Chapter 16
After leaving Leon, I drove to Gilmore Street. The playhouse was on the corner. It was a brick affair that had been a church in its distant past.
They were rehearsing something about a dead cat's ghost. Ramón was easy to spot. He was the middle-aged guy in the pink bodysuit and leopard scarf. I offered broad congratulations on his upcoming success. He was so delighted with my verbal bouquets he gave me a hug. Then he confided about being constipated due to production deadlines, overwrought due to cost-cuts and the fact that his wealthiest admirer had just been murdered, and devastated that his leotards were not holding in his spare tire. I assured him that he had genius to fall back on.
"It's so rare to meet someone who understands the difficulty of directing theatre," Ramón fawned. "It's always the actors who get the rewards when the play succeeds and it's the director who gets hate-mail when it bombs."
"Eli was a friend of mine, too." Then I rubbed my nose and snorted. "His death is a real tragedy."
Tears formed in Ramón's eyes. "I know what you mean. He used to buy all our costumes."
"Were you and he…"
Ramón wagged his head dismally. "We had everything but chemistry. He even entrusted his most prized possession to me—a box of artifacts from his days as an archeologist in Tanzankistan, or somewhere. God knows what the police will do with them."
I knew little in the way of Eli's history. But I had doubts that a man of his lifestyle would be willing to endure the rigors of an archeological dig. Whatever Ramon was holding, I was certain they were not artifacts. "That stuff should be donated to a museum," I insisted. "I couldn't bear to think of crude hands pawing his finds!"
Ramon wrapped his arms around my neck and began to sob. I gently patted is back until he eased away. "You must think me an emotional wreck."
"I think you have beautiful sensitivities!"
"It's just I felt so much for Eli. And now"
"Would it be possible for me to at least see the artifacts?" I asked. "It would mean so much to me!"
"Let me finish rehearsal and then I'll show you the box. Moreover, I think you should be the one to take charge of it. I would deliver it myself but in my position—any hint of scandal, particularly that of murder, could be professionally devastating!"
"I understand completely."
He gave me a relieved smile. "Now, that we have Eli's situation settled, why don't you tell Ramón what brought you here today?"
I explained my need for some help with makeup at a production in Weslaco, and asked if he could recommend someone with extensive expertise in the area of scars. "The director is not up to your stature," I confided. "Of course. And, I do want to be the best I can."
Ramón applied a little spittle to one arching eyebrow. "They're such animals in Weslaco. They simply have no taste. Still, as you say, one must do one's best. Well, I'm sure our Jerald can help you. Now sit down and watch. I want your opinion. Now, I've made a big change in the next act. Instead of this being a boring murder mystery, I've decided to make it into a musical! There'll still be death, mutilation and mayhem on the stage. But with a background of tastefully artistic nude dancing."
"Brilliant," I wildly clapped my hands. "I've always said, there's no reason a grisly killing can't be done tastefully."
An hour, filled with hairy dancers wearing nothing but cat faces, later, Ramón announced it was time to break for lunch. Ramón promised to be back in a tick with the box and then singled out a longhaired youth and instructed him to assist me.
"I'm a straight arrow," Jerald told me, in a very deep and determined voice. He was a squat, dressed in a green sweatshirt and blue corduroys. "I'm just letting you know so there's no misunderstanding."
"It must be a trip working here."
"You ain't seen nothing yet. In the last act, they all climb on top of the dead guy and purr. What's on your agenda?"
"I'm looking for a way to create whitish scars on my face: the big ugly kind. And I need a way to make my left ear look clipped at the lobe. It has to look for-real up close."
Jerome went over to one of the tables and took a bottle of milky fluid from his makeup kit. "Draw the scars on with makeup pencil and then fill the lines in with this. As it cures it rises and wrinkles. Your own mother wouldn't know they were phonies. As for the ear, just darken the part you want to look clipped, fold it under and glue it in place with spirit gum."
"Can you run me through the traces?"
"For a c-note."
I handed him a stack of twenties.
An hour later, I was parked in a rented van at the loading dock behind Elgin Warehouse. I was not as tall as Delaney, but the scars Jerald had painted on my puss were a close enough match to fool anybody but the big cop's mother. Beside me was a box containing several statuettes of Mayan gods. Each clay piece was obviously a recent reproduction. Which confirmed by assumption that Eli had not been an archeological type and begged the question, why would Eli bother to have Ramon store them?
"You gonna' be long, bub?"
I got out and looked toward the voice. It belonged to a skinny old man in brown coveralls. When he saw me, he gave a halfhearted salute.
"Didn't recognize you at first, Captain Delaney," he said. "You got another load to put up there?"
"Need to haul it all out this time," I told him.
He glanced about scratching his groin. Then he said, "I got three eighteen-wheelers due any minute. Might've been better to call ahead."
I climbed up onto the dock and opened the back of the rental truck. "I did. But your receptionist put me on hold and then cut me off."
He blew me a breath of sour beer. "That brainless bitch couldn't carve a plug for a dog's ass. He leaned closer. "The only reason the boss keeps that big-titted cow around is for screwin' purposes. Trouble is, he's getting all the goodies and we're dealin' with her foul-ups."
"The least he could do is share the wealth," I remarked.
He made a disgusted face. "That could be dangerous especially for a man my age with my ticker."
I dragged out a dolly. "It's worth a hundred if you can get me enough help to load this truck before your semis arrive."
The old man's eyes brightened. "In advance?"
I dug out my money clip and peeled off two fifties. "I'll go on ahead and unlock. Second floor—you know the spot."
He snatched the bills from my hand with the speed of light, and then he hurried into the warehouse yelling in broken Spanish. I pushed the dolly in after him.
The elevator and Moira's pass card got me to her storage area. Her key got me past the steel door. I had just swung it wide when the elevator doors opened and three grinning Mexican's came running toward me, each dragging a flatbed cart. I pointed at the boxes.
"Cargue el ramo entero en mi camion," I told them. "Load the lot."
Twenty minutes later, the van was full and I was on my way. As I drove, I used my cell phone to call Fort Worth. After getting Salvator Portello on the line, I disguised my voice with a chirping British accent and informed him that Eli was dead and there had been a cocaine theft from Eli's basement. To make sure there was no confusion, I added that Delaney was the culprit. I could not help but giggle to myself as I envisioned Salvator trying to reach Dominic.
After grabbing some lunch at a fast-food. I still had three tasks to take care of before dark. First, getting rid of my disguise, second finding a hiding place for a hundred or so boxes of ugly plastic. And, third, figuring out why Eli placed such a high value on phony relics.