Paul sipped a little Irish whisky. He held the glass up a little and looked at the ice and whisky against the light from behind the bar.
'Good stuff,' he said.
'Perfect for male-bonding moments,' I said.
'Are we having one?'
'Absolutely.'
He nodded. The bar was long and narrow with a tin ceiling and wood paneling, which had darkened with age. The bottles arranged in front of the mirror behind the bar were a shimmer of color in the dim room.
'What did Auntie tell you?' he said.
'Daryl sort of reinvented her childhood,' I said.
'Wish I could,' he said. 'How'd she do it?'
I told him.
When I got through, Paul said, 'Wow. She's even more fucked up than I thought she was.'
'My diagnosis,' I said.
'She's a good actress, though,' Paul said. 'And I like her.'
I nodded.
'So, what's the downside,' Paul said, 'to you finding out who killed her mother.'
'Besides me working my ass off for no money?'
'Besides that.'
'I can't trust what she tells me,' I said.
'Can you ever?'
'Mostly no,' I said. 'I also might find out a lot more than Daryl wants me to.'
'You might,' Paul said.
We both finished our whisky. The bartender brought two more. Paul didn't touch his for the moment. He stared into it. The afternoon had moved on, and the after-work guys who got off at four were coming in.
'When I first met you,' Paul said after a time, 'if you had done what I wanted you to do, where would I be now?'
'You got a lotta stuff in you,' I said. 'You might have turned it around on your own.'
'You think that was likely?'
'No.'
'Me either. This is going to fuck her up all her life,' Paul said, 'if it doesn't get cleaned up.'
'Ah cursed spite that I'm the one to set it right,' I said.
'Hamlet?' Paul said.
'Sort of?'
'I think so.'
We each rolled a small swallow of whisky down our throats and let the warm illusion spread through us.
'You want me to chase this down,' I said.
'All the way to the end.'
'It's better to know than not know?'
'Much,' Paul said.
19
The man came into my office without knocking. I was working at my desk and didn't look up until I had finished snipping an 'Arlo and Janis' from The Globe to post on Susan's refrigerator door. When I did look up, the man had closed the door behind him and was pointing a gun at my head.
'Arlo and Janis is one of my favorites,' I said.
'You see the gun?' the man said.
'I do,' I said. 'Right there at the end of your arm.'
'Boss wanted you to see the gun.'
On the left-hand wall of my office was a leather couch. At either end was a brass floor lamp with a small brass shade over the lightbulb. The man glanced at it and casually put a bullet through the shade nearest me. The explosion filled the office and made my ears hurt. If the man's ears hurt, he didn't show it.
'Boss wanted you to see me shoot,' he said.
