Blood and Bone (4 page)
AS HE WALKED east down Lombard, he saw her sitting on the steps of her apartment building, a converted brick town house just past Seventh Street. She was thin and tall, with lustrous black hair, tied back into a ponytail, wearing short shorts that showed off her long, athletic legs and a T-shirt two sizes too small. Had she been anyone else, Kyle would have been smitten on sight and fallen right into pickup mode. But she wasn’t someone else; she was Kat.
They had been friends for as long as Kyle could remember, growing up in the same working-class neighborhood outside Philadelphia. Kat was the brain with attitude and looks, Kyle was the superstar athlete. They had been friends too long to date, but even as they went out with other people, they were a unit, far closer to each other than to their ostensible partners. For a long time it had been assumed that Kat was secretly in love with Kyle, the big man on his high-school campus. Now it was assumed that Kyle was secretly in love with Kat, the rising legal eagle with the fat bank account and the glittering future. In truth, there was nothing secret about what they felt for each other and love was but a pallid word to describe it.
As he approached, she smiled wearily.
“You waiting up to tuck me in?” said Kyle, who’d been crashing at Kat’s place almost every night now, since Kyle was currently between places and had been since his childhood home had been seized by the bank a number of weeks back.
“I tried calling,” she said.
“I think I left my phone somewhere.”
She pulled his phone out of her pocket and tossed it at him. “Thanks,” he said. He flipped it open to check his messages. “It helps if you charge it,” she said.
He closed the phone, jammed it in his pocket, sat down beside her
on the stoop. “So why are you still up?”
“I was waiting for you. Is everything all right?”
He looked at her, saw the unwelcome maternal concern in her
eyes, turned away. “Word travels, I guess.”
“A bit, yeah. And it got me a bit worried. There’s a lot going on in
your life right now.”
“Is that the way it seems to you? Because to me it seems like there’s
nothing going on at all.”
“So really, how are you doing?”
“Just dandy. And yourself?”
“Fine, sweetie, but then I’m not the one still seeing my dead father
in the outfield.”
“You don’t have to. Yours is alive.”
“You sound like you resent it.”
“Sure. I resent everyone who’s not orphaned. The resentment is
about the only thing I have left in the world—that and my car. And it
doesn’t cost fifty a pop to fill up my resentment.”
“You’re a strapping twenty-six, hardly the image of the poor orphan boy.”
42 WILLIAM LASHNER
“But still, when you call me an orphan, you want to hold me in your arms and mother me, right?”
She reached a hand to his face, rubbed his cheek forcefully with her thumb, examined the smear of red there. “Looks like somebody beat me to it.”
“One of Skitch’s friends,” he said, unembarrassed.
“What happened to her?”
“She had to go back to New Jersey.”
“Ahh, a Jersey girl. And a friend of Skitch, so you know she’s a class act all the way.”
“She was nice. A teacher, I think.”
“You going to see her again?”
“Maybe, if I can remember her name.”
“But that’s why you drink, right? To forget.”
“I only had a few.” He sat, thinking for a moment. “And maybe a few after that.”
“It hadn’t happened in a while, had it?” she said.
“No, and then tonight I saw him twice.”
“Twice?”
“Again outside McGillin’s. I saw him, and I chased him down, and it was just some guy.”
“It’s always just some guy.”
“I know.”
“What are you hoping for when you chase these ghosts?”
“I don’t know. He was my dad. Maybe he can teach me the one thing I need to know.”
“What’s that?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t need him.”
“Kyle, sweetheart, don’t be such a lummox.”
“How’s your dad doing?”
“He’s fine.”
“You see him a lot, right?”
“Once or twice a week.”
“What do you talk about?”
“You’re pathetic.”
“I know, but humor me.”
“We talk about stupid stuff. His kidneys. His golf scores. My sister’s husband.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It’s not like he’s relaying the meaning of life to me.”
“But you see, maybe he is. You’re just not listening carefully enough.”
“You know my dad—he’s more concerned with the meaning of his phone bill than the meaning of life.” She roughened her voice into a strong Korean accent. “ ‘What is this charge here? I don’t understand. Fees on top of fees. And don’t get me started on damn cable bill.’ ”
“Sounds lovely,” said Kyle. “So why were you calling?”
“To relay a message.”
“Oh, yeah? From who?”
“Bubba Jr. Were you supposed to be at the bar tonight?”
Kyle let his head drop between his shoulders. “Crap,” he said, in a calm, unconcerned voice. “I knew I was forgetting something. Maybe I should stroll on over there.”
“Don’t bother,” she said. “I think he fired you.”
“Fired me? He can’t fire me. I’m his shortstop.”
“Not anymore, honey,” she said. “Not anymore.”
BUBBA’S BAR AND GRILL, just a few blocks away from Kat’s place, was a neighborhood joint in Queens Village, a corner tap on an obscure little corner that drew a clientele from a radius of four blocks or so. It was already late, close to closing time, and all that was left were the usual suspects who were always left at closing time. Junior was behind the bar, leaning on his elbows listening to Old Tommy Trapp rail on against something. Junior glanced up when Kyle entered the bar. His eyes glowed red for a second, and then he turned back to To m m y.
Kyle took a seat at the far end of the bar and waited. And waited. Junior was ignoring him, which was Junior’s right, considering how Kyle had screwed up. But what with meeting Skitch for drinks, and then getting all twisted up with that Jewish girl from Jersey, and then seeing his father for a second time in one night on the street, what with all of it, Junior had slipped from a priority to a nagging detail that he couldn’t quite remember. And long ago Kyle had decided that nagging details he couldn’t quite remember were best left ignored.
But now he had to make amends. Junior was playing it cool, but later he would be apoplectic, no doubt, his dark face darkening and spittle flying as he hurled invective upon Kyle’s broad shoulders. Then he’d sputter a bit and slow down, looking for Kyle to say something in his own defense. Should Kyle act all contrite, like what he’d done was the worst possible thing in the world? Or should he toss it off like it was no big deal, dude, but things got in the way, and tell Junior to stop sweating the small stuff? That’s the way he really felt, but he figured contrition was the way to go. As he sat at the bar, he put on the face of a penitent.
At one point, when Junior went into the back room for something, Old Tommy looked over and gaped his toothless smile. “You’re dumber than a dingo,” he said, “and that’s pretty damn dumb.”
“I know,” said Kyle.
“You get any at least?”
“A l it t le.”
“What the hell does that mean? You get laid, yes or no?” “No.”
“Dumber than a blue-balled dingo,” said Old Tommy, shaking his
head.
Finally Junior came out of the back room, wiped the bar a bit, and slowly made his way down to Kyle.
“I’m so sorry, dude,” said Kyle, his head hanging at an appropriately contrite angle. “No excuses, I just screwed up.”
“My daughter had a dance recital tonight,” said Junior with a scary calm. No loud words, no spittle. “I had to leave the party after it to cover for you. My daughter said, ‘Do you have to go, Daddy?’ ”
“That’s bad.”
“It was like being in the middle of a country-and-western song.”
“Welcome to my life.”
“I hate country-and-western songs.”
“Want me to close tonight?”
“No, Kyle.”
“How can I make it up?”
“You can’t.”
“Kat says you fired me.”
“I think you just fired yourself.”
“Dude.”
“This isn’t easy for me,” said Junior.
“From this side of the bar, it looks pretty damn easy.”
“Well, maybe it’s easier for me than it is for you. But this has been a long time coming.”
“Junior, we’re friends.”
“I know we are, but that has nothing to do with the bar. I need someone I can rely on here, someone who will show when he says he’ll show. To get someone like that, I need to guarantee hours, and the hours I’m going to guarantee him are yours.”
“Well, maybe until you find someone . . .”
“I have someone lined up already.”
“A lready?”
“She’s starting tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? That’s cold. It’s like you were just waiting for me to screw up.”
“If I was, I didn’t have to wait long. You know why my father hired you, Kyle?”
“Because I can hit.”
“No. Well, not only that. It’s because he cared about you.”
“I loved your father.”
“I know you did, and he felt the same way about you. He didn’t mind that the bar always needed cleaning the mornings after you worked. He didn’t mind that you were overly generous with the bar’s liquor. He didn’t mind that the till was never right, because he knew there was usually more in it than what was supposed to be there.”
“I would never steal from this place.”
“He knew that, Kyle. He explained to me that the reason there was too much cash in the till was that you cared so little about money you would sweep half your tips in with the rest of it.”
“I’ll keep better track if that’s what you want. And I’ll spend more time cleaning.”
“He hired you because he wanted to help you. And then after your mother died, that cemented it. He decided he would do everything he could for you.”
“He was a good man.”
“Yes he was, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe letting you slide in the job, come in when you wanted, do a lousy job, maybe that wasn’t helping you at all.”
“No, it was. He was right.”
“You’re too old for this, Kyle. Sloughing off work, stopping between first and second because you think you see your long-dead dad, taking pride in your irresponsibility. It’s enough already. All these years after my father first took you in, you’re still lost.”
“When did you become so damn grounded?”
“When my daughter was born. When I bought a house and got a mortgage wrapped around my throat. When my father died and left me the bar.”
“It’s a pity, dude.”
“No, it’s life. And I’m sorry, but this is the way it is.”
“Look, Junior, I’m working through things.”
“Then do it, and do it quickly. Come back after, and we’ll talk.”
“But I need the job, I need the money. I got nothing coming in without this.”
Junior looked at him for a moment and then went to the cash register. He pressed a button, the drawer popped open, he started counting out some bills. When he was done, he closed the drawer, walked over to Kyle, slapped the stack of bills on the bar.
“What’s that?” said Kyle.
“All those tips you didn’t collect. My father kept track, and after he died, so did I.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Just take it.”
“I’m not a charity case.”
“It’s your money, Kyle. We were just holding it, waiting until you needed it.”
“What about interest?”
“Take the damn money.”
Kyle hesitated a moment and then stood. He grabbed the stack of bills and, without counting it, stuffed it into his pocket.
“Stay in touch,” said Junior.
“Sure.”
“By the way, someone was in here earlier looking for you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. A guy named O’Malley. He said if he didn’t see you here, he’d probably catch up with you at the funeral.”
“Funeral? What funeral?”
“A guy died name of Toth, he said. Something about him being your father’s partner.”
“Laszlo Toth?”
“That’s it.”
“Dead?”
“Yeah. Shot through the heart in his office. A robbery.” “Wow.”
“Didn’t you read about it in the paper?”
“I haven’t looked at anything all weekend except the Cartoon Channel.”
“Your future is so bright. This O’Malley said the funeral’s tomorrow and that he’d see you there. I’ll tell you, this whole thing makes me glad my dad fitted that shotgun underneath the cash register. Someone comes in here looking for an easy mark, they’ll be pulling shot out of the corpse for a week.”
But Kyle wasn’t listening anymore to Bubba Jr. He was thinking about Laszlo Toth and his getting shot in the heart and about the funeral on Tuesday, and while he was thinking of it all he was smiling.
NICE DAY FOR A FUNERAL,” said Detective Ramirez.
“For the corpse especially,” said Detective Henderson. “Sounds like you’re looking forward to it, old man.”
“Oh, I am, believe me,” said Henderson. “One day life is nothing
