To Sleep Gently (5 page)

His voice was very soft when he said, "I just wanna say I'm sorry about last night. You had every right to be pissed and we were less than accommodating." It was difficult to gauge the man's sincerity, probably because there was little there.

"Forget it," Dempster said. "Let's just keep on track."

"Oh yeah, everything will be on track," Evan said. "Nothing will stray, don't worry." He shuffled in his seat and moved an inch closer. "If I can get serious for just a second, the fact is we need this job. We need it like you wouldn't believe, and we're willing to do anything we can to make sure it all goes right."

"I need this job, too," Dempster said. "I guess that's why we're all here." He tapped his knuckles twice on the table then walked out of the kitchen, trusting Evan Wolfe like he trusted a jar of sulfuric acid saying "Drink me."

2

He parked the Honda on Lincoln Avenue, directly off the plaza and roughly a block and a half away from the Eldorado Hotel. Finding a parking space was much more difficult than he expected. With the tourist season picking up, the downtown area was packed and swarming with oblivious out-of-towners who didn't seem to know of they were coming or going.

Taking a slow lap around the Plaza, he took things in. On the west side: Dressman's Gifts, the Plaza Diner, and at the south end a classy-looking restaurant called the Ore House, which was right across San Francisco Street from the Plaza Bakery and the Five and Dime. A series of galleries, clothing and jewelry shops lined the south side. The eastern side was not much different with the exception of a shop selling large oriental rugs and the sight of the Saint Francis Cathedral. The north side was unique in that, rather than shops, it was dozens of Native American Indians, sitting on blankets under a long portal, peddling homemade jewelry to what must have been at least a hundred starry-eyed vacationers. The building these people sat in front of was the Palace of the Governors, now converted into the state's history museum. Directly across from this, on the Plaza itself, was a stage, and right in the center of the square was an obelisk, surrounded by an iron fence. A monument commemorating Santa Fe's history and culture.

Dempster strolled back to where he'd started, walked along the west side again, then made a right on San Francisco Street. The shops on either side of the narrow one-way were much the same as they'd been on the plaza, only with a little more corporate flare—a Banana Republic on the right, a Starbucks on the left. At the next corner was Evangelo's Cocktail Lounge, followed by Collected Works Bookstore. Across from this was the Lensic Performing Arts Theater announced the Santa Fe Symphony Orchestra and Chorus performing "Ode to Joy" later that night and for the next three nights following.

At the next intersection the cross street was Sandoval. Across it, on the left, was a Hilton. On the right was the largest building he'd seen so far.

Five stories high, contemporary southwestern in style with exposed black rafters, blue-trimmed windows, and potted trees strategically positioned here and there, a couple flanking the stairway like royal guards. In front was a small series of steps. At the top, above an exquisitely wood-carved four-door entryway, the single word ELDORADO was displayed in gold. The whole place sort of had a feeling like that. A feeling of gold, as though the entire hotel could be made from it.

Freddy was right, he thought, this place is high class.

Dempster stood at the bottom of the steps and admired the sign for only a brief moment. Then he continued on, and slowly walked around the hotel's entire perimeter. No serious concentration right now, just enough of a look-see to get a light sense of the place. He made a right and then another. Across the street was the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum, as well as something called the Crompton Gallery. He made a note to check out the museum at some point, if time permitted.

He came full circle, passing the hotel's pavilion, and arrived back at the corner where he'd started. He pressed the WALK button then crossed Sandoval and made his way back up San Francisco Street.

Halfway to the plaza he stopped at a payphone. He removed the torn piece of phonebook from his pocket, pumped a couple of coins into the phone, and dialed the number he'd scribbled down. The cell phone Freddy had given him was a business phone, and Dempster felt it shouldn't be used for personal calls, so it remained in his pocket.

After two rings someone picked up.

"Hello?" A woman's voice.

"Hello. Is this Angela?"

"Yes."

"This is Jack Dempster."

"Jack?" A tense pause. "Well hello." Another tense pause, then, "How are you doing?"

"Can't complain so far. Just got out a couple days ago and decided to see the country, make the rounds. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine, Jack. We're fine."

"You still sculpting?"

"Yes. I—I have a show coming up in a couple of months."

"That's great. Where?"

"At a gallery. The Crompton Gallery."

"That's right next to the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum, isn't it?"

"That's right," she said. "Very good."

He smiled at the phone. "Congratulations. Maybe I'll be able to come back for it."

"Back?"

"Yeah, I'm in Santa Fe. Got in last night. Figured since I was here I should look you guys up. Wouldn't be fair of me to come all this way and not even bother to say hello, right?"

"Well"—she cleared her throat—"that's very nice of you."

"Is Mike around?"

"No, he's not. He's—he's at work."

"Oh yeah? What's he doing?"

"He's...well, he's working at Essentials."

Dempster scoffed then immediately felt bad for it. "What's that?"

"It's a book, music, and video store."

"Oh yeah? Independent?"

"No, it's a corporation. A chain, mostly in the southwest." Another pause, this one filled with debate. Then her voice was hesitant when she said, "He's there until six o'clock, if you'd like to drop in and see him."

"Let's see, it's about eleven-thirty now. Yeah, maybe I'll stop by in a little while, see if he wants to grab some lunch or something."

"I'm sure he'd be thrilled to see you."

"I'd love to see him. Been a long time."

"It has, hasn't it?"

She gave him directions to a shopping center called De Vargas Mall. She was exceptionally good at giving directions. Most of the people Dempster associated with in his personal life had never known north from south or east from west or any variation thereof.

"You going to be here for a while?" she asked.

"At least a week, I think. Maybe a couple."

"What brings you out here?"

"Just vacationing. Never been this far west before, figured I'd check it out."

"Maybe the three of us could have dinner at some point."

"That would be great, I'd love that." He knew she was humoring him. It was clear from every word that came out. "Oh," he added, "Angela?"

"Yes?"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to get Mike in any trouble or anything like that."

Something caught in her throat when she said, "I know that, Jack." They said goodbye.

She's nervous, he thought. She was freaked out by the sound of your voice and knowing you're in town. She doesn't want Mike getting involved with you. She never minded before but that's because she didn't know what kind of person you really are. She didn't know what you did, she never knew, and so you were just Mike's old friend from high school who dropped out and got into a little trouble. You were straight in her eyes, though. All of your trouble, to her it was in the past. She had no idea but now she does, she knows, so she's afraid of you and she's afraid of Mike associating with you.

He continued up the street, back towards the Plaza. A series of pictures played behind his eyes, moving quickly, like camera flashes. Seemingly random snippets of memory, as though someone had stolen a tape of his mind, cut it up into little sections, tossed it all into the air, and then joined the pieces back together again and jammed it back into his head. However, as erratic as each flash appeared, they all had a common connection. Each tidbit involved the same two people: himself and Mike.

Time shifted back and forth, back and forth and forth and back, and did it all again. Then the gears shifted and stopped, and he and Mike were standing outside a beat up old Mazda pick-up parked off Lake Avenue at the Sam Wharram Natural Reserve. They smoked cigarettes, and stared into the truck's open back with a heavy mixture of anticipation and apprehension that blended strangely with the thick humidity in the air. It was about ten at night, and the sounds of Lake Erie swam about their young heads like ambition with a frown. They looked at the girl. Her subtle yet provocative position made it difficult for them to believe that she was in the same class with them at school. The same quiet girl who kept to herself, but chucked smiles at them any time either looked her way. Her name was Shelley, and her pale, petite body reflected the moonlight almost theatrically, as though she was something out of
A Midsummer Night's Dream
—too fantastical to be real.

Jack and Mike smoked their cigarettes and contemplated time and again where they were, what they were doing and what was happening, or supposed to be happening.

After more endless time passed, Shelley asked, "So what do we do now? Is this all you wanted?"

Jack looked at her lying there in the back of the pick-up, like a movie screen that had raised its curtain but no film has begun. Flames had already risen inside him; now they swept through his body in wide arcs and his heart pounded, while at the same time a part of him tried to violently shove it all away.

He drew in on his cigarette and looked over at Mike, whose mouth was agape, and whose eyes sparkled. Worry lines, however, surrounded his eyes, and he smoked his cigarette mechanically, as though it was either there or it wasn't and it didn't matter any which way. Then the eyes shifted and looked at Jack, and under the glow of the moon Jack saw the eyes glaze over. They filled with neither love nor fear, but with uneasiness and distance, as though he was checking out, getting ready to walk away and call it a night. Without words they seemed to say, "I'm not sure I can do this."

Then time shifted again. Gradually the fog cleared away and Dempster found himself sitting on a bench on the Plaza. Hordes of people wandered here and there like frantic bees unable to escape an observation frame.

He shook his head to clear it, then got up and went back to his car.

Chapter Five

A heavy-set Hispanic lad, early twenties, hair in a buzz-cut and a green apron with the Essentials logo on it, asked him if he was finding everything all right.

"I'm looking for Mike Goodman," Dempster told him.

"Mike is the book manager." He pointed vaguely in the general direction. "He should be over there somewhere."

The fluorescent lighting did nothing for the store's atmosphere, nor did the gray and brown carpet, or the contemporary dance music that was definitely too loud. The entire place, everything around him, oozed with a dirty corporate slime.

Dempster made his way around the awkwardly placed display tables and over to the book department. A series of short shelves filled with bargain books shot all the way across the store. This was also a hallway to get from one end of the store to the other, dividing the book section from the music section. To the right were greeting cards, to the left the cavernous worlds of literature, self-help, science, biography, and so on and so forth. In between the art books and the Science-Fiction/Mystery section was an information desk, with two computers and what looked like complimentary coffee. At one of these computers, wearing a green vest with the Essentials logo, eyes transfixed on the screen and fingers tapping away at the keyboard, was his old friend.

"Excuse me?"

"Right with you," Mike told him, not bothering to look up.

"I'm looking for a book," Dempster said, disregarding the right-with-you remark. "It's about two partners in crime that split several years ago when one moved to Santa Fe and the other got picked up for armed robbery in Ohio."

Mike drew his attention away from the computer screen. When he saw Dempster a bright smile stretched across his face and he stepped away from whatever had been so important just a second ago. "My God," he said.

Dempster put his hand out. "Hey there, Perky."

"Hey there, Jerky," Mike said with a laugh, taking the offered hand and then pulling Dempster to him in a tight bear hug. "How the hell have you been?"

"Not too bad," Dempster said. "Not bad. Life could be better but I'll take what I can get, I suppose. What about you?"

"I'm fine, just slaving away, bending over backwards for people that don't appreciate it."

"You look good."

"Likewise. How did you know where to find me?"

"I called your house and spoke with Angela. She told me."

"Cool. What are you doing here? I mean, in Santa Fe?"

"Well, I got out just a few days ago and decided I should see some more of the world. Figured a good place to start was to come out here and visit an old friend."

"That's great, I'm glad you did."

"Have you had your lunch break yet?"

"No. It's coming up here pretty soon."

"You got any plans?"

"I do now," Mike said. "You like pizza? The pizza place here in the mall is really good."

"Who doesn't like pizza?"

2

The table was uneven and wobbled a bit as Mike attacked his slice of pizza with a plastic knife and fork. Dempster preferred the traditional way of using his hands.

"I remember," Mike said, "when we were kids and we used to make our own little pizzas. Remember that?"

"Cheese, pepperoni, and tomato sauce on an English muffin," Dempster said. "Bite-sized pizzas before there were bite-sized pizzas."

"I think it was some Betty Crocker recipe."

"Probably. It sounds like a 1950s after-school snack."

Mike wiped his mouth and stared across the table at him. His eyes narrowed, then widened, and the sides of his mouth curved upward like a lazy crescent moon. "Seven years," he said. "Doesn't seem possible. Feels like I just saw you maybe a few weeks ago."