“Accent?I don’t have an accent.”
“Sure you do,” Clell said.“You’ve got a very definite River City accent.”
I stared at him, trying to figure out if he was serious or jerking my chain.He watched me, sipping his coffee and smoothing his mustache.
“Accent, huh?”
He nodded, and motioned toward me.“You ought to be wearing a coat in weather like this.”
I didn’t answer right away.
“You can get them at the Salvation Army store pretty cheap.Or Value Village.They aren’t brand new, but — ”
“I had a coat,” I said.“Someone stole it earlier tonight.”
Clell nodded.“I see.”He pointed to my cheek.“Same someone that roughed you up some?”
“Same someone.”
Clell nodded again.
I set my jaw.For some reason, anger bubbled up inside of me.None of it was directed at Clell, this kind man who’d taken me in and warmed me up, but it surged upward nonetheless.“I’ll get my jacket back,” I said.“Believe that.”
“It’s just a jacket,” Clell said.“And like I said, there’s plenty of ‘em at the Value Village.”
“Not like this one.”
“No?”
I shook my head.“It’s a bomber jacket.You know, the leather ones?”
“I know what you mean.Those are nice jackets.But hardly worth going at some guy that already-”
“It’s all I have left of my father,” I blurted out.For a moment, I was sorry I told him.After another moment, I wasn’t.
Clell seemed to understand.“Your pop was military, then?A fighter pilot?”
I wished I could have said yes, but the best I could do was a derisive snort.“My dad was a drunk and a gambler, that’s all.Hell, he probably won the jacket in a game of dice.”
Clell nodded.“Still,” he said.“It was your pop’s jacket.”
“Yeah,” I answered.
We fell silent.I finished off my coffee.Clell did the same.
“I gotta make a trip around the outside of the building and then through the interior,” he said.“All seven stories.I’d let you stay, but if my supervisor comes by-“
“That’s all right.I understand.”
Clell gave me an appraising look.“I could wait another fifteen minutes, I suppose.If you need to warm up some more.”
“No,” I said.“I’m good.”
I swallowed the last of the coffee and handed Clell the thermos cap and his coat.He put on the coat and walked me to the door.When he unlocked it and pushed it open, arctic blasts came slashing in.Instinctively, my shoulders hunched and I wrapped my arms across my chest.
“You sure you’ll be all right?” Clell asked me.
I nodded.“I will now.Thanks.”
“Sure.”
I stepped out into the night and started west.I heard Clell lock up the door and come trotting up from behind me.We walked together to the end of the block, where he turned right to continue his circuit.Before he turned off, he clapped me lightly on the shoulder, and said goodnight.
30
By the time I got home, I was shivering violently again.It took me three tries to slide my key into the door lock to open it and get into my apartment.
Once inside, I stripped off my clothes and stood under a warm, then hot, shower.I stayed there until the shivering had stopped and a dull, painful throb returned to my fingers and toes.I only turned it off when the water finally turned lukewarm.
After toweling off, I examined the injuries on my body.The bruises from Mullet-man at the hockey game were turning yellow. I could see the faint outlines of new bruising where Leon had kicked me.The back of my head had a small lump from the brick wall in the alley. The muscles in my stomach were tender where Grill had drilled me with his foot.The blisters on my feet from all the walking I did in cowboy boots were the size of quarters. My shoulder and arm ached where my old gunshot wounds were.Not surprisingly, though, the jagged, tearing pain in my knee was the worst of all.
I popped three pain relievers and collapsed on my bed, hoping sleep wouldcome. When it didn’t right away, I tried to wrap my mind around the case but the weariness of the day, the beating and the long walk distracted me from any critical thinking.
Instead, a mish-mash of images swam through my tired mind in no particular order.Mr. Jenkins and his arrogance.Rolo.Katie.Kris Sinderling.Grill’s fury. The kindly features of Marie Byrnes. Leon and his flat eyes.Kris again.Gary LeMond and the unsettling feeling he gave me.Tiffany the hooker and the fire she’d raised in me.Dookie.Clell and the odor of Old Spice and coffee.Then Kris again. Always her again.
She floated before my eyes, her eyes nineteen, her body twenty-one, her heart and soul only six years old.
Six.Just like Amy Dugger.
I pushed all of them away and eventually let sleep take me.
31
The next morning at the Rocket, Cassie’s mysterious smile lifted my spirits a little. I smiled back, then settled into a corner seat to mull over my next move.The answer came immediately, like I knew it would.I was just tired of asking for help.
I sat with my coffee and waited for Adam.He almost always came by, even if it was just to get a cup to go.
When he arrived, I was only half a cup down. He gave me a quick grin and ordered before he sat down.Then he noticed the cut and the puffiness on my eye.
“That looks new,” he said, pointing.
“Didn’t your mother teach you it’s not polite to point?”
He dropped his index finger and snapped out his middle one.“Nope.”
Cassie brought his latte and he tipped her a dollar.She smiled and said thank you.Her smile was genuine, but not the same smile she gave me. I was almost sure of it.
“A little table generals?” Adam asked, motioning toward the chess board.
I shook my head.“Not this morning.”
Adam shrugged and sipped his drink.
I leaned forward.“Adam, I need some help with something.”
He wiped some white froth from his lips with a napkin.“Sure.I mean, it’s legal, right?”
I pressed my lips together and tried to grin.“Well, it’s like your guy sings in that song.”
“My guy?” Adam asked but he knew what I meant. Adam was a bona fide Bruce Springsteen nut.For the most part, I wasn’t much into the guy, but Adam was a rock solid fan.
“Yeah,” I said.“Your guy.From the tape you made me last summer.”
“You actually listened to it?”
I shrugged.The truth was, I’d let it sit for several weeks, but eventually I gave it a listen.Some of the songs were okay, which made sense, since Adam had compiled the tape to try and win me over.Or maybe convert me is a more accurate way to put it.But there was one song I’d liked in particular, a subtle one that resonated with me.
“It was nothing illegal,” I quoted, “Just a little bit funny.”
“The Big Muddy,” Adam said automatically.Then his face pinched and he looked at me for a long while.Finally, he said, “You know, if you’d spring for a CD player, I’d burn you a bunch more.Even some bootleg stuff.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
Adam shrugged.“It’s only live shows.”
I shrugged back. “Either way, I’m good with the radio, you know?”
We sat quietly for a minute or two.This was uncharted territory for us both.I’d never asked Adam for anything before. A year or two after I left the job, he stopped offering.We picked up our own tabs at the Rocket.I didn’t talk about how light my pockets were after I made rent every month and he didn’t talk about the new toys he bought with the nice income he had.A few Christmases, he’d had me over, but we’d agreed in advance to keep the gifts modest.Adam had been a good friend.He’d never flaunted his own good fortune. He never blamed me for my mistakes.He also never tried to convince me that they weren’t mistakes or that I shouldn’t feel guilty.He didn’t judge.He was just there.And that’s why I never asked him for anything.
Until now.
“I can’t promise,” he finally said, his voice lower even though he and I were the onlypeople in the Rocket besides Cassie.“But I’ll listen.”