Echoes of the Fall

by Hank Early

  “Randy Harden was quoted in the newspaper as saying he’d last seen him on Sunday night when he made his ‘lights out’ rounds. In the morning, his Cadillac was gone, and no one has heard from him since.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Do you know anything about it?”

  “I wish. I’d love to catch up with him.”

  “I was hoping you’d killed him.”

  “I’m a PI, not a mercenary.”

  “Well, as a PI, have you found out anything else on the Weston boy?”

  “I’m still working on it. In fact, that’s what I called you about.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well, I was wondering about that bar we went to a while back. The one where the kid got beaten up?”

  “Oh, yes, Livingstone’s place.”

  “Is that the name of it?”

  She laughed. “Not really. It doesn’t actually have a name. But Livingstone is the owner, so that’s what I call it.”

  “How about a number? I need to talk to him.”

  “Yeah, I think I’ve got that somewhere. What’s this about?”

  “I think I might know who the woman is that’s abusing those boys.”

  * * *

  I called Livingstone, hoping he was open, hoping for a break. He answered almost immediately. “Bar, what’s up?”

  I heard voices in the background and the plucking of an acoustic guitar. Sounded much busier than the time Eleanor and I had been there.

  I told him who I was, reminding him of what had happened that day with the Hill Brothers. He remembered. “Eleanor’s friend, right?”

  “Yeah. And I’m not sure if I told you that day, but I’m a private investigator, and I’m looking for one of your regulars. She goes by the name Daphne or Savanna? She’s the one that comes in with those brothers.”

  “I don’t know that woman’s name, I’m sorry to say. Could be Daphne. Could be Savanna. She hasn’t been in yet today, but she’s been showing up a lot lately.”

  “With or without the brothers?”

  “Depends. Sometimes with. Sometimes without. But I always get the sense they aren’t too far away, no matter what.”

  “I’m heading your way,” I said. “Do me a favor. When I get there, act like you’ve never met me before.”

  “You ain’t planning on starting any trouble, are you?”

  I paused, not sure how to answer that.

  “No,” I said at last. “I’m planning on ending it.”

  * * *

  I called Claire back and asked her if she knew where Livingstone’s place was.

  “Sure. I know it.”

  “Meet me there in half an hour?”

  “Sound good. First round is on me.”

  “Okay. Claire?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m happy to talk, but I’m also working. If a certain person comes in, I may have to go pretty quickly.”

  “Ooh … sounds fun.”

  “So you don’t mind?”

  “Do what you have to do. I’m just excited to be a part of it all.”

  I told her I’d see her soon and hung up. Then I went inside to grab the recorder I’d found at Savanna’s house. There was still plenty of room left on the tape. I slipped on a light jacket and put it in the inside pocket. Goose was watching me closely. I shrugged and stared back at him. “I don’t know any other way,” I said.

  63

  Livingstone’s place was different at night. As soon as I pulled my truck into the dirt lot, I saw how he stayed in business. It was nine thirty on a Tuesday night, and damned if there weren’t fifteen cars in the lot and not a single space left for me. I made a three-point turn and worked my way back out to the road, where I parked in a little gully and walked back up to the small, well-lit shack, feeling slightly naked without my gun.

  I had decided to leave it in the truck. Daphne wouldn’t go anywhere with me if she saw the gun. I had to get her away from the bar before I could do anything else.

  Now that it was dark, I could see Christmas lights strung around the shack, dangling like moss from the eaves of the small porch, where five people stood, clutching bottles of beer and wiping sweat from their brows. Of the five, three were women. The other two were young men, no more than thirty, wearing five-o’clock shadows and tight-fitting blue jeans. They eyed me as I approached, and I wondered if I was going to be pressed into some trouble. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t even have bothered trying to avoid it. My dirty little secret was that I often relished these kinds of situations. Fights had never particularly scared me, and as I’ve said many times, this was both a blessing and a curse. Tonight, it was definitely a curse. I had to make sure I assumed the right posture as I moved past these two muscle heads. Not only that, I needed to be sure I didn’t accidentally ogle one of the women. Not that they were my type anyway. Far too young for me.

  I slipped by them cleanly, not even bothering to turn around when I heard one of them mutter to his friend that it must be “hillbilly hour.” I kept my cool, no easy feat.

  The inside was even more crowded. There was no space at the tiny bar and no tables available. I pushed through the crowd of mostly men—old-timers and burnouts—and motioned for Livingstone, who did exactly as I’d requested and pretended he didn’t know me. I noticed he had about a dozen bottles of whiskey sitting behind the bar this time and wanted desperately to order one of them, but it was going to have to be beer tonight. My life might literally depend on it.

  He opened a bottle of beer for me, and it was as cold as I remembered. I drank it quickly, fast enough to feel the buzz I’d been missing, to calm me, to make the room settle down around me just a little bit. Leaving the empty bottle on the bar, I looked around, searching for Daphne or Claire, and found Claire already seated at a small table in the back of the room.

  She was dressed in a short skirt and a low-cut blouse. She wore sandals wrapped around her ankles and lower calves, accentuating the tone of her muscles. She wasn’t wearing her glasses, and her hair was different. I couldn’t help but notice how attractive she seemed. Each and every time I saw her, she looked a little different. It was amazing. The first time I’d met her, she had seemed older, bookish, not unattractive, but nothing like she appeared now, either. Now, she was … wow. That was the only word I had for it.

  I sat down across from her, and she grinned. “Tell me everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “About the case. Did you find Rufus yet?”

  “No.”

  She frowned. “Well, maybe he’s still out there somewhere.”

  “Can I buy you a drink?” I said.

  “No, remember I said they were on me?” She stood. “What do you want?”

  “Just a beer.”

  “Can or bottle?”

  “Can.”

  “Be right back.”

  I took the opportunity to look around a bit. No Daphne. But it was early still. I could pick Claire’s brain, maybe get some insight into the situation. She was smart enough. And attractive. Jesus. She seemed like the kind of woman I would like to pursue, but not now, not with the pain of Mary still lingering. Not with the uncertainty of my future, my ability to just live still up in the air.

  There was a line at the bar. Claire waved at me. I waved back. The door to the porch opened, and the kid who had messed with the Hill Brothers last time I was here waltzed in. He was dressed to the nines again, and from the looks of him, he’d already forgotten the broken nose the brothers had given him, which was amazing, because it was still visibly crooked. He called out to Livingstone, and the old man ignored him. The kid pretended not to be bothered and reached inside his sport coat for a couple of twenties, which he held up for Livingstone to see. He slapped the money down on the bar and walked around back for a bottle of whiskey. Livingstone scowled at him but was too busy with the other customers to do anything about it.

  The kid began to drink straight from the bottle. A middle-aged woman with platinum-blonde hair and a pa
inful-looking sunburn sat on one of the stools next to him. He leaned over and whispered in her ear. She shrugged and reached for the bottle. He pulled it away from her, lifting it up into the air, showing her he wanted to pour it into her waiting mouth. She gave him a look. It was a look of resignation. She knew who she was dealing with now, but he was offering free whiskey. I could relate. Sometimes I felt like I wanted it bad enough to let the kid pour it into my mouth, too.

  I watched the woman open her mouth up, and the kid stood up and tipped the bottle over. She accepted it eagerly and without shame. He leaned forward, trading his mouth for the bottle, and she kissed him even though her face registered nothing but disgust.

  I felt an overwhelming urge to go over and tell the kid to get lost, but I couldn’t. Not tonight. Tonight, I had to stay contained, stay within myself, and wait.

  Patience had never been a virtue for me.

  * * *

  Claire was on her way with my beer and a bottle of whiskey when the door opened and one of the men who’d been trying to start something with me outside came in. He held the door open, a drunken and self-satisfied leer on his face. He looked like a man who’d found the golden egg and was confident he would be rewarded for it later on. He ushered Daphne in with a hand that fell a little too close to her ass, but for her part, Daphne didn’t seem to mind at all. She was dressed in a low-cut blouse and cutoff blue jean shorts that left little to the imagination. Her boots came up over her knees and there was a dazed look on her face, as if she’d entered some kind of primal state, as if she were on the precipice of a sexual ritual that was both familiar and intoxicating.

  Most women her age would never have attempted those shorts, but she pulled them off without a hitch. Hell, you could feel the room turning to her, the collective gaze of every man in the small room, laser focused on her midsection where the blouse failed to meet the top of her shorts.

  She didn’t see me at first, which was to the good, because it gave me an opportunity to watch her, to observe how she worked. It was easy to see her in a different light like this. It was easy to be sympathetic. Wasn’t she doing the same thing Harriet was doing, that I wanted to do? Wasn’t she living her life free of restraint? Hadn’t she thrown off Joyce’s nets Harriet had spoken about?

  Yeah, I guessed she had, in a way. But here was a case where some restraint was needed, where a net might do its job and keep her from hurting others. There was a difference. Some people just wanted to be themselves. Others, like Daphne/Savanna, wanted to be more than themselves; they wanted to inflict their own lives onto others, to suck out the souls of men and women alike and crush them for sheer pleasure.

  Jeb Walsh was like this too, I realized, but somehow he managed to stay above the fray, to work at a distance, pulling strings and levers, the wizard from Oz, the man behind the curtain. Was he a psychopath too, or did such a designation even exist? Maybe we were all psychopaths, driven by genes and past experiences utterly beyond our control.

  Like me, for instance. I was running on instinct now, sure something would happen, one way or the other. I just hoped I’d come out on the other side able to really live my life. Because that was the secret, I realized. Not the highs or the lows, not the tragedies, the trials, the vanquishing of foes, but simply the everyday routine of living with yourself, with the one person you could change, the one person you could save.

  “Hello,” Claire said. “I’m right here.”

  I turned to her. “Sorry. Thanks for the beer.”

  “No problem. Drink up. And talk. Who are you here to stalk?”

  I nodded at Daphne. “See that woman?”

  “Yeah. You think she’s hot or something?”

  “Something. I think she’s the woman who kidnapped Rufus.”

  Claire just stared at me. “You can’t be serious. Her?”

  “I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

  “Did Harriet tell you how to find her or something?”

  “Sort of.”

  “So you found Harriet?”

  “Hmm?” I was focused on Daphne. She and the asshole were having a really good time. I was hoping if I went up to her, she’d drop him and take a walk with me. We’d walk out to Backslide Gap. Once I got her on the swinging bridge, I’d be able to get the information I needed from her.

  “I talked to your reporter friend,” Claire said. “Not sure I was much help, but I told him what I could. He asked about Harriet. I didn’t know what to tell him. Did you find her?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Look, I’ve got to go.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  I stood, taking my beer with me, and walked slowly toward the bar.

  Daphne and the man had found a spot at the end of the bar. He wore a pair of dark blue jeans that looked new along with a white button-down shirt tucked in crisply. His boots were new too and looked like real leather. He was bald, but handsome in a tough-guy kind of way. He saw me looking at him, and his eyes lingered on me briefly before settling on Daphne’s cleavage.

  I stood behind them as they ordered beers, and Daphne laughed at the man’s joke. He put his arm around her, and she snuggled in close to him, whispering something in his ear. He smiled and nodded, whispering something back. I decided to make my move.

  I leaned in on Daphne’s right as if to order another beer. “Hey, you,” I said. “I was hoping for another visit.”

  Sometimes you can catch a person without their mask on. Sometimes, briefly, you can see their true self. In my experience, the true self of most people can be an ugly thing, and at the least disconcerting. People wear masks for a reason. Underneath, they are lonely and disturbed. But Savanna/Daphne’s true self was neither of these things. What I saw in her moment of unguardedness was pure hurt, as if she she’d been self-medicating through her behavior. But then the moment was gone, and she smiled at me, fluttering her eyelids and turning her cleavage to me.

  “Well, I came by for a shower and you weren’t there, so I had to make do without you. A girl can do a lot without a man’s help, but there’s some things a man is really good for.”

  The man she was with cleared his throat and craned his head to look at me. “Who are you?”

  I stuck out my hand. “Earl Marcus. Me and Daphne are old friends.”

  “Well, she’s on a date right now. So get the hell out of here.”

  “Hey, weren’t you one of the assholes on the porch laughing at me earlier when I came in?”

  He nodded. “Yep. So what?”

  “Well, I was wondering what was so funny.”

  He shrugged. “I guess you were.”

  I nodded, trying to decide how far to take this. Why not all the way? After all, I didn’t need her trying to decide between the two of us, did I?

  “I think you and your asshole buddies need to learn some respect for others.”

  He stood up, and when he did, there was a shift in the mood of the bar. I felt it but didn’t participate in it. I felt fine. Hell, there was definitely a part of me that was broken, because I actually felt better than fine. I felt like all was right in the world at that moment, and the anticipation of the coming violence was like a relief. Assholes like this one always took me to the same place. It was a place I’d regret later, but much like getting drunk, I’d enjoy the hell out of the actual time spent in the zone.

  He reached over and grabbed the front of my shirt. I just looked at him, not moving, not reacting at all. I was still clutching my beer bottle, and I remembered the way that Hill Brother had smashed his bottle into that kid’s face a few weeks ago.

  “Let go,” I said.

  He laughed and tried to pull me away from the bar, away from Daphne so he could begin to pummel me, I suspected.

  I let him pull me to the side before slipping out of his grasp. He stepped toward me, grinning like I was going to be easy, but I had just enough time to see his grin change, to crinkle and then spread into something like the shape your mouth makes when you say oh shit, and then the
bottle smashed him there, shattering against his teeth. He staggered back, wiping blood from his lips, spitting out a tooth, moaning in pain.

  I watched him for a minute as he fought the pain and tried to remain on his feet. He got his legs under him again, wiped his hands on his jeans, and came with a haymaker, fresh blood cascading from his knuckles as he wound up. I sidestepped, caught the back of his neck, and slammed him to the floor.

  Damn, it felt good. The air in the bar returned. The man groaned but didn’t try to get up. People began to talk again. I turned to Daphne. “Want to go for a walk?”

  I was reaching for her hand already when I heard her answer. It caused me to do a double take.

  “No,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  She was looking at the man on the floor in horror. “What is wrong with you?”

  “I …” I shook my head.

  Something was wrong. Her eyes … her face … she was horrified.

  I’d misjudged the situation. The red cooler had been a coincidence. I saw that clearly now. Daphne wasn’t Savanna. She was just a woman who self-medicated with sex. She was actually a lot like me. But not as bad as me. Because … I looked at the man groaning on the floor and up to her horrified face.

  Livingstone came over. “You better go.”

  I nodded. “I’m sorry. I misread the …”

  But Daphne was already crouching on the floor next to the man.

  I walked out of the bar in a daze, trying to determine where I’d gone wrong.

  64

  “Wait up,” Claire said.

  I turned and saw her exiting the bar, holding a bottle of whiskey.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I was kicked out.”

  “Yeah. I, uh, noticed. What happened in there?”

  “Mistaken identity. I’m going to head home.”

  “Sure you don’t want to take a walk?” She held out the whiskey.

  I grabbed it and took a swallow. It tasted good. “I better not.”