Paint It Black by P.J. Parrish Page A

he lived, he would never understand the allure of sitting for hours waiting for a damn fish to bite.
    He finished eating and returned to the parking lot. He was about to get in the car when he noticed a ramshackle wooden structure on the far edge of the lot. It had a loading dock open to the parking lot and a rusted corrugated-roof carport filled with junk. Fishing nets were strung below a sign that said DIXIE FISH CO. WHOLESALE AND RETAIL. WE SHIP UP NORTH . There was a toilet on the dilapidated porch. It was planted with bright pink geraniums.
    Louis trudged up the steps and pushed open the screen door.
    It was dark as a cave inside, except for a lighted refrigerator case. Behind the frosted glass, Louis could see slabs of fish and piles of pink shrimp. The weathered plank walls were covered with bumper stickers, pictures, and junk.
    â€œHowdy.”
    The voice was husky female. Squinting, Louis made out a figure silhouetted against the far open window. He went forward and she came into view.
    Medium height, shapely, blond hair piled on her head, hand propped on cocked hip. And very large tanned breasts barely covered by a bright pink bikini top.
    He had to struggle to keep his eyes on her face. She noticed and gave him a smirky smile.
    â€œYou want something?” she asked.
    He pulled out Quick’s photo. “Have you seen this man around here?”
    She didn’t even look at the picture. Her smile faded. “I got fish. You want fish?”
    â€œNot really. I—”
    She turned away, grabbing a remote and aiming it at the wall. The place filled up with the sound of Charlie Parker’s buttery sax.
    â€œOkay, okay!” Louis yelled.
    She punched the remote, lowering the volume, and looked back at him.
    He glanced at the glass fish case. “Give me some shrimp.”
    â€œHow much?”
    When he hesitated, she sighed. “How many you feeding?”
    â€œThree,” he said.
    â€œWhat size? We got small, medium, and jumbo.”
    â€œYou decide.”
    She smiled and moved languidly to the case. He could see her breasts clearly in the light of the case as she shoveled the shrimp, but not her face. She plopped a plastic bag down on the counter. “That’s forty-five bucks.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThey’re jumbos, hon.”
    Louis dug into his pocket and pulled out two twenties and a ten. “Keep the change,” he said.
    She gave him a smile as she deposited the money in a drawer. His eyes were getting used to the dim light. She wore her ponytail high on her head like that little girl in the Flintstones cartoon. She could have been eighteen or forty; he couldn’t tell.
    â€œI hate cops,” she said.
    â€œMost people do,” Louis said. He held out the photo. “This man might have been here about two weeks ago. Did you see him?”
    She glanced at it, shrugged, and turned away, bending down to pick up some paper, making sure Louis got a prime view of her ass in the tight cutoffs.
    â€œHow’s business?” he asked.
    It took a moment, but she smiled. “Beats flipping burgers in a hair net at Wendy’s. I get a lot of men customers off the boats.”
    â€œI don’t doubt it.” Louis held out Quick’s photo again.
    â€œI saw him,” she said.
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œPositive. I’m here every day and I notice things.”
    â€œHow do you know it was him?”
    She shrugged. “We don’t get many black guys coming in here. But this guy I remember. He had just come in off a charter and he came in here to buy some fish to ship home.”
    â€œWhy would he buy fish?”
    She smiled. “ ’Cause he didn’t catch anything and he wanted to send a big fish home to impress his kids.”
    â€œDo you know what boat he chartered?” Louis asked.
    She shook her head. “They all get back in around four-thirty or so.”
    â€œThanks. I’ll be back.” Louis