by Mike Knowles
Willy yanked his lapel free and tried to smooth it out. “I did all of that because you cancelled my credit card.” He gave up on the wrinkles in his jacket and spent a few seconds examining a stain his clothes had picked up from the pavement. Willy licked a thumb and rubbed at his suit. “So I guess this is the part when you drag me home.”
“I’m not here to drag you anywhere.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m a detective, not a kidnapper.”
“So you’re just going to take my kid’s money and do nothing?”
Jones laughed. “So now you’re mad I’m not dragging you back.”
Willy poked at Jones’ chest. “I don’t like anyone taking advantage of my daughter.”
“Unless it’s you,” Jones said.
Willy made a show of making a fist. “You want to go another round?”
Jones heard a siren. “I’d rather get out of here before we get picked up.”
“Fine,” Willy said. “Let me buy you a drink. It’s the least I can do for kicking your ass.”
23
The bar Willy chose was on a side street within walking distance of the casino. It was a place for career drinkers who moonlighted as professional gamblers. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, and they mixed drinking with casino shop talk. Jones listened to conversations about hot tables and which machines were paying out while he waited for his drink at the bar.
“You pick up hustling cards when you were inside?”
Willy took his eyes off the poker game playing on a television mounted above the bar. The question lifted his brow and made deep lines in his forehead. “Irene told you about that? She hates talking about that.”
“Not her. Your poker buddies told me that you spent some time away.”
Willy shrugged.
“They also said you were a cheat.”
Willy smiled.
“They ever say they caught me cheating?”
“Nope.”
Willy checked the TV again. “Then I guess I wasn’t cheating.” Willy took his eyes off the poker game when the bartender came back with their drinks.
“Here’s your whiskey, Willy. On the rocks, like you like it.”
The bartender was in her fifties, but the dim bar lighting tried its best to shave some time off.
She put Jones’ water down and leaned over a little farther than necessary to slide Willy’s drink in front of him.
“Donna, you might be the only friend I got in this town.”
Donna rolled two mascara shrouded eyes, but the grin on her face said she liked the line. She leaned in closer and touched a bruise that had already started to swell under Willy’s eye. She looked at Jones with none of the warmth she gave the older man. “This one giving you trouble?”
Willy laughed. “Other way round, darlin’. Who do you think busted up his nose?”
Donna surveyed the damage on Jones’ face and then rubbed the old con’s forearm. “Willy, you are something else.”
Jones said, “I gave him the mouse.”
One eyebrow raised and did a hell of an impression of a middle finger. “You’re a real tough guy, pal.”
Donna leaned toward Willy again and talked him into some ice wrapped up in a bar towel for his eye. She didn’t offer Jones a thing.
When the bartender walked away, Willy said, “I’m not going back.”
“Fair enough. I never told Irene I would bring you back. I only agreed to find you.”
“How much is she paying you?”
Jones looked at his nose in mirror behind the bar. It would likely need to be set. “Not enough.”
“Bullshit. How much?”
Jones told him.
Willy shook his head. “For that much, you should have to drag me back.”
“You know the moral ground you are standing on would be a lot higher if you didn’t run away and cause this whole mess.”
“I’m still her father. I look out for her no matter what.”
Jones put his phone on the bar. “You can look out for her by calling her.”
Willy slid the phone away with the side of his glass.
“She’s worried sick about you.”
“It ain’t worry, kid,” Willy said. He took a drink and gave himself a moment to let it linger on his tongue before he swallowed. “Irene has been getting hurt by me for most of her life. All those years and all of those hurts changed what she sees in me.”
“What does she see?”
“At first, I was a disappointment. I didn’t know it then, but I had it good when that was all I was. After that, I became an asshole. Now, I’m a burden. My little girl went her whole life without a stitch of help from me. Fuck, I was pulling her down the whole time and she still made it to the mountaintop. She made something of herself in spite of me and what does she get for all her trouble?”
Jones knew, but he let Willy say it.
“She feels like she has to take care of me. There would be irony in there somewhere if it wasn’t so goddamn sad.” Willy finished his drink and pushed the glass toward the other side of the bar. “I was inside a long time. Long enough to finally understand where the blame really lies. I know what I am and I know it ain’t anything good. I wasn’t good then and I’m not any better now.” Willy looked at Jones with two hard blue eyes. “I can’t change who I am, but I can change what I am. I won’t be her anchor anymore.” Willy ran a hand across his smooth chin. “I thought she would be happy if I just walked away. I thought if I made the first move, she would finally be able to put all the blame where it belongs, on me, and move on.” Willy looked at Jones again, but this time the hard eyes were sad. “But instead of letting me go, she finds someone to bring me back. She’s not going to let herself be happy. That is what I did to her. My kid. She is going to make herself suffer until I die, maybe longer, and there is nothing I can do about it.”
Jones pushed the phone in front of Willy again. “You can start by calling her.”
Willy got loud. “Did you not hear a thing I just said?”
“I heard it all. It was mostly about you. If you really want to stop being Irene’s burden, a phone call is a good place to start.”
“And what if I won’t do it?”
Jones shrugged. “I pay for your drink and drive back to the city. I’ll tell your daughter what I found out. After that—I’m guessing she’ll drive out here herself and start looking for you.”
Donna stopped in front of the glass Willy had pushed away. “Another, Willy?”
He nodded.
“She won’t stop,” he said.
Donna snorted as she finished the pour. “You stop paying and I will.”
“I meant my daughter,” Willy said.
“You have a kid?” Donna put the bottle down. “You got any pictures?”
Willy shook his head.
Donna frowned. “Willy, you should always have a picture of your kid with you.”
Willy looked to his drink for an answer and found only a way to forget. He took a drink and looked up to see the bartender still standing in front of him. She took a second to get her phone out of the back pocket of her skin-tight jeans.
“I mean, I get not having pictures because who has pictures anymore. I wouldn’t even know where to get them developed, Walmart maybe, but you should at least have a picture on your phone.” Donna turned her phone so that Willy could see the small child on her home screen. “That’s my daughter Angela and my grandson Trevor.”
Willy nodded. “He’s cute.”
“Yeah.” She turned the phone and stared at the picture for a few seconds; it took effort for her to put the phone away. “Sometimes that picture is the only thing that gets me through my shift. That’s why you gotta have one, Willy. I mean, you care about your kid, right?”
There was something
in the question; like the last word was heavier than the others and it was a struggle for Donna to get it out. She was afraid of what the answer might be.
Willy heard it too and he was slow to answer. The old man who had picked a fight with Jones and tried to kick two of the casino bar bouncers without hesitation was now struggling to meet the eye of the bartender.
“He hasn’t met his daughter yet,” Jones said.
The lie earned Jones his first non-threatening look from Donna. Willy turned on the stool and looked at Jones too. His look wasn’t threatening either—he looked afraid of what Jones was going to say next.
“I’m a private investigator—”
Donna turned and playfully slapped Willy on the forearm. “Is he for real, Willy?”
Willy, still unsure about where Jones was going with his story, risked a quick glance down the bar. Jones saw Willy’s worried eyes ruin an otherwise good poker face. He tilted his head a fraction of an inch and saw Willy’s face relax as he registered the message. “Yeah, he’s a real dick.”
Jones ignored the insult and launched into his story. “After her mother died, Willy’s daughter found that she had not been completely forthcoming about the identity of her father. Willy’s daughter, Irene, hired me to track him down.”
Donna looked at William. “Is that true, Willy?”
Willy glanced at Jones, hesitated, and then nodded.
Donna put a hand on top of Willy’s. “That is amazing, Willy! All these years and you really never knew?”
Willy shook his head without looking at Jones. The movement seemed natural and the answer honest. Willy had his some of his swagger back.
“You need to go see her.”
Willy smiled. “I plan to.”
“And then you need to come back and tell me all about it.” Donna put her palm on top of Willy’s hand. “With a picture.” The smile on Donna’s face made it obvious that she wanted to hear the story when she was off shift.
“I’d like that, Donna.”
The bartender’s hand lingered long enough to make Jones feel awkward about watching, and then Donna slowly slid her palm away and walked down the bar.
Willy said, “Thanks,” to Jones without taking his eyes off Donna.
Jones was about to tell Willy not to worry about it when his phone rang. He checked the display and saw that it was Scopes. He thought about letting it go to message, but there wasn’t anything to be gained from pissing the cop off even more.
“You gonna get that?” Donna said from the other end of the bar. Her voice was loud and it turned everyone’s eyes toward Jones.
Jones lifted the phone to his ear and nodded.
“Take it outside.”
Willy laughed. “You heard the lady.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Willy lifted his glass. “I’ll be right here.”
Jones answered the call as he opened the door. The bright light of the midday sun gouged his eyes and stalled him in the doorway.
“Close the door,” Donna yelled.
Jones took a blind step forward and said, “Would you believe something came up?”
“Nope.” Scopes sounded calm. The kind of calm that came after furious. “I gave you a chance to play it straight, and you turned it down. That tells me everything that I need to know about you, Sam Jones. You are now officially a suspect in the murder of Kevin McGregor.”
“Because I missed a meeting?”
“Because you ran.”
“Scopes.”
“Detective Scopes,” Scopes barked. “We ain’t friends, Sam.”
“Detective—” Jones got only the word out before the phone was snatched from his hand. Willy had come out behind him and now he had Jones’ phone in his hand. The old man leaned back against the wall and shielded his eyes. One alligator shoe left the pavement and took up residence against the worn brick exterior. The tailored grey suit looked like it had been made to lean against the brick wall of a dive bar in the middle of the day. Willy had every ounce of his swagger back.
“Hello?” The voice was Willy’s, but it didn’t belong to the Willy who had broken Jones’ nose. This man sounded old and frail.
“What are you doing?”
Willy waved him off. “My name is William Levine. Mr. Jones saved my life earlier today, and I understand that in doing so, he might have neglected an important appointment he had today. Were you the police officer he was supposed to meet?”
Scopes said something Jones couldn’t make out.
“Oh, a detective,” William said. He rolled his eyes when he said the word detective. “You see, I was crossing the street when a bicycle ran through the crosswalk without stopping. Tell me, Detective, do you handle bicycle crimes?” Willy said, “Oh,” and “I see,” while Scopes explained that he did not handle bicycle crimes. “A homicide detective.” Willy laughed. “I guess you can tell we won’t need you because I’m talking to you on the phone. Dead people don’t do that too often, do they?” Willy paused long enough to allow Scopes to laugh politely. “Could you put me in touch with who I would need to speak with about a crime involving a bicycle? I would like to press charges once I am out of the hospital.”
Jones watched Willy while he listened to Scopes again.
“This young man found me on the ground and drove me to the hospital himself. He saved my life. Have you ever called an ambulance?” Willy didn’t give Scopes a chance to answer. “I can tell you that when we call one at my apartment complex, we might as well call the funeral home to send a hearse to follow behind. The wait times are just ridiculous. Now, you’re a homicide detective, right? That’s what you said. Tell me, is there a way we could charge the paramedics with murder for taking so long? I bet their lateness has killed more people than some of those serial killers you read about in the paper.”
Willy listened for half-a-minute and then said, “Well, that is too bad. I bet things would be a lot faster if the paramedics thought they would be held accountable.” Willy paused for a second to listen to Scopes. “Well, I’ve taken enough of your time, Detective. I just wanted to tell you that this young man saved my life. I don’t know how I could ever repay him. He won’t even let me pay to have the blood cleaned off the seats of his car. Apologizing to you on his behalf is the very least I can do. He didn’t want me to say anything, but I insisted. I even had to steal the phone away from him. If you can believe it.” Willy laughed himself into a coughing fit. When he finished, he looked at Jones and smiled. “Please don’t be upset with him, Detective. He is a good boy.”
Scopes spoke for a minute and then Willy held the phone out toward Jones. “He wants to talk to you.”
Jones took the phone and Willy leaned in close so that he could whisper in Jones’ other ear. “That makes us even, dick.”
Jones nodded. “Detective Scopes?”
“Don’t for a second think that helping an old man who couldn’t cross the street earns you any points with me. I’m not the Boy Scouts. I am the police. I meant what I said. Every single word. I want you here tomorrow at noon. I don’t give a damn if Mother Teresa falls down the stairs and lands at your feet. You leave her where she is, understand?”
“Mother Teresa is dead,” Jones said.
“Then you have no reason not to be here,” Scopes growled.
Jones hung up the phone and walked back into the bar. William was back on his stool with a fresh drink to help him hit on Donna. From the way she was leaning, Jones could tell that she was buying whatever he was selling.
Donna saw Jones coming and smiled at him before giving Willy’s arm a squeeze and moving down the bar. She walked away with a saunter that drew Willy’s eyes exactly where she wanted them to be.
“Does Donna know about Charlene?” Jones said as he took a seat on the stool next to Willy.
Willy drank and admired the bartender
. “There’s nothing to know. Charlene left two days ago.”
“So you broke up?”
“We were never together. We had an arrangement. She wanted my money and I wanted a ride.”
Jones narrowed his eyes and Willy elbowed him.
“A ride to the casino.” He paused with the glass near his lips. “I don’t pay for it.”
“A gentleman,” Jones said.
“Not even a little bit. Charlene got tired of me pretty quickly once she figured out that there wouldn’t be any money coming her way. There wasn’t much for her to do if she had to pay for it herself, so she took her Toyota and drove home to find another mark. At this very moment, Charlene is making some guy very happy before she makes him very poor.”
“She sounds like a real charmer.”
“She doesn’t need to be. She has a fast car and very few morals.” He finished what was left of his drink and slid it to the other side of the bar. “So when are you going to talk to Irene?”
“On the way back to the city.”
“What are you going to tell her?”
“She paid me to find you. I will tell her that I did and that you are safe. If she has questions, I will answer them. What she does after that is up to her.”
“I think I’d rather tell her myself,” Willy said.
“I’d rather that too,” Jones said. “You want a lift?”
Willy nodded and jutted his chin toward Donna. “Pay up and we’ll go.”
“I thought the drink was on you.”
“That was before I smoothed things over with the cop. Now, you owe me.”
Jones got out his wallet.
“And don’t even think about forgetting a tip.”
24
Jones and Willy made it to the Jeep without getting into any more trouble. Willy got in while Jones opened the trunk. He yanked out the first aid kit and set up shop in the driver seat. Looking at his reflection in the rear-view mirror, Jones could see his nose had a new angle. He reached across the front seat, opened the glovebox, and rummaged for a pen. Willy was clearly interested in what was happening, but he kept his mouth shut while he watched. Jones stuck the pen up his nose and leaned closer to the mirror as he began to apply pressure. He grunted as he felt his nose shift back into place. The pen came out messy and Jones wiped it on the back of his knee before he put it back in the glovebox. Willy, seeing the interesting part was over, turned his attention to the radio while Jones prodded his nose and inspected his work: the break was relatively minor and he might just walk away from his trip to Niagara Falls without two black eyes. Jones pried the end of the tape loose and used his teeth to peel back a strip. He adjusted the roll and tore the tape free. He applied the tape and slowly worked it across the bridge of his swollen nose. He tested out his work with a few sharp inhalations and found that he could breathe through it again.
