“Schlitz,” he said. He had a flat nose and dark coppery skin. American Indian? Maybe.
“I’ll have one.” He drew it in a tall straight glass. Very good. No steins, or schooners or tulip shapes. Just a tall glass the way the hops god had intended. He put down a paper coaster and put the beer on it, fed the check into the register, rang up the sale and put the check on the bar near me.
“What have you got for lunch,” I said. He took a menu out from under the bar and put it in front of me. I sipped the beer and read the menu. I was working on sipping. Susan Silverman had lately taken to reprimanding me for my tendency to empty the glass in two swallows and order another. The menu said linguica on a crusty roll. My heart beat faster. I’d forgotten about linguica since I’d been down here last. I ordered two. And another beer. Sip. Sip.
The juke box was playing something by Elton John. At least the box wasn’t loud. They’d probably never heard of Johnny Hartman here. Rudy brought the sandwiches and looked at my half-sipped glass. I finished it—simple politeness, otherwise he’d have had to wait while I sipped— and he refilled the glass.
“You ever hear of Johnny Hartman,” I said.
“Yeah. Great singer. Never copped out and started singing this shit.” He nodded at the juke box.
“You Rudy,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Deke Slade told me to come talk with you.” I gave him a card. “I’m looking for a woman named Pam Shepard.”
“I heard she was gone.”
“Any idea where?” I took a large bite of the linguica sandwich. Excellent. The linguica had been split and fried and in each sandwich someone had put a fresh green pepper ring.
“How should I know?”
“You knew Johnny Hartman, and you add green peppers to your linguica sandwich.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know where she went. And the cook does the sandwiches. I don’t like green pepper in mine.”
“Okay, so you got good taste in music and bad taste in food. Mrs. Shepard come in here much?”
“Lately, yeah. She’s been in regular.”
“With anyone?”
“With everyone.”
“Anyone special?”
“Mostly young guys. In a dim light you might have a shot.”
“Why?”
“You’re too old, but you got the build. She went for the jocks and the muscle men.”
“Was she in here with someone before she took off? That would have been a week ago Monday.” I started on my second linguica sandwich.
“I don’t keep that close a count. But it was about then. She was in here with a guy named Eddie Taylor. Shovel operator.”
“They spend the night upstairs?”
“Don’t know. I don’t handle the desk. Just tend bar. I’d guess they did, the way she was climbing on him.” A customer signaled Rudy for another stinger on the rocks. Rudy stepped down the bar, mixed the drink, poured it, rang up the price and came back to me. I finished my second sandwich while he did that. When he came back my beer glass was empty and he filled that without being asked. Well, I couldn’t very well refuse, could I. Three with lunch was about right anyway.
“Where can I find Eddie Taylor?” I said.
“He’s working on a job in Cotuit these days. But he normally gets off work at four and is in here by four-thirty to rinse out his mouth.”
I looked at the clock behind the bar: 3:35. I could wait and sip my beer slowly. I had nothing better to do anyway. “I’ll wait,” I said.
“Fine with me,” Rudy said. “One thing though, Eddie’s sorta hard to handle. He’s big and strong and thinks he’s tough. And he’s too young to know better yet.”
“I’m big-city fuzz, Rudy. I’ll dazzle him with wit and sophistication.”
“Yeah, you probably will. But don’t mention it was me that sicked you on to him. I don’t want to have to dazzle him too.”
Chapter 6
It was four-twenty when Rudy said, “Hi, Eddie” to a big blond kid who came in. He was wearing work shoes and cut-off jeans and a blue tank top with red trim. He was a weightlifter: lots of tricep definition and overdeveloped pectoral muscles. And he carried himself as if he were wearing a medal. I’d have been more impressed with him if he weren’t carrying a twenty-pound roll around his middle. He said to Rudy, “Hey, Kemo Sabe, howsa kid?”
Rudy nodded and without being asked put a shot of rye and a glass of draft beer on the bar in front of Eddie. Eddie popped down the shot and sipped at the beer.
