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.A fucking shim.”“Shim?”“A she and a him.An in-between.”“How tall?”“Too tall.About five eleven, but walking funny, like a kid in high heels.Like she was in built-up shoes.And, ah, she had a big ass.”“How so?”“Too big.I’m good on asses, but I’m better on pussy.See, I got hit in the war, and they put this steel plate in my head.” Ray thumped his skull.“Ever since, I got no sense of smell whatever; I can eat anything.” Ray grinned broadly and let his tongue loll inside his smile.“I’m impressed.So was there anything about her big ass that was distinctive?”Ray grinned.“Yeah, it was too big for the rest of her.And she didn’t move like someone who had a big ass.She moved like someone who had a pillow stuffed in the seat of her drawers.”“So it could have been a guy dressed up like a girl?”“Could of been, but probably not, unless you really want it to be,” Tardee said carefully.Broker let it go; he was getting personal again, trying to make it be Harry.He thanked Tardee and left the broken porch.As he walked toward the car, he heard Tardee whistling behind him.He was a good whistler.The Fat Tuesday lilt of “When the Saints Go Marching In” was unmistakable.Chapter ThirteenEasing from North End gravel onto city pavement, Broker remembered the book of matches he’d taken from Harry.He fished the square of cardboard from his chest pocket and rotated it in his fingers like prayer beads.He was starting to formulate a plan.He flipped open his cell phone, thumbed out Mouse’s card, and punched in his number.Mouse answered on the third ring.“So what are you doing?” Broker asked.“Driving back from federal court in St.Paul.They recessed on me.How’d it go with Harry?”“Not so hot; Ole’s was a setup,” Broker said.“He talked me into dropping by his place on the way so he could pack a bag.And he.slipped out on me.”“Slipped out on you,” Mouse repeated carefully.“Where can we meet away from the shop?” Broker said.“Is this, like, getting real fucked up?” Mouse said.“Where, Mouse? I want to talk.”“Okay, since you’re supposed to have all kinds of bread stashed away, you can buy me a drink at Club Terra in fifteen minutes.”“See you there.”Club Terra would not have been Broker’s first choice.It was a supper club with a log cabin exterior across Highway 36 from the Washington County Government Center, so it did a brisk business with county workers.But he needed Mouse to level with him on Harry.So he drove to the restaurant, went in, and got a table just as the place was filling up with the late-lunch crowd.Mouse came in a few minutes later.The weather was getting to Mouse.After being in court he’d exchanged his suit jacket, shirt, and tie for a baggy cotton polo shirt that covered his pager and holster.The shirt stuck to his ample belly in dark patches of sweat.“Some weather, hey; and, ah, you look like shit,” Mouse said.“Christ, Mouse; half the county is here.I wanted to get away,” Broker said, suddenly self-conscious.“Stay cool.You wanted to get down and dirty, right? This is the place.”A waitress appeared.They refused menus.Neither of them had an appetite in the heat.Broker ordered ice tea.Mouse ordered iced coffee.“Harry says he’ll help,” Broker said.“Really?” Mouse said as he took a toothpick out of his chest pocket, put it in his mouth.“So where’s my cuffs?”Broker reached back under his shirt, took the handcuffs off his belt, and slid them across the table.Mouse inspected them and said, “There’s pieces of woody shit ground in the grooves here.”Broker didn’t answer, so Mouse ran his practiced eyes over Broker and stopped on the raw red marks on his left wrist.Then Mouse said, “You know, you’re, ah, wearing your hair shorter than you used to.”“Yeah?”“Well, it makes it easier to see things on your scalp, like, for instance, the black-and-blue goose egg behind your right ear.”“Shit.” Broker pursed his lips.Mouse raised his iced coffee, sipped, put it down, and said, “You gonna tell me, or do I have to torture it out of you?”“I turned my back on him,” Broker said.Mouse shut his eyes, grimaced, crossed his arms over his wide stomach, then raised his right hand and propped it under his heavy chin.“My fault.I shoulda come with you.”“No you shouldn’t have.It’s personal; this part at least.” Broker pointed behind his right ear.“You saying there’s more?” Mouse squinted and leaned across the table.Broker nodded.“Harry and I have this heavy private agenda we have to work through, right? But apart from that he wants to stay in touch.I think he feels left out.”Mouse shook his head, but he couldn’t entirely hide the admiration in his voice.“Fucking Eisenhower.When Harry’s drunk, he blames you for his wife’s death.Some people think he’s basically sworn to kill you; so John puts you next to him ’cause he thinks there’s some weird chemistry between you two that’s going to make him spill his guts
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