Characters in Mr. Mercedes

11 As the ATF strike force, led by Agent Kosinsky, begins its inventory of the cavernous storage area behind King Virtue Pawn & Loan’s humble façade, a gray Mercedes sedan is pulling to the curb in front of 49 Elm Street. Hodges is behind the wheel.

… Across the street he finds a stay-at-home dad, Alan Bowfinger by name. “Just don’t confuse me with Goldfinger,” he says, and invites Hodges to sit in one of the lawn chairs on the left side of his house, where there’s shade.

But Pete is far too excited to give him a chance to guess. “Alonzo Moretti! Get it?” Hodges doesn’t. “Moretti is Fabrizio Abbascia’s grandson, Bill! Fabby the Nose! Is it starting to come into focus now?”

Mrs. Greene. Althea Greene.” Hodges catches himself reaching into his jacket to consult a case notebook that’s no longer there. But after a moment’s thought he recalls the nurse without it. A tall and stately woman in white who seemed to glide rather than walk.

Elizabeth was predeceased by her husband, Alvin Wharton, and her beloved daughter, Olivia. Private visitation will be held from 10 AM to 1 PM at Soames Funeral Home on Tuesday, June 1, followed by a 10 AM memorial service at Soames Funeral Home on Wednesday, June 2.

… the mail truck going back the way it came—Andy Fenster done for the day. From here to the kitchen, where the letter would go into a totally unnecessary Glad bag, the kind with the zip top, because old habits are strong habits. Next to Pete and Isabelle. From Pete to …

… April 9–10, 2009 Augie Odenkirk had a 1997 Datsun that still ran well in spite of high mileage, but gas was expensive, especially for a man with no job, and City Center was on the far side of town, so he decided to take the last bus of the night.

One’s from Abilene, Texas. She says her name is Bernice, but I can call her Berni. With an i.

“The fuck it is. Bertonne Lawrence’s name is on the sign, but the shop’s a lease, Lawrence is a front, and he’s spilling his guts. You know the best part?

… she ever went to—it was the Temps—and how Bobby Wilson kissed her right in the middle of “My Girl.” Very romantic. She’s roused from these thoughts by her daughter, who’s shaking her arm. “Look, Mom, there’s the crippled man. Over there with the other wheelchair-people.” Barbara points to the left …

… “Are you ready for some Boyd, Steve, and Pete?” the DJ host inquires. More cheers and screams. “And are you ready for some CAM KNOWLES?” The girls (most of whom would be struck utterly dumb in their idol’s actual presence) shriek deliriously.

She was born on January 19, 1923, the son of Marcel and Catherine Sirois. She is survived by her brother, Henry Sirois, her sister, Charlotte Gibney, her niece, Holly Gibney, and her daughter, Janelle Patterson. Elizabeth was predeceased by her husband, Alvin Wharton, and her beloved daughter, Olivia.

It’s the only way she can look. “Where’s Craig?” “I divorced him last year, Mom.” She considers, then says, “Good riddance to bad rubbish.” “I couldn’t agree more. Can Bill ask you a few questions?”

“The district attorney escorted me into the chambers of Judge Daniel Silver, a guy who heard my testimony a great many times in my cop days,” Hodges says. “He gave me a ten-minute tongue-lashing and told me that my reckless behavior had put four thousand lives at risk.”

We know he killed her, but with no body . . .” He shrugs. “You were in on the meetings with Diana the Dope.” He’s talking about the city’s district attorney. “Still can’t persuade her to charge him?” “No corpus delicious, no charge.

“Happy to oblige. Let’s start with Donald Davis. You know the script. He fucked up every business he tried his hand at, most recently Davis Classic Cars. Guy’s so deep in debt he should change his name to Captain Nemo. Two or three pretty kitties on the side.”

Talk to Dr. Galworthy. If Galworthy’s not there, talk to Dr. Patel. If you ask them in person to expedite matters—and if you can manage to be nice about it—they’ll give you as much help as they can. Use my name.

Also seeing Dr. Leibowitz twice a week. She’s helping a lot.” “And how are things with your mother?” This, he knows, is a touchy subject, but he feels he has to touch, just this once. “She still calling you five times a day, begging you to come back to Cincinnati?”

There’s a photograph of the candidate, and to Hodges he looks like Dr. Oberlin, the dentist who terrified him as a child. There’s also a circular from Albertsons supermarket.

If Galworthy’s not there, talk to Dr. Patel. If you ask them in person to expedite matters—and if you can manage to be nice about it—they’ll give you as much help as they can. Use my name. I go back to the early nineties with both of them.”

Surely that can’t be, can it? The only crippled person she knows is Dustin Stevens at school, and he’s just a little second-grader. Still, there’s something familiar about the crippled bald man. This whole evening has been like a dream, and what she sees now also seems dreamlike.

Hodges goes in and is pleased when Elaine at the hostess stand smiles and greets him by name, although he hasn’t been here for months. Maybe even a year.

“Alonzo Moretti! Get it?” Hodges doesn’t. “Moretti is Fabrizio Abbascia’s grandson, Bill! Fabby the Nose! Is it starting to come into focus now?”

So it proved. The plain gold band belonged to Francine Reis, thirty-nine, of Squirrel Ridge Road, and was eventually returned to her family. She had to be buried with it on the third finger of her right hand, because the first three fingers of the left had been torn off.

… let me hear you call them the vics, Frank Sledge told him, back in the old days . . . but right now he has to take it. “I don’t see how it can,” he says mildly. “I know how it looks, but sometimes a cigar is just a smoke …

Hilda’s frowning at her phone. “I still can’t get Gail,” she complains. “All the darn circuits are b—” The lights begin to dim before she can finish.

… a trust fund to be administered by Mr. George Schron, the lawyer Janey had inherited from Olivia. Hodges has no idea when Janey did it. Or why she did it. He doesn’t believe in premonitions, but . . . But. Charlotte had been dead set against Holly moving, claiming her …

… had taken the condom (probably still hanging off his dick, assuming it had been there at all), but Gibson in Forensics had been positive there was one, because Mr. Mercedes had left the clown mask and there had been no hairs stuck to the rubber.

She took Brady with her. The lawyer’s name was Greensmith. He wore a cheap suit and kept sneaking glances at Deborah Ann’s titties. “I can tell you what happened,” he said. “Seen it before.

Most women do.” He extends a knuckly hand. “Hank Beeson.” Hodges shakes it briefly, then flashes his ID, careful to keep his thumb over the expiration date. “Good to meet you, Mr. Beeson. I’m Detective Bill Hodges. Can you tell me what kind of car Mr. Hartsfield drives?

He hopes that Helen Wilcox’s husband won’t catch his wife and this beefcake in the sack together, if that is indeed going on; it would probably be the end of Vigilant Guard Service’s arrangement with the residents of Sugar Heights.

It was Howard McGrory, the mechanic. “Did you have someone at the dealership check on what I was curious about?” Hodges asked him. “No need,” McGrory said. “I’ve worked at Ross since 1987.

“Detective Bill Hodges. What’s your name, sir?” “Jamie Gallison.” His eyes flick to Jerome and Holly. “I’m his partner,” Holly says. “I’m his trainee,” Jerome says. The roadies are watching. Some have hurriedly snuffed smokes that may contain something a bit stronger than tobacco.

“I’m Janice Cray, and my little bundle of joy is Patti. I guess I got downsized, too. I was a housekeeper for a nice family in Sugar Heights. He, um, owns a car dealership.” Augie winced. Janice nodded. “I know.

An old geezer named Kenny Shays called in a six-five a few years ago—that’s suspicious behavior, a new code since 9/11. The guy he pegged wasn’t a terrorist, just a fugitive who killed his whole family in Kansas back in 1987.” “Wow. Did he get a medal?”

Kent Trelawney. A nerd—I use the word affectionately, Kent was absolutely okay—with a love of video games. He started to invest in some of the companies that made them, and those investments paid off.

Do you know if Larry Windom is still head of security at the MAC? Yeah, that’s right, Romper-Stomper. Sure, I’ll hold.” While he does, he tells Jerome that Larry Windom took early retirement because the MAC offered him the job at twice the salary he was making as a detective.

Suicide proves guilt. He remembers Lieutenant Morrissey saying that, but Hodges himself has always had his doubts, and lately those doubts have been stronger than ever. What he knows now is that guilt isn’t the only reason people commit suicide. Sometimes you can just get bored with afternoon TV.

She was born on January 19, 1923, the son of Marcel and Catherine Sirois. She is survived by her brother, Henry Sirois, her sister, Charlotte Gibney, her niece, Holly Gibney, and her daughter, Janelle Patterson.

… walked home from junior high holding hands with Marky Sullivan, but when she was in the house, we were always at Condition Yellow. Do you know what I mean?” Hodges isn’t completely sure, but nods anyway. “Food made her sick to her stomach. She got rashes when she was stressed …

He has a friend in records, Marlo Everett, who owes him one. Hodges is confident Marlo will run an unofficial check for him without a lot of questions.

… she still wouldn’t be talking to me if Maureen hadn’t taken her. I told Mo absolutely no way, don’t you dare, and she said, That’s why I divorced you, Pete, because I got tired of listening to no way and don’t you dare. And of course nothing happened.” He drinks …

“Nah, gotcha covered, Mr. Batool,” he says. He highlights END TASK and reboots Paki Boy’s PC. A moment later the cash register function is back up, complete with all four credit card icons. “You genius!” Batool cries.

She thinks they walk among us, Mr. Bowfinger said, but it hadn’t been space aliens Mrs. Melbourne had been concerned about on the day Hodges had done his canvass; it had been black …

“Tell you what, now that you’re here, why don’t you throw Mr. Cavelli there in the back of your car and come on inside. See what we’ve got.”

… quickly going through the inventory sheet the way Mr. Loeb likes. Everything is there. He pops his head in the office to say hi to Shirley Orton. Shirley is a fat pig, all too fond of the company product, but he wants to stay on her good side. Brady wants …

5 That evening he drives down to Newmarket Plaza and has a meal at the Thai restaurant. Mrs. Buramuk serves him personally. “Haven’t seen you long time, Officer Hodges.” It comes out Offica Hutches. “Been cooking for myself since I retired.

“Then I went to my mother’s building. Mrs. Harris—the housekeeper, you know—buzzed me in. On Thursdays, she leaves as soon as I arrive. I took the elevator up to the nineteenth floor. Where you are now asking me questions instead of telling me when I can deal with my car.

Weeks, in some cases. Mrs. Melbourne is working in her garden, and when she sees him, she invites him in for a piece of her coffee cake. “I’ve been worried about you,” she says when they’re settled in the kitchen.

… company of all blame in the matter of Norman Hartsfield’s death. To Deborah Ann, that seemed like a huge bucketful of cash. She paid off the mortgage on the house and bought a new car. Never did it occur to her that some buckets fill but once. She had been …

“Find out if she’s at home, Officer Shammington. If she’s not, see if you can track her down. Can you do that?” “Yes, sir, absolutely.” “Just routine, right? A stolen-car inquiry.” “You got it.” Hodges turned to Pete. “Front of the cabin. Notice anything?” “No airbag deployment. He disabled them.

Ten minutes later, Patti Cray awoke and started to cry. Her mother (her baby mama, Augie thought) gave a jerk, voiced a horselike snort, raised her head, and tried to pull the infant out of the Papoose. At first the kid wouldn’t come; her legs were stuck.

Although few tip as well as Paula Rollins. “Okay,” Brady says, “but you owe me one.” “Thanks, buddy.” Brady kills the connection without bothering to say You’re not my buddy, and we both know it.

… “Are you ready for some Boyd, Steve, and Pete?” the DJ host inquires. More cheers and screams. “And are you ready for some CAM KNOWLES?” The girls (most of whom would be struck utterly dumb in their idol’s actual presence) shriek deliriously.

And I promise I’m not going to turn into an uncle, okay?” Listens, nodding. “Okay. Yeah. I have to run, but give my best to Phil and the kids. We’ll get together soon. Lunch. Of course on me. Right. Bye.”

The guy turns out to be Radney Peeples, and his company card identifies him as an employee of Vigilant Guard Service. He also shows Hodges a permit to carry concealed, which is good until June of 2012. “Radney, not Rodney,” Hodges says. “Like Radney Foster, the country singer.”

… a great and heroic service, NOW THEREFORE, I, Richard M. Tewky, Mayor, do hereby award Holly Rachel Gibney and Jerome Peter Robinson the Medal of Service, this city’s highest honor, and proclaim that all City Services shall be rendered to them without charge for a period of ten (10) years; …

… never seems to leave) and asks if he can switch with Rudy Stanhope, who’s down for the Sunday afternoon shift. ­Sundays—always assuming the weather cooperates—are busy days, with Loeb’s three trucks working not just McGinnis but the city’s other four large parks. He accompanies his request with the boyishly winning …

Hodges does. He and Pete discussed Scott and Laci Peterson a lot during their investigation of Sheila Davis’s disappearance. “But guess what? Blood’s turned up in their summer cabin by the lake.” Pete pauses for effect, then drops the other shoe. “It’s hers.” Hodges leans forward, his food temporarily forgotten.

… head in the office to say hi to Shirley Orton. Shirley is a fat pig, all too fond of the company product, but he wants to stay on her good side. Brady wants to stay on everyone’s good side. Much safer that way. She has a crush on him, and …

Probably doesn’t want to drop his picture, Tanya thinks. “Are you ready for some Boyd, Steve, and Pete?” the DJ host inquires. More cheers and screams. “And are you ready for some CAM KNOWLES?”

I might get interested in gardening, or birdwatching, or even painting. Tim Quigley took up painting, down in Florida. In a retirement community that was loaded with old cops. By all accounts Quigley had really enjoyed it, and had even sold some of his work at the Venice Art Festival.

Barbara comes running up, sweaty and out of breath. “Jay, can me n Hilda n Tonya watch Regular Show?” “Go for it,” Jerome says. She throws her arms around him and presses her cheek to his.

… Tarantino movies and Freddi is helping out elderly Mrs. Vera Willkins on the West Side (it’s her keyboard that’s full of crumbs, it turns out), Bill Hodges is turning off Lowbriar, the four-lane street that bisects the city and gives Lowtown its name, and in to the parking lot beside …

An elderly fellow in line ahead of Augie (Wayne Welland, now in the last moments of his earthly existence) said: “Is that a Benz? It looks like a Benz.”

Soothingly. “Pawnshop guy?” Pete breaks into a broad grin. “Young Aaron Jefferson.” “Huh?” “That’s his actual name, although when he played football for City High, he called himself YA. You know, like YA Tittle. Although his girlfriend—also the mother of his three-year-old—tells us he calls the guy YA Titties.