“I dreamed that we had grandchildren,” she continued. “I could see them in my dreams running around a backyard, playing games, sitting on my lap, telling me stories, coming up to me when they had skinned 125 their knee or when their father had spoken too harshly to them. Oh Frank, they were such lovely dreams. And I would see you, Frank, lifting your grandson high above your head, taking him to soccer games, babysitting for…”
Frank nodded, squeezing his wife’s shoulder affectionately. “You talk in your sleep, dear.”
Ruth looked up at her husband. “This is worse than the first time.” Frank nodded.
“I wish that we had never found out. I wish I had died first. What am I going to dream about now, Frank?”
Returning to the Grave
Jack pushed the drink across the bar to Hank. Picking up the glass, he took a sip and put it back down.
“I guess we won’t see much of you now,” Jack said.
Hank shook his head. “The itch has gone,” he said. “I’ll go back to my desk. Mostly it’s just working through my notes, getting everything in order. God, it feels like I’m returning to the grave. If the book does well, I’ll make you famous, Jack.” The big man laughed. “What was it that Warhol said about fame? Each of us is allotted fifteen minutes. What do you do after your fifteen minutes are used up?” Hank gestured toward his glass. Jack poured him another drink.
“What would I do with fame?” the bartender asked, handing the big man his drink.
Turning on his stool, his back to the bar, Hank looked around the room. He knew that he would never see it again. What would be the point?
“I wish I’d spoken to this fellow Mackenzie,” Hank said as he turned back to the bar. “To think that a serial killer was working in the plaza over there and I never met him. Strange, isn’t it, how you can be right next to someone who will change your life and yet you never meet them? Life is filled with irony and odd coincidences.”
“What about Mary?” Jack asked.
“That was ending.” Hank smiled as he sipped at his scotch. “She bores easily. That’s why I never told her who I was. I could tell right from the outset that the only thing that intrigued her about me was not knowing who I was. She loves strangers. More romantic. I guess we’re all intrigued by what we don’t know. We’re not cut out to be gods. It would bore us to death. Mary will get by. She’s still got her looks.” 126
“She’s had a tough life,” Jack replied. “That kid of hers has been a trial.
And now finding all this stuff about her ex, him maybe being found in that hole. Makes you question everything about your life. Nothing is what it appears. Mary will struggle through a lot of sleepless nights.”
“But not alone, I suspect.” Hank smirked and swallowed the remainder of his drink.
Helen
“I’ve never sat at a bar before.” Helen smiled.
Jack grinned and handed her a glass of white wine.
“There’s a first for everything,” he said, polishing the top of the bar with a chamois. “No use sitting over in the corner every night by yourself.”
“I always thought that women who sat at a bar were advertising, asking to be picked up. But it’s sort of nice up here. I’ve got you to talk to and I can watch what’s going on in the bar. I love to watch people. My fiance would be so surprised if he saw me up here. He’s such a prude.
Thinks a lady shouldn’t be in a bar by herself. I bought this new dress for him.”
“It’s very pretty.” Jack returned her smile.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Call me Jack.”
Helen giggled. “Well, call me Helen, Jack. I’m expecting my fiance to show up. He’s late. I’m sure he’ll show up. And if he doesn’t, I might just chat up some other gentleman. Isn’t that what you do in a bar?”
“Yes, Helen, that’s one of the things you do.”
“My fiance was an ex-hockey player.”
“You don’t say.” Jack smiled. “What’s his name? Maybe I’ve heard of him.”
“Joe Begin.”
Jack shook his head. “Haven’t heard of him. Did he play for the Leafs?”
Helen giggled and sipped at her wine. “To tell you the truth, he might have been telling me a little tale, to earn my favor. He’s quite a storyteller. Well, that’s his job, isn’t it?” Jack smiled.
“He’s a salesman.” Helen giggled. “That’s how I met him. He came in-to our office one day and sold my boss a shipload of supplies. He’s very handsome. You might have seen him in here a few times. We were here 127 together one night. There was a giant sitting at your bar with Mary.
Mary works with me in the office.”
The smile left Jack’s face.
“Wasn’t he one of…?”
Helen shook her head. “Oh, no. He wasn’t one of the bodies. He left town for a few days. He has a regular route. I’m expecting him back at any time. That’s why I bought this new dress. I’m sure tonight will be the night.”
Ed
Ed sat in his wheelchair by his window and stared out into the bright sunlight of the afternoon.
“So it’s come to nothing?” he asked.
Sam Kelly leaned against the wall beside the window, his hands in his trouser pockets. “Someone had dumped an old bed down there at one time and it had lodged itself against the walls. Everything else just piled on top of it. We thought for sure we’d hit bottom. All on tape. You could see bones, lots of bones underneath the garbage. It was the most hopeless feeling watching on the monitor. Two fellas went down there on ropes.
Volunteers from 22 Division. Herb and Jimmy. I don’t even know their last names.”
“It’s tough,” Ed said, shaking his head.
“One of them had just grabbed onto a sleeping bag when everything started to shake. There was a gurgling sound and then a pop. And it was gone. The whole mess disappeared into the depths of that hole. One of the ropes snapped. Frank was gone. Felt like the bottom of my stomach had dropped out. Jimmy held onto the sleeping bag for a moment and then it unraveled like a role of Christmas ribbon into the darkness.”
“You got…?” the old man asked.
The detective nodded. “We pulled Jimmy out.”
“And now?”
“Nothing. We’re left with nothing except what we have on tape. The captain doesn’t want to spend any more money. There’s talk of trying to retrieve Frank’s body, but who knows how deep we would have to go.” Ed began to laugh, coughing phlegm, then choking. The detective smacked the old man on the back.
“Thanks,” Ed said with a smile. He looked up at the detective. “Well, that’s a hell of a way to end a career. What are you going to do now that you’re retiring? Got any hobbies?”
Sam shook his head.
“And your girl?” Ed asked. “The waitress in the restaurant.” Sam shook his head and smiled.
Cloverdale Parking Lot
“What if they start asking me questions?” Wiggy cried, sucking on a cigarette, unable to stand in one place, twirling around the cars in the parking lot, slamming his fist on their hoods, clenching his fists.
Terry leaned against the hood of the Chev.
“Calm down,” he said. “I’ll call Frank later and let him know how things stand. They’ve got no reason to suspect us of anything.”
“That was my little brother’s sleeping bag we wrapped him in,” Wiggy pointed his cigarette at Terry. “Johnny was a friend of mine. I didn’t want nothing to do with it. I just went along for the ride.”
“I told you to steal a bag from the Sally Ann,” Terry cried.
“Well, they didn’t have any. What was I supposed to do, knit a bag?”
“If you hadn’t let go of the rope,” Terry barked. “If you had just held on.”
“My arms were sore. That fucking faggot was so heavy. We shouldn’t have gotten him drunk. The bartender is sure to remember that we were drinking in there that night… He should have checked our ID. What’s he doing
