"Uh-uh," said Billy, shaking his head. "Not him. The guy I'm talking about's in his forties, and he's got a goatee. Yeah yeah...that's him." Billy nodded, cast an expectant grin at Dave...and then, the grin melted into a confused frown. "What's that? His name's what?"
At the look on his friend's face, the apparent twist in the conversation, Dave held his breath.
"No sh...I mean, really?" said Billy, absently placing a hand atop his head. "No no...that's definitely him. Well, guess it is. Right...uh-huh." Abruptly, Billy's expression reverted to a grin; he seemed to regain his composure in the space of an instant. "Y'know, he can be a real joker sometimes," he said laughingly. "Wouldn't surprise me if he's been pulling my leg all this time. Honest to God--'Larry,'" he said sardonically, and then he chuckled. "He sure put one over on me."
Dave's interest was piqued. More than ever, he wished that he'd chosen to listen in on the other phone.
"Well, I'm curious," Billy said in an easygoing, mildly inquisitive tone. "What exactly does he do there? Uh-huh...uh-huh...oh, really?" Nodding, Billy directed a wide-eyed, incredulous look toward Dave. "Oh yeah?" he said lightly. "Well, I think that's just great. I wish I had the time to."
Dave edged closer to his friend, as if that would help him to hear what was being said on the other end of the line. Obviously, Billy was receiving crucial data, and Dave didn't think that he could wait much longer to receive it himself.
"So, when do you expect him back, then?" Billy asked casually. "Okay...okay...uh-huh. No, don't bother leaving a message. I'll either call back or I'll stop in and surprise him."
Anxious and frustrated, Dave suddenly spun away from his partner and paced across the kitchen, only to pace back and halt at the same spot.
"Well, hey...thanks a lot, Father," said Billy. "I really appreciate your taking the time. Maybe I'll bump into you down there sometime." With that, Billy said goodbye and hung up the phone.
The instant that the receiver left his friend's hand, Dave surged forward, his bloodshot eyes wide as picture windows. "Well?" he fired impatiently. "He's been there, hasn't he?"
"Yup," Billy nodded coolly, sliding his hands into the back pockets of his bluejeans. "I guess he's been there quite a bit."
"Why?" blurted Dave. "What's he been doing at a youth center?"
"He helps coach the basketball league. It's for teenagers...kids from low-income families and broken homes. The guy I was talking to...this priest in charge of the youth center...told me Larry's been helping with the league for the last couple weeks."
"Holy shit," Dave said quietly, shaking his head in amazement.
"The priest really seemed to like him," continued Billy. "He said he's been doing a great job with the kids."
"This is bizarre," said Dave. "He never said anything about this. I don't understand why he'd even be doing this."
"Who knows?" shrugged Billy. "Maybe it's his hobby, man. You wanna' hear bizarre, though? He doesn't use the name 'Larry' at the youth center. Calls himself 'Frank Moses'."
"'Frank Moses'?" grimaced Dave. "You're sure you were talking about the same guy as that priest was?"
Billy nodded vigorously. "Definitely. I said I was looking for a guy in his forties with a goatee, and the priest said there's only one guy there who looks like that. As soon as I mentioned the goatee, he said I must've meant 'Frank'."
"I'll be damned," muttered Dave. "'Frank Moses'. 'Larry Smith'. Which name's for real, then?"
"Beats the hell outta' me," replied Billy. "Maybe neither one."
"'Frank Moses', " repeated Dave, slowly rolling the name from his mouth. "Why 'Frank Moses'? Why not 'Larry Smith'?"
"Anyway, it's definitely our boy," said Billy Bristol. "This Father Kozelec said that 'Frank' told him he's been all over the world. He said 'Frank' is always telling stories about his travels, and the kids in the basketball league're crazy about them. Sound familiar, man?"
"Just like us," nodded Dave. "He's always telling us stories."
"Yup," said Billy. "'Frank' is 'Larry', all right. I'll tell ya', man...psychic or not, there's a lot more to this guy than we knew."
"He's not there now, though, is he?" asked Dave.
"Right," confirmed Billy. "According to the priest, he oughtta' be in for a game this afternoon, though."
"What time this afternoon?"
"Game's at one o'clock," reported Billy, glancing at the clock above the stove. "'Frank' is supposed to be there by noon. That gives us plenty of time to get down there and find the place."
Checking the clock himself, Dave shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "We're not gonna' just go to this youth center and wait for him to show up. For all we know, he's already through with that place...or he might get there or call in and find out that we're looking for him, and he might just split or avoid the place completely."
"I told the priest not to tell him I called," offered Billy. "I said I wanted to surprise him."
"Still, Larry might not go there today. We might just end up wasting time if we sit around and wait for him. I think we oughtta' go to his apartment first, see if he's there or if he's even renting the place anymore. It's a little past ten-thirty now, so we have time to go to the apartment and still make it to the youth center by noon."
"It might just be a wasted trip," said Billy. "I mean, we know where Larry's supposed to be at noon, so why not wait? If he doesn't show, we can check out his apartment afterwards."
"I want to go there first," Dave stated flatly. "If he isn't home, maybe we can at least poke around the place and see if we can find anything out."
"I think you need the time to get yourself together," remarked Billy. "You look like you could use a shower and some more coffee, and you really oughtta' get outta' that stinkin' Double-Doubleyoo uniform."
"I don't need any more time," replied Dave. "I need to get moving. I need to find out if my family's gonna' die, and if there's anything I can do about it."
For a moment, Billy seemed primed to argue; frowning, he started to say something...but he stopped himself. Perhaps intimidated by Dave's cold, intractable stare, Billy closed his mouth and shrugged. "All right," he sighed finally. "We'll go to Larry's apartment first, then the youth center."
"Good," nodded Dave, already rushing from the kitchen. "I'm gonna' change clothes real quick, and then we'll go. You were right about this stinking uniform."
"It does stink!" shouted Billy. "Then again, maybe it's just you! I guess we'll find out if I still can't breathe after you put some clean clothes on!"
Dave was too distracted and hurried to fire off a retort. He wasn't in the mood to trade wisecracks; for the first time since learning of Larry's visit the night before, he was able to take action, and his mind was wholly focused on what was about to ensue.
Within ten minutes, he and Billy were halfway to Morton Borough.
*****
Chapter 23
After trying the buzzer for Larry Smith's apartment seven times, Dave finally acknowledged defeat.
"Nobody home," he sighed. Turning away from the ineffective buzzer buttons, which were mounted on the wall beside the door to the upstairs rooms, he shook his head with disappointment. "I guess I didn't really expect him to be here, but it would've made things a lot easier."
"Maybe he just isn't answering the door," suggested Billy, stepping up to punch the button himself. "Maybe he's hiding and hoping we'll go away."
Watching as Billy repeatedly jammed the button with his thumb, Dave pensively rubbed his chin. "No, I don't think he's up there. I've got a feeling that he's long gone."
"Well, his name's still on this buzzer here. Still says 'Smith' on this piece of tape."
"I don't think he's here anymore," said Dave, planting his hands on his hips. "I don't think he'll be coming back here."
"How do you know?" asked Billy, still pounding the button.
"I just have a feeling," Dave said soberly. "I bet he doesn't want to be anyplace where I can find him, what with all the stuff I kno
w."
"Maybe someone else is home, then," said Billy, pressing the other button on the box, the one with no label beneath it.
"Let's go talk to the bartender," said Dave, taking a step down the sidewalk which skirted the building. "Larry said the guy who runs the bar is his landlord, so he oughtta' be able to tell us what's up."
For another moment, Billy continued to assault the buzzers, punching first one button, then the other, then both. Finally, he surrendered, giving the device a last whack with the palm of his hand. "Okay, so nobody's home," he muttered. "Let's go see this bartender, man." Though Dave had already tried the doorknob, Billy stubbornly tested it again; when the knob proved to be just as immobile as before, he shrugged and sighed, then jogged after Dave, who was already halfway to the front corner of the ramshackle building.
"I hope this guy can tell us something," Dave said as he rounded the corner with Billy in tow.
"If not," puffed Billy, "no problem. We just go to the youth center and wait for ol' Larry to get there. I'm sorry...I mean 'Frank'."
"Right," snorted Dave. "Whoever he is."
The two friends strode along the wide front window of the bar; though it was before noon, all of the neon signs arranged in the window were lit, all the logos of brands of beer were glowing colorfully. Rounding the far corner of the building's front, Dave and Billy reached the entrance; pulling open a rickety screen door, they ambled into the place.
"What a dive," whispered Billy as they paused to take a look around.
Dave nodded. The place was cramped and grimy and run-down. It looked as if no maintenance had been done there in ages.
A few small tables were clustered on the bare cement floor, accompanied by an array of mismatched, beat-up chairs. The walls were covered with faded, stained posters, some advertising brands of beer, some proclaiming the glories of the Marine Corps, others featuring nude women in various poses. A makeshift bar spanned one wall; apparently, the bar had been assembled from bits and pieces, an amalgam of lumber, plywood, and paneling.
Shoddy-looking shelves occupied the wall behind the bar; crowded with bottles, the shelves all seemed to have been constructed of different materials, boards and sheets of varying thickness. Above one end of the bar, an ancient television perched on an odd assembly of planks and braces, a sloping platform from which Dave imagined the set could plunge at any instant.
"I guess it isn't happy hour," Billy said wryly, gazing around the empty, silent place.
"Maybe there's someone in the back," said Dave, eyeing a doorway behind one end of the bar. "The door was wide-open, so there has to be someone here." The doorway behind the bar was mostly blocked by what appeared to be a shower curtain; the dark-blue curtain hung from a rod and had been drawn over far enough so that only a space of a few inches remained.
"Maybe the owner stepped out for a minute," offered Billy, looking appraisingly at a poster of a naked woman. "You know...maybe he went to rob a liquor store or something."
Wading through the muddle of tables and chairs, Dave approached the ramshackle bar. "I'll just give a yell and see if anybody's back there," he said, squinting through the space between the curtain and the doorway. "Hello?" he called, raising his voice just a bit. "Is anybody there?"
Receiving no immediate response, Dave leaned over the bar, listening for any sound from behind the curtain. He waited for a moment, but heard nothing.
"Hello?" he called once more, louder than before. "Hello, is anybody back there?" Again, he paused to listen, but he could hear no voice or sound of movement.
"Geez," quipped Billy, strolling up to the bar beside Dave. "Can you imagine? No bartender out front...and it's already going on eleven-thirty in the morning!"
"Is anybody back there?" called Dave. "Hello?"
"Maybe whoever's here is asleep," suggested Billy. "If they're sleepin' off a bender, they probably won't hear you from way out here."
"Shit," Dave mumbled in frustration, and then he again called out.
"Hey!" Billy shouted then. "Could we get some service out here, or should we just help ourselves to your booze?"
"Cool it," snapped Dave, shooting a disapproving glance at his partner. "No need to piss anyone off here. We want them to help us, don't we?"
"Sure," smirked Billy, "but we gotta' get them out here first. Yo!" he hollered at the curtain. "Is anybody home? Did we miss last call for the day already?"
Dave started to reprimand Billy once more, then stopped when he heard something from beyond the curtain. Muffled by walls and distance, there was a series of dull thuds which seemed to grow gradually closer; Dave thought that they sounded like footsteps.
"Well, it's about time," nodded Billy.
"Sounds like they're coming up stairs," remarked Dave, still leaning over the bar, staring into the gap in the doorway. "Maybe they were in the cellar or something, huh?"
"Probably just crawling outta' whatever cave they were hibernating in," Billy cracked sardonically.
"Here they come," whispered Dave. "Don't be a smart-ass, okay?"
"Who, me?" Billy grinned mischievously...but then he shook his head once and gave Dave a 'don't worry' look.
At that, the curtain slid aside. A fat, bushy man appeared in the doorway; he was topped by a heap of frizzy hair, a red explosion which continued in a thick beard puffing from his face to his chest. Flushed and porcine, the guy filled the doorway, his prodigious pitcher's mound of a belly stretching his T-shirt to its limit, distorting the shirt's garish "Harley-Davidson" emblem around his body's planetary curve. He looked out at Dave and Billy with half-lidded eyes, a languid, groggy expression.
"Hi," Billy said pleasantly. "How's it goin'?"
The guy sniffed loudly. "Whatta' you two want?" he asked, his deep voice wary but not hostile. "If you're sellin' somethin', I'm not buyin'."
"We're not selling anything," Billy said quickly, shaking his head.
"Huh," grunted the guy. "Only people I get in here this time a' day who ain't regulars usually wanna' sell me somethin'."
"Not us," Billy said assuringly. "We're just lookin' for someone."
Sniffing again, the guy nodded. A corner of his mouth twitched, as if he had the urge to smirk ruefully because his suspicions had been confirmed; the visitors indeed wanted something...if not money, information at least. "Huh," he grunted. "Well, can I get ya' somethin' while we hash this out?"
"Yeah," Billy nodded without hesitation. "I'll have a draft."
Dave nodded as well. "Same for me," he said. Though he didn't plan to drink any alcohol before what might turn out to be a rigorous afternoon, he realized that the bartender might prove more helpful to a pair of paying customers.
Lumbering out of the doorway, the guy moved behind the bar, stopped by the upthrust handle of a beer tap. "Well," he puffed, hoisting two glasses from under the bar. "Who ya' lookin' for?"
"Friend of ours," supplied Billy. "Guy who lives upstairs. He isn't there right now, and we were wondering if you had any idea where he is."
Sniffing, the bartender glanced at Billy, then plunked one of the glasses onto the bar. "You lookin' for Mike, huh?" he said dully, placing the other glass beneath the spout of the beer tap.
For a split-second, Billy hesitated, met Dave's surprised gaze; then, looking back to the bartender, he nodded. "Yeah," he said confidently. "That's him. We're lookin' for Mike."
"He don't live here anymore," said the bulky guy, tugging the handle of the tap downward, sending an amber stream of beer hissing into the glass.
"You mean he moved out?" frowned Dave.
"That's what I said," replied the bartender. Pressing up the handle of the tap to stop the beer, he placed the full glass on the bar before Dave and lifted the empty glass to draw another draft.
"When did he leave?" Dave asked tentatively, sliding the glass of beer to Billy. "Did we just miss him, or what?"
"Yesterday," said the guy as the second glass filled with liquid. "He pulled outta' here yesterday morning. Ain't
seen him since."
"Damn," muttered Billy. "We were hoping we'd be able to catch up to him before he left town. We owe him a couple bucks, y'know?"
"Guess you lucked out," said the bartender, handing the second beer to Dave. "You get to keep your money."
"He didn't say anything about why he was leaving so soon, did he?" asked Dave. "I mean, uh, he told us he wasn't going for a couple days yet."
"He didn't say," answered the bartender, "and I didn't ask."
"You don't know where he went, then, huh?" pressed Dave. "He didn't say where he was headed?"
"Nope," said the huge guy, turning away from his questioners to examine the shelves of booze on the wall.
"You're sure he didn't say anything about where he was going?" asked Billy.
"Nope," the bartender said listlessly, pulling a bottle of whiskey from one of the shelves. "He just told me he was leavin'. We had a little disagreement about the rent, and then he took off." Removing the cap of the bottle, the guy drew a shot glass from under the bar and poured some whiskey into it.
Billy locked eyes with Dave, made it clear that he'd been intrigued by the bartender's last comment. "What kind of disagreement?" he asked casually.
"I been chargin' him weekly," said the guy, pausing to tip the shot of whiskey into his mouth. "Every Friday, I'd get a week's rent from him. Since he was leavin', he still owed me for this week. I only ever take cash, but he tells me he don't have no cash, so he wants to pay me another way."
"What way is that?" asked Dave.
"He tries givin' me some jewelry...rings an' necklaces and shit. I tell 'im forget it, I want cash, I got no way a' knowin' if this stuff's the real thing. I don't care it's hot, but I don't wanna' get stiffed."
"Hey, I don't blame ya'," Billy said agreeably.
Sniffing loudly, the bartender poured another shot of whiskey. "He keeps tryin' ta' push this jewelry on me, but I won't take it. He starts gettin' pissed, and we're yellin' an' goin' at it...but after a while, he comes up with somethin' I'll take. I figure I'm comin' out ahead on the deal, so I tell 'im 'okay, we're square,' and he leaves."
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