Murder On The Mind

Murder On The Mind - Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

The glow of a neon beer sign drew me half a block to a working-class sports bar called The Whole Nine Yards. Its dry warmth enveloped me as I pushed open the heavy glass door. A scattering of patrons watched a basketball game blaring on the tube. Football jerseys, hockey sticks, pennants, and signed photographs dotted the walls, but the budget for decor was a lot less than at The Extra Point downtown. It had the feel of a business on a downslide.

Sophie had been right.  The bar actually did have a pay phone, but I avoided it. I had no intention of calling Richard.

The bartender interrupted his conversation with an older man at the other end of the bar when I took a seat. Weariness clung to him. I guessed him to be the owner, who looked like he’d been on his feet all day. “What can I get you?” he asked.

I considered my nearly empty wallet and my belly full of cocoa. “Club soda.”

His expression said “no tip,” but he poured me a glass from the well soda trigger. “That’s a buck.”

I put a five-dollar bill on the bar. He grabbed it, rang up the sale on the old cash register, gave me my change, and went back to kibitzing.

Four bucks—my total net worth. I’d have to nurse my drink for a while, but that was okay. I was willing to park here for a couple of hours.

I’d tended bar for a while after my stint in the Army; I could do it again. Sure, a part-time job at a place like this, within walking distance from Richard’s house could work out. But who’d hire a broken-armed jerk who couldn’t lift a case of beer or hold a lime to cut garnishes?

My mind wandered back to the ugly scene back home. Richard’s house was not my home. It was a place to stay until I got back on my feet; at least that’s what he’d said at the hospital.

The memory of that conversation came back to me.

He’d been gone all day, leaving me alone in that cell of a room. We hadn’t had many meaningful discussions since I’d awakened from the coma two days before. Still, I’d gotten used to him being in the background.

“So, where’ve you been all day?” I’d asked, when he finally showed up that evening.

Richard settled his coat over the back of the room’s only chair. “I had things to do.”

“Business? Sightseeing?”

He straightened, as though tensing for battle. “Getting estimates from movers to take your stuff to Buffalo.”

“Look, I never said—!”

“I know what you said. I was only getting estimates, okay?” He hesitated before continuing. “I spoke with your apartment manager.”

My insides squirmed.

“Your back rent’s taken care of.”

“But I owed—”

“I said it’s taken care of.”

I was about to spew like Vesuvius when he interrupted me again.  “The last few times I’ve seen you, you’ve been distant and pissy. Have I done something to offend you?”

“The cultured, refined Doctor Alpert never offends anyone.”

“Then stop acting like you’ve got a stick up your ass and tell me what’s eating you.”

“All right, you want an answer—the problem’s you. You being so goddamned rich makes me feel like I’m shit. You’re always shoving it down my throat and I’m sick of it!”