Aaron's Wait

by Dorien Grey

  “So, what can I do for you? You wanna get back together? I’ve missed you. You’re hot, you know that?”

  Definitely drinking. “Well, I appreciate that, Troy, but I need to get in touch with Irv Wilson, and thought you might have his number.”

  Troy’s voice took on a menacing tone. “That bastard? Why the fuck would you want to talk to him? Wasn’t I good enough for you?”

  Elliott sincerely regretted his decision to call Troy, but now that he had him on the phone he had to make the best of it.

  “That has nothing to do with it, Troy. What I need to talk to him about has nothing to do with sex, believe me. Do you have his number?”

  A long pause, then: “No. I threw it away.”

  Elliott had no way of knowing if he was telling the truth or not, but said, “Do you have any idea how I can find him? It’s really kind of important.”

  Troy gave a loud snort of disgust. “I’ll bet. Well, you can try the Anvil, on Granville—third stool from the far end. It’s got his name on it.”

  Elliott didn’t know how serious Troy was, but suspected that was all he was going to get. “Thanks, Troy. I really appreciate it,” he said.

  “You wanna come over?” Troy asked. Elliott could hear the clink of ice cubes.

  “Not tonight, I’m afraid,” he said, anxious to hang up. “I’ve got to be at work really early tomorrow. But thanks again for your help.”

  “Yeah. Sure,” Troy said sarcastically.

  “Take care.” Elliott hung up.

  CHAPTER 6

  He woke Wednesday morning rather surprised there had been no contact with John during the night—he was curious to know what was going on with Aaron. He likened the situation to having a friend who calls whenever he feels like it but won’t give you his phone number.

  He was glad to get to work and immerse himself in things over which there was no question but that he had control. He, Arnie, Sam, and Ted had worked so closely together for so long that, for the most part, each project progressed like a well-choreographed ballet. The four men seldom got in each other’s way, yet each would automatically pitch in with the other’s main area of responsibility if the need arose.

  It wasn’t until he got home that he went back over his conversations with Jim Babcock and Troy. He had no idea what he could do to discover more about Babcock’s possible involvement in Bill’s death, but he had learned that if an immediate answer to a problem was not at hand, sometimes it was just as well to step back from it for a while.

  As for Troy, their conversation had, if nothing else, reaffirmed his reasons for having stopped seeing the man. It had been interesting to learn that Irv Wilson hung out at the Anvil, which was within walking distance of Elliott’s condo, though he’d only been there a few times. He contemplated stopping by the bar sometime over the weekend, since Steve would be tied up with his out-of-town visitor.

  However, when an after-dinner check of the TV schedule showed nothing of interest on that evening, he decided on a whim to take a walk in the general direction of the Anvil, telling himself that if he made it there, fine, and if he didn’t, no big deal. It was a Wednesday evening, and very early to expect much of a crowd, but the Anvil was very much a neighborhood bar and, as such, far less subject to the normal tides of the busier venues. The chances that Irv Wilson would be there were remote at best, but…

  He was walking down Sheridan in the direction of Granville when his cell phone rang.

  “Hi, Steve,” he said.

  “You’re psychic!”

  “Uh, not quite. I checked the caller ID before I answered.”

  “Darn!”

  “So, what’s up?”

  “Nothing much. Just checking in to see if you had plans for the weekend.”

  “Pretty open. You’ll be busy with Gil.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I hope you’ll spend some time with us.”

  “He’s coming to visit you, after all, and I don’t want to be a third wheel.”

  “What third wheel?” Steve asked. “Gil knows I’m seeing you. I want you two to get to know one another.”

  Elliott wasn’t too sure how Gil might feel on that subject. He wasn’t too sure about how he felt about it.

  “I thought we could all go to Pizzaria Uno for dinner Friday night, and then we can just play it by ear from there.”

  The roar of a passing bus momentarily ruined any chance of hearing or being heard, so Elliott waited until it was a safe distance away before saying, “Sure, if you want.”

  “What’s all that racket?” Steve asked.

  “I’m outside. There’s nothing on TV so I thought I’d take a walk.”

  “Wish I could join you. I don’t get nearly enough exercise. So, we’ll pick you up around seven thirty Friday?”

  “Or I can meet you there. It might be easier than your running all the way up here.”

  “No way! We’ll pick you up.”

  “Okay. See you then, if we don’t talk before.”

  * * *

  The Anvil is one of those places that doesn’t bother to put up a big sign in front, and having been in there even the few times he had, Elliott could understand why. It was a true neighborhood bar, and the management didn’t seem to care if any non-locals came in or not.

  Opening the door, he entered to find six people, including the bartender. Most of them shot him a cursory look then went back to what they were doing. He glanced at the end of the bar and was not surprised to see the third seat was empty. Since he had no idea what Wilson looked like, any—or, far more likely, none—of the patrons might be him. But, having walked in, he felt more or less obliged to at least order a drink, even if he didn’t finish it.

  He crossed to the bar and ordered a beer, taking a stool a few seats down from a fastidiously dressed man with a shoulder bag who looked definitely out of place at a bar like the Anvil.

  When the bartender brought his beer, Elliott handed him a bill and said, “I’m looking for a guy named Irv Wilson. I understand he comes in here pretty often?”

  “Yeah,” the bartender replied with the studied indifference acquired by most bartenders over time. “Not here tonight, though. Usually Tuesday and Friday nights, and Sunday afternoon.”

  Elliott thanked him and took a sip of his beer, aware that the fastidious one was looking at him. Turning slightly, he gave the guy a slight nod of acknowledgment.

  “Are you a friend of Irv’s?” The man’s diction left little room for question about his sexual orientation.

  Elliott resisted the temptation to point out that he wouldn’t have had to ask the bartender about Wilson if they were friends, and instead said, “No. I want to ask him about a mutual friend.”

  “Really? Who? Maybe I know him.”

  Elliott sensed a come-on, but figured he didn’t have anything to lose. “Bill Somers,” he said.

  The man’s eyes opened wide. “Bill? I know…knew…Bill!” His face took on the somber aspect of one about to give bad news. “He’s dead, you know.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s one of the reasons I want to talk to Irv about him.”

  The man scooted from his stool to the one next to Elliott. “I don’t think that would be a very good idea,” he said in a conspiratorial semi-whisper.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Irv is a little…” He glanced around to see if anyone appeared to be listening. “…strange. And no one mentions Bill around him, if they know what’s good for them.” Suddenly extending his hand, he said, “I’m Button, by the way.”

  Elliott set down his beer to take the hand, wondering who in the world would have a name like “Button.”

  “Elliott.”

  “I think I saw you in here once, a long time ago,” Button said.

  Elliott grinned. “You must have a very good memory. I don’t come in often.”

  Button returned the grin. “Not many people do, obviously. Do you live around here?”

  “On Sheridan.”
>
  “Ah. I’m just down the street on Granville. I work until seven, then have dinner and stop in here to unwind before going home.”

  Since it was getting close to ten o’clock, Elliott speculated it must take Button quite a while to unwind.

  “So, what was the problem between Irv and Bill?” he asked.

  Button turned sideways on his stool. “They met in here. My friend Paul introduced them, as a matter of fact. About five years ago. Bill had just moved into the neighborhood, and he would come in with Paul every so often. Bill didn’t like bars—he couldn’t stand the cigarette smoke, and never stayed for more than one drink.

  “For some strange reason, Paul rather liked Irv, probably because Irv never hit on him, so Paul never got a chance to see what a creep he is, and he wouldn’t believe me when I tried to tell him. Anyway, one night when I wasn’t here, Paul came in with Bill and introduced him to Irv. Irv took a shine to Bill. When the smoke started to get to him, Irv invited him out for coffee. That did it, and they started dating. Wrong! I knew it was a disaster just waiting to happen, but neither Bill nor Paul had a clue until it was too late.”

  “What happened?”

  Button finished his drink and signaled to the bartender for another. “You like another?” he asked Elliott, who shook his head.

  “No, thanks, I’ve got to be heading off pretty soon.”

  Waiting until the bartender brought his drink, Button continued his story. “Irv, I’m afraid, is the human equivalent of a boa constrictor. Once he wraps himself around you, it’s harder than hell to get loose. Bill finally had enough and broke it off.” He took a long drink. “And that old saying about hell having no fury like a woman scorned has nothing on Irv scorned. After he broke it off with Irv, Bill never came back, but Paul kept me posted.

  “Irv refused to give up and made poor Bill’s life hell, calling at all hours of the night, cursing him out, bad-mouthing him to everyone. Finally, Paul told me Bill had met a really great guy, and shortly after moved in with him. Paul took me to their house for dinner one night, and I saw them a few times after that. They seemed like the perfect couple.

  “When Bill moved, I’d thought Irv lost track of him. I know he asked me several times if I knew where Bill was, but I lied. I hoped that was the end of it as far as Irv was concerned, until I heard that Bill had died.”

  Elliott frowned. “You’re not suggesting…” he began, and Button put one spread-fingered hand to his chest.

  “Oh, no! No! But strictly between you, me, and the lamppost, when I heard Bill was dead, Irv did pop into my mind. I never did find out how Bill died, but I can’t believe Irv would carry a grudge that far.” He sighed. “Still, people often do things we never imagine they can do.”

  Elliott wasn’t sure whether Button’s last sentence referred to Bill or to Irv, and decided that, though his beer bottle was nearly empty, his mind was full to capacity. He finished his drink and set the bottle on the counter. When the bartender started over, he shook his head, indicating he was through.

  Getting up from his stool, he extended his hand to Button. “Well, it’s time for me to take off,” he said. “I’ve enjoyed talking with you.”

  “My pleasure. Now that you know where we are, don’t be a stranger.”

  Elliott grinned. “I won’t. Take care.”

  And with a small wave, he turned and left the bar.

  * * *

  Do you suppose that’s his real name?

  Button?

  Yeah. I love it. You should have asked how he came by it.

  As they used to say in science fiction movies, “There are things Man is not meant to know.” But I can the next time I go in there, which will probably be shortly after hell freezes over.

  Was it that bad?

  No, not at all…just not my kind of place. So, where have you been?

  Here and there. I’m not trying to be evasive, but it’s easier than trying to explain.

  What about Aaron?

  Nothing much. I’ve been sort of stepping back and giving him a chance to clear the fog. I think he’s really trying. He’s been like a stuck phonograph record for the past four years, and now he’s starting to get past it. Are you still going to try to talk to Irv Wilson?

  I’m really not sure. From what Button says, I don’t think I’d want to have much to do with the guy, and if I were to approach him in the bar, I’m sure he’d take it as a come-on. I sure as hell don’t want to go down that road. I don’t know…we’ll see.

  Okay, it’s your show.

  * * *

  He’d talked with Steve Thursday night to verify Gil’s arrival Friday afternoon and dinner Friday night, and Steve called him from his car around one o’clock Friday afternoon on his way to the airport. At exactly seven thirty that evening, Elliott stepped out of the elevator. As he passed through the door to the outer lobby, he saw Steve’s car waiting at the curb. At first he noticed only Steve, who was behind the wheel, then saw there was someone in the back. He opened the door and got in, turning to acknowledge the passenger.

  “Elliott, this is Gil,” Steve announced somewhat unnecessarily. Elliott reached through the space between the seats to shake hands.

  “I could have sat in back,” he said as they shook.

  A pleasant-looking man in his late forties, which was mildly surprising—he’d expected someone about Steve’s own age—Gil had a firm hand and a warm smile. Elliott decided he was probably going to like him.

  “No problem,” Gil said as Elliott turned back to fasten his seatbelt. Glancing into the rearview mirror as Steve drove down the ramp and waited to make a left-hand turn onto Sheridan, he noted that Gil’s hair, which he’d at first thought was blond, was actually a greying light brown.

  “Your first trip to Chicago?” he asked, turning as far as his seatbelt would comfortably allow.

  “Yes,” Gil said. “Pretty impressive, from what I’ve seen of it so far. You’re a native, I understand.”

  Elliott found it interesting that Steve had apparently done more than just mention him to Gil, and wondered what else he might have told him.

  They turned onto the Outer Drive toward the restaurant. “What a terrific view,” Gil said, indicating the lake to their left and the city spread before them on the right. “I almost took a job here a couple of years ago,” he volunteered.

  “Oh, yeah?” Elliott asked. “What sort of work do you do?”

  “I’m in computers—database administration. Nobody’s ever heard of it, but it’s a growing field, and I like it.”

  Elliott was aware of John in the back seat beside Gil, and felt something akin to a mild electrical shock. John’s sudden appearances always startled him.

  “Database administration?” he repeated, hoping his surprise didn’t show in his voice. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it. As a matter of fact, I was just talking to a DBA firm last week—Future Com. Ever hear of it?”

  He watched in the rearview mirror as Gil smiled and shook his head. “That’s who I was thinking of joining,” he said. “There weren’t more than a handful of DBA firms around back then. Still aren’t all that many.”

  Elliott put aside the fact that coincidence and credulity had just been stretched to the breaking point and said, “Why didn’t you take it?”

  “Well, it was a fairly new company run by two guys, and they’d advertised in the trades for talent. I answered and started a correspondence with one of the owners, who I really liked. Then, just before I decided to take their offer, I found myself suddenly dealing with the other partner. No explanation as to why.

  “When I asked why I was suddenly talking to him instead of his partner, he told me his partner had left the business. Again, no explanation. But there was something about the guy that made me leery, and I said I’d need a bit of time to think. He called me four times in the space of a week, getting more and more pushy, and making wild promises, and I finally told him thanks but no thanks. I’m kind of surprised to hear they’re still in business.
”

  Elliott, still aware of John’s presence, also detected a faint sensation of bemusement not his own.

  There was the usual hour’s wait at the restaurant and no seats at the bar, so they ordered drinks, carried them into the small waiting area just off the street entrance and found two available seats on one of the benches. Steve insisted that Elliott and Gil sit while he stood.

  “Out of deference to my elders,” he said.

  “Bullshit,” Elliott replied. “You just want to hog the spotlight.”

  Steve cocked an eyebrow. “When ya got it, flaunt it.”

  Gil and Steve had an easy camaraderie, though Elliott was pretty sure Gil wished it were more. They kept talk of mutual friends and acquaintances to a minimum, and the conversation was relaxed and wide ranging. Elliott was curious about why their relationship had not gone further than it had, but he realized he was selfishly glad it hadn’t.

  When Steve excused himself to go refresh their drinks, Elliott was alone with Gil for the first time.

  “I’m glad to finally meet you,” Gil said pleasantly. “I was a little worried about Steve when he moved here without knowing a soul in town. I should have known he’d do just fine, and he obviously has.”

  Not knowing whether Gil was including him in the observation, Elliott merely smiled. “He’s got a lot going for him,” he said noncommittally. They sipped their drinks, and Elliott decided a change of subject might be in order.

  “I understand you’re taking the train back?”

  Gil smiled. “Yeah, I’ve always wanted to take a long train trip, but I never had a specific reason. When Steve moved here, I figured it would be a good way to combine visiting Steve with something I’ve wanted to for a long time.”

  “You’re getting a sleeper compartment, I hope?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Gil said with a laugh. “I’m not quite up to three days and two nights sitting in a passenger car.”

  “So, you live in the Big Bear area?”

  “I used to, but I recently got an apartment in L.A., since I do a lot of running back and forth between there and San Diego, doing freelance work for a couple of different DBA firms. It keeps me busy. Steve tells me you rehabilitate old buildings. That sounds like quite a job.”