on side two of the Replacements’ Tim, the most violently melodic rock and roll I owned. I cleared the room and forced myself to jump rope.
By the time Bob Stinson’s blistering guitar solo kicked in, on “Little Mascara,” my eyes were closed and I was working the rope, my body soaked with sweat and alcohol.
I took another shower, as hot as I could stand it, and shaved. I cooked breakfast, made a pot of coffee, and finished them both. I put on clean clothes and ran fresh water into the cat’s dish.
Then I climbed into my Dodge and pointed it in the direction of James Pence.
TWENTY-SIX
THE BUZZER UNLOCKED the glass doors automatically. I stepped into the building, past the security guard and the woman at the switchboard, and into the elevator. I rode it to the tenth floor and walked the narrow carpeted hallway to Pence’s apartment. The door was open as I arrived.
The final drag of Pence’s cigarette burned between his fingers. The familiar smell of Old Spice and whiskey drifted towards me.
“You look like hell,” he said.
“May I come in?”
“Certainly.” He stepped aside as I passed.
I walked into the living room, hearing his padded footsteps behind me. I turned to look at him. The grief of the last weeks had taken years from him, years he didn’t have.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“No coffee. Why don’t you just get me a screwdriver. A Phillips head, can you do that?”
“Yes,” he said. “I own one.”
“Then do it.”
I heard him rummage through a drawer in the kitchen. I picked up the VCR from the lower shelf of the television stand and moved it over to the dining room table. It felt very light.
Pence brought me the screwdriver. I took it and worked on the back of the recorder. He lit another cigarette and sat watching me from the end of the table. His face was reddening from embarrassment, but there was also a look on him something like relief.
When the screws were off, I lifted the back panel and put it aside. I reached in and felt around, then looked it over with a perfunctory glance. I sat back in my chair and stared at Pence. He looked away.
“It’s empty,” I said. “But you knew that.”
“Yes.” He looked at his lap boyishly and blew some smoke at his knees.
I walked over to the window and raised the blinds. Then I cranked open the casement window and breathed cool air.
“Is my grandson alive?” Pence said in a small voice.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you know, Mr. Stefanos?”
I turned and looked at him angrily. “I know now what you’ve suspected for weeks. The people I used to work for are involved in some sort of drug trafficking. They’re moving the drugs through the warehouse in these VCRs. I think that Jimmy stole one and brought it home. Do we agree so far?”
“Yes.”
“When he got it home and saw it was dead, he opened up the back and found its contents. He was never fired from Nathan’s, he just never went back. But he knew they’d figure out eventually who took the VCR. So he got scared and left town with the drugs and a couple of friends he made along the way. You figured all this out and came to me for help. Then you put the VCR out where I could see it, knowing I’d notice it, right?”
“That’s right,” he said. “Believe me, I’m not proud of how I got you into this. Playing on your sympathies, and so forth.”
“So forth. You mean lying, don’t you?”
“Yes. I’d do more than that, to protect my grandson. When you have children, you’ll understand.”
“I’m not interested in understanding your motives.” I shook a cigarette out of his pack and lit it, then dropped his Zippo on the table. “Why did you come to me?”
“After I found the empty recorder in Jimmy’s room and linked it with his rather erratic behavior and the company he was keeping, I didn’t know what to do. Going to the police seemed out of the question. After all, Jimmy was involved, in a criminal sense. I went to Mr. McGinnes for help—he was the only one in the organization I knew—and he suggested you. When he said your name, I recognized it. Jimmy had mentioned you to me, several times. It wasn’t all a lie, Mr. Stefanos.”
“But why didn’t you come clean with me from the beginning?”
“Obviously there’s more than one person at Nutty Nathan’s who’s dirty,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if