Saving Grace

43

"So I see you've traded my legendary bacon and eggs for a semi-decent scotch and coke," Scott observed, walking into the Sinatra Stroll.

I glanced up from my glass, pivoted on the barstool.

"You've made bacon and eggs every morning since I was six." I smiled stiffly. "I'm sure I'll get another opportunity to bask in its glory."

Scott shrugged off his jacket, sat on the stool beside me.

"I'm sure you're right," he said, ordering a drink even stronger than mine.

With a sigh, Scott laced his fingers on the damp bar. I cleared my throat. The silence settled in.

"I'm sorry, Scott," I said. "About what happened. The argument."

"Yeah, me too, little brother."

Scott patted my back, nodded as he paid for his scotch. He took a long sip, sat it on the bar.

"So," he went on, "these long stories I've yet to hear. Feel free to start at the beginning."

I let out a deep sigh, swigged my glass dry.

"Alright," I said. "It all started the night Grace and I went to the boating club."

***

"Holy shit," Scott exclaimed, eyebrows reaching his hairline. He let out a jagged breath. "I need another drink."

"I need it more than you do." I said, ordering two more Alisa's.

"So Jack was stalking Grace because he was in love with her, then when he saw you two together he was so devastated he shot himself?"

"That's what it looks like," I shrugged.

"And Godric. You hired Godric? When I said, 'have you thought about calling him', I thought maybe to ask for advice or a good old rough up, not to put him on a freaking hit list."

"I know, I know. It's crazy. And she's a mess, even after everything he did. And there's nothing I can do about it." I paused, looked down at my drink. Scott narrowed his eyes.

"Hey," he said softly, putting a hand on my shoulder. "How are you doing?"

I shrugged, sank the scotch.

"I don't know, Scotty. I know I should be happy – relieved, but Russo killing himself just doesn't make sense. It doesn't feel right. It was too easy."

Scott pressed his lips together, smiled gently.

"Richie, it's going to take some time to accept this and move on. You've been living on the edge for months now, not to mention you just buried your girlfriend's slaughtered dog. Fear like that doesn't just go away. It takes time."

"But what if we were wrong?" I said, straightening up in my chair. "What if it wasn't him?"

"I know it's hard because you never got to speak to him, but look at the evidence. Russo was part of the boating club, he had serious motive to go after you and Grace, and he had a thousand pictures of Grace on his computer. Everything points to him."

"I know, I know."

I ordered another double, raked my fingers through my hair.

"Alright, think of it like this: if he didn't do it, why did he run?"

I paused, met my brother's eye.

"What?"

"If he wasn't stalking Grace, then why did he run from you on the docks? It seems like a pretty guilty thing to do."

I sighed, shrugged.

"Well, that's easy. He saw Grace and I together, he got upset, he ran out – " I froze, fingers locked on the cool, empty glass and heart clenched mid-beat. Scott frowned.

"Richie?"

I turned to my brother, looked him dead in the eye as a thin layer ice inched over my pale skin.

"The real question isn't why did he run," I said. "The real question is how did he run?"

Scott tilted his head, shrugged.

"I don't follow."

"The night before," I said, jumping off the stool. "He came to the door and Dani chased him down the street. She bit his leg right down to the bone, through all the flesh and tendons and the muscle. Excruciating pain. Then, the next night, he runs away from us, even after I tackle him on the dock? There's no way he could've done that. The injury was far too serious."

My eyes darted, pulse throbbed in my ears. Scott slowly rose to his feet.

"Are you saying that Jack didn't do this?"

I shook my head.

"I'm saying he couldn't have."

Scott pressed his lips together, crossed him arms.

"But who else is there?"

I breathed in deep, racked my frazzled brain. Who had a bad leg? Who could've done this?

"There was this guy," I murmured. "Grace told me about him. His name Allan or Alfred or something. She met him in the security store. She said he walked funny."

"You really think some random has something to do with this?"

"No, you're right," I said. I kept sifting, kept searching through my memories. Then I stumbled across a particularly hazy one – one I'd almost forgotten. "There was another man," I said. "The night I put the hit out on Russo. I felt so guilty I stayed here until I was so drunk I couldn't walk. One of Old Gill's boys threw me out on the curb. I got to my feet, called you, and somewhere in the middle of it, I saw him. He spoke to me, this jittery little fat bloke. He knew Grace. He grabbed me." I rubbed my chest, looked at the back of the room. The sad old janitor mopping up someone else's sick... "His name was Nicholas."

"Rich, I don't know."

I nodded.

"It's him. It has to be. Excuse me!" I called the bartender over, frantic eyes locking with hers. "The janitor that used to work here, Nicholas. Where is he?"

"Nick? We fired him weeks ago. Stealing."

I sighed through my teeth.

"What's his last name? Where can I find him?"

She shrugged.

"Somerton, I think. And I don't know. Honestly, I thought he was homeless. That's why I gave him the job. I thought it might help him get back on his feet. Some judge of character I am."

I nodded, smiled absurdly.

"Thank you."

"Richie," Scott called. I froze, met his eyes. "Where are you going? What are you going to do?"

I bit my lip, grinned.

"I'm going to save her."

© A.G. Travers 2018