‘Hell, now, hard to remember. Few weeks, anyway. Seems to me he came through one night with a pocket full of credits. Bought himself a bottle, a few tabs, and a privacy room. Lucille went with him. No, not Lucille, shit. Was Hetta. All you white girls look alike,’ he said with a wink.
‘Did he tell anyone how he came to have full pockets?’
‘Mighta told Hetta, he was blissed out enough. Seems she picked up some more tabs for him. He wanted to stay happy. She said something about how old Boomer was going to be an entrepreneur or some horseshit like. We had ourselves a laugh over it, then he come out and got up onstage naked. We had a bigger laugh. Dude had the most pitiful cock you ever seen.’
‘So he was celebrating a deal.’
‘That’d be my take. We got busy. I had to crack a few heads, toss out some bodies. I remember how I was out on the street, and he come rushing out. I grabbed hold, just fooling. He didn’t look happy no more, he looked piss-your-pants scared.’
‘He say anything?’
‘Just shook himself loose and took off running. Last time I saw him, as I recollect.’
‘Who spooked him? Who’d he talk to?’
‘Can’t tell you that, sweet face.’
‘Did you see any of these people here that night?’ Eve took photos out of her bag, spread them out. Pandora, Jerry, Justin, Redford, and because it was necessary, Mavis and Leonardo.
‘Hey, I know these two. Fancy-face models.’ His wide fingers traced lovingly over Pandora and Jerry. ‘The redhead, she come in now and then, trolling for partners, looking to score. Could be she was here that night, but can’t say for certain sure. These others aren’t on our guest list, so to speak. Least I can’t make ’em.’
‘Did you ever see the redhead with Boomer?’
‘He wasn’t her pick. She liked them big, stupid, and young. Boomer was just stupid.’
‘What do you hear about a new blend on the streets, Crack?’
His big face went blank, closed off. ‘Don’t hear nothing.’
Friendly only went so far, she knew. Silently, Eve took out credits, laid them on the bar. ‘Hearing improved?’
He studied the credits, then looked back at her face. Recognizing the tactic negotiations, she added to them. The credits slid across the bar and disappeared.
‘Some rumblings recent, maybe, about some new shit. High powered, good long buzz, tough on the credit balance. Heard it called Immortality. None’s come passing this way, not yet. Most people ’round here can’t afford designer. They’ll have to wait for the knockoff, and that takes a few months more.’
‘Did Boomer talk about it?’
‘Is that what he was into?’ Speculation shifted into Crack’s eyes. ‘He never flapped to me about it. Like I said, I heard some rumblings pass through. It’s getting good advance hype, chemi-heads are jazzed over it, but I ain’t heard anybody had a taste. It’s good business,’ he said with a smile. ‘You got a product, a new one, you get the clientele wired up, hungry. Then when it hits, they’ll pay. They’ll pay big.’
‘Yeah, good business.’ She leaned forward. ‘Don’t try a sample, Crack. It’s fatal.’ When he started to blow that off, she put a hand on his beefy arm. ‘I mean literally. It’s poison, slow-acting poison. If there’s anyone you care about who uses, you warn them off this shit, or you won’t have them very long.’
He studied her face. ‘No jive here, white girl? This ain’t cop talk?’
‘No jive, no cop talk. A regular user’s got about five years before it overloads the nervous system and takes him out. That’s straight, Crack. And whoever’s manufacturing it knows it.’
‘Hell of a way to make a profit.’
‘Isn’t it just. Now, where can I find Hetta?’
Crack blew out a breath, shook his head. ‘Nobody gonna believe it if I tell ’em, anyhow. Not the ones already hungry.’ He looked back at Eve, focused. ‘Hetta? Shit, I don’t know. Ain’t seen her in weeks. These girls come and go, work one joint, go on to the next.’
‘Last name?’
‘Moppett. Hetta Moppett, rented a room over on Ninth last I heard, around a hundred and twentieth. Anytime you want to take up where she left off, sugarpuss, just let me know.’
Hetta Moppett hadn’t paid her rent in three weeks, nor had she shown her skinny little ass. This, according to the building super, who also informed Eve that Ms. Moppett had forty-eight hours to come up with back rent or her property was forfeit.
Eve listened to his angry yammering as she hoofed it up the stairs in the miserable three-floor walk-up. She had his master code in hand, and was certain he’d already used it as she unlocked Hetta’s door.