“You’re going to go down for what you did, you hear me? I know exactly what …”
Just then, the uniform appeared in the doorway, and said, “Everything okay in here?”
Van Buren sat up and backed away from me, said, “Yes. We were just having a chat. Weren’t we, Mr. Higgins?”
“Yup,” I mumbled.
“I don’t think Mr. Higgins is ready to go just yet. Why don’t we keep him till five or so. Then, make sure he gets home okay,” said Van Buren.
“You got it,” said the cop.
“Give him the whole nine yards.”
“You got it,” said the uniform.
Van Buren stalked out, but not before turning to me and saying, “We have an honest-to-God killer running around this town, Mr. Higgins. Big news. But don’t forget. I’ve got my eye on you.”
Then he was gone.
At five o’clock in the morning, the uniformed cop came to the cell door and unlocked it. He told me to stand, and then he undid the cuffs. He perp-walked me over to the desk, gave me back my stuff, and took me out to the parking lot.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked the cop.
“Home,” he said.
“I can walk.”
“Not in your condition. Get in the car.”
A black-and-white had pulled up to us. Inside were two young cops. He opened the back door.
“Watch your head,” he said.
Not a word was said the whole ride home. When they got to my block, they flashed the lights and sirens and came to a stop outside my home. Everyone was sleeping, but because of the ruckus, lights went on and people came to their windows to see what was going on.
This was a blatant tactic by the police to embarrass me and discredit me in the eyes of my neighbors. I didn’t appreciate it, but the two punks driving the car weren’t paid to be the sensitive ones to my situation.
I got out and walked to my front door quickly, dizzied by the fight and the blue and red lights bouncing off the front of my house.
The door locked automatically behind me once it closed. At that point, the lights and sirens stopped, and the police car disappeared in the dark.
Van Buren had it in for me. I couldn’t imagine it was because he still held a grudge about his wife digging the way I look in a pair of jeans. It had to be something else, but I didn’t necessarily want to stick around to figure out what it was.
The cruelty of all this was that I hadn’t even had the chance to have a drink before I got in a bar fight. I could have taken that as a sign that I shouldn’t be hitting the sauce again, but I’m nothing if not tenacious.
EIGHTEEN
I got out of the shower and combed my hair back in front of the mirror. All in all I didn’t look that bad. One of my eyes was a little puffy, like it was a little more tired than the other, and there was a cut at my hairline.
Instead of putting myself through the trouble of having to sit down and get back up, I decided to instead make my morning pot of coffee and get ready for work.
Despite the head start on the day, I still got to work a few minutes late. I had to walk to the bar to pick my truck up, after all. At the restaurant, there were three cars already in the lot. The first was Abraham’s Buick, complete with his Bob Marley bumper sticker. The second was Frank’s. And the third car in the lot belonged to Carlos, the cook with the evening shift.
I walked into Long John’s, and the little bell jangled above my head. Abraham was behind the counter, and Brian the life insurance guy was sipping a cup of coffee, standing by the windows. Through the long window I saw Carlos, surrounded by steam. Seated at one of the tables was Frank.
“What’s going on?” I asked him. “Am I finally getting a shift change?”
Frank raised himself from the seat with what looked like great effort. I hated him effortlessly, he was such a bum. He said, “Why don’t we talk outside.”
“Let’s not,” I said. I had a bad feeling. “What’s going on? Why is Carlos in my kitchen?”
I looked at Abe, and he looked away.
“Frank,” I said.
“Marley,” he replied. “It isn’t your kitchen anymore. I need to let you go.”
“What? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, man. How the hell can you do this to me in front of Brian?”
“I told you to come outside, you idiot….”
“Hardball, eh?”
“No hardball, Marlowe….”
“Why the hell are you firing me, man?”
“Our agreement when you took this job, Marlowe, was that you would be out on your ear if you ever got in trouble with the law, and that’s what happened. Honestly, I’m surprised it took so long.”
“In case you didn’t notice, I got worked over like a two-dollar whore. I didn’t do anything. I was the victim of an assault.”
I pointed to my swollen eye.
“Sure,” said Frank. “Just like you’re a victim of goddamn sexual harassment. I don’t need to hear it.”
“Like a two-dollar whore,” I repeated.
“I can’t have any sympathy for that,” he yelled, “and you look as ragged as you always do.”
“But it’s my fucking job, man,” I said.
“Not anymore.”
Brian stood up and said, “I personally think the world of Marlowe. He’s a splendid man. I think you should give him a second chance.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Have some fucking compassion, man.”
“Compassion! Who gave you the job in the first place? What’s the first thing you do when the only man that saw a lick of good in you went on and died? You got drunk. It’s bad enough you harass the patrons when you’re sober. No one needs to hear a booze-hound like you rant and rave in the middle of my goddamn diner. Now get outta here before I call the police.”
“Well, you’re not even willin’ to entertain the thought of being a humanitarian today, are you?”
“No,” he said, and he lit one of his awful cigars.
“I’m sorry,” Carlos said through the long window. “I know,” I said. “It’s not your fault.”
I turned to Abe and said, “Any words of encouragement?”
“You’re not black,” he said. “You’ll get another job.”
I smiled, but I sucker-punched Frank in the stomach anyway. He collapsed back into his chair and gasped for air. His face turned as red as a brick. Abe rushed out from behind the counter and ushered me out of the restaurant as quickly as he could. The bell jangled, and then we were outside. Abe pushed me down the few steps outside the restaurant. It wasn’t a fight he wanted. He was just being a peacekeeper in the only way he knew how.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“It don’t look like nothing, you crazy asshole. Why’d you have to do that?”
“He thinks he’s better than
“No.”
“You think he’s better than me?”
“No, Marley, no one’s better than you. Now go home, and I’ll do my best to keep this guy from calling the cops. How does that sound?”
