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Downsville, NY
There was a good crowd at the Twin Islands club. I didn’t bother ordering a Coke this time, but went straight to the end of the bar and waited patiently for Donna to finish her “dance.” A steely-eyed look from the bartender told me that his memory was sharp enough to recollect my last visit. A similar expression on Donna’s face told me she wasn’t looking forward to another conversation. When she had finished the last dance of her set, she climbed down off the bar, sidled over and plopped her ass down on the stool next to mine.
“So, Donna, how’re things?” I asked.
She shrugged her shoulders non-committedly.
“Did you find yourself another Billy?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Look, I really don’t give a crap if you want to ruin your life by putting drugs into your body. But, a man was murdered, and I know you know something. So how about telling me who took Billy’s place?”
Donna’s eyes coolly scanned the interior of the bar, purposefully ignoring me. Suddenly, her face looked different, as if something—or someone—she had seen had scared her.
“What is it?”
“I can’t talk. He’ll know I told you.”
“Okay, okay. I understand. Just make believe we’re having a good time—laugh or something. I’ll buy you a drink.” I signaled fat Johnny, who took his sweet time in coming over. Good thing I wasn’t on fire and he a fireman; if so, I wouldn’t have stood a chance.
“Okay, so counting from the left, what number is he?”
“Three,” she said, her voice barely audible. Her demeanor indicated a quiet resignation. There was no question that she was scared.
“Give the lady a drink, Johnny.” I slapped a ten dollar bill on the bar top. “And, keep the change.” I thought I detected the beginnings of a smile, but concluded it was just gas. A few seconds later, a loud belch confirmed my hunch.
I looked across to the other side of the bar and saw the guy Donna had indicated. He was a little on the pudgy side, about forty years of age, and wearing a black, leather vest. He had a Harley Davidson “Do Rag” on his head, and a scraggily gray beard that looked like it hadn’t been trimmed since it first appeared on his face. A real winner, I thought.
I whispered to Donna, “I’ll wait until you start dancing again, okay? Then, I’ll leave. That way it won’t look like there’s anything going on between us.”
She smiled woodenly, and took a sip of her drink.
* * * *
After Donna had resumed her uninspired gyrations, I slipped out the door and walked across the street to my car, where I waited patiently for about five minutes, until my guy came out of the bar. Searching to his left, and then to his right, it was obvious to me who he was looking for. So, I made it easy for him; I honked the horn. Immediately, he started across the street, his stride long and purposeful. I got out of the Jeep and met him halfway.
“Looking for me?” I asked.
“Yeah. I’d like to ask you a question.”
“Fire away,” I replied.
“Whatta you want with Donna?” His eyes traveled up and down my body, sizing me up. I did the same, and concluded he wouldn’t be a problem.
“Are you her new ‘Main Man’?” I asked.
“What’s it to you? It’s none of your fuckin’ business. Are you a cop?”
He moved closer. His breath smelled like a cross between vomit and a dead dog. I decided he was too far inside my comfort zone, so I pulled out my badge and stuck it under his nose. He glanced at the badge and shrugged his shoulders.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” I said. “Now, why don’t we start over again? What do you know about Billy Stillwater?”
“I know he’s dead.”
“And you’re all broken up, right?”
“Fuck you.”
“How well did you know him?”
“Well enough to know that he owed me money, and now I ain’t gonna collect it.” Then, the full impact of where I was going with my inquiries hit him. “Hey, wait a minute. You don’t think I killed that dirt bag, do you? Hell, there’s probably a dozen guys who—”
“Somebody did. And right now, you’re at the top of my list. So, where were you the night he was killed?”
“Right here. Ask Johnny. He’ll tell ya. I was here ‘til three in the morning. Better still, ask Donna.” His voice lacked conviction, but I guessed he was probably telling the truth.
“Maybe I will.”
I put the second and third fingers of my right hand to my eyes, and then pointed them at the drug dealer. I guess he’d seen “Meet The Parents,” too, because he smiled. So much for easy answers, I thought. He might be a scumbag, but he didn’t kill Billy Stillwater.
The rain was falling harder now, and I decided I was wasting my time.