Tough Baby (Martin Fender Novel) by Jesse Sublett Page B

options. So what’s the big deal if I skin my knuckles on Vick Travis’s teeth?”
    “Some people like to be punched out, some people don’t. Some people don’t so bad they swear out a complaint against you. They do that, we’re supposed to respond.”
“I thought that was for the robbery and assault division. Last I heard, you’re in homicide.”
“That I am, Martin, that I am,” he drawled. He pulled his sunglasses down on his nose so I could see his eyes.
“All right, then, what’s it all about?”
    “I told you that the stuff we got from the lab didn’t completely clear you any more than the circumstantial evidence we had would indict you. Didn’t I?” I acknowledged that, yes, he had told me that. “So you just kind of went from one state of suspension to another. The thing is, you’re still pretty high on our list of people to touch base with on the Retha Thomas thing.
Now we got some more chitchat to do. You know Donald Rollins?”
“He used to tend bar over at Steamboat, didn’t he?”
Lasko nodded. “Made a damn good margarita.”
“He’s a hype, right?”
    “Yep. They had to let him go when they found out he’d made a spare key for the Space Invaders machine and all the quarters were going in his arm.”
    “I seem to recall something about that. He borrowed one of Leo’s guitars. It turned up in a pawn shop in Houston and Leo had to pay a hundred bucks to get it back since he didn’t have any proof of ownership.”
    Lasko made a clucking sound. “Well, that’s too bad. They found Donald tangled up in the duckweed over close to Marshall Ford Dam this morning.”
“OD?”
He shrugged. “Hard to tell right off. A day or two in that lake water kinda complicates things. One thing we can tell, though.”
“What’s that?”
“He’d been beaten. Lacerations like what comes from being flogged with a whip or a belt. Handcuff marks.”
“Weird.”
“Yeah. It’s a weird world, Martin. Know anything?”
“Why would I?”
    “His sister claims that he was going down to pay Vick a little visit, last she saw him. That was Sunday, but somebody else claims they saw him down there Monday night, too. Way the time works out, it looks like it was about an hour before closing time, maybe not long before you dropped in on the place.”
I thought about that for a second. “He drive a green Plymouth?”
“Yep. It was parked over by the dam.”
“He left when I got there. I didn’t even see him.”
“Too busy assaulting Vick?”
“Aw come on, Lasko. That’s my business. Maybe it was a mistake, but—”
    “Damn right it was a mistake, Martin. What the hell were you trying to do, beat a confession out of him? I’m the law around here. You get a bug up your ass next time, come to me. It’s my job to solve crime, it’s yours to entertain people. Some day you fly off the handle like that you’ll find that you’ve blown any chance you had of making it. The music scene needs you. APD don’t.”
    “Oh, yeah. You’re doing just fine.”
    “Yeah? Well which one of us is doing better? I don’t see you on MTV. This is complicated and fucked up enough without having to deal with your bullshit. You punching out Vick is just the kind of thing that keeps you in the lineup. The Lieutenant . . . Well, forget it. You want a ride back?”
    “What? Is that it?”
    “Yeah, I guess so, for now. I told Vick, why didn’t he just cool off for a bit before he makes a final decision on pressing charges. I suggest you go over and apologize to the big porker. But don’t call him that.”
    “I won’t,” I said. “No use slandering the pigs of the world. When can I get my bass back?”
    “Might be a long time,” he said. “Retha Thomas hasn’t gotten any better.”

 
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
     
    I went back to my apartment, fed the cat, and flopped on the bed so I could think about the situation. But I hadn’t slept worth a damn in several days and ended up dozing off.
    I woke up drenched in the proverbial