, doll. Use your head. Would I let someone like that into the building here?” He stopped a minute, sucking his cheeks in. “Trouble is, I don’t know what he might be doing. Long as I’ve known him, which is a long time now, Mitch’s always had some scheme or other going. And now he thinks he’s got a way to make Diamond Head put him back on the payroll.”
Mr. Contreras snorted. “I ask you! It isn’t even as if any of the guys we used to know was still there. They’re all retired or been kicked out or whatever. And between you and me, he wouldn’t have been kept on the last three years if we hadn’t had such a tight local. But. nowadays? With the shape he’s in and guys half our age pounding the sidewalks looking for machine work? But he’s making a big old mystery out of it, so I thought of you. Where there’s a mystery, you like to be poking your nose into it.”
Something about the story didn’t ring quite true to me. I rubbed my eyes, hoping to bring life into my fuzzy brain.
“What is it you really want to know? Why do you care if Kruger’s panhandling out at Diamond Head?”
Mr. Contreras took out his giant red handkerchief and rubbed his nose. “Mitch and me grew up together down in McKinley Park. We went to school together, we ran with the same gang, fought the same guys, all that stuff. We even signed our apprenticeship papers the same day. He ain’t much, but he’s about all I got left from that time in my life. I don’t want to see him make a goddam fool of himself in front of the bosses. I’d like to know what he’s up to.”
He spoke in a fast, mumbly voice that I had to strain to hear, as if he were embarrassed to admit sentiment or affection for Kruger. I was touched by both his feelings and his awkwardness.
“I can’t promise you anything, but at least I can talk to him.”