Page 151 of The Bone Code
Tong looked confused. When Vislosky moved forward, she stepped back.
We entered a small foyer, most of which Tong filled. A counter paralleled its right wall. Looked like IKEA, modern and jarringly out of place.
Ahead, a narrow staircase curved to a second floor. Wooden banister. Threadbare runner. Beside the staircase, a hallway stretched to the back of the building. Off one side, a dining room, off the other, a parlor, both entered through pocket doors that appeared to be stuck in place. As in the foyer, tarnished brass chandeliers turned every interior an anemic yellow.
Tong led us to the parlor, and we all sat. Vislosky got right to it.
“Two young women stayed here in February of 2018. Lena Chalamet and Harmony Boatwright.”
“You the one called?”
“Yes.”
“Askin’ ’bout the two white girls? One had bodacious hair?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah.” Nodding slowly. “They was here.”
“For how long?”
“I ain’t good with calendars.”
As Vislosky pumped Tong, I took in what looked like a silent-movie set. Floral paper covered the walls, faded now but once gaudy bright. Lots of carved mahogany pieces. Acres of dark plum fabric. Lamps with tasseled shades, turned on but having little impact. A ratty Persian underfoot, which had long since given up trying to look real.
“Do you have a guest book?” Vislosky was speaking slowly, a teacher to a dull pupil.
“Yeah. We got that.”
“Could you get it, please?”
“I don’t know if I’m allowed.”
“You’re allowed.”
Crimped brows, then Tong pushed to her feet and lumbered off.
Vislosky and I waited.
Time passed. I forced myself not to think about Vislosky’s flea and bedbug remark. Didn’t fully succeed.
Antsy, I got up and began checking drawers and compartments in sideboards and end tables. Vislosky didn’t join in but didn’t order me to stop.
Footsteps clumped down the stairs, then a kid with a mullet and pimples passed by in the hall. After slowing to gawk through the open parlor door, he continued on his way, looking like an ad for a posture-control brace.
My illegal search turned up no tapes. I returned to the sofa.
Ten minutes after leaving, Tong was back, a red and gray ledger pressed to her bounteous bosom.
“I called my boss. He says you can’t have this.”
“If we need to confiscate your register, I’ll return with a warrant. For now, I just want to verify that the girls were here.”
The red lips pooched out in indecision. Apparently, the boss hadn’t ruled on that possibility.
“Or I bring you downtown and we do this at headquarters.” Mildly threatening.
Tong handed the ledger to the big bad cop.
