Shit. The dishwasher. He wiped the bar quickly and headed to the kitchen. It was a dreadful mess. Hector sat on the counter, snacking on pickled jalapeños and chatting with the cook. There were dishes piled in the dish sinks. Piled as high as they dared go, and then some.
“Dude. I couldn’t do anything.” Hector hopped off the counter and moved to show Daniel the purple light. “It started flashing. I tried to do it but it just goes clank, clank, clank. Here, see?” He worked the lever that turned the machine on. It went clank, clank, clank, and he turned it off again.
Purple light… Purple light... Daniel crouched in front of the machine and read the panel of instructions. “It says you have an obstruction in the filtering unit. Did you read these instructions?”
“Um. No.” Hector laughed. “Where?”
Daniel pointed. “See? ‘If the purple indicator light glows, clear all obstructions from the filtering unit before resuming operations.’ How long ago did the purple light come on?”
Hector laughed some more. “Like, um. Long time ago. This morning. Sorry.”
Daniel had pulled out the filter and located the obstruction – a spoon. He withdrew it and set the filter back in place. He slid the lever and the machine leapt smoothly to life. “Get busy.”
“But I’m supposed to be off in ten minutes!”
“You can’t leave all that crap for Freddy to deal with. Hurry up. Wash at least some of this. Couple of loads. Jesus.”
Hector groaned and turned to the work at hand. “No fair. Not my fault the machine wasn’t working right. If you’d come in to help me an hour ago I’d have it all done by now.”
Before Daniel had time to say anything about that, about the unfairness of that particular statement, about who it was who really had fallen down on the job, the back door opened and Bud walked in. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered. “Where you been, Bud?”
“Sorry,” Bud said. “Had to take care of some stuff.” He went into the office. A few minutes later, he came out and pinned up a new schedule, lifted his shoulders at Daniel in a what-can-I-say gesture and went back to the office. Daniel raised an eyebrow and went to look.
Shit. Then aloud, “Shit.” He was on the schedule for three doubles next week. Bud hadn’t scheduled himself for hardly any hours. Even on the two days Bud was set to open, he had Daniel scheduled to be there by noon. Noon to eight… noon to midnight… and all the rest started off early in the morning. Kiki’s hours were erratic, too. Mark’s hours were almost not there at all.
Margie came to stand next to him. She didn’t say anything but the questions were all over her face.
He shook his head and went to the office.
“Bud? This schedule…”
“Don’t start. I know. I know, OK? But Mark’s got issues at home and he needs some nights off, and Kiki can only do so much.” He shuffled some papers on his desk and avoided looking up for a few moments. “I’m trying. Alright?”
Daniel chewed his lip. The problem wasn’t Mark’s issues at home or Kiki, who could only do so much. The problem – the real problem – was Bud. Bud didn’t want to work nights. Or mornings. Bud seemingly didn’t want to work at all, so he was stretching Daniel tight as a guitar string to cover for him. And now you’re trying to squeeze me in to cover shifts for Mark and Kiki, too.
He said nothing, but only stood there in the doorway, watching Bud pretend to sort papers. Eventually Bud looked up.
“I get it. I know. I’m… it’s not coming back to me like I thought it would.” He folded his hands in front of him on the desk and looked down at them. “I’ll get more help in. I promise. But it’ll take some time, Danny. Just be patient with me, alright? Christ. I… it’s not a good time for me. I miss her. I’m not sleeping too good.”
He could sympathize with him there. Lack of sleep was what Daniel was made of these days; it ran through his veins like strange blood. “Right, Bud. I understand.” He hesitated. “But you’ve got me closing one night and opening the next day. That’s…you know. Rough.”
“Just this week. I won’t do that to you again, I promise. It’s just… it’s just this week. Give me a break, please.” Bud held a hand over his heart and raised the other as though swearing an oath.
Daniel bobbed his head and shrugged. What else could he do? He went back to the bar and watched the shift change around him. Then Hector slipped past like a shadow, and Daniel knew the dishes weren’t done.
“Damn,” he muttered. Poor Fat Freddy.
Chapter 39
“Where’s your green?” Clive asked.
Daniel tried to shrug it off, but Clive ribbed him, catching Hector’s eye as he went by. “You gotta have green, Hector’ll pinch you. Won’t you, Hector?”
Hector shook his head and stopped to collect a few glasses from the bar. “No good. He’s got it. Show ‘im your tat, Danny-boy.” Hector had spotted the edge of the tattoo months ago and badgered Daniel until he got a good look. “He doesn’t like showing anybody, but now he has to!”
Daniel raised the edge of his sleeve briefly to show a small flash of green on his shoulder. Hector whooped absurdly at the sight and clanked away with his tub of dishes.
“A tattoo? Well! I didn’t have you pegged as a tattoo guy. What’s it say?”
Daniel shook his head. It didn’t say anything. “Just a leaf. Doesn’t mean anything.” Not anymore.
The leaf had been his partner’s idea. They both had them. They’d finished up their first really big job and gone to get drunk afterwards, and Sal, his partner, had dragged him into a tattoo parlor. Ink brothers, we’ll be, Danny. So he had sat for it. As drunk as he was, it hadn’t been too painful. The artist had done a passable job of copying the logo off their business card. Ink brothers. God, he hated that tattoo. He’d told himself that one day, he’d get it covered over… but he knew it would do no good. The leaf would always be there in his mind.
Clive was looking at him with a half-smile. “Doesn’t look like it don’t mean anything. You look like you just ate a bad grape.”
Daniel looked down. Sal had been more than an ink brother, they’d been close. Almost like real brothers, that was how close. That was what he’d thought, anyway. Or he wouldn’t have gone into business with him, wouldn’t have put almost all his money into the thing. Wouldn’t have trusted him around his girl. “Just tired. It’s nothing.”
“You gonna be busy today I’ll bet. Tonight, anyway.”
The bar was festooned with green crepe paper and cardboard shamrocks. “Green beer and everything. Erin go bragh,” Daniel said.
“The hell does that mean, anyway?”
“I dunno. God bless Ireland or something.”
A man spoke up from a few stools down. “Ireland forever. That’s what it means.”
“No shit?” Clive swung on his stool to look at the man, who had long hair tied back in a thick braid.
“No shit.”
“Well, then. Ireland, forever. Gimme another, Dan.” Clive passed his drink glass across the bar and hiked a thumb at the man with the hair. “One for him, too. In honor of Ireland. You Irish?”
The man got up and moved to sit next to Clive. “No. German, mostly. You?”
Clive pointed at his whiskey glass. “Some Irish in me, I guess. What about you, Dan? Irish blood?”
Daniel laughed and shook his head. “Maybe some. Don’t think so.”
“I’ll bet you have some. Don’t look it, but I bet you have. Dan, Dan, Irish man.” He sipped his drink and turned to the man next to him. “Dan’s got insomnia and he works too hard. Look at him.”
The man looked. “Black Irish maybe. You know, for insomnia, best thing’s a big glass of warm milk.”
Clive shook his head. “Hot toddy.”
“Nah. Milk’s better.”
Daniel cleaned his nails with a toothpick. He’d be so tired tonight after this double shift, he hoped he’d sleep like the dead, milk or no milk, dog or no
dog. “Milk’s supposed to help,” he said. But it doesn’t.
“Suit yourself, but I know which one I like better,” Clive said, pushing another ten across the bar toward Daniel and wiggling his fingers at the empty drink glasses. “Where’s Bud today?”
He shrugged and poured the drinks. “Not here.”
“You know, he’s been a little off his game.” Clive looked sideways and leaned in toward Daniel like a conspirator. “I heard he yelled at a customer last week.”
It was true; Daniel had heard all about it from Gina. And Hector. And Mark. Everyone loved to talk about someone else falling down. “He overreacted.”
“I heard she walked out.”
She had. From what Gina (and Hector and Mark) had told him, Bud had blown up at a lady when she pulled out a cigarette. She hadn’t even lit the thing, just held it in her hand, but Bud had gotten right in her face. He’d told her there was no smoking, goddammit… and the story went so far as to suggest he’d actually grabbed the cigarette from her.
Daniel wasn’t sure he believed it. Not all of it. But he knew Bud had gotten irritable lately. Downright peevish, is what Audrey would have said. He was certain some parts of the story were true. The lady had left, maybe for good, or maybe just to go outside to smoke. The way things had been, Daniel decided it wouldn’t really surprise him if the whole story was true, even down to the part about Bud lunging across the bar and grabbing the cigarette.
Now, he made excuses. “We get a really stiff fine if anyone is caught smoking in here.”
Clive nodded sympathetically. “Yeah. They want to regulate us to death with their rules. I heard they’re trying to ban smoking in cars now.”
The man with the braid shook his head. “Didn’t pass.”
“They’ll try again.”
“Prob’ly. All this crap about secondhand smoke. It’s all bullshit.”
Daniel half-listened to the men talk about this for a while. Then the bar got a little busier and he moved down the line to take and fill orders. When he returned, they were still talking about secondhand smoke laws. Another man had joined in and was saying that the air was a lot fresher without all the smoke.
Clive swallowed the last of his drink and stood up to leave. “Maybe in a hospital or something, or an airplane. Like that. But in a bar? Who the hell goes to a bar for fresh air?”
Daniel finished the shift, and then the shift after that. Happy St. Paddy’s Day, Kiss Me I’m Irish, Erin-go-bragh, Erin-go-bragh, Erin-go-fucking-bragh. He got home a little bit after one in the morning, hoping the dog would not be there for once. But Gringo was on the porch. He had a dead bird in his mouth, and when Daniel stopped in front of him he sat up and dropped the bird at his feet with a plop.
Daniel didn’t sleep well at all.
Chapter 40
He stood back and craned his neck, looking up into the branches. This was taking longer than he’d hoped. The tree looked a lot better, but still not gorgeous. Well, he wasn’t a miracle worker, was he? Just a neighbor doing a favor. Spring winds were due to arrive this afternoon, and he knew from experience that dead branches weigh a lot more than you want them to when they hit your roof – or your head – at ten miles an hour.
Ellie stuck her head out the door and asked if he was done yet. “I worry about you, climbing around in that old tree.”
“I worry about me, too.” But he wasn’t really worried. Although he was out of practice, he’d done it before. He’d done it lots of times before. “It’s fine. I’m done. Come see. Better, yeah?”
She came down the stairs like a ghost, clad in a white smocklike sundress that came down all the way to her ankles. With her wispy grey hair floating in the slight breeze, the effect was rather creepy. Daniel blinked and looked back up into the tree, pointing. “See up there? Bird’s nest. It’s empty, though. Nobody home.”
“That’s sad. Maybe you should take it down.”
“No, let’s leave it. Other birds may come and use it. Finches probably.” He took off his gloves and slapped them on his thighs. Across the street, Greg had finished his daily raking and had dragged his mower out. Daniel waved at him and he waved back. “Greg’s got the cleanest lawn in the whole city.”
Ellie looked in that direction. “I’ve never been over there. He was here, once or twice. When we first moved in. Sometimes, you see. When we had things going on. We did have things. Sometimes.” She folded her arms across her chest and rubbed at her shoulders. “It’s cold out here. Come inside. I have coffee.”
“It’s not cold,” he said, following her. He meant to decline the coffee, but she handed a mug to him before he could say no.
“Here. It’s still warm from this morning.”
“It’s still morning, Ellie.” He glanced at the clock. It was ten-thirty, and he had to be at work at noon. It was a long shift tonight. He decided he could probably use the coffee after all, and sipped at it. It was foul-tasting and far too strong. “Got any cream?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “No cream. I do have creamer.”
“Same thing.”
“It isn’t. Not the same at all.” She handed him the powdered creamer and watched him pour it. “It’s not.” She stopped and held her breath briefly, nostrils flared.
Then he remembered: cream. She had sent Herb out for cream. Daniel handed the jar back. He wished he hadn’t brought it up. She still hadn’t talked about it and he wondered if she’d talk about it now.
He sipped at the coffee and said nothing, and Ellie blinked tears out of her eyes and said nothing back. Eventually, she shook her head. “Coffee’s too strong, isn’t it?”
“It’s a little strong. But it’s not too bad.”
“I’ve never been very good at making coffee. They say you should use eggshells.”
Daniel laughed a little too loudly, glad of the relief. “Eggshells?”
“Yeah. You’re supposed to put eggshells in the coffee, when you brew it. They say it tastes better that way, you see. But I always forget to keep the eggshells to try it.” She sat down heavily and looked at her feet. “I’m not crazy about eggs. Fried and such. Maybe next week I’ll make some cookies or something and hold onto the shells.”
“Sure. Cookies are always good.”
“Not always.” She laughed and sipped at her coffee again, making a face, whether in response to the coffee or because she was thinking of something else, Daniel didn’t know. “I’ve made some pretty bad ones, for sure. My mother used to make the best cookies. And my grandmother. She made snickerdoodles. You ever have snickerdoodles? You must have.”
Daniel couldn’t remember whether he had or not.
On his way back home to get ready for work, he stopped at the edge of her yard to look back at her tree. It could use some fine-tuning, but overall it was good. Her whole front yard was looking much better now, with just the little attention he’d given to it. And the house, at least on the inside. If she had the money to paint the outside … well. He didn’t really want to get involved in that much work, anyway. But it would help a lot. Maybe just the trim.
Lost in thought, Daniel did not notice when Gringo sat down next to him. He was stroking the dog’s ear for a few moments before he became aware of it and jerked his hand away. “Ugh,” he said, thinking of the dead birds. The one Gringo had dropped at his feet had not been the last one. He’d come home to dead birds on his porch three more times since then, and if he hadn’t been too fond of the dog to begin with, these gifts were certainly not helping. It was the first one that kept haunting him, though. That horrible, wet plop sound the thing had made when the dog had let it fall from his jaws, nearly formless. Like a sack of bloody bones, which is really what it was by then.
Gringo opened his mouth to pant. It looked like a grin.
Chapter 41
“Oh Dan, Oh Dan. My bartending man.” Clive slapped his hand on the bar loudly, chuckling when Daniel flinched. “I scare
you, bartender man? Set ‘em up. I feel lucky.” He moved his hand to reveal several lottery scratchers.
Daniel eased a glass onto the bar and poured the whiskey. “Lottery. Good luck, I’m rooting for you.” The odds were abysmal; he was far more likely to be struck by lightning than hit big on the lottery. But Daniel never said that, of course. “What’ll you do if you win?”
“Oh, what won’t I do, Danny boy? That’s the question, isn’t it? What the hell won’t I do?” Clive sipped his whiskey and selected a dime from his change pile to use for scratching. “I guess if I win, I’ll quit my job and travel. You can come with me, as my private barkeep.” The first scratcher won nothing. The second one hit for three dollars. Clive slapped his hand on the bar and yelled out in victory, making Daniel flinch again.
Clive reached for the pretzel bowl. “Hell, Dan. You’re jumpy today. Headache?”
“Maybe a little.” But he didn’t have a headache. Not yet, though it was certainly a possibility that he would have one soon enough, especially with Clive whacking the bar every five minutes as though he was trying to kill a cockroach. It wasn’t a headache yet, but he didn’t feel good. He felt funky, run-down. He felt—
“You look a mite peaked, as they say,” Clive said, flicking aside the losing scratcher and selecting another to work on.
Peaked. There it was. That was how he felt, exactly. Right on the nose. Nail on the head. Daniel laughed a laugh that was only half-intended. “Funny. That’s what my neighbor said.”
“Yeah?” Clive squinted at the little card and chewed on his lip, choosing which square to scratch next. “This the gal with the dog?”
“No. Different one.”
Clive flicked the scratcher aside with a hiss. “Close,” he said, picking up his drink and tossing it back. “Three left. Which one you think, Dan? Which one’s the winner?”
Hector, passing by with a tub full of dirty dishes, looked over and stopped. “That one,” he said, pointing. “One in the middle.”
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