He found John Sebulsky seated on his wooden stool behind the bar, studying a Styrofoam cup of coffee. Sebulsky pointed to the coffee, making a sour face. He said, “Greek restaurant stuff.”
Lockington said, “Oh, my God!”
Sebulsky said, “Greek restaurants were the real reason for the Japanese bombing Pearl Harbor.”
Lockington said, “You’ll have to explain that.”
“Well, you see, generally speaking, the Japanese didn’t have anything against the United States. What happened was, there was a Greek restaurant owners’ convention in Hawaii and they were planning to open a chain of gyro joints in Tokyo.”
Lockington nodded. “That explains it.”
“Not a great many people are aware of that fact.”
“I certainly wasn’t.”
Sebulsky said, “Did you know that all Greek restaurants are in the United States? All they got in Greece is Burger Kings.”
Lockington said, “I’ve never been to Greece.”
Sebulsky said, “Me either. So far, I ain’t lost a whole lot of sleep over that.”
Lockington said, “Is there a private telephone here? I want to make a long distance call.”
“There’s a pay phone over by the dart game.”
“Yeah, and what if the Sugar sisters come in?”
“I see your point—where you calling?”
“Chicago.” Lockington plunked a twenty on the bar. “That’ll more than cover it.”
“Okay, there’s one in the office.”
The office was filled with beer cases. Four cases of Pabst Blue Ribbon served as a desk. Lockington sat on a case of Budweiser. He took out a pad and a ballpoint pen before dialing Mike’s Tavern. Mike answered on the third ring. Lockington said, “You’re under arrest.”
Mike said, “Lacey! Where the hell are you?”
“I’m calling from Istanbul—there’s a belly dancer I got the hots for.”
“Them belly dancers ain’t no good in bed—what you see ain’t necessarily what you get. What’s up, Lacey?”
“Mike, that old baseball encyclopedia of yours—can you get hold of it?”
“It’s in the basement. They ain’t got no baseball encyclopedias in Istanbul?”
“It’s a holiday, the stores and libraries are closed, and I got a baseball bet with a harem eunuch. Would it be too much trouble to run downstairs and get it?”
“Yeah, it’d be too much trouble, but I’ll do it anyway—hang on.”
Lockington slouched on the case of Budweiser, waiting. From the bar area there came a muffled heavy thud, a sound that Lockington had learned to associate with a falling body. He got up to peer around the doorway frame. A portly man wearing a grayish-blue uniform was flat on his back in the middle of the barroom floor. The Sugar sisters were straddling him. The man was saying, “Jesus Christ, I don’t have time to buy no drinks—I got mail to deliver!”
The redheaded Sugar sister said, “Hey, you got problems, we got problems—hell, all God’s chillun got problems!”
The hairy Sugar sister said, “Yeah, looky all them people in fucking Beirut!”
The redhead Sugar sister said, “Besides, there ain’t no mail on Memorial Day.”
The uniformed man was gasping for air. He groaned, “For God’s sake, John, give ’em a drink!”
Sebulsky said, “I poured it the very moment you came in.”
Lockington pulled away from the doorway, shrinking back into the comparative safety of the office. Mike had returned to the telephone. He was puffing from the trip. He said, “Okay, Lacey, I finally found it. Whaddaya wanna know?”
Lockington said, “Give me the roster of the nineteen-oh-six Chicago Cubs.”
Five minutes later he called 1–312–353–2980.
He’d just hung up when John Sebulsky appeared in the doorway. Lockington said, “I made two Chicago calls.”
Sebulsky said, “Pecos Peggy gonna get her eighty grand?”
Lockington said, “Looks like she’ll do better than that.”
Sebulsky said, “You can come out now—the Sugar sisters just left.”
“Will they be back?”
“Is the Vatican in Rome?”
Lockington said, “There’s a thought! How do I get to Rome?”
Sebulsky said, “I think you gotta start from Cleveland. Did you hear about two guys getting shot out on Forty-six last night?”
Lockington said, “Somebody mentioned it.”
“They got chewed up pretty good—my cousin’s on the Mahoning County police and he said that the coroner’s office counted thirty-four holes in one guy and thirty-six in the other! You know what he thinks?”
“No, what does he think?”
“He thinks they ended up on the wrong end of an AK–47. What do you think?”
Lockington said, “I think those guys should be more careful in the future.”