The Shadow of Seth

by Tom Llewellyn

  “You thirsty?” I asked Azura. She raised one eyebrow. I’d always wished I could raise just one eyebrow. For me, it was both or nothing.

  From the outside, Breakneck Bar and Grill looked like a dump. From the inside, it was one. When Azura and I stepped in, we almost ran into the backs of the three drinkers sitting at the bar, which was less than ten feet from the front door. All three customers turned in unison. They glanced at me for half a second, then slowly ran their gazes up and down Azura. She grabbed my arm as we walked quickly to the end of the bar. I wondered if I made her feel safe.

  We sat at two empty stools, next to a dusty jar of pickled eggs and a broken tabletop pull-tab machine. It made me wonder why Carlyle ate here so often, but then in a way it reminded me of him—sleepy, sloppy, and generally unfriendly. The bartender, a short gray-haired man in a dirty yellow t-shirt, slowly worked his way over to us. He smiled. “Gonna have to see your I.D.”

  “Actually, I just have a quick question for you, assuming you’re the bartender that works the late night shift.”

  “I’m him, but I’m still gonna have to see your I.D. You gotta be twenty-one just to be on the premises.”

  “We’re not twenty-one.”

  “Then leave.” He turned to walk away.

  “Just a sec,” said Azura. “Could you talk to us outside for three minutes?”

  “For twenty bucks, I’ll talk to you for two.”

  I pulled a twenty from my wallet and handed it to the bartender. He turned toward his customers and said, “Jerry, watch the bar for a couple. And keep Albert’s greasy lips off the taps.” He walked from behind the bar and followed us out. On the sidewalk, he looked at his watch. “The clock is ticking.”

  “A Detective Carlyle spoke to you recently.”

  “The cop? About the cleaning lady who was killed? Yeah? So?”

  “You told him you saw her leave the clock shop across the street.”

  “Why are you asking me about this?”

  “Because she was my mom.”

  The bartended raised both eyebrows. Apparently, he couldn’t raise only one either. “Your mom? Look—”

  “We paid you twenty bucks. You told the cop you saw her leave. Can you tell me what you saw?”

  The bartender rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, kid. I, uhh—well, Hell. Okay, I’ll tell you the same thing I told that cop. I was cleaning up the place—about three a.m. And I saw her drive away in her Jeep. I see the same thing at least a couple of nights a week.”

  “Nothing unusual?”

  “Not a thing. Sorry. I wish I could tell you something else.”

  I thought for a moment. “Did you actually see her walk out of the shop?”

  The bartender squinted, then said, “No. I guess not. I only saw her Jeep drive away. But it was definitely her Jeep. I remember because she almost hit a guy on a bike.”

  “She almost hit a kid?”

  “Not a kid. A guy. Big guy on a little bike.”

  I thought of King George and his huge frame on his BMX bike. “Could you tell if it was her driving?”

  “I guess not. It was dark out. I guess I just assumed it was her.”

  “That’s all I need,” I said. I thanked him and turned to leave.

  “Hey, kid. You should take back your money. I’d feel dirty keeping it.” He held the twenty out toward me.

  “And I’d feel dirty taking it back from you.”

  We drove Azura’s car toward my apartment. On the way there, my cell phone rang. It was Checker Cab. I let it go to voicemail, because I didn’t feel like working the dinner rush that night. When I listened to the message, Checker said he had “some information I might find valuable.” We drove over and parked on Sixth.

  The restaurant was mostly empty. Two cute teenage black girls I’d never seen before were leaning against the counter, their heads close together in a whisper, as they looked in the direction of King George, who was sitting at his table. Both girls had lots of shiny hair, long, dark eyelashes, and little black aprons over their tight t-shirts and tight jeans. Stanley Chang was in his spot, reading the paper. Azura and I went over to talk to Stanley.

  “Hey, Stanley,” I said to the old Hawaiian. “Been a while.”

  “Aloha, cousin,” said Stanley. I introduced Azura to him. He asked, “She your ku`uipo?” I was pretty sure what that word meant, but I just shrugged.

  “Stanley, I’m wondering if you’ve seen Miss Irene around lately.”

  Stanley Chang has skin the color of an old wooden floor, but I’m pretty sure he blushed. “Why you asking me?”

  I smiled. “Because everyone knows that Miss Eye is your ku`uipo. Did I pronounce that right?”

  “I ain’t seen Miss Eye, Seth. I suspect she’s gone for good.”

  “But you’re still coming here?”

  “Sure.” He stroked his belly. “I’ve gotten used to the food. And I like to make sure Checker Cab ain’t running the place into the ground.”

  “Why would you care about that?”

  “Because if this places closes, then where am I gonna go?”

  “What’s up, Seth?” said King from his table.

  I couldn’t remember the last time George had said hello to me. “What’s up, George?”

  “Got a question for you. How come you talk to that old fool, but you don’t pay no propers to me?”

  “I ain’t disrespecting you, King,” I said. “Stanley Chang and I were just chatting.”

  “Yeah, well maybe I’d like to do some chatting, too. Why don’t you bring your girlfriend over here and sit? At my table.” He spread his huge arms wide, as if he were a young lord displaying his kingdom. Maybe that’s what he was. I’d never been called to King George’s table before, ever, but I nervously pulled Azura over. She squeezed my arm until it hurt. I slid in first and Azura sat on the edge of his booth.

  “There you go,” said George, without a hint of a smile. “The King ain’t so scary. Now who’s this girl?”

  “I’m Azura.” Her voice was quiet but without a shake in it.

  “Ah-zoo-rah. What the hell kind of name is that? What’s your last name, Ah-zoo-rah?”

  “Lear. How old are you?”

  George pulled back at the question, and for half a second, he looked young. “Seventeen, last time I checked.”

  “Then why don’t I ever see you in high school?”

  “That place, it got nothing to teach me, Ah-zoo-rah Lear.”

  “Because you know everything? You’re a dropout?”

  “A dropout? Hell, no. I ain’t no dropout. I’m the King.” He put his elbows on the table so Azura could see the might of his arms. “Bet you like to mix it up a little bit. You got that look to you. You and me should wrestle a little bit. We could do some damage together. I know that.”

  Azura blushed. King George smiled. “You thinking about it. I can see you are.”

  “Knock it off, George,” I said.

  “Shut your mouth, Seth. I ain’t talking to you.” His eyes locked on Azura’s face, daring her to look away. “So how about it, Ah-zoo-rah Lear?”

  She kept blushing, but she held his gaze. “No.”

  “No? You saying no to the King? You like Seth better? What are you doing hanging out with this orphan trash? This skinny little boy?”

  “Seth’s not trash. And he’s not a boy.”

  Azura stood up. I joined her. King George shifted his unsmiling eyes to me. “Well, well. So you’re a man now, Seth? I knew you were on your own, but I didn’t know you were a man. Good to know.” He laughed loudly. “Good to know! Hey, Seth the man, the girl wants to leave. You and your manhood better follow after her. Run along, Seth the man.”

  I tried not to hurry too obviously as we walked into the kitchen, where Checker Cab was muttering to himself as he mixed up corncak
e batter. He looked up when we came in. “Damn that King George,” Checker muttered quietly. “He sits out there most of the day, making nice folks all uncomfortable. Why’s he gotta do that?”

  “Who’re the two girls, Checker?”

  “You mean Shantay and Rachelle? They’re my new business plan. My new young waitresses. They’ll keep the customers happy while I do the cooking.”

  “How’s that working out so far?”

  “They just started today. Come highly recommended from a good buddy of mine, though. Get these girls going and Miss Eye can stay away as long as she likes. I figure if she don’t come back, this might just become my restaurant. Might even change the name from Shotgun Shack to Checker’s Café.”

  “Which one’s Shantay and which one’s Rachelle?”

  Checker Cab leaned in toward me with a big grin on his face. “I have no idea. If you find out, let me know.” He laughed loudly all by himself.

  “You have some information for us, Checker?”

  Checker Cab smiled. “I do. Hold on.” He peeled off his latex gloves and tossed them in the trash. He led us into the pantry, where floor-to-ceiling shelves held bags of flour and cornmeal, cans of baking powder and salt, and sacks of onions. “I was in here last night, after closing, restocking the shelves by myself, because I ain’t got no one to help me. Until today. Hold on a minute.” He stopped talking, put his hands behind his hips and arched his back with a groan. “Oh, man. Anyway, I grabbed a can of Clabber Girl off the shelf there and right behind it was…this.”

  Checker pulled a can of baking soda off the first row, revealing a small bottle made of brown glass. It had a screw-on lid. On the front of the bottle was a white label with black letters. It looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t think of where I might have seen it before.

  “Poison?” I asked.

  “You damn right it’s poison. Sodium cyanide. Right here among my ingredients. So I asked myself, what kind of fool puts poison in among the ingredients at a restaurant?”

  “And what was your answer? And before you say it was Miss Irene, remember that she’s the one saved you from—”

  “Hold on, Seth. I didn’t name any names. And no need for you to talk about how pathetic I was before Miss Irene Dunlop saved me from the gutter. She’s gone now. I called you—Seth—I called you because I want to help.”

  “You called because you want your three hundred dollars.”

  “Hey, now. I thought you trying to find out who murdered your mother. What was the kind of poison they found in her blood?”

  “You know the answer to that.”

  “It’s right here, Seth. Take this down to the police and I’ll bet you they’ll find this to be a perfect match with what ended your mom’s life. And when they do—and when they catch the murderer, whoever she may be—you just remember our little arrangement.”

  We walked back into the dining room and headed toward the door. “Seth the man,” shouted King George, his mouth full of food, “you back to join me at my table? Share a rib-eye with your honey? My treat?”

  “No thanks,” I said.

  “You got something better to do? Where you going?”

  “Home.”

  Nineteen

  It was dark when we drove back to the boxing gym. It was closed and the lights were off, which meant ChooChoo wasn’t there. Azura and I went through the building and up the stairs toward my apartment. I thought about King George and how he made me feel like a scared little kid, even though he was just a year older than me.

  King had left school behind. It seemed he’d left boyhood behind, too, with a wad of cash in his fist. If I decided not to go back to school, would that make me more of a man? I wondered how Mom would have answered that question.

  I thought about how easy it was for Checker Cab to drop a dime on Miss Irene after all she’d done for him. I wondered how that poison ended up in the restaurant’s kitchen. If it wasn’t put there by Miss Irene, who would have put it there? Checker Cab? Would he set up Miss Eye for so little money?

  I thought about Azura. She was still with me, even if I’d expected her to bail on me by now. She’d stood her ground with King George better than I had. Maybe she was more than just a rich man’s daughter. Maybe she was doing more than just looking for a distraction from the south side of Division Street.

  I put my hand on the rusty railing when we reached the bottom of my stairs. We were on the edge of my home. Azura had stairs that led up to her home, too, but hers went from a grassy yard to a sweeping porch. Mine went from a sweaty gym to a tiny apartment.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted her up there and I wasn’t sure why. Was I ashamed of where I lived or was I just protective of it? I missed Mom like crazy right then. I wanted her to open the door and say, “Hey, hon. Who’s your friend? Why don’t you invite her inside?” Or maybe she’d be passing me on the stairs, on her way to work, and she’d say, “Don’t you even think of being alone in our apartment with a girl that pretty.”

  “Are you going to invite me up?” Azura asked.

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “What’s there to think about?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking about.”

  “I can just leave.”

  “I don’t want you to leave.”

  “Then invite me up.”

  “I’m not sure I want to do that, either.”

  We stood there, my hand on the railing, Azura’s arms crossed over her chest. I wanted someone else to decide for me. I got my wish when she said, “If it’s that hard of a decision, I think I should just go.” I walked her silently through the unlit gym. I tried to grab her hand, but she pulled away.

  We stepped outside into the darkness of the street. A shadow lunged out from other shadows. Azura let out a scream, which was cut short by a huge hand slapping her on the side of her face. She bounced off the side of the building, her head making a bright crack against the wall, then another when it hit the sidewalk.

  “You next, boy,” said the shadow. He was massive, whoever he was, dressed in black pants and shirt. A stocking cap and bandana covered nearly all his face. He looked down at me.

  “What do you want?” I said, as I prepared to get hit.

  “I’m here to deliver a message,” he said. His voice was croaky, as if he were intentionally trying to hide his identity. He swung at me. He wasn’t fast. I dodged his swing and hit him twice, hard and quick, in his midsection. He was so solid it hurt my hand. He didn’t even grunt. I swore.

  “I’m here to tell you to lay off.” He swung again. I dodged it. I countered again with two more body blows. He didn’t even try to block them. He shoved me back with his hands and I fell hard onto my butt.

  I scrambled to my feet. “Lay off what?”

  “You know what. Get your damn nose out of other people’s business.”

  “My mom was murdered. I’m pretty sure that makes it my business.”

  “Bad choice,” he said. He reached out his huge hands to grab me. When he did, I hit him as hard as I could on the chin. His head snapped, but came right back into line. His arms reached around me. Before I could slip away, he began to squeeze.

  The air hissed out of my mouth until I was gasping for breath. Except I couldn’t gasp. I could only open my lips, like a fish tossed up onto a pier. I felt myself turning blue. My ribcage was about to collapse and my spine was about to crack. One arm had been pinned against my side. I felt the bone of my arm break, but it was just another pain in a complete embrace of pain. Even my heart hurt. I wondered if it would pop like a balloon.

  I was going to die, as certain as 11:59 turns to midnight. I could only think that I wanted the pain to end—wanted the grip to relax so I could fall dead and painless to the sidewalk.

  “Leggo,” said a voice at least a million miles away. It was a voice I’d heard before, a couple hundred
thousand years ago, back before this crushing grip became my entire world. Suddenly, the body that held me rocked, as if it a truck had jumped the curb and smashed into it. The grip remained. The body rocked again, even harder than before. This time the arms loosened. I slipped out and collapsed to the comfort of hard concrete.

  “The hell you doin’, old man?” asked the voice. And then I recognized it. It was King George. He’d nearly killed me. His huge body was standing over me. Facing this mountain was another mountain—ChooChoo. His arms were loose at his side, but the streetlight shine showed the intent in his eyes. Those eyes looked full of slow-moving blood, more like an ocean tide than a river.

  “Y’ need to go home, son,” said ChooChoo. “This ain’t your place.”

  “You need to mind your business, you washed-up old pug.”

  “Fine. Y’ go on home. I’ll mind m’ business. We don’t want no more trouble.”

  “You got trouble. I am trouble himself. You know it’s true, Old Man. I am young and powerful. You know I can hurt you.”

  “Lots o’ people can hurt me, George. Nothin’ special ’bout that.”

  “You tell that white boy to keep his nose out of my business.”

  “Boy’s just tryin’ t’ figure out his mom’s death. He got a right t’ do that.”

  “His mom wasn’t worth the time. Cheap-ass cleaning lady. Half crazy. Busted-up smile. Why bother? Not worth the pain.”

  ChooChoo barely moved. He just shifted his hips into a diagonal line, but it was enough that I knew an explosion was coming. “Woman meant somethin’ t’ me, so you best shut your mouth. An’ leave.”

  King George let loose with a couple of sentences full of nasty words. One about ChooChoo and one about my mom. There was nothing for it now. ChooChoo had to lay him down or lay down. That’s the law of my neighborhood. A boulder of a fist shot out on the end of ChooChoo’s arm and hit King George on the chin, then another quick fist hit him in the gut. ChooChoo’s hands moved faster than anyone would have ever guessed as they beat on King George, smashing his face and turning his stomach to bruises.