We hung around for another fifteen minutes, but Shempsky didn't materialize.
“Maybe we should go get that wife beater,” Lula said. “I bet he's sitting in his living room, drinking beer, being a jerk.”
I looked at my watch. Noon. Chances were good that Kenyon Lally was just getting up. Unemployed drunks were usually slow risers. Might be a good time to snag him.
“Okay,” I said, “we'll take a ride over.”
“Gonna fit right in with the BMW,” Lula said. “Everybody in the projects gonna think you're a drug dealer.”
Oh, great.
“I know about the bomb sensors and all,” Lula said after we'd gone about a half mile, “but I still got the heebie-?jeebies sitting next to you.”
I knew exactly where she was coming from. I felt like that, too. “I could take you back to the office if you're uncomfortable.”
“Hell, no. I'm not that freaked out. It just makes you wonder, you know? Anyway, I felt like that when I was a 'ho, too. You never knew when you were gonna get in the car with some maniac.”
“It must have been a tough job.”
“Most of my customers were repeaters, so that wasn't too bad. The worst part was standing around on the corner. Don't matter if it's hot or cold or raining, you still gotta stand there. Most people think the hard part's being on your back, but the hard part is being on your feet all day and night. I got varicose veins from standing too many hours on my feet. I guess if I'd been a better 'ho I'd have been on my back more and my feet less.”
I took Nottingham to Greenwood, turned right off Greenwood, and crossed the railroad tracks. Trenton subsidized housing always reminded me of a POW camp, and in many ways, that's exactly what it was. Although, in all fairness, I have to say they aren't the worst I've ever seen. And they were preferable to living on Stark Street. I suppose the original vision was of garden apartments, but the reality is cement an
d brick bunkers squatting on hard-?packed dirt. If I had to find a single word to describe the neighborhood, I'd have to choose bleak.
“We want the next building,” Lula said. “Apartment 4B.”
I parked around the corner, a block away, so Lally wouldn't see us coming, got out, and studied Lally's photo.
“Nice touch with the vest,” Lula said. “It'll come in handy when the Welcome Wagon shows up.”
The sky was gray and the wind whipped across yards. A few cars were parked on the street, but there was no activity. No dogs, no kids, no stoop sitters. It looked like a ghost town with Hitler as architect.
Lula and I walked to 4B and rang the bell.
Kenyon Lally answered the door. He was my height and rangy, wearing low-?slung jeans and a thermal T-?shirt. His hair was uncombed, and his face was unshaven. And he looked like a man who smacked women around.
“Hunh,” Lula said when she saw him.
“We don't need no Girl Scout cookies,” Lally said. And he slammed the door shut.
“I hate when people do that,” Lula said.
I rang the bell again, but there was no response.
“Hey!” Lula yelled. “Bail Enforcement Agents. Open this door!”
“Go fuck yourself,” Lally yelled back.
“The hell with this bullshit,” Lula said. She gave the door a kick with her foot, and the door banged open.
We were both so surprised we just stood there. Neither of us had expected the door to open.
“Government housing,” Lula finally said with a shake of her head. “It makes you wonder, don't it?”
“You're gonna pay for that,” Lally said.
Lula was standing with her hands in her jacket pockets. “How about you make me? Why don't you come get me, Mr. Tough Guy?”