3 A Brewski for the Old Man

by Phyllis Smallman

The pickup was turning into an oven with the air conditioning off so I stepped out of the cab, dragging my bag behind me and slamming the door closed with my foot.

  “I saw him. That kind of definition doesn’t come from just working out. Also I heard a rumor that he was sexually…well, pretty active. There was more than just Lacey’s and Rena’s name on his dance card. Man his age, he’s going to need a little help to keep that up, if you know what I mean.”

  “Men our age may not have lost as much energy as you might think, if you know what I mean.”

  “I choose to ignore that remark. Did they find any drugs in him?”

  “Goodbye, Ms. Travis.”

  “Wait. Have you found other women that he was involved with?”

  “Goodbye,” he answered and hung up.

  “Shit.” I slammed the cell phone closed and tossed it in my bag. What would it hurt the man to share a little — wasn’t I always telling him things, keeping in touch? I’d forgotten to ask him about Uncle Zig. I stopped at the door to the hospital and dug out the phone to call Styles back.

  “What?”

  “Have you forgotten how to say hello? I pay your taxes, remember? You have to be nice to me.”

  “I repeat, what do you want, Ms. Travis?”

  “My Uncle Zig.” I told him what had happened.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’ll check for you, although it may take me a bit to get to it, too many curious people calling me and asking questions that are none of their business. I’ll call you later and let you know what I find out. Or I could drop by the Sunset and have dinner with you. That’s a good idea. I’ll tell you about the fire over dinner.” “For which I’ll pay?”

  “Hey, you own the joint, right?”

  “It ain’t no joint and I won’t own it if every freeloader in town expects free meals.” “You want to know or not?”

  “That’s blackmail and yes I want to know. I’ll call you back and let you know if it’s going to work. Oh, and did they find the gun that killed Ray John?”

  He mulled it over before he finally said, “No, goodbye,” and hung up.

  So, if my missing gun killed Ray John, where the hell was it? And could I find it before anyone else? Not likely, since I didn’t know where to begin looking. A gun was a thing that wouldn’t go unnoticed and if it was anywhere easy they’d already have found it.

  “How are you, Uncle Ziggy?”

  He tried a smile. Only one corner of his mouth stretched up. “Had better days.”

  His eyes were glazed, his lips swollen and chapped. He was worse than he’d been in the morning.

  Anger blazed in me, as hot as the one fueled by the gas out in Uncle Ziggy’s junkyard. People who likely thought of themselves as fine upstanding members of society had done this to him or paid someone else to do it. Like Tully said, sooner or later his neighbors would have shoved him out by legal means but they couldn’t wait. The neighbors who wanted him gone or a developer who coveted his land, someone had been willing to cause pain like this to hurry up a process that was inevitable.

  Uncle Ziggy’s attempt at another smile wasn’t pretty. “Your dad is coming to spring me.”

  “What?”

  “Want to go home.”

  “It’s too soon.”

  He gave a harsh dry laugh, painful for us both. “Never could be too early to get out of here. ’Sides, no insurance.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out to your dad’s”

  “Bad idea. He’d make a horrible nurse and think of the germs.”

  He blew air out through his lips. “I’m immune.” Probably true; after all, he lived on a trash heap. “When you’re ready to go, you’re coming home with me.” I held up a finger to stop the excitement lighting his face. “But not until all chance of infection is over and the doctors say you can go. This is a stupid time to try saving money.” Besides, it would give me a little time to let me figure out how to tell Clay I’d turned his luxury penthouse into a flophouse. At least Lacey’s leaving had freed up a room.

  This good idea came with another complication. I’d always kept my life with Clay separate from my life before Clay, kept my various strange relatives well hidden. Neither Zig nor my dad had ever been in the penthouse; they hadn’t even met Clay. I didn’t try to fool myself. Bringing in Zig would mean that Tully came too. The sealed compartments of my life were starting to leak secrets — one more thing to worry about.

  Uncle Ziggy gave me another weird little smile. “Thanks, honey.”

  Piss on it! Clay could to take all of us or none of us.

  When I left the hospital, rain was pouring down. I was soaked by the time I reached the truck and at the exit to the parking lot the catch basin had filled up with debris, creating a small pond. I went through it carefully to avoid flooding the engine and headed for Blossom Avenue.

  By the time I got to Rena’s the sun was shining again. Love this place…it never gets boring.

  When Rena opened the door I could see there was no sense asking how she was. Her misery was only too clear and there was a shocking anger on her face as if she might reach out and strike me. She pulled the pink bathrobe tighter across her chest and held it there with her arms. “I was hoping it was the police,” she said. “I haven’t heard a thing.” She stepped aside for me to come in and slammed the door shut behind me.

  “It hasn’t been all that long. Besides, maybe they won’t tell you anything until they arrest someone. ”

  She spun away from me, her bare feet making slapping noises on the faux wood floor, and marched into the long narrow living area along the front of the house. I followed her cautiously. The furniture was sparse and lined up against the wall like a waiting room in a clinic rather than a home. “Is there anything I can do?” I asked.

  She whirled around. “You really don’t get it, do you?” “Get what?”

  “We were fine until you got involved. Now RJ is dead and our lives are destroyed, all because you stuck your nose into something that was none of your business. You’re responsible.”

  “Now wait a minute…”

  “No, you listen to me. I’ve heard the stories about you.

  Why they let you walk around I’ll never know. You’re like some Typhoid Mary. Death just follows you.”

  I said, “You know that isn’t true.” I so wasn’t to blame for any of this, except I provided the gun and transportation to the murder scene — best not to share that with Rena.

  She wasn’t giving up. “Somehow you caused it.” Rena headed for a corduroy recliner, the only piece of furniture in the room that wasn’t new and pristine. She flopped backwards into it, pushing out the foot rest and crossing her ankles and arms. Glaring at me, she muttered, “I wish I’d never met you.”

  “Hi.” I jumped.

  “Sorry,” Lacey said, putting her hand on my arm and patting it.

  “I don’t want you talking to her,” Rena shouted, pushing the lever forward and vaulting out of the chair. “Stay away from her, Lacey, or you could be the next person to die.”

  “Mom, you’re just being ridiculous.” Lacey took me by the sleeve and dragged me down the hall to the first door on the left, pulled me inside and shut the door, pushing a chair under the knob behind her. The room was all bubble-gum pink and frothy and meant for a pre-teen. Nothing in the room spoke of Lacey, no teen posters, no overloaded bulletin board, and no pictures of friends or family.

  “She’s flipped,” Lacey said. “If I have to listen to any more of this wonderful RJ shit I’m going to hurl. She just goes on and on.”

  “Have you told her what Ray John did to you?”

  “I told her the last night I spent at your apartment, the night RJ died. I told her on the phone. She didn’t believe me. I can’t bring it up again; she’s suffered enough. I just want to forget it.”

  “That won’t do you any good.”

  “I’m fine.”

  I shook my head. “It’s going to come out. Styles knows what Ray John
did to you, he’s going to get into it.”

  She bit down on her lip.

  “Hasn’t Styles asked you about it?” She nodded.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him what happened to me had nothing to do with RJ’s death.” She ducked her head. “I was at your apartment all night.”

  “He knows one of us went out to the Preserves and it sure as hell wasn’t Marley or me.”

  Her head shot up, panic on her face. Her tongue flicked across her bottom lip. She started to say something but went silent and looked away.

  “Where’s my gun, Lacey?”

  “What gun?”

  “The gun that was on the counter with my keys.”

  “How should I know?”

  “Because you took it with you when you stole my pickup. If you took the keys, you took the Beretta. The question is, where is it now?”

  I raised my hand to stop her denial. “Marley knows you left the apartment and the pickup was seen out at the Preserves. A guard saw the truck leave the rec hall just before he found Ray John’s body.”

  “Get out of my house,” Rena yelled, banging on the door.

  “I’ve called the police. They’re on their way.”

  “Where’s the gun, Lacey?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Rena was kicking and banging at the door, yelling at me so I could hardly think, but I needed to know one more thing. “Did you use my gun to kill Ray John, Lacey?”

  “No.”

  Her hesitation was gone now and I almost believed her. The pounding at the door went to a new level. Rena was using something heavy, trying to break through the door.

  Lacey reached out and took my arms, hissing, “I didn’t kill him.”

  I shook her arms off me and Lacey sank back onto the bed. “Please believe me.”

  “When you went out to the Preserves, you went inside with the gun, right?”

  She worried her lip and then she nodded. “Did you use it?”

  “No.” She shook her head wildly in denial. “No.”

  “The police are coming,” Rena yelled through the door.

  “What happened to the gun?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you have the gun when you left the building?”

  “No. Right, yes. I don’t know. I…”

  “Get away from my daughter,” Rena screamed. “I don’t want you talking to her.” She punctuated her words with another blow to door. There was a loud cracking noise.

  “I’m going,” I yelled to the madwoman. I pointed a finger down at Lacey. “But you better call me with details.”

  Hunched over in misery and hugging herself, Lacey nodded her head in agreement.

  I opened the door and Rena fell into the room, her momentum taking her over to the bed where Lacey sat.

  “Great. This is a good time for a mother and daughter chat,” I said. “Tell your mother all about it or I will, Lacey.” I headed for the front door, righteous indignation propelling me along at a trot. Then again I wanted to be gone before any police cars showed up. I didn’t go far, just around the block before I pulled over to the curb and started searching the truck. If I found the gun and turned it in I was sure it would go a whole lot better for me. I searched everywhere — under the seats, behind the seats, glove compartment and every possible combination; it wasn’t there. No gun. I called Lacey.

  “It isn’t in the truck,” I told her. “I want to know everything that happened and I want to know it now. You took the gun into the building, right?”

  She hesitated, trying to find a way out, but finally she whispered, “Yes. The gun was under the bar. I took it with me in case...I took it with me.”

  “Did you take it out of the truck?”

  “Yes,” barely audible but an affirmation.

  “Did you take it into the building?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you bring it out of the building?” I could hear her tattered sobs but my sympathy was all used up. It was my own ass I was worried about now. “What did you do with it?”

  “I just don’t remember what I did,” she choked out.

  She was lying. I knew that. But what was she lying about.

  “Did you shoot Ray John? Surely, you remember that?”

  “No, you have to believe me. I didn’t kill him.” Before my mouth opened to tell her it was a jury she had to worry about, my brain flashed on a picture of her bandaged arm. I didn’t want to push her over an edge she was already teetering on. “Have you talked to your mother?”

  “She won’t listen. I tried again but she got up and left the room. She went into her bedroom and closed the door.” More sobbing before she choked out, “I think she hates me.”

  I took a deep breath and said, “That isn’t true. Your mom is upset and not thinking straight. She has to deal with Ray John’s death and also with what he did to you. Sooner or later she’s going to have to deal with that; at the moment she’s in shock and denying the whole thing. But it’s you I’m worried about. Lacey, you have to promise me you won’t do anything foolish, promise?” I waited. “Lacey?”

  At last it came. “Okay.” The words were faint and the commitment was weak.

  “No cutting. Promise?”

  “Yes.”

  But could I believe her? In the distance came to the sound of a siren. I shivered in the hot sun.

  Back at the Sunset things didn’t get better. I parked in the alley and was coming out into the sun as Skip was lifting his trunk lid. Something in his body language told me to pay attention, told me he was up to something he didn’t want seen. I stayed in the shadows and then quietly walked forward as he bent and took two bottles out of his rolled-up jacket and tucked them away in the trunk, shoving them deep in the corner under some beach towels.

  “What’s this?” I asked, but I knew exactly what it was. It was the same old, same old.

  He started at my voice and swung to face me with the look of a husband caught with a pack of Trojans by a wife who’d had a hysterectomy. “Nothing, nothing,” he said.

  I lifted the towels off a bottle of Canadian Club and a bottle of Glenlivet. “We don’t give out samples, Skip.”

  “I…I…just…I was borrowing a couple of bottles. I’ll pay you back.”

  “Too right, you will,” I told him. I pointed at the bottles.

  “Bring them.” I headed for the door. He’d picked a really bad day for this.

  C H A P T E R 3 0

  Thirteen minutes later, Skip left without his back pay. I figured he’d probably stolen more than that from me already. He was just lucky I hadn’t turned him over to Miguel. Miguel would have diced him and sliced him and deep-fried him for lunch. Nobody messed with me with Miguel around.

  So there I was, working the bar until I could replace Skip. I needed to do that fast, but I’d already spent an hour calling people without any luck. Something told me I wasn’t going to have a whole lot of time to spend at the Sunset over the next few weeks. Until someone new came along, I was it. But being behind the bar wasn’t really a hardship for me. I love bars, the easy companionship and the quick exchanges. Nobody comes into a bar who doesn’t want to be there.

  Styles came in about eight. After I told Styles about Skip, I filled him in on Rena and her belief that I was responsible for Ray John’s death, “She’s crazy with grief.” What I didn’t tell him was Lacey had driven out to the Preserves in my truck, taking along my gun. I intended to tell him everything but somehow I just couldn’t get it out. Blame it on pulling pints and mixing margaritas. It’s hard to start a serious conversation over a blender.

  “I have to interview mother and daughter again tomorrow,”

  Styles said, watching the beer he was sloshing around in his glass. This wasn’t the Styles I knew, capable and in charge. This guy was going through the motions and just putting one foot in front of the other. A wrecked love life can do that to you.

  “Are you going to tell Rena about the
abuse?”

  “Yup.”

  “Maybe you can make her believe it. She won’t listen to anything I have to say and doesn’t believe Lacey.”

  “We’ve found two other mothers with daughters. You aren’t the only one she has to believe.” “And no one did anything?”

  He gave me a look that made me sorry I’d asked. A guy down the bar was waving his glass at me. I set a menu down in front of Styles and went to fill some orders.

  When I came back he told me about Uncle Ziggy. “That fire was set all right. He tried to stop them and got hit. My bet is our arsonists are already over the border into Georgia and headed north.”

  “So you don’t think they’re going to be caught?”

  “Nope. They likely came down here to do the job, collected their money and left within the hour.”

  “Uncle Ziggy told you they had Ohio plates?”

  “Yeah, that’s why I figure they’ve left Florida.” He pushed his half-finished glass away. “Bad guys who’ve moved on.” “So no way of knowing who paid them?” He lifted his shoulders. “We’ll keep looking but there’s not much to go on.”

  A red flash went off in my head. I threw down the bar cloth I was holding and signaled Maxine that I was taking a time-out. I was so mad that I’d probably kill someone if I stayed.

  Tears running down my cheeks, I went past the restrooms and out the exit door at the end of the hall. I looped the chain that hangs from the door handle over the railing so the door wouldn’t automatically close and lock me out on the steel grating over the alley. I stood there and swore into the night.

  If I’d known where to find those guys, even if it was a thousand miles away, I’d have taken a gun, got in my truck and gone to find them. The injustice of this happening to Uncle Zig and no one ever paying was making me crazy. I don’t know, but it seemed that people like us just never win, never catch a break. Man, but I wanted to kill someone. Marley was right, I shouldn’t have a weapon. My self-control was almost non-existent. And then there was Rena. Being blamed for something I didn’t do already had me burning without this.

  “You all right?” Styles moved through the light spilling out from hall to the shadows beyond.