Nice place, wouldn't you say?'
'Very nice.'
'They treat me right. And you know me, Matthew. Creature of habit, when I like a place I'm there all the time. Every night, or pretty near.'
The coffee came. The waitress set it down and hurried off with drinks for somebody else. They didn't serve during the set, so they made up for it by working feverishly during the breaks. A lot of the customers ordered two or three drinks at a time. Some, like Danny Boy, had a bottle on the table. That used to be illegal, and very likely still is, but it was never a hanging offense.
Danny Boy poured more vodka into his glass while I stirred my coffee. I asked what he knew about the person we were waiting for.
'Meet him first,' he said. 'Look him over, hear him out.'
At one o'clock I saw the headwaiter coming our way with a man in tow. I knew he was the fellow we were waiting for because he was all wrong for the club. He was a thin white man wearing a houndstooth sport jacket over a navy-blue corduroy shirt, and he looked out of place in a room full of black men dressed like bank vice presidents. He appeared to feel out of place, too, and he stood awkwardly with one hand on the back of his chair. Danny Boy had to tell him to sit down a second time before he pulled the chair back and sat on it.
As he sat down, Crystal got to her feet. It must have been her cue.
She smiled all around and threaded her way among the tables. Our waitress came over right away. I said I'd have more coffee, and the new arrival ordered a beer. They had six brands on hand and the waitress named them all. He looked irritated by the need to make a decision.
'Red Stripe,' he said. 'What's that?' She told him it was Jamaican.
'That's fine,' he said. 'Bring me one of those.'
Danny Boy introduced us, first names only. His was Brian. He put his forearms on the table and looked down at his hands, as if to make sure that his nails were clean. He was about thirty-two, with a lumpy round face that looked to have taken its share of punches over the years.
His hair, a dark blond, was going thin in front.
You could see he'd done time. I can't always tell, but some guys might as well be wearing a sign.
His beer came, and my coffee. He picked up the longneck bottle and read the label, frowning as he did
so. Then, ignoring the glass the waitress had provided, he took a drink from the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
'Jamaican,' he said. Danny Boy asked him how it was. 'It's all right,' he said. 'All beer's the same.' He put the bottle down and looked at me. 'You're looking for Motley,' he said.
'You know where he is?'
He nodded. 'I seen him.'
'Where do you know him from?'
'Where else? The joint. We were both on E-block. Then he went in the hole for thirty days, and when he got out they switched him somewhere else.'
'Why did they put him in solitary?'
'A guy got killed.'
Danny Boy said, 'That's the punishment for murder? Thirty days'
solitary confinement?'
'They couldn't prove it, they didn't have no witnesses, but everybody knew who done it.' His eyes touched mine, then slid to the side. 'I know who you are,' he said. 'He used to talk about you.'
'I hope he said nice things.'
'Said he was going to kill you.'
'When did you get out, Brian?'
'Two years ago. Two years and a month.'
'What have you been doing since then?'
'This and that. You know.'
'Sure.'
'What I gotta do. I started usin' again when I got outta the joint, but now I'm in a methadone program. I get day work out of the state employment, or I'll turn a buck. You know how it is.'
'I know. When did you see Motley?'
'Must of been a month ago. Maybe a little more.'
'You talk to him?'
'What for? No. I seen him on the street. He was comin' down the steps of this house. Then I seen him a few days later and he's goin' into the house. Same house.'
'And that was over a month ago?'
'Say a month.'
