“Good. A man’s worth his salt.” As Emma arrived with a new whiskey sour for Gleason, Noel said, “Please put that on my bill, my dear.”
“Thank you, Charles,” Gleason said. “Have you been here before?”
“No, this is my first time. I recently purchased a pied-à-terre in a development near Prior Lake. I noticed this tavern on my way home, so I thought I’d give it a go. Do you come here often, Sully?”
“Most nights after work. Usually, things are quieter.”
The singers were now arguing heatedly over whether there were seven lords a-leaping or swans a-swimming.
“The sounds of the season,” Noel said wryly.
“Fingernails on a chalkboard is more like it. Oh, Christmas is a benefit for business, but that’s all it has going for it.”
“So you’re in the ‘Bah, Humbug’ club.”
“That I am.” Gleason sipped his drink. “I had a bad experience last Christmas. I doubt I’ll ever enjoy the season again.”
“What happened, my friend?”
Gleason was immediately wary, realizing he’d said too much. A few months earlier, a woman slapped him in the face when she discovered who he was. “Uh, never mind. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Wait a minute. Sullivan Gleason? I’ve heard that name before. Ah, I’ve got it — the Good Samaritan case. That’s you, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” Gleason said carefully, ready to duck.
“Goodness me, I’ve read about your travails. I am so sorry.”
Gleason relaxed. “Thank you. It’s been a trial.”
“It must have been horrible, having that poor girl drown and then finding yourself blamed for the tragedy. It’s absolutely chilling!”
“It could have been worse,” Gleason said. “My lawyer fended off the police and a civil suit the family filed. Today he said that unless there’s some spectacular new evidence, I’m in the clear.”
He said it confidently, though his thoughts drifted to Maggie. She wouldn’t hurt me with this, would she? She was all passion and fire, which made her wonderful in bed and unbearable out of it. Their breakup had involved shouted curses and a hurled hotel-room lamp shattering within inches of his head. But if she ever changed her story, she’d face charges and likely be sued as well.
“Excellent!” Noel raised his glass. “To a good man of business.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Gleason said, clinking his glass against Noel’s. Draining the liquor, he set it on the bar as he stood up. “I need to make a pit stop.”
“Fine. I’ll have a refill ready when you return.”
“You’re a good man yourself, Charles.”
After finishing his business, Gleason stepped to the men’s room sink. He closed his eyes and dropped his head, feeling the alcohol numbing his skin. Reaching out, he twisted the cold water tap. Air in the pipes caused a quick triplet of hollow clangs before the water streamed out.
...Clunk, clunk, clunk. Fists on safety glass. Can’t break it, yet she tries. Staring at him. Shouting! Pleading! Then black water swallowing the car...
Gleason’s eyes burst open, his heart racing. Damn it! He hadn’t flashed back to the accident in months, long enough that he felt he’d put the night behind him. Gleason quickly splashed water on his face, unmindful of the splatters flying onto his suit coat.
When he returned to the bar, Noel handed him a fresh drink. Gleason downed half of it, seeking to quiet the echoes of that night.
“Perhaps you should take care,” Noel said. “Don’t the police believe alcohol was involved in your case?”
“Yeah. It’s a lie, of course. I’d only had one drink here before heading home that night. There were plenty of witnesses.”
“Of course. My worry, Sully, is that the police might want to catch you driving drunk. That would toss petrol onto the flames, don’t you think?”
“Damn right it would!” Gleason’s face turned granite-hard. “That lead detective, Abernathy, would like nothing better than that. Good thinking, Charles. I’ll switch to coffee and get a sandwich before driving home.”
“A wise plan, my friend.”
Gleason smiled at the thought of putting one over on that cop. He drained the drink, and moved to set the glass on the bar.
He missed.
Somehow Noel caught the glass before it crashed to the floor. Gleason’s stomach wrenched violently. Sweat beads erupted on his forehead.
“I feel sick,” he moaned. “Oh, God!”
“I say, we best get you outside. Can you manage? Do you need an arm?’
“No... I’ll make it.”
“You head on. I’ll settle up for us both and meet you outside.”
Gleason nodded. He moved with exaggerated care, slipping his coat on as he walked. Once outside, he dashed to the corner of the building and bent over. Everything in his stomach spewed out like a geyser. For a while he thought he might die. Then he prayed that he would — anything to make the episode pass. When the nausea finally receded, he felt as wrung out as a twisted dish rag.
The cold Minnesota night bit at his skin. December had been temperate, meaning the thermometer flirted with freezing during the day, but the nights remained frigid. Sounds were softened by a comforter of snow.
He felt a hand pat his shoulder. Turning his head, he found Noel holding out a water bottle to him.
“Here. Rinse your mouth and then drink some. It will make you feel better.”
After Gleason did as told, Noel helped him straighten and braced him beneath his arms. “We need to get you home, Sully. I’ll drive you there.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t; I volunteered. I’ll call a cab from your place. I’ll be fine. Now, which car is yours?”
“It’s the Escalade, over there.” Gleason managed to pass the keys to Noel. After getting him into the passenger seat, Noel circled the SUV and climbed in behind the wheel.
“What’s your address, Sully?”
“Seventy-five forty-nine Needham Drive, in Brandywine Estates. It’s a new development, south of Cleary Lake Park and the Legends Club.”
“I looked there when house-shopping.” Noel withdrew his BlackBerry and searched for the address. “There it is, off of Black Farm Road.”
“Uh, yeah, but take Silverton. It’s a better road.” Gleason reached across the console and patted Noel’s arm. “Thanks for doing this.”
While Noel drove out of the parking lot, Gleason reclined his seat and closed his eyes. He was feeling a bit better now. He sipped more of the water before recapping the bottle and dropping it into the cup holder.
“My, it’s a beautiful night,” Noel said as he drove. “We don’t have snow like this in London often, and when we do we don’t know what to do with it.”
“Yeah, nice night,” Gleason mumbled.
“It’s as if we were in an illustration for Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. It’s a powerful image Dickens creates, with Scrooge observing the consequences of his actions throughout his life. He had a chance to repent, to face those consequences and renew his spirit.”
Consequences, Gleason thought. That silly old miser knew nothing of consequences! Not ones that could destroy you if acknowledged. Ones you had to lock away in your brain and try to forget...
Instead of forgetting, Gleason remembered that horrible night — every pungent, awful moment.
Until his life twisted like a corkscrew, it was a wonderful day. He’d let the staff leave BE&S’s Bloomington regional office at two-thirty P.M. A few were going to the nearby Mall of America for last-minute presents, while one or two were heading to Minneapolis-St. Paul airport to catch flights home. Gleason knew MSP well; his region had local offices spread over ten states.