“How did he react to that?”
“I don’t know. Maven doesn’t let himself react anymore. Doctor’s orders.”
“I’m sure we’ll get along fine,” Leon said. “I know you and Maven never hit it off.”
“I’m not on his Christmas card list, no. But that’s not what I’m worried about. I’m just wondering what Vargas is gonna ask you to do now. Is he thinking his wife and Swanson were behind this?”
Leon looked up at me.
“I know, I know,” I said. “You can’t share that information. I was just wondering, okay? It’s just natural human curiosity.”
“I understand,” he said. “I do. You were there. It’s natural.”
“He’s gonna have you running all over the place, isn’t he. Trying to get to the bottom of this.”
Leon just shrugged at that.
“I’ll save you some time,” I said. “I’m the guy you’re looking for. It was all my idea.”
“Come on, Alex. This isn’t a joke.”
“You’re not doing your other job anymore? The snowmobile thing? And the outboard motors in the summer?”
“I’m a private investigator, Alex. Full-time.”
“This office has to cost some money. Do you have any other clients besides Vargas? I mean, you don’t have to tell me any names…”
“Most of my time is going to Mr. Vargas right now,” he said. “He’s keeping me busy, believe me.”
“Leon, I hope he’s not going to ask you to do anything stupid, okay? That’s all I’m saying. He seems like the kind of guy who could do that.”
“You know I always play it straight, Alex. Straight down the middle.” Another thing that only Leon would say.
“What does your wife think about all this?”
“She’s letting me give it a shot,” he said. “She wasn’t so sure about it at first. But hey, she knows how much it means to me. I’m lucky to have her.”
“That’s true,” I said. “Kids are okay?”
“The kids are good.”
“Say hi to them for me.”
“I’ll do that.”
“I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “I’m glad you stopped by.”
“Me too,” I said, getting up. I shook his hand. “I’ll see you again soon.”
“Alex,” he said. “You know that you’ll always be my friend, right?”
I looked at him. The late afternoon sun came in right over his shoulder, casting a long shadow across his desk. “Of course,” I said.
“You know my first priority has to be to my client,” he said. “And my second priority has to be the official channels of law enforcement.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
He let that one hang. “That’s just the way it has to be,” he finally said. “You know that.”
“Sure,” I said. “Of course. When you’re done with all this, give me a call. I’ll buy you a beer.”
He nodded and gave me a little smile. Then he turned and looked down at the street. I left his office, closing the door behind me. “What the hell was that about?” I said aloud as I walked down the stairs. Something was going on in Leon Prudell’s head, and as usual, I couldn’t even guess what it was.
I made my way back up Ashmun, cutting east behind the Coast Guard installation, back to the City-County building. I got in my truck and headed out of town.
Just for the hell of it, I stopped in at O’Dell’s place. It was a big wooden two-story building at the end of Bermuda Avenue, in a neighborhood they call “The Shallows.” The river narrows there, just before opening up into Whitefish Bay. I figured I’d have a quick one, and see how Bennett was doing.
I parked right in front of the place. It looked like it had been there for at least a hundred years. The cedar siding was weathered gray by the wind off the water. You’d have to pay a lot of money to get your house looking the same way. The “distressed” siding alone would kill you.
Bennett was pouring a draft behind the bar when I went in, looking just like the owner you’d expect-a big man who’d seen it all, rough around the edges, like the bar itself. He was looking up at the Tigers game on his big-screen TV. The place was pretty quiet for a late summer afternoon-I knew it would pick up around five o’clock, and stay busy until two in the morning.
“Alex McKnight!” he said when he saw me. “What brings you here? Where’s Jackie?”
“Last I heard, he was still in bed,” I said. “And while you’re pouring…”
“Coming right up,” he said. “Yeah, I don’t blame the guy for sleeping that one off. I was awake myself most of the night. You know what I mean? Just staring at the ceiling.”
He did look a little ragged. But then he was no movie star to begin with. “Thanks,” I said when he slid the draft over.
“You know what I was thinking as I was staring at the ceiling all night? That it was all my fault.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Vargas, that horse’s ass, when he was building that house over there, he stopped in here a few times. I got to talking to him, he asks me if there were any regular poker games going on. So I told him yeah, I got a few guys who play here a couple of times a month. You know, Jackie and Gill and a few other guys. He starts coming over on poker nights, but he’s playing for bigger stakes than most guys here want to play for. So eventually we sort of break off this other game, just Vargas and that Kenny who works for him, me and Gill, and Jackie. And Swanson…”
He stopped and looked at me. He couldn’t help smiling.
“Until he started nailing Vargas’s wife, I mean. Then we needed another player, so Jackie dragged your ass along. Don’t you feel lucky now?”
“I am truly blessed.”
“Jackie was feeling a little bad for you, Alex. I hope you don’t mind me saying that. He said you were keeping to yourself too much. Said he hasn’t seen you much lately.”
“I was in a little slump,” I said. “I’m okay now. Really.”
“That’s good to hear, Alex. Jackie’s just looking out for you, you know that. He’s a good man. Hell, Jackie and me, we go back almost fifty years now, can you believe that? We used to do our homework together, right over there in the corner.” He pointed to the far corner of the bar, where now a dartboard hung on the wall.
“Must be a lot of memories in this place for you.”
“Alex, you don’t know the half of it.” He looked up at the screen again. “Can you believe this new ballpark they’re playing in now? Comerica Park, they call it? Is that for real?”
“I’ve seen it,” I said. “It’s not like Tiger Stadium, I tell you that much.”
“Of course not,” he said. He picked up a wet dish towel and threw it at his son. Ham O’Dell was even taller than his father, at least six foot six. He’d played power forward at Northern Michigan. He was what the newspapers politely called a “physical player,” meaning that he couldn’t do much besides get in other people’s way. Ham peeled the wet towel off his face and threw it back at his father, missing the man by three feet.
“Basketball players,” Bennett said. “No coordination.”
That started a series of arguments about sports, and then about which generation had it harder. Somehow it went to fishing after that, and then finally to women. That brought Mrs. O’Dell out of the kitchen. Margaret O’Dell was a truly lovely woman, and neither of the two men in the room deserved her. That’s what she said anyway, and when she put me on the spot I was more than glad to agree with her.
“How’s Jackie doing?” she asked me. “I haven’t seen him in I don’t know how long.”
“He’s still the same,” I said. “Aside from last night, he’s doing fine.”
As I talked to her, I remembered something that Jackie had told me. Or had almost told me but not quite, about how he had loved Margaret once, years ago, and about how he had lost her to his best friend. I wondered if he had seen her face when his life was flashing before his eyes.
It was dinnertime when I got back to Paradise. I stopped in at the Glasgow again. Jackie was out of bed, God bless him, and sitting by the fireplace. He still looked a little tired, but nothing a little friendly needling wouldn’t cure. I had my dinner with him, and told him about my day-my meeting with Maven, then with Leon, and finally how I stopped in to see Bennett. And Margaret.