Chapter 22
Neither Shauna nor Nick really cared much for baseball. Nick was known to irk baseball loving fans by inquiring if the game was still played or if it had recently died a slow death with the emergence of soccer and lacrosse. He was even known to bring up Pine Valley municipal code and argue that there had been changes in the law and baseball was a fineable offense if conducted within the city limits. He would scroll through fictitious websites creating violation code numbers and made up monetary and incarceration penalties for those caught playing the sport. Some were amused with his antics, while the diehard baseball fan was less than entertained. Nick really couldn’t care less.
Shauna was raised mostly by her dad who was a fanatic about football. A little basketball here and there with a smattering of hockey to fill the void in the offseason was permissible. But Henry often said that the lowest point of the year was when baseball was the only sport found on television. He equated this period of the year as a biblical, Job-like suffering time. Nobody close to him died during this time, he didn’t lose his money or possessions, and his body did not befall any horrid maladies like Job. But his faith in sports, particularly with his beloved game, did feel tested.
Shauna shared in her father’s early summer football anxiety. The raw competition of the game, the screaming fans, the frenetic energy with momentum changes, and the sheer brutality of the game drew Shauna to the television screen as much as it attracted her father. Game day Sunday was their church. The day revolved around the home team’s game, but all the others before or after received their due from Shauna and Henry. Pots of chili steamed on the stovetop, appetizers baked in the oven, and on special occasions, Henry broke out the deep fat fryer and the smoker. Shauna loved those Sundays, especially as the leaves turned colors and the fall air bit a little more against the body. It was true. Baseball pained her as much as it did Nick.
As she sat at the bar and watched the Colorado Rockies battle the St. Louis Cardinals on the projection screen that hung high for all to see in the bar area, one thought echoed inside her head.
“Oh, strike three!” Nick shouted from behind the bar. “But does anybody really care?”
Nick’s sentiment was far more politically correct than Shauna’s thoughts on the game. She giggled before voicing them for Nick and whoever else was in earshot to hear.
“Or in other words, who gives a fuck?”
“Precisely.” Nick stepped a couple of paces back, raised his arms to his sides, and spoke in an elevated voice for the entire bar to hear. “Can somebody please tell when the first Broncos pre-season game is?”
Shauna jumped off her bar stool and raised her hand.
“Yes, young lady. Do you have the answer, please?” Nick pointed at Shauna.
“9 weeks, 4 days, and approximately 17 hours, give or take a few minutes.”
“What?” Nick exclaimed. “That’s inhumane. How can we last that long? What is wrong with the universe? Why have the football gods forsaken us?”
With her best Arkansas accent while pointing her thumb atop a closed hand, Shauna responded, “I feel your pain.”
“That’s it. Your next round is on the house. Just rewards for your pigskin pontifications and prognostications.”
“Damn, I thought all of drinks were on the house. Do you guys take third party, post-dated, out of state checks?”
“That’s funny, because we just had an employee meeting earlier this week implementing that particular change. There was actually some debate on the floor to make it the only method of payment, but it was defeated 7-5. Very close.”
Shauna smiled at Nick and lifted her nearly finished 16 ounce beer. She tilted the drink from side to side before placing it back on the coaster.
“Maybe my next drink should be a soda,” she said. “A smart girl should always pace herself. I’ve got no interest in meeting the Pine Valley Police Department tonight.”
“And I was planning on having you do donuts in that Harley on all the baseball fields in town, drunk out of your mind, with me in the sidecar. I mean after all it’s probably not a crime, what with baseball on the verge of illegality.”
“Ha!” Shauna shouted, laughing at the idea, wanton public destruction of a soon to be defunct sport. “Sounds like fun, but you can drive. I dub thee my designated driver.” Shauna touched each of Nick’s shoulders with a red, plastic cocktail sword.
Nick bowed his head as though knighted by the queen mother herself.
“I shall not fail you, my lady. Your wishes are my commands.” Nick’s mastery of foreign accents held true to form as he laid his best British accent on Shauna.
“Oh, I’m impressed,” Shauna said. “You sound like the real deal. Do Sean Connery.” Nick cleared his throat and lifted his shoulders upright.
“If they bring a knife, you bring a gun. If they bring two men, you bring ten men. That’s the Chicago way.”
“Wow, that’s impressive. When was James Bond in Chicago?”
“That’s not from a James Bond movie. That’s from the “Untouchables.”
“Do something from “Highlander.”
“Who knows movie quotes from “Highlander”? I mean, I’m sure there’s some good lines in it, but that’s kind of an obscure reference.”
“Sorry, I got a thing for Scottish accents, and he’s the most famous Scotsman I know.”
“Fascinating. By the way I have “Braveheart” recorded on my DVR at home, if you’re interested,” Nick said as he raised his eyebrows up and down at the suggestion. Shauna jumped off her barstool and shouted with her best Scottish accent.
“We’ve got to unite the clans!”
“I’ll take that as a yes?”
“Keep pouring them, DD, and we can have movie night when your shift ends.” The designated driver reference used for the second time in the last few minutes assured Nick that Shauna was settled in for the evening, and he was part of the plan, right now and much later. He flashed her a toothy grin, which she returned with an eye wink.
“Another Georgia Peach?”
“If that’s what they call them, then absolutely. Hey, why not cal them a peach moon?”
“Good question. You call it whatever you want, and I’ll know what you mean.”
Nick retrieved her empty bar glass and grabbed a chilled 16 ounce glass from the freezer chest behind the bar as he deposited the empty one into a cloudy pool of allegedly clean, soapy water. He positioned the tilted glass under the Blue Moon logo and pulled the tap back as the beer flowed against the side and down to the bottom. As it neared the top, he slowly straightened the glass and cut the tap off. He turned and sat the drink down on the bar and placed a large orange wedge on the glass rim. Nick turned to the bar back and grabbed the peach schnapps. He eyeballed the bottle as he estimated a shot of the liqueur into the beer.
“Ah, the new perfect drink,” Shauna said as Nick slid the beer over the bar surface to her. Shauna pulled the orange from the rim and squeezed it over the beer, twisting and contorting the peel until every last drop had been drained from its original shape. “Cheers,” she said, raising her glass to Nick. Nick clanked his coffee mug against the beveled edge of Shauna’s beer.
In Nick’s peripheral vision he picked up on new customers entering through the front door and making their way to the hostess table. Shauna tilted her glass back and sipped the foam from the top of the drink. As her attention shifted to her drink, Nick instinctively shot a glance over to the hostess table to get a read on the new customers. He immediately spotted Vincent. Vincent was far from a regular at the Slippery Beaver, but he was known to make a few rare appearances from time to time. Nick waved his hand at his friend. Vincent reciprocated the gesture with a wave of his own. However, at the end of the wave, Vincent’s thumb straightened out, pointing to his immediate left. Nick shifted his attention from Vincent and stared at his parents, who looked as much like fish out of water in the
Slippery Beaver as one can.
Andy’s hands remained shoved into his pants pockets as he shuffled his feet. His eyes shot from one end of the establishment to the other, but never on the bar itself. Nick knew his father had not had a drop of booze in close to twenty years, but his demeanor made him look as anxious as a drunk fresh out of his first AA meeting. His eyes found their way back to Sylvia who was busy waving at Nick. Andy’s eyes tracked with Sylvia’s and discovered Nick behind the bar. Nick waved at his father, too. Andy’s hands remained in his pockets, but he gave his son a head nod of recognition. The trio made their way to the bar.
“Who are you waving at?” Shauna asked.
“Well, for starters, the guy who convinced me that I needed a dog. He’s the one with the goat-tee.” At this admission, Shauna spun on her barstool.
“I can’t wait to hear that story,” Shauna said.
“The man and woman behind him are my parents,” Nick said in a half-hearted tone as he let out a slow sigh.
“Your parents? Well, Nick O’Fallon, you don’t waste any time. I don’t think we can even classify this as our first date, and you spring the parents on me?
“Haha. They’re taking an unprecedented road trip at quite possibly the worst time possible.”
“Why is it the worst time possible?”
“This could fuck up “Braveheart.”
Shauna shot a quick glance back at Nick, trying to measure this last comment. Things were moving faster than normal, but she didn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable with its progression. As a matter fact, it felt perfectly natural, which in turn felt perfectly unnatural at the same time.
“Let me guess. They’re staying with you?”
“Most likely.”
Shauna pondered this comment and decided maybe it was sign that she was moving too fast. She wondered if Nick felt the same way. She was fairly certain that she detected disappointment in his voice. She had to admit that she felt a little of the same thing, too.
“Nicky, how are you doing?” Sylvia asked as she reached her arms across the bar and pulled Nick in as close as she could.
Shauna caught Nick’s eyes and silently mouthed at him, “Nicky?” Nick rolled his eyes and brought his arms up to return his mother’s hug as well as possible.
“We went to your house and met your friend Vincent, who was nice enough to show us to your restaurant. I’m not sure how your father felt about that gigantic dog of yours, but you know how your father is with pets. I’m pretty sure the dog could sense it. He just needs to relax a little. Your father, that is.
“Dad, how are you doing?” Nick said turning his attention to Andy as Sylvia released her hug on him.
“Well, I’m on a vacation, so I guess I can’t complain too much, can I?”
“I’m sure you won’t let a little obstacle like that get in your way,” Nick retorted. As soon as he said it, he regretted it. It was an unfair jab at a man who never took a family vacation, but always provided for his family in the ways that counted the most.
“Nicky!” Sylvia exclaimed. “Your father has been an absolute pleasure on this trip. I know it’s out of his nature, but he’s been nothing short of a prince.” Andy stood silent through the banter, hands still tightly tucked inside his pants pockets.
“Sorry dad. Just messing with you.” Nick extended his right hand, and Andy removed his hand and shook with his son.
“I deserved it, I know. Now what’s a guy got to do to get a non-alcoholic drink around here?”
“Are you still a big Shirley Temple fan? Our grenadine is superb here. It’ll have to be with a splash of Sprite. No Pepsi products.” Nick grinned at his old man.
Shauna tried to gauge the question for sincerity. Andy looked like many things, but girly, boozeless drinks didn’t seem a match. Andy stood absolutely still. Even his eyelids didn’t move. Shauna could get no read on his face. Andy’s eyes appeared completely devoid of any emotional cues, black and unfeeling like a shark. His mouth made a straight line under his cheeks, and his breathing was unnoticeable. For a couple of nanoseconds, Shauna feared he died and just hadn’t fallen over yet.
“That’s amusing. You should write funny stories. You know, the kind that make people laugh out loud in public venues. Kind of like what I’m doing inside right now.” Nick stood behind the bar with a grin on his face and raised eyebrows, feigning surprise at his father’s reaction.
“Well, what then? I can make lots of fruity umbrella drinks. They’re very popular with the senior crowd. And when I say senior, I don’t mean last year of high school or college.”
“Cute. Why don’t you get your mother a glass of white wine, and I’ll try your “pucker up and kiss my ass” ginger ale. You think you can work that out for your travel weary parents?”
“Gee, we’re all out of pucker up. Canada Dry work?”
“Make it happen. And put a splash of that grenadine in it, too.” Nick furrowed his eyebrows at his dad’s request. “Don’t say a damn word, I just like the color red. Besides it looks like an alcohol drink when you do that. It’ll help me blend into the bar atmosphere.”
Nick poured the glass of wine and handed it over to his mother. He raised his head and looked at his father. “Since when did you care about what other people thought or trying to blend in?”
“Give a guy a break, will you? I’m taking a vacation, expanding my horizons, experiencing a greater piece of life. Why are you raining on my road trip?”
Nick’s head shook from side to side as he silently poured the ginger ale from the soda tap. He smiled, trying to comprehend the most stubborn, set in his ways man he knew actually changing at this stage in life. Improbable, but not impossible. Bucking improbability was not in a gambler’s nature too often, but every now and then they were known to go with their gut. You banked on probability, but you had to be able to step outside of your comfort zone. At least the successful ones did that, and Andy had made a living at the tables for years.
Nick set the ginger ale down on the bar along with a bottle of grenadine. He picked up the grenadine and stopped just before he began to pour.
“Tell me when.” Nick gradually tilted the bottle as the red fluid splashed on top of the ice cubes and melded with the soda. After a second or two, Andy gave the hand signal a gambler uses at the blackjack table to stop the dealer from flipping another card. Nick righted the bottle and looked at his creation. The golden hue of the ginger ale rose and fell with the brilliant red liquid.
“It kind of looks like a tequila sunrise,” Shauna said. Her voice broke the mesmerized stares that Nick and Andy had on the drink concoction. Andy turned his attention to Shauna and raised his glass.
“I agree young lady, but past experiences make me despise tequila,” Andy said.
“Yeah, everybody’s got a bad tequila story,” Nick agreed. “My dad’s got an entire novel on the subject.” Andy snorted out an inaudible response and took a sip of the drink. “Dad, this is Shauna. She set me up with Bernie. You know she could probably help you with your irrational fear of animals.”
“There’s nothing irrational about my feelings toward beasts. If you want them around, then this is America, and you can do damn near anything you like. I choose to live without the animal kingdom inside my castle.”
“Better to recognize you don’t want them around and not have them, than to have a pet that gets neglected, abused, or abandoned,” Shauna said. “I see a lot of that at the shelter.”
“You’re letting him off the hook that easy?” Nick complained.
“There’s no hook, Nick,” Andy said. “Everybody’s entitled to his own likes and dislikes. Wouldn’t you agree, Shauna?”
“Definitely.”
“O.k., fine,” Nick said to Andy. He turned his head and addressed Shauna. “But you haven’t heard any of the Andy O’Fallon animal stories.”
Andy replied, “Let the past be the p
ast, will ya?”
“But those stories are priceless.”
“Good. Put them in a book and charge obscene amounts of money for people to buy it.”
Nick stroked his chin as he pondered the suggestion. “That’s actually a pretty good idea. I can change your name in order to protect you from PETA.”
“Ah, I can see it now. Death threats from people eating tasty animals. But if it nets you millions, and you feel compelled to financially support your aging parents, then so be it.”
“I’d drink to that if had a drink,” Vincent chimed in.
“Sorry V. What’ll you have?”
“Might as well stick with what I’ve already had. An ice cold Corona, por favor. Oh, and by the way, you’re out of beer at your house.”
“Nice.”
“Hey, don’t mention it. You do have some of your favorite pizza pie in the fridge, though.”
“Sweet! That makes my mid-evening.”
“So Vincent tells us you’re interested in some woman you’ve just met,” Sylvia prodded. “He didn’t get to say much about it before we parked the car, though.”
Nick’s face flushed a deep crimson and a wave of heat rolled over his entire body. He lifted his eyes in his mother’s direction, unable and unwilling to look anywhere near Shauna. He wanted to be angry with his mom, but how was she to know the woman she spoke of was sitting a few feet from her, hearing the entire conversation. Hell, she was part of the conversation! Vincent slowly turned away from the bar and muttered something referencing hitting the head. Yeah, go hide in the can, buddy. This is your fault. But once again, he really couldn’t be angry with Vincent, either. He didn’t know Shauna would be here. All he was really left with at this point was pure, abject embarrassment.
“Oooh,” Shauna cooed. “She sounds interesting, Nick. Maybe I know who she is.” Shauna’s smile broadened as she enjoyed this precise moment of playing with Nick. She might not have normally pushed it this far, but she felt comfortable with Nick, and the drinks onboard just added fuel to the fire. “Don’t tell me her name, just describe her to me.” Shauna sat back in her barstool and drummed her fingers against the granite bar top with a coy grin on her face.
Andy paid particular attention to Vincent’s abrupt departure and both Shauna’s and Nick’s reactions to Sylvia’s comments, which led him to draw an immediate, gut reaction of his own. This cute, vivacious strawberry blonde seated at the bar was the target of his son’s current affection. He quickly admitted to fully understanding Nick’s emotional state. After all, this girl had all the looks and a personality to boot! Who wouldn’t like her?
“Nicky, are you feeling alright?” Sylvia asked. “You looked flushed. Do you need to take a break?
“Uh, Syl,” Andy interrupted. “Maybe we could go over here and grab a seat at this table,” Andy said, pointing at high bar table. Andy stood in front of Sylvia, doing his best to block her from the others. He gently held her elbow and steered her toward the table while he lowered his mouth to her ear.
“I’m pretty sure that is the girl Vincent was talking about.”
Sylvia’s eyes widened at the sound of her husband’s situational assessment. She raised her cupped hand and covered her mouth. She took a couple of quick head turns back in the bar direction to try and assess the damage.
“Oh, my gosh, Andy, I feel like such a fool. Am I the only one who didn’t pick up on that?”
Andy began to answer the question and ease his darling wife’s mind. Her best possible intentions collided with the worst possible timing. As the words formed inside his mouth, he caught an image through the bar’s front windows. A middle aged white man and a younger black man were making their way up the outside sidewalk, but that was not what captured Andy’s attention. Both men wore sports coats that opened as a gust of wind tunneled alongside the building. As the coats rose Andy readily identified the silver star badge attached to their belts. The unlikely coincidence of U.S. Marshals strolling into this bar struck him as highly improbable. And this time he decided to play the odds.
With his hand still on her elbow, Andy turned Sylvia toward the rear of the restaurant. He wasn’t sure what was back there, but he needed to buy a little bit time, if nothing else.
“Andy, what’s wrong with the table?”
“Nothing, dear,” he said in perfect monotone.
“Then why are we going back here? Andy, I’m pretty sure I don’t need to use the restroom.”
“Of course not, dear.” Andy steered their bodies down the corridor toward the bathrooms. At the end of the hallway Andy saw just what he was hoping to find. A red exit sign illuminated the end of the hallway and Andy picked up the pace as they approached the door. “I’ll explain everything in a minute or two,” Andy reassured. “We just need to step out back and get a little fresh air.”
“Look, I’ll apologize to Nicky, and I think everything will be fine. Sure, it was probably a bit embarrassing for him and her, too. But come on, we can’t just run out the backdoor. I mean, for the love of God, Andy, the door’s alarmed.”
Andy froze in front of the door, realizing the alarm might thwart any jump he would gain on the U.S. Marshals. He stood several feet from the door, still holding Sylvia’s elbow, but now contemplating what the best next logical move would be. He really hated to look like a total whack job to Nick, his son’s new love interest, and Vincent, not mention, his own wife. He looked at the door and then at Sylvia. He decided he felt as perplexed as Sylvia’s looked. He gazed back down the hallway as if an answer lay in the narrowing confines of the walls.
Andy watched as the men’s restroom door swung open. Vincent exited the restroom and turned to his left, making his way back to the restaurant area. Vincent decided ditching the scene was on the cowardly side, even though the awkwardness of the situation was more than palpable. Maybe if he’d met Shauna before tonight, it would have been a better situation. Hopefully, she was a good sport with the whole thing, and Sylvia was probably as embarrassed as anyone. Nick, however, probably had the hardest time with it. He looked like a chameleon standing behind a giant bowl of raspberries when Vincent turned on his heels and distanced himself from the crew.
Vincent kept his head down and hands tucked inside his cargo shorts as he shuffled his way back into the bar, flip flops slapping against the pine floor. He raised his head and looked around the bar. Only Nick and Shauna remained. He turned his head from side to side and even bent down to peer through the two sided fireplace into the dining room, but did not see Andy or Sylvia. As he approached the bar, Nick apologized profusely to a giggling Shauna, who kept waving her hands in protest, trying to make Nick stop.
“No, I’m serious, it’s fine,” Shauna choked out in between laughing fits. “I think it’s cute. Besides, now I don’t have to guess or try and figure out how you feel about me. I already know.”
“And what about you, then?” Nick asked.
“What about me?”
“Seeing how the cat’s out of the bag, maybe you’d just tell me how you feel about me.”
“Now why would I do that? I’ve got the upper hand with this new intelligence,” Shauna retorted, wagging her finger at Nick. Nick’s shoulders slumped at the thought of losing equal relational footing with Shauna. “Besides, a girl has to be careful about things. We have to keep a certain degree of mystery floating in the air, or you men can get complacent. I’d hate to see you lose your passion for the chase.” Nick’s shoulders raised, and he stood straighter with her last words.
“So you want to be chased? Better yet, you want to be chased by me? I feel the upper hand was more temporary than anything else.”
“Oh, you should know better. Women always have the upper hand. We just let you guys think you have control from time to time so we don’t bruise your delicate male egos.”
Nick let out a long sigh and hung his head momentarily before meeting Shauna’s eyes wi
th his own. “And I for one appreciate that. It’s all about perception, you know. As long as I feel it, I perceive it. This totally works for me.” Nick placed the heel of his hands on the bar and lifted his body off the ground a few inches, leaning in towards Shauna. “Does it work for you?” he asked in a hushed voice.
Shauna rested her elbow on the bar and placed her chin in her cupped hand. “Yeah, I’d say we’re good,” she said returning Nick’s smile with a warm grin of her own. They might have stared at each other longer if Vincent had not interrupted their gazing with a pertinent question of his own.
“So where did your parents go?” Vincent asked Nick.
Nick and Shauna maintained their eye lock for a couple more seconds before Nick turned his attention to Vincent. “They’re right there,” Nick said, pointing at an empty table. “Well, they were right there a couple of seconds ago.” Nick scanned the bar area and looked out toward the restaurant seating, but did not spot his parents. Shauna turned on her bar stool to look, but came up with the same results. Vincent, satisfied that they weren’t there when he asked the question, stared at Nick and Shauna.
“My dad probably took her out of sight to explain what she’d just said, that’s all. I can guarantee one thing. My mother is usually a pretty sharp woman. She’s probably more embarrassed than me, and he’s coaxing her to come back and face the music.” As he finished his hypothesis, Nick caught two people at the hostess table from the corner of his eye. He turned to see what he thought would be his parents coming back inside after stepping out for a little informational sharing meeting. Instead, he saw his mystery cops standing at the table and looking his direction.
“Hey, aren’t those guys your police buddies?” Vincent asked.
Nick’s stomach churned at the sight of the same cops for the third time in the last 24 hours. He didn’t know what the score was, but he was certain it would not be enjoyable. The two men nodded at the hostess and proceeded to walk in Nick’s direction. He earnestly hoped they were off duty and looking for a drink.
“That would be my boys,” Nick said doing his best to sound nonchalant.
“You have cop friends?” Shauna asked.
“Not exactly,” Nick replied.
“Ah, give them a chance,” Vincent said. “If it was something bad, they would have let you know by now.” As reasonable as Vincent’s argument sounded, Nick could not force himself to believe that these two men were the bearers of good news. No, they seemed more the apocalyptic horsemen, especially the older, heavyset white guy.
“Mr. O’Fallon?” the older man inquired as he reached the bar.
“Yes, sir. What can I get you to drink?” Nick knew they would not be ordering, but he held out hope, just the same.
“We’re not drinking, but you can be of assistance to us.” He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a worn leather case. A large silver star lay embedded in the middle of the beaten, black leather wallet sized credential carrier. “We’re with the United States Marshals Service. My name is Martin Schwartz, and this is Winston O’Neil.” Both men simultaneously flipped open their leather cases and revealed photograph identification along with official looking seals and signatures. It wasn’t a funny moment, but Nick thought, hey, synchronized government badging.
“Wow, U.S. Marshals,” Nick said, completely mesmerized by their credentials. “I can’t say that I’ve seen a U.S. Marshal besides on “America’s Most Wanted”. I’m not wanted, am I?” Nick asked, feeling somewhat off balance and uneasy to the pending answer.
“Actually, we’re looking for your father, Andy O’Fallon. Could you please tell us where we might be able to have a word with him.”
Shauna’s eyes widened. She looked at Nick and back at the U.S. Marshals, trying to determine if anybody was as surprised as she was at this particular moment. Nick’s eyebrows raised and his mouth fell slightly open. Vincent looked like a man at a Wimbledon tennis match, eyes bouncing back in forth between the two men as if following a fuzzy green ball. Nick swallowed what felt like a baseball lump down his throat as he struggled to find the right words to ask. He felt like he was in some kind of surreal trance, his mind going a hundred miles a minute, but his tongue frozen in time.
As his mind raced, the emergency door exit began chirping from down the restroom hallway. Schwartz and O’Neil looked around the bar, attempting to decipher the source and cause of this distracting noise. The hostess flung down a menu at the front table and shouted to nobody in particular that she would handle it.
“Emergency exit door,” Nick explained to the U.S. Marshals. “It goes off at least once a week. Drunks take a right instead of a left out of the restrooms and boom, off it goes. It might be the worst place in the world to have put an emergency exit.”
Schwartz eyed Nick without blinking before turning to his partner. “Better go check it out anyway. I’ll be fine.” O’Neil nodded his head and in a matter of seconds fell in step with the hostess headed toward the restrooms. “So, what do you say, Mr. O’Fallon? Can you help this old man and your old man out? I know he’s here somewhere. That’s his Fleetwood in the parking lot.”
“Why do you need to speak with him, again?”
“No again. I never told you why in the first place. The United States Attorney in Las Vegas believes he’s a vital part of an upcoming deposition. Your father isn’t so sure about performing his civic duty. I’m simply here to remind him of the ramifications of his refusal to testify. Basically, I’m with the government, and I’m here to help.” Schwartz threw his arms to his side and shrugged his shoulders. Nick didn’t care for how it sounded, but this wrinkle jacketed U.S. Marshal seemed authentic enough. Nick believed he meant no harm to his father.
“Yeah, he’s here. My mother just embarrassed herself, and he removed her from the conversation to help set her straight. To be honest, he stepped away with her just a moment ago, but I’m not sure where they went. They’re probably in an open booth in the back somewhere talking. You sure he’s not in any trouble?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“So, you’re not going to throw cuffs on him and haul him away?”
“To tell you the truth, kid, it would be a lot easier if I could do that. Maybe if there was a material witness warrant on him. It would make my end of this mess a whole lot easier. But I don’t have any paper on him, so my job is to talk with the man, nothing else. I’m more of a salesman for the U.S. Attorney, trying to get your dad to buy into their plan.”
“Doesn’t sound like typical U.S. Marshal work,” Vincent chimed in. “Not that I’d really know, although I thoroughly enjoyed “The Fugitive”. Does that count?”
“Anything that makes me look twenty pounds lighter and fifteen years younger always counts,” Schwartz said laughing. “That movie sure made us all look a lot cooler. Yeah, this isn’t a normal assignment, but the boss put me on it. Besides, after 32 years on the job, I’ve come to one irrefutable truth. There’s no such thing as a normal or unusual assignment. Just assignments, plain and simple.”
The more this gruff looking, wrinkled relic kept talking, the more Nick liked and trusted him. Schwartz kind of had this outer image that made you hesitate, like you might with a surly neighbor. But if you got him talking, you realized he was actually alright and quite personable. Although he thought Schwartz could probably act as hard-nosed as anybody, if the situation called for it. After 32 years, Nick chalked that duality up to survival instincts and occupational necessity.
O’Neil turned the corner from the restrooms and headed back to the group. He shrugged his shoulders and gave a Schwartz a look of nothing new to report. He took quick purposeful steps and stopped abruptly in front of Schwartz with his hands firmly planted on his hips.
“The hostess let me look out back before she reset the door. I didn’t see anything unusual. She said the same thing about the alarm going off on a regular basis. I checke
d the men’s room, too. He’s not there.” To Nick, O’Neil looked about as green as Schwartz looked haggard. Everything he wore looked finely pressed, ironed, creased, and shined. He possessed the physical fitness look of a guy right out of a training academy, whereas Schwartz possessed the look of guy ready for retirement. He supposed it made sense, though. Put the new guy with the seasoned guy. Everybody needs a field training officer, but these two really were an absolute odd couple. He wondered what they had in common, if anything at all.
“So, a booth in the back, huh?” Schwartz asked Nick.
“That’s my best guess,” Nick replied.
“Alright then,” Schwartz responded. “O’Neil, let’s go have a friendly chat with Mr. O’Fallon, Sr. The kid says he’s most likely tucked into a booth in the back of the dining room.”
“10-4,” O’Neil responded.
The two men sauntered through the dining room, taking their time to identify if Andy and Sylvia were seated at each location. They looked like restaurant managers checking on their patrons, smiling and nodding as diners made eye contact with them.
“Do you think they’re back there for real?” Shauna asked.
“Well sure. Where else would they be?”
“I don’t know, but you have to admit that emergency door exit alarm was a little bit coincidental,” Shauna replied.
“Come on! My mom was embarrassed, and he was just settling things down. Besides, how did he know they were coming into the bar, let alone who they were?”
“I know, I know. You’re probably right. I don’t mean to talk bad about your folks or anything. This is all just a little outside of the box for me.”
“Trust me. This is as weird for me, too.”
Without a word, while they were debating the missing parents, Vincent walked to the front windows by the hostess table. With his hands clasped behind his back, he leaned at the waist and peered between the wood slat blinds into the parking lot. His head bobbed up and down in a slow, rhythmic fashion. He righted his body and strode back to the bar, looking down at the floor the entire way. When he reached the bar, he shoved his hands into his cargo pants pockets, but continued staring at the floor.
“Go ahead, Vincent. I saw you looking in the parking lot. Tell Shauna that the Caddie’s still out there.” Nick stood behind the bar with his arms folded over his chest, completely confident to Vincent’s impending answer.
“Yeah, well, it looks like I’m going to need a ride.” Vincent lifted his head and looked directly at Nick. He watched Nick’s jaw seemingly come unhinged and dangle above his throat, hanging on by skin alone. Nick’s arms fell to his side and an eerie silence enveloped the trio. Shauna covered her mouth with her hand in complete surprise, despite her previous suggestion as to the alarm. Vincent pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, looking now at Shauna, too. “This is quite the predicament we’ve got, I have to say,” Vincent said breaking the silence.
“Why would he run? Does my mother know what’s going on? This is crazy!” Once again, silence hovered over them until Shauna’s voice broke the quiet.
“Well, don’t look now, but here comes Tommy Lee Jones and his sidekick. What are you going to tell them Nick?”
“I don’t know. What do you think Vincent?”
“I don’t think you want to lie to them. I’m pretty sure that’s a crime all unto itself. I know it’s your mom and dad, but you need to be honest with these guys.”
Shauna jumped in, “I agree. Lying is not the smart thing to do. And I know this isn’t the time or place for it, but I have to say that your dad put you into a really difficult situation. I’d be a little pissed about that.”
Nick couldn’t argue with what either one of them said. Lying to the police, let alone a U.S. Marshal, was sure to cause more grief than ever imagined. A whirlwind of emotions circled his head as he tried to regain focus and composure. He’d simply tell him that the car’s gone, and he was as surprised by this as anyone. Hopefully, they wouldn’t get angry and shoot up the place. He didn’t think that was really a possibility, but he didn’t think his folks would be on the lamb from the feds.
Schwartz rejoined the group as O’Neil walked toward the front entrance. “Well, kid I don’t see them anywhere in here. Any clues?”
“Just one. I think they slipped out that emergency exit door after all. Their car is not in the parking lot now. I swear I didn’t know he left. I can’t believe he’s dragging my mother around like this.”
Schwartz shot a look toward the front door. O’Neil ran back inside and shook his head with a negative response.
“Damn it to hell,” Schwartz exclaimed. “How in Judah’s name did he get the drop on us?” The rhetorical question hung in the air. Nobody wanted to take a stab at that one or speculate why he decided to run. Schwartz pointed at Nick and said, “Alright, people. Besides your house, where would he go from here?”
Nick responded, “I can’t believe he even made the trip here. The man doesn’t travel. He’s a homebody, and that home is in Las Vegas. This trip was a complete shock to me, and now I know why.”
“Has he been to your house yet?”
“Yeah, he came here straight from my house. Right, Vincent?”
“That’s right,” Vincent replied. “They dropped off some bags and chit chatted with me for a little bit. I agreed to ride with them over here so they’d find the place and see Nick. Man, I never saw this coming.”
“You said they dropped off some bags?” Schwartz asked.
“Yeah a couple of bags they set down just inside the front door. We really weren’t there for too long together.”
“Thank you for your time people, but we have to go,” Schwartz said. Schwartz spun on his heels with a grace that belied his physical appearance. Nick, Shauna, and Vincent stood dumbfounded as they watched the U.S. Marshal meet his partner at the front entrance and disappear into the night. Vincent spoke first.
“Give me the keys to your truck, and I’ll head to the house to see if that’s where they went. I’m sure that’s where Schwartz is heading. Where else would they look?” Nick pondered the suggestion for a moment. He’d have to make a call or two to get somebody to cover, but the time to think would help. He fished his keys from his pants pocket and tossed them to Vincent.
“I could go with him,” Shauna suggested.
“I’d really prefer it if you stayed here,” Nick replied. “I need somebody to bounce around ideas with me and make sure I’m not losing my mind.” He also had no idea just what his old man was up to, and the last thing he wanted was to put her in harm’s way. However, he didn’t feel comfortable saying that out loud. If he got somebody to cover his shift, he planned on riding in her Harley’s sidecar back to his place. He’d save this little tidbit for later. At this precise moment, he needed to focus on the here and now.
“I’ll call you when I get there and let you know the score,” Vincent said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure everything will work out fine. Just say a quick couple of prayers to cover our asses, just in case.”
“I think I’ve missed a few too many Sundays to be a blip on the big guy’s radar screen, but I’ll give it a shot. Thanks, Vincent, I owe you big time.”
“Think nothing of it, amigo. And you’re always on the big guy’s radar screen. We just sometimes don’t let Him get on ours.” Vincent turned and headed for the door as Nick hit his speed dial in search of a replacement bartender. Shauna reached out and touched Nick’s free hand on the bar.
“I agree with Vincent. I’m sure everything will be OK. The odds are in your favor. I don’t think it could get any stranger.”
“You had to mention the odds, didn’t you?”
The Bernie Factor Page 22
