?????
Julie had printed it from Fellowship’s website. Publicity photos for all the participating bands were placed willy-nilly around the event info by someone with a rudimentary knowledge of Photoshop. The photo for Generation Us lay in the upper right corner in all its 80’s-camp glory. And there was Chaz. He was making a peace sign with one hand and twirling a drumstick with the other. Of the five band members, he was the most svelte. Perhaps girth was their gimmick. Next to the poster was a note written by Julie.
I HAD TO GET A LOOK AT CHAZ.
Lynch smirked and walked around the island to his kitchen. Irish Blessings and promotional posters weren’t going to keep him from his scotch any longer.
Per Special Agent Beck’s orders, the fibbies would stake out the addresses they had, wait for the respective UJ members to get home, let them sleep off their binge effects just enough to be sober yet vulnerably groggy, and then drag them to the station.
Lynch was off the hook. Beck gave a respectful, no-frills explanation.
“Don’t misunderstand me when I say this, Jim. You already brought these guys in once, and you got nothing. If you’re in the interview room, they’re going to look at you as a guy they beat. It wouldn’t matter, except we don’t have anything now either. We need to approach it from a position of strength, and you, frankly, could hurt us in that regard. Understand?”
“I do, and I’m cool with it.”
Cool with it…relieved was more like it. He’d get back with Carrie and continue the work on Kevin Reilly’s assault. Gomez would be available too. All three of them would go to Ian Reilly’s house. It was the big guy’s turn to do some tap dancing.
Chivas
Scotch glass.
One ice cube.
Pour until the cube floats.
Done.
He took a sip and closed his eyes as the warmth and tingle went from his lips to his extremities.
I’m telling you, Samuel, if you’ve jerked me around in any way, I’ll find you and kill you myself.
THE BIG RED ONE
Thursday
1. The Condo
Lynch awoke to the sound of his cell phone and the sight of his girlfriend rummaging through his wallet.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I need cash for tolls. I’m going to Jersey today.”
Lynch fumbled for his phone and dropped it on the shag carpet, causing it to bounce under the bed.
“And you expect to find cash in there? I thought you had EZPass.”
She waved the wallet around demonstratively, while her boyfriend lumbered out of bed and disappeared from sight.
“Why do I need EZPass when I’ve got you? Who’s this?”
Lynch put his hand on his phone, resisting the temptation to fall back to sleep while he was on the floor. He tilted it to see who was calling. The one caveat for being released from FBI gofer duty was he had to keep himself available by phone…always. The caller, however, wasn’t Agent Beck. With effort, he stood, although not quite erect.
“I’ve got to take this, baby. What did you ask me?”
“Who’s this?”
She was holding Pastor Devlin’s picture of poor Eddie Williams. Lynch had taken it out of his shirt pocket and laid it on their dresser.
“He’s my lover…Hello?”
She gave him a severe “idiot” stare and leaned against the dresser without putting the photo away. He mouthed “I’ll tell you in a minute,” sat on the edge of the bed, and held his conversation with Father Leo.
“You still talking to me, Jim?”
“Of course, Leo. I have a ton of things going on today, but I haven’t forgotten that you have a major apology coming your way.”
“No apology needed, but I would like a favor if possible.”
“Tell me what it is.”
“Whatever you’re doing this morning, postpone it an hour.”
“I can do that. Want me swing by the church?”
“No, not the church.”
Julie had gone to the kitchen to make breakfast, but left Eddie’s picture prominently displayed on the dresser next to her boyfriend’s empty wallet. She was putting her dish and tea cup in the dishwasher when Lynch emerged from the bedroom, fully dressed and gravely concerned about something. She could only assume it had to do with the phone call.
On the way to his coat, he slapped Eddie’s photo on the dining room table.
“That’s Eddie Williams, the guy Chaz tackled. I’ve got to go.”
He grabbed his coat and went to give his girlfriend a kiss goodbye. Before he was able to pucker up, she burst into laughter.
“I don’t have time for this, babe. What’s funny?”
“Well, c’mon. Are you kidding me?”
She strode over to the dining room table, picked up Eddie’s picture along with the promotional poster for the Christian rock concert, and held them side-by-side. She referred to the photo of Generation Us first.
“You mean to tell me these guys…caught up with and tackled…this guy? You buy that? He looks like a track star; they look like five marshmallows.”
Lynch shook his head, looked at his watch, and backed toward the stairs.
“That’s Eddie’s ‘before’ picture. He was wigged out on meth that night. I’ll show you the mug shot some other time.”
He blew a kiss from the top step and trotted down. She flipped both pictures around to take a second look. She looked at one, then the other, and back again. When she heard the deadbolt turn, and the door open, she shouted.
“Okay, but still!”
2. PCHS
The teachers’ lounge at Potterford Central High School was comfy (as teachers’ lounges go). It was thirty minutes before homeroom, and the “A” seats by the water cooler were occupied by two well-liked ninth grade math teachers.
One of them got up to get coffee.
“Can you check my attendance while you’re over there?”
“How long have you been waiting for me to stand up, asshole?”
The attendance office posted absences on the school’s internal network, and there was only one computer in the lounge.
“Looks like you’ve got three out today: Jenny Weaver, Frank Barbera, and…that’s weird…Braden Reilly.”
“Why weird? He’s been out most of the week.”
“I thought I saw him this morning as I was
