After the meeting they stood in lingering groups talking. Most of them seemed to know one another. Ryan got a half cup of coffee and waited. She was standing with the man from their table named Paul and the woman who used to wake up in motel rooms. Paul finally left them. They glanced over this way, then came toward him, both of them smiling. She was a good-looking girl, neat and trim, Ryan’s idea of the perfect size. The other one, he couldn’t imagine her waking up in a motel room with anyone.
“It’s Jack, isn’t it?”
“Right. Denise and…”
“This is Irene. I was just telling her-you said this was your first time, but I know I’ve seen you somewhere. Do you ever go to the Teamsters’ Hall on Sunday?”
“No, I’ve heard about it, but I’ve never been there.”
“It’s a good meeting. Eleven o’clock Sunday morning.”
“I’ll have to go sometime. Yeah, I’ve been in the program three and a half years, but this is my first time here. Usually I used to go to Beaumont.”
He was letting it get away. He wanted to ask her a question to be absolutely sure, but Irene stood there smiling at him. It had to be the same girl, now with trusting eyes, a pleasant expression, looking at him and sensing something but not remembering. He wouldn’t have recognized her on the street.
“It was a good meeting, wasn’t it?” She seemed eager to keep going.
“Yeah, I enjoyed it. I guess I always do. Everybody’s straight, it’s the one place people tell you honestly what they think.”
“
“The guy I mentioned has it,” Ryan said, “is with an advertising agency. I don’t know if it helps him or not. Maybe.”
Denise smiled again. “Are you in that business?”
“No, I’m a process server.”
She nodded and seemed to be thinking about something.
“You know what that is?”
“I’ve been served, evicted, and repossessed. I know exactly what it is. Not lately, though.”
“Not in the past three or four weeks anyway, huh?”
It went past her or she didn’t hear him. She was looking at the people beginning to leave.
“I told Paul and some of the others I’d meet them for a bite,” Denise said. “Would you like to join us?”
“Fine. I’ve got a car.”
“I came with Irene. Why don’t you follow us over, unless you know where it is.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’m sorry, I thought all AAs went to Uncle Ben’s after meetings. It’s the pancake house on Huron.”
“Maybe he sick,” Tunafish said.
“Got sick all of a sudden,” Virgil said. “Park his car and walk in the hospital, say he’s sick.”
“Then he visiting somebody.”
“That’s where we’re at,” Virgil said. “Who? Bobby’s woman? Maybe so. She was in bad shape.”
“Ask him,” Tunafish said. “You know the man.”
“The man ain’t talking much. He don’t call me back. But all of a sudden he got this interest in Pontiac, going to the bars, going home, come back out here. He know something he ain’t telling.”
They sat in Virgil’s white Grand Prix in the visitors’ parking lot, Saint Joseph Mercy Hospital. If Virgil were to pop on his headlights, the beam would show part of Ryan’s light-blue Pontiac Catalina. Tunafish was cold. He held himself tightly with his hands in the pockets of his leather coat. He didn’t know what he was doing here, keeping Virgil company. Virgil was smoking a joint, the new quiet Virgil. He had smoked hash all the time and was never this quiet before. He spoke so slow Tunafish wasn’t sure he’d ever finish what he started to say, the joint putting spaces between his words. Virgil kept his window open a few inches. That’s why Tunafish was cold, feeling the damp night air.
He wished he knew what he was doing here. He didn’t like to ask, but he didn’t like the way it had been going lately, Virgil calling him, getting him pulled into some shit going on about Bobby Lear and Bobby’s wife. People asking about her, looking for her. He didn’t like not knowing who this man Ryan was. The man seemed familiar, like he’d seen him someplace, and he kept thinking of the man as a cop, even though Virgil told him he wasn’t. Tunafish wanted to know things, but he didn’t want to know too much, in case anybody was to sit him down and ask him questions. He got a little excited and sat up straighter when he saw Ryan come out and get in his car.
They followed him through Pontiac, around Wide Track Boulevard and out Huron to Uncle Ben’s Pancake House, the second time tonight.
“Man’s ape shit about pancakes,” Tunafish said.
Virgil didn’t say anything. He watched Ryan wait in front of the place, by the door, until two women and a man walked up to him. They went inside. Some more people came and went in about the same time, everybody all of a sudden hungry for pancakes. Ryan had planned to meet some of them here, Virgil was sure of that. But who were they? When had Ryan talked to them? Uncle Ben’s, another place to check on, though it didn’t look as good as the hospital.
“What you’re doing,” Virgil said to Tunafish, “you’re learning how to do it. How to sit and wait for the man. The other thing is to write down every place the man goes, and what time.”
“I don’t have no car,” Tunafish said.
“We talk to Lavera, she let you use the car,” Virgil said. “If we have to rent it from her.”
“I follow him around, huh? Wait for him while he eats?”
“I’m going to the hospital tomorrow, see if Bobby’s woman’s staying there. If she is, you don’t have to do nothing else. If she ain’t, you follow the man where he goes.”
Tunafish wanted to ask Virgil what Virgil would be doing, but he didn’t. He worked down into his leather coat to keep warm and sat there most of a half hour.
Virgil watched Ryan come out with one of the women. Skinny little thing, blond hair-he couldn’t see much else. Ryan helped her on with her raincoat and they stood talking, facing each other, neither of them moving. It looked to Virgil like the man had something going. But the other woman came out and the two of them walked off together. Ryan remained where he was, watching them. He watched them drive off and still he didn’t move right away.
“Something’s going on,” Virgil said, spacing the words. “I’m looking at it. But I don’t know what it is.”
15
RYAN GOT UP to answer the phone Monday morning. It wasn’t quite seven.
He had been lying in bed thinking. He should have called Mr. Perez Friday or Saturday. Sunday had been all right to let go by. But he had to tell Mr. Perez something today. Either say it was hopeless and he was quitting, or give Mr. Perez Denise’s address and stop worrying about her. Those were his options. He had to make a decision and quit thinking.
But when Mr. Perez said, “How you this morning?” Ryan started thinking again, trying to talk and sound pleasant.
“I didn’t get back to you last week.”
“Yes, I know you didn’t.” Mr. Perez sounded patient, as though he didn’t mind.
“I wanted to,” Ryan said. “I was pretty much on the go all day.”
There was a silence.
“What I think I hear,” Mr. Perez said, “are words. What’re you trying to tell me?”
“I’m saying there’s only one way to find out if she’s around, and that’s to keep at it.” Ryan managed a good straightforward sound.
There was a silence again. Ryan waited.
“I hope,” Mr. Perez said, “you’re not making plans of your own.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
