The Bar Watcher

by Dorien Grey

  In a way, it’s almost like music. A lot of the guys I’ve been with—most, probably—are TV commercial jingles, pleasant enough the first time, but one time is generally enough. Then there’s the very rare type like Jared—a personification of the closing bars of the 1812 Overture—all cannons and fireworks and huge bells tolling and purely exciting and purely fantastic. Troy, from Rage, was like a good disco beat—lots of fun to dance to and always enjoyable, but you couldn’t picture being around it twenty-four hours a day. Toby? One of those songs you seldom hear that for some reason intrigues and moves you, and you can’t figure out why.

  And Terry. Hard to pin down. A blend of old favorites and movie themes and an odd sense of ragtime and Sousa marches. Comfortable, like Toby, but somehow more—what, familiar?

  And then I realized Terry, although they looked nothing at all alike, reminded me very much of Chris, my ex.

  Here we go again.

  Anyway, we spent the night at my place. Saturday morning I made what Chris used to call a “Hardesty No-Fault Breakfast”—coffee, toast, orange juice, bacon and scrambled eggs, and we ended up spending most of the day together, just bumming around. There was a street fair not too far from where he lived, so we went and wandered around, looking at the various artworks and crafts for sale and admiring the two-legged eye candy. Very pleasant day.

  He had a company retirement dinner to go to that evening, but we exchanged numbers and promises to call. I went home feeling not the least bit guilty about not having stuck by my resolve not to let pleasure interfere with business, but very glad I’d gone to the Cave.

  *

  Just as I was starting dinner, the phone rang—it was Terry, just on his way to his banquet, telling me he’d enjoyed our day together and hoping we could see each other again sometime. I echoed his sentiment and suggested perhaps we could have dinner some night later in the week. He agreed, and I told him I’d call him Tuesday or Wednesday. I wondered, as I hung up, if he was just being a nice guy, or if maybe there might be a little interest there…or maybe both? We’d see.

  I really didn’t feel like making another bar tour that night but didn’t want to stay home, either. So, I decided to stop in at Ramón’s and maybe talk with Bob for a while. Now that he was dating Mario, we didn’t see as much of one another as we had previously, which was totally understandable.

  I got to Ramón’s around 10:00, and the place was typically weekend-crowded; both Bob and Jimmy were working the bar. There was one stool empty at the far end of the bar, and I zigzagged through the crowd to reach it. Jimmy, busy pouring drinks, saw me and gave a quick heads-up greeting, which I returned with a small wave.

  Bob was too busy to even notice me, which of course I should have expected even before I left the apartment. I play some rather stupid games with myself at times.

  After a few minutes, Jimmy came by for my drink order.

  “Too bad you weren’t here last night,” he said as he scooped some ice into a glass and reached for the bourbon.

  “Oh? I missed something?”

  Jimmy nodded, not looking up.

  “Your buddy Jared. He can be one scary dude when he’s a mind to,” he said. He put the drink on a napkin in front of me, and took my money.

  “What happened?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  “Tell you as soon as the rush dies down,” Jimmy said, moving to the cash register.

  I knew Jared had a temper, and wondered what had apparently triggered it.

  A couple guys I knew stopped by to say hi, and I waved at a couple more, but I really wasn’t in the mood for any serious cruising—which came as quite a surprise to my crotch.

  You’re gettin’ old, Hardesty, it whispered sarcastically.

  Jeezus, how many people do you know who have conversations with their crotch?

  Jimmy found his way back to my end of the bar during a momentary lull—even Bob found a second to look my way and wave.

  “So, what happened?” I asked.

  “The place was packed last night,” he said, opening the beer cooler beneath the bar directly in front of me to check the supply. “Jared came in fairly early, and everything was pretty normal, when these three guys came in and came up to the bar next to him. I was working this end of the bar, so I caught most of what went on.

  “They were having a good time, checking out the merchandise, and one of them spotted a guy over there against the wall.” He nodded to an area in the vicinity of the jukebox. “‘Jeez, look at that freak!’ he said.

  “The guy he was talking about comes in every now and then. Nice guy when you get to know him. He has multiple sclerosis or cerebral palsy or something like that, and he has a hard time controlling his arms sometimes.”

  A customer signaled for service, and Jimmy went over to take his order. I was getting that familiar mildly queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was pretty sure I knew where Jimmy’s story was going, and I was damned sure I wasn’t going to like it.

  Jimmy took the guy’s money, rang it up, handed him his change then went past me out from behind the bar to the storeroom. A minute later, he came back with a case of beer, which he opened and began to put into the cooler in front of me.

  “Anyway,” he said, picking up his story, “I saw Jared give the guy a really dirty look, but he didn’t say anything. The guy didn’t take the hint. ‘What do you suppose is wrong with him?’ he asked his buddies, referring to the guy against the wall. His two friends tried to ignore him, but he kept it up. ‘What a total spaz!’ he said, laughing. His buddies didn’t join in, and by now Jared was staring at him, hard.

  “The guy against the wall was holding on to a beer, and his hand was shaking, and some of the beer sloshed out. The loudmouth thought that was really funny. ‘Look at that guy,’ he said again.

  “At that point, Jared stood up, tapped the loudmouth on the shoulder, and said, very calmly, ‘What the fuck is wrong with you, you stupid son of a bitch? The guy can’t help it. Drop it.’”

  Another customer call drew Jimmy away again, and I sat there imagining the scene. I finished my drink and set it at the far edge of the bar for a refill. Jimmy came over to take the glass, put it in the sink, and grab a new one. When he came back, he said, “Sorry…where was I? Oh, yeah. So, as you know, Jared’s a pretty imposing hunk of man, and when he stood up he towered over the three guys. They all looked pretty impressed, and the loudmouth got real serious real fast.

  “‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m really sorry. I guess I can be a little insensitive at times.’ Jared just nodded and sat back down. A minute or so later, he ordered a drink and got up to go to the bathroom.

  “The three guys had been pretty quiet since the encounter, and the loudmouth said, very seriously, ‘You know, that guy was right. I really should be more considerate. I think I’ll go over and talk to that guy.’ One of his buddies shook his head and said ‘Bill, I don’t think that’s a very good idea. Just leave it alone.’ But the loudmouth said, ‘No, no, I’ve got to start being more thoughtful of my fellow man,’ and he picked up his drink and went across the bar.

  “When Jared came back he sat down, then looked around and, seeing the loudmouth talking to the guy against the wall, started to get back up again, but one of the loudmouth’s buddies stopped him. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Bill just went over to apologize.’ Jared looked suspicious but sat back down. He kept looking into the mirror to make sure the loudmouth wasn’t pulling something, but he and the other guy were just talking.”

  Yet another customer call pulled Jimmy away again. I found myself so totally absorbed in the story I’d become completely oblivious to anything else going on around me. I don’t think I even heard the jukebox, which is pretty hard to miss in a gay bar on a busy Saturday night. I knew there was more to come, and I found myself wishing he’d hurry the hell up and get back to tell me the rest of it.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Jimmy found his way back to me.

  “So,” he said,
“all goes well for maybe twenty minutes, with the loudmouth, Bill whoever, talking to the guy against the wall. Jared got up again for another bathroom call, and this Bill character, glancing over and seeing Jared gone, drags the guy he’s talking to over to the bar and his buddies. I had a really bad feeling about it, so I tried to keep as close to them as I could.

  “‘Ted, Eric, I’d like you to meet Marshall,’ this Bill guy says, very polite. The two guys shook hands with Marshall.

  “And then that fucking asshole did it. ‘His name is Marshall,’ he says, all serious, ‘but I think we should call him Mr. Jiggles. Mr. Jiggles actually thinks he and I are going to go home together.’ He burst out laughing, and his two friends just stood there looking shocked. This Bill turns to poor Marshall, who is suddenly pale as a ghost, and says ‘Well, you can go back to your wall, now, Mr. Jiggles. It’s been very nice talking with you. And try not to spill your beer all over the room on your way.’ And he started laughing again.

  “I was about ready to hop over the bar, but then I noticed Jared had come up behind him. His two friends saw Jared, and their eyes got wide, and then this Bill guy turns around, and Jared reaches out with one hand, grabs him by the neck and lifts him off the floor.

  “Now, this Bill must weigh one-sixty-five, but Jared picks him up like he’s a broomstick. He could have snapped the guy’s neck like a number two pencil, and I thought he just might do that, right there in front of everybody. Instead, he turns, Bill’s feet still off the floor, swings him around like a rag doll and starts with him toward the door.

  “The whole bar went deathly quiet, everyone sort of frozen in mid-motion, except for the guys in Jared’s way, who just backed away without a word as he came through, holding this guy at arm’s-length like he’s taking out a load of dirty diapers.

  “And all the time he’s talking to him real calm. ‘You’re a funny man, aren’t you…Bill, is it? Really, really funny, Bill. And here’s a joke I really hope you’ll remember, Bill—if I ever see you again, and I do mean ever, anywhere, any time, you will be very, very, very sorry. So if you see me first, I suggest you start running. It won’t do you any good, but you can try. Do we understand one another, Bill?’

  “Bill couldn’t talk with Jared’s hand around his throat, so Jared just moved his wrist, making the guy’s head nod. Somebody standing by the door opened it and held it open as Jared stopped just inside the doorway and flicked the guy out into the street, slamming him into a car at the curb. ‘Goodnight, Bill,’ he says, and turns around and goes back to his seat.

  “The whole place went up, with everybody applauding and cheering and slapping Jared on the back. Bill’s two buddies just sort of disappeared, and Jared bought Marshall a drink and left.” Jimmy grinned from ear to ear. “Boy, you couldn’t pay to see a show like that!”

  While I was deeply impressed by Jared’s action, and proud of him for standing up for someone being mistreated, I had an overlying, indescribable sense of dread. If the bar watcher had been there…

  And then I felt a real wave of panic. What if the bar watcher was there? And even more chilling—what if it was Jared?

  *

  I finished my drink and left the bar shortly after hearing Jimmy’s story. I was really troubled by it, and cursed myself for not having picked up a paper on Saturday. Just in case, I turned on the radio on my way home and tuned in to the news station. Nothing there, either, so I allowed myself to relax a little and criticized myself yet again for my tendency to paranoia.

  Jared had a temper, sure, and he was big enough to do just about anything he set his mind to, physically. He’d had that run-in with Comstock—hell, so had I, although I’d stopped short of punching him. He’d been with me at Glitter the night before Richie Smith was found…

  I don’t like where this is going, Hardesty.

  But I couldn’t shut it off. He’d been at the Hilltop the night the queens went over the bluff. He was really pissed when he heard what D’Allesandro had done to John Peterson. And, shit! He was in Venture the night Lynn Barnseth had the fight with George. Last night, he’d been at Ramón’s.

  Relax, Hardesty, relax! You’re getting way too paranoid over all this.

  What were the chances the bar watcher would have been in that one particular bar on that one particular night? Pretty damned remote! Unless…

  “Okay,” I said aloud, “drop it!”

  Well, at least that “Bill character,” as Jimmy had called him, was still alive.

  For the moment, my mind said.

  *

  I didn’t sleep all that well Saturday night, and was up by seven. The Sunday paper was outside the custodian’s closet, as always, and I brought it in to read with my coffee. I cursed myself for not having it delivered every day, but I’d grown so accustomed to picking one up on my way in to the office…

  Of course, that meant I usually missed Saturday’s paper, and Saturday’s was the one I most wanted to see. Press time, I knew, was two a.m., so there was an outside chance that if anything had happened late on Friday night, it might have happened too late to make Saturday’s deadline. And by Sunday, whatever might have happed Friday night would be old news.

  I hadn’t even listened to the news on Saturday except in the car on my way home from Ramón’s. Stupid, Hardesty, stupid!

  Not much chance of there being anything new, but I automatically turned to page three, where last-minute local news usually showed up. A domestic shooting, an apartment house fire, a bunch of teenagers injured when their van rolled on the way home from a beer party, a hit-and-run…

  A hit-and-run?

  “Police are investigating the hit-and-run death of William Hinson, 23, that occurred shortly after midnight Friday. The vehicle involved was found abandoned six blocks away…”

  Chapter 12

  Lots of Williams in this town, I told myself, trying to stay calm. Lots of Williams. But I didn’t buy it for a minute.

  Nice try, Hardesty.

  I found myself reaching for the phone and dialing Jared’s number without even stopping to think I might be getting him out of bed. Luckily, he answered on the second ring.

  “Jared here.”

  “Jared!” I said, hoping I sounded cheerfully casual. “How’ve you been? I haven’t seen much of you lately.”

  “You heard, obviously,” he said, and I felt a chill down my spine.

  About…?” I asked, not knowing what else to say. If he referred to the hit-and-run…

  “About my little run-in with that creep at Ramón’s Friday night.”

  Some relief, but I still felt uneasy.

  “Yeah, that’s why I called. Sorry I wasn’t there to catch the show. Jimmy thinks he could have sold tickets.”

  “Well, yeah,” Jared said. “That son of a bitch really pissed me off, treating that poor guy the way he did. He’s just lucky I didn’t break his neck right there.”

  “So, who was the guy?” I asked, realizing Jared might know perfectly well what I was getting at. “Did you know him?”

  If he caught it, he didn’t let on, at least not at first.

  “Never saw him before, and plan to keep it that way. His name’s Bill, according to one of his buddies, but—” He suddenly broke off in mid-sentence, and I could almost hear the thoughts falling into place in his head. “Uh, Dick, are you telling me something here? You don’t mean…?”

  He knew.

  “I’m not sure yet, but my gut tells me yes. There was a hit-and-run around midnight Friday night that killed a twenty-three-year old guy named William Hinson. I’m going to have to check it out, but…” I wasn’t quite sure how to phrase what I had to say next, so I just plunged in. “I’m going to ask you something I don’t want you to take the wrong way, but I hope you were out in public somewhere with lots of people around at about midnight.”

  “Oh, shit! Shit!” he said, and I knew exactly what was going through his mind. “No! I left the bar right after that run in—I wasn’t in any mood to stick around
a noisy bar. I went straight home—alone, damn it! Nobody saw me from the time I left the bar.”

  I decided we’d both better step back a pace or two.

  “Let’s not go jumping to conclusions just yet,” I said, hoping I sounded a lot more encouraging than I felt. “Let me check it out first. There are a lot of Williams out there.” It didn’t sound any more convincing when I said it aloud. “But if I’m right that this William was your buddy Bill, I think you can expect a visit from the police.”

  “Shit, Dick! What can I do? I don’t have an alibi—who the hell ever thinks they’re going to need one? And after what I said to the guy when I was throwing him out the door. Everybody in the fucking place heard me, I’m sure. I could be in deep shit.”

  I suddenly realized I was walking on very thin ice here. While I could not believe Jared capable of murder, I’d been wrong about people in the past. If he was the bar watcher, should I be talking to him like this?

  “Uh, Jared,” I said, deciding to go with my instincts, “it might get a lot worse.”

  A pause. “What do you mean? How worse?”

  I told him of my arrangement with Lieutenant Richman, and that he knew quite a bit about the other murders, and that I’d promised not to keep anything from him. There was no way, especially if they did question Jared, that I could not tell him about Jared’s having witnessed many of the incidents that led to the deaths.

  Jared was quiet again for a moment then sighed.

  “Yeah, you’re right, of course. Do what you have to do. But you know I didn’t do it, don’t you Dick?”

  “Yeah, Jared, I know.” And I really, really wanted to believe it. “But we’re way ahead of ourselves here. This hit-and-run could be anybody. Let’s wait and see what happens, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay,” I echoed. “You just hang in there and don’t worry about anything until it happens. Like I said, this could all be nothing. I’ll see what I can find out, and get back to you as soon as I know anything.”