My Bad Grandad

by A W Hartoin

  I gave her a hug and checked Aaron’s phone. It buzzed during the putting on of latex. You can’t stop during latex and I didn’t. The text was from Morty. He’d hacked me into the Gold Star Brigade. I checked out their website and it was surprisingly large with over five hundred members. They had multi-levels of membership, MIA, KIA, Killed while POW, Killed in training, and friendly fire. There was a section for kids of members, links to connect to congress, to request records, and meetings with the military. They had meet-ups set in ten states and one in Vietnam. There was one meet-up in Sturgis with twenty-three members signed up to attend, but they weren’t named. I searched through the member pictures, looking for Cheryls and Jennifers. I found several of both, but I didn’t really recognize any of them. I wasn’t paying that much attention that first night and it was dark in the bar. I texted Uncle Morty back and asked if he could cross-check the Sturgis members with Grandad and the other guys. He said he’d get to it and gave me a pricey quote. I was going to have to perform at Red Rocks with DBD to pay for it.

  Aaron poked me. “Good?”

  “Don’t know yet. Could be a lead.” I waved at Lacy and we headed to the bar with a strange kind of confidence. Sure, I never looked sluttier in my life, but I also looked powerful. Lacy said I had to own it so I owned it. If you’re wearing latex pants, you really can’t cringe. You just look stupid. Instead, I put my head up and concentrated on not falling down in those heels.

  Aaron trotted next to me carrying Wallace the Wonder Dog and it took us thirty minutes to walk to The Rack and Ruin. We got stopped every five feet with people loving up Wallace, admiring my outfit and eyes, or asking questions about DBD. Mickey would be thrilled, but my feet felt like they were in The Girls’ nineteenth century duck press. Any second my blood and marrow would seep out the bottom.

  The Rack and Ruin was twice as busy that night and finding a chair was going to be a challenge. The bouncer wasn’t going to let Wallace in, but seeing how she was a celebrity dog, he made an exception.

  “You’re going to be unbearable now, aren’t you?”

  Bark.

  I texted Cornell and he said he was in The Show Bar, whatever that was. I asked a waitress, screaming over the band and she pointed at a plain door beside the stage. “Come on, Aaron!”

  Aaron wasn’t coming on. He’d spotted the deep-fried steak and had a look of such revulsion, I was briefly concerned that he was having a stroke. I tried to steer him to the door, but he went the other way.

  “Where are you going?” I yelled.

  “Kitchen.”

  “You can’t fix that steak. It’s their thing.”

  “It’s bad.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  Aaron gave me a look that I have never seen on his face before, disappointment. I’d disappointed plenty of people on a regular basis—my mother and Aunt Miriam, for example. Aaron was different, kinda like Grandad. The list of people that approved of me, all of me, was pretty short.

  “It didn’t make me throw up,” I said quickly.

  Silence.

  “Not all food can be great. I had to order something. It was that or jalapeño poppers.”

  Aaron wasn’t very expressive, but I think he recoiled a bit so I went for the money shot. “I could’ve had cheese sticks, but they came out of a box.”

  “Frozen cheese sticks?”

  Oh, the horror. “Straight out of a box from Sysco and dumped into a fryer with oil that probably hasn’t been changed ever.”

  He went for the kitchen again, but I manhandled him through the door instead into a brightly-lit white room that reminded me of my high school cafeteria. “I need you. Walking isn’t my jam right now.”

  Aaron shrugged and took my arm. He wasn’t a big toucher, so that was big.

  “Thanks,” I said, lifting one foot to give it a moment’s relief. “What is this place?”

  Aaron didn’t answer and I didn’t expect him to. If I didn’t know, he definitely wouldn’t. The Show Room was nothing like anything I’d ever seen before. Individual bars dotted the room. They were all white and made of cheap particle board from what I could tell. The room was packed, mostly with older dudes, strutting it with their beer bellies and yelling about something or other.

  I thought maybe it was a strip joint, but no one was stripping and there wasn’t a pole in sight. I texted Cornell, “Whr r u?”

  He answered, “Harley Quinn.”

  What in the world?

  I leaned over to Aaron. “Who’s Harley Quinn?”

  He went up on his toes, which only made him slightly taller than me. Then he took off with Wallace through the crowd.

  “Wait.”

  He didn’t wait. Nobody ever waits.

  I hobbled after him, getting touched on every surface of my body. Every surface. I smacked hands, but it didn’t stop until security came to my rescue. “You got a problem?”

  “People are touching me,” I said. “A lot.”

  His bald head creased. “That’s not okay. They don’t get to do that. Get behind your bar and I’ll stay close.”

  “I don’t have a bar. I’m just trying to meet a guy named Cornell.”

  “Cornell! I just saw him,” said the guard. “Come with me.”

  He took me by the elbow and the crowd parted. Not a single hand came in for a landing. We made our way to the back and I finally got it. A girl dressed in half a Cat Woman costume climbed on the bar, did a shimmy, and then disappeared from view. When we reached the bar, I saw her lying on the counter. A bald guy was doing a body shot off her. He licked salt off her belly, did a shot of tequila, and then sucked the lime out of her mouth to raucous cheers. The Harley Quinn look-a-like jumped on the bar and danced until guys held up twenties. She was available for whipped cream and chocolate syrup.

  A younger man with a greasy ponytail and a full neck tattoo pointed at me and yelled, “I got forty for Slutty Marilyn.”

  “Fifty,” said a man who was leaning on a four-pronged cane.

  “Sixty.”

  A guy with an orange spray tan and a preponderance of neck skin that reminded me of some testicles I had to shave before surgery offered a hundred.

  “I got one twenty,” said neck tattoo.

  “It’s the DBD girl!”

  “Two fifty.”

  The bar girls were giving me looks that could’ve singed eyebrows. I was bad for trade. Why couldn’t Lacy have had a tee? Pissing Mom off wasn’t close to worth it.

  The guard leaned over to me. “Are you Mercy Watts?”

  “Yes and I don’t do that stuff.”

  He held up a small air horn and gave a short, very loud toot. “Shut up, you jerks! This is Mercy Watts and she doesn’t take requests unless she’s onstage with DBD. Where’s Cornell?”

  A hand went up and waved across the bar. I couldn’t make out Cornell. He was blocked by a couple who were screaming at each other. The woman smacked her opponent and he went down. Then she looked over and a zing went through me. Jeanette the fighter, except she wasn’t wearing all the military gear or the ball cap. She was topless with pasties on her nips and a smattering of stars painted on her chest in the shape of a bikini top. If I wanted to horrify my mother, that would’ve been the way to do it. Although, it would probably kill my mother and that wasn’t what I was going for.

  “Mercy!” she yelled.

  Lord, help me. I wanted to interview Steve and Jeanette, but I’d rather do it with everyone fully clothed.

  I waved feebly and the guard worked me around the bar. Jeanette hugged me and I managed not to shudder. I make it a rule not to hug topless women. I’m not that big on hugging in general, to be honest. Jeanette didn’t pick up on that and hugged me a second time and I got stars on my vest. So she had less paint and I had more. This wasn’t a good thing.

  “I heard what happened. How’s Ace?” she yelled.

  “Okay. I need to talk to you.”

  “What about?”

  “Vietnam.”

>   Jeanette’s formerly cheerful smile went dark. “I don’t know anything about it.”

  Steve struggled to his feet, belched, and yelled for Harley Quinn to come over.

  “You don’t need that girl, you old fool,” said Jeanette.

  “I need some sweetness. I don’t get any from you.”

  “You get what you deserve.”

  “I don’t deserve you, hag.”

  “Ingrate.”

  “Thunder thighs.”

  “Hairy buns.”

  I held up my hands. “Never mind.”

  “No, no.” Jeanette grabbed me by the waist and shook me. “Let’s dance. Girls’ night out.” She jumped up and down. There was an image that I’d never be rid of.

  “I just want to ask you some questions,” I said.

  “No comment. That has nothing to do with me. I wasn’t there.”

  “Yes, you were. I saw you at The Stone House.”

  “Oh, that. We were only there for a minute. We left before it happened,” she said.

  That wasn’t true. I saw Steve and Jeanette at the bar just before the rain hit. Why lie?

  “I saw you.”

  She pressed a long scarlet finger into my chest. “Nobody saw anything, then or now.” She shook me again. “Let’s dance and forget all about it.”

  “I can’t forget about it. Nobody can,” I said.

  “They should. It’s over.”

  What a weird thing to say. Robert was still in the ICU and it could be days before he was stable enough to go to a regular floor.

  “It’s not over. The doctor—”

  “Made a mistake.”

  Steve finished licking Harley Quinn and barged in. “We’re not freaking talking about that. Hal can shove it.”

  “Hal’s dead,” I said, raising my voice to go over the Van Halen song that started blaring.

  “Oh, yeah. Well, nobody’s talking about it now. Leave it.”

  “Leave what?”

  Steve put a finger in my face. It wavered, his eyes watery and unfocused. “Shut up about it.”

  Cornell got through the crowd, knocked into Steve, and said, “There you are. Aaron said you were here.”

  “Don’t you put your damn finger in that girl’s face,” yelled Jeanette.

  “I’ll do what I want,” screamed Steve.

  “She doesn’t know a thing. She’s Ace’s grandkid. Ace doesn’t freaking talk.”

  “He might.”

  Jeanette shoved Steve and the guard stepped in to separate them.

  My heart pounded in my chest. They were drunk and chatty. That was a good thing, but the anger wasn’t. Big Mike and the rest of the Vietnam crew didn’t seem angry, just secretive.

  The guard started to escort Steve and Jeanette out for rowdy behavior.

  Harley Quinn yelled, “Escort Marilyn out! She’s the problem.”

  “She is not!” yelled someone in the crowd.

  A cup of beer got poured over a guy’s head for pinching Bat Woman’s butt and bouncers swarmed. This was getting out of hand and I still didn’t know who Steve and Jeanette were.

  The guard let go of Steve to push another guy back from the bar and I stepped between them. “Cornell, this is Steve. I’m so sorry. What’s your last name?”

  “I’ll tell you my name if you dance with me.”

  Jeanette’s hand came over my shoulder and smacked him upside the head. “I’ll hit you with a hammer! She’s not dancing with you. She’s young enough to be your granddaughter. You disgusting fool.”

  “Girls like older men,” he said, rubbing his head.

  “Only if they’re rich. You’re a broke son of a bitch.”

  “‘Cause you spend all my money, hag.”

  “You ungrateful bastard. I cook and I clean.”

  Here we go again.

  “Stop it!” I yelled.

  Cornell held me back as a bouncer dragged Steve and Jeanette from the room.

  “I have to get their names.”

  He grinned at me. “No worries.”

  “Maybe not for you.”

  He jerked a thumb at Aaron, who held up a wallet.

  “Who do you love?” asked Cornell.

  “Short chefs with sticky fingers.” I stuffed Steve’s wallet in my vest and whispered to Aaron, “You know that’s a crime, right?”

  He lifted one shoulder and scratched a sleeping Wallace on the head. How she could sleep through the ruckus was beyond me.

  Harley Quinn yelled at Cornell, “Get her out and I’ll do you a lap dance.”

  He gave her a thumbs-up and maneuvered me away from Harley’s bar, past a bar with The Black Widow flashing a guy who could barely stand, and we went into the back staging area. Racks of booze and boxes of plastic cups surrounded us as did the smell of sweat and money. Uncle Morty would’ve felt right at home.

  “Ya know, she’s not wrong,” said Cornell.

  “Who? What?” I asked, pulling out the wallet now that we were away from prying eyes.

  “Harley Quinn. She wasn’t wrong. It was calm and well-mannered until you showed up.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Steve and Jeanette fight wherever they go.”

  “Maybe.” His eyes said I was at fault.

  “Anyway, let’s see who they are.” I went through Steve’s wallet and it was a fount of info. He was Steven Edward Dudgeon, seventy-three, of Akron, Ohio. He had six credit cards, an array of lawyers’ business cards, and belonged to every veteran’s organization known to mankind. The lawyers were interesting. Steve didn’t look like he had criminal tendencies, but maybe that was why Grandad wasn’t so keen on him. He had a keycard from the Sturgis Motel and Motor Lodge that conveniently wanted to stay in my hand.

  I gave Aaron back the wallet, mostly intact. “Can you give this to Lost and Found?”

  My partner trotted off and Cornell asked, “What are you going to do with that keycard?”

  “Look for a knife sheath.” I explained about the knife that Wallace found at The Stone House. Knives like that usually came with a nice leather carrying case. I gave him the once-over. “You’re not old enough to have gone to Vietnam, right?”

  “Thanks for noticing that I’m not a geezer. Desert Storm was my war, if you want to call it that. My dad was in Korea. Why?”

  “This whole thing has to do with Vietnam, but nobody who was there will give me a thing.”

  “You want to talk to security. I know Bob Donovan pretty well. He’ll help you out.”

  My mind drew a blank.

  “You don’t care about those Steelers guys anymore?” asked Cornell.

  I slapped my forehead. “I forgot about them. I definitely need to find out who they are.”

  Cornell went to lead me back into The Show Bar, but I stopped him. “I’ll give you fifty bucks for your plaid shirt.”

  “You’ll ruin your outfit.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I like it. You’ve got curves that other girls can only dream of,” he said, but he took off his shirt anyway. Thankfully, he had a Sturgis 75th anniversary tee on underneath it.

  “Thanks. But I gotta tell you, most girls don’t want to be this curvy,” I said, slipping on the plaid and feeling a thousand times more comfortable. I should never try to piss off Mom. It always bites me in the butt.

  “Women are crazy. Men like a real body, not some half-starved stick.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. The internet says I’m a cow. You should see the comments I get.” I hated to admit it, but it bothered me so much I had to stop looking at the DBD boards or any other social media. I posted like Mickey asked me to but that was it. People were so nasty, I’d stopped eating again. Chuck figured it out and dragged me to the therapist.

  “Screw those idiots. Don’t you listen to them.” Cornell put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “Hey, there’s Bob.”

  We went back into the fray and Harley Quinn gave me the stink eye until she saw I’d covered up. Then I got a little twitc
h of a smile. I waved and walked past without getting molested. Bob agreed to go outside with us. He needed a smoke break. From the condition of his teeth, I’d say smoking was the last thing he needed.

  He led us through the regular bar and dance floor to the back, where Big Mike had hurled the night before. “So what’s this about, Cornell?”

  “This is Mercy Watts and she wants to ask some questions,” said Cornell.

  Bob lit his cigarette and took a long, blissful drag. “Watts. You were in here last night. Caused an uproar. Just what I needed.”

  “The uproar wasn’t me. The fighting was between some old guys.”

  He gave me a look I was beginning to know well.

  “The super skinny one is my grandad and the others are his friends.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  I gritted my teeth. “Yeah.”

  “If you say so.”

  I’m going to kick you so hard.

  Cornell interceded. “Ace Watts really is her grandad. Look her up. Her boyfriend is a cop. He could be an underwear model.”

  Bob shrugged. “Alright. What do you want to know?”

  I asked him about the Steelers guys. Lucky for me, Cornell had taken some pictures and they were in the background. I was in the foreground, but I decided to ignore that. Bob didn’t know who they were. He’d never seen them before last night.

  “Did they use a credit card?” I asked.

  “I can’t give you their card number.”

  “Good, ‘cause that would be illegal. I just want their names. They had a serious problem with my grandad and his friends. Now, one of them is dead and two more are in the Spearfish hospital, including my grandad.”

  “That’s who that was. So you’re what? Investigating?” He said it like it was impossible. Like that wasn’t a thing, a woman investigating a crime.

  “Yes, I am. My father expects it of me.” More like demands. Details.

  He took another drag and I fought to keep my patience. “I don’t know if they used a credit card last night. They used cash tonight.”

  “They were here? When did they leave?” I asked.

  “About an hour and a half ago. I kicked the bastards out. They were hassling the waitresses, touching them and trying to put the money down their tops. We’re not that kind of place.”

  I raised an eyebrow.