The Jealous Kind by James Lee Burke

photographs someone had thrown in a box and put away in a closet: elegantly dressed men and women eating in a supper club, evening gowns glittering like melted sherbet; a man in a summer tux with his hair parted down the middle, shaking hands with Tommy Dorsey; a racehorse dripping with roses in the winner’s circle, its owner wearing round glasses as dark as welders’ goggles; a casino under construction in a desert; a jailhouse photo of a man in a wide-brimmed fedora; and a nude woman with glorious breasts leaning back on a polar-bear rug in front of a fireplace, one eye closed in a lascivious wink.
    Jenks made each of us look through the photos one at a time. Neither of us spoke.
    â€œBig blank?” he said.
    â€œI recognize the man in the mug shot,” I said.
    Jenks looked out at the boulevard, amused or bored, I couldn’t tell which. “Care to tell me his name?”
    â€œBenjamin Siegel.”
    â€œWhich magazine did you see his photo in?”
    â€œMy uncle introduced me to him at the Shamrock Hotel. My father has never forgiven him for that.”
    â€œWhat’s your uncle’s name?”
    â€œCody Holland. Mr. Siegel was at the Shamrock with Frankie Carbo.”
    Jenks rolled his eyes. “Cody Holland the boxing promoter?”
    â€œHe’s an oilman, too.”
    â€œDo you know who Frankie Carbo is?”
    â€œHe’s my uncle’s business partner.”
    â€œBusiness partner? Where’d you pick up that language, boy? Frankie Carbo was a member of Murder, Incorporated.”
    â€œThat’s why my father was upset.”
    â€œYou know anyone else in these photos?”
    I could see Saber out of the corner of my eye. His upper lip was moist with perspiration. “Not exactly,” I said.
    â€œWhat the hell does that mean?”
    â€œI might have seen the lady who’s sitting on the rug in front of the fire.”
    â€œShe’s on your paper route and she pays you in trade?”
    â€œI don’t think she’s that type of lady,” I said.
    â€œSon, did your mother’s doctor drag you out of the womb with forceps? Where did you see this woman?”
    â€œI don’t remember. I just remember seeing a woman who seemed kind and looked like her, that’s all.”
    â€œThis woman was kind? The woman wearing no clothes?”
    â€œI’m probably mixed up,” I said.
    â€œThat photo was taken from the suitcase of a dead man. He was frozen in a snowbank two thousand feet above Reno, Nevada. Hewas so scared he tried to get over the Sierra Nevada Mountains barefoot with no coat on. You saw this woman in Houston?”
    â€œAt Grady Harrelson’s house in River Oaks,” Saber said.
    I wanted to yell in Saber’s face, stuff a cork in his mouth, use his head for a kettledrum.
    â€œYou’re talking about the home of Clint Harrelson?” Jenks said.
    Saber nodded. “Two days ago. They were having a swim party. Grady has a hard-on for Aaron because he thinks Aaron took his girlfriend. We thought we’d straighten things out.”
    â€œYou’re sure it was her?”
    â€œHow many women look like that?” Saber said.
    â€œYou’re in the know when it comes to women?” Jenks said.
    â€œI’ve been around,” Saber said.
    Jenks propped the photo on the dashboard and studied it. “This is Cisco Napolitano, boys. She’s screwed every major wop in the Mob. How tight are y’all with the Harrelson kid?”
    â€œNot at all,” I replied.
    â€œYou just happened to go to his house in River Oaks while he was having a swim party?”
    â€œI think Grady sicced Loren Nichols on me,” I said.
    â€œWhy would Harrelson be mixed up with a northside punk like Nichols?” Jenks said.
    â€œThat’s what we cain’t figure out,” Saber said.
    â€œWhy didn’t you want to tell me you’d seen the naked woman?” Jenks said.
    â€œShe