by Rick Polad
“Are these old eyes playin’ tricks?”
“No tricks, Lemon,” I said with a smile. “Nice to see you.”
“You too, boy. Blue Eyes said you was done with the army. How did you get along all those years without the music?”
As far as anyone here was concerned, the Blue Note was the only place in the world where you could hear “the music”. And they were right.
“It wasn’t easy, Lemon. I listened to memories a lot.”
“I hear that, boy.” His grin faded. “Sorry about your folks. We know your old man is still listenin’.” He angled his head back toward the corner booth.
“I know he is too. It’s not somethin’ you can just leave behind.”
“That’s for sure. That’s plainly for sure.” He threw back the shot and swung his leg off the stool. “You come over to the table and say hi, okay? The boys will want to see you.”
“Sure thing, Lemon.”
He winked and started to walk away. Blue Eyes stopped him, leaned over the bar and whispered something I couldn’t hear but I knew what it was. When my dad had been coming here long enough, they had gotten to know him well enough to know that, even though he was a cop, he was just a level guy who liked good jazz and they had consented to play his favorite tune, Girl Talk. And after Dad got Johnny Ray, the bouncer and resident tough-guy, out from under a drug frame-up, they started playing it every night, whether Dad was there or not.
The D.A. had put together a case against Johnny that seemed airtight. But Dad had dug deep enough to find some cracks and the guy who built the frame. Since then, the quartet never missed a night. But I knew Blue Eyes had suggested that they skip it tonight. I said a silent thank you and put my elbows up on the bar. Little kids and old songs with memories attached. Some tough guy I was.
“The boys look the same, Blue Eyes.”
“Now, Spencer, we both know that’s a lie, but seeing as how I’m just as old as them, we’ll keep right on pretendin’.” He wiped the bar in front of me and set down a Schlitz. It was the first beer I learned to like.
“Thanks for remembering, Blue Eyes.”
“Hey, a bartender don’t forget, especially his friends. What you up to Spencer?”
I took a long drink. “Well, I’ve been tryin’ my luck at the P.I. game.”
“I heard somethin’ about that.”
“How’d you hear that?”
“Isn’t much I don’t hear,” he said with a grin.
I laughed. “As a matter of fact...”
“Well I’ll be damned,” a familiar voice interrupted. “I thought I told that girl to watch who she let in here!”
When I was fourteen, Johnny Ray was the biggest man and had the whitest teeth I had ever seen. He still was. And, even though he must be in his sixties, it all still looked like solid muscle. I got off my stool and checked the teeth as I reached for his hand. They still sparkled. But I could squeeze harder now so his grip hurt less than I remembered. Johnny was the bouncer and most of his bouncing was done with just a look. He let his 240 pounds do the talking for him.
“Let me look at you, boy.” He moved back a step and rolled the cigar to the other side of his mouth. “I thought that army was supposed to make a man out of you. Hell, you’re still white!”
I held out my arm. “Yeah, but I’ve got a helluva tan.”
“Hey, come December, when you come around with my Christmas present, we’ll see who’s got a tan and whose is done faded.”
I laughed and squinted as he held out his hands, palms down. I knew what was coming.
“C’mon, boy. Let’s see if you got any faster playing soldier.”
I took a deep breath. I was bigger and stronger and my reflexes were army-trained to a fine point. I really didn’t want to embarrass Johnny. “Not tonight, Johnny. I’m a little out of practice.”
He showed his teeth and winked at Blue Eyes. “C’mon, Spencer. Wouldn’t want word to get around that you run away from a contest.”
I shrugged, held out my arms and put my hands in position under his with my palms up. I looked him in the eyes and waited.
“Go for it, kid.”
“You know, those things work better when you light ‘em.”
He wiggled his fat cigar with his lips. “I’m tryin’ to quit. But I gotta have somethin’ in my mouth. Once a day I light up.”
I went for it while he was talking. I missed. By the time I got my hands up and coming back down again, his were in his pockets. I was amazed. I also assumed that that meant he could handle a gun as good as ever. I tried again, and again, and then quit.
“That’s it, Johnny. I don’t want to embarrass you anymore.”
“You try the top, kid.”
I knew I couldn’t escape so I held my hands out, palms down. And I concentrated—hard. And I got slapped—hard. “You win,” I laughed. “If you like I’ll take off my underwear and wave surrender.”
He laughed. “Just once more, kid. You ain’t tryin’ hard enough.”
I held them out again and concentrated—harder. I didn’t get slapped any harder—he couldn’t have. But this time, just for a little variation, he crossed his hands over and slapped my opposite hands.
“Get me another beer, please, Blue Eyes. If I’m this slow I might as well get drunk.”
The crowd that had gathered while I was worried about embarrassing Johnny laughed and went back to their tables. Jazz and a sideshow for only ten bucks. Couldn’t beat it. I let the foam hit me in the nose and took a drink. Blue Eyes set down a beer two stools away while a bartender I didn’t recognize put the last drink on a tray for one of the waitresses. She smiled at me as she picked up the tray. It was one of those soft, warm smiles, full of things that don’t go bump in the night. I smiled back.
I picked up my beer and slid off the stool. “I’m gonna say hi to the boys, Blue Eyes. When I get back I need to pick your brain a little.”
“Sure thing, Spence. But pickin’s about all you can do. Used to be you could have a whole meal in there but sometimes things just don’t connect right anymore. Gettin’ slow.”
I laughed and followed the waitress across the room. She had on a tight, short, black skirt that left most of the two dark, strong, well-shaped legs showing. They were a challenge. Not just to me, but to all legs everywhere. “Be like us,” they said. “Just try.” I had followed her a little farther than I needed when a familiar voice called my name.
“Hey, Spencer. She’s pretty, but she don’t know how to play the blues.”
I smiled again as she glanced over her shoulder and barely puckered her lips. I turned and walked back to the table next to the bandstand.
“She doesn’t have to, Bones. That’s why they make records; so women who look like that don’t have to play the blues.”
He reached out and slapped me on the thigh. “You sure do know how to hurt an old man.”
I shook hands with Bones Slattery, the bass man and then Marty Larkin, the piano player, and Lou Wright, the drummer. Along with Lemon they were known as “the Boys”. Bones pulled up a chair and I sat down. When Dad had first introduced me, I thought Bones got his name from his physique. There wasn’t much to him and you could see every bone that wasn’t covered. But, when we got back to our table, Dad explained that the name came from something Bones told every customer who was willing to listen. He said: “It sure would be nice of you folks to come back but you don’t have to. From now on, you carry the music around in your bones.”
We talked about old times and then, as some admirers stopped to say hello to the Boys, I excused myself and weaved my way back to the bar.
Blue Eyes made his way to where I was sitting and asked, “What can I do for you, Spencer?”
“Not much. Just a question about a case I’m working on. Can we go in the office?”
“What do you want to go in the office for?”
“Privacy.”
He turned his head and looked at me sideways. “You still readin’ those
mystery books? There ain’t nobody here who cares ‘bout what we’re talkin’ about. Besides, I’m short-handed tonight. But, if you’d feel better, you can wait a few minutes till the boys start up again. Then I guarantee you nobody gonna be listenin’ to you.”
Chapter 8
A few minutes later, Marty sat down at the piano and started laying down some chords. One by one, the other three joined him and before I knew it they were well into My Funny Valentine.
“You care for a refill?” Blue Eyes asked.
“No thanks. I’m the designated driver.” I swirled the last swallow in the bottom of the glass.
“So, Spencer, what is it you think I might know?”
I took a breath, let it out through my nose, and shook my head. “It’s not much. I’m looking for a guy named Ronny and so far the only lead I have is a little girl telling me that a guy named Ronny offered to give her a ride on a horse where he works. Brown hair, long enough to be in a ponytail, built about like me. He said he could do it during the day because they don’t use the horses then.”
“You got a last name?”
“Nope. That would make it too easy.”
I got a look full of raised eyebrows and big round eyes.
“White?”
I pursed my lips, thinking that would have been an easy question to ask Marty. New kid in town. “I’m assuming yes.”
“Care to fill me in?”
“Sure. I was hired by a guy whose sister was murdered not too long ago. She left a four-year-old daughter. She wasn’t married and never told her brother, my client, who the father was. But the guy evidently sent checks every month to support the kid. After the murder the checks stopped coming.”
Blue Eyes scrunched up his nose. He was thinking. “You’re thinking the father did the sister? Got tired of signin’ his name?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I’ve got nothing to point either way.”
“What’d the police come up with?”
“Don’t know yet. I’m gonna have a talk with Stosh tomorrow morning.”
“The brother wants to start the checks flowin’ again?”
“That’s probably part of it. The other parts haven’t surfaced yet.”
“Hmm.”
We both listened to Lemon’s haunting melody and I wondered if Blue Eyes had forgotten what I was looking for. He hadn’t.
“Where did this sister live?”
I told him—both addresses.
He grimaced at the second.
“Not the best part of the Garden City?” I asked.
“Kid, if that’s part of the garden, it’s where they store the manure.” He thought for a few seconds. “‘Bout your Ronny. How ‘bout we figure he works over at Skyline. Post isn’t till eight. If he works there he wouldn’t have any trouble giving her a ride during the day.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Name ring a bell?”
“Not to me. But I’m not the expert. Horses, yes. People, you’d better ask Johnny.”
I turned to look for him and almost fell off the stool when I saw him standing right next to me. “You do magic now?”
They both laughed. Blue Eyes leaned close to me and lowered his voice. “We had some bad trouble a while back. Johnny was in back and some guy pulled a gun on me and cleaned out the register. Ever since, I got this gadget in my pocket with a button on it. Sends out a signal to Johnny that sets off a vibrator. Short push if I want to see him. Long if there’s trouble.”
“Nice.” I explained who I was looking for to Johnny. “Sound familiar?”
He took hold of his cigar with two stubby fingers, pulled it out of his mouth and spit a wet glummy piece of tobacco leaf onto the floor. I always wondered how he managed to keep his teeth so white with all the damage those cigars must do. When he replaced the cigar, he said, “Maybe. But maybe the one I know ain’t the one you’re lookin’ for. As a matter of fact, I hope he ain’t.”
“You got a name?”
The cigar rolled across his lips and settled in the left corner. “Ronny Press. Works at Skyline. And there ain’t nothin’ good about him. If you threw him in a pond, he’d float and you could scrape him off the top with the rest of the scum.”
“White?”
“Yup. ‘Cept he ain’t got a nice tan like some folks I know.” All of his teeth showed through his smile.
“What’s his problem?”
He shook his head. “Just plain bad. Been arrested for a coupla things. Done time for some. Stab you in the back if you gave him the chance. If there’s somethin’ goin’ down, he’ll be close.”
“Why do they let him hang around?”
“He don’t hang around, he works there.”
“Why do they keep him?”
“Cuz it ain’t easy to find people to shovel shit.”
“I guess not.”
“Sound like your man?”
“I hope not. The one I’m looking for promised a horsey ride to a little girl.”
Johnny grimaced. “All I got to say is if this guy promised somebody a horsey ride, it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart cuz there ain’t no goodness in it.”
Unfortunately, the guy sounded like a fit, but I hoped not. I’d trust Johnny’s judgment on anybody. If he says somebody’s rotten, they’re rotten. And you can’t get much more rotten than murder.
“Thanks, Johnny.”
He put two fingers to his forehead, gave me a miniature salute, said to call if he could be of further use, and somehow managed to fade that big frame of his into the crowd.
“Nice toy, Blue Eyes.”
“Yeah, Johnny’s fun to have around.”
“I meant the button.”
“Yeah, that too.”
I reached in my pocket and put a ten on the bar. Blue Eyes pushed it back.
“Not in here you don’t.”
I knew I wasn’t going to win, so I pushed it back and said, “Buy your grandkids some ice cream.”
He picked it up. I had hit his weak spot. This was one sentimental guy. But I also knew about the sawed-off shotgun, which I assumed was now under the bar instead of in the office. And there was that slight bulge under Johnny’s left arm. I sighed. Shit happens. Things change. The world goes on spinning and the barrel of a gun still talks in capital letters.
I slid off the stool. “So long, Blue Eyes. Thanks for the tunes.”
He shook his towel at me. “So long, Spence. Don’t be a stranger.”
“Not a chance.”
When I got back to the entry, I got a smile from the girl behind what I guessed was bulletproof glass. I waved and walked out into the heat. If it would only cool off at night. The air was that heavy stuff that only moved when you forced your way through it. I was glad I had bought the window unit. At least I would get a good night’s sleep.
I stepped back to the curb and stared at the big blue neon lights above the door. It hadn’t been as hard as I thought. But then that wasn’t the hard part. That was just seein’ old friends. Now I had to go home to an empty apartment. That was the hard part.
I got in my Mustang and turned on the Cubs game. They were losing to the Giants. It seemed like each game they invented a new way to lose in the ninth inning. The team that, on paper, was supposed to win the division, was fighting for last place. But this was what being a Cubs fan was all about. I was a Cubs fan because my father was a Cubs fan and his father was before him. Used to be it never mattered whether they won or lost. It was just a great place to watch a bunch of grown men playing a kid’s game, drink beer, eat hot dogs, and soak up some sunshine.
But now there are big paychecks and something important is gone. The game had turned into big business. Ron and Ernie and Billy combined didn’t make what some players make today. Used to be okay that they lost because they weren’t supposed to win. But now the paychecks talk. They say this team is supposed to win. The dollar bill has taken over the Cubs. There will be no more great old names; there will just be big paychecks. The problem is, the big pa
ychecks are still losing. Because the dollar bill can’t change one thing—this is still the Cubs, and it had been since 1908 that they had done anything besides losing. Must be something in the ivy.
I guess money talks. And I wondered if it wasn’t talking to Beef. He hires me to find the father, then maybe he convinces the guy to start writing checks again, maybe pay off the second mortgage on the diner. Hell, there was some reason why the father wanted to be out of the picture. Maybe that reason still exists. Maybe it’s still worth money. Maybe not. Maybe Beef was just doing it for the love of a little girl. Or maybe it was revenge. If some guy hadn’t knocked up his sister, she wouldn’t have moved to that dump and caught a bullet in the heart. Maybe. And maybe I needed some sleep.
Chapter 9
I woke up before six Thursday morning, felt the blanket pulled up around my chin, and thought I must be dreaming. Then I remembered I had turned the air conditioner to high when I got home last night. Sometime in the middle of the night I must have gotten up and thrown the blanket on the bed. The room was freezing. Stupid. I threw off the covers, turned down the air, took a shower, and pulled on a pair of jeans and a blue cotton shirt. Since coming home, I had been living in jeans. I had three faded pairs and one good pair in case someone invited me out to dinner. I laced up my running shoes and went to Beef’s for pancakes. Sometimes I skipped lunch but I never skipped breakfast.
I ate at the counter. Maria waved at me through the window of the kitchen and Beef poured me a cup of coffee.
“You break the case yet, P.I.?”
“Sure, got it all wrapped up. You’ll never believe it. So I won’t bother telling you.”
“Nothin’, huh? Well, that’s not surprising for a Cubs fan.”
I dumped some cream in the coffee. “Hey, if you’re going to get personal I’ll have to say something about this coffee.”
He leaned on the counter and looked tough. “I never said anything cuz you seemed like a nice guy, but we don’t think much of you transplanted Cubs fans.”
