Ginger watched Marjorie play with Buckshot. He hoped they could forget the past and develop a friendship, especially if she was going to frequent the bar with Hopkins and Linda. He prayed it would not be with this new guy. He wished for this to be his first and last encounter with Joe Cooper, but he doubted it very seriously.
“Did you tell him I was here?” asked Marjorie.
Ginger smiled. Buckshot gave a friendly wag at him. “I’m not smiling at you, so just forget it. You didn’t get away with anything.”
“What did Buck do this time?” Marjorie stroked the back of his neck.
“Ate my French fries.”
“Well, maybe he was hungry. Weren’t you, boy?”
Ginger picked up a few empties from a nearby table. Both men were regulars in their sixties, widowers. They weren’t on the prowl, just couldn’t bear the thought of staying home alone, watching television and remembering. They were two-timers, coming in the morning for coffee and about four or five o’clock for dominoes, shuffleboard, darts or pool, whatever was the latest thing. It was like seasons, not only weather-wise, but like baseball season, football season, and basketball season. Shuffleboard was dying out and soon darts would be the focus for a while, then pool. But always, although sporadic, were dominoes.
Ginger had tried to play chess and backgammon a few times, but the distraction and lack of interest prevented it. Once or twice a week, Dr. John Worthy would wander by and, if Ginger was available, after thirty minutes or so of literary discussion they would engage in one game of chess, usually lasting one or two hours.
When they first started, Ginger surprised the good doctor and won several in a row, but over the course of a few years, they were pretty even, with only the doctor truthfully knowing, and he pretended not to. He loved to play chess and took great pride in his ability. The truth was, he preferred the discussions with Ginger. He loved literature even more than chess. In fact, even more than the medical field. He would come by more often, but he thought he was expected to come by only periodically. And he was used to doing what was expected of him.
Ginger had sent flowers to the funeral and even called Dr. Worthy’s office, but as expected, he was absent. He hoped John would come by. He sincerely liked the man and enjoyed their friendship. John would occasionally venture to the lake, sometimes with Jeff, to fish and hunt.
Ginger turned his attention back to Marjorie.
“Buck looks a little thin, Ginger. Has he been sick?”
“No, the girls have been in heat and… well, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” She looked sternly at Ginger. “Buckshot, you behave yourself. I’m surprised at you.” Buckshot ducked his head, as if being scolded. Marjorie ruffled his head with both hands playfully. “He sure is a good dog. I miss him. Too bad you couldn’t have been that good.” She smiled.
“Maybe I was. You just expected a lot more from me.”
She paused as if in thought. She looked into his blue eyes and felt the same deep feeling she had had the first time she met him. She smiled. “Maybe I did.” She extended her hand. “Friends?”
“We can do better than that.” He hugged her. “Now you go enjoy your date. I’ve got beer to serve.”
She smiled, wiped at her eyes, and walked toward Joe Cooper, totally prepared for what lay ahead.
He had seen her display of affection toward Ginger. Somebody would pay for his feeling of neglect. Not Marjorie, or even Ginger. At least not for the time being. He was not stupid. He needed them. In their own ignorance of his deeds and his plans, as yet unmanifested, they were a viable cog in the machinery. Still, he felt a vengeance surging within. He must deal with it discreetly.
“I think I need some help,” Joe said.
“Hey, you’re supposed to win so the four of us can play.”
Matt, shooting against Joe, interrupted. “Joe is holding up his end. We’re about even, but Rick is doing his usual wonderful job at the other end.”
Rick’s puck slid down the rail, missing his opponent’s puck and sliding off the end of the table. He looked up at the laughing faces. “I guess we didn’t win, huh?”
“Linda, come on. We’ve got to bail your husband out, as usual.”
Linda took her beer and walked to the shuffleboard, intent on her motives. She put her arms around her husband and gave him a kiss. “Don’t worry, sugar. Momma is here! I’ll whip these bad boys who made my boy cry.”
“Make them suffer, Momma.”
Everybody in the bar roared. Even Joe laughed with sincerity. Hopkins ducked his head and sadly walked to the bar. Ginger had a fresh beer waiting for him.
“I know. Just setting them up for later.”
“You got it, partner. For the really big bucks.”
“Right!”
Dot, still giggling at Hopkins, walked around the bar to pour herself another glass of wine.
“If I had known you were going to stay on this side of the bar all night, I would have gone home and let you work.” Ginger looked at Dot.
“If I’d get some service like when I’m working, I wouldn’t have to.” Ginger looked at Rick and laughed.
“Keep the wine away from your hired help, Ginger, and you wouldn’t have these problems.”
“I think maybe you’re right.”
“You both can stick it where the sun don’t shine.”
Joe stood for some time beside Marjorie, watching her play. She was a fair player, but Linda was something else. She was blasting her opponent, Paul, off the table. All he could do was shake his head, smile, and say, “Good shot!”
Joe joined Rick at the bar. They talked between themselves and Ginger about nothing in particular. “Next weekend I thought I’d bring Joe for a little hunting. That okay?”
Ginger looked to see if Joe was watching. He was. “Sure. Why don’t you bring your sidekick along as well?”
“Dave?” Hopkins was surprised.
“Yeah. Give him a chance to pick out a puppy.”
“You’re really going to give him one?”
“Suppose I’ll have to.”
“You’re right. Break his heart if you don’t. Just put it on my tab.”
“I’m glad you brought that up.”
“How much is it, ten bucks?”
“At least.”
“Hey, turn on the television for a minute. I want to see if our boy made copy tonight.”
Ginger ejected the CD and flipped on the television. Everyone looked up as Davis Wilson reviewed the past few days of “murder and citizen heroism.” Joe felt his stomach tighten. He had almost forgotten something he could ill afford to forget. He had almost felt part of something. But he wasn’t, nor did he wish to be, unless it was temporarily to gain an edge.
Davis Wilson, true to his words, did not mention Joe Cooper’s name, but added he would have an exclusive interview the following day with the man who had killed the murderer.
“So you’re going to be a hero, Joe,” Hopkins said. Everybody in the bar suddenly had big ears.
“Way to go, blabbermouth. No wonder there are leaks in your department.” Marjorie shook her head. “What Sarge Hopkins is trying not to tell you is that Joe, here, is the man who shot the killer you’ve all heard about. He was in the liquor store when the crime went down. The perpetrator dropped his weapon. Joe grabbed the gun and shot the man.”
Everyone looked at Joe and muttered in admiration. Ginger watched intently, not really knowing why, but looking for some answer in Joe’s mannerisms. He found none.
Matt stepped closer. “Did you see the man kill the clerk?”
Joe looked to Marjorie, then to Hopkins. Hopkins turned on his stool toward Matt.
“Yeah, he saw everything. But that’s all he can say until tomorrow. Wait until the official statement, then he can come by and tell everything. We’ll get him drunk and call him hero.”
“Hell, we’re doing that right now. I want to hear the gore. You know, up close and personal,” replied Matt.
; “Are you sure you’re not a reporter?” asked Joe.
“I could be. Probably be better than that wimpy-looking fart.”
“Come on, Matt. You can be a reporter tomorrow. Right now your main concern is shuffleboard.” Marjorie was trying to change the subject.
“Yeah, that’s right. My shot, too.” He was back in the game. “No time for hero worship now.”
“I forgot about the interview,” Joe said to Marjorie. “I guess I’d better go pretty soon. I don’t want to look hung over on the tube.”
“Sure, whenever you’re ready.”
“Finish your game, we’ll have one last beer, and then go.”
Marjorie smiled in agreement and returned to the game. Joe had no intention of going back to his room. He would go to the Whiskey Trough and go home with Pam. He knew Marjorie was attracted to him, but any intimacy would take a while. He wasn’t sure he wanted to move in that direction, instead just close enough to keep abreast of the prosecution, but distant enough to avoid any complications.
* * *
Marjorie and Joe watched the Hopkins enter their home. Marjorie accepted a gentle kiss from Joe. She told him thoughtfully how much she enjoyed the evening and how she had needed such an outing. She even suggested they go out again. Before she could be business-like, Joe interrupted with his own thoughts. Perhaps they should wait until so much of his exposure had died down, just to avoid any problem for either of them. She was so impressed, she almost wanted to object. He gave her another kiss, not on the cheek, perhaps a con, but a kiss fully on the lips, as if he were sincerely interested, but somewhat confused by his new situation, a bit nervous and even a little out of social position.
Marjorie circulated these thoughts around her slightly drunk brain. She tried to place herself in his position.
He was a fly-by-night roofing contractor chasing storms and living out of a suitcase. Suddenly, he’s cast into a major scene, a murder scene, and the next few nights he’s out with the assistant DA. She could visualize his discomfort, even a certain amount of fear. After all, he had killed a man. No matter how justified, his life was suddenly turned upside down and basically he was among strangers. She had her obligations, but still… she could not dismiss his terribly awkward position, his anxiety, his need for a friend. Perhaps he wasn’t that much different than her. He endured the entire evening, plus an actual, physical meeting of her ex-boyfriend. She had gotten caught up in her own emotions and been neglectful of his. She watched as Joe got into his pickup. Now he was going to a motel room to spend an evening alone and confused.
Marjorie drove the Continental from the Hopkins’ home toward her own across town, in the same area as Judy Evans, but not on the same street. Her house was not as expensive as Judy’s, although she probably had more expensive possessions. But in her heart, neither house was more valuable than Rick and Linda’s. Their house was not filled with antiques and paintings, but with love, children, and pets, neighbors and neighbor kids, stray animals, a refrigerator always begging to be opened, a front door never closed, and somewhere in all the mess a husband and wife who loved each other now more than the day they married. She pulled into her garage, anxious for her bed, wishing it were not so large.
CHAPTER 14
Pam turned from the cash register to be greeted with a smile from Joe Cooper. She was caught by surprise and gave a smile of excitement, followed quickly by admonishment. “Where have you been?”
“Should I leave?” He laughed.
“You’d better not. I thought you were coming up here last night?”
“I was, but by the time I answered ten thousand questions from detectives and DAs, I was exhausted. I went to my room, showered, and was coming up here. The phone kept ringing, so I decided to bring some clothes and stay at your apartment. I tried to call to see if that was all right with you. The line was so busy, I took the phone off the hook and stretched out for a minute. I woke up at four this afternoon, rushed to meet more detectives and DAs to be briefed for a television interview tomorrow. I came straight here instead of my room, just to see you.”
“You poor baby, come here.” She opened her arms. Joe, like a wounded child, was gathered up into a hug and a kiss. “I bet you could use a drink, hon.”
“I would kill for one, and some more sleep.”
“Why don’t you go to the apartment and crash? I’ll be there as soon as I close.”
“That sounds good, but first a few drinks.”
Pam smiled and rushed to fetch a drink. A few of the regulars, mostly roughnecks from the oilfield, looked at Joe. Al, the driller, spoke up. “So, you really did kill the guy?”
Joe looked at him sternly. “I really did.”
“Why hasn’t it been on television yet?”
“The police are trying to keep the press away from me until they make a statement on Monday. In fact, I was asked to avoid all contact with the press, not to go to bars and leak out information that might put the cops in a bad light.”
“Like you’re doing now?” Al laughed.
“Exactly, but what the hell. They could care less if I get my ass shot off. Their only concern is that they are put into a positive light.”
Al interrupted. “Johnny on the spot, putting down crime, serve and protect.”
“Exactly. They’re waiting on the news release only because the chief of police is off skiing in Colorado. He wants to make the statement. Good for his career, you know?”
Everyone shook their heads in disgust. A few expressions of “pigs” could be heard.
“It’s a wonder they didn’t try to give you a DUI,” one man said.
“That’s about all our city cops know how to do,” Pam said, bringing Joe a vodka and soda.
“Let me buy that,” Al insisted.
“Appreciate it.”
“My pleasure. Maybe you can catch the thief that ripped off my bass boat.”
Joe smiled and drank several drinks, all bought for him. He then excused himself and, after reassuring Pam he was going to her apartment, he slipped out into the night.
Joe breathed in deeply the moist, cold December midnight air. The snow was gone, but the temperature was a cold twenty-five degrees. Joe’s lungs burned with the transition from barroom smoke to frosty air. He took several more deep breaths, sending rushes of adrenaline up and down his spine. He was renewed with vigor and new hunger, like a wolf leaving his den for his nightly hunt. It would be a short hunt, perhaps only a scouting expedition to survey possible quarries for another night, but still a reconnaissance nonetheless.
CHAPTER 15
“So, Dot, what did you do on your night off?” Ginger looked down at his bartender slumped over a half-filled glass of wine.
“Well, I cleaned house, did a load of laundry, bought some groceries, and rented Casablanca.”
“Anything else?”
“Read four chapters of War and Peace and listened to my smart-ass boss half the night.”
“So, a pretty good night, huh?”
“Quite nice. Now call me a cab.”
“Okay, you’re a cab!”
“Jackass!”
Matt, the oil consultant, heard the request as he exited the men’s room. “I’ll take the little drunken fart home, Ginger.”
“Over my dead body, dickhead,” said Dot.
Ginger and Matt chuckled, thoroughly enjoying the pert little brunette.
She was a favorite among the regular customers. An attractive woman in her late forties, she had worked at Ginger’s the last four years he had owned the bar. She was a single mother who had one twenty-four-year-old married daughter and another a few years younger who lived at home. Their father was seldom spoken of, and never seen. Twenty years before, she was left alone with two babies and no money. She had lived in Lindville all her life and worked as a waitress and bartender since the divorce. She had worked in a downtown bar that catered to the oil industry until it was closed. She then helped Ginger open up his bar.
Several of the
well-to-do, oil-related customers had adopted her as their own. They steered her toward wise, although small, investments that enabled her to have her own home and provide for the girls. She had remarried for a short year, but was so set in her ways, her new husband, a retired serviceman, new to town, was no match for three women and a group of old codgers who doted on his wife. He more than willingly sought a new retirement area.
Dot’s love life was often discussed by her customers, but for the most part, she kept her private life private.
Her daughters consumed what little time her customers didn’t. It appeared to be a good match for all concerned, especially Ginger. When Vicky, a long-time owner of the bar, decided to sell, Dot told Ginger it was for sale and that the downtown bar would soon be no more. When asked what she was going to do, she suggested Ginger buy Vicky’s and hire her as bar manager. After all, the boys would need a new watering hole. It was obvious Dot had thought the situation through.
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