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CHAPTER 14, EXCERPT 1
Eleven o’clock and feeling no pain at the Metropole.
Waverly was bouncing around the room like a pinball, Keith way into the toot, giving it to old friends, new friends, anyone who’d listen to him ramble on, and cute women. A lot of people were making the trip to the restrooms with Keith’s little brown vial clutched in their soon-to-be-sweaty hand. Place was busy. Waitress Jenny was hard at work. Viola Stemwaggen wasn’t in tonight but some of her peers were. Metro was a familiar nightmare. Moran, forearms resting on the bar, was slouching on a barstool next to Frank. Moran’s face was oily and pale and his eyes were glazed. Looked like he’d been there all week. In one of his coherent moments Moran told Frank that Johnny Beam was there earlier with two foxy women.
Probably whores, knowing Johnny, Frank thought. Frank was working on his fifth beer and staring at a shot of Irish that Moran just bought him. He threw down the shot and ordered two more, one for him, one for Moran. Frank’s replacement tender was behind the bar tonight, younger guy—big—curly blonde hair, allegedly a cop in Florida once, a least that’s what Jenny said. She’d also told Frank that Betty hired this Ron guy specifically to keep order in the bar, a lot of fights in the place lately.
That’s what happens when a guy like me leaves, Frank said to himself as the second shooter of the night ramped up the heat in his belly and brought his mind ticking down to one thought at a time. Then after another timeless stretch of nothingness, Waverly came stepping up to Frank’s barstool and ordered a Bacardi-orange juice from the new guy. Grinning at Frank, Waverly said, “Hey, man, enjoying your vacation?”
“Yeah, man, there’s nothing quite so joyful as being thirty-six and unemployed in an economically depressed area. Closest thing to a Jamaican holiday I can think of. Speaking of Jamaica, got any of that weed left?”
“Nah, man, all gone. Got some ‘lumbo that’ll knock your dick in the dirt, though.”
“All right, man, just thought I’d ask. And, yeah, come to think of it, it really is good to be away from the family Pillsbury, if nothing else. How about you, Wavo, staying out of trouble?”
Waverly made a face and reached in the pocket of his Levi jacket, brought out a fold of bills. He peeled a couple off and placed them on the bar in front of Ron the waiting bartender. Picking up the tall sweating glass of orange liquid, Keith had a long pull, set the glass down on the bar and seemed to go stiff for an instant. Then looking at Frank, Waverly said, “Man, I just remembered something. Something I probably should have told you already. Something I know you’ll want to hear.”
Frank was annoyed. Cocaine made people annoying. Keith was a good guy but he was falling down the rabbit hole, the man’s jaw off-kilter all the goddamn time these days. And now the guy was pouring down the booze like there was no tomorrow. “So what the hell is it, Keith? You gonna tell me or do I have to read your mind?”
“No, man, I’ll tell you.” Keith lifted his drink and had another large quaff. “I was making the rounds in Bay City the other night, y’know, and I stopped over at The Cottage just before closing time. I was at the bar checking the place out for possible customers when I hear these two waitresses talking about this guy was in there a while back. Heard one of ’em say the dude was sitting at the bar sobbing, tears rolling down his face and shit. And this one waitress said she started talking to the guy, asking him if he was OK and everything, and I guess the guy pulled it together. But here’s the thing, Frank. She told the other chick that she thought the guy was the one in the newspaper—the one who jumped off the fuckin’ Arrowhead Bridge.”
Frank’s got a rush of weightlessness in his solar plexus. “Are you shitting me? What’s her name? Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I spaced, man. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay, man.” Frank was being careful with Waverly. “But now I need to get over there. Tonight. Right fuckin’ now. What’d you say her name was?”
“I didn’t, but it’s Dory. Cute little blonde. Real nice girl. Even talks to strangers.”
“That’s good, man. That’s really good. But I gotta get over there. Can you drive me?”
“No problem, man. Soon as I finish my drink.”
“Chug it.” Frank stood up. It was all starting to come together.
(To be continued)
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