“You’re not done with that one yet,” said Quinn, nodding to the bottle in front of Strange.
“I will be soon. But thanks for pointing it out.” Strange’s elbow slipped off the bar. “At least you’re doin’ all right with Sue. Seems like a good woman. Looks good, too.”
“Yeah, she’s cool. I’m lucky I found her. But Derek, I’m talkin’ about you.”
“Look, man, everything’s been boiling up inside me, with Joe’s death and all. I know I haven’t been dealing with it right.”
“Nobody knows how to deal with it. When a kid dies like that, you look around you and the things you thought were in order, your beliefs, God, whatever . . . nothing makes sense. I’ve been fucked up about it myself. We all have.”
Strange didn’t say anything for a while. And then he said, “I should’ve let him run that play.”
“What?”
“Forty-four Belly. He wanted to run it in at the end of the game. Boy never did get to run that touchdown play, the whole time he played for us. He would’ve scored that day, too, ’cause he had the fire. Can you imagine how happy that would’ve made him, Terry?”
Strange’s eyes had filled. A tear threatened to break loose. Quinn handed him a bar napkin. Strange used it to wipe his face.
Quinn noticed that the guy in the flannel shirt was staring at Strange.
“You want somethin’?” said Quinn.
“No,” said the guy, who quickly looked away.
“I didn’t think you did,” said Quinn.
“Settle down, Terry. I’d be starin’, too. Grown man, actin’ like a baby.” Strange balled up the napkin and dropped it in an ashtray. “Anyway. It’s all water passed now, isn’t it?”
“You did right,” said Quinn, “telling Joe not to run up that score. You were teaching him the right thing.”
“I don’t know about that. I don’t know. I thought he had a whole lifetime of touchdown runs ahead of him. Out here, though, every day could be, like, a last chance. Not just for the kids. For you and me, too.”
“You can’t think like that.”
“But I do. And it’s selfish of me, man, I know. Plain selfish.”
“What is?”
Strange stared at his fingers peeling the label of the bottle of beer. “These feelings I been having. About my own mortality, man. Selfish of me to be thinkin’ on it, when a boy died before he even got started and I been fortunate enough to live as long as I have.”
“Men are always thinking about their mortality,” said Quinn. He sipped his beer and placed the bottle softly on the bar. “Shit, man, death and sex, we think about it all the time. It’s why we do all the stupid things we do.”
“You’re right. Every time I start thinkin’ on my age, or that I’m bound to die, I start thinking about getting some strange. Makes me want to run away from Janine and Lionel and any kind of responsibility. It’s always been like that with me. Like having a different woman’s gonna put off death, if only for a little while.”
“You need to be runnin’ to those people, Derek. The ones who love you, man. Not to those girls down at those massage parlors—”
“Aw, here we go.”
“Just because they don’t walk the street doesn’t make ’em any different than streetwalkers. Those girls ain’t nothin’ but hookers, man.”
“For real?”
“I’m serious. Look, I’ve been with whores. So I’m not looking down on you for this. Just about every man I know has been with ’em, even if it was just a rite-of-passage thing. But what I’ve been seeing lately—”
“Your girl Sue got you converted, huh? Now you got religion and seen the light.”
“No, not me. But it’s wrong.”
“Terry, these ladies I see, they got to make a living same as anyone else.”
“You think that’s what they want to be doing with their lives? Putting their hands on a man’s dick they got no feelings for? Letting a stranger touch their privates? Shit, Derek, these Asian girls in those places, they’ve been brought over here and forced into that life to pay off some kind of a debt. It’s like slavery.”
“Nah, man, don’t even go there. White man starts talkin’ about, It’s like slavery, I do not want to hear it.”
“Ignore it if you want to,” said Quinn. “But that’s exactly what it’s like.”
“I got to relieve myself, man,” said Strange. “Where’s the bathroom at in this place?”
Quinn drank the rest of his beer while Strange went to the men’s room. When Strange returned, Quinn noticed that he had washed his face. Strange did not get back on his stool. He placed one hand on the bar for support.
“Well, I better get on out of here.”
“Yeah, I need to also. I’m seeing Sue tonight.”
Strange withdrew his wallet from his back pocket. Quinn put his hand on Strange’s forearm.
“I got it.”
“Thanks, buddy.” Strange picked up his album and put it under his arm. “And thanks again for this.”
“My pleasure.”
“Monday morning, I plan on getting started on that list Lydell slipped our way. You with me?”
“You know it. Derek—”
“What?”
“Call Janine.”
Strange nodded. He shook Quinn’s hand and pushed away from the bar, unsteady on his feet. Quinn watched him go.
chapter 21
STRANGE stopped by Morris Miller’s and bought a six. He opened one as he hit Alaska Avenue and drank it while driving south on 16th. Dusk had come. He didn’t know where he was headed. He kept driving and found himself on Mount Pleasant Street. He parked and went into the Raven, a quiet old bar he liked, not too different from Renzo’s, to get himself off the road. There, seated in a booth against the wall, he drank another beer.
When he came out he was half drunk, and the sky was dark. He said “hola” to a Latino he passed on the sidewalk and the man just laughed. Strange’s beeper sounded. He scanned the readout and looked for a pay phone. He had brought his cell with him, but he didn’t know where it was. Maybe in the car. He didn’t care to use it anyhow. He knew of a pay phone up near Sportsman’s Liquors, run by the Vondas brothers. He liked those guys, liked to talk with them about sports. But their store would be closed this time of night.
Strange walked in that direction, found the phone, and dropped a quarter and a dime in the slot. He waited for an answer as men stood on the sidewalk around him talking and laughing and drinking from cans inside paper bags.
“Janine. Derek here.”
“Where are you?”
“Calling from the street. Somewhere down here . . . Mount Pleasant.”
“I been trying to get up with you.”
“All right, then, here I am. What’ve you got?”
“You sound drunk, Derek.”
“I had one or two. What’ve you got?”
“Calhoun Tucker. You know how I been trying to finish out checking on his employment record? I finally got the word on that job he had with Strong Services, down in Portsmouth? They were no longer operating, so I was having trouble pinpointing the nature of the business—”
“C’mon, Janine, get to it.”
There was a silence on the other end of the line. Strange knew he had been short with her. He knew she was losing patience with him, rightfully so. Still, he kept on.
“Janine, just tell me what you found.”
“Strong Services was an investigative agency. They specialized in rooting out employee theft. He worked undercover in clubs, trying to find employees who were stealing from the registers, like that. Which is how he moved on into the promotion business, I would guess. But my point is, at one time, Tucker was a private cop. He might have done other forms of investigation as well.”
“I get it. So now that completes his background check. Anything else?”
There was another block of silence. “No, that’s it.”