Bloody Genius (Virgil Flowers, #12)(60)

Virgil said to the criminal, “Should I just call you Long for short?”

“Call him Wayne. That might be his real name,” Capslock said.

Reacting to Virgil’s “Long/short” comment, Wayne was giving him his version of the prison death stare, which was interrupted by the arrival of two more PBRs. When the bartender had gone, Capslock said, “Wayne, tell Virgil about China White.”

“There isn’t one,” Wayne grunted.

Capslock said to Virgil, “There you go . . .”

“You mean, no one anywhere?” Virgil asked.

“Maybe in California—I wouldn’t know about that—but not in Minneapolis or St. Paul. Nobody would call themselves that. It’s too stupid.”

“I’m not sure how many bright drug dealers I’ve known,” Virgil said. “I could probably count them on the fingers of one finger.”

“Still too stupid,” Wayne said. “Even a dumb guy wouldn’t call himself that.”

“Or woman.”

That caused Wayne to pause halfway through a swallow of beer, his Adam’s apple stuck briefly under his chin. When he took the bottle down, he said, “You know, China White would be a good name for a porn star. One of them chink half-breeds, looks kinda white but with slanty eyes?”

Virgil: “So, you know any porn stars named China White?”

“Not yet,” Wayne said.

Capslock: “Wayne’s getting out of the art side of porn, going into production work.”

Wayne: “That’s where the money is.”

Virgil said to Capslock, “Well, I appreciate meeting this gentleman. Now, I think I’ll head over to my hotel—”

“Virgil, Virgil. Listen to the man,” Capslock said.

“He said there’s no China White.”

“But that’s not the only question you’re asking, is it? Wayne’s connections in the sex business are extensive . . . You tell him, Wayne.”

Wayne leaned forward, dropped his voice: just us boys here. “I was, uh, auditioning this chick for a role in one of my upcoming productions, and we got to talking and she mentioned that this girl she knew was fucking a famous professor.”

Virgil looked at him for a moment, then asked, “Why are you telling me this?”

“As a favor to Del,” Wayne said.

“Wayne was supplying medical marijuana to some needy people—”

“Injured veterans,” Wayne said.

“—and was found to have twenty kilos of primo Mexican weed in the back of his Camaro,” Capslock said.

“The whole thing was a total misunderstanding,” Wayne said. “One of my friends put it there. I didn’t even know about it.”

“What happened to his friend?” Virgil asked Capslock.

“He returned to his residence in Juárez. He refuses to come back and testify on Wayne’s behalf,” Capslock said. “A group of us law enforcement officers pointed out to the county attorney that Wayne has insights into several local criminal enterprises. An arrangement was made.”

“I gotta do two thousand hours of community service,” Wayne said. “Two thousand hours. Jesus Christ and all the fuckin’ Apostles didn’t do that many.”

“Careful,” Capslock said. “Virgil’s the son of a preacher.”

“Well, then, I apologize to you, your dad, Jesus Christ, and all the fuckin’ Apostles—the whole fuckin’ bunch of you.”

Virgil: “I’m losing track of the conversation. You have a friend who knows somebody who was fucking a famous professor?”

“Yeah. At the U.”

“What’s your friend’s name? Not China White?”

“Paisley.”

“Paisley what?”

“Just Paisley. Some of the guys call her Paisley Tied because, you know . . .”

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “Like a necktie.”

Wayne glanced at Capslock, then looked back at Virgil. “Necktie? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Virgil said, “What?”

Wayne said, “No neckties. She’s called that because you can tie her up. Or she can tie you up. Strictly voluntary. Costs extra, of course.”

Capslock laughed, and asked the world, “We’re talking about a classy chick, are we not?”

“Where can I find her?” Virgil asked. “Paisley?”

“You gotta call her and she’ll meet you. I got her number. Tell her that she was recommended by Richard. Ask her what facilities she offers,” Wayne said. “That way, she’ll know you know about the tie thing.”

“I’ll do that,” Virgil said. “And Wayne? If word leaks back to her before I get there, you’ll be doing six thousand hours.”

Wayne looked at Capslock. “This guy’s an asshole, Del. You said he was okay.”

Capslock shrugged, and said, “Wayne, we can all be assholes. Isn’t that the way of the world? Assholes everywhere. You’re an asshole, I’m an asshole . . .”

Wayne took a swig of beer, tipped the bottle at Virgil. “And this guy’s an asshole. You’re right, Del. Assholes everywhere. Six thousand hours, shit snackin’ crackers.”