Resolution: Evan Warner Book 1 Read online

  I ended up going down Bow Street again and turning onto Circle Drive. There were lights on and two cars in the drive. I passed by and came back onto Bow, but this time turned right and went up the hill to the old cemetery. Went through the graveyard onto a dirt road that linked to a larger side street. Got back to Central Street a few miles across town.

  We still didn’t go home. We ended up in Trenton at Neil’s Lounge. The parking lot was about half full. Kendra hadn’t been exaggerating when she said it was a nice place. It looked nice inside. Fancy but not too fancy. Almost like the sort of place that might cater a casual wedding reception or a family reunion. There was a good smell in the air. It helped me forget the awful Benson stench. There was mellow music playing. The lights were low. People were talking without being obnoxiously loud.

  Kendra was behind the long bar. She was wearing a white shirt with a black tie. She looked good. She looked classy. She seemed happy to be chatting with everyone. If I hadn’t known, I wouldn’t have guessed she was struggling through the loss of a friend.

  I moved along the bar. Found a few open seats down at the far end. Sat down and leaned on the bar. Then Kendra looked over and noticed me. She moved quickly in my direction after poring someone’s drink. She was practically bouncing like Tigger. The lights were low, but I could easily see the hope in her expression.

  “Didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

  “Don’t get excited,” I warned her. “I haven’t found him yet.”

  “Oh,” she exhaled. She lost a full inch in height.

  “The boys weren’t home. I snooped around their nasty house a bit. They’re definitely keeping dogs there.”

  “You broke right in?”

  “The door was open. I just walked in.”

  Her eyes got wide. “No way could I do that.”

  “It wasn’t fun. The place is a hellhole.”

  “When I saw you sitting here, I was hoping—”

  “Stay calm,” I said. I looked around real quick to make sure no one was within earshot. “I think we have the right people. And even if we don’t, when I catch up with them, I’ll make them tell me who the right people are. We’ll find Simon.”

  Kendra nodded. Her mind was going fast and she was working hard to steady herself and maintain her upbeat appearance.

  “I found a good amount of cash,” I told her next. “I just counted almost thirteen grand.”

  “Who keeps that much cash?”

  “Not me.”

  “Me either.”

  “Maybe their saving to get their grandma an operation.”

  “Neil knows who the big sellers are around here,” she said. “He says the Bensons aren’t serious sellers, if they sell at all. He’s never heard of them.”

  “How exactly does Neil know?”

  She shrugged.

  Maybe Neil actually did know what he was talking about. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was just a restaurateur who wished he was a little more of a big deal. I didn’t say anything either way. Obviously Kendra liked him and trusted his word. No need to rain on her parade.

  I asked, “What’s good to eat?”

  She handed me a menu and pointed out a few of her personal favorites. It was a big menu with color photos of some of the dishes. Everything looked good. It was a hell of a decision. I decided on a calzone.

  “How about a drink?”

  “Bottled water.”

  “Live a little,” she said. “Have a beer.”

  “Just water. Please.”

  She got me a water and put up the order and then had to tend to a few other customers. I was sitting there with my forearms on the bar. I had on a fresh pair of gloves, which I regarded for a moment before rolling my hands in toward my chest, to keep them out of view.

  Within a few seconds I got the definite feeling that I was being stared at. From the corner of my eye I saw a guy down the bar looking steadily at me.

  I stared straight back at him. My aim being to embarrass him. Thus get him to look away.

  It didn’t work.

  He got off his stool and came over and took the empty one beside me. I stared straight at Kendra, hoping she would return and save me from a conversation I didn’t wish to have.

  “Germs?” the guy finally asked.

  “Evan,” I said.

  “You have gloves on.”

  “Do I?”

  He laughed. He wasn’t terribly drunk. But definitely buzzed and happy. Looking for someone to chat with. Barking up the wrong tree.

  I said, “I like pizza.”

  “So do I, friend. I’ll drink to that.”

  I said, “My house is made of pizza.”

  He laughed again and asked, “You her boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Friend?”

  “Yoga instructor.”

  “She’s happy to see you. I know that much.”

  I took a sip of water, said, “That’s because I just saved her a bundle on her car insurance.”

  He laughed out loud. So loud that people were looking at us. Much louder than the weak joke deserved. His breath smelled like beer and peanuts.

  Then he hit my shoulder. It was only a friendly pat. But still very unwelcomed contact. I get very edgy around drunk people. Experience has taught me not to trust them. On my own turf, I can simply toss them out at my own discretion. Get rid of the problem. But in public it’s different. I’m not the law. And no one has ever accused me of being a great diplomat.

  Up the bar I saw Kendra looking over at us. I made strong eye contact with her. I’m not sure that I believe in telekinesis. But I was definitely trying to employ it. To will her to come over and get this guy away from me.

  Instead she turned and disappeared into the kitchen. Then reappeared with a stout man in a nice suit following her. He was around her height and at least twice as wide. At first I couldn’t tell if he was old with a young face, or young with an old face.

  “Here she comes,” the drunk guy said. “I’ll put in a good word for you.”

  “Troy,” Kendra said with a smile. “You’re getting a little silly, my friend. That’s your last drink for the night.”

  The stout man said, “I’ll call you a cab, Troy.”

  “Aw, Neil, you’re no fun,” Troy said. But he was still smiling.

  I said to Kendra, “Do you need this guy tossed or what?”

  She frowned and leaned over close and said, “He’s harmless. Just a lonely guy who comes in here some nights for company.”

  “Maybe if he drank less people would want to hang out with him.”

  The stout man, Neil, made a quick phone call. Then he leaned on the bar and spoke quietly with Troy. I could just hear him saying something like, “Fun is okay. But not too much fun.”

  Kendra said to me, “Chill out. Okay?”

  I nodded and sipped my water. Apparently her experiences with drunks were a little different than my own. Maybe I’d jumped the gun a little. I’m always waiting for some kind of a brawl to erupt. Because they usually do.

  After a minute Neil came over and stood across from me. Kendra moved away again, and with a strong Boston accent, Neil said, “So you’re after the bastards, eh.”

  “After who?”

  “You know. She told me all about it. The girl has been miserable since they stole that silly dog of hers.”

  “She tell you my name?”

  He shook his head. The overhead lights moved on his shiny bald head. His stout arms were extended straight out. His palms were pressed to the inner edge or the bar. He appeared settled in for a lengthy discourse.

  I said, “Yeah, I’m after them.”

  “What have you found?”

  “Plenty of evidence. But not them personally. Yet.”

  “No dog?”

  “Not yet.”

  He nodded and said, “You’ve got cold eyes, my man. I saw them change from when you spoke with her to when you spoke with me. They changed in a blink.”

  I kept qui
et. Gave him the Eastwood stare.

  Neil smiled and said, “I think you’re the right man to fix this problem.”

  “Someone’s got to.”

  “I am a business man. A man of financial decisions, not a man of action. I can’t help her in that way.”

  I said nothing and took another sip of water. The bottle was getting low.

  “I haven’t always lived here,” he said.

  “Let me guess … Mississippi.”

  No smile. He just said, “Boston.” Like it wasn’t obvious.

  I nodded.

  “And I’ve been around some colorful people in my day. I’ve made some money and some friends and a few enemies along the way. Now I’ve retired to the country. But just because I’m retired doesn’t mean I’ve lost my eye for people. I consider myself an excellent judge of character.”

  I nodded again. Didn’t know what to say. I was waiting for him to say he was related to Whitey Bulger. Maybe it was just a show, to sound like an old Boston player. Either way I didn’t care. No matter who he was, he couldn’t tell me anything about myself I didn’t already know.

  He said, “Kendra tells me you’re a bouncer.”

  “Sort of.”

  He whispered, “Is that why you’re wearing a gun in my establishment?”

  I looked at him.

  “I saw the print under your coat.”

  “I’ve got the paperwork.”

  “And the attitude.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I can be friendly. Or not. Whatever.”

  “Then you’re like me in a way. You can gauge people quickly. But unlike me, you have the imposing physical presence to do something about it.”

  “The mystery of genetics.”

  He shook his head. “There are plenty of big guys around. Some bigger than you. Not all of them are the real thing. One look and I knew you were either an athlete or a fighter.”

  I said, “Actually, I write fantasy fiction for a living.”

  Neil laughed suddenly. It was a deep belly laugh. He was done evaluating me and ready to lighten up. His squinty eyes disappeared as he laughed and his big Irish face turned pink. He turned Kendra’s way as she came near.

  “No worries,” he assured her. “This cold bastard can turn on the ice with a switch. He’ll take care of everything.”

  “I guess he likes you,” she said.

  I watched Neil move away and escort drunk Troy to the door. He handed him cash, presumably for the taxi. He ran his business intelligently with a close eye. I looked back at Kendra.

  “Lucky me.”

  She gave me a look.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing, Mr. Unsociable. Your dinner should be ready soon.”

  “You want results or a chatterbox?”

  She laughed. “You really don’t trust anyone, do you?”

  “I trust dogs. Everyone else has to earn my respect.”

  “Well, at least you don’t make anyone play guessing games. Kudos for that.”

  “Listen,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about the money. When they realize they’ve been robbed, they might get nervous and a little desperate. That’s a lot of cash to lose.”

  “They’ll want Simon’s reward money.”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “I really don’t want to talk to them.”

  “Don’t answer. Let them squirm a little. Maybe they’ll leave a message. If they do, we’ll know for sure they’re hurting for money.”

  “How does that help us?” she asked. “Why do we care?”

  I leaned forward and said quietly, “Most people get nervous when they sense themselves losing control. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Makes sense, yeah.”

  “If they’re nervous, then the odds will tip in our favor. Scared people don’t always make the best decisions. If everything seems upside down, most people only think about getting right side up again. Getting things back under control.”

  “They’re distracted. Preoccupied.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Whatever,” she said. “As long as you feel confident.”

  I nodded. I did.

  “The phone number thing sort of bothers me,” she said.

  “You can change it after.”

  “But I like my number.”

  “Not more than your dog.”

  “No.”

  “Know what I’d like?”

  She made a little fist, said, “One of these?”

  “My food. This place smells great.”

  Kendra went away to wait on a few customers. I waited a few more minutes and then she brought me my calzone. Once I was eating I lost track of what was going on around me. It was a good place and a good atmosphere, and the calzone was excellent. I put a hundred dollar bill on the bar after I was finished.

  “I’ll take care of it,” she said.

  “It’s on them,” I said.

  She took the money with a sheepish smile. Then she took her break and came outside with me to the parking lot. We rehashed everything again. She was nervous and I understood why she felt the need to keep on talking. It was unfamiliar territory, shaky ground. I kept reminding her that the Bensons would be just as nervous. Probably more so. They were the ones who had started all this by stealing Simon in the first place. Evidently they were used to getting away with it. Being robbed out of the blue might be even more shocking to them than most people.

  “I’m nervous and scared and happy all at once,” Kendra said. “I doubt I’ll sleep a wink.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I’d sleep just fine.

  16

  My headlights washed over Uncle Danny’s dark-shingled house as I climbed his gravel driveway. The inside was dark except for a faint light in the living room. That was normal for him. I knew he’d be up reading in his chair. No need to leave a bunch of lights on.

  “You look a little cooler,” he said when he met me at the door.

  “Any news?”

  “Yeah,” he said, standing safely aside as Frank rushed by him. “Jeremy Conner’s father was detained by a trooper a few hours ago.”

  “Good,” I said. “Now if we could just get his mother picked up, the kid might stand a chance.”

  He didn’t acknowledge me. Just closed the door and turned slowly to face me. He looked tired and heavy on his feet. He had changed out of his uniform into some sweats and a waffle shirt. Out of uniform, he didn’t look like the same man.

  I asked, “Did I wake you up?”

  “I dozed off reading, I guess.”

  “New or Old Testament?”

  “Historical overview of the new. On Paul. Remarkable man.”

  “We’ll let you get back to it,” I said. “I just wanted to check in.”

  “No trouble.”

  “You’re sure?”

  He gestured and said, “Let’s go out to the war room.”

  We went through the kitchen to the living room. Through the side door to the porch. His war room. Where all his best thinking and planning was done. He took a seat on one side of a table and I took one on the other side. He picked up his pipe and bag of tobacco. Opened the bag and carefully packed the pipe. I lit a cigarette and watched him.

  He was patient and methodical. Unlike a cigarette smoker. Part of the pleasure was the careful routine, the aroma of the opened tobacco bag, the striking of the match, and finally the delayed gratification of the first puff and the plumes of sweet smoke. It’s hard to fault the man for holding onto a comforting routine, albeit an unhealthy one. He’s seen a lot of shit in his days. Been through a lot at home, too. And he hadn’t planned on being a bachelor in his sixties.

  “I didn’t go near Lucy’s mother,” I told him.

  “Good,” he said between puffs.

  “I drove by. That’s all.”

  “How’d it look?”

  “Seemed quiet.”

  “It’s early yet.”

  “Are you still in touch with the Frankli
n chief?”

  “From time to time.”

  “And?”

  “He hasn’t a shred of hard evidence to implicate Lucy’s family for anything other than petty bullshit.”

  “Hasn’t got the manpower to watch them.”

  “Not even close.”

  We fell silent. The night was cool and clear and the peepers were making their music. It was a good place for sitting still. Relaxing quietly. Even Frank thought so as he lay by Uncle Danny’s feet.

  “Sorry for giving you grief,” I finally said. “Obviously none of this is your fault. I’m just pissed off.”

  He grunted and puffed a big cloud of smoke. Said, “There’s nothing I can say to set you at ease. I mean that in the most literal sense.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ve never suggested that you should be happy about the way things are.”

  “No,” I said. “It just seems that way sometimes.”

  That was the end of it. We were solid again. Just a few words and it was that easy. We were more like friends than relatives. We could disagree sharply without slipping into resentment or animosity. Besides, I knew that my uncle held back with me. He’d told me a few horror stories from his trooper days. But he kept the majority of his experiences to himself. Like a war veteran. If he could live with the knowledge of all those nasty circumstances that were beyond his control, and keep the frustration from destroying him, so could I.

  But that didn’t mean for a second that I would give up on Lucy Kurtz. I wouldn’t. It only meant that I acknowledged my fault in taking out my frustrations on my uncle, my friend.

  “That’s life in an imperfect world,” he said.

  I couldn’t argue.

  “I was on the evening news,” he said in a lighter tone. “Briefly.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Not the first time, actually. The reporter called and showed up here a while after you left. Asked about the mystery man who stopped the kidnapping.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “Told them you wished to remain anonymous. Off camera I elaborated that there was no point in trying to seek you out. You were the dangerous backwoods type. Better off left alone.”

  “Well played. Thanks.”

  We sat and talked for another half hour. About this and that. Nothing significant. Just talking and smoking and relaxing. It was getting on towards ten when Frank and I headed home.