Last Call

by Matthew Nunes

  “What about your job, Larry?”

  “I got six weeks of vacation and sick time coming to me. The department is understanding, since I lost my partner.” He said the last part with some bitterness. “I’ll check the interviews, make copies of it all, and put in for some time off.”

  “And you’re on leave for this,” I said. “Could cause you career problems.”

  “Tough toenails.”

  “Toenails?”

  “ My wife doesn’t like me to say ‘shit.’”

  “How does she feel about you risking your pension?”

  “She’d probably rather I said ‘shit.’ She’s known me since I was a brand new Marine. I can’t surprise her, anyway. I’ll stay in touch; we’ll talk tonight, okay?”

  “I’ll be working, but you know where I’ll be.”

  “I’ll drop by as soon as I can.”

  He left carrying the videotapes and file. While Larry had been there, I’d turned down the phone, leaving the answering machine to deal with any incoming calls.

  There was only one. I picked up the phone and dialed her number. If I remembered her schedule, she’d be home. She was.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Sandra. Paul Costa, returning your call.”

  “Uncommonly decent of you, Paul.”

  “Am I in some sort of trouble?”

  “Bet your ass you are.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I want that interview. My boss wants that interview. His boss wants it.”

  “When I do it, it won’t be for them.”

  She was silent. “Thank you, ” she said. “I think that was pretty nice.”

  “Sandra, there’s stuff I know and can prove, and there’s stuff I know but can’t prove.”

  “And this is important to me because?”

  “Because I’ll give you the first word on the arrest or arrests, if any. Because after that, I’ll tell you how it happened, on camera, with that dweeb Bill producing, because I promised him that. And most of all, because we’re friends and I need elbow room. Probably only for a little while longer.”

  She breathed quietly for a moment. “You silver-tongued bastard, you.”

  “Thank you. I try to use this power wisely. For good and not for evil.”

  ***

  I was early picking Marisol up, so I went to the office to meet her. The hurley-burley had calmed down to tired teachers and secretaries closing out their day.

  Chapter 27

  “Daddy?” We were buckling our seat belts in the school’s parking lot.

  “Yes, honey?”

  “I have a permission slip for a field trip, and are you a murderer?”

  I almost missed the last part. “Honey?”

  “If you kill somebody, that’s murder, and you killed that Mr. Morley who came to the school, so you must be a murderer. That’s what a couple of the boys said.”

  I took a deep breath. “Well, I shot that man, and he’s dead because of it, right?”

  She nodded. I drove in silence until I was out onto the main street. The lawyer in me warred with her daddy. I’d fired at least one counselor for talking down to her. I wanted to pick my words so that she understood, but not commit the sin.

  “Daddy?”

  “I’m thinking, honey. I want to make sure I make sense.”

  “Because I’m only a little girl?” She said it with some heat.

  “It isn’t you, honey, it’s your dad the dope that needs to slow down, okay?”

  “You’re not a dope.”

  “You’re not a little girl, unfortunately.”

  “Almost a teenager.”

  I thought teasing was a good sign. “Don’t remind me. Okay, if I screw up or start acting like you’re a little girl, you stop me and I’ll start again, right?”

  She nodded and turned in her seat to look at me.

  “Marisol,” There, a good start. I didn’t call her a baby name. “Jason Morley was the son of the Congressman who was murdered at the hotel bar. I found out that they did terrible things to people. There are quite a few women who have a lot of bad times because of them. Is that enough explanation?” I said it as if I was ready to answer any questions she had. I was praying that she wouldn’t.

  She nodded solemnly. “Jason, I mean Mr. Morley seemed nice, when he was at the school. He didn’t look like a bad man.”

  “Bad guys don’t wear black hats. The only way to tell is by what they do, not what they look like or act like. Remember about strangers?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I remember, ‘even people who act nice,’ blah blah blah.”

  “Blah, blah, blah?”

  “I didn’t think you’d want to hear it all.

  “Is that why I was visiting with Mrs. Pina and her sister?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was Dana there?”

  “Nope.”

  “Is that why she’s mad?” She had her mother’s mind and a child’s openness.

  I was determined to be honest. “Yes, but she’s still your friend and she isn’t mad at you.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You saw some of the news, right?”

  Marisol nodded.

  “So you remember that Adam and Jason started shooting and we all shot back?”

  More nods.

  I didn’t mention getting grazed. I said it fast at the end, and realized that I was breathing hard, and couldn’t seem to get enough air.

  “Daddy?” She was looking at me with a worried expression. Good, if you’re going to have a panic attack, do it in front of your child. I got control of my breathing and loosened my grip on the steering wheel and gearshift.

  “It’s okay, honey. I’m okay. It’s just hard to talk about.”

  “We don’t have to.”

  “Yes, Marisol, we do. It isn’t fair to keep things from you, almost a teenager and all,” I managed a smile. “You deserve to know. So I did kill Jason Morley. If I hadn’t, he would have killed me. A small lie of omission. I didn’t mention that he damned near had. “They call that self-defense. The law says that you can defend yourself. If you do, it isn’t murder. Murderers go to jail, I’m a free man.”

  “Does it make you feel bad?”

  She never ceased to amaze me.

  I nodded. “Sometimes, when I think about it, I feel awful.”

  She did it in a singsong, “Would you do it again?” The test that I told her to use to check herself. Perhaps I told her a bit too often.

  “Nobody likes a smart mouth,”

  “You do. You have one, too. Mamacita always said I got it from you.”

  “Mamacita always said anything she didn’t like was because of me,” I answered. “But can I tell you a secret? She got a kick out of my smart mouth, and she’d tell me all about yours and laugh.”

  “It used to make me sad to talk about Mamacita, but now it makes me happy, is that wrong?”

  “Maybe we still miss her, but we’re happy for the time we had with her. Ever hear of the Quakers?”

  She glared at me. “Mr. Davis did a whole chapter on them.”

  “Well, one of the things the Quakers do when somebody dies is have a celebration. They celebrate his life, or hers.”

  “Can we do that sometime?”

  “I think we should have done it sooner. Let’s plan it for the last weekend this month. We’ll invite lots of people and show some videos and put pictures of her out for people to look at.”

  “Daddy, what do people do at a sleepover party?”

  “You mean besides sleep over? Looks like some research may be called for, if you’re planning to host one.”

  “I want to try.”

  “I’ll find an expert and pick her brain.”

  When we got home, I called Sarah, the waitress, and left a message that I needed some advice.

  Supper was one of ‘Sol’s favorites. I made a huge country breakfast, and we sat down to drown our problems in cholesterol. I read about the field trip to an
art museum in Providence. They were going to be showing primitive art and crafts from late colonial and early Federalist period. Mr. Davis’ note said that it would integrate the way life was “in a day-to-day sense, to round out the children’s classroom-based understanding of the broader scope of conventional history.” I guessed that he liked art and wanted an excuse to go. Still, it was educational, and would only cost eleven bucks and some cash for a lunch.

  They were looking for chaperones. Marisol looked at me. “I’ll die if you do, Daddy.”

  “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want that, honey. Am I that embarrassing?”

  “No, it isn’t that.” She made some vague gestures, and I thought about some of the things that she’d heard at school.

  “I understand, muffin. It’s okay. Maybe the next trip?”

  “Maybe.”

  I wondered if she meant if I could avoid finding murder victims, shooting people and getting the snot beat out of me. It seemed little enough to ask.

  I signed it and put it back in the envelope, slipping it into ‘Sol’s Social Studies book, where she was sure to see it. Only Mr. Emmett Davis would take the time to stuff envelopes. The other teachers folded their notes and stapled them. Not him. He addressed each envelope and closed it with a nice gold seal. I was going to miss him the next year. I’d had a couple of teachers like him. Their students got excited, and worked their tails off. I knew ‘Sol would remember him. I made a note on the calendar. She’d want to give him a gift, and I thought he deserved something special. Maybe I was getting the hang of it.

  ‘Sol still had to do her homework, even though she’d done some after school. She called me in once to help out with a word problem. She did it out, and I checked her answer on the calculator. “Muffin, we’re geniuses.”

  “We?”

  “Okay, I’m a genius, honey.”

  “Hey, Daddy the genius?”

  “Yes?”

  “Aren’t you going to be late for work?” And right on cue, Mrs. Pina walked in.

  “You are smiling as if you both discovered teeth,” she said, and smiled with us. “It’s good to see.”

  I managed a shower and shave, but my bow tie wasn’t fastened when I got to the hotel. Diane was there, and fixed me up. I looked at Diane’s outfit, relieved that I didn’t have to wear high heels.

  “Good to know you’re still looking,” she said.

  I got through the shift. I didn’t remember much of it, and a couple of drinks came back to be re-mixed. I hated that. It was just a drink, it was easily fixed, but it was the job I had. Not a great job, but my grandfather had instilled it in me at an early age. Take the job, do the job. So I was irritated with myself.

  Chapter 28

  DaSilva showed up an hour before closing, carrying a file folder and a notebook and a pen. He seemed edgy and excited. “The men’s room is over there,” I said. “I can have a drink waiting for you.”

  “Yeah, maybe later, just a beer, okay?” He was up there, sky-high. I remembered the feeling. It was like watching the bobbin on a fishing line. You saw the first little jump, and waited for the fish to turn and come to really bite. Your pulse got faster, and your breathing shallower. Movement was a need instead of a way to get from place to place.

  “You have something?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “I made the calls, and two names didn’t check out. They weren’t guests at this hotel, and no such people exist. They didn’t ‘borrow’ names, they made them up.”

  “Shit.”

  “No, now wait. Doesn’t matter, Paul. That’s courtroom evidence, we still know, and here’s the good news. They’re in town, and we can hit them tomorrow.”

  “Okay, so I have an idea.”

  “So, what are you proposing?”

  “Tomorrow, Larry, I need you to go with what I come up with. I promise you, you won’t be compromised.”

  “It would help if I knew what you were planning.”

  How nice it would be to have a plan. “It’ll look better if it’s spontaneous on your side.”

  “They’re ready, and smart.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I won’t be applying technique. I’m going to use his weakness and I’m not going to show any fucking mercy.”

  “I can’t let you hurt him,” said Larry, suddenly a cop again.

  “It isn’t going to leave a mark. He won’t be able to say a damned thing about it, if it gets to trial. His lawyer won’t. Too damned bad for all of them. I’ve had it. Someone stupid enough to turn his throat up, fine, I’ll be the alpha damned dog this time.”

  “Easy, take it down a bit.” I looked around, to see customers and Diane looking at me. I’d let my voice rise. My early training, both as a Portuguese-American kid and then a naval officer had brought the volume of my voice to one that polite people said “carried.” Isabel referred to it as shattering. I waved at the customers and put out a round on the house. Nothing like free booze to smooth ruffled feathers.

  “I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow morning,” said DaSilva.

  “I’ll have coffee made.”

  After work, Diane asked for a glass of white wine and I sipped an Old Fashioned. We didn’t talk much, but I noticed she had a different manner. Her appearance and body English still oozed sex, but there was restraint to her. “That little outburst with you and your cop buddy.”

  “How do you know he’s a cop?”

  “Well, let’s see. He looks like a cop, he talks like a cop and he moves like a cop. Nice try changing the subject, but I’m not that easy.”

  “So what was the question?”

  “Paul, tell me to mind my own business if that’s what you want. Okay?”

  “Diane, I’m sorry. It’s been a rough few weeks, and I finally have a chance to put it all behind me. I got kind of vocal.”

  “You may not realize it, but you have a little bit of the hard ass that only shows once in awhile. It gives you an attractive edge and all of that.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. When you go for a customer who’s out of hand— I’ve seen guys a hell of a lot bigger and meaner than you back away when you’re coming to walk them out. It wasn’t that you were loud. Even the cop was leaning away from you.”

  She looked down into her wine glass. “I’m sorry, I had no right.”

  “I don’t think of myself as a violent man.”

  She snorted.

  “What?”

  “Think about it. You could be doing lots of other jobs. I know you like being friendly without making friends, even though that’s starting to change. The other bartenders don’t try to handle what you do. They call hotel security. You have the situation already over by the time they even show up in their nice blue blazers. Usually, you give the guy a shot at you.”

  “It does seem to come my way.”

  “Paul, don’t get me wrong. I can get away with flirting and ‘look-I-have-nice-boobies’ when you’re on.”

  Considering what I was up against, if I had done things differently, would I be in this mess? I could second-guess myself forever.

  I looked up, and Diane was looking thoughtfully at me. “Welcome back,” she said.

  “Good to be back.” I smiled back at her.

  “You do go away like that sometimes, but a few seconds before you return to earth there’s usually a change of expression. This time, you were smiling.”

  “See, Diane, I’m a nice guy.”

  “It wasn’t a nice guy smile. Goodnight, honey, I need to get some sleep, I’m supposed to work tomorrow morning at the restaurant.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “No, you relax, wouldn’t want people to talk.”

  “Bullshit, Diane.”

  “You had your chance, never mind the sweet talk.” She was still chuckling as she left. I let her have the last line. I rode the elevator down, nodded to the night clerk and security man and headed for the back door and the parking lot.

  Chapter 29r />
  The next morning, Mrs. Pina came downstairs early as I’d asked the night before. We were quiet together, and she sighed, got up and poured us each another cup of coffee. She scrambled some eggs, and Marisol started to stir. I went to my room and pulled on jeans and a shirt and grabbed a windbreaker. I put on some deck shoes, laced them more tightly than usual, and slipped my gun, holster and extra magazines onto my belt.

  ‘Sol chattered the whole time until the bus came, carrying a conversation that never would have happened without her. She would be in Providence for the day, and would need to be picked up at four. I kissed her on the forehead, meaning to keep it light, but suddenly my arms were around her, holding too tight. She noticed, but didn’t say anything.

  “How close?” asked Mrs. Pina, once we were alone.

  “Close. I have to end this.”

  “You will. They have tried to destroy you and threatened our girl. Soon, either you will end it, or I will be taking care of Marisol alone. You cannot let that happen, so you will not.”

  “Mrs. Pina, I’m curious, is there anything that escapes you?” She smiled with that shy old world smile. Her teeth were white, straight and her own.

  She went to the door to let DaSilva in. I was sure I heard Portuguese, because DaSilva answered her in that language.

  I handed him a cup of coffee He took a sip and glared at me. “Plan to tell me anything about it?”

  I shook my head.

  He shrugged, sipping his coffee. “No harm in trying.”

  “Ready to go?” he asked.

  “Fine, you drive.”

  “We need to talk about what we’re going to do.”

  “Have you got a wire?”

  “Yeah, I can set it up and a tape will be running. But it won’t matter without a court order.”

  “Don’t you have a warrant to electronically monitor me?”

  He stopped and considered. “Telephone, cell phone, or other occasions as investigative circumstances dictate and permit,” he said. There’s a helluva lot of leeway in that one.”

  “So you’re monitoring me. And happen to get a conversation. Two of us in the room? A good prosecutor can demonstrate that they had no reasonable expectation of privacy.”