Glory Days

by Irene Peterson

  “Why not?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. There are a million reasons why not. But I don’t want to waste my time thinking about possibilities that may never arise. I’m going to find her father or some relatives and take it from there. Only blood relatives can have any claim on the kid . . . I know that much of the law.”

  Liz glared at him. “And in the meantime?”

  John tapped his fingers on the counter as he appeared to give the matter more thought. “She can stay at my place, work for you and Flo, go to school, try to be happy. What’s wrong with that?”

  How could he be so callous? Didn’t he care? Or was he just being true to his sex? A jerk.

  “Enjoy your breakfast, John,” she said as she left him at the counter. Under her breath, she added if you can.

  John drove the Jeep with both hands on the steering wheel. He had a great deal on his mind.

  “Did you find who you were looking for?”

  He ran his hand over his face, keeping his eyes on the Parkway as they headed north. The sun was out, but the temperature was in the low twenties and great blasts of wind pushed and shoved the Jeep from all sides on the express lane of the toll road.

  After an inordinate amount of time, he answered.

  “Yeah. Only it was an old lady. She lives with her son in Delaware.”

  The kid perked right up. “So, you managed to track her down? How did you do it? Why did you do it?”

  “It’s boring. You don’t have to act like you want to know.”

  “No, I’d like to know how you found this old lady. I really would.”

  He gave her a hard look, suspicious as hell whether her motive was purely one of interest.

  “I work for lawyers, sometimes, locating people named in wills. Most of the time they’re dead already. But sometimes I manage to find them when they’re alive and then they can get the money or whatever they were left in the will. Sometimes, though, somebody wants to get money off of them, like for hospital or doctor bills. I don’t do those cases. Not too often, at least. Sometimes when I need the money I’m forced to. But I don’t like it.”

  “You must be good at finding people.”

  He allowed a tiny smile to quirk up the side of his mouth. “It’s a gift.”

  Carly turned her face to the window. “Are you some kind of psychic or something?”

  John chuckled. “What, you mean like old Madame Marie? Hell, no. Instinct. That’s all I’ve got. And a trained investigator’s knowledge.”

  The kid was like a dog with a bone. “Then how did you find her?”

  “I searched records. I found her name in the town where she’d grown up. From there, I got lucky and found her married name. Then, from there, I located her children or at least two of them, and from there, I found where she’d moved.”

  “Was she glad to see you?”

  He had to think about that. “Suspicious, at first. She’d never known her father. And he’d never even seen her, but somehow, he’d kept an eye on her. I don’t know. Maybe he felt guilty and put her name on an insurance policy. He’s dead and I can’t ask. But she’s going to get a few dollars to help her in her old age. And from some old guy she never knew.”

  Carly ducked her head. “Her father,” she whispered.

  John looked over at her, then back to the road. “Yeah. Her old man. He’d run off on her mother a long time ago. Ida Mae told me that she’d seen a picture of him once. But never seen him. She said her mother wouldn’t talk about him, just said he was a soldier.”

  The tension in her jaw relaxed and Carly slowly uncurled her fingers. “So, he did some good after all, right?”

  “Right. The particulars are a mystery, though, and will remain so. But she’s happy. So that’s good. Sometimes these things make my day. This was one of those times.”

  “Did you ever think that maybe he loved her, maybe that’s why he named her on his insurance?”

  No, he’d never given it any thought. “I have no way of knowing. The mere fact that he named her meant that he knew she’d been born, and knew what her mother had called her. I don’t know, maybe he had contact with the mother and the mother never told the girl. Things like that happen.”

  She pinned him with her eyes. “But maybe he loved her. Maybe something awful happened to keep him away. Maybe he was in a hospital. Or working overseas, somewhere he couldn’t talk to her. Maybe her mother was rotten and deliberately kept them apart.”

  “Look, kiddo, yes, any one of those scenarios is possible. I will never know. My guess is that he was in prison, though I haven’t checked it out. Or maybe the mother chose to live a pretty bad life, on welfare, not asking the guy for money, even though she knew where he lived. It’s possible. All of it is possible. We’ll just never know.

  “But this story had a happy ending. So, you should be glad for Ida Mae and her family.”

  In a tiny voice, she said, “I am.”

  Mrs. Preshin kissed Carly on the cheek in welcome. Her hand went to touch the spot. She’d never had anyone kiss her hello before.

  “We’re not ready yet, dear. Why don’t you go in the living room and meet my grandchildren? I think Jennifer and Lisa are there. The boys—maybe they’re outside working on that old car. Frankie thinks he can get it running. Hah!”

  Mrs. Preshin dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand then went back to the oven. Whatever she was cooking smelled wonderful to Carly. Pots and pans jammed the cramped kitchen and narrow stove. Dishes competed with glassware on the table. Carly straightened the flowered tablecloth, pulling it smooth while adjusting the stacked plates. Mrs. Preshin made a shooing motion.

  “Go out and introduce yourself to the boys.”

  Carly stood, battling her fear of meeting new people, especially boys. Her inner struggle must have shown, because a tall, pretty lady appeared from the hallway and gently grabbed her arm.

  “I’m Gloria, John’s sister. You must be Carly.”

  She nodded.

  “Good. I see my brother has deserted you. So typical. Let me introduce you around, sweetie. I can’t believe he just dumped you here like this.”

  “Uh, he went to the bakery for your mother. He didn’t . . . not exactly. . . .” Carly stumbled over the explanation.

  “Hah! Yeah, right. He could have taken the time to show you around. My brother is an inconsiderate boor.”

  The sun shone with weak February light, but at least it wasn’t raining. Carly heard the ringing bounce of a basketball coming from the driveway and the sound of male voices. Her heartbeat quickened.

  Gloria pulled her along until they came upon the old car and the boys. Boys. About five of them. Carly wished she’d kept her hat on. Her pale blond hair always drew too many eyes in situations like this and she knew it. Why had she washed out the black rinse?

  Gloria shouted, “Frankie, get over here. And bring your disreputable friends with you.”

  First one head shot up from the belly of the car, then another and another. The first one quickly covered his look of annoyance with a grin.

  “Sure, Mom. Anything you say.”

  The boys made their way over to where Gloria stood, gripping Carly’s arm, probably so she wouldn’t run away.

  A chorus of “Hey, Mrs. Barrett,” sounded all around.

  Gloria placed her hand on the shoulder of the young man nearest her. “This is Frankie. Carly Snow, Frankie. Carly’s here with Uncle John.”

  Frankie, tall and dark-haired with greenish blue eyes, gave Carly the once over. His eyes sparkled when he finally greeted her.

  “Hey, Carly.”

  “Hey,” she managed to get out. She felt her face burn and knew it was red to the roots of her hair.

  Gloria relaxed her grip on Carly’s arm. “Well, you big goof. Don’t just stand there. Introduce her to your friends.”

  He ducked his head and an embarrassed smile crept over his lips. “Mom—yeah, okay. This is Chuck. Jimmy. Choochie and Carl.”

  The bo
ys nodded, giving the appearance that they did not care about her in the least, but she caught them checking her out just the same. Choochie smiled at her and Carly realized that he had the most endearing dimple. His light brown eyes danced merrily. The boys recovered from their embarrassment quickly and stood, arms dangling at their sides, looking down at Carly from their greater height.

  They were all tall. Cute, too. Carly had never been the subject of this much checking out before, but that didn’t mean she didn’t like it. The boys vied for her attention, and Carly realized that control of the situation had passed to her. She could handle this now. She joked quietly, listened as they jostled for her approval with wild stories or put downs.

  Oh, yeah.

  This was a good thing.

  John stared at the man he’d known as Stuart Cooper for the past twenty years or so. He’d never have recognized him if it weren’t for the small gap between his two front teeth.

  Everything else about the man had changed.

  He had more metal on his person than John thought humanly possible. Ears, lips, scalp, eyebrows, nipples, running up his arm . . . silvery studs and rods poked out of ghastly white flesh all over the place. And what wasn’t just plain skin was covered with tattoos. Big, garish, colorful tattoos.

  John had difficulty keeping his eyes focused on the man’s face.

  Good thing he decided to visit him before eating some of his mother’s good food. The man made him want to puke. But on to business.

  “Stu. How goes it?”

  Stuart walked over to John and extended his hand. “Bourbon John Preshin, as I live and breathe! How are you, you old sonovabitch?”

  John returned the handshake. “Just up visiting my folks. On the way off the highway, I passed by the tavern and noticed the sign had been changed. What gives?”

  Stuart Cooper eased himself behind the bar and started washing glasses. “It was time for a change. The old River-bottom wasn’t attracting a very young crowd, so I . . . er, we decided to change some things around.”

  Looking around at the manacles and nooses dangling from the wall where there had once been deer antlers and examples of the taxidermist’s art, John refrained from shaking his head at the abrupt changes to the décor.

  “Interesting. So, has the clientele improved?”

  Stu stopped wiping out the glass he held. Soap dripped down his riveted arm. “We’re doing great. In fact, Leeandra is thinking of opening up another night, extending the weekend to Wednesday. We get our biggest crowds on the weekend, of course, but Wednesday will extend ‘date night’ a little.”

  John nodded knowingly, wondering what a date in The Marquis Club would be like. “Sounds good.”

  Stu looked around, a small twitch in his eyelid. “We’re doing okay. It’s a living.”

  “Good. That’s good.” John waved away his friend’s offer of a shot of Wild Turkey.

  “Who’s Leeandra?”

  Stuart started at the sound of the name. “My wife,” he admitted, his voice so soft John had to lean forward to hear better.

  Puzzled, John leaned forward also. “What happened to Bernice?”

  Stuart confided, “She left me ages ago. Leeandra and I have only been married for a couple of years.”

  A tall, lean woman with loads of black hair appeared in the doorway behind the bar that used to lead to the kitchen. “Stuart! We’re not open yet!”

  The man shrank back a bit at the whip-crack sound of her voice. “This is an old buddy of mine, Leeandra. I’ve told you about him . . . John Preshin.”

  The name didn’t register for her face went as blank as possible under the loads of black mascara and contouring. She walked over to John, gave him the once-over, then cast him a withering look John supposed was aimed at being seductive.

  Her voice, sultry now and almost purring, set John’s teeth on edge. “So, big boy, where has Stuart Little been keeping you all this time?”

  “John’s with the FBI, Leeandra.”

  She backed off as if stung.

  Not wanting to disillusion the woman, John explained, “Well, not any more. I’m a private investigator, actually.”

  She leaned over the bar, her breasts threatening to spill out of the leather bustier she had painted on her body. “Fascinating.”

  John held back a laugh. “Not really, but it puts food on the table.”

  His shoulder throbbed beneath his shirt. He wanted to get out of this sleazy S & M bar, but he had some questions for his old friend. That is, if the guy could even think through all that metal and the influence of his dominatrix.

  Casting John a sidelong glance that promised all sorts of nasty things, Leeandra slid her hand down her husband’s body and tugged at his balls. Stuart flushed. John ducked his head to avoid seeing the other man’s discomfort.

  When Leeandra disappeared around the corner into what had been the table area long ago, John decided he’d better press for answers quickly before he caused Stuart any of his wife’s wrath.

  “Stu, do you remember the summer at that house in Belmar?”

  Wiping at the bar with a damp rag, Stuart appeared to think it over then replied. “Yeah, I remember it well.” A small smile crept across his face, reaching his down turned eyes, bringing a glimmer of light to them.

  John swiveled a bit on the stool. “Do you remember those two girls who used to stay at the house?”

  Stuart positioned his back toward the doorway where his wife had exited. “Yes. I remember them. Jesus! I remember them.”

  Trying not to show his extreme interest, John tugged at the lapel of his leather jacket. “You wouldn’t remember their names, would you?”

  Stuart hunched over, dug out a glass and polished it with a clean cloth. His back still toward the door, he nodded. “Hell, yes. Bunny Adams was one. The other was Tammy . . . something. Scandinavian. Tornquist? No, that’s the name of one of the regular guys who comes to the club. Let me think.”

  John waited. He couldn’t let his excitement show. He had two names now. But the crucial question remained.

  Slowly, he slid off the stool. “Do you remember, did you sleep with either of them?”

  The amazing tattooed man flinched as if John had struck him. With a quick look around, he hesitated in answering. The room fell silent.

  “Hell, yeah. I did. They were always asking for it, ya know? Insatiable, those two were. Once even both at the same time. Doggie dirty. They loved it that way. I gotta admit I enjoyed them both.”

  John’s gut threatened to squeeze out his throat. He felt his whole body shake and tried to calm himself, just long enough to leave the premises without gagging.

  “That all you needed to know?”

  He twitched his mouth, gained control and said, “Yeah, thanks.”

  Stuart leaned both forearms on the bar. “That’s what brought you here after all this time?”

  “Yeah. You’ve been a big help, Stu. We ought to get together again, talk about old times.”

  Stuart laughed. “I’m not really allowed out of here that much, but it sounds like a good idea.” He paused, then snapped his fingers. “Lundquist. That was the name.”

  “Hey, thanks!” John shot over his shoulder as he neared the door to leave.

  Stu called after him. “Hey, how’s Dutch?

  John stopped in his tracks. “He’s alive.”

  Stu’s head lowered to his chest. “Okay, man. See you around.”

  Not if I have anything to say about it, John thought. “Yeah, Stu. Good talkin’ to ya.”

  As the door slowly swished shut behind him, John’s stomach soured. For a second, he thought he might retch on the broken macadam of the parking lot.

  He looked at his watch. Jesus, if he didn’t hurry, he’d miss dinner with the family. After what he’d just seen, he needed the chaos he knew he’d find at his home. At least it was change he could tolerate. After all, it was family. They were stuck with him.

  Chapter 14

  Carly recounted the
entire day’s events to her captive audience, detailing the kind and amount of food, who had eaten and where they’d all fit. Flo listened with delight shining in her eyes.

  “I know Rose. She’s a good cook. I have that lasagna recipe, you know,” Flo said when Carly paused for breath.

  Liz cocked her head with unfeigned interest. “So, tell me about this Choochie character. That can’t be his real name. What did he look like?”

  Carly closed her eyes. “He’s something else. He has dark hair and brown eyes, but a light brown, not dark or gray, just an unusual color. I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes that color . . . like dark honey with bits of gold. Nice teeth. Shortish hair, but with texture . . . not gelled up or anything.”

  Teenagers. “He sounds like a real hunk.”

  “Oh, yeah. His real name is Jason. He told me just before I left. Nice name. Real nice name.”

  “Contacts. He must have been wearing colored contacts.”

  After that announcement, Liz rose from the armchair and went into the kitchen area. She remembered being that crazy over a guy she’d just met. Lots of guys she’d just met. Being boy crazy was a prerogative of being sixteen. The whole time the popcorn blew itself to bits in the microwave, she indulged in some nostalgic thoughts of fifty-two pick-up on the boardwalk and the boys she’d loved and lost.

  Sixteen had been a very good year for boys. She’d been in love every other week that year, so she knew what the kid was going through. Those feelings bubbling inside, that itch, that longing, that joy in the game. Wow. The game had been so much fun!

  She returned with the popcorn and offered it around. Only her grandmother dug into the bowl.

  Carly groaned. “Not for me, thank you. I’m still stuffed. I didn’t even have dessert.”

  From her position on the sofa, Flo shook her head, her disappointment obvious from her expression. “Too bad.”

  “Aw, Mrs. Preshin gave me half the pie to take home. Want some?”