"I don't know, Freeman. I been in and out of these places for a couple of years now and never saw it," O'Shea said.
"Right. And you never told any of those bartenders you were an ex-cop?"
"Well, it does have a ring to it, you know."
"And they don't pass that around to their coworkers who might avoid doing business when you're in the place?"
"OK. OK. I get the point," he said and slipped the camera phone into his pocket.
"Like I said, six-foot, dark hair, clean-cut. Probably likes the same seat at the bar, down at the far end and he's probably alone."
"Down under the TV?" O'Shea said.
I looked at him.
"I know the layout."
"I figured," I said, still watching him. "Just hang at that end and leave the seat open. See if he comes in," I said.
"You want me to hit him up for some coke or ecstasy or what?"
"Like someone's going to buy first time from you, O'Shea."
"Hey, I could have been all right undercover," he said defensively.
I let that comment sit.
"Just the photo, all right?" I said and took fifty dollars out of my shirt pocket. "Stay till eleven or so and meet me back out here." He took the cash without a word, got out and walked, unhurried, toward Kim's.
I refilled my cup from the thermos, took a sip and when I looked over the rim I realized that all during our conversation I had been unconsciously staring out at a patrol car. The guy hadn't moved for nearly an hour. Nice work if you can get it, I thought. But I had to admit there had been some slow rainy nights on the Charlie shift when I'd huddled in the dry stairwell of the First Pennsylvania Bank entrance to the Broad Street Subway and lost myself in a paperback when I was supposed to be walking a downtown beat. But this guy's head had never even turned around to scan the rest of the lot. He was awake. I watched him put what now I was sure was a cell phone to his ear several times. But he seemed to only be focused on the side window of Kim's. For a paranoid minute I thought maybe I'd sent O'Shea into the middle of some kind of sting operation. Then I saw the cop snap his hand away from his ear. His brake lights flashed as he started the engine and he jerked the patrol car out of the space in reverse. His headlights popped on but not the blue light bar and he dropped the transmission into drive and pulled a screeching hole shot out of the lot. He gunned it past Kim's and a couple coming out of the Thai place had to jump back between two cars to keep from getting hit.
"Christ," I said out loud to myself. "I hope that B amp;E is real important, pal." And I reflexively memorized the number of his car that was stenciled on the left rear corner of the trunk.
I took another sip of coffee and checked my rear mirrors all around. It could be the only excitement of the night. This time the rap of O'Shea's knuckles on my truck woke me out of a half-sleep. My eyes may even have been open, but I could not recall what I was looking at other than the pale glow of neon and lamplight out in front of me. I unlocked the door and checked my watch as he got in. Twelve fifteen.
"Sleeping on the job will get you a write-up, Freeman."
I let the comment pass. O'Shea settled into the seat, letting his body relax and deflate as if he had just done a hard shift down on the docks of the Delaware. He'd dragged in the odor of cigarette smoke and the sweet smell of whiskey came off his breath when he spoke. But his eyes were still clear and he would have convinced a highway patrolman that he was just tired. Some guys just had that capacity.
"Nobody that fits your mark in there tonight," he said, taking the cell phone out of his pocket. "Few old regulars, a couple I recognized from before. Some kids that I eavesdropped on who were from some alternative newspaper staff and your typical football experts blattin' on about how they would run the Dolphins' offense like they were on fuckin' talk radio. Bartender is new, though."
"Yeah," I said. "Marci."
"Good-looking little blonde. Marci," he said, looking away from me out into the night.
"But if she's running drugs, it's over the phone, 'cause she was on the damn thing every fifteen. Speaking of."
He held the cell out to me.
"Keep it," I said. "I want you to go back in tomorrow. Maybe stay till closing. It's a Saturday night and maybe something will be different."
He shrugged and pocketed the phone.
"You say so, boss," he said and sat silent, making no move to get out.
"You want me to drop you someplace?"
"No, I'm good. I'm just wondering, Freeman, if it's such a great idea for me to be hanging out in one place night after night, you know. Considering the circumstances."
Both of us were looking straight out over the lot now, showing no interest in each other's faces.
"You thinking about running, Colin?" I said.
"Shit, no."
"If Richards is going to grab you up, she'll find you anyway. You know the drill."
"Too fucking well," he said, popping the handle and stepping out.
"And if she gets you here, I'm your alibi," I said. "I'm trusting you."
"Yeah."
He closed the door and I watched him walk in the direction of the movie theater and disappear around the corner.
CHAPTER 19
That was it. She'd hung up on him and that was just over the fucking line.
Damn it, he thought. He'd had hopes for this one. He might even have been in love with her. Of course, he thought, he could have been in love with the others, too. But, shit. Why couldn't they just do what he asked them to do instead of turning on him? He knew Marci needed him. He could see it in her eyes when he told her how beautiful she was and when he had to protect her like that time with the jerk boys, Thing One and Thing Two, on the street that day. She was a little freaked out by that, he could tell when he got back into the car and her mouth was hanging open: "Jesus, Kyle. What did you do to those guys?"
What did I do? You stand up for your girl when a couple of ring- nosed, fake-leather twerps insult her on the street and you get questions? Shit, they were lucky it hadn't been dark. It had been hard enough for him to hold back from ripping that little shit's earring out. But he knew that might have sent the twerp to the hospital and he would have called his mommy and she'd have filed a complaint. But Marci had settled down after he told her she was too special to him to let anyone diss her. Later she even laughed when he gave them the Dr. Suess monikers. "You're crazy," she said and he agreed and they had crazy sex that night. So why the hell couldn't it just be good like that all the time? No. They always had to start bitching. You give and give and they take and take and then they start telling you what to do. They always gotta try to run you.
He was driving out west. It always made him feel better when he was in the car when he was pissed. He made a rolling stop at the Hillsborough light onto 441 and punched it north. The car in front of him pulled to the shoulder when the driver saw him flying up in the rearview. Fucking right, he thought, rushing past, checking it in his mirror. Some people did the right thing. They recognized their place in the world.
He had known his place since he was a kid growing up in Oak Park in Chicago. He could still remember that day in fifth grade, that pasty-faced teacher with the flowery, down-to-the-ankles dresses and the perfume that smelled like the thick, hot summer lilac bush outside his mother's bedroom window. But that day was winter because they were inside in the gym and the time for P. E. was running out and they were trying to get one shuttle run in before the bell rang. Just one. He'd been ready for at least five minutes when the other idiot kids tried to figure out what three straight lines were, Christ! He'd spit in his hands and wiped the dust off the bottom of his sneakers so they'd grip on the tile floor and he knew he'd have the fastest time. But there she stood explaining for the third time that you had to pick up the first eraser and bring it back to the line and set it down, not throw it down, and then run back and get the second one and then race back to the starting line. OK, OK, Jesus! Let's go. But there was always some shit-head talking or pushing in line or asking if they had to set the second eraser down, too. So she started into the explanation again and he could see they weren't going to have enough time and "Come on! Let's just go!" he'd yelled and Christ you'd have thought he'd smacked her in her old, powdery face.