CHAPTER 17

“Okay, okay. Hold on a moment,” I yelled out.

The banging stopped as I took a look around, trying to get some bearings as my eyes adjusted to the dark surroundings. I was in a hotel room, not a very nice one, though I’d been in worse. I was in a king-sized bed, tables holding lamps on each side. Across the room, a television sat on a credenza. Off to the right was a bathroom next to a recessed area with a bar to hang clothes on. To my left was a small table with two chairs and beyond it curtains were pulled tightly shut in front of a window, doing a wonderful job of keeping any trace of light out.

I climbed out of bed and searched the floor for my pants and shirt. It took me a moment to realize I was still wearing them. A quick sniff test revealed that I could use a shower and a change of clothes. Thank goodness I didn’t need to stand on ceremony for Hoppy.

I walked tentatively in the darkness across the room, slid the chain lock out of its groove, and opened the door, immediately blinded by the bright light that greeted me. The silhouette of a bulky, dark figure stood before me. I pulled the door wide open and stepped back into the comfort of the dark room.

“Doesn’t anybody ever sleep in this town?” I asked as the figure stepped through the door and past me into the room. I shut the door behind it.

“Not too many do at two in the afternoon--at least not anybody doing an honest day’s work,” came the answer.

I could barely make out the figure as it walked over to the curtains and, as if tearing a band aid off the skin, reached up and opened them in a quick, efficient motion. Sunlight flooded the room.

A wave of nausea swept from my toes to my hair and I gasped for breath as if someone had taken my head and dunked it into a barrel of bright, suffocating water. I stumbled forward and was able to sit down on my bed. It took a few moments but the room stopped swirling around me.

“So, were you planning on ever calling me? I have to find out you’re in town over the police scanner?” Hoppy asked as he placed a bag he was carrying on the table.

I felt a little better, enough so that I could concentrate my vision on the form standing before me. It was amazing how little Hopkins Brewster Weatherly, editor of the Daily Chronicle and my one time mentor, had changed. He was a little heavier around the jowls and a bit of paunch hung over his belt. He didn’t have as much hair as when I met him so many years ago and now what was left had turned a little grayer. He was dressed pretty much as he always was--white dress shirt, bow tie and matching gray slacks and jacket. Hoppy was old school.

When I first met him, Hoppy had scared the shit out of me. He was gruff, coarse, and had a vocabulary of curse words that would make a sailor blush. However, as I soon discovered, no one cared more about the newspaper business than he did and, if you could handle the swearing and insults he’d generously pour upon anyone he thought didn’t care as much as he did, you could learn more from him than any journalism school could teach. He still appeared to be the bear of a man I remembered.

“Good to see you too. You know, I’ve only been in town one day,” I answered.

“And quite a day it was--having your car stolen, causing a scene at a funeral, and then finding a dead woman in your bed.”

“I didn’t cause a scene at--how did you hear about that?”

Hoppy just smiled at me as he pulled two cups of coffee from the bag on the table.

It was a stupid question. Hoppy had eyes and ears all over Hastings County.

“So what were you doing there?” he asked.

“I was just paying my respects.”

“That’s all, huh?” he said, eyebrows arching ever so slightly. “It never occurred to you that your presence there might not be appreciated?” He dumped the contents of the bag--packets of sugar, small cream containers and wooden stirrers--out on the table.

“I thought people might not still be holding grudges.”

Hoppy laughed. “Son, of all people, you should know that folks around here hold onto grudges tighter than a boa constrictor wrapped around a rodent.” He lowered his large body onto one of the chairs, reached into one of his inside jacket breast pockets and pulled out a flask. He raised it in offering to me. “A little hair of the dog. I know it’s early for you, but from what I understand that shouldn’t really be a problem.”

I should have been insulted. I wasn’t. I nodded and watched as he took the covers off the coffee cups and poured the contents of the flask into our two cups.

“I haven’t had a drink since I’ve been in town. You been keeping tabs on me?” I asked.

“I’ve been following your career--so called,” he answered, ripping open two sugar packets and dumping them into my cup. “Cream?”

“No thanks.”

Hoppy stuck a wooden stirrer into the cup, reached out, and handed it to me. I took it from him, gave the liquid a quick stir, tossed the stirrer onto the table, raised the cup to my lips, and took a sip. Not great, but it would do.

He added three packets of sugar and two containers of cream to his cup, stirred his drink and took a sip.

“Should have brought some Baileys, make this dishwater taste better.”

“It’s fine,” I answered, taking another swallow. Actually, I thought it could use a little more whiskey.

“Sorry to hear about your wife,” Hoppy said.

“Thanks,” I answered, taking a little longer tug from my coffee cup.

A few uncomfortable moments passed as we both feigned interest in our coffee cups.

“So why didn’t you call and let us know what was going on?” Hoppy finally asked.

“Nothing to talk about,” I answered, averting my gaze from his penetrating eyes.

“Oh, yeah. Nothing. Your wife dies and you just go off the rails and do your best to destroy what was shaping up to be a pretty decent reputation as a newspaperman.” He paused. “You know, Wes, you’re not the first person to lose somebody--”

“You don’t know anything about it,” I snapped, not letting him finish.

I know Hoppy was only trying to help, lots of others had, but I’d learned that being brusque seemed to keep everyone at a distance and usually ended the matter. Everyone, that is except Hoppy.

“No, I probably don’t. Never met the woman, don’t remember you ever bringing her down here or being invited to a wedding.”

Hoppy could always give as good as he got.

“Yeah, well...Jan was busy at the hospital so we just got married at town hall, didn’t even invite family. We planned to have a big party after she wrapped things up with the fellowship, but--”

Damn Hoppy. He was taking me someplace I really didn’t want to go--our plans, our future. I could feel the emotions rising up. I tamped them down with a big swallow of my coffee.

“Listen, I want to thank you sending along that attorney last night,” I said to change the subject. “I was getting in a little over my head with the chief. She surprised me.”

Hoppy knew what I was doing, and he gave me a slight smile to let me know I wasn’t fooling anybody. He took a sip of his coffee and sat back in his chair. “Yeah, Chief Roark is no fool, which is more than I can say for some other members of her department.”

“You mean Danny Sullivan? How the hell did he ever become a cop?”

“It could have been worse. Some people, powerful people, wanted him to be the chief when old Frank Close retired.”

“I can imagine who they are,” I answered.

“Yeah, I’m sure you could. The more things change...” His voice trailed off. Small towns, big cities, there’s always somebody behind the curtain pulling the levers.

We were silent for a few moments as we both looked out the window and took swigs from our coffee.

Hoppy moved forward in his chair. “I have to admit I’m surprised you didn’t stop by the paper to ask some questions about what happened to Stevie Darby when you got into town. You two kinda went way back, didn’t you?”

Hoppy knew damn well that Stevie and I were friends. Part of me wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he really did stop by to see how I was doing and maybe he did want me to open up about Jan. Chances are, though, that Hoppy was after a story. He was always after a story.

“We kinda fell out of touch, as you might imagine, considering all that happened, hadn’t spoken for years. Like I said, I was passing through and just decided to pay my respects. Didn’t see any need to be asking any questions. Figured it was a police matter,” I answered.

“Yeah, guess so, a police matter. I see. Well, it was a shame about that woman, what’s her name, the one murdered in your hotel room. Guess that’s a police matter too. You’re probably right to stay out of it,” Hoppy said, appearing to agree with me, a little too easily for my liking.

Good old Hoppy. As frightening as he could be when he was stomping and bellowing, he was probably at his most dangerous when he turned on the charm, and Hoppy definitely could be charming when he wanted to be. You don’t survive running a newspaper in a small town as long as he had without knowing when to cuddle and when to use a cudgel. And the thing I always admired about Hoppy was how he always seemed to know which was appropriate.

“Then again, it’s not like you not to be a little curious about an old friend...um...two old friends. You knew the woman from high school, didn’t you? Heard you had quite a crush on her back then.”

Amazing, simply amazing, the shit that Hoppy could dig up. I could only smile to myself.

“That’s two old friends being murdered,” he continued. “Would seem only natural that you’d want to poke around a little bit, ask a few questions. ’Course that might be the old Wes I’m thinking about.”

Ah, here we go, the master at work. He was right, in a way. That’s what made him so damn good. He was always right--in a way.

Now, though, he wasn’t dealing with the old Wes. I’d grown a bit wiser, a bit warier and a whole lot more, I don’t know...tired. I was just really tired of it all. Nothing really made a difference. The bad guys always won and all I always did was seem to make matters worse--for others, for myself.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Hoppy, but it won’t work. You don’t need me. I’ve been away a long time, wouldn’t even know where to start--if I wanted to. You must have someone on staff that could do a much better job. Hell, you should just do it yourself. You know where every skeleton is buried in this town, what rocks to turn over.”

“Yeah, well maybe I’m losing my touch. No one seems to know anything or at least no one wants to talk about it, but I know something is there, can feel it.”

“Maybe you just want something to be there, ever think of that?”

“Christ, you’re sounding just like Midgy. She’s been after me to retire for years, you know. She thinks this is just an excuse not to.”

Midgy was Hoppy’s long-suffering, utterly fantastic wife. She was the only person I think Hoppy was actually afraid of.

“Well, you have made your mark.”

Hoppy’s neck tightened, his face flushed red. He surged forward in his chair. “You think that’s what this is about? Making my mark? Those bastards the Crawfords have been stealing farm equipment for years from good people, hard-working people who depend on that equipment for their livelihood, and in the past few years it’s gotten even worse. And now two people have been murdered in my town and people either don’t care or are afraid to say anything. Something’s going on, something...well, I don’t know what...but that’s not the kind of place I intend to live--or die--in.” He sat back, looking out the window as he collected himself. Did I imagine it or did he seem to sag a bit? “I thought you and I shared that.”

“Listen, Hoppy, if you couldn’t sniff something out, there’s no way I’m going to find anything of value. It’d just be a waste of both our times.”

“Yeah, well,” Hoppy said, pushing himself out of the chair. He approached and stood over me. I’d forgotten the way he could tower. “Seems there is a matter of, let’s say seven hundred dollars and change, aww, let’s call it eight hundred dollars you owe me for the lawyer. You could give me a check now or we can come to a little arrangement.”

I should have been honored. He used both the cuddle and the cudgel. Bottom line? He was going to get his way--as always.