CHAPTER 35

Kenny rose from behind his desk to meet me as I entered his office. The room was, in contrast to the dark bar, bright and warm, thanks in part to a large barred window, curtains pulled to the sides, that looked out over the parking lot. The large desk, with only an open Apple Macbook Pro laptop computer and mobile phone sitting on it, faced away from the window and dominated the room. A small bookcase, atop which a small printer sat, held some reams of paper and other office supplies on its shelves. A fold out table along one wall held some colorful, logoed, unused beer taps, folded T-shirts with the Last Chance logo showing, and other tools of the bar trade. There were two comfortable looking, cushioned lounge chairs in front of the desk.

Kenny was much as I remembered him--short and wiry, although his unkempt hair had grayed a bit and his once dark beard had grown more salted than peppered.

“Well, well, if it ain’t the prodigal son. I been following your exploits and wondering when you’d get around to seeing ole Kenny,” he said.

He wore a comfortably fitting black T-shirt tucked into a pair of bootcut blue jeans, a black bridle leather belt with a brass plaque buckle, and brown square-toed steel-tipped cowboy boots.

He extended his hand and, when I took his in mine, pulled me into a hug. He was stronger than he looked, but I’d learned long ago that nothing about Kenny was as it seemed.

He stepped back and held his eyes firmly on mine. “Sorry to hear about your wife. She must have been one terrific gal to have corralled and put up with you.”

“How did you hear--” I began to say.

“Son--” Only Kenny and Hoppy called me son. “--you gotta know that when you’re from someplace you never quite break free of the tentacles that follow you, no matter where you go. Not if people care.”

“Well, thanks,” I said. “She was...terrific.”

“Wish I’d met her. ’Course you did sorta cut bait when you left, but you had things you hadda do, I guess.”

Kenny always had such an air of mystery about him. He was not originally from East Hastings but there were stories of his life before settling here and setting up shop. Lots of them, and it was often hard to tell the fact from the fiction. Take the name of the bar, for instance. One telling had it that Kenny was from a pretty wealthy family, the black sheep who insisted on doing things his way. When he went to his family for money to start the bar, his father, apparently fed up with Kenny’s rebellious ways, told him he’d give him what he needed but it was his last chance. Another story had it that after years of running with biker gangs and unsavory sorts, Kenny had an epiphany and realized that if he was going to live long enough to see his kids grow up, then going legit and opening the bar was his last chance.

Another mythology grew around Kenny’s military record. One story had it that he enlisted in the army, served as a Green Beret and retired from the service as a decorated hero. The flip side to that story was that, much like Ronald, he joined the army to avoid being sent to jail and was eventually dishonorably discharged for striking a superior officer.

Kenny never owned up to any of these stories, nor completely disavowed them either. He seemed to like keeping people guessing.

He patted at the front of his shirt, which had absorbed some of the wetness from mine during the hug.

“Damn, don’t you know you’re supposed to swallow our drinks, not bathe in them?”

“Just a little accident. Only water, not the good stuff,” I answered.

“Well, long as you pay for it I don’t care what you do,” he said, turning and walking to sit behind the large desk. He motioned for me to sit in one of the chairs across from him. I sat.

Here’s what I did know about Kenny. He ran a clean place, despite its clandestine nature--no drugs, no prostitution. He had people’s respect. A few years before I left town, there was one occasion where the practical rapport between the races in East Hastings threatened to turn ugly. A young black man was killed, many witnesses say murdered, by a police officer. The blacks wanted justice, the offending police officer got off with a warning. An organized march turned violent, some looting ensued, a curfew was announced. Neither side trusted the other, and there was no telling where things would go. The two sides agreed on a mediator--Kenny, of all people. There was talk for years about this slim white man fearlessly striding past angry blacks with baseball bats and broomsticks right into the Duke of Earl Bar, the watering hole for the black power base, and coming out with an agreement that put an end to all the troubles. People trusted him, and so did I.

“So, what can I do for you?” he asked, putting his feet up on his desk, a knowing smile on his face.

“Actually, Kenny. I have no idea. I know Hoppy wants to sell papers--and Sue Ellen wants to know who killed Stevie--but where you come into this, I really have no idea.”

“You know,” he said, “I wasn’t too surprised to hear you lost your job at the Sentinel. Seemed like you kinda lost your way.”

“You’ve been reading my columns?” I said.

“Sure, we do have a thing called the Internet here, you know,” he said, indicating the laptop.

“Yeah, well I guess I did. That’s why I’m putting all that behind me. It’s time for a change.”

“And yet, here you are working for Hoppy,” he said.

“I’m not working for Hoppy. I’m just paying off a debt,” I said.

“You could do--or rather have done--worse. And Sue Ellen, what about her?”

“I guess you could say I owe her as well,” I answered.

“You didn’t mention Tina. Feel like you owe her too?” he asked.

I took a sip of my drink. “Yeah, maybe. How well did you know her?” I asked.

“Who said I did?” Kenny answered.

I gave him my best don’t-kid-a-kidder look. Kenny reached into a drawer, pulled a drink coaster out of it, and flicked it across his desk toward me. I set my drink on it.

“Okay. All in all she was a good kid. A little on the wild side, especially after her husband died, but she seemed to be settling down a bit. I didn’t see much of her the last year or two.”

“You know, the police insinuated to her sister that she might have been...um...well, a prostitute?” I said. “You know anything about that?”

Kenny smiled. “Still a bit of a boy scout at heart, huh? I don’t know as I would call her a...um...well, a prostitute,” he said, gently mocking me. “Every once in a while she stepped out with some of the big shots in town--behind their wives’ backs of course--maybe some money changed hands. Basically, I think she just needed to let off steam, have a good time. Like I said, she was a little wild after her husband’s accident, and she was still quite a looker.”

“Yeah, she certainly was,” I said, remembering those green eyes. “She was afraid when she came to my hotel room. Do you think it was Puddy Salvatore she was afraid of? Because she brought my car back? And don’t act like you don’t know anything about him or who’s behind the car thefts.”

“I don’t think anybody was afraid of Puddy Salvatore...well, almost anybody,” he said, giving me another quick, knowing smile. “’sides, he wouldn’t hurt her. He was completely ga-ga over her. She ever threw him a crumb, he’d think it was a banquet, but from what I heard she never did. That stuff they pulled off--the arrangement was all strictly business from what I heard, and that’s all I’ll say about the car ring. Now, can I ask you a question, Mr. Reporter?”

“Sure, go ahead,” I answered, picking up my drink and taking another swallow.

“What exactly are you after?” he said. His eyes stayed direct on mine.

“What do you mean what am I after?” I answered.

“I mean, why are you here?” he said.

“I told you, because Hoppy and Sue Ellen seem to think there’s more to Stevie Darby’s death than the police are letting on, and each, for their own reasons, want me to poke around. Sue Ellen seems to think you might have a thing or two to share that could help me figure where to look, without, of course, betraying any confidences. So here I am,” I said, believing I’d satisfactorily summed things up.

“But you haven’t asked me a thing about Steve Darby, only Tina,” Kenny pushed on.

“Just making conversation,” I said.

This time he gave me the don’t-kid-a-kidder look.

“Okay, maybe I am interested in finding out who killed her as well.”

“My, my, aren’t you a regular Sherlock Holmes...or is it Sam Spade?” he answered.

“No. It’s not like that. I don’t expect to really find anything out, but I mean, if I had been there...I don’t know...maybe I could have stopped whoever it was, maybe we wouldn’t have even opened the door. I let her down.”

“Oh, so you were gonna stop the killer? Listen, son, she may have only been working with Puddy, but she was dealing with a pretty rough crowd. No offense, but I think you both would’ve ended up dead.”

“Maybe that would have been better. At least then...”

“Then what? You wouldn’t have to deal with the shit hand life’s dealt you?” he said, his voice raising. “Damn, son, grow a pair. You think you’re the only one crap has ever happened to.” He paused for a moment, then a smile returned to his face. “I’m sorry, that was out of hand. You still haven’t answered my question, though. Why are you here?”

“I told you, Hoppy wants to sell newspapers to the few people left in town who still read them, Sue Ellen wants answers, and...okay, I guess I want a few of my own. There’s your answer.”

“Not really, but it seems as close to one as I’m gonna get right now. So you had questions about Steve Darby.” He leaned back in his chair. “Go ahead, shoot.”

I took the last swallow from my glass.

“Okay, I’ll start with the obvious. Did Stevie have any enemies that you knew of?”

“Nah, I highly doubt it. He was pretty well liked, a good time guy, bought drinks when he was flush, never caused any trouble--at least not here.”

“Was he selling drugs?” I asked.

“Again, not here--you know my policy--but probably a little grass once in a while, probably just to get a skim. He wasn’t a big-time dealer by any account.”

“Anything between him and Tina?”

“Nah, maybe way back in the day before Tina got married, but, no, that’s all ancient history.”

“So he wasn’t he involved in the car thefts with Tina and Puddy?”

“I said I wasn’t gonna talk about that anymore,” he answered.

“You don’t have to tell me anything about it, just whether Stevie was involved in it,” I said.

“No, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t. It’s kinda of an exclusive club, if you get my drift. And the operation is run like a business--a regular Pep Boys of stolen parts. People need hard-to-find parts, the gang goes and get them. Stevie was a bit too much of an entrepreneur, didn’t handle structure well.”

“So you don’t think Stevie had anything to do with the Crawfords?”

Kenny leaned back a little more in his chair, looked at the ceiling for a moment, then lowered his head, and leaned forward across his desk. “That’s a name you should be very careful how you toss around,” he said, his eyes fixing on mine.

“Well, Hoppy seems to think--”

“I don’t give a shit what Hoppy thinks. I’m talking to you. That family is trouble. And they are evil, everyone of ’em, right down to the bone. Stay the hell away from them. Focus your attention elsewhere.”

“But if they are responsible for--”

“They ain’t. You’ll have to take my word for it, but they ain’t. First of all--” He held up an index finger. “--those stolen cars are way too small-fry for them, though they probably gave permission for it to go on, but that’s about the extent of their involvement. Secondly--” His middle finger joined the index finger. “--you’ve got what? Police found three bodies? Well, if the Crawfords want someone dead, there’s never a body to be found. Anywhere. People just sorta disappear, gone without a trace. And third--” His ring finger joined the others. “--if they get just a whiff of you poking around their affairs--involved or not, and I’m telling you they are not--they won’t hesitate to send you to your maker, and probably not in one piece.”

I sat quietly for a few moments and let what Kenny had said sink in. The part about disappearing didn’t rattle me. I didn’t think I’d really be missed. But the thought of being chopped up into little pieces...well, that was a whole ’nother story.

“Okay,” I said. “No need to drag the Crawfords into this if you say they had nothing to do with it.”

Kenny smiled. “Good to see you still have some sense left.”

“Besides, I’ve got enough on my plate with Stevie and Tina,” I said.

“And Puddy,” Kenny answered, his smile growing slyer.

“Puddy? I never said anything about Puddy.”

“Isn’t he the only one that sort of links Tina and Stevie?”

“Well, yeah, but not directly. I haven’t found anything that--do you know something you’re holding back?” I asked.

“I know lots of things I’m holding back. That’s what I do. That’s how I stay in business.”

“Well, c’mon, give me something.”

Kenny tapped his fingers on his desk. “Kinda feel like I’m doing your job for you.”

“Want to share my by-line?” I asked sarcastically.

“No, you can get all the glory--if it ever comes to that.”

“Then what is it you can tell me?”

“I’m not going to tell you anything, but I will ask you one question. Have you explored the fact that Stevie and Puddy worked together on the night shift at TSN warehouse?”

“They did? Why didn’t Sue Ellen tell me that?”

“She didn’t know.”

“But Puddy knew?” I asked.

“Story is Puddy helped him get the job.”

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You’re telling me Stevie and Puddy were friends?”

“I don’t know about friends, but they partied together once in a while, used to come in here for a beer now and then.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me this before?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you didn’t ask the right people--or the right questions.”

“Do you think Puddy had anything to do with Stevie’s murder?” I asked.

“Don’t know and, besides, that’s your job to find out.”

“Right. Any big ideas on how to do that?”

“You could always ask Puddy’s mother. He was, by all accounts, a bit of a momma’s boy.”

“Right, I’m supposed to just walk up to her, introduce myself as the man Puddy beat and who later found his dead body, and she’s going to open up. I mean, how would I even get to her?”

“Well, Puddy’s funeral is tomorrow. You could always talk to her there.”

I looked at Kenny like he had just suggested I walk into a lion’s cage wearing a meat suit.

“His funeral? Me? With not only his mother, who probably hates me, there but also a few people that he might have been stealing cars with--people who may have killed Stevie, may have killed Tina, may have even killed Puddy, and, in all probability, wouldn’t mind seeing me dead as well. Jeez, I was getting the feeling you didn’t want to see me hurt.”

Kenny took his feet off his desk and leaned forward in his chair. “Actually, what I’d like to see you do is just drop the whole thing,” he said, his eyes deadly serious. “Like I said, these are dangerous people. But if you feel like you got obligations to pay, I want you to see exactly the type of people you are messing with.” He leaned back in his chair. “Besides, no one would do anything to you at his funeral, they’re not that stupid. You show his mother you have good intentions, who knows? She probably wants to know who killed Puddy. Maybe you’ll make a few friends.”

“Friends? You’ve got to be--” I started to blurt out. Then I saw that Kenny had a mischievous smile on his face.

“Look,” he said. “You came here looking for answers. Unfortunately, I don’t have much for you--”

I looked at him skeptically.

“--really I don’t. These guys run a tight operation. I’m just saying that if you really want to get some of the answers you are looking for...well, this is the way I’d suggest. Besides, I’ll go with you if you want. It’s only right that I pay my respects--part of doing business with the people I do business with.”

I rubbed my temples hard with my right hand. “Ah, what the hell,” I said. “Another day, another funeral.”

Of course, chances were I was setting the stage for my own.