The Shadow of Seth

by Tom Llewellyn

  I asked, “Why’d you work if you had all that money?”

  “It scared me. I thought I should wait a while. When I started working here, the food was lousy, the dining room was lousy, the service was lousy. But being back in that kitchen was a good place for me to hide. On my breaks, I’d go down to the library to read the Spokane newspaper to see if there was any mention of me. As far as I could tell, I never made the news. But one day a few months later, when I phoned my old house, my mom said the police had come by looking for me.”

  “They put a warrant out for your arrest?”

  “I didn’t know then and I still don’t know. How would I find that out without getting caught? Anyway, Edna was barely making enough in those days to keep herself in flour and sugar. One night, while we were closing up, she told me she was probably gonna shut the place down. On a whim, I asked her what she’d take for it. She sold me the name, the sign, and all the equipment for fifteen thousand, plus taking over another seventeen thou in debt. I paid her thirty-two thousand dollars in twenties. She didn’t blink. The ownership was transferred to my new name. And I’ve been here ever since, running this place as Irene Dunlop. The only one in all of Tacoma who knew different was your mom.”

  I wondered if my mom was mad enough at Miss Irene to threaten to expose her. I wondered if keeping that secret meant enough to Miss Irene that she killed Mom to keep it quiet. My thoughts must have showed on my face, because Miss Irene said, “I didn’t kill your mom, Slugger. I loved her, you know. She was all the family I really had anymore. Her and you. And that fool, Checker.”

  “Then why’d you run?”

  “Because that cop came around. He started asking questions. I knew if he asked enough, he’d connect me back to Spokane, back to my crime there. I’d end up in jail. I’d lose the restaurant and my life here. Everything.”

  “Why didn’t you just repay the money?”

  “Because I deserved it. It was mine. I’ll never give that man a dime, Seth. But I’ve been paying it back, in my own way.” She stared at me as she spoke. It was a stare that meant I was supposed to understand something, but I didn’t get it.

  I shrugged. “What happens next? You just keep hiding and let Checker Cab run your restaurant into the ground?”

  “That dumb S.O.B.? He better not screw things up, or I’ll come after him with a carving knife.”

  I laughed. “He’s actually doing a half-decent job. Biscuits aren’t as good, but he’s hired a couple of hot young girls to help him out in the dining room.”

  “He did what? Stanley didn’t say anything about that.”

  “Least he’s keeping the place open.”

  “Yeah, and robbing me blind in the process.”

  I gave Miss Eye a sideways look. She rolled her eyes. “I suppose you think I can’t complain about that, hmm?”

  I shrugged.

  Miss Irene continued with another sad smile. “Checker’s all right, Seth. He’ll come through okay. Least I hope he will. Besides, I ain’t really got a plan, Slugger. Guess I trust the cops to figure it out. All I know is I didn’t do it.”

  “Cops move pretty slow. How long you willing to wait?”

  Miss Eye said nothing, but her shiny brown eyes got even shinier.

  I said, “It’s a good story. But there’s one thing that makes no sense. How come you wouldn’t pay to fix Mom’s tooth?”

  Miss Irene pushed some of my sandwich crumbs around the tabletop. She spoke without looking up. “I did pay. Eleven hundred dollars out of my own pocket. I gave it to Eve in cash, which is what she asked for. Probably a mistake. I don’t know where that money went, Seth, but I gave it to her the same month that she broke her tooth. After a few months, she started claiming I never paid her. We argued about that for a while, then I just thought, ‘Screw it. I’ll pay again.’ So I agreed to. All she had to do was go to the dentist and send me the bill. But she wanted cash again. I refused. She said I didn’t trust her. I didn’t. I loved her, but I didn’t trust her.”

  “Me neither.”

  “I told her I thought she blew her tooth money getting high.”

  “She probably did.”

  “That’s what we were fighting about on that last night.”

  She looked up. I looked down. I suddenly realized how tired I was. My painkillers were wearing off. I wanted to take a couple more, then fall asleep. I said so. Miss Irene led me to a spare bedroom, where she had to clear a half-dozen cardboard boxes off an unmade bed. She offered to make it with clean sheets, but I didn’t want to wait. She threw a blanket down on the bare mattress. I threw myself on top of it. Miss Irene threw another blanket on top and I was out.

  Twenty-three

  I slept until the next afternoon. I went into the kitchen, brewed some coffee, then tried calling the hospital to check on ChooChoo and Azura, but the floor nurse wouldn’t tell me about either one if I wasn’t a relative. I decided to go and see for myself, even though Miss Irene tried to talk me out of it.

  Stanley gave me the keys to the mostly-yellow Chevy pickup in his front yard. Its front bumper was held on with electrical wire and the only door that opened was the passenger side, but it started on the first turn. The radio didn’t work, so I drove in silence. I parked in the hospital garage to stay off the street and walked across a sky bridge to the lobby. I went to see ChooChoo first. He was awake, meaning that one eye was half open. He still had tubes in his arm and nose, and another tube taped to his chest, but his wide lips twitched in the direction of a smile when he saw me. “Hey, boy,” he whispered. “Nice to know you alive. Last time I saw you, you was a pile on the sidewalk.”

  “Same with you,” I said. “What’s the prognosis?”

  “Prognosis is it gon’ take more ’n a young thug like King George to kill this ol’ man.”

  “That’s good to know. How much longer they gonna keep you in here?”

  “Be a while, it sounds like. My lung’s gotta heal up a bit.” ChooChoo coughed weakly for about fifteen seconds, then said, “The first thing ’m gonna do is spar with you. So you better heal up quick, ’cause you owe me a chance to whup your butt.”

  This was love talk for ChooChoo. This was how he told me he loved me like a son.

  “You try it, old man. With one more lung than you, I might be the one doing the whupping.”

  “Yeah. You with one arm an’ me with one lung.”

  “Hey Chooch, what were you doing at the gym that late, anyway?”

  “Coffee.”

  “Huh?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. Was thinkin’ ’bout yo’ mom. Then thought ’bout you. Then I wanted a cuppa coffee. Just had t’ have one. So I drove to the gym to see if there was any left in the pot. Guess your coffee saved your life. Seth, why you wanna keep after this mess? Maybe let the police handle it. Maybe they right ’bout Miss Eye.”

  “They’re not. I’ve seen her. Now I need to prove it. And it’s your fault that I do.”

  “You ain’t makin’ sense, son.”

  “Sure I am. You’re the one told me to get a family. You said if I didn’t you’d make me move out. Other than you, Miss Eye is the closest thing to family I got.”

  ChooChoo nodded at me, as if I’d just said the most obvious thing in the world. I said: “You on real food yet?”

  “If you c’n call this real food. Maybe you could bring me a Frisko Freeze burger an’ a butterscotch shake.”

  “I’ll bring it back by today, Chooch. Get a little good Frisko Freeze grease into you and you’ll be back in the ring in no time.”

  He nodded. “Been layin’ here thinkin’ an’ there’s somethin’ else I need ya t’ do.” He coughed. I waited. Then he said: “There’s a picture on m’ desk of your mom an’ me. Inside it, behind the photo, is a key to m’ bottom desk drawer. Open that drawer. You’ll see some envelopes there. Bring ’em back here and you ’n
me ’ll have a talk. ’Bout your mom.”

  I left him to his nurses. But hearing ChooChoo’s voice—even in a whisper—was like taking a deep breath for me. I filled my lungs on it one more time, then walked down the hall toward Azura’s room, keeping an eye peeled for her father or any of his watchdogs.

  I opened the door and looked inside. Erik Jorgenson was there, sitting next to Azura’s bed. I expected him to chase me away, but he just stared at me for five seconds, then nodded. I approached.

  “You standing guard?” I asked.

  “Something like that.” No one spoke for a while, then Erik said, “You want something?”

  “Just to see how she is.”

  “She’ll live. She goes home later today. I’m surprised you care.”

  “Really? You think I don’t care about her?”

  “If you did, you wouldn’t have let this happen.”

  Maybe Erik was right. I had to think about it and my post-beating mind still wasn’t working very well. I stared at this kid, wondering if he was what Azura needed. His hair was freshly cut and had that healthy sheen of a good diet. His skin was dermatologist-smooth. He wore an Adidas track suit, unzipped so I could see his Patagonia t-shirt underneath and a heavy gold chain. His shoes were LeBrons, almost the same as mine, but that was about the only thing similar about us. His clothes and looks said money, but more than that, they said safety. I wondered how much safety was worth. More than love? Looking at Azura, sleeping under bandages, I wasn’t sure.

  I thought about the arguments I could make. Azura sought me out, right? I didn’t encourage her, did I? And boys and girls in my neighborhood had a right to love whoever they wanted, didn’t they?

  “I’ll leave now,” I said, “if you’ll do one thing for me.”

  “You making demands? Seriously?”

  “It’s a small one, and it gets me out of here.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just tell her I stopped by.”

  “If I say I will, how do you know I’ll actually do it?”

  “Guess I’ll just have to trust you.”

  Erik smirked at me, then shook his head. “You stay,” he said, “and I’ll go.”

  It was my turn to smirk.

  He said, “Honestly, I don’t want to be here when she wakes up, because every time she wakes, the first thing she does is ask about you. I can barely stand it.”

  I watched Erik leave and wondered if he might be a better man than me. I sat in the chair next to Azura.

  Ten minutes later, her eyes opened, reminding me how big and deep they were. She saw me and said, “Hey.”

  “Hey back atcha. How are you feeling?”

  “Sleepy. Happy. To see you, I mean. Where have you been?”

  “In an adjustable bed of my own. And Dad wasn’t all that keen on letting me inside your room.”

  “You came by?”

  “I did.”

  “How many times?”

  “Once. Plus just now.”

  “Oh.”

  “Erik was here. I’m pretty sure he was supposed to keep me away, but he left me with you. The fool.”

  “Why’s he a fool?”

  “Because.” Then I stopped. I was gonna say something witty, like how I couldn’t be trusted around a beautiful girl like her and then I was going to kiss her. Instead, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine a life without her. I could do it, just barely. “Azura, I’m working to figure this whole thing out. I mean, your dad and your boyfriend and all that.”

  “Erik is not my boyfriend. He thinks he owns me.”

  “Yes. But he thinks he loves you. He’s the one who stayed here.”

  “My dad probably paid him to.”

  “It doesn’t look like he needs the money. And if your dad paid him, it’s because your dad is trying to protect you—”

  “My dad—”

  “—and by the looks of things, you need protecting.”

  “I hope this isn’t your way of saying get well soon, because it’s not making me feel better.”

  “Here’s the deal,” I said. “I’m still in the middle of this thing. This mess of my life. But I’m gonna see it through. When it’s over, I’ll come see you. I promise. But before then, I’m gonna disappear for a bit. Don’t try to find me, because I couldn’t live with myself if something worse happened to you.”

  She said a few words about me tossing her aside, but I didn’t stick around to listen. I went outside. Erik was out there waiting, like I hoped he would be. No fond farewells were exchanged.

  Twenty-four

  I sat inside Stanley’s yellow pickup and called Shotgun Shack on my cell phone. After the twentieth ring, someone finally picked up. I could hear Checker Cab yelling from the background, “Do I have to answer the damn phone myself? Does anyone else even work here?” Then a young female voice bitterly said, “Shotgun Shack. Shantay speaking. May I help you?” It sounded like helping me was the last thing Shantay wanted to do.

  “Let me talk to Checker,” I said.

  “Better you than me.”

  A few minutes of hold time later, Checker finally came on. “Whoever it is, you got thirty seconds.”

  “Checker, it’s Seth. I’ll make it quick.”

  “Good, ’cause it’s busy and it seems I’m the only one working tonight.” He shouted the end of that sentence to the room.

  “King George been in there lately?”

  “He just left. He came by asking about you. Didn’t buy a thing.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “The truth. That I ain’t seen or heard from you in days. Where you at, son?”

  I wasn’t about to tell Checker. He meant me no harm, but a few hundred-dollar bills or a King George clenched fist just might make him talk too much. “George say where he was going when he left?”

  “Naw. He rode his bike west on Sixth, though. But I ain’t no dating service. Next time you call during a dinner rush, you better have a food order, cash money you wanna give me, or at least news about Miss Irene coming back.”

  “You want her back?”

  “Oh, please. Get that woman back here. I can’t take much more of this.”

  “What about your new business plan? Shantay and Rachelle?”

  “Damn. You know how it is, Seth. The better looking they are, the less work they’re willing to do. Just get me Miss Eye.”

  “I’ll do my best, Checker. But you know Miss Irene seems to have disappeared off the face of the planet.”

  “Then I’m screwed.”

  My broken arm itched. I stuck a finger as far down inside the cast as I could, but I couldn’t reach the itch. I said, “Here’s the deal, Checker: I might be able to get Miss Irene back. Problem is, I’m not all that inclined to help you, because I’m probably gonna end up owing you three hundred dollars for finding that jar of poison.”

  “You mean for my information leading to the whereabouts? What if you didn’t have to pay me the full amount?”

  “How much of a discount are we talking?”

  “A hundred dollars?”

  “Checker Cab,” I said, “I won’t even get out of bed for less than two hundred.”

  The other end of the phone was silent. Then Checker said, “Just bring her back, Seth. Bring her back and we’ll forget the whole thing.”

  I drove Stanley’s yellow pickup past Shotgun Shack and continued west along Sixth Avenue, keeping my eye out for King George, wondering what the heck I would do if I saw him.

  Then I found his bike. Or it found me. George pedaled it out of a driveway and glided past the front fender of Stanley’s pickup. He must not have seen me, as George stared straight ahead as he rode. He cut across Sixth Avenue, dodging cars. I was about to follow him when I saw that he’d turned out from Nadel’s House of Clocks. I pulled to the
curb.

  The car parked in front of me was Nadel’s—his baby blue forty-year-old Cadillac El Dorado that looked nearly new. The lights were on in Nadel’s shop, but the closed sign was on the door. I knocked. No answer. I went around to the back and knocked on the workshop’s alley door. Still nothing. Mom’s ring of client keys was still in my pocket. I pulled it out and tried them until one fit in Nadel’s workshop door. I stepped inside.

  A tiny spring crunched under my foot. The floor of the usually neat shop was covered in springs and gears, as if a clock had come undone in midair. Lying among the loose parts was Nadel, his head bent at a strange angle, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling. He was dead.

  The shop was turned inside out. Drawers were pulled out. Cupboards were emptied. Parts were scattered across countertops and all over the floor.

  I decided it was time to call Carlyle and started punching his number in my phone. Before I hit the call button, I saw two books lying next to Nadel on the floor. I’d seen those books recently in his shop. Now they were lying next to Nadel’s dead body. I picked them up and carried them out to Stanley’s truck, then went back inside. There was one other thing I wanted to see before the police arrived.

  I found Nadel’s stepstool and brought it over to his workbench. I climbed the stool and opened the cabinet above the workbench. Usually, the top shelf held an orderly row of cans and jars of the chemicals Nadel used for the gold and silver plating of old, worn clock parts. This time, the cupboard was a scattered mess. I studied the contents of the shelf for a minute, then went out front and called Carlyle.

  He showed up within five minutes, along with an ambulance and about a half-dozen uniformed cops. If you want great service from the police department, someone just has to die.

  Carlyle grunted at me when he arrived at the scene, then went to the front door. It was locked. “How’d you get in?”

  “The back door was open,” I lied.

  “Wait for me right here.” Carlyle and his wake of cops went around to the back. The two uniforms directly behind him had their pistols drawn.