When Old Men Die

by Bill Crider

  After a couple of miles I turned back. Nameless wasn't around, and I didn't waste any time looking for him. I went inside and took a shower. For breakfast I had some Frosted Mini-Wheats while I went through the paper. There wasn't much of interest outside the comics pages. When I'd read all I wanted to read, I called Dino.

  "What'd you find out?" he asked.

  "More than I thought I would. Are you going to be at home for a while?"

  "Yeah. I'm just reading the Sunday funnies. 'Calvin and Hobbes' cracks me up. You read that one?"

  "I read them all except 'Rex Morgan,' I said.

  "Hey, you oughta give that one a try. It deals with some serious stuff."

  "So do I. I'll be over in a few minutes."

  I had on a clean sweatshirt and the jeans I'd worn the day before. With the ripped knee the jeans were much more fashionable than they had been. Before I left, I slipped on an old corduroy jacket. If there was no sun, the day would be colder than the one before.

  Dino's house was in a neighborhood not far from Moody Gardens, along with a lot of other brick houses that wouldn't have looked out of place in one of the older neighborhoods of Waco. If I hadn't known the Gulf was just a short distance away, I'd have thought I was in Central Texas. Lots of the Island's older residents like it that way; they don't want anything to remind them that they're sitting at sea level, just a stone's throw from the water.

  "Hey, Tru," Dino said when he met me at the door. "Come on in. I got some Big Red in the refrigerator, but I bet even you can't drink that stuff this early in the morning."

  It was nearly ten o'clock, which wasn't early except to people like Dino, who really didn't get going until noon. I told him I could drink a glass of Big Red.

  I didn't mention that I'd thought about beating the hell out of him. It hadn't seemed like such a good idea last night, and in the light of day it seemed even worse.

  Dino went into the kitchen to get the Big Red. There had been a time when he'd had someone to do that sort of thing for him, but that friendship had come to a bad end. I thought about Ray and what had happened to him. I hoped nothing like that was going to happen again.

  I sat on the sturdy floral sofa that looked as if it had been in the house for forty years, which it probably had, like nearly all of Dino's furniture. The room hadn't changed much at all since I'd last been there except for a Super Nintendo game system that was now hooked up to the huge TV set. The only modern stuff in it was the electronic equipment.

  On an end table by the couch there was a lamp that provided the only light in the room. The heavy curtains on the windows were drawn to keep out the outside light. And maybe to keep out any reminders of the outside world as well.

  Dino came back in a few minutes. He had the Big Red in a glass with some ice cubes. He had something brown for himself, but I didn't ask what.

  "Playoff games this afternoon," he said, handing me my drink and pointing at the TV set. "You think the Cowboys will win again?"

  I said I didn't know and took a sip of the drink. I wasn't a Cowboy fan.

  Dino sat on the other end of the couch. "You said you found something out. Are you gonna tell me what?" He looked at me as if noticing the scratch on my face for the first time. "And what happened to you?"

  The Big Red was sweet as bubble gum. "Tell me again why you wanted me to find Harry," I said.

  Dino moved three or four remotes out of the way and set his drink on the Duncan Phyfe coffee table that stood in front of the couch.

  "I already told you that," he said. "I've sort of been helping him out. He's a friend, I guess you could say, and I'm worried about him."

  "Sure you are."

  He tried to look hurt. "You sayin' I can't have a friend like Harry?"

  I took another drink of Big Red. "I'm not saying that. I'm just wondering if there's anything you didn't tell me. Anything that I might need to know."

  He furrowed his brow. "You think I left something out?"

  "That's what I'd like to know," I said, and then I told him what I'd learned from Ro-Jo and what had happened later on.

  "Jesus, Tru. I'm sorry somebody took a shot at you. And I'm sorry you got hit in the face. But I didn't have anything to do with it. I hope you don't think I was holding out on you. You didn't think that, did you?"

  "It crossed my mind."

  "I thought you knew me better than that."

  "That's the trouble," I said. "I know you too well."

  Dino laughed, but it wasn't very convincing. "Well, I was telling you the truth. If there's someone looking for Harry besides you, I don't know about it. Anyway, how can you be sure that you didn't just scare some other street person who was looking for a place to get out of the wind?"

  I hadn't considered that, but now that he'd brought it up I didn't really think it was a possibility. It was too much of a coincidence to think that someone else besides Harry would be staying in the old marine lab, especially someone who'd open fire on me. I don't believe in coincidences like that.

  "Maybe I did scare somebody," I said. "But it wasn't a street person. I've got another question for you."

  "Shoot."

  "Poor choice of words," I told him.

  "Sorry. Ask away."

  "Who owns The Island Retreat?"

  Dino looked over at his TV as if he wished the playoff game had already started.

  "I don't know," he said. "I lost track of who owned all those places a long time ago."

  "There's a realtor's sign on it."

  "That doesn't tell you much. What difference does it make, anyway?"

  "Probably none. It was just one of the places that Ro-Jo suggested that I might look for Harry. I thought that if you had a key, I could get in without any trouble."

  "Go by the realtors' office. Tell them you're in the market."

  I put the Big Red on the coffee table and spread my hands to indicate my sweatshirt and torn jeans.

  "I'm sure they'd believe that I'm a high roller."

  "OK, maybe not. Are you gonna look for Harry in there?"

  "Maybe. But I want you to find out who owns the place. With your connections it should be easy."

  "All right, I can do that I guess. But what are you going to do?"

  "First of all, I'm going to try having a talk with Ro-Jo. I want to know just exactly what he told the other man looking for Harry."

  "You should've thought about that yesterday."

  "I did, but I didn't see the need to question him more closely. I didn't know I was going to be shot at."

  "You keep bringing that up. You don't sound too happy about it."

  "Would you be?"

  "Probably not, but you don't know for sure that it has anything to do with Harry. What would anybody want with him?"

  "That's what I'd like to know."

  "Are you gonna keep looking?"

  I said that I was, but there was something in my voice that must have bothered Dino.

  "It's not going to be like the last time," he said.

  "You don't know that. It's not starting off very well."

  "Look, Harry is just an old guy who goes around dumpster diving and living off the streets. Nobody's after him for anything. What happened last night was just an accident."

  "No," I said. "It wasn't an accident. One shot can be an accident, but not five or six. Somebody was trying to put me out of commission."

  "OK, say that's true. All the more reason you need to find Harry."

  I didn't say anything.

  "You'll find him," Dino told me. "You'll find him before the other guy does."

  I picked up my glass and swallowed the last of the Big Red. "I wish I could be as sure of that as you are," I said.

  Eight

  Ro-Jo wasn't anywhere around the 61st Street Pier. I drove down 61st, which in spite of its palm-lined esplanade is a lot like a midway filled with a little of everything: tire stores, gas-and-go food stores, pet shops, guitar stores, fast food restaurants, and bait shops. Most of the bait sho
ps are close to Offats Bayou, which by the time you get close to the Causeway comes right up to the street and then goes under it. Sometimes I fish there when I don't want to go out on the pier.

  I stopped at Jody's Bait and Tackle. According to the hand painted signs on its flaking blue plywood walls, if you didn't want squid or mullet or bait shrimp, you could buy table shrimp instead.

  When I fished, I usually bought my bait shrimp from Jody, and he knew Ro-Jo and Harry, both of whom occasionally scavenged along the street.

  Jody's place was lighted inside by a couple of bare fluorescent bulbs, and the smell of shrimp and fish was nearly overpowering. There were some dusty rods and plastic lures on the wall, and some reels in a glass case. Jody, a heavyset black man, was behind the beat-up counter.

  "What's biting today?" I asked him.

  "Same thing that was bitin' yesterday," he answered. "Nothin'." He looked me over. "Speakin' of bitin', somethin' bite your face?"

  "My cat," I said.

  "You got to watch them cats. They bad about that."

  "You selling any bait?"

  "With the fish not bitin'? You old enough to know better than that."

  "Maybe things will pick up."

  He shrugged. "Business always slow this time of year. I never thought I was gonna get rich sellin' fish bait. You want some shrimp?"

  "Not today. I'm looking for somebody."

  "Who might that be?"

  "Outside Harry," I said. "Or Ro-Jo. Either one."

  He thought for a second. "Now that you mention him, I ain't seen Harry in quite a spell. What you think he up to?"

  "I wish I knew. Dino's worried about him."

  Jody knew Dino. Everyone who had lived most of his life on the Island knew Dino, even if he didn't like to get out of the house.

  "Harry and Dino, now there's a pair. They pals?"

  "That's what Dino tells me."

  "Huh. I guess it could happen, but they a funny set of buddies if you ask me. Ro-Jo Dino's pal too?"

  "Not that I know of. I want to ask Ro-Jo something about Harry."

  "Ro-Jo by here yesterday, but I ain't seen him since."

  "What time yesterday?"

  Jody looked at an old green and white Dr Pepper clock on the wall over my head. The black numbers were faded, but you could still see them.

  "Just about this time. Say he goin' up to the Randall's."

  Randall's was the big supermarket in the shopping center not far up the street. I didn't think Ro-Jo would be going in the front door. I thanked Jody for the information and started to leave.

  "You sure you don't want some bait? Little mullet, maybe? You never can tell when them fish gonna start in to bitin'."

  "Not today. I'll be back tomorrow."

  "That what you say now. Don't do my pocketbook no good."

  I turned back and put my last ten on the counter. "Do you have a piece of paper and a pencil?"

  He reached under the counter and brought out a stained notepad and the stub of a pencil that had the paint chewed off. I wrote my number and Dino's on it.

  "If you see Ro-Jo, tell him I want to talk to him," I said. "Then call me. If you can't get me at home, call Dino. That's his number." I put my finger on it.

  He covered the bill with his big hand. "I be sure to do that," he said.

  I went on up to Randall's, hoping that Ro-Jo might be sticking to a kind of schedule. Harry was like that. He went by certain places at the same time every day, and Randall's was close to a cafeteria where Ro-Jo might go looking for a bite to eat if the grocery store didn't work out.

  Ro-Jo wasn't at the fragrant dumpster behind Randall's, however, nor was he behind the cafeteria. With the money I'd given him the day before, he could have afforded to go through the line, but that wasn't his style.

  It was mine, however, so I went in. Feeling in need of some serious cholesterol and fat, I had a bacon and cheese steak, some macaroni and cheese, and some fried okra. I topped it off with two whole wheat rolls. I didn't get any butter for the rolls. Just call me a health-food freak.

  When I'd eaten, I paid with one of the fifties Dino had given me and got change. Then I decided to go back to Dino's. He could easily have found out by now who owned The Island Retreat, even if it was a Sunday. He'd resent my interrupting the playoff game, but that was his tough luck. He should be thankful that I'd decided not to beat him up.

  Dino wasn't watching the game. He was talking on his portable telephone when he came to the door, and the TV set wasn't even on.

  "Son of bitch," he said as he opened the door for me. He didn't say it to me. He was talking to whoever was on the phone. "Are they sure it's him?"

  He listened for a few seconds. I couldn't make out what the voice on the other end of the line was saying, but I could tell that Dino didn't like it. His knuckles were white, and if the phone hadn't been made of sturdy plastic he might have crushed it.

  "God damn," he said. And then he said it again. "God damn." He listened some more. "All right. All right. Thanks for calling. Yeah. Right. I'll keep it quiet."

  He looked right at me when he said the last part, and I knew he wasn't going to keep anything quiet. He was going to tell me as soon as he hung up the phone, or turned it off, or whatever it is that you do to portable phones.

  This one you turned off, which is what he did after saying "Yeah" and "Right" a few more times. Then he set the phone on the coffee table and looked at me.

  "You want some Big Red?"

  "Not now. What was that all about?"

  Dino sat on the couch. So did I.

  "You remember Braddy Macklin?" he asked.

  Nobody who ever met Braddy was likely to forget him. He was about five-ten and as close as you can come to a hundred and eighty pounds of solid muscle. He could make a fist that looked like it could punch through a concrete wall, and it probably could. Of course that was more than thirty years ago, when I was just a kid.

  "I remember Braddy," I said. "What about him."

  "Somebody killed him."

  "You mean he died?"

  Braddy Macklin would have to be somewhere in his seventies now. He'd been the bodyguard for the uncles in the wide-open days, and the toughest-looking man I'd ever seen.

  "I mean somebody killed him. That was a guy I know on the cops. They found his body about an hour ago."

  "I didn't even know he was still around. Did you ever see him?"

  Dino looked a little sorry, whether for himself or Macklin I didn't know.

  "No. I never see anybody much. You know that. I talked to him on the phone once in a while. Not often."

  "And somebody killed him."

  I still couldn't believe it. Who'd kill a man that age? Leave him alone and he'll be dead soon enough.

  "Yeah." Dino looked at the floor and shook his head. He couldn't believe it either. "Somebody killed him. And that's not all."

  "What else?"

  "They found him in The Island Retreat."

  "What the hell was he doing there?"

  Dino folded his arms and leaned back on the couch. "That's what the cops would like to know."

  Nine

  Dino had been busy. While I was talking to Jody and eating a high-fat special, he'd been calling a few people he knew. The interesting thing was that he hadn't been able to find out who owned The Island Retreat.

  "Some corporation," he said. "That's all the realtor knows. And he wasn't happy that I called him during the pre-game."

  "OK. We can worry about that later. What about Braddy Macklin?"

  "The cops got one of those anonymous calls this morning. Some guy tells them that there's a dead man in The Island Retreat. They go down there to check it out and find Braddy. Jesus, Tru, that old guy used to ride us around on his shoulders when we were kids."

  Dino didn't usually get sentimental, and I didn't want to encourage him.

  "I remember," I said. "What else did the cops find?"

  "Not a damn thing, at least not as far as my guy could
tell me. Braddy was shot a couple of times, but I don't know what with or how long he'd been there."

  I'd been shot at recently too, and I wondered if there was a connection between what had happened to me and what had happened to Braddy. As I said, I don't believe in coincidence. One old man missing, and another old man was dead. That probably wasn't a coincidence either, and if one of the two had been shot, what did that mean for the other? Finding Harry was beginning to seem more urgent by the moment.

  "Braddy has a kid," Dino said, interrupting my thoughts.

  "A kid? At his age?"

  "I don't mean a kid kid. She's nearly as old as we are."

  I wondered how old he meant. When I was thirty, I thought anyone else would have to be at least twenty-nine to be nearly as old as I was. Now that I was long past thirty, I figured that people even ten years younger were nearly my age.

  "Does she live on the Island?" I asked.

  "Yeah. She manages a condo out on the seawall."

  I thought that I might want to talk to her later. Right now, finding Harry seemed more important.

  "About the Retreat," Dino said. "There's something else you need to know."

  "So tell me."

  "The realtor told me he's had a lot of calls on it the last couple of weeks. Gambling's a hot topic again, and there's a rumor that Galveston's going to vote it in. So the Retreat would be a natural. It's got a history, and some of the old furnishings are still there. Not the roulette wheel or the slots, maybe, but the dining tables, the kitchen, stuff like that."

  Dino was right about the history. The Texas Rangers had dumped all the slots into Galveston Bay, and the roulette wheel was probably there too.

  "Someone's always trying to get gambling voted back into Galveston," I said. "Just about every year, in fact. It never wins."

  "This time it might," Dino said. "We've already got the cruise ship that takes people out past the three-mile limit, and there's that dog track just a few miles up the Interstate in La Marque. The state has a lottery, and those Indians out in El Paso or wherever they are keep pushing for casino gambling on their reservation. And there'll be horse racing in Houston later this year. People around here don't want all the gambling money going over to other places. Much less Louisiana.