Past Crimes

by Glen Erik Hamilton

  But the office had changed since Albie had parked his narrow ass behind the desk. It was clean and cluttered at the same time, with stacks of papers and books piled on every surface and a wall completely covered in tacked-up photographs and band flyers and stickers and ads and artwork, making a mural of riotous color. Against the other wall was a couch covered in cracked black leather. A folded blanket and pillows were stacked neatly on the couch seat.

  I sat down on the other side of the couch and closed my eyes.

  The next thing I knew, Luce was tapping my shoulder.

  “Hey,” she said. “You were really out.”

  I inhaled deeply and stretched my shoulders until they popped.

  “Rest when you can,” I said. “That’s what we always teach the boots.”

  “Why do you think I have pillows? You could crash here.”

  Luce had taken off her bar apron and put on a blue suede coat. She’d unpinned her hair and brushed it out, too.

  “Let’s take a walk,” I said.

  We went out the front and through the alley and down Lenora Street, toward Pike Place. The asphalt changed to rough brickwork, and we walked slowly over the uneven ground, taking our time. The big neon signs above the market washed the gray streets with pink and orange, a glow of false warmth on cold pavement.

  Luce put the collar of her coat up and folded her arms. “What do you think of the place?” she said.

  “The Morgen? Doing better than I ever remember.”

  “I’ve worked at it. This area doesn’t draw the frat boys or sororities from the U-Dub or the bar crowd from Capitol Hill. Too many closer options. And nobody who can afford condos in Belltown comes to a place like the Morgen.”

  “Seattle State?”

  She nodded. “Heavy advertising around campus. Plus hosting a few bands—better ones than tonight—just to get their asses to come a couple of miles south.”

  “I’m guessing Mike helped with that when he was a student.”

  Luce frowned. “He’s worked hard, too.”

  “Or you wouldn’t have him working there.”

  “Damn right.” She turned to me and squared her shoulders, jaw lifted in challenge.

  “I missed something,” I said. “Are you and Mike …?”

  “What? No! No, nothing like that. I mean he deserves it.”

  “The job?”

  “No, not the job.” Her blue-gray eyes widened. “Oh, shit. Dono didn’t tell you.”

  There was a hell of a lot Dono hadn’t had the chance to tell me. I had the feeling Luce was about to add a new entry.

  “Shit.” Luce turned away and stared down the street. I waited her out, just watching the wind catch her hair and twist it into ropes, letting it fall and picking it up again.

  When she turned back, her face was tight. “I really don’t want this. You shouldn’t be hearing it from me.”

  “It’s the bar,” I said. “Dono’s leaving it to Mike.”

  “You knew?”

  I shrugged. “Dono’s lawyer told me that Dono was looking to change the terms of his will. When you got all mama-grizzly about Mike, I put it together.”

  It felt right. After ten years Dono had asked me to come back, to break the news to me in person. I never wanted a dime from the old man. The bar would mean more to Mike.

  “When did Dono tell you?” I said.

  “Last Saturday night. He came to the bar to see me.”

  The night before he was shot.

  Luce hugged herself tighter. “Dono told me he was going to sign over his half of the bar to Mike.”

  “Did he tell you why? And why now?”

  “He just said that he’d gotten what he wanted out of the bar.” She looked embarrassed, like she was telling me gossip. “That Mike and I had proven ourselves.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m glad Mike was around.”

  “You know what Dono was like. Smooth as glass on the surface ninety-eight percent of the time.”

  “It was the two percent that I couldn’t live with. Go on. He told you that you’d proven yourself. What did he leave you?”

  She took a breath. “Selling rights.”

  When Dono and Luce’s Uncle Albie had bought the Morgen twenty-five years ago, the deal was that Albie would run the place and they’d split the profits—Albie earning a little extra juice from the cash that Dono laundered through the bar’s registers.

  But Dono had retained control over all major decisions, including first rights of refusal on Albie’s share for the same amount that Albie had put into the place. Which was next to nothing.

  So Albie got a decent living, and Dono got control. Which he was willing to pass on to Luce. She would run things and split whatever profits she could make with Mike.

  “He really did trust you,” I said.

  Luce’s eyes welled up, and she started to walk again. I stayed at her side as we made our way along the brick road that ran parallel to the market stalls. The stalls were empty, but the lights above them shone twenty-four hours a day. All the vendors had packed away their candles and paintings and wooden spoons at dusk.

  “I’ve been working at the Morgen one way or another since I was fifteen. Legal or not,” Luce said after we’d gone a hundred yards, out of the market and onto the smooth black surface of paved streets again. “I made that damn place. When Albie died, I got offers from every shitty little development company around. They didn’t know that Dono held the controlling interest. I figured out that if they were offering a twenty-one-year-old kid what sounded like a good price for the business permits and licenses, then the real value had to be huge.”

  “Hard to get those.”

  “Damn right. The economy’s crap right now, but the lease has another thirty years on it. If we waited and built it up—maybe eight or ten more years—we could clear seven figures. I saw that future, plain as day. Albie never did.” She shook her head. “And I don’t think Dono had either. But he agreed with me.”

  “He’s not sentimental. Not about owning things.”

  “Me neither. I don’t want to be still pulling drinks when I’m sixty, shackled to that place.”

  “Like Albie?”

  “Exactly like Albie. You know how he died?”

  “Heart attack, Mike said.”

  “Mike doesn’t know the whole story. Albie had that heart attack in a county holding pen. He’d been arrested the night before, trying to run away—literally running from the cops—after breaking into a jewelry exchange.”

  She was crying now. Eyes fixed on the street ahead, she gritted her teeth against the old pain.

  “Trying to earn an extra few bucks. Or relive past glories. Shit, I don’t know what Albie was thinking. He never got the chance to tell me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too, damn it. And the bar is yours now, and all the joy that comes with it. If you want to sell out, I won’t kick at it. I’ve had enough.”

  “Dono’s not dead, Luce.”

  “But he’s probably not signing papers anytime soon either. Oh, fuck.” She wiped at her cheeks angrily. “I’m sorry. Shit, I am sorry, Van. That was cruel. I’ve been on a roller coaster these last few days. Saturday night after Dono told me, I was bouncing off the stars I was so happy. Now …”

  “Shut up for a second,” I said. Luce looked up, startled. A teardrop clung to her lower eyelash. I reached out and brushed it off with my thumb.

  “I figured Dono had changed his will years ago,” I said. “I didn’t come home for the damn bar.”

  “I know, but now …”

  “I never expected to inherit anything. If Dono wants to give Mike his share and hand you the steering wheel, I’ve got no problem.”

  “And you don’t want anything in return.” Her strong jaw lifted again, ready for the blow. Not a woman used to hearing good news.

  “I do want something. I want a straight answer.”

  “About?”

  “Has Dono been laundering money
through the Morgen? I don’t mean the usual spare change. I mean has he suddenly started pushing money through as fast as the books can stand?”

  Luce looked as surprised as if I’d suddenly sprouted wings. “Through the Morgen? No. God, he hasn’t done that in a couple of years.”

  “Not at all?”

  “Not since I proved we could turn a profit without it. He knew I never liked the Morgen being a front, even if it had been Dono’s deal with Albie. I didn’t push it. But one day I realized he hadn’t handed me the usual stack of cash to enter into the accounts in weeks. And he never did again. I didn’t ask why. I guessed he was handling whatever money he needed through his contracting work.”

  “So the Morgen is legit?”

  “As legit as I can make it.”

  If Dono wasn’t floating cash through the Morgen, maybe he hadn’t fenced any of the diamonds yet. He’d renegotiated his deal with Ondine to hold on to the stones. Maybe that was his long-term plan, squirrel them all away until the heat was off.

  Luce and I went back to walking, turning onto Virginia, leaning into the steep slope. A slower pace, both of us lost in thought. The wind coming off the water was blunted by the office buildings around us, but we could hear it, rushing like rivers through the cross streets.

  Luce took my arm. “Do you like it in the army?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m good at it. And I’m needed.”

  Her eyes moved over the left side of my face as we walked. Not the embarrassed flicker of most people’s glances at the scars. She was taking a hard look.

  “Are you in for life?” she asked.

  “I haven’t found anything better.” My call with Unser came to mind, and I shoved the memory down. My career might be circling the drain, but it wasn’t anything I could fix right this minute.

  “I read that the war is winding down,” Luce said. “What? What’s that smile?”

  “There’s always a war somewhere,” I said. “Not always a big one, and not all of them make the news. Some guys go into private contracting after they sign out.”

  “So there’s always work for you.”

  “Pretty much. Though I can’t see myself bodyguarding some oil prince.”

  Luce grinned. “You’d look good in a tuxedo and sunglasses. Talking into your sleeve.”

  “Ouch.”

  Her face suddenly became serious. “How much longer are you in town?”

  “Five days.”

  “Then we shouldn’t waste time,” she said, turning to me.

  I leaned in and kissed her. She was a tall girl, and neither of us had to strain to meet in the middle. For a long moment, it was only our lips touching, testing. Then she pressed against me, and I held on to her, and she held me just as tightly as we continued to kiss. She smelled like jasmine.

  My cell phone rang. And vibrated. We both jumped a little at it, and there was nothing to do but answer the fucking thing.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “I got a name.” Jimmy Corcoran. Just about the worst mood killer I could imagine.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Julian Formes. A real pro with listening devices and that crap, not bad with B&E either.”

  “I already know that.”

  “I’m just saying, that’s his rep. He just got up from his second fall at Walla Walla a few months ago, so he’s in town. And icing on the fucking cake, he matches the description you gave me. Well, what little you saw after he clocked you.” Corcoran chuckled. “Pint-size, white hair. He’s our guy.”

  “How’d you find him?”

  “’Cause I’m a certified genius, that’s how. I figured Formes would be scanning through all those hours and hours of recordings sitting in a chair in his nice comfy home, wherever it was. I found the cell site that caught most of his calls and all the base stations passing the signal from apartment buildings nearby. His name jumped right out at me off the list of residents. Abracadabra.”

  “So where is he?”

  “Pioneer Square, kid. Pendleton Court Apartments. He must know his shit, ’cause I wouldn’t mind living at that address myself.”

  “I’ll find it.”

  “You’re fucking welcome. Give the little turd a kick in the ass from me.”

  I hung up.

  “Who was that?” said Luce.

  “Someone with good news.”

  “Your expression didn’t say good news. It said, ‘I’m thinking about crushing this phone.’”

  “It might not be good news for other people.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, it’s fair to say the tender moment has passed. You want to walk me back home?”

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” she said. “You get what you get, and you don’t get upset.”

  I smiled. “That’s one of Dono’s.”

  “Yes it is,” she said.

  AGE SEVENTEEN

  “You two screwed like weasels,” Davey said around a mouthful of french fries. “Admit it.”

  I was laughing so hard I almost fell off of the rusty hood of Davey’s Corolla. “We didn’t,” I said.

  We were in the parking lot of Dick’s Drive-In on Forty-fifth, leaning back against the windshield of the Corolla and eating cheeseburger combo meals. Or Davey was eating. I was trying to catch my breath.

  Davey liked to fill his paper container of fries so full of ketchup that it drowned any hint of potatoes. He licked his fingers clean and grinned even wider. “You did. You snuck Eden Adler out of the dance and went into the equipment room and did it right on top of the rolled-up gym mats.”

  “Fuck you, Tolan.” I swung a lazy fist at Davey’s head, and he ducked it. Our clowning was attracting attention from the long line of UW students waiting to place their orders at the window. A couple of the girls had been looking at Davey even before he started needling me about Eden.

  “I swear I can’t figure out why she’s so wet for you,” he pressed. “Is it the lapsed-Catholic thing? Yeah. Eden knows you and your granddad never go to Mass. She’s trying to lure you into renouncing the true faith and putting on a beanie.”

  I flicked one of my fries at him, and it bounced off the center of his treasured vintage Clash T-shirt.

  “Hey!” he said.

  I grinned. “I can’t lapse if I never started.”

  “You’ll be speaking Hebe by Saturday,” Davey insisted.

  We had beaten the dinner rush at Dick’s. Sundown had brought a wave of students from across the freeway, nearer the campus. You could tell the difference between the ones from the dorms and those from the fraternities and sororities by how they arrived. The dorm rats were on foot, the Greeks piled into cars.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  Davey checked his battered Timex. It had been his dad’s watch, back when old Joe Tolan was still spending any time with the family. “Six-fifteen,” he said. “What time’s tip-off?”

  “Seven-oh-five. Close enough. Let’s go.”

  We got off the hood, and I tossed my bag of trash to Davey. He walked over to put it into one of the plastic garbage bins at the corner of the restaurant. I could tell that Davey was feeling full-on rock star tonight, in his favorite shirt and black jeans and battered Doc Martens. He took the long way around, so he could walk parallel to the customer line and get a closer look at the sorority girls. None of them were as hot as Eden Adler.

  On the way back, Davey slowed and smiled with full wattage at a petite blonde. She pretended to ignore him while watching out of the corner of her eye as he loped back to the Corolla. A tall jock in a U-Dub volleyball sweatshirt was standing next to the girl, not quite close enough to claim ownership. He scowled at Davey.

  “You drive,” I said to Davey, and we got into the Corolla.

  “You see that girl?” he said, his eyes still on her as he pulled out of the lot and turned east.

  “I saw her boyfriend ready to kick your ass.”

  “Shit,” he said. “You got my back. What’s the planley, Stanley? Y
ou want to go around back?”

  I shook my head. “Too much security right now. The valets will wonder why anyone’s leaving the lot this early. Hit the main parking lot by the stadium.”

  Davey made a face. “Ain’t much there there, man.”

  “We’ll find something. This isn’t a custom order, just Frankenstein.”

  “What the hell’s that?”

  “Parts work. We dig up what we can.”

  He grunted. “Dono call it that?”

  “Dono doesn’t call it anything.”

  “’Cause you don’t tell him.” Davey was fumbling in his jacket pocket for something. I reached over and steadied the wheel as we half drove, half coasted down the long viaduct toward Montlake Boulevard and the university parking lots.

  “He doesn’t tell me everything he does, either,” I said.

  Davey laughed. “I’m sure he’d see it that way. Real understanding.” He pulled a joint and a plastic lighter out of a partly crumpled cigarette box.

  “Save it,” I said.

  “It’s cool. I’m just staying slick.”

  “You’re greasy enough. Take the back entrance, here.”

  “You’re the only one doing real work tonight,” Davey said, but he put the joint back in the box.

  We pulled in to the parking lot and stopped at the gate. I handed Davey ten bucks, and he handed it to a guy in a shiny orange safety vest. The gate guy waved us toward another guy standing eighty yards in, who was motioning with lighted flashlight wands toward the nearest open parking lane.

  The gate was the far side of Husky Stadium, maybe a quarter mile from the Hec Edmundson Pavilion, where the women’s basketball game was being held tonight. The Huskies were doing well this season. Better than the men’s team by a wide margin, and the lot was crowded. Two, maybe two and a half thousand cars.

  It was cold. One of the reasons that basketball games made for good targets. Nobody wanted to stand around outside. Fans hurried from their cars toward Hec Ed, toting seat cushions and backpacks. We cruised slowly along the lanes, toward the impatiently gesturing flashlight guy.