by Brad Smith
Bud had managed to secure funds for new street lamps for the area, and for a few flower gardens where the old sidewalk meridians still existed. Mostly he had paid lip service to the neighborhood’s transformation and as such was looked upon by certain locals – at least those who didn’t examine things too closely – as being in some way responsible for it. Bud was not above encouraging such skewed perceptions.
The store was called Design Intervention. There was a ribbon cutting in the afternoon, followed by a wine and cheese reception. Bud wore his ivory linen suit, with a black t-shirt and the twenty carat chain around his neck. Upon arriving he was provided with a glass of warm white wine and he wandered around, shaking hands and talking about how exciting it was to see that particular area of the city undergoing a renaissance. The store smelled of paint and new carpeting and drywall dust.
He knew most of the people at the opening, if not by name then by face, and he was enjoying himself until the mayor showed up. Bud was holding forth on the landfill issue in an area in the back of the store where laminate flooring was on display when he heard the familiar voice. He turned to see Mayor McBride as he was stepping on to a small riser to speak. The mayor’s comb-over was plastered in place and he wore what appeared to be a bush jacket of some sort. As it turned out, he was a cousin to one of the store’s owners and he’d responded to the invitation on that account. Bud was required to listen to the speech and then make small talk with the man. He was even forced to pose for a picture with the mayor and the store’s two owners. He left shortly afterward.
Bud ordered in food from Thai This, a new place in The Docks. When it came to more exotic fare he really didn’t know good food from bad, so he reasoned that by saying he was trying the joint for the first time he was covered if Gina gave the meal a bad review.
She showed up just past seven, wearing a tank top and faded low cut jeans with boots of some sort of snakeskin. She usually wore her hair fastened back in the restaurant and tonight it was hanging loose to her shoulders. She had long dangling earrings of silver, and she wore a number of rings, also of silver. She smelled as good as she looked, and she looked great.
‘Nice place, man,’ she said in the cool accent when she walked in. Place sounded like plice.
Bud had stocked the bar earlier. He passed himself off in public as a teetotaler, although it was not remotely true. He explained to Gina now that he himself rarely indulged but he would make her anything she wanted.
‘I’ll just take a beer,’ she said. Take sounded like tike.
‘A true Aussie,’ Bud said as he went into the fridge for a Stella. ‘Do you know that Aussies drink more beer per capita than any other country?’
‘I did know that,’ Gina said. She was sitting on the leather couch, running her hands over the soft fabric. ‘But Jesus, I hate to be a cliché, man. Maybe I’ll chase it with a shot of tequila.’ Chase sounded like chice.
Bud smiled. ‘Maybe I’ll join you.’
It was a warm night for October and they had their drinks on the balcony that overlooked the lake. Gina had a lot of questions about the harbor and its history. It turned out she had a degree in fine arts from the University of Melbourne. She intended on traveling for a year or maybe two before returning to get her teacher’s certificate. She said she loved history.
‘I had a prof back home who always said you can tell never tell what is until you understand what was,’ she said. ‘Makes you think.’ Makes sounded like mikes.
Although Bud liked to brag that he knew every little mouse in every corner of his ward, his knowledge on the city’s past was severely lacking. Bud wasn’t very much interested in history, whether it was the city’s or his own. So, to appease Gina’s curiosity, he made a bunch of stuff up. It seemed unlikely she would check to see if Rose City actually was a major fur trading post at one time, or that the Battle of Rose City was a turning point in the War of 1812. And even if she did, by then Bud would have moved on.
They ate inside, on the glass-topped dining room table. Gina had been to Thailand, she said, and she declared the food from Thai This to be very authentic. To Bud, it was a little on the spicy side. Gina stuck to the beer throughout the meal, declining Bud’s offer to open a bottle of wine.
‘Don’t be wasting that good stuff on me,’ she said. ‘I’m a simple girl.’ Wasting sounded like wisting.
After they’d eaten, Bud asked if she would like coffee. He would call room service.
‘Um, sure,’ she said. Then she smiled. ‘Unless you have Scotch?’
Bud did have Scotch. They went back to the living room and sat on the couch together this time.
‘So how come you don’t drink much?’ Gina asked.
Bud gave her his standard speech on the subject, how he used to be a bad-ass back in the day, running with the wrong crowd, burning the candle at both ends. He threw in his line about living hard and dying young and leaving a good-looking corpse. The line was so old that it was becoming new again, especially to a woman of Gina’s age, which Bud guessed to be mid-twenties. Then he did the turnaround, saying how he realized, upon entering public life, that he was responsible for a lot of people’s lives, and that he could no longer be the wild man of his youth.
‘I grew up,’ he told her. ‘That’s the simple truth of it. So I decided to leave certain things behind.’
‘You’re very down to earth,’ Gina said. ‘You don’t have the big ego.’
‘I have no ego,’ Bud agreed. ‘That’s the great thing about me.’
She laughed, and Bud wasn’t quite sure why. ‘I’ve become a bit of a health nut, you want to know the truth,’ he said. He patted his stomach. Better to draw attention to it himself. ‘I’ve been letting myself slip the past year or so. Our current mayor is a bit of a nincompoop and sometimes it’s like I’m running the city myself. It’s so much damn work that I haven’t taken time for Bud. But I’m changing all that. You know, watching the fats and the starches, that sort of thing. Green tea instead of coffee.’
‘I reckon I’ll have to go that way myself down the line,’ Gina said. Way sounded like why. ‘But I like my partying too much for now. Low key, y’know. A little alcohol, a puff here and there. All things in moderation, right?’
‘What kind of puff?’
‘You know. A bit of the weed.’
Bud smiled at her. She had to be getting tipsy, with the beer she’d put away, and now the Glenfiddich. ‘You know,’ he said carefully, ‘I’m not adverse to a little recreational use myself from time to time. You know, to help you relax. Especially in a private situation.’
She smiled her beautiful smile. ‘Right, man. A little pot or whatever.’
‘I like to smoke,’ Bud said. ‘But I’m not into pot so much.’
‘What’re you into?’
‘I like cocaine, once in a blue moon. I like rocks.’
‘Crikey. You wouldn’t have some, would you?’
Bud got to his feet. ‘I just might, you know. I think I might have some in the bedroom. Want to come see?’
‘Yeah.’
Yeah sounded like yeah.
FIFTEEN
She was meeting Peter Dunmore at a coffee shop a block away from the courthouse downtown. He was there when she walked in, looking a little uncomfortable in a sports jacket and tie over a white dress shirt. She wondered if he’d dressed up for her. She was aware that he had a crush on her and she was feeling slightly guilty about it. Actually she was feeling guilty that she was not exactly discouraging him. She had arranged to meet today, calling him at the paper the day before.
Seeing him in the jacket and tie made her feel under-dressed, in her jeans and baseball jacket. She was using just one crutch now and as she moved across the floor he stood, as if to help her into her chair, but she sat quickly, sliding the crutch under the table.
‘Look at you,’ she said.
‘I’m covering court,’ he explained. ‘Figured I’d put on a tie for a change. The boss likes it. Old school, you know.�
�
‘You look nice.’
‘So do you.’
She was sure that wasn’t so. Maybe to him it was, though. She ordered coffee and he asked for a refill. She watched his hands as he drank. His nails were down to the quick and he wore a signet ring of some description on his right hand. She wondered about the significance of the emblem but decided not to ask.
‘Why were you in court?’
‘Covering an impaired case,’ he said. ‘This guy, some contractor, is trying to say his dentist gave him a shot of something, caused him to rear-end a school bus. Meanwhile his blood alcohol was twice the limit.’
‘Gee, my dentist doesn’t even have an open bar.’
He smiled and took a drink of coffee. ‘People will try anything. If they spent as much effort obeying the law as they did trying to beat it, they’d be better off.’
‘It’s the little boy caught stealing cookies,’ Kate said. ‘He’s not sorry he stole, he’s just sorry he got caught.’ She tried the coffee but it was too hot to drink.
‘I’ll have to remember that one,’ he said.
She could see that he didn’t know what to say, that he was not good at small talk. She suspected he lacked confidence in general and maybe he’d become a journalist because of it. If he couldn’t tell his story, he’d tell the stories of others.
‘How’s your knee?’ he asked.
‘It’s OK. Taking longer to rehab than they thought.’ She gave the coffee another try. ‘The physiotherapy was aggravating the soft tissue, or something like that, so I had to stop for the time being.’
‘That has to be disappointing,’ he said. ‘And you’re an athlete too. Must be frustrating not to be able to do the things you like to do.’
‘I’m not sure I’m an athlete.’
‘You play baseball.’
‘Well, slow pitch.’ She paused. She couldn’t recall telling him how she’d injured her knee. ‘How did you know I played?’
‘Oh, I saw you once,’ he said offhandedly. ‘Over at Lions Park. I was on my bike and just happened to notice you. You were playing third base.’ He suddenly began to apologize, for no reason. ‘I should join a team. I need to get in shape. Spend all my time at a damn desk, staring at a computer screen. I’m going to start working out, though.’
His earnestness bordered on desperation, like a man determined to fit in, who stood out because of it.
‘Well, no workouts for me,’ Kate said. She thought it odd that he’d been watching her play baseball, but she let it go. That wasn’t why she was here. ‘I have to find other pursuits to keep me occupied.’
He smiled uncomfortably, knowing where she was going.
‘Were you able to find out anything?’
‘Not really,’ he said reluctantly. ‘I only had the one source on the department and he’s clammed up.’
‘Why has he clammed up?’
‘He says he can’t reveal any details that might be part of an investigation.’
‘So the police are still investigating The Mayor?’
‘Well, he didn’t exactly say that.’
‘According to Grant, they’re not.’
Dunmore hesitated. ‘Then it’s a dead file. Right or wrong, the man was acquitted. It wouldn’t be fair to—’
‘Please don’t tell me what is or isn’t fair.’
He fell silent, lifting his cup to his lips but not drinking. He put the cup down and looked at her forlornly, wanting desperately to please her but having no notion how.
‘Just tell me what the guy said,’ Kate demanded. ‘He didn’t tell you they’re still investigating him because they’re not.’
He put the cup down. ‘He said … he says that there could be accusations out there that just aren’t true. And it wouldn’t be right to release that kind of information to the public. Not after the man’s been cleared in a court of law.’
‘So that’s what I am – the public?’ Kate asked. She hated herself for resorting to the tactic. But she did it anyway.
‘Well, no.’
‘Besides, I’m not asking for information. I just want the names.’
‘To do what with them?’
Kate considered the question. The truth was that she really had no idea just what she would do with the names. She sipped the coffee.
‘To do what?’ he asked again.
‘I’ll let you know when I know,’ she said at last.
‘It doesn’t matter anyway,’ he said. ‘I have no access to them.’
‘So much for your source.’
‘Hey, I tried.’
Kate could see that he despaired at the very notion of disappointing her. ‘I know you did,’ she told him. ‘I appreciate it.’
He drank off his coffee and looked up at the menu board. ‘I’m hungry. Would you like some lunch? I’m buying.’
She reached for her crutch. ‘No thanks.’
‘You sure? We could go somewhere else.’
‘I’ll take a rain check.’ Kate got to her feet.
‘Wait a minute,’ he said then, clearly not wanting her to leave. ‘I did hear a story. Not from the cops but from somebody at the paper. I have to say, it’s pretty far-fetched.’
Kate sat again. ‘What is it?’
‘Apparently the cops busted a woman last spring who later claimed her son was The Mayor’s kid. Said he raped her up at the lake a few years ago. But it was obvious she’d been reading the papers and made up a story to match. Maybe thinking she could leverage it, hoping they wouldn’t charge her, I don’t know.’
‘What did they bust her for?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘She had a grow-op in a tent in her back yard. Big circus tent she found somewhere. She sewed plastic panels in the roof for sunlight. One day a huge wind storm came along and the tent blew over. And there’s all the plants. What they call plain sight. One of the neighbors made a phone call and the cops showed up.’
‘When was this again?’
‘This past spring. She hasn’t gone to court yet. I don’t see her going to jail though, not for a half-assed operation like that. Plus she’s got the kid, he’s eight or nine, no father around. They won’t lock her up.’
‘You have her name?’ Kate asked.
He hesitated. ‘Yeah, I found it. The paper buried the story, not sure why.’
‘To protect the fucking Mayor?’ Kate suggested. ‘That cross your mind?’
‘Maybe,’ Dunmore admitted. ‘Not to protect him necessarily. But this was just before the trial. The paper’s always mindful about running things that might slant public opinion. Let’s face it – it’s a pretty wild accusation.’
‘Right,’ Kate said. ‘So who is the woman?’
‘Elaine Horvath. Lives on Cleary Avenue.’
‘Thanks.’ Kate picked up her crutch again and got it underneath her.
He stood, in his clumsy manner both helpless and hopeless. ‘Hey, I wish I could do more. I really am on your side, Kate.’
‘Don’t worry about it. You have your job to think about.’
‘I have you to think about too. I can do both.’
Shit, she thought. ‘I’d focus on the job if I were you. I might be a bit of a lost cause. I’ll see you, Peter.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’re not going to talk to her?’
‘I just might.’
‘You realize it’s just a story, don’t you? Like the guy and his dentist. People will say anything.’
‘I know,’ Kate said. ‘Sometimes they even tell the truth.’
She left him standing there, in his jacket and tie and too polite ways, his puppy dog eyes on her and his heart on his sleeve.
She drove home and went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Her knee was a dull throb. Taking a Demerol, she changed her mind about the tea and unplugged the kettle and mixed a Bloody Mary instead. She was sitting at the kitchen table when David came in.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘What�
�re you doing home?’
He held up his right hand. There was gauze taped expertly around the gap between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Cut myself on some scrap steel. I had to go to emergency for a couple of stitches so the foreman told me to take the rest of the day off.’
‘Are you OK?’
‘Just four stitches.’ He gestured at her glass. ‘Lunch?’
‘Getting my vitamin C.’
He went to the fridge and took out a bottle of water. ‘So what did you do today?’
‘Nothing. I enjoyed it so much yesterday I thought I’d do it again.’
‘How you feeling?’
She gave him a look. ‘So-so.’
David sat down across from her. ‘Maybe it’s not just the knee. Maybe you should go in for a check-up.’
‘I don’t need a check-up.’
He tried to make a joke. ‘Get it in writing. Get a doctor to say you don’t need a check-up, and I’ll quit bothering you about it.’
‘Or you could just quit bothering me about it.’
‘Am I not supposed to care about you? I know you’re not sleeping, Kate. You were watching TV at four o’clock this morning.’
‘Like I’m gonna miss a Friends marathon.’ She sighed when he didn’t smile. She wasn’t in the mood for this particular conversation. ‘I’m all right. Just … you know, feeling sorry for myself.’
‘You’re allowed to feel sorry for yourself.’
‘So tell me – just how long am I allowed to feel sorry for myself? Can you give me a ballpark on that?’
‘Maybe the longer you do it, the harder it is to stop. At some point you have to let it go. You did everything you could.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ she said.
‘What’s that mean?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m not trying to be cryptic. It means I’m not so sure about that.’ She stared into the glass for a moment, then suddenly looked up. ‘Let’s go someplace.’
‘Where?’
She thought about it. ‘Florida,’ she said. ‘We planned to go this winter anyway. Let’s go now.’
He indicated her cast. ‘With that?’
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘You can play golf and I’ll ride around in the cart with you. I’ll be your beer caddie. We can lie in the sun. We can have drunken sex on the beach at night. Come on, David. Let’s do it.’