Читать книгу When One Man Dies - Dave White - Страница 19
ОглавлениеThe ringing phone was like a jolt of electricity through my body. I snapped out of bed, still in a sleepy daze, and knocked the alarm clock off my nightstand. The ringing kept up and I reached for the phone.
The clock, which landed faceup, said it was ten. I’d only gotten to bed around seven-fifteen. Jen had given me a list of Rex’s friends, their phone numbers and addresses, and then let me go. I spent the next hour and a half sitting on 287 in morning rush-hour traffic, listening to bad talk radio and fighting to keep my eyes open. I stumbled into my apartment, stripped to my boxers, and passed out on the bed. I hadn’t even had time to dream when the phone started ringing.
“Hello,” I mumbled into the receiver, rolling onto my back. “This is Ellen Schwartz, admissions office at Rutgers University.”
“Yes? How can I help you?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Donne. Did I wake you?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. I could hear some disapproval in her voice, so I added, “I worked the night shift last night.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“Not a problem.”
I tried not to yawn into the receiver.
“Mr. Donne, we’re calling to schedule your entrance exam. You’re a late admit, so we’re afraid the letter wouldn’t reach in time. We’re holding the exam on May seventeenth. A Saturday.”
“Okay.”
“Will you be able to attend? It’s a six-hour exam, two hours for language arts, two hours for math, and two hours for a foreign language.”
“Foreign language?”
“It’s for placement in your classes. If you can test out of the intro courses, you’ll have to take fewer credits.”
I found my daily planner in the drawer in the nightstand. I flipped to May 17.
“Terrific. I should be free that day.”
“Good. Report to the lecture room in Scott Hall at eight in the morning. We’ll sort things out from there.” She hung up.
I closed my eyes for what felt like another minute. My blinds were closed, but the sun still found a way to force some beams into the room. The phone rang again. I opened my eyes; now it was eleven. I decided I wasn’t going to get much more sleep.
I answered the phone, rubbing my eyes with my free hand. “It’s Artie.”
“What’s up?”
“Were you sleeping? Jesus, it’s eleven in the morning.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Holy shit. What happened? You okay?”
I leaned back. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just spent the night with the Madison Police Department.”
“Did it have to do with Gerry?”
“No.”
“What were you doing, then?”
“You at the bar?” I asked. “Yeah. Tracy’s on her way, too.”
“Who?” Maybe I’d missed something while I was sleeping. I had no idea who Tracy was.
“Tracy Boland? Gerry’s niece? You don’t remember her?”
“No.” But the memory of her face flashed before my eyes.
“Be here in twenty minutes. Maybe by then you’ll remember.”
***
It was more like thirty-five. I nearly fell asleep again in the shower, but I turned the water to cold and was instantly awake. Finally, dressed in clean jeans, sneakers, and a plain red T-shirt, I entered the Olde Towne Tavern. Artie was behind the bar, looking like he hadn’t slept in days.
As I came through the door, he said, “You look like shit.”
“Right back at you.”
He forced a smile. The TV was perched over Artie’s shoulder above the bar, tuned to a news station. The words Special Report rolled across the screen.
I nodded toward the tube. “What’s going on up there?”
“They raised that terror level thing again.” Artie didn’t even look at the screen.
“Any particular reason?”
Artie found two mugs behind the counter and blew into them. “Best way to get the dust out,” Gerry used to say. Artie poured some steaming coffee, went digging. Came up with some half and half and sugar. “Nonspecific credible threats.”
“The government at work. Damn fine as usual.”
Artie found a fifth of Jack Daniel’s. Poured some into one of the half-full mugs and nodded at me. “Want a nip?”
I shook my head.
“Suit yourself.” He pushed my mug toward me.
“So, you gonna tell me why you spent last night with the Madison cops? Did it have to do with Gerry?” Artie took a sip, flinched, tasting the bitter end of the whiskey.
I looked around. “Tracy didn’t show up?”
“She’ll be here.”
I tapped a rhythm on the bar top. “You really want to know about last night?”
Artie nodded. I told him about the Hanovers, the body in the carpet, and my interrogation. Then I told him about staying up and drinking scotch with Hanover’s wife. Artie stopped me there.
“You took another job?”
“It’s how I make a living.”
“Fuck that. What about your friend? Your dead friend?”
“What’s the problem here, Artie?”
Artie downed the rest of his drink. The bar had a mist to it. The smell of musk and wood chips was thick, and it seemed like they had a physical form as dust motes floated between Artie and me, making his image cloudy.
“The problem is you spent last night in a police station caught up in a murder investigation. You should be trying to find out what happened to Gerry. Your friend and my friend.”
I finished my coffee, rested the mug on the bar. “I intend to do both.”
“Yeah? How do you ‘intend’ to do that?” The words melted from his mouth. “You’ll spend all your time searching for someone who’s missing. Meanwhile your friend is dead, and it doesn’t matter who killed him.”
“Did you drink before I got here, Artie?”
“Fuck you. I can be pissed without drinking.” He threw the towel he used to clean the bar at me. “Asshole.”
I leaned across the bar, grabbed Artie by the shirt, and pulled him close to me. We were nose to nose. “Don’t ever tell me that I don’t care about Gerry. I’ll find out what happened to him. But Bill Martin’s watching my ass and he’ll make it hard for me to do anything. If I’m working two cases, it’ll give me some leeway. Now, Mr. Bartender, maybe you need to lay off the booze.”
I pushed Artie away from me. He stumbled and then gained his balance. Coughed into his hand and seemed to regain some of his composure. “I remember when I used to have to tell you that,” he said. His words slurred a little, but at least he was thinking straight.
Behind me, sunlight flooded into the place. I turned to see a woman in the doorway. She moved carefully, as if she was working a crime scene and didn’t want to disturb anything. She crossed the room to the bar and had a seat on the stool next to me. Dropped a copy of the Star-Ledger on the table.
She gave both of us a tight smile. “I’m interrupting something?” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “I can come back.”
“Nah,” Artie said. “You’re fine. Jackson, you remember Tracy Boland.”
I said yes. “Cool.”
“You want anything?” he asked. “This early?”
“Have something. Make Artie useful.”
“He speaks,” she said. “How are you, Jackson?”
“I’ve been better,” I said.
“Well, you look a lot better than the last time I saw you.”
Last time she saw me, I was coked out of my mind. So was she. “Thanks,” I said. “Have you started making the arrangements for Gerry?”
Artie put a cup in front of her. I hoped it wasn’t filled with Jack. “Working on it,” she said. “I’m hoping to have the wake on Wednesday.”
“Where?”
“Place on Milltown Road in East Brunswick. What was the name of that home, Artie?”
Artie laughed. “Why? It’s not like he’ll show up.”
I kept quiet, let Artie have his moment. Tracy arched her eyebrows at me. I ignored her and flipped the paper open. There was an article about last night’s murder. According to the third paragraph, the dead woman’s name was Diane Peterson.
Artie must have rethought what he said, because he opened his mouth again. His voice was sullen. “Rinaldi’s Funeral Home.”
“That’s right. Rinaldi’s. I have an appointment with the funeral director this afternoon,” Tracy said.
“What time?”
“Four o’clock.”
I checked my watch. It was nearing noon. If I headed back to my office to make some phone calls regarding the Hanovers, I could be done in time to give Tracy a ride.
“Artie, you opening the bar tonight?” He nodded.
“Cool. Tracy, do you want me to give you a ride to the home?”
“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”
“It’s a date, then,” I said. “Yeah.” She laughed. “A date.”
“Sounds good. Meet you at Gerry’s quarter after three?”
“I’ll see you then.”
