A Visible Darkness - By Jonathon King Page 0,36
across the street in the shade of a tree. I started the truck and kicked up the A.C. My cell chirped.
“Freeman. How you doin’, bud? Thought maybe you forgot about me son, and right now, you don’t want to be forgettin’ me.”
“I can’t imagine you’re the kind of guy who’s easy to forget, McCane.”
In the background I could hear music. Maybe it was the same song that had been playing before. Maybe McCane hadn’t moved from his seat at the bar.
“I’ve got another name for you to run through your insurance sources,” I said, expecting a skeptical grumble.
“Yeah? Well start talkin’, cause all you’re going to be doin’ is listening when you get here, partner. We got us some fat to chew.”
McCane gave me directions to an address on the east side, and as I rolled down the street the neighborhood posse of three was watching me. All three turned their heads as I passed and I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the head man tipped up his chin.
I drove to a commercial strip in the city. This time of year the shopping malls and restaurants were doing a brisk business. The closer to the ocean, the brighter the building facades, the more commerce ruled.
I was looking for a movie marquee on the right and then a turn into a plaza. Kim’s Alley Bar was deep in the corner and I found a space in the lot several doors down and walked back. Inside the stained-glass door I had to stop and let my eyes adjust to the dimness. It was a small place, split in two by a hip-high wall that separated a lounge area from a bar that ran the length of the back wall. There were four men sitting on stools. As my sight sharpened I saw McCane at the far end, a sheaf of papers spread out in front of him, an empty shot glass and a half-drunk shell of beer within reach.
As I crossed the distance a young, perky bartender called out a greeting, as if she’d just seen me yesterday. As I came closer I saw that she was standing in front of the most handsome hand-carved wood and beveled glass bar back I had ever seen. I was still staring when I got to McCane’s side. The dark wood was intricately scrolled at the ends and across the high façade. Tiers of glass-fronted cabinets were stacked up, and they framed three individual mirrors. It had to be a century old, a stunning piece in this place where everything outside was new and sun-brightened and faux tropical.
“Suzy. Get Mr. Freeman here a drink, darlin’, so’s he’ll have somethin’ to put in that open mouth of his.”
McCane pushed back the stool next to him with the toe of his shoe and I asked Suzy for a dark ale in honor of the place.
“Nice, huh?” McCane said, matching my sight line to the woodwork before us. “They say it was imported from some place in New England somethin’ like fifty years ago in pieces and put back together here. Somehow makes you feel at home even if you ain’t never had anything like it at home.”
Suzy brought me an ale in a tall, thick glass and I took a sip and had to agree. McCane just pointed at his glass and she topped him off.
“So what’s with the new name, bud? We got ourselves another dead ol’ lady?”
“Old man,” I said and his eyebrows raised. “The woman lives six blocks north of the last one. She survived but the way it went down, I think the killer thought he’d finished her.”
“Dead guy came in and saved her?”
“No. Looks like he was already there, sleeping with her.”
McCane just snorted and shook his head.
“Breaks the pattern,” he said. “But not a bad way to go.”
I took a longer drink of the ale and in the ornate mirror I saw a wide-shouldered, rangy-looking man with a tanned and weathered face. His hair looked bleached from the sun and his forearms were lined with cabled muscle as he held the tall glass to his face. I did not have a mirror in my shack. The eyes I saw staring back at me over the rim of my glass looked somehow changed to me.
“So the old lady got a look at this suspect?” McCane said.
“No. Her face was covered with a pillow he was using to smother her. So we got nothing. Might not even be connected,” I said.