Hallow Springs

Fourteen

For some reason, I wanted to go back to the scene of the crime. Not Jeremy's house, but the original crime – the one that landed me in the station at fifteen next to Jeremy. We had a whole summer of washing dishes to make up for it. It was a just punishment and one that made for the best summer of our childhood. Over that time we came to know a great man by the name of Lewis King. Nobility and chivalry are not dead, they are just hiding in a diner at the end of Main.

I drove out to the edge of town where his diner was and noticed that nothing had changed. It's windows were lined in pink and neon blue lights. The siding was made of aluminum and a retro sign stood over the front door. King's Diner. The gravel parking lot was the type of place where you could see Danny, Sandy and Rizzo from Grease smoking cigarettes, leaning up against their T-Birds. Inside King's an old jukebox stood at the front door over the black and white checkered tile and the music selection hadn't changed since the 60's. With the Supremes and the Four Seasons filling the dining room, it was hard to be in a bad mood in King's diner. It was place of happy memory, where senior citizens ordered breakfast over their paper and where the teenagers ordered a milkshake with two straws on dates.

Through the large windows, old Lewis King was behind the counter, wiping it down with a rag. He must have been pushing 60 by now, but you couldn't really tell. His black skin sagged a bit more and the stumble strapping his hard jaw was a bit more gray but his frame was still built and broad. He was a long-time widower and worked from 6 to 9 everyday, except Sunday. He attended St. Jude's and made sure the Lord's day was just that. I remember seeing him in a suit and tie at mass, which was always an odd look for him. He wore a ratty old ball cap to cover his thinning gray hair and a stained apron – not the kind a cook would wear, but a denim one, like what a carpenter would wear.

If there was one person in town who knew to leave me the hell alone it would be the guy who lost his wife to cancer. Lewis had become a father for figure for me. When my father died, Lewis became a life line for me. He was always filled with sage advice and a delicate balance of compassion and the 'grow up' tough-love only an African American in the South could teach. I exhaled and got out of the car, carrying with me a stack of folders on the most recent crimes in Hallow Springs. I needed to establish as much context as possible. What had happened since I had left? Who was up to no good? What dotted lines could be drawn to Jeremy?

I pulled the door open with my free hand and the bell overhead chimed. A few faces turned toward me, including Lewis's. He remained unsurprised – maybe word had already spread that I was back. Or maybe nothing surprises old men who fought in Vietnam. Regardless, I shuffled in and found my seat on the empty side of the diner in a booth.

The other patrons kept their eyes on me, they didn't even try to hide it. I lowered mine to the files and saw a mug shot entrenched with gritty antipathy. His muscles bulged out of his shoulders and his nostrils flared like – Maynard Jones. He had a sleeve of tattoos and was bald. He was one of the bikers that would go to the Lumber Mill for a drink on the weekends. He was the local the auto mechanic and judging by his rap sheet fixing cars wasn't all he did. He also liked getting in bar fights.

I flipped the file to another mug shot. This one was dominated by large prescription glasses – like the glasses Bill Gates wore in the 80's. His hair was long down to his shoulders. He was the barkeep of the Lumber Mill, the haven for the local roughnecks. He had drug charges, but upon a quick glance, the charges didn't stick. His name was Ansel Mason.

Lewis King flopped a plate of grilled cheese down on the table and sat in the booth across from me. I closed Ansel Mason's folder and found myself face to face with an old friend.

"You probably didn't miss this place much, but I'm sure as shit you missed my grilled cheeses."

I shrugged undeniable agreement, reaching for the plate.

"How are you, Lewis?"

"Workin'..." He didn't bother to ask me how I was – he knew. "Looks like you are too..."

"Yeah, I assume you've heard about Jeremy?" Lewis's frown wrinkled over his face. He pursed his lips in sorrow – thoughts distant as if remembering the kid who bussed tables for him.

"If anyone can find em', you can... justice will catch up to us all one day in this life or the next..." Lewis always had a way of speaking with wisdom to me. He was a devout Catholic, like I used to be. When people face tragedy they either run from the faith or jump headlong into it. When his wife died, he jumped in. When Suzie died, I ran. Of course, he probably knew this about me, just by looking at me. If the Holy Spirit was once burning inside me, it wasn't any longer. Suzie's death extinguished that flame, leaving me cold and hollow.

"Well it's my job to make sure justice happens in this life."

"I betcha don't wanna work down at the station with all them tight ass cops. Why don't ya do your work from here? If ya need a proper desk, I got one in the back you can use. I'll try not to bother ya too much and I'll keep your coffee filled, how does that sound?"

A smile surfaced and began floating on my lips. He had a way of speaking to me that made me feel understood. Maybe it was because I never really knew my father or maybe it was just the gems of wisdom he taught me that one summer along with Jeremy, but sitting here in this diner with Old Lewis King finally made me feel like I was back home.

6

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