Chapter 3

Watching a body being scraped up, dumped on a gurney, and hauled away was not a new sight for Lyle, but that didn’t make it any more appealing. He took deep breaths as he felt the adrenaline wearing off. Firefighters had found the victim’s wallet, so security officers headed out to check the park’s hotels to see if they could locate family. Lyle was glad this was one death he didn’t have to deal with. The people left behind--loved ones--made lasting impressions on him.

Driving home that afternoon in his own car he tried to think of other things. He turned his Mustang down the central street in Timeless Village, a mixture of new houses, single-story condos, and upscale apartments just outside Nostalgia City. The home styles were generic southwestern stucco. Pinon pines and sage figured prominently in the landscaping. Not all the homes were occupied yet, and the village was always quiet.

Lyle thought he was going home, but when he got to his street, he continued straight ahead toward Gilligan’s Island. A half mile later, he was pulling into a small strip shopping center. Sitting between a hair salon and a Chinese restaurant was Gilligan’s Island, a neighborhood bar. It wasn’t Lyle’s normal quitting time, so his dad wouldn’t be expecting him. He’d have a beer and unwind.

He left his hat in the car, pulled off his dark glasses, and wandered inside. Ducking under faux palm fronds, he saw a few patrons at the far end of the bar, talking to the bartender. Lyle took a seat close to the door. Reedy wallpaper covered the walls and tropical fish swam in lighted blue tanks. Somewhere, a bubbling pot of chili sent its aroma into the bar. Lyle loosened his bow tie and let the ends hang down the front of his white shirt.

The bartender looked up. “Lyle, howya doin’? Want a draft?” Lyle nodded. The bartender, also bar owner, had bushy dark hair, a long, thin face, and inquisitive eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He wore a yacht cap and told everyone to call him the skipper, even though he didn’t look any more like Alan Hale, Jr.--the actor who played the role in the TV show--than Raquel Welch looked like Flipper. He handed Lyle a frosty mug. “I heard there was excitement at the park today.”

Lyle put his hand around the beer. “Bad accident. How’d you find out so soon?”

“Somebody who works on Main Street was just in here. Said he saw fire trucks at the Flying A station. You see it?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“A car smashed into the pumps.” Lyle saw no sense in spreading the sad details. Everyone would hear about it soon enough.

A couple strolled into the bar and the skipper had to walk down to wait on them. Lyle was off the hook. He took a swallow of cold beer then rested both arms on the bar. He could feel tenseness in his shoulders, so he relaxed into a slouch. Before he could take another sip, his cell phone rang.

“Dad, you okay?”

“Lyle, I need my meds.”

Lyle sat up. “Your pills were...on the kitchen counter this morning. Yes, I made sure they were sitting where you could get them.”

“Oh, I have them all right. But I’m going to need a refill soon.”

Lyle let out a breath and leaned against the bar. “Okay, we’ll get one next week.”

“You have to ask the doctor about this. I think that maybe I need a new prescription. Something stronger.”

“Sure, Dad, we’ll talk to him.” Lyle swiveled his stool away from the bar so everyone wouldn’t hear his conversation. “Dad, remember, I had to get special permission to carry a cell phone in the park? You’re only supposed to call me in an emergency.”

Hank was silent.

“Dad?”

“You got a reject from that insurance company today. They denied your claim for your stepdaughter’s therapy. Sounds like that insurance you’re paying for is no damn good.”

Son of a bitch, Lyle thought, his mind traveling to the stack of medical bills and insurance forms on his desk at home. His stepdaughter, Samantha, had been in a serious accident three months before, but her recovery was going well, thanks to continued medical care. Although he was divorced from Samantha’s mother, Lyle remained close to his stepdaughter, helping her out financially and emotionally as she worked her way through college.

Samantha’s extensive medical bills might have made Lyle happy that he paid for full coverage. Trouble was, Federal Patrician Insurance Company was full of excuses for delaying or denying payments.

Thanks for the good news Dad, he thought. And thanks for opening my mail.

“Your friend Marko called this morning,” Hank said. “He thinks you can get reinstated if you just see one more counselor.”

“Another shrink, you mean.”

“Now, Lyle.”

“Okay, Dad. Thanks for the message.”

When he hung up the phone, Lyle sat staring absently across the room. The bow of a wooden boat, made to look as if it had just crashed into the barroom, stuck out from a corner. Painted on the nose was the name, SS Minnow.

“So, how’s your dad?” the skipper asked.

Lyle spun around in his seat. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

The skipper put a hand on the bar. He looked hurt. “I was just--”

“He’s okay,” Lyle said with a wave of his hand. “As good as he gets.”

“You get along?”

“Before his last heart attack he spoke to me maybe once a year or so. Now he lives with me and he calls me all the time.”

“Maybe he’s lonely.”

“Maybe.”

The skipper was silent a moment then said, “You work tomorrow?”

“You bet. Saturdays are the most fun.” How long had it been since he’d used that word to describe work?

Lyle finished his beer, paid the tab, and walked outside. When he reached for the door handle of his car, he froze. Something he’d seen at the crash site hadn’t registered at the time. Now it appeared in his head like a Polaroid picture developing. Not all the damage on the driver’s side of the runaway Torino had been made by the back end of Lyle’s taxi.

“Wonder how that happened?” he said aloud.