biscuits?"
"Does Junior like biscuits?"
"I really don't know. I've got white bread, but I think I'll fix some. Most men like hot biscuits. Would you like to stay for dinner?"
"I've already eaten. I told you. You've got a lovely apartment here, Miss Waggoner."
"Oh, I don't own it. I rent it, furnished."
"It must be rough on you, working and going to school, too."
"It isn't so bad. The work at the International Hotel isn't hard, and I don't have to work at night."
"What are you--a maid?"
"Oh, no!" Susan laughed. "Maids only get minimum wage. I get fifty dollars a trick, and split it down the middle with Pablo. I'm one of Pablo Lhosa's girls. That is, I was, but I quit. Now that we've got a platonic marriage, Junior doesn't want me to work for Pablo anymore."
"You're a hooker, then?"
"I thought you knew. You aren't going to arrest me, are you?"
"No, that isn't my department. I just work homicides. I guess I've been lucky so far. I was with the Riviera Police Department for three years, and I've been in Miami for twelve, and I've never had to work Vice. When d'you expect Junior home?"
"When he gets here. It doesn't make any nevermind to me. The pork chops are in the Crockpot, and the other stuff won't take long. The potatoes are already done. He said he'd be home at six, but he might be late."
Hoke handed her one of his cards. "Have Junior call me when he gets home tonight. It says the Eldorado Hotel, in Miami Beach, but I'm reachable there. If the phone isn't answered right away, tell him to let it ring. There's only one man on the desk at night, and if he's away from the desk it takes a little time to get an answer. Somebody'll answer eventually."
"All right. I'll tell him, but that doesn't mean he'll call you."
"Just tell him I've been looking through some mug books."
"Mug books?"
"He'll know what I mean." Hoke went to the door.
"Sergeant Moseley? You didn't tell daddy about the car, did you?"
Hoke shook his head. "No. He didn't ask, and I didn't volunteer."
The traffic was heavy on North Kendall and heavier on Dixie, where Hoke turned toward downtown. It was after seven by the time Hoke reached LeJeune Road. He stopped for gas and made a phone call to the duty officer in Homicide, leaving a message for Sergeant Henderson to call him at home. He made another call to the morgue and learned that they did not plan to start the past-mortems on the Colombians until the next day, probably late in the afternoon. He paid for the gas, put the receipt in his notebook, and decided to go home. He could work on his report in the morning. Perhaps by then Henderson would have something from the woman's testimony.
Hoke took the MacArthur Causeway to South Beach but decided to stop for a boilermaker at Irish Mike's before going home. Mike brought him the shot of Early Times and a Miller's draft, then waited until Hoke downed the shot and took a sip of beer.
"I suppose you'll be wanting this on the tab, sergeant?"
"Yeah, and one more shot besides. I've still got enough beer."
"D'you know what your tab is?"
"No, you tell me."
"It was eighty-five bucks." Mike poured another shot into Hoke's glass. "Not countin' these two."
"I didn't know it was that much."
"That's what it is, sergeant. When it hits a hundred I'm gonna eighty-six you till you pay the whole tab. I wouldn't object to something on account right now."
"I wouldn't mind giving you something on account, Mike, but I'm a little short right now. I'll bring in fifty on payday, but don't let it run up so high again."
"I'm not the one that runs it up--you are."
Mike went into the back, and Hoke quickly downed the second shot, finished the beer, and left the bar. He was depressed enough already without being hit for an $85 bar tab. Hoke didn't drink all that much, but when he wanted a drink he hated to drink alone in his room. Fortunately, he had a battle of El Presidente at home. This was one time when he would have to keep himself company.
Hoke got into his car
"Does Junior like biscuits?"
"I really don't know. I've got white bread, but I think I'll fix some. Most men like hot biscuits. Would you like to stay for dinner?"
"I've already eaten. I told you. You've got a lovely apartment here, Miss Waggoner."
"Oh, I don't own it. I rent it, furnished."
"It must be rough on you, working and going to school, too."
"It isn't so bad. The work at the International Hotel isn't hard, and I don't have to work at night."
"What are you--a maid?"
"Oh, no!" Susan laughed. "Maids only get minimum wage. I get fifty dollars a trick, and split it down the middle with Pablo. I'm one of Pablo Lhosa's girls. That is, I was, but I quit. Now that we've got a platonic marriage, Junior doesn't want me to work for Pablo anymore."
"You're a hooker, then?"
"I thought you knew. You aren't going to arrest me, are you?"
"No, that isn't my department. I just work homicides. I guess I've been lucky so far. I was with the Riviera Police Department for three years, and I've been in Miami for twelve, and I've never had to work Vice. When d'you expect Junior home?"
"When he gets here. It doesn't make any nevermind to me. The pork chops are in the Crockpot, and the other stuff won't take long. The potatoes are already done. He said he'd be home at six, but he might be late."
Hoke handed her one of his cards. "Have Junior call me when he gets home tonight. It says the Eldorado Hotel, in Miami Beach, but I'm reachable there. If the phone isn't answered right away, tell him to let it ring. There's only one man on the desk at night, and if he's away from the desk it takes a little time to get an answer. Somebody'll answer eventually."
"All right. I'll tell him, but that doesn't mean he'll call you."
"Just tell him I've been looking through some mug books."
"Mug books?"
"He'll know what I mean." Hoke went to the door.
"Sergeant Moseley? You didn't tell daddy about the car, did you?"
Hoke shook his head. "No. He didn't ask, and I didn't volunteer."
The traffic was heavy on North Kendall and heavier on Dixie, where Hoke turned toward downtown. It was after seven by the time Hoke reached LeJeune Road. He stopped for gas and made a phone call to the duty officer in Homicide, leaving a message for Sergeant Henderson to call him at home. He made another call to the morgue and learned that they did not plan to start the past-mortems on the Colombians until the next day, probably late in the afternoon. He paid for the gas, put the receipt in his notebook, and decided to go home. He could work on his report in the morning. Perhaps by then Henderson would have something from the woman's testimony.
Hoke took the MacArthur Causeway to South Beach but decided to stop for a boilermaker at Irish Mike's before going home. Mike brought him the shot of Early Times and a Miller's draft, then waited until Hoke downed the shot and took a sip of beer.
"I suppose you'll be wanting this on the tab, sergeant?"
"Yeah, and one more shot besides. I've still got enough beer."
"D'you know what your tab is?"
"No, you tell me."
"It was eighty-five bucks." Mike poured another shot into Hoke's glass. "Not countin' these two."
"I didn't know it was that much."
"That's what it is, sergeant. When it hits a hundred I'm gonna eighty-six you till you pay the whole tab. I wouldn't object to something on account right now."
"I wouldn't mind giving you something on account, Mike, but I'm a little short right now. I'll bring in fifty on payday, but don't let it run up so high again."
"I'm not the one that runs it up--you are."
Mike went into the back, and Hoke quickly downed the second shot, finished the beer, and left the bar. He was depressed enough already without being hit for an $85 bar tab. Hoke didn't drink all that much, but when he wanted a drink he hated to drink alone in his room. Fortunately, he had a battle of El Presidente at home. This was one time when he would have to keep himself company.
Hoke got into his car
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