The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series) (42 page)

.Lesko noticed the gray-haired man with the dark
topcoat who entered after he did and went to the
phone.

“Hey, David.”

“I seen him. ”

“Tell me something else. ”

“
What?
”

“How come everyone I run into in Westport either
writes down my license or runs to a phone?”

“The library lady?”

“And that security guard. Yeah.”

“Because you're mean and ugly. What else is new?”

“I
a
sk you a question and you give me your mouth ”
Lesko almost blinked him away. But he was enjoying
this. Sort of.
“Four people at that table in the library and
I'm the only one she comes over to check on. Next thing,
she goes outside to the parking lot, no coat on. Next
thing, I maybe got a tail who is, by the way, my second
tail in three days who is hopeless at it. ”

“Maybe we're cops too long. Maybe he's also catch
ing the 5:45. ”

“Maybe.”

At the far end of the bar, Molly Farrell had a drink ready for Gary Russo when he returned from the tele
phone. She beckoned him over. Take a sip, she told him
through her teeth, then take your drink into the far
dining room, order something, and stay there.

She was tempted to call Carla to make sure Carla
didn't show up as well. But Molly knew she wouldn't.
Carla was a pro and Molly knew from Russo that Lesko
had seen her once already. Nor did Molly want to leave
the bar just yet. Susan's father
had taken the last seat
near the door. He'd thrown his coat over the seat next to
it as if he was holding it for someone. And Billy, who she
was sure had never seen him, had wandered down to
get acquainted. Molly picked up a bar towel and began
edging close enough to hear the conversation.

So far this was Lesko's kind of saloon. No college kids
on either side of the bar. No crocks of whipped cheddar
cheese or bowls of the glazed shit that looks like Chi
nese health food. Just baskets of popcorn. Not salted so
you'll drink more, but unsalted and absorbent so you
won't get smashed so quick.

No real decor either except for mementos that were slapped up over the years. A lot of jock pictures on the walls like at Gallagher's. Golfers mostly, but that was
okay. At least they weren't pictures of some fucking
actor who carries glossies with him every time he goes
out for a drink. Behind the bar, on a high shelf, there
was a row of about twenty carved wooden statues. Car
icatures. He recognized John Wayne, W.C. Fields, The
Beatles, two or three presidents, all democrats, no
Nixon. His kind of bar.

“New in town?” Billy set down Lesko's beer. “I don't
think I've seen you around.”

“Just visiting. I got some friends here.”

“How ‘bout I buy you a shooter with that beer by
way of welcome?”

“Absolutely.” His kind of bartender, too. Lesko indi
cated a bottle of Seagram's rye.

The bartender was a big guy, almost as wide as Lesko
and a little older. A white short-sleeved shirt, powerful arms, a belly that was rounded but it looked hard. Ex
cept that the arms had no tattoos, Lesko would have
guessed he was a retired Navy chief. Definitely not a
retired cop. There's a look cops have that they never
lose. His was close to that but different. Maybe Army. Yeah. He even had that trace of southern accent almost
everybody picks up in the Army but not the Marines,
because the Marines know that and try to sound differ
ent.

Billy brought the shot glass. Lesko picked it up, sa
luted with it, and sipped. “You don't come from around
here,” Lesko observed. “An Army lifer, right? Probably
since Korea.”

“I got my time in,” Billy nodded. “How about your
self?”

“Three years Marines. Then the cops. I'm retired
now.”

The woman behind the bar had moved closer. An
other patron asked her for three beers. He had to repeat
it. She seemed distracted. As she went back to pour
them, she called “Uncle Billy,” to Lesko's bartender,
then shook her head as if she'd changed her mind.
Lesko studied her, trying not to stare.

“You have a very lovely niece. Good face,” Lesko
said.

Billy nodded agreement. “But Molly's not my niece.
She's one of the owners. It's just that everyone around here calls me Uncle Billy.”

Lesko looked at her again. She looked back, smiled
shyly, then busied herself polishing glasses. A good face.
Not beautiful or anything. What was good about her
face was that it was open, and kind, and even wise. Big
sad eyes, but not a sad woman. And the look. There was
something about her look, too.

“Nice town here, too.” He turned back to Billy. “My first visit.”

“Don't make it your last,” Billy answered eagerly. “Best place I ever lived. But you want to come back
here in April or May because the whole town is like a
garden then.”

“How about the people?”

“Good. Good people.” His gesture took in all the patrons and employees. “The thing about Westpor
t
is
you're never on your own here. We take care of each other.”

The remark seemed innocent enough to Lesko. The
Rotary Club would have loved it. But Molly with the sad
eyes almost dropped her glass. Her smile came right
back but what came before it was that look. The same as Uncle Billy's. Maybe close to a cop-look after all. Close
but not quite. He would try to remember where he'd
seen it before.

On the 5:45 headed back to New York, Lesko chose a
seat with an empty one on his right. He did this hesi
tantly, self-consciously. Having imaginary conversa
tions with Katz was one thing as long as they just
popped into his head. Everybody has imaginary conver
sations. But having them on purpose was something
else. If Lesko
heard of anyone else doing
that, he would
decide the guy's elevator wasn't stopping at all the
floors.

If Katz was alive though, and sitting there, Lesko would have asked him,
“What did you think about all
that?”

Katz would have said,
“What?”

He would have said,
“I
don 't know. The library lady.
The possible tail. Those two behind the bar. ”

Ask me,”
Katz would have answered,
“They made
you. They knew who you were. ”

Which of course would be crazy. In New York, Lesko
was used to being recognized. But hardly ever outside New York. Besides, he'd only stopped at two or three
places. What are the odds against him just happening to
stop at the two or three places where he'd be recog
nized? The answer is—enormous. Unless the town was
staked out. Which is also crazy when you think of the
number of people it would take to do that. Even if they
only staked out the places a visitor looking over the
town was most likely to go. Which might include the Avis guy to whom he showed his driver's license. The
security guard who wrote down his plate. . . .

Nah! Crazy.

The train stopped at Greenwich. A bunch of people
got on. Mostly black women, probably working as maids
and such and now going home. One of them spotted the
seat on Lesko's right.

“What did you think of the bartender?'
'Lesko
asked
quickly.
“The guy had this look.”

“What kind of look?”

”A cop-look but different. Seen everything, done ev
erything, can handle anything. ”

“Like he could have a drink with you one day and
snap your spine the next?”

”I
guess. Yeah.”

“But loyal. Takes care of his friends?”

“I guess. ”
Right.
We take care of each other,
he had
said.

“Then except for that part, you prick, you were look
ing in a mirror. ”