Betrayers (Nameless Detective Novels) by Bill Pronzini Read Free Book Online Page B

then he said, “What’d the dude do, throw you over for some guy?”
    “No.”
    “Vonda tell you he’s on the down low?”
    “You know she did.”
    “He give you a disease?”
    “No. I had myself tested.”
    “So?”
    “The man’s more than just on the down low,” Tamara said. “He’s a thief and maybe worse. Stole the real Lucas Zeller’s briefcase, wallet, identity, and some cash from his checking account. Stole his identity.”
    James took that in, not saying anything. The look he gave her then was a little less hostile. “You sure about all that?”
    “I’m sure.”
    “Well, you know that much, how come you can’t find him? Hot-shit de-tective like you.”
    “Not enough information yet.”
    “Who you working for, the real Zeller?”
    “No. For myself.”
    “Uh-huh, I get it. The woman-scorned bit.”
    “Let’s cut out the bullshit, James, all right? I need some help and I’m not ashamed to ask for it. Even from you. You gonna talk straight to me or you just gonna go on dissing me?”
    For a few seconds she thought she’d pushed him too hard, that he’d go off on her and chase her out. But he didn’t. Stared at her for half a minute, then let loose a grunting sound, leaned back in his chair, and said, “All right, sweet cheeks, do your thing. But don’t take too long. I got work to do.”
    Sweet cheeks. She hated that name, even more than she hated Pop calling her Sweetness, and James knew it. But she knew better than to call him on it. Stay cool, Tamara.
    “Where’d you meet him?” she asked. “Some sort of event at Moscone Center, wasn’t it?”
    “Yeah. Sports memorabilia show.”
    James was into sports in a big way. Football, basketball, baseball, golf . . . you name it, he followed it, and sometimes bet on games and matches. Liked rubbing elbows with black players for local teams, current and retired, and not just out of hero worship. Business reasons, too. He was always looking to connect with somebody who might do him and Three Brothers Construction some good.
    “So what happened?” she asked. “He approach you or the other way around?”
    “He did. Real friendly. Too fuckin’ friendly.”
    “But you didn’t figure it that way at first.”
    James didn’t say anything. His silence was answer enough.
    “He say what his business was?”
    “Investments.”
    “That’s all? Just investments?”
    “That’s all.”
    “Try to hustle you?”
    “No.”
    “Say anything about the sports club he wanted you to join?”
    “Not then. But that friend of his brought it up.”
    Tamara jumped on that. “Friend? What friend?”
    “Dude that brought him to the show.” The scowl darkened. “I should’ve known they were queers right then. Little guy kept giving me looks like I was a hunk of raw meat and he was a junkyard dog.”
    “What was his name?”
    “Hell, I don’t remember.”
    “Come on, James; it’s important. Think about it, try to remember.”
    “. . . Easy.”
    “What’s easy?”
    “Told me to call him Doctor Easy, everybody did.”
    “He didn’t give you his real name?”
    “Dawkins, Hawkins, something like that.”
    “Doctor Easy Dawkins? Doesn’t sound right—Wait. Initials?
E.Z.
?”
    “Whatever.”
    “You remember what kind of doctor?”
    “One of those spine snappers.”
    “Chiropractor? Here in the city?”
    Shrug. “Gave me a business card, but I didn’t look at it.”
    “You still have it?”
    “Threw it away on my way out.”
    “I don’t suppose Zeller had a business card?”
    “No. Asked for one of mine and I gave it to him. Didn’t see any reason not to.”
    Tamara asked, “What’d they tell you about the club?”
    “Brought it up real casual. Said they were big sports fans, got together once or twice a month with some other guys to kick back, have a few drinks, watch videos and films. Five of them now, was I interested in being number six?”
    “And you said?”
    “No. Fan clubs ain’t my thing.”
    “So then what