connection between you and those three detectives who died out there. Or Speedy Lebrun either. And don’t tell me this has anything to do with spirits.”
The Zombie wiped his mouth with his napkin. “You always believed in magic, didn’t you, Detective?” He turned to Michelange and said, “Detective Fisher is a very talented magician in his own right. He could have been a professional if he hadn’t decided to become a policeman.”
“I am very impressed,” said Michelange, although she didn’t sound it.
“Show her, Detective. Show her your famous jackpot trick.”
“Your jackpot trick?” asked Michelange.
“You should see it,” said the Zombie. “He swallows a quarter, then pulls down his arm like a slot machine and spits out a whole handful of quarters. Isn’t that right, Detective?”
“Forget it, Jean-Christophe. I’m investigating four suspicious deaths here.”
“Of course you are. But you asked me what the hell this is all about, and I’m trying to tell you. This is all about magic. This is all about radas and petros and maybe jackpot tricks, too. Haven’t you sniffed it in theair? Haven’t you sensed it? Magic has come to town, Detective, and believe me, everything is going to change.”
“This is double bullshit,” said Ernie. “Those guys out there, they all had families—wives and kids to take care of. I ought to run you in for depraved indifference.”
Jean-Christophe held out his wrists, as if he were offering himself up to be handcuffed. “Michelange, she was nowhere near your friends when their car caught fire. Neither was she anywhere close to Speedy Lebrun, when he collapsed. As for me, I was in here enjoying my lunch. There was nothing that either of us could have done to prevent these unfortunate events. What, exactly, do you think we’re guilty of?”
Back outside on Santa Monica, Ernie said, “What do you make of that?”
“What, the spirit story? She was trying to make fools of us, that’s all. She knows why that car went up, and, believe me, it wasn’t torched by any goddamned loua . The question is, how was it torched?”
“I’ll run a check on her,” said Ernie, taking out his notebook and scribbling in it. “At the very least we could have her deported back to Haiti.”
They walked back to the burned-out Crown Victoria. The bodies of the three detectives had been carefully pried out of their seats, although fragments of crisp black flesh remained stuck to the seat springs. Ernie crossed himself and said, “Rest in peace, Detectives. We’ll find out who did this to you, trust us.”
Dan checked his watch. “Listen, I have a couple of errands to run. But I’ll drop into the station later and see what CSU has managed to come up with. If forensics can work out how these guys were burned, my feeling is that it won’t be too difficult to work out who did it.”
He opened the door of his SUV and was about toclimb in when he became aware that Michelange DuPriz had stalked out of the front door of the Palm, with the Zombie close behind her. She stopped, took off her sunglasses, and shaded her eyes with her hand.
“She’s looking this way,” said Ernie.
“You’re right. She’s staring at us.”
Michelange was saying something to the Zombie, but she was too far away for Dan to hear her. Whatever it was, though, it made the Zombie laugh.
“You know what I’d like to do to that bastard?” said Ernie. “I’d like to cut off his cojones and make him eat them raw with salsa ranchera .”
“You’ll get your chance one day,” Dan told him. “I’ll see you in maybe a couple of hours, okay?”
“She’s still staring at us. What’s she doing?”
Michelange was reaching into her long gray purse. She was calling out to them, too.
“What’s she saying? I can’t hear her. That goddamned helicopter.”
Dan took off his sunglasses. Michelange was making a flicking gesture with her right hand, and he could see something sparkling in
The Zombie wiped his mouth with his napkin. “You always believed in magic, didn’t you, Detective?” He turned to Michelange and said, “Detective Fisher is a very talented magician in his own right. He could have been a professional if he hadn’t decided to become a policeman.”
“I am very impressed,” said Michelange, although she didn’t sound it.
“Show her, Detective. Show her your famous jackpot trick.”
“Your jackpot trick?” asked Michelange.
“You should see it,” said the Zombie. “He swallows a quarter, then pulls down his arm like a slot machine and spits out a whole handful of quarters. Isn’t that right, Detective?”
“Forget it, Jean-Christophe. I’m investigating four suspicious deaths here.”
“Of course you are. But you asked me what the hell this is all about, and I’m trying to tell you. This is all about magic. This is all about radas and petros and maybe jackpot tricks, too. Haven’t you sniffed it in theair? Haven’t you sensed it? Magic has come to town, Detective, and believe me, everything is going to change.”
“This is double bullshit,” said Ernie. “Those guys out there, they all had families—wives and kids to take care of. I ought to run you in for depraved indifference.”
Jean-Christophe held out his wrists, as if he were offering himself up to be handcuffed. “Michelange, she was nowhere near your friends when their car caught fire. Neither was she anywhere close to Speedy Lebrun, when he collapsed. As for me, I was in here enjoying my lunch. There was nothing that either of us could have done to prevent these unfortunate events. What, exactly, do you think we’re guilty of?”
Back outside on Santa Monica, Ernie said, “What do you make of that?”
“What, the spirit story? She was trying to make fools of us, that’s all. She knows why that car went up, and, believe me, it wasn’t torched by any goddamned loua . The question is, how was it torched?”
“I’ll run a check on her,” said Ernie, taking out his notebook and scribbling in it. “At the very least we could have her deported back to Haiti.”
They walked back to the burned-out Crown Victoria. The bodies of the three detectives had been carefully pried out of their seats, although fragments of crisp black flesh remained stuck to the seat springs. Ernie crossed himself and said, “Rest in peace, Detectives. We’ll find out who did this to you, trust us.”
Dan checked his watch. “Listen, I have a couple of errands to run. But I’ll drop into the station later and see what CSU has managed to come up with. If forensics can work out how these guys were burned, my feeling is that it won’t be too difficult to work out who did it.”
He opened the door of his SUV and was about toclimb in when he became aware that Michelange DuPriz had stalked out of the front door of the Palm, with the Zombie close behind her. She stopped, took off her sunglasses, and shaded her eyes with her hand.
“She’s looking this way,” said Ernie.
“You’re right. She’s staring at us.”
Michelange was saying something to the Zombie, but she was too far away for Dan to hear her. Whatever it was, though, it made the Zombie laugh.
“You know what I’d like to do to that bastard?” said Ernie. “I’d like to cut off his cojones and make him eat them raw with salsa ranchera .”
“You’ll get your chance one day,” Dan told him. “I’ll see you in maybe a couple of hours, okay?”
“She’s still staring at us. What’s she doing?”
Michelange was reaching into her long gray purse. She was calling out to them, too.
“What’s she saying? I can’t hear her. That goddamned helicopter.”
Dan took off his sunglasses. Michelange was making a flicking gesture with her right hand, and he could see something sparkling in
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