I stepped to the counter. A high school-age waitress turned from the kitchen window. “Can I take your order?”
“I want to talk with the guy who busses tables. He’s an elderly gentleman.”
“You mean old Joe?”
“That’s him. Where is he?”
“In back. I’ll get him.”
After I joined Lori in the booth, we waited a few minutes before a white haired man limped towards us. His worn and patched clothing hung on his thin body. Clean shaven, his broad face drooped from hard living and more than a little alcohol. He stopped at our table and looked back and forth between us from watery brown eyes.
Lori’s brown eyes rounded as a glisten of tears welled up. Her lower lip trembled then her mouth moved to form words, but nothing came out.
I reached out to grasp the man’s arm. “Joe, meet your daughter, Lori.”
Chapter 9
Harry sipped the fresh coffee then placed his cup on the kitchen table. He folded the newspaper in half and leaned back in his chair. I blew over the edge of my mug then carefully sampled the hot brew.
Setting aside the Sunday comics, I asked, “You done with the sports page?”
“In a minute.”
“Want a beer to go with the baseball stats?”
He checked his watch. “It’s only nine.”
“Oh yeah,” I said with exaggerated drama. “I forgot about your twelve o’clock it’s-okay-to-drink time. How’s Ann and girls?”
He shifted the paper higher with his good arm. “Fine. They’re at church.”
“I’m surprised Ann let you stay home, or should I say, let you visit me?”
“She didn’t. Technically I’m in church, too. She thinks I’m having a problem in the restroom. I’ve got twenty minutes to get back.” He tossed the paper on the table and adjusted his tie.
I studied him a moment. “Borrowing the hedge trimmers isn’t the only reason you stopped by, is it?”
He sat back. “Nope.”
I waved a hand at him to keep going.
He reached inside his jacket pocket to pull out an envelope he set on the stack of newspapers. “Read this.”
A mail room stamp indicated it had been forwarded to Security at Bison Insurance. Someone had handwritten “Attention: Harry Piston”.
I pulled out a court order issued by the County court and originally addressed to “Priscilla Eleanor Godfrey, Department of Frauds”. I skimmed it then frowned up at Harry.
“What the hell is this? Lori and I will not be permitted anywhere near Bison Insurance nor have any contact with the employees. Why would the Godfrey woman place a protection order on us?”
“You tell me.”
“I haven’t talked to her since the day I met her. You haven’t a clue?”
“No. I called her office and her secretary claims both you and Lori have been making threatening phone calls over her private line.”
“I don’t know the goddamn number to her private line. I’m sure Lori never calls her.”
“How can you be sure? You know, Lori was real pissed when she got laid off.”
“Goddamn it, Harry. You know her as well as I do. She’s like a sister to . . . us. And-and . . . she spends most of her time with me. I’d think she would tell me if she’s been harassing this bitch. She hasn’t mentioned the woman from hell for at least two weeks. What about you? Does this mean we can’t have contact with you?”
“You read the court order and I’m an employee. Don’t worry. We won’t be seen together in public.”
“Why didn’t I get a copy? Didn’t the sheriff deliver these?”
“A deputy’s been here three times, but couldn’t reach you. He stopped in my office on Friday and asked if I would deliver them. There’s another copy there for Lori.”
“Isn’t that unusual? I’m supposed to sign something, aren’t I?”
“I took care of it.”
I frowned at him. “I saw you yesterday. Why didn’t you say something?”
“Ann was with me. I don’t want her to know about this. I’ve got to go. I’ll light a candle for you.”
“Wait a damn minute! What’re we going to do about this?”
“You already know how I feel about the Godzilla. This will cool down eventually and I’m sure she’ll forget everything.”
“And when will that be?”
“Probably a couple weeks.”
Grinding my teeth, I followed Harry to his station wagon. His slap on the back weakened my anger a bit. I tried a tight smile as I watched him back onto the street. When the Ford disappeared around the corner, I knew my temper wouldn’t cool. I pivoted and nearly jumped put of my hide to find Lori watching me. “Damnit! How long you been here?”
“Just now. What did Harry want?”
“Come in the house. I’ll let you read for yourself.”
In the kitchen, Lori took Harry’s seat. The table hid her long tan legs and the too-revealing jean shorts. Her pale yellow tee shirt stretched too tightly across those fine breasts. I wondered if she purchased her clothing from the children’s department.
I cleared my throat. “You couldn’t find something better to wear?”
“Sunday morning‘s wash day. Shut up. I’m trying to read this.”
I poured another cup of coffee for myself and filled one for her.
As she reached for the cup, she abruptly straightened, her eyes on fire. “Goddamn! Who in the hell does this bitch think she is?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t like her the one time I met her.”
“She can’t keep me from going there. Shit, my life insurance policy is through Bison and Harry works there. What right does she have to say I can’t visit Harry?”
“It’s a court order. Have you ever called her?”
“I’ve called her every goddamn name in the book. But, no, I’ve never phoned her. Shit, I haven’t seen her since the day she fired me. What did Harry say?”
“He wants us to cool it for a couple of weeks. Just back off and not make an issue of it. Calm down.” I nudged her coffee mug with one finger.
She threw herself back in the chair and glared as if it was all my fault, then picked up the cup. The high color in her face and the pout on her lips only added to my discomfort.
“How’s your father doing?”
“Fine. I cleaned out the crap stored in my extra bedroom and set up a bed for him. Also made a doctor’s appointment for tomorrow.” She sighed heavily. “He’s got a terrible cough.”
“Did he say how long he’s been out of jail?”
“Seven years. The cop he shot didn’t die.” She shook her head as if puzzled by that and stared into her coffee. “All that time he worked at the Burlington Diner. Shit, I never knew we lived so close to each other.” Her expression turned sad before she looked up at me. “He’ll be on parole for a long time, but he’s been clean. How did you know he worked there?”
I shrugged. “I’ve eaten there a few of times over the years. That picture of the two of you down in the laundry room nagged at me. Something in the eyes. I remembered thinking about his face as he bussed tables. You planning a big day with him?”
“Yeah. Thought about a slow walk down at the zoo. You want to come?”
I studied the light in her eyes, a hint of the girl looking forward to time with her father. “You should be alone with him.”
“We’ve spent the past three days catching up. Not much more to talk about. I’m not sharing blow-by-blow details, and he’s not either. We kinda agreed to just move forward. Don’t you think that’s a good idea”
“I guess. Did he say anything about your mother?”
She leaned forward to set the mug on the table, plant her elbows and rest her chin in her hands, her face softening. “The last he seen her was a year after he went to jail. She just quit coming for visits. He doesn’t know where she’s at.”
“Where did you live then?”
“She dumped me with relatives. When she didn’t
even visit or call, I quit thinking about her. She didn’t care so I wouldn’t either. I guess my anger made me kinda act-out. I bounced from one family to another until I turned twelve and knew how to really take care of myself. That’s when I hit the streets. By that time all I thought about was keeping away from the goddamn cops.”
We both sipped at our coffee. “You don’t keep in contact with the people you lived with?”
“Nope. When she didn’t show up after a year, her aunt and uncle shoved me into foster care. They didn’t care about me any more than I did about them.” Her expression hardened, her eyes squinting in memories that aged her and made me sorry I asked. “Most of the men I ran into in the foster homes were perverts who couldn’t keep their hands off me. I fought and got moved. One night I just went out a window and disappeared. On the street at least I had a choice.”
“Does you father know that?”
“About what? Me whoring? Yeah, I told him. I also told him about you. I think he likes you.”
* * *
During most of our trip Joe sat quietly in the front seat, smoking a cigarette, only coughing one in a while. In an attempt to start a conversation, I explained to him how Henry Doorly Zoo had been built from a city park. From small, confining cages for less than ten animals, the park had developed into one of the world’s largest collections of exotic species in sprawling display areas. My classroom tone of voice recounted the history of the area and what animals had been donated by different organizations. Despite my frequent glances over at him, he merely continued to stare and cough into the windshield of my Mercedes.
Lori leaned her head over the back rest, and asked, “Daddy, are you sure you’ll be able to walk okay?”
He only nodded. Reaching into a shirt pocket, he took out yet another cigarette and lit it from a butt he held. He must have smoked a half pack on that ride. I turned up the air and opened the window vent. I liked the idea that my complaining might have at least made Lori quit the nasty habit.
As I pulled into the lot, Lori removed something from her purse and handed it to me. “Here, hang this on your mirror.”
“Where did you get the handicap card?”
“That’s not important, except for the person who’s missing it, maybe. Daddy can’t walk too far. When we get inside, I’ll rent a wheelchair.” The old man shrugged.
I parked in front of a post with the blue sign. I faced Joe and asked, “When was the last time you saw a doctor?”
“In prison.”
“Did they say why you had a cough?”
“No.”
Lori opened the passenger’s door. “He said the cough started a few months ago.”
She held her father’s arm as we strolled through the gate. While Lori counted the money for the chair rental, he settled into an empty one. It took him a few deep breaths to look comfortable.
Later, I held the door open for Lori to push the chair into the jungle building. Before she could move forward, I settled my hand over hers. “I don’t think he will able to breathe in here. The humidity is too much. We better leave.”
She leaned over his shoulder to ask him but seeing his labored breathing, she reversed the wheelchair’s direction. Returning to the outside, Lori and I sat on a bench to wait for Joe to get through a coughing spell.
Back under control, he leaned toward me. “I know I ain’t got much time. You made me one happy son-of-a-bitch when you brought Lori to me. I owe you a lot and I want to pay you. Lori said you’re looking for Harpies?”
Lori pinched my arm, “Daddy, if you ain’t feeling well, we can go home.”
“No, Sis. I need to tell Bob something. The woman you’re looking for is a big dealer in coke. She rubs out the little peddlers who owe her money. That’s the reason Penny got it.”
I glanced into Lori’s tear filled eyes and then back to Joe. “It’s not because of an unhappy marriage?”
“No. I don’t know how that rumor got started.”
“Who is this Harpies?”
“I only heard about her on the vine. She keeps herself out of sight but has got some tough bastard-type outlaws fronting her. She’ll kill you if you get too close to her.”
I turned to Lori, “Scratch Ann off the list.”
She stared silently for a moment. “I’m not so sure about that. Sometimes those little bombs make big booms. Look at that little Frenchman and the shit he stirred up before he got to Waterloo.”
“Napoleon?” I couldn’t restrain my grin at her sophisticated comparison.
Looking embarrassed , she fidgeted at my scrutiny then quipped “Yeah, something like that. What of it?”
“I’ll get you enrolled at the University as soon as this is over. You deserve a degree.” When she flipped me off, I turned back to Joe. “Why haven’t the cops caught up with her?”
“She’s too protected by too many layers. They can only get the peddlers. She hires outside people to fill in the ranks, and no way the narcs are going dancing at her place.”
“How can I meet her?”
“I’m a nobody bum, but I see one weakness the cops ain’t likely to use. She likes money, a lot of it. If you got a lot of bread, maybe you can buy your way in.”
Watching him light up yet another cigarette, I asked, “Who can I start with?”
“Lori knows the people, but since she’s been off the streets, she doesn’t know who is dancing with who. Right, Baby Girl?” He glanced at her reluctant shrug, then looked directly into my eyes. “Plus, people know she’s hanging with you.” He squinted through his smoke, his hardened jaw and deep age lines briefly threatening. “Let me lay it on the line, mister. If you so much as cause hurt to one hair on my little girl, I’ll kill you. Prison taught me ways you ain’t even imagined. ”
Lori softly added, “Ah, Bob, I don’t think he’s shitting.”
Joe held my stare. “I ain’t got nothin’ to lose, but you do.”
* * *
My showing came and went with several portraits of Lori going to homes and galleries across the Midwest. Her dad thought that was great, but the two of us agreed Lori might not be thrilled. She thought my art work was just for showing and not for sale. Since I didn’t want to lose my model, I didn’t explain all the details.
I spent the couple of weeks after that visiting the library. I educated myself about how cocaine grew, was commonly packed and the variety of methods for smuggling it into the United States. Of course, the public library didn’t have much about the power structure of the cartels and the system that filtered the coke to the street venders. I found more on the Internet, but still not enough.
My street source, Lori, spent more time with her hospitalized father than at home. Finally diagnosed, his lung cancer was wearing him down. I doubted she would tell him I had asked her to introduce me to more street contacts.
Donald made another monthly call to give me the most recent figures on our import profits. I transferred a chunk of it to the hospital after hearing Joe didn’t have insurance and Lori had already told Donald to sell some of her stock. I stopped him from doing that. After convincing the hospital center’s business office to send all statements to me, I covered the old man’s first month with my import profits and art sales. Lori and I could butt heads about it all further down the road.
When Joe’s condition worsened, the specialists moved him to Hospice. Lori stayed in the family quarters nearby. She hadn’t even been home to see her own hot tub I had installed by Sporty’s Rec Room Supply. She looked thinner, more vulnerable than I had ever seen her. I wanted to tell her I had her back both at home and over her father’s mounting expenses but knew that would only stress her more.
Just as I hung up on my accountant’s weekly report, the doorbell sounded. It rang again and yet again, demanding my immediate attention. Through the window I saw the dark brown hair. Why the front door? I yanked it open with “Lori, what’s wrong?”
Big wet eyes looked up at me out of a tortured expression. “He’s dead. An
d…and goddamn it, I lost my keys. I need to cry.”
We sat on the sofa, my arms holding her slender form as her sobs dampened my shirt. My eyes focused on the lake through the patio doors while I asked the gods to give her a break . . . because I couldn’t stand feeling helpless much longer. A tear or two had already slid down my cheeks and I could barely swallow past the damn lump in my throat. A half-hour later, she finally slept in my arms.
Holding her so close and confronted with the reality of her body and soul reaching out to me forced acceptance of how stupid I had been. She had come to me for comfort, not anyone else. Me. That was the moment I buried Eileen in the dark recesses of my memory. The past was . . . past and Lori was now. Relief quickly followed and I relaxed allowing myself to just be.
I awoke to the grandfather clock pounding out eight chimes. The summer sky outside the patio door had turned a muddy orange with the lights on fishing boats dotting the lake like a pincushion. I was alone, a pillow under my head, a blanket over me. I slowly catalogued missing the weight of her body, her soft hair brushing my throat, her scent filling my nose. When I called out and heard no answer, I reached for the phone.
She picked up on the third ring. I quickly asked, “Lori, you okay?”
“Sure. Now. You want to come over for wine and a soak in my new hot tub?”
“You saw your birthday present?”
“Yeah. Thank you. And I found my keys.”
“Where were they?”
“In my purse. Hurry over and just wear a towel.”
“Are you serious? Isn’t this a little too soon to . . . ah, celebrate anything?”
“No. I’m taking Daddy’s advice. I was so happy when I first met him after all those years. Now, I’m just happy I got to know him before he . . . died. When I fell asleep crying, I dreamed of my . . . well, my life now, of you. And about some things waiting, like in my future. He-He had told me to move on so he could watch, getting prouder and prouder. Said he screwed up his life, wallowed in guilt, never really feeling close to the people who mattered, the people he needed to know but never had like me. We talked about knowing that led to loving. He liked that I was reaching for a good life, making something of mine . . . with you.”
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