“There's chocolate chip cookies for desert.”
I laid my napkin on the table. “I'll put them in a bag.”
My mother jumped to her feet. “I'll do it.”
We had labor laws in the burg. Mothers do brown bags. That's it. No exceptions. All over the country people were looking for ways to get out of work. In the burg, housewives militantly guarded their responsibilities. Even working mothers refused to relinquish the assembling of lunch or leftovers. And while other family members might from time to time be recruited to mop the kitchen floor, do the laundry, polish the furniture, no one performed the task to housewife standards.
I took the cookie bag and ushered Sally out of the house. It was early, and we really didn't need to leave, but I didn't think I'd hold up to the grilling. There was no good way to tell my mother I was being stalked by a homicidal drag queen.
My mother and grandmother were at the door, watching us get in the car. They stood backs straight, hands clasped. Lips pressed tight together. Good Hungarian women. My mother wondering where she went wrong, wondering why I was riding around with a man wearing rhinestone earrings. My grandmother wishing she was with us.
“I have a key,” I called to them. “So, it probably would be a good idea to lock up.”
“Yeah,” Sally added, “and don't stand in front of any open windows.”
My mother did another sign of the cross.
I started the car. “We need to end this,” I told Sally. “I'm fed up with being scared, worrying that Sugar's going to jump out at me and set my hair on fire.”
“I talked to all the guys in the band, and no one's heard from him.”
I drove toward Chambers. Truth is, I'd abdicated dealing with Sugar. “Tell me about Sugar,” I said. “Tell me the stuff you told the police.”
"We were roommates for about six months, but I don't know a whole lot about him. His family's in Ohio. They couldn't deal with the gay thing, so Sugar split. I've been with the band for about a year, but in the beginning I mostly hung with the guys from Howling Dog.
“About six months ago Sugar had this knock-?down, drag-?out fight with his boyfriend, John. John moved out, and I moved in. Only I wasn't like John, you know. I was like just a roommate.”
“Sugar didn't think so.”
"Guess not. Man, this is a real piece of shit, on account of we were like the perfect roommates. Sugar's a neat freak. Always cleaning, cleaning, cleaning. And I'm like, not into that, so it was cool. I mean, man, we didn't fight over who got to do the fucking vacuuming. And he's real good with the girl shit. He knows all about foundation and blush and the best hair spray. You should have seen me before I moved in with him. I was like a fucking barbarian. I mean, I've like lived with a couple chicks, but I never paid any attention to how they got the fucking eyeliner on. This girl shit is complicated.
“Sugar knew all about it. He even helped me pick out clothes. That was the one thing we did together. Shop. He was a fucking shopping fool. Sometimes he'd bring clothes home for me. Like I wouldn't even have to go with him.”
So now I understood the shorts with the ass hanging out.
“He was in drag when he gave the note to Grandma,” I said. “It takes special equipment to look like a woman, and it's unlikely Sugar had time to take anything out of the apartment. So either he has a second apartment or else he bought new.”
“Probably bought new,” Sally said. “Sugar makes lots of money. Five times what I'm making. Some of the things you need to get in New York, but that's not a real problem.”
“Too bad he torched the apartment. We might have been able to find something there.”
“And the police have the diary.”
Common sense told me to give this over to Joe, but when I ran through the benefits they didn't add up. The department was already motivated to find Sugar. They were probably already putting out the maximum effort. What we needed here was talent from a different direction. What we needed was Ranger.
I called his private number, his pager, and finally connected on his car phone.
“Help,” I said.
“No kidding.”
I filled him in on recent harrowing events.
“Bummer,” Ranger said.
“Yeah, so what do you think I should do?”
“Increase his discomfort. Invade his space and do whatever makes him crazy.”