The Wolfman

motels on Lincoln: the Golden Eagle, the Phoenix Inn, and the Night Owl Lodge. All bird names, I thought. What were the odds?

I pulled up to the first on the list—the Golden Eagle—ran in, and asked the lady at the desk if she had an Anthony Mannuzza staying there. Because of my busted face, she wasn’t exactly willing to answer me like she would for a more handsome bloke, or maybe she—an oatmeal and Bible type—never took to “long-hairs.”

“That’s privileged,” she said, the two words sounding like two parts to a single fart. If she were a man …

“Ma’am,” I said, “the guy’s a friend of mine. I know he’s staying on Lincoln, but I’m not sure if this is the place.”

“Well, maybe you better talk to your friend.”

I took out Van Buren’s detective shield and said, “Listen, lady, I don’t have time to mess around. Answer the question.”

She nervously went through the registry, then said, “No.”

I began to walk out, but then realized the chances were good that he would’ve given a fake name, or maybe Anthony wasn’t his real name to begin with. I went back and gave her a general description of the scumbag, and I probably used the term “prettyboy” more than once. It still didn’t pan out with her.

“So let me get this straight,” I said. “Even though this guy isn’t staying here, nor anyone that matches his general description, you were still unwilling to answer me when I came in here. How come?”

“You look like a rock musician,” she said. “I appreciate your honesty. More of a Hank Williams gal, are you?”

She smiled. I walked out.

At the other two places, I started with the description, and then said a possible alias was Anthony Mannuzza. These places didn’t pan out either. There was the possibility that he was staying somewhere else entirely, but I didn’t have the time to visit every single motel in Evelyn. I didn’t want to expose myself that much, especially because I was using stolen police property to get my answers, and for all I knew, I was now officially wanted for assault. So I was shit out of luck, but not out of options.

I drove out to the edge of town to this little bit of land with a log cabin on it. The plaque by the door said “Rose.”

This was the fancypants liquor-and-skin joint Anthony had taken me to. The lot in front had one car parked in it. It was a European car, and I didn’t know whose it was. I parked the truck, then knocked on the heavy wood door. After several minutes, it opened, and that terrifyingly large bouncer in the black suit stood before me, his squinty eyes drilling holes into my brain. My head began to feel like that scene from Scanners. I wondered how often he had to resort to using his hands on people. I wasn’t sure if I really needed to know, though.

“Hey, uh, Hyde, right?”

He didn’t say anything.

“I need to speak to someone here about one of your customers.”

“No,” he said.

“Yes,” I said, showing the badge. “It won’t take a minute. Mind letting me in?”

He looked behind him, said, “Cop,” and a female voice said something to him that I couldn’t hear. He stepped aside, and I went in.

Seated at one of the tables was that Samantha girl, the one that was in the schoolgirl outfit the night I was there, but now she was wearing sweatpants and a large Buccaneers T-shirt. She was counting stacks of money and didn’t seem to think anything of it that a cop had come to her establishment. She barely had the energy to look up, but when she did, she got angry, and fast. A look came onto her face that could melt paint off a wall. But she was still adorable.

“What the fuck is this?” she said. “You’re no fucking cop. Hyde!”

The man grabbed me by the back of the neck and squeezed.

“Jesus!” I cried, sinking to my knees because I couldn’t feel my legs anymore.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asked me.

“I need to talk to you for a minute,” I grunted. I felt like I was going blind from the pain.

“Posing as a cop could get you in a lot of trouble,” she said.

“My middle name’s trouble,” I said.

“Mine’s Venus. Don’t tell anybody.” She flashed a smile, but just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone again. “What do you want?” she demanded.

“You know that prettyboy kid I was in here with the other night?”

“Who, Anthony?”

“Yeah,” I said, “Anthony … goddamn … I’m looking to find him.”

“Why?” she said. “That’s private.”

“Not private enough that you didn’t have to lie your way into my place of business, though.”

“Well, that’s true. You think you could tell this guy to let go of my neck?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“What do you want with him?”

“Who? Anthony?”

“Yes, you twit.”

“Well, he screwed me out of a lot of fucking money, and I want what’s mine. That’s all.”

“Oh yeah? It looked like he was carrying your sorry ass the other night.”

“It’s poker money,” I said.

“Whatever. You don’t have to tell me. But he’s a creepy little bastard, so I’ll tell you what I know anyway. One of the girls asked him one night where he was staying. I pulled her aside, because I had a vibe about this guy. I told her not to go with him. She said she wouldn’t, but later on that night I heard him tell her he was staying at a place on Barlow Drive.”

“Shit,” I said. The bastard had lied to me. “Do you know what place?”

“Do I look like I’d want to?”

“Which girl was it?”

“Helen.”

“Which one was that?”

“The one in the blue thing.”

“Oh,” I said. “Any chance I can get her number?”

“You’re a funny guy. No.”

“Do you feel like calling her?”

“For you?”

“I’d certainly appreciate it.”

“No.”

“Well, please go on, then.”

“At the time, I figured, well, fuck her if she doesn’t want any advice. So she goes with him. And the next day she showed up with bruises all over her goddamn back. The dumb bitch.”

“Wow, that’s harsh,” I said.

“Don’t tell me what’s harsh, you fuck. Until you have a vagina, you don’t know what harsh is, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. “Whatever you say.”

“Anything else you need to know before you’re banned from my place?”

“Well …” I thought for a second. Then: “You married?”

She gave Hyde a look, and he lifted me up by my neck, carried me to the door, and threw me out on the grass. The door shut peacefully. Soon after, I heard Tom Jones playing in there. I think it was “Green, Green Grass of Home.”

After a few minutes, the feeling in my legs came back, and I went back to the truck. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the sky was a deep royal blue. Time was running short for me. I needed a cup of