Nearly Departed
Page 5
If there was one thing in the city that Dennis could count on as being forever unchanged, it was Thoreau’s Tavern. The exterior of the dark brick building gave little indication as to what lay inside, although the neon signs in the shape of various beer logos provided a helpful hint. Stepping through the door, however, was often a bit of a gentle surprise to newcomers. Although the interior had much the same aged and weather-beaten feeling as the building that housed it, the atmosphere and furnishings were considerably more in keeping with an antiques shop than a dive bar. The tinted and shuttered windows kept all but the most tenacious rays of sunlight out, and the muted glow from the hanging lamps did little more than cast shadows on the mismatched assortment of chairs and tables dotting the establishment. A lingering scent, almost like cinnamon, tinted every breath drawn with a hint of both comfort and excitement, and the pristine, well-stocked shelves of expensive vodka and scotch made the entire room feel like something out of a scene from an old gangster film.
Dennis stood in the doorway, giving his eyes time to adjust. After a moment, he could see a familiar figure standing behind the bar, looking at him with a mixture of impatience and amusement.
“Where were you last night?” Luke asked as a means of greeting. “I tried calling you five times, and I got a lecture from your wife about politeness.” Dennis had to smile. Lucas Colby had been his best friend for most of his adult life, and the two of them had often been mistaken for brothers. Personally, Dennis didn’t see the resemblance, as Luke had bright blonde hair – which he had been growing out, Dennis noted – and a round, boyish face that shared almost no similarity with Dennis’ own lean appearance. Only their eyes matched, and anyone who cared to look would see the difference in the way that Dennis quietly watched the world, whereas Luke made a point of staring it down.
“I was busy,” Dennis replied, stepping further into the tavern. None of the regulars stirred, each of them intent on communing with their various intoxicating drinks. In another hour or two, Dennis knew, the room would be a bit less deserted, as Thoreau’s offered an afternoon happy hour that seemed to draw all sorts of interesting characters out of their hiding places.
“Too busy to help your buddy get laid? Come on, man, she was a model.” Luke threw a worn dishrag onto the bar and folded his arms.
“I’m sure you did fine on your own,” replied Dennis. “Anyway, you really need to stop calling my house. I have a cell phone for a reason.” He sat down on one of the cushioned barstools and fidgeted as it adjusted to his weight. Luke rolled his eyes and leaned forward, an expression of mock irritation on his face.
“If you weren’t so obsessed with your crazy old ladies, you might remember that this place made you famous. You should be a little more grateful.”
“I’m hardly famous,” Dennis answered.
Luke snorted and jerked a thumb behind him. “Yeah, well, there’s an autographed picture of you on the wall, so you’re definitely something.”
Dennis let out an exaggerated sigh as he looked in the direction of Luke’s gesture. “I wish you’d take that down,” he said, eying the black-and-white photograph in question. “That’s not even my real signature.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have needed to forge it if you had just signed the damned thing.”
They leered at one another until Dennis’ face finally cracked into a smile. Luke nodded once in satisfaction and placed a bottle of beer with a purple label in front of him.
“Still making this swill, I see,” Dennis said, taking a sip. The beer, Matlock’s, as its white lettering proclaimed, was brewed locally by Luke and a few friends, including the woman who owned the tavern. Dennis had never had much of a liking for beer, but the taste of the beverage he was currently downing was not at all bad. He’d never give Luke the satisfaction of hearing that he actually enjoyed it, but there were definitely worse things to be drinking.
“I’m sorry, did you just insult a free beer?” Luke asked. Dennis shrugged and took another sip.
“I didn’t realize that you could actually get people to pay money for it.” He watched as Luke fought to suppress a smile and busied himself with wiping down the already spotless bar. After a moment, he abandoned the act, and pulled out a bottle that was identical to Dennis’.
“So, let’s have it,” Luke said after taking a long swallow. “Old ladies, crazy ghost stories, what?”
“Just like every other time, really.”
“She tried to brand you with a tuning fork, then?”
Dennis winced at the memory. “Okay, that was not a typical encounter.” He rubbed the spot on his arm where he had nearly received the burn.
“And tell me, Doctor February, you keep doing this why?” Luke asked.
“It’s ‘September,’ Luke.” He took another sip of his beer and shrugged. “You’re the one who told me to become a con artist. I’m just going with it while I write my next book.”
“Being a con artist requires that you make some money at it. You’re a con masturbationist, is what you are.”
Dennis stopped halfway through his next retort, and a thoughtful look crossed his face. A few seconds passed before his eyes met Luke’s again, and this time his expression was one of suspicion.
“On that note,” Dennis said, tapping the lip of his bottle. He stared off into space.
Luke glanced around as though searching for a hint about what his friend was referring to. “What note? You being the lousiest con artist on the planet, or masturbation in general?”
“The former.”
“Good, because I really don’t want to know about your –”
“Why do they do this?” Dennis interrupted. “I mean, why do these people invent imaginary friends for themselves? And why do they like preaching about it so much?”
Luke’s face adopted an incredulous expression. “Have you been going to church when I’m not looking?” His comment drew a sour glare from two of the other tavern’s patrons, and Dennis could see their disapproving looks reflected back at him in the mirror behind the shelves. He continued speaking in a more subdued tone, reminding himself that they were not alone.
“I got this weird phone call today,” Dennis explained. “This woman saw my ad, and she wanted to know if I could help. The funny thing was,” he continued, cutting off Luke’s attempt at another sarcastic comment, “she didn’t sound like the normal sort of nut-job that I’m used to dealing with.”
“Alright, I’ll humor you,” sighed Luke. “What, pray tell, made this woman so different?”
“I’m not sure,” Dennis conceded. “She was just so direct, and she didn’t even try to tell me about her…” he paused, searching for the right word.
“Spectral boyfriend?” Luke offered.
“That sounds like a bad name for a rock band.”
“Whatever.”
“Or a soap opera.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “Remind me not to give you alcohol before you start telling a story. Would you make your point, please?”
Dennis cocked his head to the side, and his brow furrowed as he spoke. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been at this too long, but she sounded like she was actually trying to hire me for something, instead of just talking my ear off about some fantasy.” Luke did not respond, although his eyebrow had arched slightly. Dennis thought back on the conversation again before another thought occurred to him. “You know, Sam had a cop visiting him this morning.”
“Police work is tough,” Luke replied. “A lot of them probably go to shrinks. I fail to see what this has to do with dead lovers.”
“Now that would be a bad soap opera.” Luke pulled his hand back as if to slap him, and Dennis laughed. “Okay, sorry, I’ll stop.” He took another sip of his beer, and his voice took on a more serious aspect. “I didn’t think much of it before, or of the phone call, but I’m starting to wonder if the two of them are related.”
“What, like a setup?” asked Luke. Dennis nodded, oblivious to his friend’s sarcastic tone.
“You said he was just a normal cop.”
“The detective,” Dennis said again, “was supposedly there because his niece had started seeing ghosts. That’s the kind of person that I find for Sam, right? Then, while I’m setting up another job, some guy starts snapping pictures of the restaurant that I’m in.” Luke stared for a minute more before answering.
“So, you’re still paranoid, then.”
Dennis’ head bounced up. “What?” he said, laughing nervously.
“Come on, dude, you’ve always had these wild ideas about people being out to get you, and they’re always ridiculous.” He waved a hand around the tavern. “There was a whole crowd of people taking pictures in here the other night, and you don’t see me getting all anxious.”
“Luke, there was a topless woman on the table.”
“So maybe there was some fun graffiti on the restaurant wall.” Luke rolled his eyes. “Fine, when is she going to call you?”
“I’m supposed to call her at seven.”
Luke appeared to squint into the distance. “Okay, well, if you’re that worried about it, call her back sooner. That way if it is a setup of some kind, which I’m sure it isn’t, you’ll throw them off.”
“How do you figure?”
Luke threw up his hands in irritation. “Because they won’t be ready yet! Jeez, dude, let it go.” He rubbed the back of his neck with a thoughtful wince on his face. “Seriously, if anyone has a reason to be paranoid, it’s me.”
Dennis gave his friend a speculative look. “Why do you say that?”
Discomfort darkened Luke’s face, and he shifted his weight. “It’s nothing, forget I mentioned it.” Dennis raised an eyebrow, to which Luke scowled in response. “Alright, fine. I made a couple of bad bets recently, and I’m trying to scrape together enough to pay off the debt.”
“Bad bets?” repeated Dennis. “What, you’re gambling now?”
“Hey, I’ve never had a problem risking a bit of money in order to make some. That’s your failing, dude, not mine.”
“I’m not the one who owes a bookie.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “Look, it isn’t a big deal. Just a few thousand dollars. Like I said, forget it.”
Dennis paused before answering. Luke valued his pride above almost anything else, and Dennis could never be sure if he would be offended by an offer of assistance. Dennis’ own financial situation was hardly glamorous, but he could probably afford to lighten the load. “Well,” he said finally, “just let me know if you need any help.”
“You’re the one that needs help, dude,” Luke replied, his blasé demeanor returning. “Being all convinced that there’s a sting set up for you. The police have more important things to do than chase after two-bit authors with strange hobbies.”
A smirk crossed Dennis’ face as he relaxed. “Two-bit author, huh?” Luke folded his arms.
“You heard me.”
Dennis pointed at the framed picture of himself above the bar. “Does that mean you’ll take that thing down?”
“Go to hell.”