Page 177 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Slow Burn

He yawned. “Yeah. Typical tent-show outside the city limits. I was
carried in on a stretcher in the throes of epilepsy, and walked out
straight and tall, thanking God and the rubes all the way. I hung out
in a mall until about four o’clock; then I came back here and stayed
home all night. Okay?”
“Perhaps. What time did you arrive?”
“It was just past five. I remember hurrying because I wanted to see
a movie on TV that started then. I missed no more than a couple of
minutes, just past the credits.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Ask my landlord. I couldn’t find my key; maybe it fell out on the
stretcher. Anyway, he was watching that same movie, ‘Biker Babes in
Toyland,’ and he had to let me into my place. I get cable free because
of him. Nice guy. You can ask him.”
Labelle made a couple of cursory notes while the three of us stood
silently. Then she took one last look around the room.
“All right, Mr. Carbone. Don’t go out of the city limits again unless
you check with us, at least for the next week.”
“No problem. I might not need to go out to the boondocks again
for quite a while. Praise the Lord!”

<< 6 >>

“What an obnoxious idiot!”
I was feeling quite disgusted with the Carbone quintuplets. Labelle
looked at her watch while she drove to Quigley’s address, a trailer
park at 2985 East 30th Street.
“Yes, but he couldn’t be barbecuing his uncle and watching a
sleazy movie at the same time. He, too, needed about fifteen minutes
to make the trip to Al Carbone’s apartment. It’s physically
impossible—if that story holds up. Don’t go easy on that landlord.
He seems altogether too chummy with young Quincy.”
“Another angle. But Quincy’s racket—is it really illegal? Why
would he be flaunting it?”
“Oh, he knew we’d find out sooner or later. And how could you
prove someone wasn’t healed instantly by the power of prayer unless
you had him examined beforehand? It’s fraud all right, but the bunco
squad tends to steer clear of religious issues.”

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