“Old habits,” I reply. “When I was, shall I say, respectable, evenings I would sit back in my recliner with some cold Jack London and warm ruby. It was pleasant.”
We sit there on a couple of cinder blocks, and Dick insists we have the port with our coffee. Then, afterward, we just sip on the wine, passing the bottle back and forth. Dick’s smoking one Lucky after another, and I don’t say a word. Soon he’s had enough and blurts out, “Canman, you’re something else.”
“What do you mean, Dick?”
“Name’s Blue,” he comes back. “Bob Blue.”
“Like Dick better.”
“Don’t care too much for Howard myself, canman.”
I nod and say, “All right then, what’s the scoop?”
And that's when he hands it across, and I’m just floored. It’s a letter, you see, from my sister Alice. Haven’t seen her since I took off, around twenty-two years ago. I was thumbing my way out of town the day the first Kennedy boy was murdered.
“You’re working for Alice?”
He motions for me to read the letter. Which is not the easiest thing for me to accomplish, but I do so.
Dear Howard,
May I introduce to you Mr. Robert Blue, a private investigator from San Francisco. Now I know he’s a little “different,” but a few others I contacted did not seem interested in my proposal, while Mr. Blue seemed genuinely excited about it. Anyway, he said he’d never been to New Orleans and would like to see it.
Howard, I asked Mr. Blue to locate you and see if you would return with him to stay with me. Now before you throw this letter back at him, let me have my word, and I will not consider doing this again. That is all I ask, my darling brother.
Now you’ve been sending me money about every month. For some reason you must have thought I needed it, but that’s not the case. I still have my art dealership and do very well with it, although I’ve cut back some on my workload. Howard, Harry died of a heart attack a few years ago, and the poor old bum’s insurance money would have easily seen my retirement, if that was my desire, so you see the situation. I’ve just been taking that “poor sister” dough you’ve sent me and banked it. There’s about forty-seven thousand dollars in there, last time I peeked, which is enough change for anyone’s fishing trip.
I’ve left you alone till now, Howard, because I knew that’s what you wanted. After your phone call, about 1965, I believe, I knew you had to run it out. Each of us deals with tragedy their own way, and you had that right. Honey, I’ve gone to bed every night these twenty-two years wondering what you’re up to. That, you see, was one of the things I asked Mr. Blue to do. I wanted to know, once and for all, what you were up to now. Whether you were happy and safe or what After that he was to approach you with this letter or get the hell away from you. So, if you’re reading this, he has called me and I’ve told him to see you.
Simply, I think you’ve taken this far enough, Howard. I’ve been more than fair with my side, and I expect you to think about that. We’re not young now, and honest to God I need you around before I get out of here. We’re all there is, you know. There may be a cousin or so tucked somewhere, but I don’t count that. I love you and want you with me while there’s time. If you’re married again, which I doubt, we can all have a wonderful time together. I live up in the valley now. It’s some wooded property, and there is the main house and a smaller guest place. You’re welcome to either one, although I prefer you stayed in the larger house with me. It’s quiet, Howard, and lovely. You know the valley.
Not much else to say. I love you, and if you decide to stay there, you have your reasons, but I doubt I would agree. You know I would not hamper your life in any manner. I only want you back again. Enough is enough.
Love,
After this I’m contemplating the ground before me very hard. I tell Dick, “I thought she was on welfare. Someone I ran into told me that. Or that she filed bankruptcy. I can’t remember exactly.”
Dick’s cracking open a Lucky and shaking his head. “No stories today, Mr. Greenjeans. You wake up one morning and think you’re the Invisible Man: poof — El Splits-o. Couple of birthdays later your sister gets this phone call, collect, mind you, from Windy City.”
“It was dead of winter, Dick,” I say without reason.
“It was breakfast time in sunny California,” he says. “Sis and hubby are eating their corn flakes, minding their own, when suddenly the horn blows, and she’s hearing some old sot crying about the good old days, singing ‘The Way We Were,’ and how can he make it up now.”
For a while I’m speechless, trying to understand what’s going on. I’m remembering that phone call and say, “I was thinking then about when we were kids, her and I; us playing together, then being older and her going away to the institute, then her coming home and being delighted with my little winery and family and my leased Ford station wagon.”
“Charming,” says Dick, yawning and blowing smoke at the same time. He was different, all right. “Reminiscing with a rummy at daybreak must have been just peaches and cream for her. But let’s talk about now. Like the letter says, canman, she needs you, not your score note a month and a question mark.”
Then I’m shaking my head. “You’re wasting your time.”
“I get it,” he says. “You’d rather turn into Grandpa Prunes one day and wax line one of your stovepipes over there.”
“What’s in it for you?” I snap back. “I suppose, I go back, you get yourself a nice bonus?”
He was smiling, dangling that Lucky. “Ditto. I get five more Cs on my report card if I bring you back alive — but not kicking.”
“Well I damn sure would be,” I say. “She knows I could never do that again. Damn her, anyway.”
“Easy, Howard, I promised sis I’d leave my shotgun home.” He stands up now, stretching and looking around. “Anyway, your pet rats are getting on my nerves. What say we beat it for a quick nightcap?”
“Sorry, I’m limiting my social drinking these days.”
“One for the road,” he says. “Tomorrow I fly the friendly skies.”
“Is that right?” I reply. For some reason, this news bothers me. In any event, after hearing this I have to agree, and we end up at this seaman’s bar over by the river, which I know all the way there is a mistake. We have a drink, then two or three more, and I’m starting to tell Dick how it happened. Luckily, he stops me. I hadn’t talked about it for a while, but, as I should have known, it never did leave me in the best of spirits. Talking about it, that is.
So Dick’s blowing smoke, raising his hand and saying, “Save it, old-timer, sis gave me all the painful details before I left.”
By then I am feeling pretty rude and say, “Oh, yeah? What the hell does she know about it? What makes her so damn smart?”
Dick’s eyeing me real close now through those half-closed eyes of his. I hear him say, “Your problem is you’ve got a case of the sorries for yourself you’ve never been able to shake.”
“Go to hell,” I reply.
“No, I’m going over to the Monteleone and go to bed,” he says. “I’ve got a full tank trying to figure out why such a nice lady as that wants an old coot like you hanging around.”
Then he just disappears and there I am alone again. I start feeling guilty about it after a while, what I’d said and the way I’d acted. It was Dick still working on me. He was so damn sure of things, which made it even worse. Miserable puritan.
“Get you anything?”
It was just the bartender and me left. “Oh, hell,” I say. “A big cup of the blackest, meanest coffee you got.”