Long Lost - James Scott Bell Page 0,61
and circumnavigate the globe.
“Seems silly to me,” Mrs. Little said, showing Steve the office. “What’s he going to do when he gets back?”
“Maybe he won’t ever come back,” Steve said. “Maybe he’ll end up cracking bones in Madagascar.”
“You’re a lawyer you say?”
“That’s right.”
“We have too many of ’em right now, but I don’t go around telling people what to do. All I want to know is if you have a enough work to pay your rent.”
“I’ve got a big client here in town already.”
“And who might that be?”
“Well, that’s sort of confidential.”
“Oh my, of course. Where do you live?”
“I haven’t quite got a place yet. I thought I’d move to the office first, get the lay of the land so to speak, and take it one step at a time.”
“You mean you’re going to sleep here, in this office?”
“I might. Any rules against that?”
“And what might you do for a shower and shave?”
“Good question. Is there a health club in town?”
She thought a moment. “You’re not married?”
“Divorced.”
“Shame. Divorce is such a shame.”
“Maybe sometimes it’s the best thing.”
Mrs. Little thought a moment. “I’ve got a little add-on bathroom, shower, and kitchenette just off the garage. Warner put it there in case of emergencies. I’ll let you use it until you find a place of your own.”
“That’s very nice of you, Mrs. Little. Oh, one more thing. Any rules against cats?”
“Cats? Here?”
“One cat. A very decent, well-groomed . . . decent cat. I had one back home named Nick Nolte. I thought—”
“Like the movie actor?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t care for him. I like that Bruce Willis.”
“That settles it. If I get a cat I’ll name him Willis.”
“Well...I’ll allow you one cat, but I’m going to up the deposit. If I have to do extra cleaning around here—”
“Sold! Happy to be part of the family.”
Part of the family. When did he ever have that? His brother ripped away, his father killing himself, his mother never the same after that. Foster care in California, that was a pitiful substitute for family.
But now he was with Johnny again. A miracle.
And maybe Eldon LaSalle wouldn’t be that much of an issue. A bigot he was, but he was getting old. He couldn’t last forever, and Steve could work on Johnny to do things nice and legal.
He could save his brother.
That was it. That was the reason he was here. He couldn’t save his brother before, when he was taken. Now he could. If he played it just right, he could get his brother back for real.
Get himself back, too.
At two in the afternoon took a walk into the middle of town to find himself a real, authentic Verner lunch establishment. Something with atmosphere and plain good eating.
He found it on the main drag.
Chip’s Cafeteria was a relic of a bygone era. It had a 1960s look. Certainly the carpet seemed to have absorbed forty years of gravy and mashed peas and chocolate milk. The music over the system predated the looks. It was organ music, happily playing songs of the fifties.
Steve found out why as he entered. A display case offered several CDs, featuring a portly gentleman with curly white hair and a black mustache. He was sitting at an organ and smiling. Chip’s Favorites was the title of the CD.
He had wandered into a Verner celebrity hangout. Where he felt like he should be wearing polyester.
The average age of the munchers seemed to be about eighty. He wondered if Curls and Red ate here. And argued over what kind of Jell-O was being served.
Steve was about to approach the tray station when he looked to his right. At a table by the front window, nattily dressed and reading a newspaper, was Edward Hendrickson.
Steve slalomed through the tables of octogenarians.
“Mr. Hendrickson?”
The old man looked up with a smile. “Why yes—” He stopped with a look of recognition.
“Steve Conroy’s my name. I met you at the Bruck Mortuary.”
“I remember.” Guarded.
“Great. How’s business? People dying to get in?”
Hendrickson looked puzzled. “Excuse me?”
“I have a friend, he’s a writer. When he dies he’s leaving his body to science fiction.”
Stone face. “May I ask what you’re doing here?”
“I heard the meatloaf was terrific.”
“It is, but that still doesn’t explain—”
“May I?” Steve pulled out a chair and sat down.
“If you’d like to inquire about our services,” Hendrickson said, “I would ask you to come to the office during—”
“No, I’m not planning on dying just yet,” Steve said. “And I hope I’m not there when it happens.”
Hendrickson blinked.
“You’re a long-time resident of this