Deacon King Kong(84)

She heard herself gasp without really feeling it. She had no plan to howl and lose her face in front of him. She felt foolish suddenly. He was a wonderful stranger, a lovely dream, and now he was just like any other cop. Bringing bad news. And probably reports. And more warrants. And more questions. Always questions from these types. Never answers.

“I didn’t believe it when I heard it,” she said somberly. “I thought maybe Sportcoat was the one that drowned.”

“No. Sausage drowned. Our guy—your guy—Sportcoat is alive. I saw him this morning.”

“Is he okay?”

“Shot in the chest. He’s alive, though. He’ll make it.”

“Where is he?”

“Maimonides hospital in Borough Park.”

“Why’d they brung him all the way out there?”

Potts shrugged. “Also, Deems Clemens was shot in the left shoulder. He’ll live too.”

“Lord. They shot each other?”

“Unknown. Also there was a third person shot. Randall Collins. He was killed.”

“I don’t know him.”

“Apparently he had a nickname.”

“Everybody does out here.”

“Beanie.”

“I know him.” She said it curtly, to cut off the choking sound of her own weeping. Once it started she knew it wouldn’t stop. She was not going to cry in front of him. Then the first surge of shock and sorrow passed and he was still silent, so she spoke again, just to keep her composure. “What do you need from me?”

“Any reason your man Sportcoat would want to shoot those two?”

“You know the reason behind it much as I do,” she said.

Potts’s glance moved to the rooftop of the plaza building in front of him. He noticed a kid peek over the edge of the roof and disappear. A cop watcher, he thought.

“Actually, I don’t,” he said. “I saw your Sportcoat in the hospital this morning. He’d been shot close to the heart. They operated and took out the bullet, but he’s okay. He was groggy. Sedated. He was kind of confused. We spoke only a few minutes. He said he didn’t shoot Deems.”

“That sounds like Sportcoat. He was drunk when he did it—that first time anyway. Says he don’t remember a thing. Which he probably don’t.”

“Your Sportcoat, he says a woman shot them all.”

“Well, I reckon a soul will say anything to stay outta jail.”

“I told him that his buddy Hot Sausage drowned. That hit him hard.”

Potts was silent a moment as she bit her lip and blinked back tears.

“You sure he’s drowned?” she asked.

“I’m sure we can’t find him. We found your Sportcoat in an umpire’s outfit. Randall, the dead kid. And Deems, who was wounded. No Hot Sausage.”

She was silent.

“I told you this was serious business, didn’t I?” Potts said.

She looked away and said nothing.

“Were they close friends, those two, Thelonius Ellis, your Sportcoat, and Mr. Odum?” Potts asked.

“Very close.” Sister Gee thought a moment about telling Potts that there was no Ralph Odum. That Ralph Odum was really Hot Sausage’s phony name. That his real name was Thelonius Ellis. And that Sportcoat’s real name was Cuffy Lambkin. And that those two traded off the driver’s license from week to week. Yet Potts hadn’t said a word about Cuffy Lambkin. Something was wrong.

“Sportcoat did seem concerned about his buddy drowning. He was woozy, but he kept talking about his buddy. I told him we weren’t sure his pal Mr. Odum drowned, but the fact is we are. It’s pretty clear. We got a witness from the old paint factory who heard the shots and saw Deems fall in. The witness saw Deems crawl out. Not the old man. Some of Hot Sausage’s effects were in the water as well. Housing Authority hat. Housing Authority jacket. The current was going out by the time the divers got there. The current at this time of year moves out fast. The water’s cold. Bodies sink in cold water, they don’t float. Divers will go in later today and retrieve the body.”

“Did you ask Deems what happened?”

“He’s not talking.”

“I’da thunk it’d be the other way around,” Sister Gee said. “That Deems shot Sportcoat. Or shot them both. Sausage couldn’t stand Deems. But Sausage wouldn’t shoot nobody. Neither would Sportcoat. Not in his right mind. Sportcoat liked Deems—he loved Deems. Even though he shot him, he still loved him. He was Deems’s Sunday school teacher for years. He coached him in baseball. That means something, don’t it?”

Potts shrugged. “Just ’cause you toast marshmallows with a kid on a camping trip doesn’t mean he’ll become a Boy Scout.”

“It’s funny,” she said. “Sport dodged death so many times . . . Sausage, he never got in no trouble with anyone. You sure it ain’t some mistake? They look a little alike, you know.”

“It’s Sportcoat all right. We checked his wallet. His driver’s license with a photo ID.”

“His driver’s license ID?”

She felt a spark go off in her mind, thinking back to Soup’s party, when Sausage said that Sport had gone to the motor vehicle bureau and got a driver’s license bearing Hot Sausage’s real name: Thelonius Ellis. Which Sausage had retrieved from Sportcoat at Soup’s party.