The foil-wrapped sandwich was cool under Jack’s arm as he stepped into Julio’s. The after-work crowd was building and smoke hung thick in the air. As Jack headed for one of the rear tables he waved to Julio and flicked his thumb above his fist in a pop-me-one gesture.
A minute later Julio plunked an open Rolling Rock long neck onto the table and stood watching as Jack unrolled his sub from the greasy foil. A vinegary odor seeped into the air. He’d swung into Costin’s mom and pop on the next block and grabbed it on the run from the cooler; a pre-fab construction of spongy bread filled with sliced meat by-products topped with a cheeseoid substance that had never been within a hundred miles of a cow. But it was fast and promised to fill the void.
“Hey, meng, people see you they gonna think this some kinda bring-your-own-food place.”
Jack took a long pull on the beer. Damn, that tasted good. He’d stopped home to shower and change. A clean pair of jeans, a fresh shirt—an Allman Bros. concert T he’d picked up at a secondhand store—and he felt halfway to a new man, ready to dig again.
“Nobody’s watching and I’m too hungry and too short on time to deal with those wings and other finger foods you serve.”
The little man bristled and flexed his considerable biceps. “Hey, we serve the best food money can fry.”
“Your message said you had something for me?”
As Julio fished an envelope out of his back pocket, Jack bit into his sandwich. A pasty texture that tasted like oil and vinegar. Swell. At least he wouldn’t be hungry when he finished.
“Old guy drop it off this morning.” He ran the envelope under his nose. “Mmm. Smells like money.”
“Old guy?”
“Yeah. He meet you here Sunday.”
Jack almost choked on his sandwich as he came half out of his seat, looking around. “He still here?”
“Nah.” Julio snapped his fingers. “He come and go like that. Like he don’ wanna be seen.”
“Shit!”
“You lookin’ for him?”
“Yeah. Big time.”
“He short you?”
Jack opened the envelope and flipped through the bills. The amount looked about right.
“No. But he owes me some answers.”
Like why he hired me and why he lied about who he is. Probably never know now.
Jack spotted a slip of yellow paper among the bills. He pulled it out, unfolded it, and read the handwritten note.
Thanks for taking care of my brother.
Edward
Was he mocking him or sincere? Jack couldn’t tell. Despite his frustration he resisted the urge to ball up the note and fling it across the room. Instead he refolded it and put it back in the envelope.
“Y‘know,” Julio said. “I think Barney recognized him. I think I hear him say something like, ‘My-my-my, look who’s here.’ Or son’thing like that.”
“Barney?” Jack scanned the room. He usually hung at the bar with Lou. “Where is he?”
“Working. Night shift this week. He be back in the morning.”
“Then so will I.” Jack shoved the remains of the sub into his mouth, washed it down with the rest of the beer, then rose.
“Gotta run. Don’t let Barney leave before I get here tomorrow. Feed him, buy him drinks on me, whatever you have to do to keep him here till I arrive.”
Jack headed for the street. Time to dig again. He felt a certain amount of satisfaction. Two more questions left: Was Tara Portman truly buried beneath Menelaus Manor, and who had hired him to watch Eli Bellitto? By this time tomorrow he expected to know the answers to both.