Charlie grabbed her cell phone, searched through her contacts, and hit dial. The voice on the line was slurred and feeble. Another surprise.
‘Terry? Is that you?’
‘No, it’s Santa Claus. Who wants to know?’
‘It’s Charlie.’
‘Charlene! You’re cropping up everywhere these days.’
Charlie didn’t quite know what to make of that remark, but decided to ignore it for the time being, since Terry wasn’t sober and didn’t have his wits about him.
‘I’d like to see you. Could I come over to your place sometime soon?’
‘I’ll meet you at the coffee shop.’
Charlie hesitated. She was curious to see his home, a curiosity she had never felt before, but not wanting to alienate him, she agreed.
‘When?’ he asked.
‘How about today? What time do you start work?’
‘I’ll meet you there in an hour.’
Charlie checked her watch. She could squeeze in a quick meeting with Terry before she had to be behind the bar mixing drinks.
‘All right. I’ll see you there.’
She hung up and went to find Frank. He agreed to take care of Harley while Charlie stepped out for a couple of hours. She had a few stops to make before going to the coffee shop, but she arrived fifteen minutes early and took a seat in the corner.
She always met Terry at the same place. He insisted on it and preferred to sit at the same table, if possible. Knowing his history, she tried to accommodate him as much as she could. The last thing she wanted to do was drive him to drink, but after her phone conversation with him, she suspected she was too late.
Charlie almost didn’t recognize him when he came into the shop. It was several months since she had last seen Terry, but he had aged by years. He squinted and peered around the restaurant, looking for Charlie, apparently forgetting their usual spot. He didn’t smile when he saw her. He dragged his feet, his shoulders were slumped, and he bumped against tables as he made his way to her. People stared at him, presumably noting his unkempt appearance and wondering if he was a homeless person looking for a handout. He certainly looked the part.
Terry slid into the booth across from her, but didn’t offer a greeting. Instead, he looked around, searching for the waitress.
‘Where is she? I need a coffee, real bad.’
‘Hello, Terry. How’re you doing?’
‘Pretty good, Charlene,’ he said, turning his bleary gaze on her. ‘Why did you want to see me?’
‘You know I like to check in with you every once in a while, just to see how things are going.’
‘There’s an awful lot of people checkin’ in on me these days.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? What’s been going on?’ Charlie remembered his reference to her name cropping up everywhere.
‘Your friend came to see me. What’s his name? Somethin’ strange.’
Charlie had trouble pushing the word past her lips.
‘Simm?’
‘Yeah, that’s it. What the hell’s that about? You sent him to see me because you got some stupid mail? Are you losin’ it, or what?’
‘I didn’t send him to see you. He went on his own.’
Charlie seethed. This is what Simm was hiding from her. She hated to be blindsided like this.
‘Somebody musta told him about me, and it could only be you.’
He had her there. Drunk or not, Terry could still figure out the tic-tac-toe.
‘I’ll deal with Simm. He won’t be bothering you anymore.’ She took a sip of her coffee and used those few moments to calm down and concentrate on what she had set out to do.
‘I wanted to ask you about your mom. I was wondering how she’s doing.’
‘Mom’s good.’
‘I’d like to go see her.’
‘I already told you. Nobody can visit her except me. She’s not well enough. She gets upset.’
‘She knows me. She wouldn’t be upset. Besides, I want to make sure she has everything she needs.’
That sparked a reaction.
‘You think I’m not taking care of her? She’s my mother. I make sure she has everything.’
‘Are you supporting her? Financially, I mean.’
She was impressed with how swiftly Terry could leap ahead in his thinking. Charlie could almost hear the clicking of his brain. He looked at the table with a forlorn expression.
‘I do the best I can.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ she said solemnly.
‘I don’t earn a lot at my job, but I get by and whatever extra I have, I give to Mom.’
‘Very commendable.’
‘It’s not easy. Most times I do without.’
‘Let me look into it. I’ll try to do something to help you.’
‘That would be great. You’re doing so well with the bar. I can see why Dad left it to you.’
Charlie forced a smile to her face, although it was painful to do so. She shoved her coffee aside and grabbed her purse.
‘Speaking of which, I have to get back.’
‘I’ll wait to hear from you then, Charlene.’
Charlie mumbled something as she slid out of the booth and hurried out of the coffee shop. Never before had she felt the need to get as far away from Terry as possible. The fact that he insisted on calling her by her full name had forever grated on her nerves. She knew he did it to irritate her, but she had repeatedly forgiven him for that foible. But today, she had seen a different side to Terry. Or perhaps, she had belatedly seen the real Terry.
He had lied to her about his mother. She had needed some sort of confirmation after what Simm had told her and she had gotten it. She had also seen how he had tried to manipulate her into giving him money, which according to him, would have been used to support his mother. Charlie greatly doubted it. It would be spent on alcohol. Sylvie had another means of support, and Charlie wanted to find out who and what it was.
Chapter 30:
Charlie fumed during the walk of several blocks to the pub. She had promised Frank she would take a cab, but she had a lot of anger to walk off. She was angry with three people. Terry, of course, was one of those people. She realized now she had been a target for him. Often when she met with him, she would slip him an envelope filled with cash. She did it because she had never quashed the guilt she felt for having inherited the pub instead of him. He was Jim’s son. He should have been the beneficiary. Even though she understood Jim’s reasoning, and even though she was aware he had bequeathed his son a large sum of cash, she continually harbored a feeling of being undeserving. But today, the fog of guilt had cleared long enough for her to see his true character. And what she saw angered her.
The second person was, of course, Simm, who had lied to her. It may be a lie of omission, but it was still a lie. She resented the fact that he had gone to see Terry, and he hadn’t told her. She deserved to know what was going on.
The third person she was angry with was herself. She felt naïve and gullible. Because of those two traits, she had been taken in by the first two people on her list, and it pissed her off. You would think with her experience running a bar frequented by all types of individuals, she would have seen it all and recognized it all. But, apparently, she was still innocent and easily fooled. Both Terry and Simm had taken advantage of her.
Frank looked up in surprise when the door banged against its hinges as she flung it open.
‘What’s wrong?’ he said.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Everything.’
‘Could
you be more specific?’
‘I don’t like being taken for a fool.’
‘Simm?’
‘He’s one. Terry’s the other.’
‘Oh, double whammy.’
‘You got it. I’ll be in my office for a while, making voodoo dolls.’
Harley greeted her affectionately when she opened the door, his little beige body shaking with excitement. She cooed a bit and scratched him behind his ears before she settled behind her desk. She hit the power button on her laptop and grabbed the stack of unopened mail. As her hand made contact with the top of the pile of envelopes, she was struck by a bad feeling. She hesitantly sifted through them to discover her bad feeling was justified. The now-familiar handwriting was scrawled across the front of the envelope. She warily opened it and spread the letter on the desk.
Dear Charlene,
My name is Tamara, although I’m sure my nickname would be Tammy. I think I would like that. Just like you prefer to be called Charlie instead of Charlene. Did you know we would be about the same age? I am also of Irish descent. Do you ever wonder about your roots, your heritage? Have you ever been to Ireland? It’s beautiful there. I think you would enjoy it and find it very educational. Maybe we can get together and talk about it.
The phone was cold and hard in her hands as she dialed the number. She resisted the temptation to throw it across the room purely to vent her frustration.
‘Please come over here,’ she said, when she heard the voice on the other end of the line.
‘What’s up?’
‘I got another letter.’
Simm hung up without another word. Charlie knew he would be with her within minutes.
Charlie’s legs were not feeling very solid when she went out to see Frank, the paper in her hand. He read it without expression.
‘I don’t get it. What’s it all about?’ he said, his brows almost touching.
‘I don’t know, but I’ll find out. I don’t want to live with this anymore.’
Both heads turned when Simm walked into the room. His long legs brought him to their side within seconds, his gaze pinned on the paper lying on the bar. Nothing was said as he read the message.
‘Charlie, could you get me the other letters please?’
‘Why?’
For the first time since coming into the pub, he looked at her.
‘Could you just get them without giving me a lot of hassle? I want to look at something.’
Charlie scowled, but slid off the stool and headed to the office. A couple of minutes later, Simm placed the letters in chronological order along the counter of the bar.
‘What are you looking for?’ she said.
‘Shh.’
‘Don’t shush me! This is my place, my letters, and I’m paying you with my money. I want to know what you’re looking for.’
Simm ignored her. Charlie resisted the temptation to hit him. Instead, she counted to ten in her head. Luckily, that was long enough for Simm to read the letters.
‘Do you notice how the tenses are all mixed up?’
Charlie forgot about hitting Simm and concentrated on looking at the letters, trying to figure out what he was talking about.
‘Tenses? What do you mean?’
‘I mean the ‘would haves’ and the ‘I ams’. ‘I would have been your age.’ That implies that she’s dead. But then she says, ‘I am of Irish descent’, which is present tense.’
‘Maybe it’s just bad writing. Maybe this person isn’t very educated,’ Frank chimed in.
‘And the third letter, from Ben. I will never have that chance. Why not? Is he dead?’ Simm said.
‘How can he be dead if he’s writing letters? And they always want to meet with me to discuss things. They can’t be dead.’
‘It’s the same handwriting. It’s one person, guy or girl, writing these letters and using different names. I think we can all agree on that,’ Simm said. ‘He can do whatever he wants with the characters he’s creating. They can be dead. They can have regrets, desires, opinions. But, I find this last one interesting. The mixed tenses intrigue me.’
‘Let’s say you have a point. I don’t necessarily agree, but let’s just say. What good does it do us? Does it lead us somewhere?’ Charlie said.
‘Maybe. Maybe not.’
‘Wow. You’re pretty good at this.’
Judging by the look Simm gave her, her sarcasm wasn’t appreciated.
‘Leave it in my hands,’ he said.
‘No, you won’t get away with that anymore.’
‘With what?’
‘‘Leave it to me’, ‘It’s on a need-to-know basis’, ‘I’ll take care of it’. That won’t cut it anymore, Simm. I want to be in on this from start to finish. I want to know what you’re doing and when you’re doing it.’ Charlie stabbed him repeatedly in the chest with a finger.
‘There’s no need for that…’ Simm tried to say, grabbing her finger and hanging on.
‘Oh yes there is. I had a very interesting visit with Terry this morning.’
Simm let go of her finger and developed an intense interest in a spot on the counter, rubbing it long after it had disappeared.
‘You went to see him,’ Charlie continued. ‘You told him I was getting strange mail. You pried into my personal life. And his.’
‘That’s my job,’ he said, looking at her again. ‘I have to pry into people’s lives if I want to get information. It’s called investigating.’
‘You could’ve told me.’
‘I knew you would say no.’
‘No, I wouldn’t have.’ Her face was reflected in the mirror behind the bar, and it seemed to look at her accusingly. She had to confess. ‘Okay, yes, I would have.’
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Frank nodding in agreement.
‘You have to trust me. You have to let me do what I’m trained to do,’ Simm said. ‘You can’t keep throwing spokes in my wheels.’
‘Fine. Let’s make an agreement.’
Simm threw his head back and rolled his eyes. Frank chuckled and rubbed his hands together.
‘No, you’ll like this one,’ Charlie said to Simm. ‘I’ll give you complete leeway to investigate however you please. Well, pretty much complete leeway. And, you’ll keep me informed about what you’re doing and who you’re talking to.’
‘Wow. That sounds like a wonderful deal.’
Charlie heard a snort coming from Frank’s direction.
‘It is. I just gave you carte blanche.’
‘I wasn’t looking for carte blanche from you. I don’t need it.’
‘You do, if you want to get paid.’
‘Ha! If you only knew how many times I’ve thought the frustration I put up with is not worth all the money in the world.’
‘Frustration?’ she said, looking at Frank. ‘What’s he talking about?’
Her friend grinned and held up his hands.
‘No comment. I’m not getting involved in this one.’
Chapter 31:
Simm escaped to his apartment shortly after his visit with Charlie. He didn’t know how it had happened, but he had given in to her agreement. The last thing he needed was to have someone breathing down his neck at every turn, but he seemingly had a weakness somewhere that she exploited. Before he knew it, he had told her about his visit to the prison in Donnacona and the information he had learned.
Charlie didn’t seem surprised by anything he told her. She was, however, very interested at the prospect of a potential meeting with the hea
d of the Irish Mafia.
‘I want to go with you.’
‘Are you out of your mind?’
‘Why not?’
‘Because he’s the head of a large criminal organization, and it could be dangerous.’
‘I doubt it.’
Simm threw up his hands.
‘How can you say that? Crime. Criminal. Danger. Those words all go together.’
‘Jim wasn’t dangerous. He was a teddy bear.’
‘Jim was a little cog in a big wheel. He was a guy who was looking for an easy buck. He may even have had a conscience. I doubt Marty Sullivan falls into the same category.’
‘I’m not worried.’
Simm bit his tongue. He could already see their little agreement flying out the window. There was no way he would expose Charlie to that kind of danger. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to expose himself to it.
‘We’ll see.’
Charlie narrowed her eyes, but withheld comment.
Simm researched the contact name John Flynn had given him. Billy Connor was the guy who was supposed to set him up for a meeting with Marty Sullivan. The guy had a prison record, but had never been arrested for murder or anything involving bodily harm. Simm took that as a positive sign. Connor seemed to be more of an enabler.
Simm’s call was answered on the second ring with a barely audible grunt. Simm introduced himself as a friend of John Flynn.
‘So?’ Billy Connor said.
‘He said you could help me out with something.’
‘Johnnie says a lot of things that aren’t true.’
‘Well, let’s see if he’s right this time. I want to meet with Marty Sullivan.’
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