I had lots of quarters. I called Alice Brown to tell her the troopers would be watching over her.
'Me? You're—oh,' she said. 'Oh, I understand.'
'I thought you would. Have you been okay?'
'Yes. But the sheriff was here, and right after him one of those men you told me about. The one with the cast on his wrist.'
'Otis. They wanted to know where Jimmy was?'
'Yes. I told them both the same thing—about Jimmy cheating on me and how I threw him out. And I said if anyone found him they shouldn't bother to tell me because I couldn't care less.'
'Good. When was this?'
'This morning, about eleven. I called you at Antonelli's but no one answered.'
'Did they believe you?'
'I don't know.'
'Will you be okay there?'
'I'm all right. What should I do?'
'Keep on doing what you're doing. As far as you're concerned it's a normal day, because you don't know where Jimmy is anyway. I'll check back with you.'
I was about to hang up when she asked a sudden question: 'Will it be all right?' Her voice through the phone was shaky and brave.
For a moment I couldn't answer. Then I said, 'I want it to be. Alice, I'll do what I can.'
'I know,' said Alice. 'Thank you.'
I depressed the silver cradle, kept the receiver to my ear. I dropped in another quarter, tried the green house again, and the number Otis had dialed from it, but they both rang into emptiness.
I crossed the parking lot back into the 7-Eleven, bought another pack of Kents, a lemon, and a box of teabags. As a last-minute thought I grabbed a bottle of aspirin. Back in the car I washed three pills down with the last of the lemonade, turned the car and the music on, and headed down the road.
Chapter 15
A loud buzzing cut like a chainsaw through my dream. Bare winter trees, dark sky, cold. A stream, two ways to cross it: one a bridge, ugly and new; the other shadowy, undefined. People in the shadows, people I thought I knew but couldn't see. Movement in the darkness. And then the buzzing, and I was awake, disoriented in the twilit room.
I groped for the clock, hit the button. The buzzing stopped. I lifted the clock and focused on it: four o'clock. Christ, what a stupid time to get up. No, but it was afternoon, not morning; and Lydia was coming. Right, at four- thirty. Get out of bed, Smith, take a shower, make yourself bearable.
Groggy and stiff, I stumbled to the bathroom. I'd been asleep for an hour, since I'd gotten back from the Creekside Tavern. I stood under the hot water, tried to make the steam clear my brain.
The Creekside. Shabby mustard-colored shingles, brown vinyl trim, windows full of lit beer signs, most for brands the Creekside didn't sell anymore. Inside, wood-grain Formica dimness and a stale smell. No sign of the drug dealing that went on from the bar or the bookmaking business in the back room, but it was early in the day.
Two guys my age were curled over beers at the bar; two younger guys and a girl with a fountain of hair springing from the top of her head were playing pool. They all looked up, measured me, an intruder in their territory, and just how tough was I, if it came to where that mattered? I sat on a barstool near the door, not near the other guys, the etiquette of the stranger.
'Haven't seen you here before,' the bartender said, put my Bud on the bar. He was blond and big, shirtsleeves pushed up past his elbows.
'No,' I said. 'I'm from North Blenheim. I don't get over this way much.'
That placed me for them, told them where I'd been before I walked into their lives.
'What brings you over here now?' he asked.
I drank some beer. 'Frank Grice.'
He made a show of looking around the near-deserted room. 'He's not here.'
'Been in lately?'
'I don't remember.'
'Buy yourself a drink. It might help your memory.' I dropped a twenty on the bar.
'Why, thanks, friend.' He scooped up the bill, rang it into the register. He poured a shot of Dewar's, downed it, smiled, and shook his head. 'I don't think that helped.'
'Think harder,' I suggested.
One of the pool players straightened up from the felt, strolled around the pool table, cue loose in his right hand. I drank more beer, put the glass down on the bar as he came to stand beside me.
'Something I can do for you?' I asked, not looking at him.
'You look familiar. You look like a cop.' A nasal voice, belligerent and edgy.
'I never liked my face much, either,' I said.
'What do you want Frank for?'
'He's got something I want.' 'What?'
